But For The Grace

by Peter Grainger

  “So what did Alison say about the family when she visited them?”

  Somehow ‘We’ll just have a starter’ had turned into a three course meal. She hadn’t realized that Smith had a sweet tooth but when he was told by the waiter about the exceptional sticky toffee pudding he had shown little resistance and she felt duty bound, despite her dieting, to venture with him at least as far the tiramisu.

  “ ‘Understandably upset’ was the phrase. She confirmed what we found in the visitors’ book – they did see her that morning before the daughter went off to London. ‘They’ being daughter and son-in-law. Do we count that as an opportunity? Theoretically they could have left the old lady a last night-cap… Does that work for you? Would an old dear be likely to sit there all day, planning the best time to take it? Assuming she knew what it was, of course. This isn’t becoming any clearer for me yet.”

  “And you’ve already said that the place isn’t secure. Someone could have gone in unnoticed – but then they would have to get along the corridors and into the room, and out again without being seen.”

  “We haven’t spoken to everyone yet. Maybe somebody was seen. We can check the daughter’s alibi easily enough, it’s the size of a coach party. Might be worth speaking to Mrs Riley’s son-in-law to see what he did with the rest of his Saturday. Ma’am did warn them that someone else would need to follow up her visit.”

  “She hates it when you call her that.”

  “I know.”

  The pudding was all that Smith had been promised. He took the spoon around the bowl one last time, and when he looked up Maggie was smiling at him, as if she had discovered one of his guilty secrets. It had been a pleasant evening. There was no reason why he shouldn’t eat out more than he did; it wasn’t as if he couldn’t afford it. With the mortgage paid off years ago and only himself to worry about in the monthly bills, cash was steadily accumulating in the bank account. And a little company was nice, though he couldn’t ask Maggie too often. He wondered what sort of food Marcia Williams liked, apart from Moroccan.

  “You say it isn’t becoming clearer but we have narrowed it down quite a bit, I’d say.”

  “You mean the time frame? True enough. Between seven and nine, if the redoubtable Reed is to be believed. Actually, I reckon we can do better than that. The place seems to have no shortage of people able to pronounce that death has occurred – perhaps they get trained in it. Anyway, if Mrs Riley had not imbibed before Reed saw her on the bed – let’s assume she hadn’t – she took it sometime after, but not too long after. My contact in the mortuary tells me that the potion she drank would have affected an elderly lady in a matter of minutes, but Fordy was certain that when he saw the body she had been dead for a while. That was what, half past nine? He was there quickly, only being down the road, probably at the chip shop. How long is it before a dead body starts to look really dead?”

  “I don’t know, DC. This isn’t very scientific is it?”

  “No. But we don’t have scientific data, apart from the basic stuff on the doc’s report. What was she up to, by the way? She saw something that stopped her from nodding it through but there’s sod all in the report. Someone else we need to speak to… Where was I?”

  “Bodies that look really dead.”

  “Right. Joan died sometime between half seven and half eight, I’d say. We need a list of everyone who saw her that evening, up to the time she closed the door and said ‘Goodbye, cruel world’.”

  He was animated now, a slight frown between the eyes and one set of fingers drumming lightly on the table. When the waiter passed by, Smith nodded for the bill without saying anything and then his gaze returned to the middle distance, to the investigation. Maggie knew that a part of him wanted to go back to the station now, pin up some sheets on the boards, read files and knock on someone’s door late in the evening. In times past, that’s exactly what he would have done.

  “You think that’s what is behind it? That she went willingly – that it was suicide?”

  “Assisted. I think we’re looking for a bad Samaritan. Seventy thirty on that until we find another motive, and a better one. We need to ask about the estate as well…”

  “DC, it’s half past eight. Let’s go home.”

  Chapter Eight

  If they tried to speak to everyone, residents and staff, there would be more than seventy interviews to carry out, in addition to the ones that they had already held. It was hardly feasible with just the two of them. The next morning they agreed that a better approach was to concentrate on the duty staff for the evening shift of the 6th of December, and then Joan Riley’s closest acquaintances among the residents – Nancy Bishop, Martin Collins and Ralph Greenwood, the remaining members of the Famous Five. After that, they could decide whether they needed to widen the circle of interviews. Outside of Rosemary House, they needed to speak to Joan’s immediate family and to Dr Miriam Tremewan.

  Kayleigh Greene was on the evening shift again but agreed to come in straight away. Smith soon concluded that he need not have bothered her. She had been employed by the home only three weeks before the night on which Mrs Riley died and didn’t know her personally – it was only her second evening shift. She gave a clear account of how she found Mrs Riley sitting in her chair, and how she had tried to wake her before realizing that something was wrong. Smith asked her to picture the scene again in her mind, and then he asked her questions. Was the bed made? Yes. Was the window open? She didn’t think so but you can only open them a few inches anyway, for safety reasons. Were the doors to Mrs Riley’s wardrobe closed? Yes. Was there a glass on the floor by her chair? She could not remember that.

  Maggie asked her to describe exactly what she did when she realized that Mrs Riley was unconscious. Kayleigh had shaken her a little by the shoulder; when her head fell forward, she had gone to the door and shouted for help but Kipras Kazlauskas was outside and he went into the room straight away.

