Money in the Morgue

by Ngaio Marsh

  ‘Hi there!’ shouted Alleyn, and with the sudden acuity of a hound on the scent of a trail the two men scrambled their way across the rocks and shallow pools, doing remarkably well to avoid turning an ankle on the wet, uneven ground and found themselves beneath the section of the ledge where they had seen someone. It was of no surprise to either man that the apparition was gone and Alleyn nodded grimly when he shone the light on the empty rock ledge. Whoever it was must have inched forward from a crevice at the back of the ledge, hoping to get away before Alleyn turned on the torch. When they heard a shower of scree from the far left, Alleyn cursed in English and Brayling in Māori, and both men stumbled forward, stones and small rocks shifting underfoot, knocking them off balance and into each other. At the smack of Brayling’s head against Alleyn’s shoulder, the detective groaned and managed to hold onto the torch by sheer good luck, while Brayling and his own torch went down with a splash and an oath. Seconds later whoever they had seen was gone, deep into the earth.

  ‘Hellfire, what is it with this country of yours?’ Alleyn demanded as he clambered over the rocks to the now-empty spot in the centre of the ledge, ‘It’s as if the land itself is a trickster, determined to best us.’

  Brayling followed, apologizing for stumbling and for letting his torch fall in the water, rendering it useless.

  ‘No need for apologies, neither of us have covered ourselves in glory. Someone was here and we let them go.’

  ‘It was someone real, wasn’t it, Sir? A person?’ Brayling asked anxiously, ‘I mean, that wasn’t a ghost, was it?’

  ‘It most certainly was not,’ Alleyn answered, shining the torch along the lower end of the ledge, looking in vain for footprints in the rock which had so recently been washed clean of dust by the deluge. ‘Whoever stood here was not only alive, they were caught out and horrified to be so.’

  ‘But not caught by us.’

  ‘Unfortunately not,’ Alleyn groaned bitterly, hoisting himself up on the ledge and turning to offer a hand to Brayling, ‘Come along, Corporal, we’ll take turns to check inside these crevices, no point blindly racing after someone in the dark when they know where they’re going and we are as likely to trip and knock ourselves out as we are to find them. Let’s take this with care and see what else there is to find. It’s a rare individual who does not leave something of themselves behind in a hasty escape.’

  They explored a few moments longer, Alleyn ignoring his own sense of unease to come quite close to the end of the ledge where it became a bridge of rock, the cave on one side and the apparently bottomless chasm on the other. He felt his stomach lurch as he shone the torch down into the dark space beneath and saw that the light went on, touching nothing, shining on nothing. Cautiously he made his way back to the lower end, grateful to have a good reason to come away from the edge of the earth.

  Alleyn’s tone was greatly improved when his torchlight caught on something that was neither rock nor stone just inside another gap, ‘Chin up, Brayling, we appear to have found something after all. See there? Now, if I’m not much mistaken that rather looks like a canvas body bag.’

  Alleyn picked up the bag, shook it out, and half a dozen or more pound notes fluttered to the cave floor as did a tinkling metallic object. Alleyn smiled to himself as he bent down and picked up a small key and placed it in his pocket, ‘There you are.’ He took a few steps forward into the dark and shone the torch ahead along the uneven path that presumably led to the tunnel. ‘Brayling,’ he called back, ‘tell me about this end of the cave, will you?’

  ‘To tell the truth, I don’t know much, Sir, I know there was a rock fall ages back, people said it shut off this end. That’s not right, you can get past, but it’s tricky. Besides, we were always scared the tomo had other openings as well, not just the one off the end of the ledge.’

  ‘And that kept you out, even as youngsters? If that’s the case then you’re better behaved than our youths back home.’

  ‘Aw, it’s not just that, Sir, the old people reckon it’s tapu in the back of here. Sacred.’

  Alleyn edged forward, the torchlight guiding his path, and spoke over his shoulder, ‘Sacred because?’

  ‘Our people, way back, they used caves as burial grounds sometimes, Sir. I’ve never seen any bodies in here, but, well—’

  There was a pause as the soldier faltered and then Brayling heard Alleyn’s voice, from a still further distance, ‘I fully understand, Private. In which case I shan’t ask you to accompany me any further. Do me a favour, will you? Head back to the Transport Office and tell Bix to make for the morgue right away. Will you be able to find your way without a light?’

