Deadly Errand

by Christine Green

  I followed her in, her legs moving more briskly than mine, and with no trace of swelling or varicose veins.

  The cottage smelt vaguely of paraffin and stew. Old stew.

  ‘Just you look at this,’ she said aggressively, as if she expected me to argue. Already she'd peeled off her stocking, thrust her ankle on a footstool and was pointing to a small Elastoplast on her leg.

  ‘I'll take it off, shall I?’

  It was a stupid question and her answering look confirmed it. ‘Where's your bag?’ she demanded.

  ‘I'll have a look first,’ I said as I peered under the edge of the plaster.

  ‘Mind what you're doing,’ she warned, but I'd already done it and the plaster was off.

  All that lurked underneath was the healed scar of a previous ulcer. Healed long ago. Ada Hellidon's thin upper lip curled slightly and she sucked in her equally thin lower lip until it disappeared. Her expression didn't look embarrassed. She just looked perplexed. I felt the same way. For a private detective I was doing quite well as a district nurse.

  ‘Is it all right?’ she asked. ‘Not gone gangrenous, has it? I can't see very well.’

  I assured her it wasn't gangrenous, that I'd bathe it and that it would be better left exposed.

  She misunderstood or pretended to. ‘A bath,’ she said. ‘I haven't had a bath for two years. I need someone to get me out. You'll bath me. I'm lucky I'm on Economy 7, there's plenty of hot water.’

  She made Economy 7 sound like a conferred honour. I agreed to the bath as there wasn't much else I could do.

  Mrs Hellidon began to chat as I helped her undress.

  ‘I've lived round here all my life, you know. I know everyone.’ She paused and grimaced. ‘Well, I used to know all the villagers. People my age are dead now. Lucky buggers. Mostly young people in the village now. Mind you, they get bumped off by lunatics. Not surprising really. Young girls having sex all the time. Wouldn't have been allowed in my day. It went on. We knew that. But we did it on the quiet. Down by the river in the dark, that's where it went on.’ She smiled then, a smile of remembered pleasure.

  ‘Didn't that girl who was murdered live round here?’ I mouthed carefully.

  She noticed. ‘I'm not deaf,’ she said. ‘That Jacky Byfield, you mean. Used to live at the end cottage. She was a right one, I can tell you. Churchgoer as well. Men in and out all the time. Only recent, though – a few months before she got killed. Before that, she had a proper boyfriend. Ever so smart he was. Had lovely short hair, nice suits, sort of posh.’

  ‘I thought you couldn't see well.’

  ‘Nothing wrong with my sight, only close up. I can't see your face properly but I can see longways. I'm only short-sighted and I'm not daft. Dr Hiding says I've got a very sharp brain for my age. I gave a good description to the police. I watch from the window, you see. Sit in my chair most days, just watching. I'm the only one left in the village during the day, in this bit anyway. I belong to Neighbourhood Watch. I am the bloody neighbourhood.’ She chuckled delightedly.

  Once she was in the bath I didn't have the heart to hurry her along.

  ‘Did this girl Jacky live alone?’ I asked as I soaped her back.

  ‘You give my back a good scrub, there's a dear. I haven't managed to get at it for such a long time.’

  I didn't repeat my question, partly because Ada seemed to be enjoying herself so much, but mostly because I was too tired to think straight. I knew the answer anyway.

  ‘That girl's mother,’ she said, raising one foot, looking at it carefully and then returning it to the water. ‘That Jacky's mother – has a man!’ Ada made it sound like a terminal illness.

  ‘Oh dear,’ I replied.

  ‘Funny family altogether,’ she continued. ‘The husband left years ago—’

  ‘Not dead then?’

  ‘Dead? I suppose he could be. He just left, disappeared years ago when Jacky was about three. I saw him leave, walked right past my front door. Had two suitcases with him and a couple of suits slung over his arm. Never saw him again in the village.’

  The bath over, I'd managed to help with drying and powdering to Ada's complete satisfaction. Getting dressed was almost finished, when she said, ‘Oh, it's been lovely, dear. Thanks ever so much. You will stay for tea.’

  I stayed: the whole situation was so ludicrous I had to do the whole bit. We had chocolate biscuits with the tea.

  ‘You'll come again, won't you, dear?’ It was a plea rather than a question.

