The Private Patient (13 page)

The room in which she lay, like the sitting room through which they had passed, despite its comfort was too carefully furnished, achieving an organised perfection which for him was unwelcoming and impersonal. The objects he had glimpsed as he passed through the sitting room to her bedside arranged themselves in his memory: the Georgian writing desk, the two modern easy chairs before a stone grate fitted with an electric heater, the mahogany bookcase and bureau arranged to their advantage. And yet they were rooms in which he would never have felt at home. They reminded him of a country-house hotel once—and only once—visited, where the overcharged guests were subtly made to feel socially inferior in their taste to that of the owners. No imperfections were allowed. He wondered who had arranged the rooms. Presumably Miss Cressett. If so, she was trying to convey that this part of the Manor was merely a short-stay hotel. Visitors were here to be impressed but not to take over even temporary possession. Rhoda Gradwyn may have felt differently, may even have been at home here. But the room, for her, had not been tainted by the noxious contamination of murder.

Turning to Chandler-Powell, Dr. Glenister said, “You had, of course, seen her the evening before.”

“Naturally.”

“And is this how you found her this morning?”

“Yes. When I saw her throat I knew that there was nothing I could do, and that there was no possibility that this was a natural death. It hardly needs a consultant forensic pathologist to diagnose how she died. She's been throttled. What you see now is exactly what I saw when I first approached the bed.”

Dalgliesh asked, “Were you alone?”

“I was alone at the bedside. Sister Holland was in the sitting room coping with Kimberley Bostock, the assistant cook, who had brought up the early-morning tea. When she saw the body, Sister pressed the red call button in the sitting room several times, so I knew that there was some kind of emergency. As you'll see, the one by the bed has been looped out of reach. Very wisely, Sister Holland didn't touch it. She has assured me that it was lying as usual on the bedside table when she settled the patient for the night. I thought that probably the patient had panicked or was ill, and I expected to find Sister here also responding to the call. We shut both doors and I carried Kimberley down to her own apartment. I called her husband to stay with her and immediately telephoned the local police. Chief Inspector Whetstone instructed me about sealing the room and was here in charge until you arrived. I had already arranged for this corridor and the lift to be out of bounds.”

Dr. Glenister had been bending over the body but without touching it. Now she straightened herself and said, “She was strangled by a right-handed grip, the hand probably in a smooth glove. There is bruising by the right-hand fingers and thumb but no nail scratches. I'll know more when I have her on the table.” She turned to Chandler-Powell. “There's one question, please. Did you prescribe any sedatives for her yesterday night?”

“I offered her temazepam, but she said she didn't need it. She had come out of the anaesthetic well, had had a light supper, and now was feeling drowsy. She thought she'd have no difficulty in sleeping. Sister Holland was the last person to see her—apart, of course, from her murderer—and all she asked for was a glass of hot milk laced with brandy. Sister Holland waited while she drank and then removed the glass. It has, of course, now been washed.”

Dr. Glenister said, “I think the lab will find it useful if they could have a list of all the sedatives that you keep in the dispensary here, or any drugs to which a patient could have had access or been given. Thank you, Mr. Chandler-Powell.”

Dalgliesh said, “It would be helpful to have a preliminary talk with you alone, perhaps in ten minutes' time. I need to get an idea of the layout here and the number and function of the staff, and how Miss Gradwyn came to be your patient.”

Chandler-Powell said, “I'll be in the general office. It's inside the porch opposite the great hall. I'll look out a plan of the Manor for you.”

They waited until they heard his footsteps in the next room and the closing of the corridor door. Now Dr. Glenister took her surgical gloves from the Gladstone bag and gently touched Gradwyn's face, then her neck and arms. The forensic pathologist had been a notable teacher, and Dalgliesh knew from experience of working with her that she could seldom resist the opportunity to instruct the young.

She said to Benton, “No doubt you know all about rigor mortis, Sergeant.”

“No, ma'am. I know it begins in the eyelids about three hours after death, then spreads down through the face and neck to the thorax, and finally the trunk and lower extremities. The stiffening is generally complete in about twelve hours and begins to wear off in reverse order after about thirty-six hours.”

“And do you think that rigor mortis is a reliable assessment of the time of death?”

“Not entirely reliable, ma'am.”

“Not reliable at all. It can be complicated by the temperature of the room, the muscular condition of the subject, the cause of death, and by some conditions which may simulate rigor mortis but are different—that includes bodies exposed to great heat and a cadaveric spasm. You know what that is, Sergeant?”

“Yes, ma'am. It can occur at the instant of death. The muscles of the hand tighten so that anything the dead person may have been clutching is difficult to extract.”

“The assessment of an accurate time of death is one of the most important responsibilities of a medical examiner, and one of the most difficult. One development is the analysis of the amount of potassium in the fluid of the eye. Here I shall know more precisely when I've taken the rectal temperature and done the post-mortem. In the meantime, I can give a preliminary assessment based on the hypostasis—you know what that is, I'm sure.”

“Yes, ma'am. Post-mortem lividity.”

“Which we see here probably at its height. Based on that and the present development of rigor mortis, my preliminary estimate would be that she died between eleven p.m. and twelve-thirty a.m., probably closer to the first. I'm relieved, Sergeant, that you're not likely to become one of those investigative officers who expect the forensic pathologist to provide an accurate estimate within minutes of viewing the body.”

