Deadly Errand

by Christine Green

  ‘Just one more question, Kennie. Did you hear a car come into the hospital grounds that night?’

  Kennie's breathing had already begun to rasp and he looked up at his mother pleadingly.

  ‘You answer, there's a good boy. Then I'll get your inhaler,’ said Renée, still patting his shoulder.

  ‘I didn't hear no car,’ he said slowly, looking not at me, but at his mother.

  Renée rang for a taxi for me and Kennie was dispatched to his room after a quick burst of his inhaler.

  ‘Sorry he wasn't more help,’ said Renée. ‘Will you talk to the police about him and tell them to leave him alone?’

  ‘I'll do my best,’ I promised. ‘But I have to be careful. If they know I'm involved they might try even harder to prove Kennie's guilt. You'll just have to make sure Kennie doesn't confess. If they take him in for questioning again, try to have a solicitor present.’ And a doctor, I could have added.

  In the taxi I tried to work out exactly how helpful Kennie had been. Very, I decided. But even so, all I had really found out was that St Dymphna's at night was a lot more active than I had realised. Mick O'Dowd, it appeared, was having an affair, or at least, an assignation, and so of course was Jacky.

  Back at the office I rang Kevin Stirling. He worked in a men's outfitters called Hobbs and Sons.

  ‘I can't talk now,’ he said. ‘Will you meet me after work?’ I agreed to see him just after six outside the shop. I arrived early, just before closing time, and Longborough's High Street shops began exuding their last customers into the rain and darkness. They hurried home, heads down, seeming shrunken, as if by being less tall the rain wouldn't batter them so much.

  I switched off the engine and let the rain cover the windscreen. I don't possess an umbrella and I didn't plan to leave the car. So I sat, watching the rain and Hobbs's front door and I thought about how a nurse could make twenty-five thousand pounds. There was blackmail, robbery, drugs. Drugs! Perhaps Jacky's doctor friend was supplying her with stuff and she was selling it on the black market. Then I remembered. It wasn't impossible to steal drugs from a hospital, just almost impossible. The regulations covering controlled and dangerous drugs are so strict, no one, not even a doctor, could manage to nick so much as an aspirin without someone finding out and reporting it. Smuggling from abroad was much more likely but from the little I knew about Jacky that seemed far fetched. But having several grand was far fetched too.

  At about ten past six Kevin Stirling left the dreary-looking shop he worked in and stood for a moment scanning the street for my car. He carried a large black brolly. Kevin had probably been a boy scout. Eventually he saw me and with utmost caution he crossed the road. Somehow I didn't think he was Jacky's partner in crime. ‘Filthy night,’ I said as I opened the car door.

  He sat down, bringing the cold and wet into my warm car. ‘Thanks for coming,’ he said. ‘I wanted to speak to you desperately. Can we go somewhere to talk?’

  ‘There's the pub or the Burger Palace,’ I suggested.

  He was silent for a moment as he brushed the hair back from his face. ‘I don't drink,’ he said.

  ‘The Burger Palace then.’

  ‘Okay.’

  He sounded miserable and his thinly pointed nose glowed red and he began to rub his hand nervously. I drove in silence, waiting for him to speak. He didn't. Not until we were sitting down, between the plastic fronded plants and plastic-topped tables of the Palace did he talk.

  ‘This coffee's strong,’ he said.

  ‘We haven't come here to discuss the merits of the coffee,’ I said. ‘You have got something you want to get off your chest.’

  He frowned and looked between the plants as though about to impart national secrets.

  ‘We are the only customers, Kevin.’ I felt I could call him Kevin. It made me sound more of a friend.

  ‘It's about Jacky,’ he said. He paused, both hands round his plastic cup of coffee. ‘I … I have something to confess. I did a terrible thing … I wanted to tell you at the funeral but it didn't seem the right place. I just can't live with it any longer. I'm not eating or sleeping. I can't work properly. Sometimes I dream Jacky is in heaven, she's happy and smiling and giving me the thumbs down sign.’

  ‘How do you interpret that?’

  ‘It means I'm going to hell.’

  ‘I don't believe in hell. Only a sadist would invent hell. Hell is only a concept to keep us all in control.’

