Death Comes to Durham

by Jeanne M. Dams

  Tim nodded in agreement.

  ‘Hmm. Well, then we’re left with his friends, if any. Did he have a family? Wife, children?’

  Both of them shook their head. ‘I don’t think so,’ said Tim. ‘I know he lived alone. He must have had a housekeeper or something.’

  ‘Ah,’ said Alan, getting interested in spite of himself. ‘Where did he live? Neighbours can be chatty.’

  ‘I don’t know,’ said Tim, ‘but my solicitor would have his address.’

  ‘And his name?’

  Alan nodded at me, and I obediently got out the little notebook I always carry and wrote down the name and phone number Tim read from his phone. ‘And while we’re at it, Tim, what’s the address of his office? Armstrong’s, I mean. Or his surgery, or whatever you call it here. The place where he had his practice.’

  ‘I don’t know the address, but I can show it to you. Or again, my solicitor will know. Why?’

  ‘Because if the office hasn’t been closed, and the receptionist is still there, she might be a very useful source of information. She might be useful wherever she is, but without a name, she’d be very hard to find. I’ll take you up on that offer to show me where the practice was. Tomorrow.’ I glanced out the window at the darkening sky. ‘It’s going to rain again, and anyway it’s too late now. No one would be there.’

  ‘Mrs Martin,’ Eileen began.

  ‘Dorothy.’

  ‘Dorothy – why are you going to all this trouble? It’s the business of the police, and if they’ve decided to do nothing about it, that’s no responsibility of yours.’

  Alan tilted his head to one side, awaiting my response.

  ‘I hadn’t thought about it,’ I said honestly. ‘Partly, I guess, it’s that something in me can’t abide an unsolved puzzle. I’m a bit like a rat terrier in that respect; I have to find out where that elusive little devil of a fact is hiding. But it’s also that I have grown to like both of you, and I hate to see you suffering under this cloud of suspicion. Oh, you both know it’s there. So far Tim is the only person at all connected with this business who is known to have a serious grudge against Armstrong, and in a case like this where almost anyone could have done the murder, the police must take a very close look at someone who hated the victim.’

  ‘I did. I confess that I did. I’m meant to love my enemies. I’m under commandment to love my enemies. I couldn’t love Armstrong, to my everlasting shame. But I didn’t kill him.’

  ‘Of course you didn’t. But as long as we don’t know who did, you’ll be under some suspicion. That must be cleared. Not just for your sake, but for the sake of justice itself.’

  My voice had risen a bit, and the waiter, coming to present the bill, applauded softly. I choked on my wine and was glad my red face could be attributed to that. I don’t often climb on a soap box, praise be!

  TEN

  Immediately after breakfast the next day, Alan called David to see what plans he had for the day. ‘Nothing much,’ he reported to me after he ended the call. ‘He’s going to see his aunt this afternoon, just for a visit. He hasn’t talked to her for a day or two, and he wants to make sure she’s okay after the trauma. I told him we were going to try to track down Dr Armstrong’s acquaintances.’

  ‘And what did he say to that?’

  Alan grinned. ‘Enthusiasm great enough to be obviously insincere. Courteous in the extreme.’

  ‘He’ll see, when we get something useful. Meanwhile it keeps us busy and out of his hair. Now, do we need raincoats or not?’

  Alan studied the sky and shrugged. ‘At home I might be able to hazard a guess. I don’t know weather patterns here. I’d say, take them and brollies, just in case.’

  We got mildly lost a time or two trying to find the office Eileen and Tim had pointed out to us the night before, but got there in the end.

  A sign on the door read ‘Closed’, and the door was locked. A blind was pulled down in front of the glass portion of the door.

  I made a disgusted noise. ‘Okay, what now?’

  Alan moved to the side of the door to squint into the narrow gap between shade and glass. ‘I think the lights are on. Presumably the sign simply means the practice is closed. Try knocking.’

  I hammered on the door, first on the wood and then on the glass, which made a louder din. When there was no response, I persisted.

  Eventually a very angry woman opened the door a crack. ‘I assume you can read. The office is closed. Permanently.’

