Death of a Shadow (An Inspector Littlejohn Mystery)

by George Bellairs

  ‘Have you seen her recently?’

  ‘No. I have not been allowed to do so.’

  ‘We will return to that later. Has the conduct of Nurse Durand been in any way unusual lately?’

  Nurse Hodler gave him a strange, almost feline smile, as though she knew something and was going to make Lindemann work hard to get at it.

  ‘I don’t quite understand the question, sir.’

  Lindemann sighed. He too knew that all this might be difficult.

  ‘Let us be quite candid then. For some time Nurse Durand has been friendly with a certain Alec Cling, an Englishman. Cling was killed in Geneva a few days ago. The day following his death, Nurse Durand took an overdose of sleeping tablets. It would seem that the reason for this attempted suicide was that Cling had either betrayed her in some way, or that his death had come as a bitter blow to her.’

  ‘I knew of his death, but nothing of his betraying her. May I ask what all that is about?’

  She spoke in a well-bred quiet voice. She had obviously been well educated and trained.

  ‘You can take my word for it that circumstances seem to indicate that Cling was about to leave for America without her.’

  ‘I knew nothing of it and I doubt if she did. She left for Geneva last Thursday in quite a happy frame of mind. She returned apparently early the following morning. I came on duty at nine on the same morning and heard then that she had taken an overdose of sleeping tablets. I was amazed, for she had intended leaving Les Plaisances for good …’

  ‘How did you know that?’

  Nurse Hodler looked troubled.

  ‘This is in strictest confidence. The doctor and matron knew nothing about it. She had arranged to elope with Cling. I don’t know where they were going, but she didn’t plan to return to Les Plaisances. She took a case with her immediate requirements in it and I promised to send on the things she had left behind when she was able to let me know where to address them.’

  ‘Let us return to Cling. Did Nurse Durand confide in you about him?’

  ‘Yes. They first met a little more than a year ago. Then they met again, more frequently and by arrangement, in Geneva. He seemed to have taken a fancy to her from the beginning.’

  ‘They became lovers?’

  ‘It is no use beating about the bush, sir. They did. She told me so.’

  ‘Did you ever meet Cling?’

  ‘Yes. Once when Nurse Durand and I spent a day in Geneva. He joined us in a café. She said she would like me to know him.’

  ‘What did you think of Cling?’

  ‘Not much. I didn’t trust him. He didn’t talk much and what he did say gave one no idea of what he was thinking or intending. All the same, Albertine seemed smitten on him. I think she would have done anything for him.’

  ‘What brought Cling here, in the first place? This is a remote and unusual spot in which to meet anyone and start a love affair.’

  Nurse Hodler’s eyes sparkled and she gave Lindemann another straight look.

  ‘No place is too strange for that kind of thing.’

  Lindemann flushed a little and carefully looked in Littlejohn’s direction to see how he’d taken that thrust. Littlejohn was still looking out into the night.

  ‘You haven’t answered my question.’

  ‘I cannot. I don’t know what brought him here. He arrived one day and asked for Nurse Durand. It was highly irregular. The staff are not allowed visitors here. They usually meet their friends in Rolle.’

  ‘And Nurse Durand never confided in you the reasons for Cling’s first visit?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘You have no grounds for thinking that Cling knew Nurse Durand before he first visited Les Plaisances?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Or why there should be any link between this place and Cling’s death?’

  ‘Certainly not. I have no idea whatever.’

  She wasn’t looking quite so confident or self-possessed now. As though sooner or later some question might get below her guard.

  ‘Do you think Nurse Durand killed Cling because he had betrayed her?’

  This time Nurse Hodler seemed completely taken aback.

  ‘The very suggestion is ridiculous. Of course she didn’t kill Cling. She thought the world of him.’

  ‘Thinking the world of him might not have prevented her killing him if her love suddenly turned to hate.’

  ‘She wasn’t the sort who, would kill anyone …’

  Nurse Hodler spoke every word precisely and seemed to underline it.

  ‘She is the kindest woman in the world and detests violence of any kind. Ask any of the patients. She is a dedicated nurse who deliberately chose her career.’