  ‘I wish I could believe that,’ he said. ‘I just wish I hadn't done it.’

  ‘Killed Jacky, you mean?’

  ‘Oh, God, no! You don't think that surely. I couldn't. I couldn't kill anything.’ His small eyes had widened and his upper lip quivered. ‘Please don't say such things. Do I look like a murderer?’ ‘All murderers look different, Kevin. If it's not murder you want to confess to, what exactly do you want to tell me?’

  ‘It was me who … I made those phone calls.’

  ‘I see.’

  ‘You don't sound very shocked,’ he said, his voice edged with disappointment.

  ‘I'm not. Why are you telling me? Why not the police?’

  My reaction came as a surprise and for a moment he stared at me as though I'd cheated him of the satisfaction of his confession. ‘I will tell the police but I wanted to tell you first. To explain. I thought if you believed me and understood, perhaps the police would too.’

  I sipped at my coffee, wishing I'd ordered a hamburger. ‘Tell me about it, Kevin,’ I said.

  ‘I've got a very possessive nature. Jacky was only my second girlfriend. Everything was fine at first, just like I told you. Then I thought she was keeping things secret from me.’

  ‘Another man, you mean?’

  ‘Perhaps,’ he said uncertainly. ‘There was this doctor she talked about, said she hoped she could save him. Bring him to Jesus. But it wasn't just that. At times she seemed so secretive, all dreamy and preoccupied. Sometimes she would go off on her own and not tell me where she was going. When I asked her about it, she would just laugh at me and tell me not to be so stupid and jealous.’

  ‘And did that make you angry?’

  Kevin thought for a while. ‘I didn't show I was angry. But I was inside.’

  ‘And you never showed anger towards her?’

  ‘How could I? I was terrified of losing her. I just kept seeing her and trying to find out what she was …’

  ‘Trying to hide?’ I said helpfully.

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘What did you hope the phone calls would achieve?’

  Kevin lowered his eyes and then looked past me towards the window and the dark night outside. ‘I thought she might turn to me for protection,’ he murmured. ‘Might see me as her knight in shining armour. It didn't work like that, though, did it? And then someone killed her.’

  ‘I think I may have found a motive for her death, Kevin.’

  He looked blank. ‘Motive?’ he said.

  ‘Yes. Would it surprise you to know Jacky had money in the bank?’

  ‘No, of course not,’ he said sharply. ‘She was always trying to save. There was her salary and even though she had a fairly new car she certainly didn't waste money.’

  ‘So about how much would you expect her to have had in the bank?’

  ‘Oh, I don't know. About two thousand pounds I suppose.’

  I was managing to irritate Kevin; he had confessed and now he wanted to escape.

  ‘Not a bad guess. She had four thousand pounds in her current account and about twenty-five thousand in a deposit account.’

  Kevin's mouth fell open unattractively. ‘You're joking. She couldn't have. It's not possible. I don't believe it.’

  ‘It's true, Kevin. I'm sorry. Her mother will confirm it if you don't believe me. The money is in a false name and her pass book is missing.’

  I bought Kevin another coffee and laced it well with sugar to relieve his stunned silence.

  ‘She was hiding something, then. I wasn't just paranoid. But what
?’

  ‘I was hoping you might be able to tell me.’ But even as I spoke I knew that was a forlorn hope.

  Kevin's expression of bafflement gave me my answer. He finished his coffee slowly and finally said bitterly, ‘You've managed to sully her memory for me. That was all I had and now you've spoilt even that.’ He stood up. ‘I'm going home now. Give me a few days and I'll go to the police.’

  ‘I'll give you a lift.’

  ‘Don't bother. I'd rather walk. It will give me a chance to think.’

  I watched him go out into the rain, walking several yards before he remembered his brolly was still in my car. I ran after him and called him but he ignored me and walked on. Somehow his slumped shoulders reminded me of a child who had just seen his balloon burst by a nasty bully.

  I drove home to the cottage, had a hot bath, ate a bowl of cornflakes and a bar of chocolate, and finished a murder mystery. Having failed to guess whodunit, I went to bed convinced that I had as much chance of finding Jacky's killer as Hubert had of becoming a film star.

