'Did you check with Charge Nurse Allward about the possibility of the rest of the patients being able to get out?'
Llewellyn nodded. 'Nothing there. He told me that either himself or the little Filipino girl, Staff Nurse Estoce sat at the end of the bedroom block, right by the locked door all night. No matter how devious they might be, none of the patients could get out without being seen. The windows can't be opened by the patients. I haven't yet spoken to the Staff Nurse, but I imagine she'll confirm what Allward said.'
Disappointed, Rafferty nodded and bent back to his lists. There was no way they were going to avoid checking out everyone's movements. 'Right,' he said. 'Let's get on. We'll have Friday night's duty doctor in, Llewellyn. Dr. Simon Smythe. Round him up, there's a good man.'
Left alone, Rafferty leaned back in his chair and gazed at the small square of blue sky visible through the window. Someone had opened the side gate and let the girl in, presumably, someone who was expecting her and, in spite of Llewellyn putting the dampers on his theory, he still thought it most likely to have been a man that the girl had come to see.
All right, he admitted, Sam had said that a woman could have killed the girl, but it didn't seem a woman's crime somehow. It would, he was now convinced, turn out to be a relatively simple case. Some on-duty member of staff had organised Linda's visit as a bit of light relief that had gone badly wrong and, frightened by what he'd done, he'd panicked and smashed her face, perhaps hoping to divert suspicion to one of the more violent patients. Though, he mused, if so, surely he'd have had the wit to arrange an escape?
Just then Llewellyn opened the door and ushered Simon Smythe into the room. A long and bony man, Dr. Smythe looked to be in his late twenties. His old-fashioned horn-rimmed glasses seemed too heavy and rather overwhelmed his face. Already, he'd lost most of his blond hair; what remained was stretched lankly across as much of his scalp as it could cover.
Rafferty summoned a smile. 'Thank you for coming so promptly, Doctor. Won't you sit down?' Smythe did so, and Rafferty sat companionably beside him on the desk, while Llewellyn and his notebook took the other chair. 'Now, then, Doctor, as you probably know, we're interviewing all the staff and patients about the murder.' Smythe nodded. 'I understand you were duty doctor on Friday night?'
'Yes, yes, that's right.' Smythe's watery eyes looked quickly at Rafferty and away again. 'I—I generally am at holiday times like this.' A tinge of resentment crept into his voice. 'Dr. Melville-Briggs likes to get away, but even when he's in the flat here, he becomes very annoyed if I disturb him.'
Understandably, if he was "entertaining", thought Rafferty. 'I see. So, you were the only doctor on the premises?'
Smythe nodded quickly, as though he would prefer to deny it. His hands began to tremble slightly; he tucked them in the pockets of his white coat out of sight and cleared his throat. It sounded very loud in the small and otherwise silent room. Its echo seemed to agitate him.
'It must be a great responsibility.' It was clear he’d touched a raw nerve, as Smythe immediately launched into a string of complaints.
'It is. A great responsibility, Inspector.'
Rafferty nodded sympathetically as Smythe began to pour out his grievances
'Of course, in an emergency I can always contact Dr. Melville-Briggs, but,' his mouth turned down like a sulky child's, 'he doesn't always agree what constitutes an emergency. He can become quite abusive if one disturbs him unnecessarily.'
'Bosses aren't always very understanding, Sir,' he commiserated. A picture of Superintendent Bradley in full hectoring mode came into his mind and he added quietly, 'It's much the same everywhere—the way of the world.'
Smythe gave a slow nod, as if Rafferty had revealed a great truth and for a few moments they both pondered the extent of his profundity.
Judging the moment propitious to press on, Rafferty asked quietly, 'Can you remember anything unusual about that night, Sir? Anything at all?'
Smythe hesitated and then shook his head. 'No. It was a quiet night. That's why—' He broke off and looked guiltily at Rafferty.
'You were saying, Sir?'
'Nothing. Really.' Smythe clamped his lips tightly together as though scared he might say more than he intended. 'It, it's just that I still can't quite believe it. That poor girl must have been murdered while I was watching the late film.'
