No Cure for Death

by Hazel Holt

  “Mm yes. She was perfectly civil and all that but I had the feeling she wasn’t telling me everything she knew. Am I right?”

  I hesitated. “She said she felt a sort of loyalty to his memory, not to talk about his private life, but there is something I think is important and I believe I persuaded her to get back to you.”

  Roger shook his head. “Thank you Sheila. I suppose you don’t feel like telling me yourself? No, I thought not, but if she doesn’t come back to me I’ll be back to you!”

  “You said there were mixed feelings about him among the other doctors. Who stuck up for him?”

  “Dr Macdonald, of course. I suppose he would really, being the head of the practice. But I felt he genuinely liked Morrison and was full of admiration for his capabilities. He said they were very fortunate to have someone of his calibre in the practice and that he should by rights have been doing high-powered research. Which, I gather, is what he had been doing before he came down here.”

  “Nora told me about that. I expect you’ve heard all about the problems with the research team and why he left.”

  “Yes. It sounds like a messy business, but that was in London. I don’t think it’s really going to be relevant to us.”

  “You think it was someone local?”

  “It seems most likely. After all it had to be someone who knew the layout of the building.” He sighed. “It could hardly be more difficult. You’d think, wouldn’t you, that their security would have been better.”

  “Security is all very well, but if it was someone who had a right to be there – a patient or one of the staff, or a doctor – then it wouldn’t have been all that much of a help. Unless it’s something really unusual – like Rhys Hampden rushing out like that – you don’t really take much notice of what’s going on around you. Especially in a doctors’ waiting room where everyone’s absorbed in their own affairs and problems.”

  “True. Did you see Dr Morrison that day?”

  “Only when he came out to fetch a patient.”

  “Did he look different in any way?”

  “No, I don’t think so, but, like I said, I wasn’t paying attention to anything very much.”

  “He had quite a full list of people to see apparently. Presumably because he was only in a couple of days a week.”

  “I know. My friend Alan Johnson, who’s a patient of his, is always complaining about how difficult it is to get an appointment with him. Mind you, Alan thinks – thought – he was absolutely brilliant and wouldn’t dream of seeing anyone else. I gather Dr Morrison was doing some sort of research project that the practice was sponsoring.”

  “Yes, something to do with genetics. It was a nationwide thing, but I haven’t got the details yet, that’s something I have to go into – I suppose there just might be a connection with the London research, though that’s a bit of a long shot.”

  “You said that some of the men disliked him, what about the women?”

  “They all said how brilliant he was, but they didn’t seem to have had much to do with him as a person. Still, I suppose that’s not surprising since he didn’t seem to mix socially with any of them. The nurses and the nurse-practitioner didn’t say much at all, I got the impression that they were a bit scared of him.”

  “I’m not really surprised. I should think he was quite formidable to work with.”

  “Oh well,” Roger said, “I suppose I’d better be getting back, I promised Jilly I’d be in for lunch.” He turned and looked at the sea. “Pity its not crystal clear and Mediterranean blue.”

  “Come now,” I said laughing, “as a true Charlotte M. Yonge enthusiast you must remember what she said about it. Don’t you remember in Hopes and Fears when she brings Owen and Lucilla down here for a holiday after their father had died? She wouldn’t ‘brook hearing much about the hue of the Bristol Channel’ and I gather it looked just as muddy in her day!”

  “Oh well, it’s nice to know that some things don’t change,” Roger said, turning to go back up the steps to the Promenade. “Remember – I do need to know anything at all that might help with this murder.”

  I walked a little further along the beach, then, on an impulse; I took off my sandals and walked across the ribbed sand several feet into the sea.