  ‘Yes, we do know that,’ said Alan, neatly inserting his umbrella into the small opening. ‘We came to talk to you, actually, if you can spare us a few minutes of your valuable time.’

  I have sometimes said that Alan is a genuine person, not ‘charming’ in the oily sense. But he can employ considerable charm when necessary. The woman opened the door a little wider and her tone moderated. A bit.

  ‘I’m sure I don’t mean to be rude, but I really am very busy. Have we ever met?’

  She knew they hadn’t, but at least it was better than ‘I don’t know you. Go away.’

  ‘No. I’m certain I’d have remembered.’ The warmth he gave that remark almost destroyed my composure. He was in splendid form. ‘You are the assistant to the late Dr Armstrong, are you not?’

  ‘Yes. Mildred Frome.’

  ‘Then let me introduce myself. My name is Alan Nesbitt. I live in Sherebury, and my wife Dorothy and I are visiting an old friend, David Tregarth. We were colleagues for a time, years ago in Cornwall. Now we’re both retired, he has moved to Durham, and he invited us to come for a visit. He and I both served in the police force at one time, and David asked us to help him look into the matter of Dr Armstrong’s death. We hope you might be of some help.’

  A few drops of rain fell, and a freshening wind promised more.

  ‘Oh, well, come in, then. I don’t know how I can help. I’ve told everything I know to the police, and it wasn’t much. But that’s no reason for the two of you to get wet, and it’s going to pour in a minute.’

  She was right about that. We had barely got inside before the rain came down like Niagara. The wind carried a lot of it into the foyer before Alan could get the door shut.

  ‘Goodness,’ I said, ‘what a mess we’ve made. If there’s a mop somewhere, I’ll clean it up for you.’

  If Alan’s deliberate charm had appealed to the woman’s ego, my housewifely offer did away with the rest of her resistance. ‘Oh, don’t bother,’ she said. ‘The cleaners still come round twice a week, and tonight’s one of their nights.’

  ‘The practice isn’t still open, is it?’ Alan asked as if he really wanted to know.

  ‘Oh, no. Nobody could fill Dr Armstrong’s shoes. Such a tragedy, his death. No, but his patients come round, poor things. It’s only been a few days, and they can’t quite believe it. I think they want me to tell them it isn’t true.’

  ‘Or maybe they find some comfort just in being here,’ I said with hypocritical sympathy.

  ‘You know, I think they do. We can sit and cry together. That doesn’t get my work done, but I feel I’m helping in my small way.’ She sniffled and reached for a tissue. ‘But you didn’t come here to listen to my troubles. Ask anything you want, though I don’t know that I have any answers.’

  I thought I’d let Alan handle this one.

  ‘Actually, we were hoping you might be able to tell us about Dr Armstrong’s friends. His colleagues, perhaps?’

  She sniffed. ‘Not them. Jealous of him, the lot of them. He was the best geriatrician in town, and they all knew it.’

  I ventured a comment. ‘I imagine there are a good many elderly people in Durham. I don’t know why, but somehow English cathedral cities seem to have a large ageing population.’

  She looked at me more closely than she had bothered to do earlier. ‘You’re not English, are you? Something about your accent …’

  ‘Not English by birth, no. I’ve lived in Sherebury for many years now, but I lived most of my life in America. Th
e state of Indiana, if you know where that is.’

  She shook her head. ‘A cousin of mine knows someone who lives there. I’d never heard of it before she talked about him. In any case, you’re quite right about cathedral cities, at least this one. It may be something about the influence of the church, but people here do tend to live a long time. And that’s not always a blessing, believe me. I’ve seen some sad cases: minds gone, bodies good for another ten years.’

  I shuddered. ‘I’ve always prayed that my mind would be the last to go, but of course there’s little we can do to assure that.’

  Alan took control of the conversation again. ‘Right. But if his friends were not found among other doctors, who was he close to?’

  Mildred hesitated. ‘He kept himself very much to himself. He was extremely busy, of course; his patient load was enormous. And then – I don’t think he found people here very congenial. He came from London, you know, and he was used to a much more cosmopolitan, intellectual atmosphere.’