  ‘Of course,’ I replied. ‘Next month.’

  Ada frowned. ‘Two weeks,’ she said.

  ‘Three.’

  She nodded. ‘Done.’

  As I left she handed me a jar of jam. ‘Plum,’ she said. ‘My best.’

  ‘I think I ought to explain,’ I began. But she didn't let me continue.

  ‘Don't you worry, dear. You'll get the hang of things. It's always hard for new young nurses – I'll put in a good word for you with Dr Hiding.’

  I basked for a moment at the idea of being thought young. Then I remembered how bad her sight was. She noticed my car, though.

  ‘You ought to get a new car,’ she said, ‘like all the other district nurses.’

  Driving away I realised that now I'd have to pay Dr Hiding a visit. And I'd have a lot of explaining to do.

  Chapter Four

  In the afternoon Hubert knocked on my office door. I was just getting dressed.

  ‘You'll have to wait,’ I called. He waited.

  ‘You look terrible,’ he said as I opened the door.

  ‘Thanks.’

  He stood there looking vaguely keen and expectant.

  ‘Come in,’ I said grudgingly. I still felt hung over from sleep.

  Hubert sat himself on the corner of my desk. ‘It's the funeral on Friday,’ he said. ‘Jacky's – at the Church of the Second Coming – interment. You ought to go, meet the suspects.’

  ‘And interview them as we stand by the grave, you mean. Or spot the one who looks like the devil incarnate.’

  A crestfallen look crossed his face as if he had lost one of his customers to the Co-op. I ignored his expression, but put plenty of sugar in his coffee.

  ‘Do you know Dr Hiding?’ I asked, handing him the coffee.

  ‘Is he a suspect?’ Hubert's voice sounded suspiciously joyful.

  ‘Don't think so. What makes you say that?’

  ‘No reason. The police surgeon is one of the GPs at the practice. There's three of them – Hiding, Benfleet and Kingsthorpe. Benfleet is the police surgeon. He's got bunions, used to wear winklepickers in the sixties.’ Hubert's eyes glazed over dreamily. Surely he wasn't turned on by the thought of bunions? I hoped it was the winkle-pickers.

  ‘You should have been a chiropodist. Feet are definitely your forte.’

  ‘Wanted to be,’ muttered Hubert staring into his coffee. ‘But it didn't run in our family. My father thought it was very odd I should want to fiddle with feet.’

  ‘Dead bodies being more normal?’

  ‘Nothing more normal than death,’ he said.

  He was right of course, but feet were normal too. Unless of course you were Hubert, then feet seemed to have quite mystical qualities. Capable of really stirring the imagination.

  ‘What's the Hiding practice like? I need to register in the area.’

  ‘I suppose you think there's a choice. This isn't London, you know. There's only one surgery in town. You're on a Hiding to nothing.’

  ‘You're sharp this afternoon.’

  He grinned without showing his teeth.

  ‘Do I need an appointment?’

  ‘For what?’

  Hubert looked amused as if I'd asked a silly question. ‘No. You just go along. I've only been once or twice, I'm not ill often. I've heard about Hiding, though.’

  ‘And?’

  ‘You'll find out.’ His smile fixed. I think he was trying to be enigmatic. He just looked ridiculous.

  When he'd drunk the coffee I e
lbowed him to the door. It seemed he wasn't quite ready to leave because before I'd managed to open it, he turned back and spoke in his confidential tone. ‘I've heard a whisper.’

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘It's about Jacky.’

  ‘Is it a secret?’

  ‘What's that supposed to mean?’

  ‘Nothing, sorry. You were saying.’

  Hubert leaned forwards and bent his head towards mine. ‘I've heard, from a reliable source, that' – he paused, as if embarrassed – ‘that Jacky was a – virgin.’

  Even saying the word made Hubert's face mottle puce. I realised then why he'd never married. Why he preferred feet and shoes. The vocabulary of footwear could never embarrass him.

  ‘How reliable?’ I asked.

  ‘If you must know, Dr Benfleet's post-mortem assistant told me, in confidence of course. Jacky was virgin intacto.’ He whispered the word virgin.

  ‘Virgo intacta,’ I corrected, trying at the same time not to sound patronising. ‘It seems funny, given that in the pub you told me Jacky was practically a prostitute.’