  Chapter Nine

  When I opened the medicine cabinet and a tube of antiseptic cream, some insect repellent and a packet of plasters fell out into the bath, and when I tried to put them back again and couldn’t close the door, I knew it was time to have a proper clear-out. I loathe sorting out all cupboards, and medicine cupboards are particularly depressing. I took everything out – the sticky bottles of cough mixture, the half-used shampoos that hadn’t given me the shiny, bouncy hair promised by the television advertisements, the ancient tablets of soap, the curiously shaped eyebath, the old toothbrushes I was going to use to clean awkward corners with – the whole useless clutter, in fact, that you keep because you can’t be bothered to throw it away.

  I’d just finished wiping down the shelves and rearranging the few items worthy of being kept when the phone rang. It was Nora.

  “I’ve seen the Incubus,” she said.

  “Really? Where?”

  “Martha Collins – you know, she lives next door – asked me if I’d take her mother into Taviscombe to see her doctor, only Martha’s car’s being repaired and you know how unreliable taxis are. So I said I’d take her in and wait to bring her back. Anyway, their doctor is Dr Macdonald so I took her into the surgery and there was the Incubus – she was the receptionist on duty!”

  “Good heavens!”

  “And while I was waiting I heard one of the other girls there call her Lorna.”

  “No!”

  “Do you know her?”

  “Yes I do and I’ve known her mother for years – you may remember her, Janet Dobson.”

  “Sort of rings a bell. Wasn’t she that rather unpleasant girl who stole Marjorie Fraser’s boyfriend?”

  “So she did, I’d forgotten. But typical, though. Lorna’s just like her, disagreeable and bossy. We weren’t at all surprised when her husband – Jim Spears, rather a nice man but a bit dim – left her. Fancy her stalking Dr Morrison. Goodness, I’ve just remembered…”

  “Remembered what?”

  “She was the one who found him.”

  “Found him?”

  “When he didn’t come out for ages to collect his next patient she went in – just like her to want to know what was going on – to see what had happened.”

  “Poor girl.”

  “Yes. It must have been especially horrible for her, feeling as she did. She certainly looked upset, but I didn’t take all that much notice because they just said there’d been an accident, and she seemed all right when she came round and took all our names.”

  “Names?”

  “Of people in the waiting room who’d need new appointments. But apparently she didn’t go into work for days afterwards. When I heard that I thought she was just being a drama queen, but now – now I can see why. She must have been devastated. Unless…”

  “Unless?”

  “Unless she killed him. It’s a possibility, you know. Nora,” I said earnestly, “you really must tell Roger Eliot about her. You do see that?”

  “I suppose so.”

  “And about this woman Jay as well. No,” I went on as she started to protest, “it’s too important not to. Roger’s very discreet, nothing will come out about anyone’s private life that isn’t absolutely relevant to the investigation.”

  “Of course,” Nora’s voice was suddenly decisive, “you’re right, and I believe it’s what John would have wanted me to do. He used to say that in science and in life the facts were what mattered.”

  I happened to see Valerie a few days later when I was in the Library.

  “How are you?” I asked. “It must still be very difficult for you all at the surgery.”

  “We’re still extra busy, but Dr Macdonald’s managed to get hold of a loc
um. He’s Dutch but very nice and he speaks really good English.”

  “I think most people in Holland do – I suppose they have too because nobody really learns Dutch, do they. What’s his name?”

  “Dr Van der Meer.”

  “He sounds more like a painter than a doctor, but I’m sure you’ll be very glad to have him.”

  “Oh yes, it’s made quite a difference already.”

  “How is Lorna?”

  She looked at me questioningly.

  “I was thinking, it must have been terrible for her – finding the body like that. And I believe you said she was away from work for several days.”

  Valerie nodded. “She was really in a state. Not at first, but after all the patients had gone it suddenly seemed to hit her and she more or less collapsed.”

  “Really?”

  “Dr Macdonald said it was some sort of hysterical reaction! He gave her a sedative and took her home – well, to her mother’s – himself. That was after the police had gone.”

  “They didn’t question her then?”

  “Oh no. Dr Macdonald said she wasn’t in a fit state. I think they went to see her at home, though.”

