by Anne Crosse
Did the smart-arse detective not realize that this town is like an echo? You say something to someone and it reverberates. “We have a coroner performing autopsies like he was painting by numbers,” that’s what the cheeky sod was saying to whoever would even bother listening to him.
It was good of the desk sergeant to relate the irritant’s mouthing-offs. Just so you know, he’d winked as he made the revelation. But now that he thought about it, the sergeant did have a wry smile on his face when he said it, like he was enjoying landing Carroll in the shit.
Carroll was landing his own self in the shit. By the looks of him, he was on a downward spiral. It was common knowledge he was hitting the bottle, and it was affecting him, even though he didn’t know it. Forgetting things, for a start. It had been noticed, and noted.
“Why did you have to do this to yourself?” Doctor Morris asked the corpse on the slab.
Wouldn’t I get a right shock if she answered me? He laughed as the thought stuck him. Sometimes you needed a distraction to do a job like this. You couldn’t afford to be soft in this game, but when you know the people you are cutting open, it becomes a bit too personal.
The tap on the door brought him back to the land of the living.
“Come in,” he called.
“Good morning, Doctor Morris,” James Sayder greeted him.
Doctor Morris looked past James.
“I’m on my own,” James said.
James noticed the look of relief on the doctor’s face and smiled. Doctor Morris clearly had a problem with Robert, and he was entitled to feel that way.
“OK, here’s the deal,” Doctor Morris said. “She, as in Ursula Kneeshaw, to give the lady her full title, killed herself. I have it on authority that the gun is the same one that was used to dispose of Dick and Pat Dillon, as well as John Hanton.”
“Yes, I know. I got my uncle to check it out,” James said.
“According to your uncle’s checkie-out man, there were two sets of fingerprints on the gun,” Doctor Morris said.
“Checkie-out man, I love that,” James said, and laughed.
Doctor Morris jerked his finger in the direction of the recently deceased. “One set is Ursula’s.”
“And the second set?”
“We don’t know yet, but we will have to find out who they belong to, won’t we? Although that would entail checking the whole town’s fingerprints.”
“How can we be so sure she killed herself?” James asked.
“Never question forensics,” Doctor Morris said.
“They know their stuff?”
“She bled to death, did our Ursula. Apparently, the carpet was stained with blood, as you would expect, of course.”
“I have a theory,” James said.
Doctor Morris covered Miss Kneeshaw’s body with a paper disposable sheet.
“Well, what is it?”
“I think it wasn’t the first time the carpet in Miss Kneeshaw’s parlour ended up being stained with blood,” James said.
“This I like, a bit of mystery. Go on.”
“Well, to be correct about it, what I really mean is, I think the carpet underneath was stained with blood and she had a new carpet fitted on top of it.”
“Let me work this out in my head,” Doctor Morris said.
“Be my guest,” James said, nodding.
“The Dillon boys were killed in Miss Kneeshaw’s parlour. Shot, they bled to death on the carpet which is underneath the new carpet.”
“Exactly what I was thinking,” James said.
“Then, she removed them to the well and dumped them in. Ding dong bell, two pussies in the well,” Doctor Morris said, and laughed.
“Except, she could hardly perform that task all on her own because, firstly, she hasn’t a car,” James said.
“Is there a secondly?”
“Yes, there is, and a thirdly and a fourth…”
“I got rid of my carpet,” Doctor Morris said, butting in.
“Not because of bloodstains, I hope,” James said, jokingly.
“I used to have a bit of rising damp in my living room. It was right under the window at the back wall. So I replaced it with a wooden floor. The guy who did the floor for me put down thick plastic sheeting before laying the wooden floor on top. He said it would be the only solution to keep the damp from coming up.”
“As a matter of interest, was it the local carpet people that you got to do the job?” James asked.
“Do you know something, I was trying to figure out where I’d seen the plastic that Counsellor Hanton’s body was wrapped up in, and now I know.”
Robert Carroll burst in the door.
Robert shot James a look. “Why didn’t you call me?” he asked.
James wondered if he should say that he had tried to call him. Should he say that he had knocked on Robert’s door on and off for half an hour and got no response? That he had surmised that Robert was gone to God because he had had one of his famous binges, and a bomb wouldn’t wake him? No, James concluded, he would be doing no such thing. It was far easier to take the blame for not performing a wake-up call.
“Well, if it’s not too much trouble, and I do hate to be such a nuisance, but would you two mind filling me in?” Robert said with a snarl.
Doctor Morris winked at James. “I have to be somewhere else, remember I told you that, James? Oh, and by the way, in answer to your question about my new wooden floor, it was the local crowd who did it.”
James had to admire the doctor for coming up with an excuse to make his great escape. He hoped that Robert would not ask where the doctor had to go, because he had no idea.
Well, the truth was, Doctor Morris had somewhere to go, and that was as far away from Robert as he could get.
Doctor Morris waved at Robert as he dashed to the door. “I’m sure your able-bodied assistant will fill you in on the present situation,” was his parting shot.
Robert stared at James. “What’s the story?” he asked.
“Miss Kneeshaw committed suicide,” James answered.
