Not My Blood djs-10

by Barbara Cleverly

  “I’d noticed. What I didn’t observe is any sign of … mental disturbance. I was wondering why he was here with you.”

  The doctor smiled. “He’s been here for nearly twenty years and will die here, Miss Joliffe. As you observe, he’s as sane as I am. The other patients know that. Though the judge in his case begged to differ. Francis Crabbe was a young beater on a grouse shoot in Norfolk just as the war was looming. Of the anti-war faction, his hot young blood urged him to make a protest. Many pacifists were marching with banners or chaining themselves to railings in Parliament Square in outcry against the unnecessary slaughter the high and mighty were about to thrust us into. Our Francis decided on a more flamboyant gesture. He grabbed a shotgun and drew a bead on one of the shooting party guests. His target was his Majesty, King George. Missed, as you will have noted. Nevertheless, His Honour Justice Bentwood’s judgement on the would-be regicide was milder than most had expected and many had hoped for. ‘Man’s mad!’ he declared. ‘Can’t hang a maniac.’ So they sent him to us.”

  He opened the door. “Ah, Francis! Our guests are in your hands.”

  The doctor came loping down the corridor after them, catching them as they reached the front door. “Sandilands, you ought to have this. May be all nonsense but, well, child at risk, as you say. One would like to help.” His words came fast, his tone was dismissive. “I mentioned an establishment I have close dealings with, a hospital at-I would say ‘the cutting edge,’ but you would despise me for a punster-of modern treatment in the realms of paediatrics. From surgery to psychiatry. It occurs to me that, in your confessedly garbled account of the morning’s events, the child you seek may have fetched up-entirely innocently and in his best interests-at this place. It’s further off your route, but its reputation is wide. The director is … not a friend, but a colleague. Very highly regarded in the profession. If you want to pursue the matter with him-and I would recommend it as a course of action-I would ask you, out of professional sensibilities, not to mention my name.”

  He handed Joe a card. “I’ve scribbled his personal telephone number on the back.”

  “I shall take your advice, doctor. Thank you very much.” Joe slipped the card away in his pocket. “And allow me to hand you something in return. The answer to six across? ‘Ancient killer at home at last to a pair of idiots.’ Eight letters. Try ‘assassin.’ ”

  The doctor shook with laughter. “Idiots in plain view but where, Sandilands, is the home in question? Let me know if you find it!”

  CHAPTER 19

  The waiter at The Bells handed around menus and Joe and Dorcas looked at them, unseeing, preoccupied.

  “All the same, Joe, finishing off a man’s crossword like that-it’s just not done!”

  “Oh? I rather think he invited us to help.”

  “He was just making polite noises. Burbling a bit.”

  “Dorcas, I don’t think Dr. Chadwick ever burbled anything inconsequential in his life. Every word was weighed. Intriguing man. I do wonder why he spends his afternoons dressed like a rat-catcher, though. Quite put me off my stride.”

  “Perhaps he’d been catching rats,” Dorcas said huffily. “Something you don’t seem too keen on yourself. Why didn’t you go on, Joe, to the next hospital? Goodness knows where that child may be by now.”

  “State of the road, darkness, late hour-”

  “Oh, you can stop. You won’t say it, so I’ll do it for you-the child’s dead already and was before we started out on our wild goose chase.”

  “Either that or he’s recovered and back with his family. We’ll know in the morning, but there’s nothing else we can do tonight. Except try to enjoy our supper. Now can we concentrate on the menu?”

  “What are you going to have? Not a wide choice at The Bells, I see, in spite of its efforts to turn itself into some sort of a fashionable roadhouse to attract the fast motoring set.”

  “Yes, it’s not exactly the cobwebbed old barn I’d expected-full of yokels in smocks lifting tankards of foaming ale. Much more entertaining! Glad you packed your blue silk.”

  She looked about her with curiosity and Joe smiled to see the old Dorcas appear briefly. “I’ve never stayed in a roadhouse before,” she confided.

  “Glad to hear it! Dens of iniquity. I should be shot for bringing you here.”

  He noted with approval the dinner dress she’d changed into. It was well cut and discreet. Not one of those backless creations all the women seemed to wear these days. A chap never quite knew where to put his hands anymore when he encountered nothing but flesh down to a partner’s waist, and he said as much to his companion.