Strange, thought Rafferty, as far as he knew, the approximate time of death hadn't been revealed. However, for the moment he didn't pursue the point. He gazed thoughtfully at Smythe, and replied, 'She died quickly. It's not as though you could have done anything to help her.'
Smythe brightened at this. 'You're right, of course. I couldn't have helped her, even if...' His voice fumbled into silence once more.
'Just a few more questions. When you're on call, I imagine you're expected to stay on the premises?'
Smythe gave another slow nod. His gaze slid away again.
Curious that he should behave as guiltily as a shop-girl caught with her hand in the till, but confident that he would winkle his secret out of him sooner rather than later, Rafferty contented himself with continuing the interview rather than pursuing the point. 'And when you're on call, where would you usually be?'
'I'd be either in my office or the staff lounge. They're both in this building on the first floor,' he added helpfully, as Rafferty consulted the plan of the hospital which was open on the desk. 'I carry my bleep so I can always be contacted straight away, no matter where I am. It reaches several miles.'
'I see. And how long would you be on call?'
'From nine at night to seven in the morning. I was in my office when Gilbert found the body and came to get me.'
'So, you'd be available the entire night and either in your office or the lounge—is that correct?'
Smythe blinked owlishly, and then nodded.
Rafferty wondered if he had filled in part of the long night with bashing in Linda Wilks's head. He seemed the type who would need to turn to a prostitute for sexual gratification. Of course, he reflected, Smythe's odd behaviour mightn't have anything to do with the murder. A lot of nervy types worked themselves into a state when they were interviewed by the police.
After a few more questions, he terminated the interview. Smythe's eagerness to be gone was apparent, as was his dismay when Rafferty let him get as far as the door before he called him back, Columbo-style. 'Just as a matter of interest, Doctor. Does the name Linda Wilks mean anything to you?' If he had hoped to startle Smythe by the revelation that they knew the dead girl's name, it was a wasted effort. Perhaps Gilbert had already spread the word?
Smythe's red-rimmed eyes looked blankly back at him through the thick lenses. He shook his bony head vigorously, as though relieved he had been asked a question that held no fears for him. 'Should it?'
Rafferty smiled at him. 'Probably not.' If he had known the victim, he mightn't have known her by that name. Vice girls commonly used several aliases in an attempt to keep one step ahead of the law. This time, Smythe made it safely through the door.
Chapter Six
'HE COULD HAVE DONE it,' said Llewellyn. 'He was here alone. He said himself it was a quiet night. He could have slipped out, or even brought the victim into his office, with nobody being any the wiser. Even if he didn't do it, he might have seen who did.'
Llewellyn leaned over the plan of the hospital and pointed with a long, elegant finger. 'I've been checking the layout of the house, and from both his office and the staff lounge you can see over the side-gate. Of course, even with the outside lights, it would be pretty dark, but he could still have seen something or someone.'
'We'll have another word with him, but not just yet,' Rafferty decided. 'If he knows something, it shouldn't be too difficult to get it out of him. We'll have Staff Nurse Estoce in next, and then Charge Nurse Allward. They were both on duty on Friday night. You'll probably find them waiting in the staff lounge if you give it a ring.'
With her flawless skin and graceful movement
s, Staff Nurse Estoce was quite exquisite, thought Rafferty, but as with so many Oriental girls, she was shy and self-effacing.
Still, she managed to answer their questions clearly enough; at least, until they asked about her duty colleague on the night of the murder, then her eyes became clouded, and Rafferty had to remind himself to concentrate on her answers rather than her face. It didn’t take many more questions before she revealed something interesting.
'You say that Charge Nurse Allward was late back from his early break, Staff. Did he give a reason for that?'
She nodded. 'One of the patients had a bad dream. Charge Nurse Allward settled him and stayed with him till he slept.'
'He didn't ask for your help?' She shook her head. 'So you didn't see the patient at all during this time?'
'No. I checked on him later, of course.'
'And you say Mr Allward returned at 11.45 p.m.?'
