Money in the Morgue Page 9

  Sarah allowed that her own Transport Office was likely to be both tidier and slightly more comfortable due to the absence of the extra desk in the Records Office and the presence of an ancient divan, set aside for ambulance drivers who needed a rest after a night on the road.

  ‘The Transport Office it is,’ Alleyn cried and herded his suspects up the two wooden steps and into the squat weatherboard building. Sarah led the way while Rosamund Farquharson, Dr Hughes, Mr Glossop, Father O’Sullivan and Sister Comfort complied with varying degrees of willing. Once they were all crammed into the office, Alleyn took the floor, standing by the open door.

  ‘Thank you all for coming along with me. I’m sure this does feel heavy-handed, for which I apologize. I had no intention of coming over all Scotland Yard on you, but with the payroll theft and a certain concern over what has happened to Matron—’

  ‘Certain concern?’ interrupted Glossop from the leather chair at the desk where he had taken the most comfortable seat, ‘Matron was a picture of healthy womanhood and now we find her laid out cold on a trolley commandeered by that drunken idiot. There’s a thousand pounds missing from the safe, not to mention the body of the old bloke gone astray. I’d say that’s murder and theft, not a “concern” for Gawd’s sake.’

  Rosamund spoke up, her vowels now as rounded as Sarah Warne’s had necessarily been when on the London stage, albeit with an additional touch of breathlessness which Sarah would never have essayed, even for the most laboured of ingénue roles, ‘There’s my extra one hundred pounds actually, Inspector, Matron was looking after my winnings. She was most insistent about it.’

  ‘Well there you are,’ Glossop added, ‘no place for your ever-so-English understatement, no place for it at all.’

  Alleyn held up his hand to stop any further interruptions and tried again, ‘Thank you both.’ He turned to the furious fat man, who was mopping his brow with a handkerchief that must surely have been too damp to do any good, ‘I agree, it certainly seems as if we are looking at two crimes here, crimes which may or may not be linked. Yes, thank you, Miss Farquharson,’ he added, eager to avoid Rosamund interrupting again, ‘Three, if we consider the theft of Miss Farquharson’s own sum in addition to that of the payroll. I am very sorry to say I have to agree with Mr Glossop at this point, that it is also possible Matron has met with foul play. We need to know, at the very least, how Matron’s body came to be on the trolley and where Mr Brown’s body might be found, ideally before his grieving grandson discovers him missing.’

  There was a brief pause when even Mr Glossop appeared to recall the death of the elderly gentleman and the need for some courtesy to his next of kin.

  Alleyn went on, ‘For the moment, and until Dr Hughes can give me a clearer indication of what may have happened to Matron, I’d like to begin by interviewing each of you one by one.’

  ‘Oh, please, Inspector, I’m no pathologist,’ Dr Hughes said, holding his hands up in dismay.

  Alleyn frowned, looking at the earnest young man in front of him. Hughes’s high forehead was furrowed in serious worry, his eyes were a deep grey framed with long dark lashes that would not have looked out of place on a fashion plate like Miss Farquharson, and even so did not diminish the obvious sincerity with which he spoke. Alleyn wondered for a moment if perhaps Hughes was more upset about the events of the evening than was warranted and then dismissed his thought as unfair, for all he knew Mr Brown’s death was the straw that had broken an unknown camel’s back. No doubt that camel would reveal itself as the night progressed.

  ‘That is unfortunate, Dr Hughes,’ he said at last, suddenly aware they were all waiting on him and wishing, not for the first time that evening, that he had his trusted Sergeant Fox on hand. ‘But in lieu of a full post-mortem, indeed without your own local police force until either the telephone line or the bridge can be repaired, we shall all have to muddle through as best we can. Until we know what has happened to Matron and to Mr Brown’s body, I am forced to treat this as a murder case, in addition to one of theft. At the very least there is something extremely unusual in substituting one body for another, unusual enough to suggest the certain possibility of criminal activity.’

