A Case of Doubtful Death (38 page)

‘We will tour the premises and make any enquiries later,’ said Carmichael. Renfrew nodded and went back to his work.

‘Suppose Palmer was killed here?’ said Frances. ‘What would I look for?’

‘Hmm, well I was once called to a scene where a thief had cheated his confederate and as a result of the falling out, had been attacked with a jemmy. The first blow led to a crushing indentation in the skull, but in the room where it occurred there were no bloodstains. The skin was broken and blood had come to the surface, but it had not splashed on the walls. The victim then staggered into another room where he collapsed and his erstwhile friend completed the business. There was blood only in the second room. It was very much thrown about the place by the weapon.’

‘So,’ said Frances, ‘the first blow simply starts the bleeding, but then the others scatter the blood.’ She began to walk slowly around the ward, holding the lantern up to better see the floor and the walls, and the beds. Renfrew looked puzzled, but shrugged and went on with his work. Frances had gone around the perimeter lifting the lantern high then lowering it to scan every surface, before she saw what she had been looking for. It was in the crevice where the doorjamb met the wall by the exit to the office; something small and dark that resembled a clot of blood. She held the lamp close. ‘What do you think?’ she asked Carmichael.

Renfrew abandoned his work and came over to speak to them. ‘May I assist you, gentlemen?’

‘That will not be necessary,’ said Carmichael, ‘please do not let us interrupt you.’

‘I was wondering what had attracted your attention,’ said Renfrew with a suspicious glance, and started peering closely at the wall. At that moment, there was a faint tinkling of a bell. Renfrew jumped as if he had been stung and hurried away.

Carmichael turned and stared at Frances, who was standing behind him, smiling. Together they examined the dark brown gobbet. ‘It does look like blood; the colour and consistency and degree of drying are right,’ said Carmichael. ‘Whether or not it is human it is impossible to know.’

‘The fact that the spot is by the door that leads to the office suggests that Palmer was either entering or leaving the ward when it happened. But there were three blows. This blood must have come from either the second or the third. If this is Palmer’s blood, then he died on this very spot.’

‘You may well be right, but a single drop – that makes it very hard to prove anything.’

‘There should have been more.’

‘Oh yes, a great deal more.’

‘Then the wall and floor have been washed. It is only because of the dark shadows in this crevice that this was missed.’ She thought further. ‘Dr Carmichael, I would like you to go and inspect the chapel.’

‘Certainly. Any more instructions?’ he added with more than a hint of sarcasm, which Frances chose to ignore.

‘Yes, take Renfrew with you and engage him in conversation while you are there.’

Carmichael rolled his eyes, but complied. Renfrew had completed his tests of the male corpse and was staring at Frances as if he suspected her of having pulled a cord while his back was turned, in which suspicion he was entirely correct. When Carmichael asked to see the chapel, Renfrew paused, and seeing that Frances did not intend to accompany them, issued a curt instruction for her to touch nothing. He and Carmichael left by the connecting door, while Frances continued to stare at the spot of blood, trying to imagine what had occurred. An assailant with a hammer or a cudgel, bringing it down on the man’s head, creating a depression in the skull, crushing tissues, the wound pooling into a well of blood. The cudgel rising and coming down again, and this time striking the crushed and bloody flesh; drops of blood flying out, spattering the wall, the floor and the assailant. The cudgel, its ugly head now sticky with a mess of blood and flesh rising again for the third blow … Frances followed its path upwards with her eyes, raising the lantern again, but higher this time, not looking at the wall, but the painted ceiling of the room and there she saw them, thin streaks and droplets of blood, like lines of stitching running across the paintwork, high above her head, where the weapon had thrown it off and where whoever had cleaned the walls had failed to look.

Through the thin walls of the partition Frances could clearly hear Carmichael in conversation with Renfrew. She took a coin from her pocket, a penny piece, and dropped it on the floor. When it had finished bouncing and rolling she picked it up again. When Carmichael and Renfrew returned she said, ‘I hope I didn’t alarm you – a penny fell from my pocket.’

‘Oh, so that was what it was,’ said Carmichael, ‘I thought another one had woken up.’

Renfrew grunted, but went to tend the flowers.

