‘And then this morning it turns out he was outside Stroud’s office when Bruce came over with the drug books,’ Lucy finished.
‘He is very involved, somehow, isn’t he?’ Barney said. ‘D’you suppose he——’
‘Barney, no! It couldn’t be! Not Hickson. I mean, he’s such a—a milk and water sort of person. And anyway, we know him.’
Barney looked down at her, and said soberly, ‘But haven’t you realised that already, Lucy? Whoever the murderer is, it’s someone we know, someone we’ve worked with, someone who’s a friend, maybe. It could even be me, according to Spain.’
She looked up at him, gravely, and shook her head. ‘It isn’t you. It couldn’t be——’
‘But why couldn’t it be? I had the same opportunity everyone else had. Maybe the same motive—whatever that is, because we don’t know yet. Why couldn’t it be me?’
‘Because I—because I like you too much,’ she said simply, and felt the infuriating childish blush redden her round cheeks again. She had so nearly said ‘because I love you——’ But that would never do. Not now. Not yet.
He grinned. ‘That convinces me, but it wouldn’t convince Spain. You’ll have to do better than that.’
‘I could convince Spain!’ she said after a moment. ‘Of course I could! Listen, Barney—it’s agreed that the first man—the sailor—died by accident. I mean, he wasn’t an intended victim?’
‘Agreed.’
‘Well, then!’ Lucy cried triumphantly. ‘You knew he was on the list, didn’t you? If you’d intended to kill Quayle, you’d have saved that insulin ampoule for him, wouldn’t you? You wouldn’t have gone ahead and got rid of that sailor only to have to deal with Quayle later. And you wouldn’t have insisted the sailor’s death was unusual the way you did. It couldn’t be you! I’m going right back to Spain to tell him so——’
He seized her arm, and hugged it to his side.
‘Bless you. But that can wait. Right now, what Spain wants is facts, not the convictions of someone who—likes me. If that’s the word you really meant.’
‘It’ll do for the present,’ she said, a little awkwardly, and hurried on. ‘But I suppose you’re right. What are we going to do then? I still think we shouldn’t go talking to Sister Palmer now, because it’s odds on Spain will be after her. Look, let’s have some supper, hmm? I’m due off duty in fifteen minutes anyway. I’ll go to the ward and hand over properly to Nurse Crowther——’
‘And then we’ll go over to Chalky and get a sandwich and a drink,’ Barney said. ‘You’re on. We’ll have a go at Sister Palmer later on, before she goes off for the evening. What time will that be?’
‘She had a morning off, so she’ll be there till half past eight or so,’ Lucy said. ‘I’ll see you over the road in half an hour, then. I want to change into mufti.’
They had an agreeable supper, by tacit consent not discussing the case at all. They talked about themselves, about their respective families, their likes and dislikes, and for Lucy, certainly, it was an hour in which she found herself slipping more and more deeply into an emotional whirlwind. The physical attraction Barney had for her was cemented by the many things they had in common. But at eight o’clock, she forced herself to emerge from the happy daze in which she had been wallowing, forced herself to remember that right now there was more to life than the furthering of what promised to be a more than agreeable relationship.
‘If we’re going to talk to Sister Palmer about Quayle, we’d better go over to the Wing now,’ she said, and stood up to brush the crumbs of sausage rolls and potato crisps from her lap.
‘I suppose so——’ Barney said reluctantly, and stood up too.
‘Oh—look. There’s Jeff. Hi, feller. Any news?’
Jeff hooked a finger at Chalky behind the bar, who nodded, and began to draw his usual pint of half-and-half.
‘What can be news?’ he said, dropping on to the bench beside them to sit sprawling. ‘I’ve had dozens of nosy policemen prowling around the department all day, asking stupid questions about crossmatching and keys. All they’ve decided is that anyone could have got into the lab at any time, that anyone could have meddled with a bottle of blood from the fridge—all of which I’d told ’em anyway. The only difference between their point of view and mine is that they aren’t convinced someone meddled—while I keep telling ’em someone did, because I certainly crossmatched the right blood. Ah, what the hell. I’m fed up with the whole business. Have a drink with me. I need company.’
