Shroud for a Nightingale (24 page)

He opened the writing-case, but with little hope of finding what he sought Nothing had changed since his first examination. Here still was the half-finished letter to her grandmother, a dull recital of the week’s doings written as impersonally as a ward report and a quarto-sized envelope, posted to her on the day of her death and obviously slipped into the writing-case by someone who, having opened it, couldn’t think of what else to do with it. It was an illustrated brochure on the work of a home in Suffolk for German war refugees apparently sent in the hope of a donation.

He turned his attention to the small collection of books on the wall shelf. He had seen them before. Then, as now, he was struck by the conventionality of her choice and by the meagerness of this personal library. A school prize for needlework.
Lamb’s Tales from Shakespeare.
Dalgliesh had never believed that any child read them and there was no evidence that Nurse Pearce had done so. There were two travel books,
In the Steps of St. Paul
and
In the Steps of the Master.
In both the girl had carefully inscribed her name. There was a well-known but out-of-date edition of a nursing textbook. The date on the flyleaf was nearly four years old. He wondered whether she had bought it in anticipation of her training, only to find that its advise on applying leeches and administering enemas had become out of date. There was a copy of Palgrave’s
Golden Treasury,
also a school prize, but this time inappropriately for deportment This, too, showed little sign of having been read. Lastly there were three paperbacks—novels by a popular woman writer, each advertised as “The Book of the Film”—and a fictional and highly sentimental account of the wanderings across Europe of a lost dog and cat which Dalgliesh remembered had been a best-seller some five years previously. This was inscribed, “To Heather, with love from Auntie Edie, Christmas 1964.” The whole collection told him little about the dead girl, except that her reading had apparently been as restricted as her life. And nowhere he found what he was seeking.

He didn’t go again to look in Nurse Fallon’s room. The scene-of-crime officer had searched every inch of it, and he himself could have described the room in minute detail and given an accurate inventory of all its contents. Wherever the library ticket and the token were, he could be sure that they weren’t there. Instead he ran lightly up the wide staircase to the floor above where he had noticed a wall-mounted telephone when carrying Sister Gearing’s tea tray to the utility room. A card listing the internal extensions hung beside it and, after a moment’s thought, he rang the nurses’ sitting-room. Maureen Burt answered. Yes, Nurse Goodale was still there. Almost immediately Dalgliesh heard her voice and he asked her to come up to see him in Nurse Pearce’s room.

She came so promptly that he had hardly reached the door before he saw the self-assured, uniformed figure at the top of the stairs. He stood aside and she moved into the room before him and silently surveyed the stripped bed, the silent bedside clock, the closed Bible, letting her gaze rest briefly on each object with gentle uninquisitive interest Dalgliesh moved to the window and, both standing, they regarded each other wordlessly across the bed. Then he said:

“I’m told that Nurse Fallon lent a library ticket to Nurse Pearce sometime during the week before she died. You were leaving the dining-room with Sister Gearing at the time. Can you remember what happened?”

Nurse Goodale was not given to showing surprise.

“Yes, I think so. Fallon had told me earlier that day that Pearce wanted to visit one of the London libraries and had asked to borrow her reader’s ticket and the token. Fallon was a member of the Westminster library. They’ve got a number of branches in the City but you aren’t really supposed to belong unless you either live or work in Westminster. Fallon had a flat in London before she became a student here and had kept her reader’s card and token. It’s an excellent library, much better than we’ve got here, and it’s useful to be able to borrow books. I think Sister Rolfe is a member too. Fallon took her reader’s ticket and one of the tokens across to lunch and handed them to Pearce as we were leaving the dining-room.”

“Did Nurse Pearce say why she wanted them?”

“Not to me. She may have told Fallon. I don’t know. Any of us could borrow one of Fallon’s tokens if we wanted to. Fallon didn’t require an explanation.”

“What precisely are these tokens like?”

“They’re small oblongs of pale blue plastic with the City Arms stamped on them. The library usually gives four to every reader and you hand one in every time you take out a book, but Jo only had three. She may have lost the fourth. There’s also the reader’s ticket That’s the usual small piece of cardboard with the name, address and date of expiry. Sometimes the assistant asks to see the reader’s ticket and I suppose that’s why Jo handed it over with the token.”