  ‘I’m fine, Sir.’

  ‘Good man. Off you go.’

  Alleyn waited a moment or two to be sure that Brayling was indeed hurrying away, then he knelt down and shone his torch full into the grey and very dead face of an old man.

  ‘Mr Brown Senior, I presume.’

  With an apology and a shake of his head at the indelicacy of his business, Alleyn stepped over the carefully laid-out body and proceeded as quickly as he could along the path ahead. He didn’t want to keep Bix waiting in the morgue.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

  When Alleyn finished explaining his proposal to Sergeant Bix there was a worrying silence in the cold morgue and the detective wondered if he had been quite clear enough. Bix peered up at him, his forehead wrinkled into a forceful frown, as if trying to decipher a particularly obtuse crossword puzzle clue. Alleyn was about to elucidate further when it finally dawned on Bix that the policeman was deadly serious. The sergeant burst out laughing, his head shaking, his chest heaving with the effort.

  ‘Are you quite well, Bix?’ Alleyn asked.

  ‘Sorry, Sir, really I am,’ Bix replied, wiping his eyes with the back of his strong hand, ‘I reckon I’m too flaming tired to take it in properly, only what you’ve just told me doesn’t sound very—’ he shook his head, searching for the right phrase, ‘well, it just doesn’t sound very Scotland Yard, if you ask me.’

  ‘I don’t think it is “very Scotland Yard” as you say, Bix,’ Alleyn agreed. ‘However, time is of the essence and I can think of no other way of flushing out our culprit. It may be desperation on my part and I admit we’re all close to exhausted, but I simply cannot think of anything else that might, just might, do the trick.’

  ‘Fair enough, Sir.’

  ‘So are you with me, Sergeant?’

  ‘Too right I am, I wouldn’t miss this for the world.’

  ‘Given I am incapable of carrying out my plans without you, I’m delighted to hear you say so.’

  In the Transport Office it appeared, at first, as if little had changed in the past half hour. Sydney Brown still stared out of the window and now Sister Comfort stood alongside, her gaze turned determinedly inward. Sarah Warne was in place at her desk, a pile of completed rosters neatly in front of her. Rosamund was curled up but not sleeping on the divan, a watchful cat. Mr Glossop and Father O’Sullivan appeared to be vying for the best impression of patience on a monument on their hard wooden chairs, and Brayling, Sanders and Pawcett scrabbled to attention from their places on the floor when the detective opened the door.

  Alleyn looked around the room, quickly noting the small changes that told their own story. Sarah Warne had clearly run out of paperwork, indeed of any work that might distract her from the close presence of Dr Hughes and Alleyn saw that her small frame was angled ever so slightly towards him and he to her. The thaw has begun, he thought to himself. Both Mr Glossop and Father O’Sullivan, still though they were, looked even more agitated than before, if such a thing were possible. Glossop was red-faced and sweating, while in contrast the vicar beside him appeared an alarming shade of grey, his round face drawn, his hands tight on his thighs. Sydney Brown’s shoulders were stubborn as he looked briefly to Alleyn and then immediately back to the window, seemingly searching for something in his own reflection. The three soldiers stood to attention, their faces to Alleyn,
but their eyes to Bix behind him.

  ‘At ease, Cerberus,’ Alleyn said.

  The men stood at ease, although Alleyn saw that no one but Rosamund picked up on his joke. He and the young woman exchanged a brief nod and then, with a few interjections from Bix, some helpful and others less so, Alleyn explained the plan.

  The faces that looked to the detective and the sergeant were no less aghast than Bix’s had been a few minutes earlier.

  ‘You can’t seriously expect us to go along with this Inspector, it’s outrageous. Unheard of, after the distressing events of the evening. I refuse to be party to such an absurd undertaking.’

  Father O’Sullivan’s expostulation was backed up by an even angrier Mr Glossop, ‘Flippin’ lunatic carry on, we all know there’s a murderer and a thief on the loose and now you want us to play at dressing up!’

  Mr Glossop’s reaction may have been predictable, but he wasn’t alone. Dr Hughes was equally perturbed, ‘I must say, Inspector, it does sound a bit grisly. Are you sure there’s no other way to get your evidence?’