‘Look up at the ceiling,’ said Frances. ‘It’s hard to see without the lantern light, but there is more blood there. Is that what you would expect to see?’

He nodded. ‘Oh yes. There was murder done here all right.’

‘Dr Carmichael,’ she said, ‘I am going to take a cab home and return to my proper attire without delay, but I want you to remain here and send Mr Renfrew with an urgent message to the police.’

Frances was now certain that both Dr Bonner and Mr Darscot had a great deal of explaining to do.

L
ater that day, Frances had a slightly difficult interview with Inspector Gostelow of the Kilburn police.

‘I am finding it hard to understand how you came to be in the Life House at all,’ he said. ‘Surely that is not a place for ladies.’

‘It is not,’ said Frances, ‘which is why I have been snooping around it for some days, hoping to be able to enter while no one was looking. I knew I would not be allowed to visit, yet I felt sure there was something to see.’

‘So how
did
you manage to get in?’

‘It was when the orderly admitted Dr Carmichael and the student. The young man was careless in closing the door and I was able to slip in unnoticed, and saw – well, what I saw. Then I asked the student to send a message to you at once.’

Gostelow frowned. ‘Well, that’s a pretty tale and no mistake! I’ve spoken to Mr Renfrew the orderly and he says the young gentleman had quite a feminine voice.’

‘Really?’ said Frances.

Gostelow shook his head. ‘I don’t know what you’ve been up to, Miss, but if I was your father I would be very worried indeed. Still, we’ll let it go for now, because it does seem that you have found something of interest.’

The door of his office opened and a constable peered in. Frances saw, to her surprise, the edge of a paper poking from his pocket, and recognised it at once as a copy of
Miss Dauntless and
the Diamond Thief
. ‘We’ve got Mr Darscot, sir, shall I bring him in?’

‘Yes, and don’t let me find you carrying reading matter about with you again!’

‘Sorry sir.’ He took the booklet out of his pocket, and Gostelow snatched it from him and put it in his desk drawer. ‘Now go and get him. Miss Daunt – I mean Miss Doughty – you can go now.’

‘If you don’t mind, Inspector, I would like to stay,’ said Frances.

‘Certainly not! This is a police matter!’

‘I have been investigating Mr Palmer’s disappearance for some time and not only did I discover his body, but also the location where he was murdered,’ Frances reminded him. ‘Those are police matters, I believe. I may have some useful observations.’

He shook his head. ‘Inspector Sharrock warned me about you,’ he said.

‘About my habit of solving crimes?’

‘Yes, a most regrettable habit for a young lady. Still, I suppose we ignore it at our peril. Very well, you can stay as long as you sit tight and say nothing. Do you promise?’

‘I will do my best,’ she reassured him.

Darscot was brought in looking as fresh and dapper as ever, but with a wary look in his eye. He was taken aback to see Frances. ‘Why, Miss Doughty – have they got you here too?’

She declined to comment.

Darscot was ushered to a seat facing Gostelow across his desk and despite the unusual circumstances, did his best to retain his air of assurance.

‘Mr Darscot, we are enquiring into the death of Henry Palmer, which we now believe took place on the same night as the unfortunate occurrence concerning Dr Mackenzie.’

‘Oh, I read all about Mr Palmer in the newspapers and as you know, I did go up to the Life House that night. I saw Dr Bonner and viewed Dr Mackenzie’s body, but Palmer was not there.’

‘Can you go over again the events that occurred when you went there?’

‘Well, there is hardly anything to tell. I went because I wanted to see for myself that Mackenzie had indeed passed away, since he owed me a large sum of money, and found that he had – or at least it seemed so at the time.’

‘You entered the chapel?’

‘Yes.’

‘Not the main ward?’

‘Oh no, well there was no reason for me to go there, even if I was allowed in – it’s only doctors there isn’t it?’

‘The thing is, Mr Darscot, we now know that apart from Dr Mackenzie, who was alive but unconscious at the time, the only other persons in the Life House that evening were Dr Bonner, Mr Palmer and yourself. And we now believe that after reporting to Dr Mackenzie’s landlady, Mr Palmer, despite being told he might go home, instead returned to the Life House, no doubt from a sense of duty. We are also convinced that he died there. Both you and he were seen headed up to the Life House at about the same time, you by cab and he on foot. He probably arrived only a few minutes after you did.’