'Yes. I noted the time particularly before I went for my own break as I do not like to be late back.'
'Didn't you hear the patient cry out yourself?' Again, she shook her head. 'Why was that?'
She gave a tiny shrug. 'I imagine it was only a little cry and Mr Allward comforted him before he became too upset. I was checking on another patient and spent a little time with him.'
'You didn't notice anything unusual that night? You didn't hear a scream for instance?'
'No. But, in a hospital such as this screams are not so unusual.'
'Have you any idea what the victim might have been doing in the grounds?'
Interestingly, a delicate rose colour tinted her olive skin and her reply was defensive. 'N—no. I couldn't say.'
Couldn't—or wouldn't? ‘You don't seem very certain, Staff,' Rafferty remarked gently. 'The victim's name was Linda Wilks. She was about your age. Perhaps you'd like to think about that and get back to me?'
She nodded once and her eyes looked anxiously at the door, before returning to his face.
Why was it everyone was so anxious to get away from him today? First Simon Smythe and now Staff Nurse Estoce. If this kept up he'd have to seriously consider changing his deodorant, which would be a pity, as he still had twenty bottles of the stuff that his Ma had got wholesale. At least, she'd said they were wholesale, he remembered uneasily. Staff Nurse Estoce was still staring at him with her great dark eyes, making him feel like a thug and he let her go. It was obvious something was worrying her. What on earth could she be hiding? Was she protecting someone?
'Find out if she's got a boyfriend amongst the staff,' he instructed Llewellyn. 'Let's have Allward in now.'
There was nothing meek or self-effacing about Charge Nurse Allward, Rafferty noted. He couldn't have presented a greater contrast to Simon Smythe or the little Staff Nurse. Allward was in his early thirties and only about five or six years older than the other man, but they might have been light years apart. He was tall and elegant from his glossy, expensively-styled, brown hair to his burnished black shoes. He seemed completely at his ease and he sat on the hard hospital chair with a faintly sardonic air, as though he found it amusing to be interviewed by the police.
'The sergeant said you wished to see me, Inspector?'
'That's right, Sir. Just a few questions.' After going through the previous spiel that he'd used with Smythe, he asked Allward for his movements on the night of the murder.
'As you probably know, I was on duty in the male bedroom block, with Staff Nurse Estoce from 8.45 p.m. till 7.00 a.m.'
Rafferty nodded. 'I understand you were late returning from your 11.15 p.m. break? Fifteen minutes late. Why was that?'
Allward's sardonic expression became more thoughtful at this. He sat up a little straighter, as though realising he should treat the interview more seriously. Perhaps he hadn't expected his loyal little Staff Nurse to mention his lateness, Rafferty mused.
'I was delayed by one of the patients,' Allward explained.
'Which one?'
'Old Mr Tompkinson. His room's at the end of the corridor, near the little cubby-hole where we make the hot drinks.'
'I see. What was the matter with him?'
'Just a bad dream.'
'You didn't need to give him any medication?' He knew that would have to be entered up on the patient's records.
'No. I just got him a drink and settled him down again.' He smiled easily. 'He's a nice old boy. Pathetically grateful for anything you do for him. He and I came here on the same day, so I've always regarded him as one of my special charges.'
'You didn't see anything unusual that night?'
'Depends what you mean by unusual. This is a psychiatric hospital, Inspector,' Allward gently teased.
'Anything out of the ordinary then?'
Allward shook his head. 'No. But then I didn't look out of the windows, if I had I might have seen something, I suppose. I'm afraid I can't help you, Inspector.'
He even managed to look and sound as though he was genuinely sorry not to be of more assistance, which made Rafferty feel an unreasonable irritation. But Allward was far too smooth for his taste, and he too human to keep his feelings completely hidden. Rafferty wondered how it was that Llewellyn's professional composure never seemed to be ruffled by personal antagonisms. The thought added to his irritation.
'The victim's name was Linda Wilks. Did you know her?'