  ‘Get his evidence?’ Glossop asked. ‘He’s been interrogating us all night, he’s kept us locked up in here against our will—and against my better judgement I might add—and now it turns out that the great white hope of Scotland Yard appears to have no more idea of what’s what than he did when this whole damn fuss started.’

  ‘We know what you think, Mr Glossop,’ Sister Comfort interrupted, ‘you have made your views quite clear at every possible opportunity. But given none of us has any proof, nor any better suggestions, I say we go along with the Inspector in the hope that we might finally bring this ghastly night to a satisfactory conclusion, to any conclusion.’

  Sarah and Luke nodded in agreement and the three soldiers shrugged a rather less certain acquiescence.

  Rosamund Farquharson sat up on the divan, her feet firmly on the ground and her voice softer than Alleyn had heard until now, ‘I agree with the Sister,’ she smiled at Sister Comfort who looked most put out that her bête noir was taking her part. ‘Even if this game of the Inspector’s doesn’t turn up my winnings, and I very much hope it will, I’d be hugely grateful for the chance to get out of this office. I’m sure it’s doing us no good at all being squeezed in together, not to mention the air has become increasingly stuffy in the past hour or so.’

  She finished speaking with a glare to Glossop, almost daring the fat man to contradict her. Despite the sharpness of her look, Alleyn couldn’t help noticing that she seemed quite drawn. It was as if the effort of maintaining her devil-may-care façade throughout the night had drained her and now the real Rosamund was showing through, a much less self-assured girl and, he thought, far more attractive for it.

  ‘What do you think, Sydney?’ Alleyn asked the young man who still faced the window.

  Sydney Brown turned slowly and the look he shared around the room was startlingly scornful, ‘Yeah, now you’re asking me. No one flippin’ cares what I think. As far as you lot are concerned I’m just the kid to be told what to do, where to go, when to sit, stand, leave. No one gives a damn what I reckon.’

  ‘I do,’ Alleyn spoke calmly, ‘and I’m asking you now, what do you think of my plan?’

  Sydney Brown shrugged, his mouth a harsh sneer, ‘Why not? I’ll join in your game of cops and robbers. I guess everyone here thinks it matters more to find the blasted money than it does to find the old man’s body.’ Looking around the office he included the rest of them in his ire, ‘I bet every damn one of you know-it-all jokers thinks you’re so smart that you probably know exactly where the money is and where the old bugger’s body is and where your stupid flamin’ Matron is too. I reckon you think you know how to stop the damn war too, given half a chance, I reckon—’

  Alleyn stepped forward and laid a calming hand on the young man’s shoulder, ‘We take your point, Sydney, and I sincerely apologize for any inconsideration on my part. I appreciate that this has been an especially long night for you personally, but if any memories are to be jogged by re-enacting the moments leading up to Mr Glossop’s discovery of the theft, then we must all play our part.’

  Sydney shrugged away the detective’s hand and was about to respond when Alleyn pointed to the clock above Sarah’s desk, ‘Perhaps it feels as if dawn is still some time away. Given what has taken place since the sun set last night, I can imagine you feel that the night might go on forever, but I assure you, Sydney, the harsh light of morning is coming. I would very much like us to act while we have the last of the night on our side.’

  The young man and the detective both looked to the old ward clock. It was a quarter to four and Alleyn noticed that Sydney took in the time with what looked like alarm.

  ‘Yeah, all right,’ Sydney Brown conceded, throwing his much-held pillow into the corner of the room, his face still dark, his eyes lowered, ‘but I’m still browned off with the whole flamin’ thing and I’m only in because I want to get it over with sooner rather than later.’

  ‘I’m sure we all would, lad,’ Mr Glossop said, heaving himself to his feet, ‘I’m sure we all would.’

  CHAPTER THIRTY

  ‘Now this is more like it,’ Rosamund said, a broad smile illuminating her tired face.

  Sarah shook her head, ‘I honestly don’t understand you, Rosie. Any number of awful things have happened tonight, you’ve been curled up on that divan for the past hour, scowling at anyone who even dared offer you a biscuit or a cup of tea, and now you’re all smiles once more, as if none of it had happened. What’s got into you?’