  Alleyn paused, the office was silent and, finally, so was the world outside, the howling winds that had so recently abated to a soft lull were now entirely absent. He wished himself anywhere but here, doing anything but what he was about to do. Beyond the thin wooden walls and the corrugated iron roof of this cramped office were the wide plains, encompassing the small, sleepy towns and stretching towards the ocean in the east, while in the opposite direction, mere miles from where they now stood in the foothills, there were range after range of mountains, their jagged peaks still glistening with a dusting of snow even now, on midsummer’s night. If he had to be awake he would wish to be outside, gazing up at the misplaced Southern Hemisphere stars. Alleyn had taken to studying the unfamiliar constellations since his arrival and those that were new to him had become even more alluring as he grew to recognize their hidden forms, while those he had known since childhood seemed still more brilliant in this darkened and distant primordial land. The group stared at Alleyn, waiting for him to speak. There would be no star-gazing tonight.

  ‘As each of you admits to having spent time with Matron this evening, and indeed several of you were with her privately in her office, I shall need to speak with you all individually. Until then, and with my sincere apologies, I must ask you to remain here in the Transport Office. I intend to trust you to keep an eye on each other, but should anyone choose to leave the office without my permission, I may be obliged to lock you in. If necessary I shall ask Sergeant Bix to post one of his men on the door. Is that clear?’

  It was clear, but not at all uniformly approved.

  Glossop muttered under his breath and finally blustered forth, ‘It’s a flamin’ cheek’s what it is. My bosses trust me to drive that pay-box week in, week out, across the plains, by myself mind you, I don’t need no bloody—excuse me ladies,’ he nodded to Sarah and Rosamund, both of whom were biting their cheeks in an attempt not to smile, ‘I need neither a chaperone nor a guard to make sure I keep the money safe and I have to say I’m browned off that you, Inspector or Detective or whatever it is, don’t have the same trust in me that my bosses do. The actual Government of New Zealand, I’ll have you know. Not to mention that you’ve already made up your mind that one of us is a thief or, God forbid, a murderer, and yet you want to lock us all up together.’

  Alleyn waited until Glossop had finished and responded quietly and patiently, ‘The title is Chief Detective Inspector. It’s a cumbersome mouthful, I agree, Mr Glossop, however I willingly answer to Inspector, Detective, Mr Alleyn, Alleyn, or even “hey you”, if necessary.’

  Alleyn caught Rosamund’s eye and her twinkling nod of approval as he turned to Sister Comfort, who was already gearing up to give him a piece of her mind, no doubt prompted by Glossop’s failure to include her when he apologized to the ‘ladies’.

  ‘What you don’t seem to understand, Inspector,’ she said, ‘is that you are asking me to leave the supervision of my nurses to a subordinate. With Matron, I mean with Matron—’ for a moment Alleyn thought that the steely woman before him might lose her composure and he noted that everyone else in the office seemed as horrified by the prospect as he himself felt and hoped he did not show. Fortunately her years of diligent training took over once more and after a moment in which Sister Comfort seemed to steady herself, the way a dinghy might right itself in the hands of a skilful sailor, she went on, ‘I am now in charge of the hospital. I must be allowed to discharge my duties.’

  ‘I appreciate that, Sister Comfort,’ he said, not unkindly. ‘Regardless, the duties I must discharge insist that you cannot. On his return I shall send Sergeant Bix to fetch your next in command and you shall have a word with her, deputising where necessary.’

  The others were easier to deal with, while Father O’Sullivan fretted that someone ought to be with y
oung Sydney Brown in case he awoke, he was content to wait in the office for now. Alleyn privately made a note to fetch Sydney Brown to the office as soon as possible, he too had spent some time with Matron this evening, albeit with the vicar in attendance. Young Mr Brown must be added to an already alarmingly long list of interviewees. Dr Hughes reluctantly agreed to offer his best guess as to what might have happened to Matron, although he protested once more that he was no pathologist. Sarah Warne declared herself willing to use the time to get on with the rotas for the week, if Glossop could be persuaded to allow her to sit in her own chair at her own desk.

  Only Rosamund Farquharson seemed positively pleased with the situation, ‘I very much want my money back and I’ll do whatever needs doing to make sure I get it. You can count on me, Inspector,’ she added brightly, with what Alleyn thought was a wholly unnecessary and quite charming smile.