“Suicide,” Robert echoed.
“The gun she used is the one that killed the Dillon brothers, and the one and only Counsellor John Hanton.”
“That is totally preposterous,” Robert said.
“They say the camera never lies, except in this case, it’s forensics, sir. There’s no doubt about it. The interesting thing is, there is a second set of fingerprints on the gun besides Miss Kneeshaw’s.”
“There you go then,” Robert said.
“Forensics are certain Miss Kneeshaw fired the bullet from the gun. She definitely...”
“I suppose we will have to go with that,” Robert conceded.
“The second set of fingerprints were only on the barrel of the gun itself. It was like someone handled it. Maybe when Mrs Dillon found her, she…”
“You and your theories, James.”
“Sorry, sir.”
“Did she leave a suicide note?” Robert asked.
“No note was found, but that’s not to say…”
“Yes, yes, we know all that,” Robert retorted.
“It’s mostly young people who commit suicide, but older people, it’s not hugely common, is it, sir?” James said.
“Statistics are not infallible,” Robert said.
“You would wonder what to believe, wouldn’t you, sir?”
“The first thing I struggled to believe in was Santa Clause. Childhood innocence, don’t remind me. I had this theory about gullibility and stupidity,” Robert said.
“I know exactly where you are coming from, sir,” James said.
“Wait a minute, why am I bothering with this dribble?” Robert snapped. “Come on, time for sustenance.”
CHAPTER 32
Nellie Dillon awoke with a start. Her first thought was to get her head together and figure out what had happened. Her eyes watered when she thought of the reason she was lying in a hospital bed, and not a very comfortable one either, she realiz
ed as her bones creaked.
She always thought this place was nothing but a workhouse masquerading as a hospital. There were talks of it closing down one time, but the fact that they had an intensive care ward for heart attack patients, saved it. The journey to the city hospital would be too far for anyone needing immediate treatment, so that’s why it got a reprieve.
Intensive care ward, that was a laugh. There was only one bed in there, and one set of equipment. Supposing two people got a heart attack at the same time, would they have to roll a dice to see who would be hooked up?
Nellie felt annoyance welling up inside her when she thought about Doctor McMorrow and Nurse Breen landing on their feet with their plummy jobs. The two of them were getting more than they were worth and carrying on regardless.
* * *
“So, how are we this morning?” Nurse Breen tapped Nellie on the shoulder.
“I suppose you could say I am as well as can be expected under the circumstances,” Nellie replied.
“You must have got an awful shock,” Nurse Breen said.
Nellie looked up at the miserable, thin, pale-faced individual looking down at her.
“You found the misfortunate Miss Kneeshaw. Must have been an awful sight.”
This one was on a funnelling for information exercise, Nellie knew. So, who did she want to share the gory details with? Doctor McMorrow more than likely.
“Your two boys being found dead out in the well, and then Miss Kneeshaw. Such an awful lot to take in, Mrs Dillon. I really feel for you,” Nurse Breen said.
Nellie squared up to Nurse Breen. “Who is this girl my son got into trouble?” she asked straight out.
Nellie knew she had the woman’s attention and waited for the information to come flowing out of her beak-like mouth.
“Alright, keep your hair on. I will tell you everything, but first I have to tell you, Mrs Dillon, there was a letter found in your pocket which was addressed to you. Well, that’s stupid, really, it had to be addressed to you, otherwise it wouldn’t be in your pocket, would it?”
“And no doubt you had a good look at it.”
“We had to open it in case it was a suicide note that Miss Kneeshaw had written. It would have to be handed over to the investigating officers, as evidence, you see?”
“Come on, spit it out,” Nellie said, feeling confident now. “Where is it now, this letter addressed to me?”
“It’s in the safe in my office. I had intended giving it to you as soon as you were well enough,” Nurse Breen said.
“Just tell me what was in it,” Nellie demanded.
“It was a kind of will, you might say. Miss Kneeshaw made a list of instructions. Firstly, the peep-toe shoes in the box on her bed are a present for you.”
“Those shoes, I love those shoes,” Nellie said, and cried.
“That wasn’t all. Arrangements have been made with her solicitor for you to get a very large sum of money by way of support, for the rest of your life.”
Nellie was stunned. “She said all that, did she, in that little note?”
“You have to call to her solicitor as soon as you can for all the details. You are going to be a very rich woman, Mrs Dillon.”
“And the girl my son got into trouble, who is she?” Nellie asked.
“Brigit Barry. If you call on her uncle Billy, I am sure he will tell you where she is, maybe not immediately, but I am sure you will prise it out of him.”
“Are they the Barrys who live in Rosanna Road?” Nellie asked.
“The very ones,” Nurse Breen replied.
“I don’t know if I could approach him,” Nellie said.
“Why not?”
“He would probably give me a right rollicking for what my son did to his niece,” Nellie said, cringing.
“Look, I’m sure he would be glad of a visit. You could tell him the truth. You knew nothing about it and now you want to make amends. Surely he will be glad to hear that,” Nurse Breen suggested.
“Yes, you are right. I can make amends, especially now that I am going to be rich,” Nellie said, and smiled.