“Do you know where the other two are?”

“Yes, in my room. I borrowed them about a fortnight ago when I went up to town with my fiance‘ to attend a special service in the Abbey. I thought we might have time to visit the Great Smith Street branch to see whether they had the new Iris Murdoch. However, we met some friends from Mark’s theological college after the service and never got to the library. I meant to return the tokens to Jo but I slipped them in my writing-case and forgot about them. She didn’t remind me. I can show them to you if it would be helpful.”

“I think it would. Did Heather Pearce use her token, do you know?”

“Well, I assume she did. I saw her waiting for the Green Line bus to town that afternoon. We were both off duty so it must have been the Thursday. I imagine that she had it in mind to visit the library.”

She looked puzzled.

“Somehow I feel quite sure that she did take out a library book but I can’t think why I should be so certain.”

“Can’t you? Think very hard.”

Nurse Goodale stood silently, her hands folded composedly as if in prayer over the white stiffness of her apron. He did not hurry her. She gazed fixedly ahead then turned her eyes to the bed and said quietly:

“I know now. I saw her reading a library book. It was the night when Jo was taken ill, the night before Pearce herself died. I went into her bedroom just after half past eleven to ask her to go and look after Jo while I fetched Sister. She was sitting up in bed with her hair in two plaits and she was reading. I remember now. It was a large book, bound in a dark color, dark blue I think, and with a reference number stamped in gold at the foot of the spine. It looked an old and rather heavy book. I don’t think it was fiction. She was holding it propped up against her knees I remember. When I appeared she closed it quickly and slipped it under her pillow. It was a strange thing to do but it didn’t mean anything to me at the time. Pearce was always oddly secretive. Besides, I was too concerned about Jo. But I remember it now.”

She stood again in silence for a few moments. Dalgliesh waited. Then she said quietly:

“I know what’s worrying you. Where’s that book now? It wasn’t among her things when Sister Rolfe and I tidied her room and made a list of her belongings after her death. The police were with us and we didn’t find a book anything like it And what happened to the ticket? It wasn’t among Fallon’s things either.”

Dalgliesh asked:

“What exactly happened that night? You said you went in to Nurse Fallon shortly after eleven thirty. I thought she didn’t go to bed before midnight.”

“She did that night I suppose it was because she wasn’t feeling well and hoped that an early bed would put her right She didn’t tell anyone she was ill. Jo wouldn’t And I didn’t go in to her. She came into me. Shortly after eleven thirty she woke me up. She looked ghastly. She was obviously in a high fever and she could hardly stand. I helped her back to her bed, went in to ask Pearce to stay with her, and then rang Sister Rolfe. She’s generally responsible for us when we’re in Nightingale House. Sister came to look at Jo and then telephoned the private wing and asked for an ambulance to come over for her. Then she rang Sister Brumfett to let her know what had happened. Sister Brumfett likes to know what’s happening on her ward even when she’s off duty. She wouldn’t have been pleased to arrive in the hospital next morning and find that Jo had been warded without her being told. She came down to have a look at Jo but didn’t go over in the ambulance with her. It wasn’t really necessary.”

“Who did accompany her?”

“I did. Sister Rolfe and Sister Brumfett went back to their rooms and Pearce returned to hers.”

So the book could hardly have been removed that night thought Dalgliesh. Pearce would certainly have noticed its absence. Even if she had decided not to continue reading it she would hardly settle to sleep with a heavy book under her pillow. So the probability was that someone had taken it after her death. One thing was certain. A particular book had been in her possession late on the night before she died yet was not in her room when the police, Miss Rolfe and Nurse Goodale examined it for the first time at about ten past ten the next morning. Whether or not that book had come from Westminster library, it was missing, and if the book wasn’t from the library, then what had happened to the token and the reader’s ticket? Neither was among her things. And if she had decided not
to
use them and handed them back to Fallon, why weren’t they among Fallon’s possessions?