  Dorcas looked around the gathering of dinner dancers. “The lady crossing the floor,” she murmured. “Do look, Joe! She’s found an entirely new part of her anatomy to put on show.”

  “Good Lord! It’s to be hoped her partner’s wearing gloves. Otherwise I may have to step in and arrest them for public indecency.”

  He looked quickly back at Dorcas and found himself admiring the single strand of pearls, the mascaraed lashes that didn’t need the attention, the mouth rouged in red lipstick. Freshly bathed, she smelled of a blend of Pears soap and perfume. He felt suddenly unworthy of the effort the girl had made.

  “How’s your room?” he enquired politely.

  “It’ll do.” Dorcas leaned to him and confided, “It’s got a name on the door. Do they all have one? Mine’s the ‘Diane de Poitiers.’ Mistress to Henry the Second of France. And right next door there’s ‘Nell Gwyn.’ Mistress to Charles the Second of England.”

  “Heavens! I wonder if they exchange notes over the garden fence.” Joe looked anxiously around at the other diners. “Be sure to keep your door locked.”

  “I will, Grandma.”

  “Some pretty raffish types in tonight, I’d say. Someone might choose to interpret that nonsense as an invitation to come aboard. And I think I can see what’s attracting them to this watering hole. Did you see they’re having a dance tomorrow night in the new wing-dance floor sprung, polished, and ready for takeoff to the strains of Santini and his Syncopating Swingers?”

  “I’d noticed. How’s your dancing, Joe?”

  “Energetic. I especially enjoy the South American style. Mothers warn their daughters as they screw in the second earring: ‘… and remember, dear, never tango with Sandilands! You’ll stagger off the dance floor with something broken.’ ”

  Dorcas almost raised a smile. “Oh, Lord! Big toe? Bra strap? Back?”

  “Not the toes. Never the toes. But there’s a judge’s daughter in Devon who remains as bent as a hairpin to this day.”

  The Dorcas of old would have picked this up and run with it, but the mature young woman was, he sensed, too deeply troubled to leap into frivolity with him.

  “Well it’s either a tango with me tomorrow night with all its terrors or a quiet evening in with Langhorne. He runs the school’s Saturday night entertainment for the lads. They have a film show in the school hall. They’ve got a Laurel and Hardy feature on.” Still no smile. He decided to change tack. She’d always enjoyed her food. “You’ll have the soup to start, I’d guess.”

  Dorcas nodded.

  “And-don’t tell me-the Dover sole to follow?”

  She nodded again and made an effort to respond to his warmth. “It’s quite like old times staying in an inn together, Joe, working on a case. But people aren’t giving us funny looks any more.”

  Joe stopped a waiter in his tracks and gave their order. He glanced around the dining room. “This lot is too busy staring at each other. Quite a crowd in tonight. Friday? The start of a long weekend. Had you noticed? They’re all couples on pleasure bent. And not many are married to each other.”

  “You’d expect it. Fast train down from London … or fast roadster. It’s cheaper and more discreet than a hotel in Brighton and in reach of anyone with a Morris. Including us, come to think of it. Do you see the ill-matched pair at the next table?”

  “The dry sherry and th
e gin and tonic?”

  “Yes. He’s fat and fifty. She’s slim and twenty. They’ve never met before. And they’ve got their own private detective and photographer in tow. These two professional gentlemen have been parked at the next table where they’re moodily comparing the performances of their Wolseley saloon cars over their double whiskies.”

  This was better! Dorcas had always taken an interest verging on the fantastical in the strangers she came across on her travels.

  “Oh lord! How unpleasant! I see what they’re at! We’re in for a burst of illegal activity after lights out. Let’s hope they’re discreet.”

  “Cries of ‘Gotcha!’ and clicking of shutters! I expect they’ll wait until breakfast to stage their little pantomime. That’s the tradition with divorce-seekers, you know. The witness and camera man-that’s the double Wolseleys-enter along with the scrambled eggs and toast to surprise the guilty party who is discovered, sheets to the chin, in bed with his accommodating lady.”

  “The chin in question being freshly shaved, anointed with a touch of Penhaligan’s best, and the lady fully clothed,” Joe commented.