‘Well,’ said Darscot, ‘I wish I could help you, but I cannot. I was admitted to the chapel by Dr Bonner, I viewed the body of Dr Mackenzie, and then I left. I did not see Palmer. He must have arrived afterwards.’

‘How long were you there?’

‘Not many minutes.’

‘You departed by the chapel door?’

‘Yes.’

‘What about Dr Bonner? Where did he go?’

‘I couldn’t say; he was in the chapel when I left.’

Gostelow nodded. If, Frances reflected, Palmer had arrived shortly afterwards, then the only living persons in the Life House when he entered were Dr Mackenzie, who was unconscious, and Dr Bonner. But she did not know for certain exactly when Palmer had arrived, or even if he had arrived alone. The only thing that was certain was that by the following morning Palmer was dead, and his body had been switched with that of Mrs Templeman, whose corpse had been slipped into the canal, and most traces of blood splashing had been removed. She very much doubted that Bonner, afflicted as he was with the gout, could have done all that by himself, and certainly not in the brief period he was apparently alone in the Life House before Hemsley arrived. The only other man who had undoubtedly been on the ward that night was Hemsley. Had he helped his employer conceal a murder?

Gostelow glanced at Frances. ‘Er – Miss Doughty, you have been looking into the Palmer case on behalf of his relatives. I – ah – wonder if you have any observations at this point?’

‘I would like to ask Mr Darscot – when you were in the chapel, did you hear the sound of anyone in the ward? A person moving about, perhaps? A key turning? A bell? A knock on the door?’

‘No, nothing at all.’

‘You didn’t see Mr Palmer that night?’

‘Well, no, and I am not sure I would have recognised him if I did. I really would help you if I could.’ Darscot was lounging in his seat, all smiles, playing with the little cane, the picture of affable innocence.

‘And now I understand you are taking legal action against Dr Mackenzie’s estate for the loan of £
500
,’ said Frances, who suspected that the young man was more hard-headed about money than he liked to appear.

‘Yes, well I am very sorry for what has happened, but a loan is a loan, you know.’

‘May I see the agreement?’

Darscot laughed and made a great play of delving into his pockets and patting his coat, creating a rustling of paper and a chinking of coins and keys. ‘Of course, I don’t carry it about my person, it is with my legal man.’

‘Perhaps, Mr Darscot,’ said Frances, on a sudden thought, ‘you might like to turn out your pockets?’

He glanced at the Inspector. ‘Am I being accused of anything?’

‘Not yet,’ said Gostelow. ‘Please do as the young lady asks.’

Darscot looked surprised, but obliged. The items he laid on the desk were a pocket book containing some banknotes, a memorandum book, a pencil, some visiting cards in a silver case, a bundle of tailor’s bills, some coins and five keys on a ring. One key was small, but the other four were rather heavier.

Gostelow examined the pocket and memorandum books, but Frances picked up the bunch of keys.

‘What are these the keys to?’ she asked.

‘The small one is for my rooms at the Piccadilly Club,’ said Darscot, ‘and the others are the keys to some of my properties in the country.’

‘I think not,’ said Frances. ‘This is a set of keys to the Life House. Please don’t deny it, it is too easily tested. So on the night of Palmer’s death you could have let yourself into the Life House at the front door using these keys, and could have been on the ward when he was killed. Which means you have been lying to Inspector Gostelow.’

‘What do you say to that, sir?’ asked Gostelow. ‘Maybe you are the man who killed Mr Palmer.’

Darscot paled. ‘No! I haven’t killed anyone! All right, I admit that those are Life House keys. They’re Mackenzie’s. He let me have them as security for the loan.’

‘He would never have done that,’ said Frances. ‘And in any case, these are not Dr Mackenzie’s original keys, but a set that have been recently cut. It is the same locksmith but a slightly different design. A week before Dr Mackenzie died he arrived at the Life House very distressed, without his keys, saying he had left them at his lodgings. And then he didn’t return for several days. You stole his keys, didn’t you? And had them copied.’

‘I borrowed them,’ said Darscot. ‘And I gave them back, so it wasn’t stealing.’

‘Why did you have copies made?’

‘The man owed me money and I wasn’t going to have him hide away from me.’