  There followed a little business as Bix returned, was sent to find Sister Comfort’s subordinate, came back with the stoic nurse and orders were given, though not quite as quickly as Alleyn might have liked.

  ‘Very good,’ Alleyn said, once matters were finally accomplished to Sister Comfort’s satisfaction. ‘Now, Miss Warne, I have a task for you while Sergeant Bix escorts me down to the morgue, your bus had how many passengers this evening?’

  ‘There were ten of us in total, Inspector, myself and nine passengers. Eight VADs and Sydney Brown.’

  ‘Very well, I’d like a list of your passengers and a further list noting the patients and staff in each ward. I gather, Sister Comfort, that even the patients who are about to be discharged are confined to wards from seven in the evening?’

  ‘That’s correct, Inspector. Matron and I pride ourselves on running a tight ship, we like to know where everyone is at all times. We have a nurses’ station at the entrance to each ward, and a night nurse on duty from 7 p.m. sharp, so we can give you full lists of all those servicemen and civilians who were safely in bed and certainly unable to commit the theft or anything else—’

  Sister Comfort’s composure left her for a moment and Alleyn stepped in quickly.

  ‘It would be an unconfined joy to eliminate such a large number of people from my list of potential suspects.’

  ‘Leaving just us I suppose?’ Glossop asked, still red-faced with anger at the suggestion of his culpability.

  ‘Not just us, Mr Glossop,’ Sister Comfort interrupted. ‘Three convalescent servicemen were given leave to walk to the front gate this evening, they’re due for release any day now and we encourage active exercise before they return to service. The three in question are particularly incorrigible.’

  ‘That’s one word for them,’ Rosamund couldn’t help herself and Sarah Warne dug her friend in the ribs.

  Sister Comfort went on, ‘I know they were not in the ward at seven o’clock which is when they were due, in fact I’d not be surprised if they weren’t back a good deal later.’

  ‘Which ward?’ Alleyn asked.

  ‘Military 1.’

  Alleyn nodded, ‘Of course, right in the middle of all this evening’s alarums. In that case, I think we might ask Sister Comfort’s newly-appointed aide-de-camp to bring those three men along to join you here. And ask her to rouse young Mr Brown and bring him too, I might as well have all my chickens in one coop.’

  Glossop started to bluster further about contagion from the convalescent soldiers, but Sister Comfort cut him off with a sharp reproof, had he not heard her say that the men were due for discharge and perfectly well?

  ‘Then we’re all set,’ Alleyn said brightly, clapping his long hands together to hold their attention. ‘Sergeant Bix, if you’ll accompany me back to the morgue we can ensure that the place is free from any concern before Dr Hughes begins his analysis and then we can at least leave Matron in peace for what remains of this brief night. We’ll then send you off on your search of the premises. We may even find that our friend Will Kelly put a girdle round the hospital in forty minutes and the missing Mr Brown awaits us in the morgue. I admit that I’m sorely missing my fingerprints man Bailey right now, we can, however, at last set this investigation in motion. As soon as the telephone lines are reconnected and the bridge once again passable, I hope to have something of use to hand over to your fine New Zealand constabulary,’ he directed the latter remark at Glossop. He looked around at those gathered in the office, ‘This may be the shortest night, but I fear it may well seem the longest. I suggest you make yourselves busy, and those with no business will just have to make yourselves as comfortable as possible. After you, Sergeant.’

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  Alleyn allowed Bix to lead the way into the yard. He closed the door behind them, sorely tempted to lock it but stopped himself.

  Bix spoke up, ‘Trusting of you, Sir.’

  Alleyn smiled, looked down at the short, stocky man, his receding sandy curls slicked back neatly, his boots as brightly polished as if he were headed for the parade ground, ‘If I were to take a guess, I’d say you were a student of human nature, am I right, Sergeant?’

  ‘I try, Sir. Always useful to understand what makes your men tick.’

  ‘I completely agree.’

  In the dim light from the office windows Alleyn watched Bix first frown and then nod, smiling, ‘So what you’re trying here is something of a ruse then?’

  ‘Is it?’ Alleyn asked amiably.

  ‘Well, you said you trusted them, but you can’t really, not every man Jack of them.’

  ‘Or Jill. Indeed. But I didn’t say I trusted them all, Bix, I said I trusted them to keep an eye on one another.’