  Smith said, “Kipras was outside? What was he doing outside, Kayleigh?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Well, I mean, was he walking by, pushing a trolley, cleaning the floor?”

  “I’m not sure… He was just there. I’m glad he was.”

  “Kipras knew what to do?”

  “Yes.”

  “What exactly did he do?”

  “He kept talking to her, kept saying her name. He tapped her cheek to wake her and then he felt the side of her neck, for a pulse.”

  “Can you show us just how he did that, if you can remember?”

  She did, and it seemed to be pretty much the right spot.

  “What happened next?”

  “I think he was going to lift her out of the chair onto the floor, into the recovery position? Then he seemed to change his mind and he told me to press the alarm on my pager. I should have done that straight away – I’m sorry.”

  She was becoming upset at the memory of it all and Maggie told her to take a moment and that none of it was her fault. Smith watched closely, decided that if it was a performance it was a good one and wrote in his notebook.

  Maggie said, “Did either of you touch anything or move anything in the room? We’re not here to accuse you, Kayleigh, we just need to find out what happened so that we can speak to the right people.”

  No, they didn’t. Kipras stayed very close to Mrs Riley, kneeling by her chair and still talking to her. There were other people there within a few seconds of pressing the alarm but Mrs Reed had pushed through and taken charge of everything. She couldn’t remember exactly who was outside in the corridor but she didn’t know the names of all the residents anyway. Mrs Reed had called an ambulance straight away and then she had checked the body for signs of life but more thoroughly that Kipras did. After that, she had told them to leave the room, and not to let anyone else into it and not to say what had happened. They were to wait outside, that was all – Kayleigh went to the staff washroom while Kipras stood guard outside the room. Then, after she returned, they waited ther
e together for a while until Kipras had told her that she could go and get some tea – it didn’t need two of them just to wait outside the room.

  “So, as far as you know, Kayleigh, no-one else went back into the room?”

  She shook her head, looking, if anything, more frightened than when they had started; clearly she thought that the investigation was into how the staff had behaved in the emergency and whether anything could have been done to save Mrs Riley. They sent her away with the conviction that she had told them all that she knew and nothing more.

  Kipras Kazlaukas should in theory have been on the same shift as Kayleigh Greene and therefore would also need to come in especially for the interview, but they discovered that he was at work this morning. He arrived within two or three minutes of being sent for, and stood in front of their desk as if he expected the whole matter to be conducted with him on his feet and them sitting. They persuaded him to sit down, and after a glance at his folder and another at Maggie, Smith set off in an entirely different direction to the one that they had just agreed.

  “Hello, Kipras. Is it alright to call you that?”

  “Yes. Sir.”

  “No need for ‘Sir’. Or ‘Madam’,” with a smile and a nod to Maggie.

  “Have you changed your shift in the past month, or are you doing extra hours, Kipras?”

  “I do extra hours when I can.”

  “To send money home?”

  He was no more than twenty two or three years of age but the restless, wary eyes already seemed to have seen too much, too many things that they could not forget. Now he hesitated, perhaps wondering whether that was an offence that he had not been warned about.

  “When I can, I send a little.”

  “To your wife? Do you have children?”

  “No!” The thought seemed to alarm him. “To parents. I have younger brothers and sisters, too many of them.”

  “Where is home?”

  “Lithuania.”

  Smith smiled encouragingly.

  “Vilnius?”

  Kipras was surprised. No-one else here had ever mentioned the name of his country’s capital – no-one else had asked him about his home since Joan Riley.

  “No, but not so far from there. A small town – Trakai, that is my home.”

  Smith looked down at the file.

  “And now you live in Kings Lake. Do you have a flat in Regents Road?”

  “No. Just one room. I share kitchen and bathroom.”

  “But still not cheap. So you work extra to send money home. Lithuanians seem to be hard-working people. Last year I met some who live out in the west of Kings Lake – they call it Little Lithuania. Do you know it?”

  Kipras nodded.

  “I met Andrius Radvila and his family – very hard-working people. We had tea together. Do you know them?”

  “Not Andrius but his son, Tomas. I know him. We study together.”

  “Back in Trakai?”

  “No, no, here, in evening class.”

  “I see – that would have been quite a coincidence. What are you studying here?”

  “Tomas studies mathematics, A level. He is very clever.”

  Maggie said, “Do you study maths as well, Kipras?”

  “No, I am not clever. I cannot do maths!”

  “What do you study?”

  “I study for certificate in care.”

  Smith nodded and made a point of writing something down.

  “Good. So for you this work is not only to make money – it is a career?”

  “I hope so.”

  “We are hoping that you can tell us about what happened to Mrs Riley, Kipras. I’m going to be completely honest with you, as I think you are being with us, OK?”

  Kipras nodded, a little less wary than he had been five minutes ago.

  “OK, then. Mrs Riley had some tests done when she passed away. Some of the tests gave us results which surprised us and we need to find out what caused those results. If you know anything that might help us, please just tell us. But we will begin by asking you some questions.”

  Smith nodded to Maggie, letting her know that they were back on the original track.