  Translation: he was a snob with virtually no friends. I could almost feel sorry for the woman: trying to defend her boss, whom she had obviously worshipped, now that he could no longer defend himself.

  ‘A pity,’ said Alan. ‘We had hoped to talk with someone in whom he might have confided. We know very little about his life immediately before he went into the home, and often a man’s background provides some hints about his death. Why did he go to the home, by the way?’

  ‘He was … was tired. He had some worries about his heart, and he thought it was time for a complete rest.’

  ‘I see. His cardiologist recommended the home?’

  ‘No.’ She paused. ‘He had no need for a referral. He was familiar with the home, as he had referred many of his patients there when they were no longer able to live alone. And he had no personal doctor here in Durham. He was perfectly capable of assessing his own health and treating any problems.’

  A man who acts as his own lawyer has a fool for a client, says the old adage. I thought the same might be true for a doctor.

  Alan sighed and shook his head. ‘Ah, well, it was worth a try. We know that he saw a young man drown in the river not long before he went to the home—’

  ‘How did you know that?’ asked Mildred sharply. ‘He didn’t tell anyone about—’ And then she shut her mouth firmly.

  ‘I hardly know.’ Alan sounded genuinely uncertain. ‘A cathedral city is a great place for the grapevine, as we know from our own experience at home. But you’re saying he told you about it?’

  ‘He … I … he mentioned it. He was of course very upset.’ She took a deep breath. ‘He did his best to help the boy, but there was nothing he could do.’

  ‘What a pity,’ said Alan again. ‘This happened when, do you remember?’

  ‘Of course I remember! I’d hardly forget something that distressing! It was the day before he went to the home. In fact, I believe it was what led to his break – that is, to his collapse. It was just too much, on top of his exhausting schedule. And now, if there’s nothing else …’ She gestured to her desk, which was indeed full of ledgers and other papers demanding her attention.

  We accepted our dismissal, apologized once more for taking up her time, offered condolences on her loss, and went back out into the teeming rain.

  ‘Not one of the world’s talented liars,’ I remarked as we sat over plates of pasta in a little Italian restaurant. We were the only customers in the place; it was very early for lunch, but we had no wish to splash back to our room and then go out again.

  Alan looked meaningfully around the empty room. Our waiter had delivered our meal and disappeared, but could no doubt hear our every word from the kitchen. ‘Not everyone is as gifted as you, my love.’

  ‘You say such sweet things.’ I nodded to show I had taken his point about discretion, and would watch my words. ‘So what do you think?’

  ‘The same as you. A certain amount of gold amidst the dross. A great deal of tarradiddle.’

  ‘At the end, don’t you think? Before that it was probably truth.’

  ‘Considerably sugar-coated. Speaking of which, I’m minded to throw caution to the winds and have something sweet. What about you?’

  The speed with which our waiter appeared verified our suspicions about his excellent hearing. I hoped we had been obscure enough to leave his curiosity unsatisfied.

  We dawdled over our tiramisu, hoping to wait out the rain, and had some espresso (thereby putting paid to our afternoon nap), but at last there was no help for it. The restaurant was filling up and they wanted our table, so we struggled into our still-wet rain gear and waded home.

  We stripped to the skin. I longed to wallow in a hot tub, but student housing didn’t run to such luxuries; a shower had to do. When we were warm and dressed again, I made us a pot of tea, and we sat drinking it and debriefing.

  ‘All right, he wasn’t a popular man,’ I began. ‘Mildred was telling the truth about that. She interpreted it as jealousy. I’m more inclined to think it was reaction to an unpleasant personality. He was a predatory egotist.’

  ‘A greedy predatory egotist. All his patients had a certain amount of money, since he was in private practice. I wonder if one reason he consulted no other doctor, even about his own health, was that he didn’t want anyone looking into his methods.’

  ‘Alan, I was thinking exactly the same thing! I also wonder how many of those little old ladies who died and left him all their worldly goods might have lived if someone else had been treating them.’