  Lindemann turned to Littlejohn.

  ‘Are there any questions you would like to ask, sir?’

  Littlejohn turned and sat with the other two. His casual unofficial manner seemed to relieve Nurse Hodler. She grew more relaxed and comfortable right away.

  ‘Who is the man who calls himself Richelieu, Nurse Hodler?’

  She seemed surprised, as though the question were a strange one in the circumstances.

  ‘That is M. Raimond. He is the owner of Raimond’s Soft Drinks Company. You see their posters on all the hoardings. He broke down through overwork and now seems recovered except that he can’t stop believing he’s Cardinal Richelieu.’

  ‘As we entered the clinic, he asked us to engineer his release.’

  ‘He asks everyone. Did he ask you to do your best also to obtain the release of certain of his friends?’

  ‘Yes. Among others, he mentioned a certain gracious English lady named Cobb.’

  ‘Yes. Mrs. Cobb. She is here, too. She is a permanent resident. One of Nurse Durand’s patients, by the way.’

  Lindemann opened his eyes wide. The English detective seemed suddenly to have become a catalyst, opening new avenues of enquiry. He looked ready to intervene and then changed his mind.

  ‘Tell us more about Mrs. Cobb.’

  ‘I know very little except that she is a charming old lady. She is the grandmother of a prominent doctor’s wife who lives at Ferney-Voltaire and I believe, her family is very high-ranking in England. Her son is in the government.’

  ‘What is her complaint?’

  ‘Old age, to tell the truth. This clinic specialises, among other things, in care of the senile. Mrs. Cobb suffers at times from senile dementia.’

  ‘I see. And now, about Nurse Durand. Have you seen her since she returned?’

  ‘No. It is forbidden. She is said to be unfit for visiting or conversation.’

  ‘Said to be? You seem to doubt it. You don’t believe she is unfit to be seen?’

  Nurse Hodler looked very uneasy. She eyed the two doors of the room and lowered her voice.

  ‘It is as much as my job is worth to give information of this kind, but Nurse Durand is my best friend. I believe she is conscious and lucid.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘You had better ask Dr. Fauconnet that. I think Nurse Durand is in possession of information which the doctor does not wish her to divulge. That is all.’

  ‘What kind of information?’

  ‘Either Nurse Durand has committed an indiscretion which might do Les Plaisances no good if it came out. Or, she has communicated some information to the outside which could damage the reputation of the clinic.’

  ‘Such as …?’

  ‘This is a mental clinic. Many strange things naturally go on here. I don’t suggest anything illegal, but Les Plaisances has an excellent and world-wide reputation. The medical staff, who own it, would move heaven and earth to retain it.’

  ‘What gives rise to your suspicions?’

  ‘I have said enough. More than is good for me. You must see Dr. Fauconnet. And don’t, I beg you, so much as breathe the idea that I have suggested that Nurse Durand is being held against her will or vilifying the clinic. This is a good place and is well and honestly run.’

  ‘Tell me why you think
Nurse Durand is lucid and conscious.’

  ‘She is in the private wing, where visitors are not allowed.’

  ‘Where the difficult patients are housed?’

  Nurse Hodler merely nodded.

  ‘Locked and windows barred?’

  ‘By no means like a prison. The rooms are very comfortable indeed and the occupants are very kindly and thoughtfully treated. There are no bars, of course. The windows are of plate glass, that’s all.’

  ‘Nurse Durand might, however, still be semi-conscious there.’

  ‘Semi-conscious, yet eating chicken salad and fruit? I have seen them going to her room. A colleague who, knowing my friendship with Nurse Durand, made enquiries about her, told me where she had been moved to. That was the first time I had heard of it. Yesterday, I went to the private wing to enquire myself. The food was just being served … But I have said more than enough. Have you finished with me?’

  Lindemann nodded and Littlejohn rose.

  ‘Yes, thank you, nurse. You may go now.’

  Miss Hodler left the room far less self-assured than when she entered.

  Matron returned by the same door. She must have been waiting in the corridor trying to make out what was going on. Probably Nurse Hodler would be questioned later.