‘We can’t,’ Barney said. ‘We’re going to talk to Sister Palmer in the wing—trying to find out more about Quayle, you see, and we think perhaps she’ll know, as the Sister in charge of the ward he was in. I’d like to, really, but——’
‘I’ll phone over if you like,’ Lucy said, touched by Jeff’s miserable face. ‘Have a drink with Jeff, Barney, and I’ll get Palmer to come over here. I daresay I can persuade her——’
Barney smiled at her. ‘Nice Lucy,’ he murmured. ‘OK, Jeff. Same as yours, then,’ and Lucy went across the bar to duck under the counter and use the phone in Chalky’s snug but incredibly untidy office.
When she came back her face was pink with suppressed excitement.
‘Barney!’ she said. ‘Listen, we’re in luck. Palmer says there’s a woman there—says she’s a friend of Quayle’s, and she’s come to collect his effects. If we go over right now, we could talk to her——’
‘What!’ Barney jumped to his feet. ‘My God, that is useful. Coming Jeff? You’re as involved as I am——’
But Jeff shook his head morosely. ‘Hell, no. I’ve had enough for one day. I’m content to leave the poking and prying to that bloody policeman. If he wants to think I’m a murderer, let him prove it——’ and he buried his face in his tankard.
‘I’m not so trusting,’ Barney said dryly. ‘This woman’ll be worth talking to, whoever she is. And if we can get at her before Spain does, we may get something useful. Come on, man.’
But Jeff shook his head again, and Barney shrugged, and taking Lucy by the elbow steered her out of the now crowded saloon bar.
They crossed the main hall of the Private Wing, which was busy with departing visitors, and went up in the lift to the second floor in silence. Lucy felt obscurely that the answer to the whole mystery was waiting for them up there. Surely this woman, this friend of Quayle’s, must have been close to him? Only the person designated on the admission form by the patient as his next of kin could be given a patient’s effects, so surely she could help them? Surely she could give them some insight into the man, an insight that would show why someone had been so anxious to get rid of him?
Colin Jackson and Harry Caspar were waiting by the lift as they reached the second floor, and Jackson pulled the gates back irritably.
‘If you have no work to do, I have,’ he snapped at Barney as he and Lucy stepped out. ‘What are you doing over here, anyway, keeping the lifts busy for no reason?’
‘There’s a relative of Quayle’s I want to talk to,’ Barney said, equally sharply. ‘Do you mind?’
Jackson shrugged. ‘None of my concern, I suppose. Bad enough the police are everywhere, I should have thought, without you opting in. All I ask is you do nothing to hold up the work of the hospital, even if you can’t do anything to further it,’ and he slammed the gates shut, and stabbed a button, so that he and an embarrassed looking Harry were carried upwards.
‘Bad tempered louse,’ Barney muttered, staring after them, but Lucy touched his elbow soothingly.
‘Forget him, Barney. Come and talk to this woman. I’m sure she’ll be able to tell us something useful——’
But when they walked into Sister Palmer’s office, her heart fell. The woman who was standing there looked so forbiddingly at them that she knew at once that she wouldn’t want to answer any questions.
She was a big woman, with aggressively blonde hair piled on top of her head in a highly fashionable style that was at least ten years too young fo
r her, for she looked about forty-five, in spite of her careful make-up and well-corseted body under the expensive well-cut clothes. She was holding a large black brief case as well as a very rich looking black crocodile bag, which matched her spindly heeled shoes, and she stood with her feet planted well apart as she stared at them.
‘Well?’ she said, and her voice was harsh. ‘Sister says you want to talk to me. Who are you, and what do you want?’
‘I’m Dr. Elliot,’ Barney said. ‘And this is Sister Beaumont. Look, I’m sorry to—to bother you at a time like this. I mean, I know how it is when one has been bereaved, and I’m truly sorry——’
‘Well? Get to the point,’ she said. ‘And leave my feelings out of it. They’re none of your damned business.’
Barney blinked, and then nodded. ‘All right,’ he said crisply. ‘Briefly, the death of Mr. Quayle has—puzzled us. There are aspects that need investigating——’
‘So I’ve heard. The police are here.’