  “Ah, you’ve done this before.”

  “No. Never tied the knot. But I read the scandal sheets.”

  “What do you bet, Joe, that our rascally landlord keeps a special suite always at the ready? Top rate, of course. And heavy tips for the staff.”

  “All varieties of human life are here at the roadhouse, I’m afraid, as well as motoring enthusiasts. Sorry about this, Dorcas. I was looking forwards to a quiet talk in congenial surrounding. Getting acquainted again. Finding my young friend.”

  “Don’t apologise. My fault. It’s the best we could do if I chose to tag along. Not the first time I’ve fouled up your social and professional life. If I weren’t here at all, needing your chaperonage, you could be at this moment a guest of the school, in the spare room at the lodge with the masters. Looking forwards to a ham sandwich and cup of cocoa. And fending off the advances of Mr. Langhorne.”

  Joe hurriedly turned his gaze from the shining eyes to focus on the rows of bottles at the bar behind her head. Where did she pick up these things? The wretched girl was still not ready to be let out into polite society. He wasn’t going to let her get away with an ill-considered comment like that. He cleared his throat. “Langhorne? The chap who was dancing attendance on you at lunch time? Flirting with you over the table? The ally who helped you demolish the headmaster with a few well-chosen quotations?”

  “Yes. Good-looking chap.”

  “That all?”

  “Probably. I’m not sure I can admire or trust a man who fights his battles by firing off other men’s lines. I’d rather hear his own thoughts.”

  “Ooh! Hoity toity! It’s only a game, Dorcas-played by men, I have to admit, to entertain and confound each other.”

  “No. I think with Mr. Langhorne it’s more than a pretence. It’s a glittering outer cover-a defence mechanism.”

  “Eh?”

  “The man’s a chocolate box. One of those expensive ones with a pretty picture on the cover, all tied up with silk ribbons, and when you take the lid off you discover it’s been empty since last Christmas and there’s just one unwanted butterscotch oozing away in a corner.”

  “Ah! Now I’ve got it! You describe me exactly.” Joe rolled his eyes and clutched his heart.

  “Don’t take it personally. I’m describing most men.”

  “All the same, Langhorne was paying you flattering attention. Takes some courage to make up to a woman with his colleagues looking on, ready to scoff, you know. I was impressed.”

  And, pityingly: “It’s exactly the reaction he was after, Joe. Consciously or unconsciously. ‘There goes Langhorne, chasing the skirts again. Not to be trusted within a mile of a silk stocking.’ Don’t you see it? He’s covering up the fact that he isn’t the least bit interested in women. He deceives his fellows; he deceives you. He deceives himself perhaps.”

  “But he doesn’t fool you? A girl with three years of psychology under her belt.”

  “I think I know real interest when I meet it.” This was accompanied by a smile full of regret and mystery.

  Joe sighed and decided to ignore this baited hook. “Oh, look behind you! They’ve got a cocktail bar with leatherette-covered high stools. Care to perch on one and sip a ‘Manhattan’ while we’re waiting for the first course? No? Well, I notice our landlord stocks a wide range of champagnes,” he pressed on with a brittle cheeriness. “Fancy a glass of Bollinger, Dorcas?”

  “No thanks. Not in the mood.”

  “Shame! I was hoping to raise a few eyebrows. ‘That handsome devil at the corner table,’ they’d murmur, ‘the one with the tiger-clawed forehead and the wolfish grin … plying that poor girl with bubbly … it’s Rudolph Roller, and he’s something big in the City. They say he drives a red Royce.’ Pause while the table shudders with distaste and then: ‘D’you see the unfortunate creature with him? It’s Rita Renault, just fished out of the typing pool!’ ”

  “It’s no good, Joe; I can’t feel celebratory. I can only think there’s a small boy out there who may have come to harm. I can’t understand why you left quietly like that. Not like you. I’d have expected you to arrest Chadwick, twist his arm, turn the place upside down … question the staff … at least annoy him by demanding to examine the daybook. Instead of which you complete his crossword with a flourish and stalk off.”