  Mlle. Petitmaître was almost immediately followed by a newcomer. A round, spruce, urbane little man in a black jacket and striped trousers. He was very dark and his black bushy eyebrows met over his nose. He was bald on top and his hair was brushed over from one side to conceal it. He shook hands with Lindemann who, in turn, introduced him to Littlejohn.

  ‘Dr. Binger, the director of Les Plaisances … Superintendent Littlejohn, of Scotland Yard, London …’

  ‘I have just returned from Paris …’

  Dr. Binger mechanically placed his hand over his heart and panted a little, as though he had run all the way.

  ‘… and I find this incredible inquisition going on. What is it all about?’

  Lindemann very briefly explained the situation. It was obvious that Dr. Binger knew all about it, probably from Dr. Fauconnet.

  ‘… Inquisition is probably the right word, doctor. We are unable to obtain co-operation from your staff.’

  Dr. Binger threw up his hands. He wore round gold-framed spectacles which shone and flashed as he moved his head here and there like a startled bird.

  ‘I would have been delighted to meet you both in different circumstances, I assure you. This affair has evidently assumed international proportions and Dr. Fauconnet, who deputised for me during my absence, is most upset. Your mention of lack of co-operation is absurd. You know we are always reasonably prepared to assist the police. What is the matter?’

  ‘We wish to interview Nurse Durand as soon as possible. This is a murder case and time is important. Is she or is she not in a position to speak with us?’

  ‘She must be kept quiet and undisturbed.’

  ‘She is in her own room?’

  ‘Er … no. She is in a quiet part of the clinic to rest her nerves. She has suffered a severe shock.’

  ‘I must ask you to let us see her.’

  ‘That is not possible. To upset her now would be very dangerous.’

  ‘I am prepared to accept your medical ruling, but you must permit us, at least to see her. If, then, you say she is still unable to answer a few quiet questions, we will do as you ask and leave.’

  Dr. Binger frowned. He was thinking hard.

  ‘Very well. But I warn you, I will not have any conversation which might disturb her. Follow me …’

  On the way, they picked up a furious Dr. Fauconnet. She did not even speak to them, but trailed along behind them like a guard cutting off their line of retreat.

  They traversed a long corridor, Dr. Binger bouncing along like a large indiarubber ball. Then they took a lift up two floors. The journey was made in complete silence as though they were going to face a firing-squad.

  Another long corridor, this time with a row of numbered doors on each side of it. They stopped at Number 14, and only then did Dr. Binger speak again.

  ‘You have been warned.’

  Then he tapped on the panel. The sounds of a bolt being drawn and the door was slowly opened. A female orderly put her head round it. She opened the door wider and stood aside to allow them to enter.

  A small room with a broad window and comfortable but utilitarian furnishings. The curtains had been drawn. There was a neat wooden bed instead of the standard hospital one and a figure lying in it. A woman’s face showed above the sheets. She was asleep. Littlejohn recognised her mainly by the lock of grey in front set off by the rest of her dark hair.

  Lindemann crossed to the bed, followed by Littlejohn They both looked closely at the sleeping woman. Littlejohn spoke first.

  ‘She has been given an injection to make her sleep? How long ago?’

  The orderly cast panic-stricken eyes in the direction of Dr. Binger, who, in turn, raised his eyebrows at Dr. Fauconnet.

  ‘The usual sedation at bedtime,’ said Dr. Fauconnet.

  ‘I said how long ago.’

  ‘Half an hour or thereabouts.’

  ‘Given after our arrival to prevent our interviewing her?’

  ‘I resent the implication …’

  Lindemann seemed to make up his mind all at once.

  ‘Would you mind, Superintendent Littlejohn, remaining here with the patient. I have a telephone call to make. I shall be obliged, Dr. Binger, if you will lead me to an instrument.’

  Dr. Binger’s eyes grew small and angry.

  ‘May I ask for what purpose?’

  ‘I am calling Geneva to ask them to send the police doctor and a mental expert. They will examine the patient and decide whether or not to remove her from your clinic …’

  ‘But …’

  ‘I have made up my mind.’