  ‘I did not.’

  ‘You did. A succession of men going in and out – those were your words or at least the gist of them.’

  ‘That's what the neighbour said.’

  ‘I know. I saw her this morning. Gave her a bath.’

  Hubert was shocked. ‘You did what! That's a funny carry-on for a private detective. Are you sure you know what you're doing?’

  ‘No I don't, but I'm trying.’

  I felt suddenly depressed, but Hubert didn't. He looked expectant, even excited.

  ‘There's something else,’ he said. ‘Jacky didn't die from the stab wound. She had something wrong with her heart valves, really rare; she would have died young anyway.’

  That did surprise me. I supposed a combination of shock and haemorrhage must have triggered a cardiac arrest. No wonder the body had only just been released. Did that make the crime manslaughter or attempted murder, I wondered?

  ‘For a private detective you should know better.’ Hubert left then, looking really pleased with himself.

  I think he meant Ada's bath, but I'm not sure.

  Shortly afterwards I phoned the surgery. I didn't believe that you could turn up without an appointment. A receptionist who had obviously taken a course in telephone smile-talk answered.

  ‘Good afternoon. Longborough Health Centre. May I help?’

  ‘I hope so. I'd like to see Dr Hiding. I'm not registered yet.’

  I waited, expecting the smiley voice to change, for her to say, ‘What's wrong with you?’ and then, ‘Come in a fortnight.’ Instead she spoke with cheerful heartiness, ‘Certainly, my dear, any time this afternoon, until six thirty.’

  ‘Today?’ I queried, just to be sure.

  ‘Yes indeed. Dr Hiding would be pleased to see you then.’

  Longborough Health Centre lay tucked away on the outskirts of town in the middle of a thirties-style council estate. It would have been out of place in any small town. Externally it was a riot of domes and turrets and haphazardly arranged windows, many no bigger than portholes. In fact, some were portholes. Inside, it looked as if the ceiling were missing. Bare piping hung in the roof space as though part of the decor. In the middle of the upper reaches was a platform, obviously some sort of room. A spiral staircase led upwards. Perhaps eccentric architects came cheaper or maybe the threesome had run out of money. Anyway it didn't look finished, and it was as dark as a cave, enlivened only by the green of numerous potted plants that gave the impression it was a cave somewhere in the jungle. I was impressed with the musak though. Mantovani, I guessed.

  Only two people waited in the open-plan reception area and I continued to be impressed when I was summoned after five minutes.

  Dr Hiding sat at his desk but stood up as I entered the room. He was good-looking in a scholarly way. Heavy-rimmed glasses and a grey cardy made him appear older and no doubt wiser than he really was. He shook me firmly by the hand which, strangely, made me feel like some rare exotic species.

  ‘Welcome, Mrs …?’ he queried. ‘How may I help?’

  ‘It's Kate Kinsella – Miss. It's nothing really,’ I began apologetically, as thought something less than major injuries needed an apology. ‘I've got some low back pain and I haven't registered yet.’ The backache wasn't exactly a lie. I always have a slight backache, most nurses do. He'd been writing my name but stood up abruptly, walked to my side of the desk and I thought he was about to feel my back. Instead he held my hand and stroked it slowly and rhythmically. I was at the same time mesmerised and disconcerted and I must have shown it.

  ‘Just relax, Miss Kinsella. Here we treat our patients holistically. The whole person, not just bits and pieces.’

  ‘Oh, good,’ I murmured. ‘That's nice.’ I could feel my IQ slipping away from me like water from a colander. I almost forgot why I was really here. It didn't seem the right moment to mention Mrs Hellidon.

  He continued to tower over me, stroking my hand. Eventually he said, ‘Right, my dear, take your clothes off and pop on the couch.’ The ‘my dear' irritated me and his keenness to get me undressed worried me; it seemed in advance of either my condition or our relationship. I followed his eyes to the curtain and he resumed his position at the desk. I didn't have much choice. It was strip or be unholistic.

  Lying on the couch in my bra and knickers I resolved always to wear decent underwear in the future. The elastic on my knickers had begun to shed itself – little stringy bits kept appearing – and my bra, once white, was now a dull beige. He approached the couch with a firm tread and began to get physical with his stethoscope, patella hammer and his hands. He explored my spine inch by inch. Told me to sit up, sit down, stand up, bend over.