  They were waiting just outside the Transport Office, ready to take up their places when Sergeant Bix gave the signal.

  ‘Maybe I just got sick of feeling sorry for myself.’

  ‘Oh, I think it’s a bit more than that, I’m pretty sure you have a plan, don’t you?’

  Rosamund grinned and acceded with a nod of her head, ‘You know me too well. Truth is, I’ve had a bit of time to think while we’ve all been cooped up inside, that’s why I wasn’t interested in tea and biscuits—well, that and my figure—and I’ve come up with a little plan of my own. Problem was, I’d no idea how I was going to have a chat with Maurice in private until the charming Inspector said we had to take up our positions exactly the same as when Mr Glossop first started yelling his head off about the theft.’

  ‘Why do you need a word with Sanders?’

  ‘I’m going to tell him he can go off with Sukie Johnson or anyone else he likes for that matter, the whole flaming Marching Team if he wants, with my blessing,’ Rosamund replied with a beneficent wave of her hand.

  ‘Does he need your blessing?’ Sarah asked, dubiously.

  ‘No, but I need to give it. If Maurice feels like I’m letting him go, then I won’t feel quite as much like the poor sap who’s been thrown over.’

  ‘So it’s just about saving face?’

  ‘Just? People put an awful lot of store on their pride, Sarah, you should know that,’ Rosamund said, her tone suddenly serious.

  Sarah felt herself blushing and hoped her friend couldn’t see her flaming cheeks in the yard lit only by the dimmed lights from the wards across the way.

  Luckily Rosamund had already gone on to the next thought that was cheering her up, ‘On top of that, I’ve great faith in our Chief Detective Inspector Alleyn, even if he is a bit stand-offish. I’m pretty sure my winnings are going to turn up before we go much further.’ Rosamund nudged Sarah in the ribs, ‘Besides, I’ve an idea that young Sydney Brown might be a bit of fun for a while, if I could get him a decent haircut and teach him to stand up straight and stop glowering. I reckon he could do with someone to take his mind off the dreadful burden of inheriting his grandfather’s farm.’

  Sarah was shocked, ‘Rosamund, you’re incorrigible, his grandfather’s only just died!’

  ‘Yes,’ Rosamund answered quietly, ‘and I’ve heard a few home truths tonight. Life’s terribly short, isn’t it? I’m determined to make the most of my lot, whether that
’s taking my chances with a young man or blowing my winnings on a night on the town, I reckon now’s the time to do it. We’re not going to be young and lovely for long, Sarah.’ Bix was indicating for them to get into place and as they parted Rosamund held Sarah’s hand, whispering fiercely to her, ‘And now you’ve got a few minutes on your own with Luke, for goodness’ sake, girl, use it.’

  While Rosamund was outlining her plans to Sarah, Mr Glossop, with much sighing, sweating and complaint stationed himself just inside the door of Matron’s office.

  He said to Bix who walked him to his position, ‘I’ll go along with this farce, if only to have the opportunity to point out, yet again, that your Pommie Inspector has no idea what he’s playing at, none whatsoever.’

  ‘Fair enough, Mr Glossop, if that’s how you feel,’ Bix answered, ‘but he’s probably your only hope of getting to the truth of what’s gone on tonight, uncovering a murderer, finding two missing bodies and digging up your stolen payroll. So if I was you, I’d be hoping the Pommie Inspector is all he’s made out to be and more. I don’t fancy the conversation you’ll be having with your bosses otherwise.’

  ‘My bosses? My bosses!’ Glossop expostulated. ‘Stone the crows, Sergeant, they’re the reason it all started going wrong. I’ve been telling them for weeks about the tyres and Gawd knows how many times I’ve warned them about the bridge. You want to look at the forms I’ve filled out.’

  ‘You’re right, Mr Glossop, I’ve enough paperwork of my own to be getting on with, thanks,’ Sergeant Bix said cheerily as he went to sort out the soldiers, leaving Glossop to grumble to himself.

  ‘Righto, let’s get this straight so we can work out who was on the porch first, who second and which of you brought up the rear. Now then, Sanders, you reckon that you and Miss Farquharson were having a bit of a convo, were you?’