Nellie made a mental picture of how she would prepare for her visit to Mr Barry. She would wear the peep-toe shoes, and that beautiful wool coat she had seen in the window of O’Dea’s Arcade. It was two hundred euros, but she could afford it now, couldn’t she? She would look like a lady, act like a lady, and arrive in a taxi to the Barrys’ house. And surely he would be so impressed, he would co-operate immediately, she thought.
CHAPTER 33
Lilly was about to lock up for the night when a customer came running in.
She listened to the woman’s long-winded story about stale bread and sour milk and wasn’t it the luck of God that her son, who was destined to be a scientist when he grew up, had spotted it on time.
Lilly was tired and all she wanted to do was just drag herself home and have a nice mug of hot comforting chocolate before falling into bed.
She served the customer and saw her to the door. She turned the sign from open to closed and switched the light off, just in case some other customer with a destined-to-be-a-scientist son tried to get in.
Gerry had gone off to a warehouse in the city to order some new stock, and he was staying overnight in a Bed and Breakfast, so it would be only herself and Grandad at home tonight.
Grandad wouldn’t mind her having an early night because he would have his nose stuck in one of his vintage car magazines, and be glad to be left in peace.
James had sent her a text earlier, asking her to meet up, and she’d texted him back saying she just wasn’t up to it. He understood, he had replied to her text.
Marco the Italian man would be doing the pub tonight, so at least she didn’t have to slot in there.
She ran all the way home like she was competing in the Olympics. Usain Bolt would be so proud of her, she smiled wryly.
“I’m home, Grandad,” she called out.
She made straight for the kitchen and took a carton of milk from the fridge.
Getting no reply, she concluded he was out. Probably down at the showroom, fussing over everything. He didn’t entirely trust Gerry.
She’d leave a note on the table telling him she was so zonked out she had to hit the sack. She could expound by saying that, if she collapsed on the floor, he would have to scrape her off with a Stanley knife, but no need for overkill.
It’s the little pleasures in life that mean the most. She smiled as she cradled the mug in her hands. She sipped the magic potion slowly, savouring it until the very last drop was gone.
She rinsed the mug under the tap and placed it in the dishwasher. She didn’t have to go to that extreme, she knew, but old habits die hard. It was Gerry who had fought for the dishwasher, and Grandad had eventually given in.
That’s the thing she liked about her brother, he was far more modern than her. Was he happy with his lot, though? Did he have different ambitions? She never really asked him, now that she thought about it. They were like two ships passing in the night.
Lilly made her way to the stairway to heaven. Bed. Sheer heaven awaited her, but she was so wrong.
He was lying at the bottom of the stairs, and it took her a minute to get her head into gear.
She knelt down beside him. He was still breathing, she discovered. She hurried back to the kitchen and dialled for an ambulance on the main phone.
“It’s my grandfather, please come as quickly as you can,” she screamed.
* * *
“Is there anything I can do?” James asked when he joined Lilly in the little room off the intensive care ward.
Lilly burst into tears.
James put his arm around her.
“Shall I ring your brother and tell him what’s happened? He will probably want to come back immediately.”
Lilly struggled to compose herself. “No point, what can he do? Let’s wait and see how things pan out first,” she said, sobbing.
“Your grandad will be alright,” James sai
d.
Nurse Breen appeared at the door.
Lilly took a deep breath. “Is he…”
“He is asking to see you.”
“Do you want me to wait?” James asked.
“You go back to the hotel. I’ll text you if I need you,” Lilly replied.
Lilly was shocked to see all the colour had drained from her grandad’s face, and he looked so small lying there hooked up to a machine that was bigger than himself.
“Lilly, Lilly, I have to tell you something.”
* * *
The long night had turned into morning by the time Lilly emerged from the hospital. She had been ordered to go home and get some rest with the promise that she would be rung at once if things changed for the worst.
But things had changed. Why did he have to tell her all that stuff about Miss Kneeshaw and himself?
Why did he have to tell her that he loved Miss Kneeshaw, and he had been fooled into marrying her grandmother, who, according to him, was a scheming conniving so-and-so who had done him out of marrying the one he really loved.
The one he really loved. She was a murderer, for God’s sake! How could you love a woman who was capable of killing two boys? How could you help her dispose of the bodies?
If that wasn’t enough, Miss Kneeshaw then went on to kill Counsellor Hanton. This time she’d enlisted his help before the operation. Maybe she could forgive him for helping the woman to dispose of the bodies after the act, but to be present when Hanton was killed was unforgivable.
He admitted he had provided the plastic sheet and placed it on the floor, because there was no point in ruining a brand-new carpet. How callous can you get? He was there when she did it, her grandad, watching the whole thing unfold, and not doing one thing to stop it. He made it clear he agreed with the killing of Hanton. The man was a parasite, he said, a parasite who had hounded people out of their homes for his own gains. He wanted the whole street shut down for his own greedy reasons.
Miss Kneeshaw had good grounds to kill all of them, so that made it alright, did it? Lilly had fumed inwardly rather than voice her opinion to the sick man who had just confessed all.