  Chapter Nine

  I started the next day with an apology. I'd forgotten to ring Jacky's Aunt Nina. She ignored my apology. ‘I've just found out about the money,’ she said. ‘I can assure you I didn't give Jacky large sums of money.’

  I didn't confess that thought hadn't crossed my mind.

  ‘Mind you, I did give her presents of money for her birthdays, but never very large amounts. It's all very worrying, isn't it?’ I agreed that it was indeed.

  ‘Have you made any progress with your investigation?’ she asked.

  ‘I'm moderately optimistic, all things being considered.’ She murmured, ‘Good, good.’

  I was about to breathe a sigh of relief that the phone call was nearly over when she said, ‘I do hope you won't uncover anything … nasty. If you know what I mean.’

  ‘Murder is a very nasty business, Mrs Marburg. The killer may well strike again. I'm sure you wouldn't want that.’

  ‘No, no, of course not. You have to carry on, of course.’

  Nina didn't sound really convinced but morally she probably felt she had no option. Perhaps deep down she had always suspected that Jacky had given someone a reason to kill her and that her niece wasn't quite the poor innocent her lifestyle suggested. Although I didn't yet know the killer, I promised myself I wouldn't give up until I did, even if Nina Marburg withdrew her financial interest. And I couldn't help suspecting that was why she had called me yesterday.

  It was Sunday, grey and bleak outside, and by the time I'd skimmed the papers I felt restless and lonely. The day stretched ahead as bleakly as the weather. I checked in my freezer; I had two pork chops, a frozen chicken and an apple pie. On the vegetable front I had three carrots, four potatoes and ten Brussels sprouts. I also had a bottle of plonk. A feast enough to invite someone to lunch. But who? Names did not spring easily to mind. In the end I invited Hubert.

  Hubert seemed surprised but keen. ‘I don't get many Sunday dinners,’ he said.

  ‘Don't expect the works,’ I said. ‘It's only chops.’

  I was dishing up as he arrived. ‘Smells smashing,’ he said, handing me a bottle of champagne. He wore an ensemble in beige, complete with beige cardy and matching tie. Somehow casual clothes made him seem more normal, and we talked for a while about the upturn in the death rate and how he wanted to improve his business. Somehow that seemed normal too. We were both in the death business.

  We drank the champagne first, and after that we didn't care how cheap and nasty my wine tasted. But I did notice that I'd begun to get despondent halfway through the bottle.

  ‘I'm not making much progress, you know,’ I said. ‘I've got suspects by the dozen, but a tenuous motive and no real clues.’

  ‘There probably are clues,’ said Hubert, wise with wine and food. ‘You just haven't recognised them yet.’

  ‘I'm beginning to think I wouldn't recognise a clue if it stood up and barked at me.’

  Hubert laughed. ‘Let's put down the sequence of events and a few prime suspects and see if we come up with a name.’

  I agreed; it was one way to spend a Sunday afternoon.

  I cleared the kitchen table and with pens and paper we poised ourselves to brainstorm. I drew a diagram with Jacky in the centre and the people she knew radiating from her.

  ‘You haven't told me yet about Kennie Litchborough,’ said Hubert as I sat staring at my diagram.

  ‘He's simple-minded; he saw Jacky that night but I don't think he murdered her, although I think he may have seen who did. But being so simple it was hard to get much real information. I only managed to give him an asthma attack after finding out that one of the nurses met Mick O'Dowd, the security man, in the porter's lodge that night.’

  ‘Have you spoken to him yet?’ asked Hubert.

  ‘Not really. The police seem very interested in him, but I suppose they would as he was on duty that night.’

  ‘Who found the body?’

  ‘That's a very good question. Kennie said he saw the body, but I don't know if he told the police that. Two nurses – Linda and Claudette – admitted to finding the body but Mick O'Dowd also told me he found the body. But he hasn't admitted that to the police. Quite honestly, I think they're all lying. All covering up for each other. And then of course there's the doctor – Robert Duston. They knew each other and it seems the night she was murdered she went to the main building to see him.’

  ‘What does he say?’

  ‘I haven't met him yet.’