  “Still, I don’t suppose there was much that she could tell them, was there? I mean, when she found him like that I expect she just turned and ran away. I know I would.”

  “Actually,” Valerie said, “she didn’t – run away, that is. She said she was so shocked she just stood there, she couldn’t believe it. Then, when she touched him and found blood on her hand, she sort of came to. But she was still in a daze when she got back and told us. It was only later, like I said, that she really broke down, sobbing as if her heart would break. It was dreadful.”

  “She must be very highly strung,” I said. “Of course it would be a terrible shock to find someone murdered, but, well…”

  “I wasn’t that surprised.” Valerie leaned towards me and lowered her voice. “She had a bit of a crush on Dr Morrison, in fact she was really keen.”

  “And did he…?”

  “Oh no. Nothing like that. Never spoke to her except in the way of work, well, you know how sort of remote he was.”

  I reflected how often that word was used to describe him, as if it was all people could think of to say about him. “Yes, he was,” I said. “Do you know if there was anyone?”

  “Did he have a girlfriend?”

  “Well – yes.”

  “Oh I don’t think so. Not that we’d have known, he’d never have let on. But I suppose that’s why Lorna sort of hoped. You know, if there wasn’t anyone else she might have a chance.” She laughed. “Not very likely. Lorna isn’t good looking and she’s got a rotten temper.” She looked at her watch. “I’ve got to go. I’m on the afternoon shift – the Mother and Baby clinic – it gets a bit noisy in the waiting room sometimes! Nice to have seen you, Mrs Malory.”

  I stood for a while, leaning against the Biography section, thinking about what Valerie had told me. More than ever it seemed important that Nora should tell Roger about Lorna and, indeed, about everything she knew (or surmised) about his private life. I wondered what the police had found in his house when they searched it, as they must have done. I made a mental note to ask Nora what she knew about that. Poor Lorna, how terrible it must have been for her – but then, how even more terrible if she had actually killed him.

  “Excuse me.” Someone behind me reached up to take a book on the Queen Mother off the shelves and I moved away. Pausing only to look crossly at the banks of computers that seemed to be taking over more and more of the book space, I left the library and drove home.

  Nora rang me again that evening.

  “The police have released John’s body,” she said, “so I’m arranging his funeral.”

  “You are?”

  “There’s no one else really. I believe there’s some sort of second cousin up in Scotland, but I wouldn’t have the faintest idea of how to get in touch with him.”

  “Was there a solicitor?”

  “It was a London firm, I suppose they might know if he mentioned this cousin in his will, but it would all take too long. And I don’t imagine Virginia will want to do anything. No, I’ll arrange things – it’s the last thing I can do for John.”

  “Yes, I can see that.”

  “I was just ringing to ask if you’d come – I’d be really glad of your support.”

  “Of course I will. When is it?”

  “Next Friday, St Decumen’s, two o’clock. The afternoon seemed best so that if any of the doctors want to come it will be after morning surgery.”

  “Would he have wanted a church service, do you know?”

  “I think so. We never really talked about such things, but he was a son of the manse – his father was a Minister up in Scotland – and I think he still had certain feelings. So I felt I had to give him a Christian burial, as it were, just to be on the safe side.”

  “‘Some says the prayer don’t do no good / But there, don’t do no harm,’” I quoted from a famous West Country monologue.

  Nora laughed. “My sentiments exactly,” she said. “Anyway, thank you for saying you’ll come. I’ve arranged for a sort of gathering afterwards at the hotel at The Weir – drinks and sandwiches I suppose – it’s an awkward time of day, but I felt I had to do something to round it off.”