He asked Nurse Goodale what had happened immediately after Nurse Pearce’s death.

“Matron sent us students up to her sitting-room and asked us to wait there. Sister Gearing joined us after about half an hour and then some coffee came and we drank that We stayed there together talking and trying to read until Inspector Bailey and Matron arrived. That must have been about eleven o’clock, perhaps a little earlier.”

“And were you all together in that room for the whole of that time?”

“Not all the time. I went out to the library to fetch a book I wanted and was away about three minutes. Nurse Dakers left the room too. I’m not sure why but I think she muttered something about going to the lavatory. Otherwise, as far as I can remember, we all stayed together. Miss Beale, the G.N.C. Inspector, was with us.”

She paused.

“You think that this missing library book has something to do with Pearce’s death, don’t you? You think it’s important.”

“I think that it may be. That’s why I want you to say nothing about our conversation.”

“Of course, if that’s what you want” She paused.

“But couldn’t I try to find out what has happened to the book? I could ask the other students quite casually if they had the ticket and token. I could pretend that I wanted to use them.”

Dalgliesh smiled: “Leave the detecting to me. I’d much prefer you to say nothing.”

He saw no reason to suggest to her that in a murder investigation too much knowledge could be dangerous. She was a sensible girl. She would think it out for herself soon enough. Taking his silence for dismissal she turned to go. When she reached the door she hesitated and turned:

“Superintendent Dalgliesh, forgive me if I’m interfering. I can’t believe that Pearce was murdered. But if she was, then sorely the library book could have been taken from her room any time after five to nine when Pearce went into the demo room. The murderer would know that she wouldn’t come out of that room alive and that it would be safe for him, or her, to remove it. If the book were taken after Pearce’s death it could have been taken by anyone and for a perfectly innocent reason. But if it were taken before she died then it was taken by her killer. That would be true even if the book itself had nothing to do with the reason why she was killed. And Pearce’s question to us all about something missing from her room suggests that the book was taken before she died. And why should the murderer bother to remove it if it wasn’t in some way connected with the crime?”

“Exactly,” said Dalgliesh. “You’re a very intelligent young woman.”

For the first time he saw Nurse Goodale disconcerted. She blushed, looking at once as pink and pretty as a young bride, then smiled at him, turned quickly and was gone. Dalgliesh, intrigued by the metamorphosis, decided that the local vicar had shown much sense and discernment in choosing his wife. What the parochial church council would make of her uncompromising intelligence was another matter. And he hoped that he wouldn’t have to arrest her for murder before they had a chance to make up their minds.

He followed her into the corridor. As usual it was gloomily obscure, lit only by the two bulbs high in a cluster of entwined brass. He had reached the top of the staircase when instinct made him pause and then retrace his steps. Switching on his torch he bent low and moved the beam slowly over the surface of sand in the two fire buckets. The nearer one was caked and gray with dust; it had obviously not been disturbed since it was filled. But the surface of the second one bore a fresher look. Dalgliesh put on his thin cotton searching gloves, fetched from Nurse Pearce’s bedroom a sheet of newspaper from one of the drawers, spread it on the corridor floor and slowly tipped out the sand in a rising pyramid. He found no hidden library ticket. But there tumbled out a squat, screw-topped tin, with a stained label. Dalgliesh brushed off the grains of sand to reveal the black print of a skull and the word poison in capitals. Underneath were the words:

“Plant Spray. Death to Insects, Harmless to Plants. Use carefully in accordance with instructions.”

He did not need to read the instructions to know what he had found. The stuff was almost pure nicotine. The poison which had killed Nurse Fallon was at last in his hands.

Chapter Six

LONG DAY’S ENDING

I

Five minutes later Dalgliesh, having spoken to the forensic science laboratory director and to Sir Miles Honeyman, looked up at a sulkily defensive Sergeant Masterson.

I’m beginning to see why the Force is so keen on training civilian searchers. I told the scene-of-crime officer to stick to the bedroom, that we’d see to the rest of the house. I thought for some reason that policemen could use their eyes.“