  ‘Too right you did, Inspector. Might it be more likely you’re trusting them to notice if one of them is a bit off?’

  ‘It might indeed.’

  ‘And holing them up in there, on what’s turned out a lovely night after all—’ Bix added, peering at the diamond-sharp stars above.

  ‘Lovely,’ Alleyn repeated, looking up. He was enjoying himself enormously, he’d missed this kind of back and forth with Fox.

  ‘Someone’s bound to have a pop, aren’t they? Sooner or later. Likely sooner, I reckon, what with you closing the door and that window in Transport having been stuck for most of the past year.’

  ‘Is it stuck?’ Alleyn asked lightly, ‘I’m sure I didn’t notice.’

  ‘Of course not, Sir.’

  ‘However, I rather expect someone will “have a pop” as you say, Bix. Human nature being what it is, sometimes the company of other people is all the irritant required to form a pearl of revelation. We can but hope.’

  They were walking along the yard at a good pace, the scent of roses even stronger after the drenching the land had taken earlier. The wards were fully silent now, the covered lamps at each nurses’ station offering just enough light to delineate the windows, the half-glass porch doors, and the broader shape of the buildings. Beyond the wards, Alleyn felt the solid presence of the foothills and then the immense strength of the mountains, stretching back and westward, forming the spine of this long island. Whatever the night held, the midsummer sun would rise on those peaks soon enough.

  Bix stopped after they had passed the Surgery on their left, ‘Here we are, Sir.’

  ‘Here?’ Alleyn questioned, peering ahead into the darkness, ‘I thought your new army buildings were ahead of us at this point? I must be more disoriented than I thought.’

  ‘They are, Sir, a wee way on, but the morgue’s to your right. Sorry, I’m so used to getting about the place in the dark most nights, always some emergency or other, I’d say I can see my way with my eyes closed.’

  ‘How useful,’ Alleyn spoke quietly into the night.

  Bix flicked on his torch and shone it to their right. Alleyn saw that they were twenty feet or so from the morgue, which was set back and away from the wards. It was a squat building with a shallow roof, hidden by the porter’s hut and yet another impressive row of roses.

  ‘The roses work well to hide this statement of mortali
ty from the patients,’ Alleyn said.

  ‘They do, Sir, too many flamin’ roses if you ask me. It’s like a pot-pourri of death, draws even more attention to it and I know that’s not the plan.’

  Alleyn smiled to himself. Bix’s French accent was only slightly more alarming than that of his own dear Sergeant Fox. If he had to be abroad tonight, he was glad to have Bix at his side.

  Bix shone the torchlight on the morgue door, allowing Alleyn to step forward and unlock the building, and then he gestured to the detective, ‘After you, Sir.’

  The door opened into a small entrance area, beyond which was a steeply sloping passage, perhaps three times the width of the old trolley that had caused so much distress and no more than ten paces of Alleyn’s own long legs. The passage opened out into the morgue itself.

  ‘I took the liberty of leaving the trolley in here, Sir,’ Bix said, indicating the ancient trolley, hard against the wall immediately to their left. Alleyn asked him to shine his torch on the body bag for a moment and he had a sense that they were both holding their breath as he opened the ties on the bag and confirmed that Matron was indeed still lying there. Alleyn stared at her face for a moment and then carefully closed the bag. He waited as Bix lit each of the gas lanterns attached to the walls, the room becoming both starker and smaller as its limits were defined.

  Between the descending gradient of the passage and ascent of the ground immediately behind the building, Alleyn estimated that the space in which they now stood was more than half built into the earth. It was clearly a worthy achievement to create a morgue this cool in the long hot summers of the plains. Alleyn thought that he would have enjoyed a chat with the architect over a pipe, assuming there had been an architect, this far from the big towns. Perhaps the place had been crafted by a canny builder, someone who understood the shape of the land. He stood in the centre of the morgue and took in the room around them. Directly before him were eight cavities for the dead, each with a short, plain linen curtain in front hanging on brass rings from an identical length of dowling. The curtains were no doubt for the proprieties of the living rather than those already returning to the earth. He looked from the holes carved into the rock to the trolley.