  “That annoyed him more than anything, if I read him right! But all those options you mention are impossible, or they’re dead ends, Dorcas. You heard the man: If he wanted to hide someone in a place like that, you wouldn’t find him if you had a battalion and a pack of trained hounds at your back. I believed him. I’ve learned when to retreat. I’m not Don Quixote to go dashing in like a fool. There are other ways.”

  “Like handing the investigation to Gosling? You don’t like him. You don’t trust him.”

  “I’ve charged him with parking my car at the school and then doing a bit of telephoning. He’s to contact the Spielmans for an update on the situation regarding young Harald, then work his way through Rapson’s gallery, checking present whereabouts and, if necessary, availability of death certificates. Routine stuff but, lacking my own men about me, Gosling will have to do. I say this fully realising that he may well be duplicitous. He’s also, before he turns in for the night, to set up an interview with the hospital the doctor mentioned.”

  Joe paused for a moment in thought. “You know what the medical profession is like when it comes to solidarity, Dorcas?”

  “They don’t shop each other when something’s gone wrong.”

  “I need to check on this pediatrics place. Chadwick had only good things to say about it, but there was just something about his delivery, an oddness. It was presented as an afterthought. But I thought it was rather too casually handed to me.”

  “I could comment more intelligently if you told me where this hospital is. I probably know of it. The department has contacts with many hospitals. My friends were scattered all around the Home Counties. We compared notes. Let me help you.”

  Joe handed the card Chadwick had given him to Dorcas and watched her brows lift in surprise.

  “You do know it?”

  “Yes, I do. But it’s miles from here. Not on the Seaford-London road at all. To get there, you’d have to travel a further twenty miles north and then branch off to the east and pick up the Tunbridge Wells road. It’s a couple of miles south of Edenhurst village.”

  Joe looked at her steadily. “How do you know this? Have you visited?”

  “Yes. Joe, this is the hospital where I did my research last term.”

  “Ah. The post Truelove wangled for you?”

  “I was glad and lucky to have it. It was the plum posting. You must have heard of it? It’s always in the papers.”

  Joe nodded. “The sort of showcase establishment eminent foreign visitors are shown around, I understand. Starry German clinicians especially wel
come. Pathé News on hand to record the admiration. Dorcas, how long has it been open, this place?”

  “Oh, it’s shining new. White brick, plate glass, chrome fittings, the occasional restrained decorative touch. Ah, of course. I see where you’re going with this. Five years? At the most. So, of little interest to your enquiry.”

  Joe smiled with relief. “Nevertheless, I don’t neglect a pointer when it’s pushed at me by a bloke as clever as I judge Chadwick to be. Just give me an outline if you can, without being too starry eyed.”

  “It’s a research hospital, both surgical and psychiatric. They employ the very best medical staff, and their patients are well-heeled and well-connected. If members of the royal family need a little discreet medical attention, it’s where they come. It’s out of the public eye, and they receive the most modern treatment. James Truelove is a friend of the director. No, it’s a closer relationship than that. Brother-in-law, would he be? I believe he married James’s sister. Byam Alexander Bentink. Professor Bentink. He’s a consultant, a world authority on epilepsy and other brain malfunctions. A brilliant man.”

  “So, it’s possible that a chauffeur in distress with a suffering child on his hands might have rung his boss from a telephone box or a post office or a road-house with a request for instructions. Perhaps he’d got further on his journey than we had calculated. A knowledgeable parent would have looked at a map and noted that the best option was to drive him to this centre of clinical excellence. Perhaps the boy was already on their books?”

  “Entirely possible.” Dorcas turned a beaming smile at last on Joe. “We’ll find out in the morning. If that’s where Harald Spielman’s been taken he couldn’t be in more professional hands, I know that. Ouf!” She gave an exaggerated gesture of relief. “That’s the first gleam of sunshine we’ve had in this murky case. Do you think I might change my mind and have a glass of champagne now?”

  “Of course. But there’ll be a price to pay. I mean over and above the five quid the landlord’s charging.” He summoned a waiter and placed his order. “I want some information. Everywhere I turn I bump into Sir James. He’s here there and everywhere. I’ve only met the bloke once, and he’s taken to haunting me. I’m not happy about it. I’ve made the usual background checks, of course, and I know what he is but I don’t know who he is. I need to understand him. I want to know as much as you can tell me about him.”