  The church was quite full. Most of the doctors were there; Dr Macdonald, of course, with Dr Porter, and Dr Howard from the other practice, together with Nancy, the Nurse Practitioner, and two of the other nurses. Valerie and Ann, another receptionist, were there as well, but not Lorna. They all sat together at the front. Brian Norris was there too “Representing The Hospital Friends” I heard him say to the undertaker’s man who was taking names at the door. Quite a good turnout for someone respected but not liked. After a while Joanna Stevenson came in, but she was alone (I suppose Clive Stevenson was holding the fort at the surgery) and she sat near the back not with the others. Presently Alan and Susan came in and sat by me.

  “We felt we had to come and pay our respects,” Alan said. “Fiona would have come too but she couldn’t really get time off work.”

  We all stood up as the coffin came in. It was followed by Nora and another woman, who I took to be Virginia and, to my surprise, Mr Wheeler. As I listened to the familiar words of the service – it was the proper Prayer Book service – I covertly studied Virginia. She was tall, as tall as John Morrison had been, fashionably dressed (in grey, a compromise, perhaps, between the black of a widow and the muted colours of a mere friend), with sleek, dark hair worn rather too long. Beside her Mr Wheeler, presumably in deference to the occasion, had smoothed down his hair and looked much older than when I had seen him last.

  As we all rose to go out into the churchyard I saw that Joanna Stevenson had gone.

  I imagine she’d wisely seated herself in a position to make an unobtrusive exit if one of the minor emergencies of pregnancy overtook her. The rest of us took up our places round the grave. The heat wave had broken with a thunderstorm and now, several days later, the air was fresh with a slight breeze blowing. The Rector’s voice was loud in the open air:

  “…And we meekly beseech thee, O Father, to raise us from the death of sin unto the life of righteousness…”

  I wondered if the murderer was one of those gathered round the grave and how he (or she) would react to those words. But all the faces around me wore that identical expression of solemnity people assume on such occasions. Earth was scattered on the coffin and a wreath of white roses placed at the foot of the grave, and we all dispersed slowly as if reluctant to be seen the first to break away.

  “Are you going to do this at the hotel?” Alan asked. “Only if you are then I wonder if you could give me a lift back. Susan’s got to get back to Taviscombe and I’m still not driving…”

  “Of course,” I said. “I’d be delighted.” We walked slowly to where I’d left the car. “I do want to be there for Nora. I can’t remember if you know her or
not?”

  “Slightly – I knew her father, a marvellous old gentleman, but that was before she came back down here.”

  “Nora was a good friend to Dr Morrison,” I said, “after his marriage broke up. I think that must have been his ex-wife who was with her at the funeral. I must say I’m a bit surprised she came.”

  When we got to the hotel, Virginia had somehow assumed the role of hostess and chief mourner, shaking hands with people and thanking them for coming. I went over to Nora, who was standing in the background ironically watching this performance.

  “Typical of Virginia,” she said, “always has to be centre-stage.”

  “I think it’s awful,” I said indignantly. “You made all the arrangements – anyhow, I don’t know how she has the nerve to be here at all, after the way she treated him!”

  Nora shrugged. “Nerve isn’t something she was ever short of. She never was one for admitting she was in the wrong. In fact it wouldn’t surprise me at all if she expected John to have left her something in his will, even though she got half the money from the house.”

  “She sounds absolutely ghastly,” I said.

  “Not my favourite person.”

  I looked around at the various people helping themselves to refreshments.

  “I was surprised to see Mr Wheeler, was he a friend or a colleague? And,” I added, “he seems to be friendly with Virginia.” I indicated the two of them deep in conversation in a corner.

  “They all trained together,” Nora said, “Virginia, John and Francis Wheeler – they were all on Sir Geoffrey Bailey’s team at Bart’s. The brightest of their year. That’s how John and Virginia met – more’s the pity. I think Francis had a bit of a thing about her then, but that was over long ago. He’s married to someone half his age, I think he likes to think of himself as young and trendy – a bit sad, really.”

  “It was a good congregation,” I said, “you must be very pleased.”

  “Yes, I wanted to do it properly, even,” she said with a wry smile, “if it means Virginia taking over.”