  And in a quieter voice he added.

  ‘You have detained us here far longer than necessary and we have missed our dinner. Kindly arrange for some wine and sandwiches to be brought to us.’

  Whether or not Lindemann and Dr. Binger continued their various arguments on the way to a telephone Littlejohn did not know but supper arrived, followed considerably later by two experts from Geneva.

  11

  Strange Behaviour of Dr. Fauconnet

  THE TWO DOCTORS from Geneva arrived late. The police consultant, Dr. Otto Bott, was in evening dress, disturbed during a visit to a gala performance at the opera. The other, Dr. Dumelin-Graf, the distinguished psychiatrist, had a black eye, concealed by dark glasses, for one of his patients had attacked him earlier in the day.

  Both specialists declared, after carefully examining Nurse Durand from head to foot, and administering various injections and manipulations, that she seemed perfectly normal and well after her recent ordeal and could answer police questions within reason when she awoke. Both added that she had better be allowed to sleep off the somewhat copious sedation given to her on Dr. Fauconnet’s orders.

  ‘Questioned with reason. You understand,’ said Professor Dumelin-Graf.

  Lindemann said he did, in spite of the fact that he didn’t, and he took Dr. Otto Bott aside for a conference.

  Dr. Bott was a kindly man who wore a beard and looked like Kaiser Wilhelm II after his flight into Holland.

  ‘I would be glad if you and the professor would stay whilst we question Nurse Durand. The situation is very delicate. We suspect that she has been held here under duress for several days.’

  Dr. Bott recoiled for many reasons. He didn’t, in the first place, relish camping at Les Plaisances until the patient awoke.

  ‘My dear fellow! Dr. Binger is above reproach. He has an international reputation.’

  Dr. Bott didn’t say what the reputation was for, but evidently assumed that it covered every type of conduct. Lindemann thought grimly, for sense of humour wasn’t his strong point, that he himself could produce from the city gaols quite a number of international celebrities, too.<
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  ‘Dr. Binger was absent in Paris whilst this affair was boiling up. Dr. Fauconnet, his deputy, was in charge.’

  ‘Ah! That’s different. All the same, I would like to consult with my colleague about it. Excuse me.’

  And he took Professor Dumelin-Graf, who was tall, thin, eagle-faced and elegant, aside for a consultation. The discussion didn’t seem to go at all well. In fact, the professor took up his overcoat and began to put it on, as though to emphasise a point he was making. Bott returned to Lindemann, like a referee trying to reconcile two sides of a case.

  ‘Professor Dumelin-Graf has other business to attend to. And so have I. We suggest that the patient be moved to hospital in Geneva. She is quite fit to travel by ambulance. Will that suit you?’

  It was what Lindemann had been diplomatically contriving and he agreed eagerly.

  ‘I will tell Binger,’ said Bott.

  Supported by the professor, Dr. Bott then approached Binger, who was still in attendance, making small talk with Littlejohn, with one eye on the police and the other on the medical consultants. Whilst the experts argued, Lindemann told Littlejohn what had happened.

  The two doctors from Geneva soon seemed to overwhelm Dr. Binger, who protested violently at first and then, in what seemed an attack of mental exhaustion, suddenly agreed. He looked played out and his eyes were scarcely perceptible for the bags of fatigue which surrounded them. He was, by now, resigned to whatever was in store.

  Dr. Fauconnet, who had previously protested about the conduct of the police and had finally left the room in anger, had not reappeared.

  ‘I must consult with Dr. Fauconnet,’ said Dr. Binger and went off to do it.

  Meanwhile, the rest waited.

  Littlejohn, throughout the tedium of all the arguments and protests, had been rather neglected. He began to feel like Cling must have done when, as protector of Sir Ensor Cobb, he’d found himself isolated from the affair in hand through sheer ignorance of local techniques. Lindemann hastened to apologise for his apparent discourtesy. Littlejohn courteously brushed it aside. He felt he knew something more about Nurse Durand now than when they’d entered the room.