For a moment, he thought he saw a brief flicker of – something – in Allward's eyes, but it had vanished before he could decide whether it had been recognition, fear or surprise at their speed of identification that had caused it.
'I'm afraid I can't help you, Inspector. But, of course, if she was a visitor to one of the female patients, I'd be unlikely to meet her. Perhaps one of the porters would know her?' he suggested helpfully. 'They get to see all the visitors.'
'Surely, Gilbert's told you they didn't know her? That they had no idea what she was doing here?' replied Rafferty sharply. 'Neither has anyone else—or so they say. She's a regular mystery woman. Very strange. She wasn't a member of staff or a patient. She wasn't a visitor—at least not an official visitor, which, given what we've found out about her, leaves me to conclude she had a less than above board reason for coming here. She was a prostitute, Mr Allward,' Rafferty told him bluntly. 'Who do you think might have booked her services that night?'
Allward met his eyes squarely. 'I can't imagine.'
'Try,' suggested Rafferty. 'There were six members of staff on duty that night. One of them yourself, three of the others were women, which would seem to rule them out, and the others were Dr. Smythe and Fred Brown, the night porter. A limited field for your imagination to work in, I think.'
'Are you inviting me to smear a colleague, Inspector? Hardly ethical. Besides, any of the other members of staff could have returned easily enough. The hospital would be a convenient place to take such a woman, I would have thought, away from prying families, especially as most of the patients are away at the moment and there are plenty of empty bedrooms.'
'They've already been exonerated, Sir,' Rafferty told him with satisfaction. But it was clear that Allward wasn't about to confess.
After Allward had gone, Rafferty pulled his coat off the back of the chair and shrugged into it. 'We'll do the rest of the interviews later. Guess who's got the happy task of breaking the news to the dead girl's parents?' He headed for the door but stopped when he heard the swiftly indrawn breath behind him.
'Can't the Met can do that?' Llewellyn asked sharply. 'Surely we're not expected to go all the way to London to break the news. I hate—' He broke off and closed his mouth tightly, as though aware that he'd already said too much.
Surprised at this unexpected outburst, Rafferty eyed Llewellyn with a certain degree of sympathy. Breaking news of sudden death was one of the more unpleasant aspects of police work. Nobody liked it. But he was startled to see the usually controlled Welshman show his distaste so openly.
Llewellyn's pale face flushed and he made an awkward attempt at an explanation 'It's just that, as a chil
d, I had often to accompany my father when he broke the news of sudden death. He was a minister,' he went on in a strange stiff voice. 'He told me it was part of my training for when I went into the ministry myself.' The flush had faded now, leaving his pale face starkly etched with lines of pain. His lips twitched in a ghostly semblance of a smile. 'I've hated having to break such bad news ever since.'
Embarrassed, Rafferty remarked gruffly, 'Bit of a problem that in our line. How have you managed?'
'Wasn't too bad in the little country town where I was stationed before. Most of the sudden deaths were of farmers driving home drunk at the end of market-day and the uniformed branch dealt with them.' He squared his shoulders. 'I suppose I've become a bit rusty, especially since my father died.'
'Look,' said Rafferty diffidently. 'If you'd rather, just this once, I can take a WPC along.' He shuffled his feet awkwardly and avoided Llewellyn's eye. 'Ease you into it gradually, like, especially as this job's likely to be particularly gutty.'
'Thank you for the offer, Sir, but no.' Llewellyn's stern self-control was back in place—just. 'Avoidance is no answer. I'd rather get it over with.'
Rafferty nodded, 'As you like.' He returned to Llewellyn's previous remark, glad to get away from such an uncomfortable topic. 'I didn't know you had a religious vocation, Taff.'
'I didn't.'
'Ah.' Rafferty said no more. If Llewellyn wanted to confide in him, he would do so. Relieved to have discovered a more human side to his sergeant, Rafferty felt the stirring of a little fellow-feeling, and as they went out to the car, he explained, 'The victim rented one of those anonymous and tacky bed-sits in Streatham for her trade. But her family live near here, according to the Met. Only about half a mile from the hospital.'
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