  ‘Ah,’ he said, as if he had discovered a new condition.

  ‘What is it?’

  ‘It's only muscular,’ he said. ‘A course of massage and exercises will sort you out. You can get dressed now. It would be a good idea not to wear high heels any more. With your weight, it's throwing your back out of shape.’

  I got dressed feeling as if I'd emerged from a chrysalis as a fat hunchback.

  He was filling out some notes when I returned. He nodded for me to sit down.

  ‘Dr Hiding, I did have another reason for coming,’ I said hurriedly.

  ‘Oh?’

  ‘Yes, I called on Mrs Hellidon in Short Brampton yesterday. I was in uniform and she thought I was a district nurse. She wanted me to look at her leg ulcer – long since healed – and I gave her a bath.’

  ‘That was very public-spirited of you,’ he said, with no trace of surprise. He seemed to think it was perfectly normal.

  ‘There's more to it than that. You see, I called on her for some information.’

  ‘What sort?’ he asked, peering from beneath his glasses and smiling fixedly.

  ‘I'm a private detective.’

  ‘Really. You don't look the type.’

  I supposed he meant fat hunchbacks don't look the type.

  ‘It's interesting work, is it?’

  ‘Very.’ I didn't tell him my speciality. He could have something to hide. ‘I'm investigating the murder of Jacky Byfield, the girl who was stabbed in the grounds of St Dymphna's.’

  He nodded but didn't answer. I quickly tried to dredge up my IQ a few points. If I asked outright about Jacky he would give me a lecture on confidentiality and patients' rights. Probably those rights came holistically – even post mortem. I decided on a more general approach.

  ‘Such a tragedy,’ I continued. ‘Such a fine girl, so religious, so virginal.’

  ‘Indeed she was,’ he murmured. ‘Indeed she was.’ He'd obviously known her quite well. Staring out of one of the porthole windows he said, ‘She was such a healthy girl, physically and mentally. Well, now she's got her wish.’

  ‘Her wish?’ I echoed.

  ‘Yes indeed. Eternal life. That's what we all strive for, isn't it? A pure life, albeit hard, in th
e here and now and then the joy of everlasting life. That was her heart's desire, of course.’

  ‘Naturally,’ I muttered.

  He didn't seem to notice the sarcasm in my voice. For a while he seemed to forget I was still sitting there. Perhaps he was praying. I began to feel quite uneasy. Hubert's enigmatism hadn't been unfounded and somehow my back had stopped hurting altogether.

  ‘One question,’ he said, resuming eye contact. ‘A personal one.’ He paused awkwardly.

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Your sex life.’

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘Is it fulfilling?’

  Stupidly my mouth opened and then closed. I coughed to fill the gap. ‘Quite normal, thank you,’ I managed to stutter. Why should I admit to him that it was on hold at the moment?

  ‘Coming to Jesus stops us needing, stops us having to satisfy the flesh. Sustains us. Am I making myself clear?’

  ‘Perfectly, I'll bear it in mind.’

  ‘The Church is like a lover, you know. When Jesus comes again all will be revealed, all will be eased. His love is more passionate than human love, more all-embracing.’

  I nodded as the sermon ended.

  ‘My massage sessions are every two weeks. Tuesday evenings from six to eight. There's no need to make an appointment.’ My visit was over. I stood up. As I got to the door I realised he was behind me. He shook me vigorously by the hand as he gave me his benediction. ‘Jesus saves, Miss Kinsella, Jesus saves.’ But he didn't save Jacky, I thought, while muttering ‘Hallelujah' in response.

  On the way out I registered with Dr Benfleet. His bunions would be preferable to Hiding's second coming. The receptionist didn't even blink.

  Returning to the office I spotted my reflection in a shop window. I wasn't a hunchback at all. I bought two cream cakes to celebrate. One for me, one as a peace offering for Hubert. He wasn't fat anyway and if he didn't want it, I'd eat them both.

  Back at Humberstones I braved the lower sanctum to find Hubert. I found him in the Chapel of Rest – be seemed to be admiring a tasteful selection of flowers ranged in front of an ornate cross. There were two coffins on display. I didn't want to know who was in them. I called from the door, ‘You could have warned me.’