  “Kipras – when Kayleigh called for help, you were just outside Mrs Riley’s room. Can you tell us what you were doing there?”

  He said that at nine in the evening, some of the residents were already going to bed and that one of his jobs was to visit those who needed help to do that – he was on the corridor, going from room to room.

  Still smiling, Smith shook his head a little.

  “Kipras, I’d like to you to be more specific. Who had you just been helping?”

  “Before I heard Kayleigh, I had been in Mr O’Byrne’s room. He is quite disabled.”

  “And where is Mr O’Byrne’s room.”

  He didn’t understand and looked from one to the other of the detectives.

  “Is Mr O’Byrne’s room near to Mrs Riley’s room?”

  Kipras paused and seemed to be counting.

  “Three rooms away.”

  “OK. Before you tell us what happened when you went into Mrs Riley’s room, I want to ask you what some other residents were doing. Mrs Bishop, Mr Collins and Mr Greenwood – were they in bed, Kipras?”

  An involuntary smile appeared on the Lithuanian’s face as he answered.

  “I did not see but they would not be unless they were ill, and nobody was ill.”

  “How can you be certain they were not in bed if you had not been into their rooms?”

  “They stay up often, never go to bed until the last. In the social room or in the kitchen, or Mr Greenwood’s room.”

  “I see – and they were friends with Mrs Riley?”

  Kipras seemed happy at the memory of these elderly people, all of whom were old enough to be his grandparents.

  “Oh yes, all good friends, Famous Five!”

  Maggie said, “And the fifth person was Mrs Grey, before she died?”

  He nodded.

  “How did Mrs Grey die, Kipras?”

  Smith was watching closely but could see no reaction – Kipras said that she had been found dead in her bed one morning, after she had failed to appear as usual for breakfast. He had been on duty but had not been involved. When Maggie asked if Mrs Grey had been ill before she died, Kipras told them that she had been very frail in her last few weeks but he did not know what illnesses she had at that time.

  His account of what happened when Kayleigh called him into Joan’s room matched closely what the girl had told them. He admitted touching the body several times in his attempts to wake her, and, yes, he did begin to lift her out of the chair to put her into the recovery position. Smith asked why he had not done so, and he answered, after a pause, that he knew it was already too late. Then Maggie asked him to describe exactly what was where in the room that evening. His answer was surprisingly detailed, and as she listened, she was aware that Smith had glanced across at her to see if she had noted the same thing. It was Smith who asked the next question.

  “Kipras – the glass on the floor. Was it on the right or left side of the chair?”

  “Left side.”

  “Do you know whether Mrs Riley was right or left-handed?”

  “She was left-handed.”

  Smith wrote in his notebook, which Maggie took as a signal to carry on.

  “You are very observant, Kipras. We wish more people could help us this much. Was there anything you thought was unusual, anything at all, even a tiny thing?”

  For the first time in some minutes, there was hesitation. Smith stopped writing and looked up.

  “What is it, Kipras?”

  “It was her favourite chair but not in the usual place. She had two chairs, the one for the visitors was usually by the window, not this one.”

  “OK. Where was her favourite chair usually, in the room?”

  “At the end of the bed. A big, basket chair, with high back. This was her favourite.”

  “Anything else about the
chairs?”

  “The one she was in when she … Not in the usual place, as I say. It had been moved to the window.”

  “Moved how?”

  “Turned around and moved across the floor, to face the window. And the other chair was by her bed. They had been moved, both chairs.”

  “Could Mrs Riley have moved the visitor’s chair, Kipras?”

  He thought for a moment before nodding.

  “Could she have moved the other chair, her favourite one?”

  “No, too heavy for her.”

  “Did Mrs Riley ever ask you to move her chairs in the room?”

  “No.”

  “Had you ever seen Mrs Riley’s chairs moved around like that before?”

  Again no. When Smith asked if there was anything else like that that he could tell them, the answer was an immediate shake of the head, as if Kipras Kazlauskas thought that he might already have said too much. Smith thanked him and complimented him again on being such a helpful witness.

  “OK, Kipras, I think we’re almost done. After Mrs Riley was found, Ms Miller asked you to wait outside Mrs Riley’s room, to make sure that no-one else went into it. Is that right?”

  It was, he said.

  “So can you tell me who the next person was to go into the room?”

  Kipras thought carefully before he answered.

  “Ms Miller came back with a policeman – they go in and he looks at things. Then the doctor comes to examine. And then the room is locked again waiting for the ambulance men.”

  “And you stayed outside, so no-one else went into the room, which was locked anyway? That’s pretty clear, then. Thank you.”

  Once the impression of an ending had been created and Kipras was half out of his chair, Smith spoke again.

  “Before you go, Kipras, tell us about Mrs Riley herself. It helps us to know about people, and I think that you knew her well.”

  The compliment encouraged him. Mrs Riley, she was a very kind person, to everyone. She was a clever person, knew many things about history and geography; she knew about his own country and how much had changed in Europe since the war. Mrs Riley had good friends here and a family that came to visit her every Saturday and sometimes also in the week. Mrs Riley cared about others and was a generous person.