  ‘No way to know, at this point. There are dozens of ways a doctor can speed a sufferer on her way and leave no traces. The wrong medicine, the wrong dosage, an incorrect diagnosis – anything. And if you treat only geriatric patients, no one is very surprised when many of them die.’

  ‘Their families—’

  ‘Ah, but you remember that Tim’s solicitor said his victims had no families. Presumably the ones with families either survived or did not make a will in Armstrong’s favour. Apparently there was no talk of his killing his patients, only rumours that he was profiting a bit too regularly from their deaths.’

  ‘Hmm.’ I picked up my cup, took a sip, and put it down again. Cold. ‘I’m inclined to think that means he was honest in his medicine. If there had been the slightest hint of the irregular, someone would have jumped on it.’

  ‘Almost certainly. You know, I think his unpopularity must have been almost universal, except amongst his patients. Mildred would never have admitted it if she’d had a hope we wouldn’t find out anyway.’

  ‘Yes, she worshipped at his shrine. Like virtually every other woman close to him. Not at the home, though. The staff saw through him. That’s interesting, actually. I wonder why he didn’t mesmerize them as well.’

  ‘You’re not thinking, Dorothy. He made no effort to be charming with them because he had nothing to gain. They weren’t his adoring patients, ready to turn over all their worldly goods. They were just servants, there to see to his comfort and fulfil his every wish. Of course he reverted to type with them.’

  I made a face. ‘Remind me why we want to find out who removed this viper from the face of the earth.’

  Alan shook his head. ‘It’s a good thing tomorrow’s Sunday. Your values need a wash and a brush-up. But the point is not just “Thou shalt do no murder”. Don’t forget that every single person who was in that nursing home that day is under suspicion until the killer can be found.’

  ‘Okay, okay. Am I allowed to be happy he’s gone?’

  ‘Good can come of evil. That’s part of our belief system too. And I don’t know if you’ve noticed, heart of my heart, but the rain has stopped and the sun’s out and I think it’s time for a walk.’

  ELEVEN

  The cobblestones were slippery, but my sneakers got a good grip, and Alan’s arm was steady. Without thinking about it much, we headed for the river walk.

  When we reached the bottom of the first stairs, the beginning of the upper-leve
l walk, I stopped and looked out toward the river. The drop down from our level was steep, so even though the trees and bushes were in full leaf, they didn’t obstruct the view.

  ‘Look, Alan. There’s a clear view, all the way down to the bridge. And you can hear the river rushing along. Armstrong could certainly have heard the splash of someone falling in.’

  ‘Or being pushed. Of course, the river is high just now with all the rain, and noisy. If there was background noise then, a jet overhead, or a siren—’

  ‘But we know he heard and/or saw the boy fall in. Eileen saw him react, and anyway he told Mildred. He lied about going down to help, though. Alan, you can move faster than I can. How long do you think it would take you to get down to the river from here, going as fast as possible?’

  He looked at the path and distant steps. ‘Longer today, with all the wet footing, than on a dry day. Shall I give it a try?’

  ‘Carefully! And wait till I find the stopwatch on this stupid thing.’

  I remember when a phone made and received phone calls. Period. Now I think they could send a rocket to the moon – if you could find the right buttons. I finally located the stopwatch, poised a finger over it, and said ‘Go!’

  My husband is a big man, built along the lines of the late beloved Alistair Cooke, whom Alan resembles to a marked degree. When he was serving in the police, even though his last years were purely administrative, he was as fit as a man half his age, and even in his retirement he has stayed in good shape. As I kept my eye on the stopwatch, he moved away from me at a pace I couldn’t even hope to achieve, catching hold of bushes here and there to avoid a slip. He disappeared from me as he headed down the steps to the lower level of the path, and I heard a crash of shrubbery that brought my heart to my mouth, but he reappeared at the edge of the river and called up to me. ‘How did I do?’

  I stopped the counter. ‘Roughly four-and-a-half minutes. Was that a fall I heard?’ From this distance it looked like he had collected quite a lot of leaves and mud.

  ‘Slid into a bush. No harm done. Can you make it down, or shall I come up for you?’