Barney nodded. ‘Precisely. And what I want to know is——’
‘Are you police?’
‘I told you—I’m a doctor—Mrs.—er—Miss—er——’
She ignored his groping for her name and went on as though he hadn’t spoken.
‘Because unless you’re police you have no right to question me. I’ve told Sister Whatsit here where I can be reached by the police, and if they want to come talking to me, that’s their business and mine. It certainly isn’t yours.’
‘I realise that I have no official standing as a questioner,’ Barney said as patiently as he could. ‘But I can assure you I—we—are as anxious as they are to clear this matter up. More anxious, in some ways. And I’d be more than grateful if you’d just tell us one or two things about Mr. Quayle that might——’
‘No,’ she said baldly. ‘You can stuff your gratitude. I talk to no one unless I must.’ And she pushed past them to the door.
Barney reached out and took her arm, and she stopped and looked down at his hand with such an expression of cold disdain on her face that he let go.
‘I told you,’ she said harshly. ‘Are you too stupid to take it in? I’m not talking to anyone unless I’ve got to, so you can go to hell——’ and she walked out, slamming the door behind her, leaving the three of them in a stupified silence. They heard the rattle of the lift gates and the whine of the motor diminishing before they moved.
‘Well, I’ll be damned,’ Barney said softly. ‘I’ll be double damned.’
‘People do behave like that when they’re upset, sometimes,’ Lucy said. ‘I mean, it’s a shock when people die, people you care for——’
‘That one?’ Sister Palmer almost snorted. ‘That one, upset? Don’t you believe it, my dear. She’s as hard as bloody nails, I tell you. When she came up, I took one look at her and I knew. When she marched in here, I said to myself, there’s angry! And she was! Not that she said much, mind you. She just said she was Mr. Quayle’s next of kin, and showed me her copy of the admission form, and said she wanted his things. So what could I do? I tried to say I was sorry he was dead, but she just bit my head off. And all she wanted was his brief case. Wouldn’t take his clothes or anything else, not even his watch, which was a good one. Told me to throw them away! I had a right job to keep her here to talk to you, I promise, though I knew it wouldn’t be much good——’
‘Only wanted his brief case?’ Barney spoke sharply. ‘Then that’s the important thing. I mean, there must be something in it that offers an answer to all this, and she knew it. She must know something if he gave her as his next of kin! Look, I’m not letting her get away with this——’
He made for the door, and then stopped. ‘Oh, hell, what’s the use? Even if I caught up with her, what could I do? I couldn’t take the case from her by brute force. Not that that’d work, anyway. She’s a damned sight tougher than I am, to look at her——’
‘Tell Spain,’ Lucy said.
‘Eh?’
‘Oh, do let’s have some sense, Barney! I can see you want to do as much as you can to sort this out by yourself, but it is Spain’s job, and there’s no sense in trying to do things on our own if we make a mess of it! Tell Spain about her, and about the brief case, and he’ll talk to her. He’ll get it out of her, because he’s police and he’s got the authority, and anyway, he’d get anything out of anybody, even a formidable female like that Mrs.—what’s her name, Palmer?’
Sister Palmer leafed through some papers on her desk.
‘Miss Roberta Vickers,’ she said at length. ‘Lives on a houseboat in that Yacht Basin west of Northwestern Dock. The Bobby Vee, it’s called.’
‘On a boat? Then she must be stinking with money. It costs a bomb to live that way,’ Barney said. ‘Oh, hell, Lucy, I suppose you’re right. Look, we’ll go and find Spain. He may still be over in the Admin block. Thanks, Sister Palmer, for trying to help. We’ll let you know what happens.’
‘Do. I’m that curious,’ Sister Palmer said, and grinned a little wickedly at Lucy. ‘If you’ve time to think of more than one Sister at a time, that is.’
They used the stairs, because the lift was busy with visitors, and as Lucy scuttled down the broad polished treads behind Barney her spirits, which had taken a sharp dive at the response they had got from Miss Vickers, began to rise again. Spain, she felt obscurely, would know how to get the facts out of her. She wouldn’t have said as much to Barney, not for the world, for she knew he disliked the Inspector, but she found Spain an oddly comforting personality, despite his air of flippancy.