  ‘But have you met all the staff who were on duty that night?’ ‘Not all. Some were agency and I'm sure only the two wards were involved. I've still got one nurse to see who was on duty that night but it's difficult to pretend to be just another agency nurse.’

  Hubert frowned. ‘Do you think she was blackmailing one of the staff and they are banding together to protect each other?’

  ‘Could be, but that's going to be very difficult to prove.’

  ‘Yes,’ Hubert agreed. ‘But there's always a weak link in a chain and in my experience men are weaker than women, emotionally anyway. I think you should concentrate your efforts on the men. Eliminate the male suspects one by one and you'll find the answer.’

  Hubert was cheering me. I smiled and offered him the last of the wine.

  ‘I've eliminated the two Ks already.’

  Hubert looked puzzled.

  ‘Kevin Stirling, the ex-boyfriend, who admitted to me yesterday that he made the anonymous phone calls. And Kennie Litchborough. That just leaves the doctor, Mick O'Dowd and at a pinch Jacky's mother's boyfriend, Alan Westone.’

  ‘Only three male suspects,’ Hubert commented, writing down the names. ‘You could be on to your next case in no time.’

  ‘I hope you're right, Mr Humberstone. Could we have a rest from this now and you can tell me all about reflexology?’

  Hubert beamed delightedly. ‘This is one of the best Sundays I've ever had,’ he said and launched into a less than brief history and description of the wonders of foot massage. I declined a demonstration. And while he chatted I remembered Ada Hellidon's slippers and her being dressed in black ready for the funeral. Hubert had got to the area of the foot corresponding to the bowel and was telling me how massage there could cure constipation and haemorrhoids when a thought struck me. Of course Ada was ready for a funeral – but it wasn't Jacky's.

  Before Hubert went home I asked him how I could find out whose funeral Ada had been planning to attend.

  ‘Just leave it with me. I'll find out through the grapevine.’

  ‘Should be the coffin line,’ I said. But I could see by his expression my facetiousness hadn't amused him.

  Shortly afterwards Hubert left and I decided to attend the evening service at the Church of the Second Coming. I didn't know who I wanted to see, or quite why I was going, but it would while away a Sunday evening and I might find out something useful.

  Unlike the funeral, the congregation was large and fairly youthfu
l. Although, saying that, I supposed the average age to be about forty. Sunday night was ‘How I came to Jesus' night. Three saved souls were to tell us in some detail how they became bornagain Christians. The first was a middle-aged man, unremarkable save for a twitching eye. I tried not to focus on the eye but his twitch was more interesting than his life story.

  I did manage to look for Kevin but there was no sign. The old lady in the wheelchair was again parked in the corner – still alone. And apart from her and the pastor there was no one else I recognised.

  The testimonies were interspersed with serious praying, which the pastor started dramatically, ‘O Lord Jesus. Listen to the poor sinners. Hear them. Grant them not only peace and love but the gift. The gift of tongues. Your sign to us, the chosen ones, that our Lord and Master Jesus Christ lives within us and manifests Himself in many languages. I will walk among you now and place my hands on my flock. Let us beg Jesus for his rare and beautiful gift.’

  From the faithful came passionate pleas: ‘Oh, yes Lord.’ ‘Praise the Lord.’ ‘Me, Lord, me.’ ‘Hosanna.’

  I tried to be as unobtrusive as possible. Hysteria rose in the air as palpable as smoke. Edward Cable moved between the rows of chairs and laid his hands on the heads of those who were kneeling. I only counted three not kneeling and I was one of them. The other two were elderly.

  Then suddenly from the front came an orgasmic groan and a woman stood up and began talking in esoteric gibberish. The man beside her clutched the chair in front and began to cry out loudly, ‘Jesus … J … Jesus … Jesus … J … J … Jesus' – over and over again. I felt definitely uneasy. The end of the service couldn't come quick enough, I just wanted to go home.

  The service lasted three hours. Thankfully I joined the queue to be met outside by Edward Cable.

  ‘I'm so pleased you have come to our service. I believe you attended the funeral of our dear sister Jacky. A true child of Jesus.’

  I nodded and smiled.

  He held me firmly by the hand. ‘We all miss her, you know. She was so much loved by the elderly ladies. Her weekly visits will be sorely missed.’