They emerged into the garden through the side door, a garden now dark and sighing a little in the night breeze. Lucy shrank a little closer to Barney as they hurried across the grass towards the path that led to the Admin block. She wished, not for the first time, that the garden was better lit. It was odd how eerie it could seem on a moonless night.
And then, suddenly, Barney tripped and went sprawling, just as they passed the big bed of roses that starred one side of the lawn. Lucy could smell the sudden sweetness of crushed flowers as she bent to help him to his feet.
‘What the hell?’ Barney said, rubbing tenderly at his knees. ‘Someone’s left a rake there or something——’
He bent then, and felt about in the darkness, and then stood up so sharply that Lucy, standing close behind him, nearly went sprawling in her turn.
‘Just a minute——’ he said, and fumbled in his pocket. Then, there was the scrape of a match, and a small light sprang up, flickered and then settled to burn fairly steadily in Barney’s cupped palm.
She saw then, as she looked down. There, sprawled on the grass, her feet with the expensive crocodile shoes bent awkwardly under her, and her face turned upwards with blind open eyes staring up with a sort of ferocious surprise, was Roberta Vickers.
And it didn’t take her nursing experience to tell Lucy the woman was dead. The pool of blood which was still spreading thickly and stickily across her chest showed that all too clearly.
CHAPTER TEN
‘OH, my God,’ Barney said very softly, and then the match went out, plunging them into darkness again, and Lucy felt horror rise in her like a tide.
Beside her, she felt Barney fumble once more for matches, and then there was the comforting flicker of light again, and her fear receded a little, leaving her shaking but in control of herself.
‘Here——’ she said, and her voice sounded husky in her own ears. ‘I’ve got a lighter——’ and she fished it out of the pocket of her jacket.
In the steadier light it gave, they could see more clearly. The woman was lying on her back, her legs twisted awkwardly, and beside her her crocodile bag lay open, with its contents sprawling on the grass—make-up, little gilt tubes of lipstick and eyeshadow glittering in the light of their tiny flame, a black morocco purse, a handkerchief, a small red-covered notebook, a pencil with tassel on it, a blue tassel. Lucy took in the details greedily, anything to stop herself from looking at that blank horribly grimac
ing face and the blood-soaked coat beneath it.
She had seen death many times, but never violent death, like this, death deliberately inflicted. She realised with sudden intense clarity just why Barney had been sick when he knew for certain that he had been the instrument that actually caused the death of the sailor.
‘Lucy—are you all right?’ Barney’s voice brought her back, made her realise that she had been swaying a little, and she swallowed and said as evenly as she could, ‘I’m fine—just fine——’
‘I’ve got to get Spain,’ Barney said. ‘I must get him——’ All his distrust of the Inspector somehow evaporated in the face of this newest development. ‘If I only knew exactly where he was——’
‘Phone from the wing, Barney,’ Lucy said, and felt her jaw shake as she spoke. ‘Switchboard’ll put out a call for him—say it’s urgent—go on, Barney. Now——’
‘But—he might—I mean, whoever did this. He might still be about. He must be——’ Barney reached out his hand and touched the dead face. ‘She hasn’t been dead more than a few moments. I ought to look for him.’
‘Are you mad?’ In the face of such foolhardiness, Lucy’s fear seemed to melt away. ‘Go and get Spain. I’ll stay here and watch—her. You phone and come straight back——’
‘You’ll be all right?’
‘Of course I will.’ All her native common sense was coming back, as the initial shock of their discovery receded. ‘Whoever did this is heading away from here as fast as he can, you can be sure of that. The sooner you get Spain the better—do hurry, Barney——’ and she gave him a little push.
‘Right. If anything worries you, shriek blue—shriek as loudly as you can,’ he said, and then he turned and she heard his footsteps thudding away over the black grass.
And then there was silence again, as she heard the distant door of the wing slam behind him, and she stood in the dark garden with only a dead body for company, and a cigarette lighter between herself and complete blackness.
Death on the Table Page 11