The words were a dismissal. It was then that the telephone on the bedside table rang. The bell was strident and unexpected, the insistent peal seeming a macabre invasion of the privacy of the dead. For a few seconds no one moved except Dr. Glenister, who went calmly over to her Gladstone bag as if she were stone-deaf.

Dalgliesh picked up the receiver. It was Whetstone's voice. “The photographer has arrived, and the two SOCOs are on their way, sir. If I could just hand over to one of your team I'll be on my way.”

Dalgliesh said, “Thank you. I'll be down.”

He had seen all he needed to at the bedside. He wasn't sorry to be spared Dr. Glenister's examination of the body. He said, “The photographer has arrived. I can send him up if that's convenient for you.”

Dr. Glenister said, “I shan't need more than another ten minutes. Then, yes, send him up. I'll phone for the mortuary van as soon as he's done. No doubt the people here will be glad to see the body leave. And then we can have a word before I go.”

Kate had been silent throughout. As they walked down the stairs, Dalgliesh said to Benton, “Cope with the photographer and SOCOs, will you, Benton. They can get started after the body has been removed. We'll take prints later but I'm not hopeful of getting anything significant. Probably any one of the staff here could legitimately have entered the room at some time or other. Kate, will you come with me to the general office. Chandler-Powell should have the name of Rhoda Gradwyn's next of kin, possibly also her solicitor. Someone will have to break the news, and that will probably be best done by the local police, whoever they are. And we need to know a great deal more about this place, the layout, what staff Chandler-Powell has and when they're here. Whoever throttled her could have been using surgical gloves. Most people probably know that you can get prints from the inside of latex gloves, so they'll probably have been destroyed. And the SOCOs need to pay attention to the lift. And now, Kate, we'll see what Mr. Chandler-Powell has to say to us.”

7

In the office Chandler-Powell was seated at the desk with two maps spread out before him, one of the house in relation to the village, and a plan of the Manor. He got up as they entered and moved round the desk. Together they bent over the plans.

He said, “The patients' wing, which you've just visited, is here on the west, together with Sister Holland's bedroom and sitting room. The centre part of the house comprises the entrance hall, the great hall, the library and the dining room, and a flat for the cook and his wife, Dean and Kimberley Bostock, above the kitchen, which overlooks the knot garden. The domestic helper, Sharon Bateman, has a bed-sitting room next to them. My rooms and the flat occupied by Miss Cressett are in the east wing, as is Mrs. Frensham's sitting room and bedroom, and two guest rooms, now unoccupied. I've made a list of the non-resident staff. Apart from the staff you've met, I employ an anaesthetist and additional nursing staff for the theatre. Some come in by bus early on operating mornings, others drive. None stay here overnight. A part-time nurse, Ruth Frazer, shared responsibility with Sister Holland until nine-thirty, when she went off duty.”

Dalgliesh asked, “The elderly man who opened the gate for us, is he here full-time?”

“That's Tom Mogworthy. I inherited him after I bought the Manor. He'd worked as gardener here for thirty years. He comes from an old Dorset family and regards himself as an expert on the history, traditions and folklore of the county, the bloodier the better. Actually, his father moved to London's East End before Mog was born, and he was thirty before he returned to what he sees as his roots. In some ways he's more of a cockney than a countryman. As far as I know, he's displayed no murderous tendencies, and if one discounts headless horsemen, witches' curses and the ghostly armies of marching Royalists, he's truthful and reliable. He lives with his sister in the village. Marcus Westhall and his sister occupy Stone Cottage, which is part of the Manor estate.”

Dalgliesh said, “And Rhoda Gradwyn. How did she come to be a patient?”

“I first saw her in Harley Street on the twenty-first of November. She wasn't referred by her GP, as is general, but I had a word with him. She came for the removal of a deep scar on her left cheek. I saw her once at St. Angela's Hospital, where she underwent tests, and briefly when she arrived on Thursday afternoon. She was also here on the twenty-seventh of November for a preliminary visit and stayed for two nights, but we didn't meet on that occasion. I'd never met her before she came to Harley Street and have no idea why she chose the Manor. I assumed she had checked on the reputation of cosmetic surgeons and, given a choice of London or Dorset, chose the Manor because she wanted privacy. I know nothing about her except her reputation as a journalist and, of course, her medical history. At our first interview I found her very calm, very straightforward, very clear about what she wanted. One thing was interesting. I asked her why she had waited so long to get rid of the disfigurement and why now. She replied, ‘Because I no longer have need of it.' ”

There was a silence; then Dalgliesh said, “I have to ask you this. Have you any idea who is responsible for Miss Gradwyn's death? If you have suspicions, or if there is anything I should know, please tell me now.”

“So you're assuming that this is what you no doubt call an inside job?”

“I'm assuming nothing. But Rhoda Gradwyn was your patient, killed in your house.”

“But not by one of my staff. I don't employ homicidal maniacs.”

Dalgliesh said, “I doubt very much whether this is the work of a maniac, nor am I assuming that a member of your staff was responsible.” He went on, “Would Miss Gradwyn have been physically capable of leaving her room and taking the lift to the ground floor to unlock the door of the west wing?”

Chandler-Powell said, “It would be perfectly possible after she had fully regained consciousness, but as she was constantly monitored while she was in the recovery room, and initially visited every half-hour after she was wheeled back to her suite at four-thirty, the only possibility would have been after ten o'clock, when she had been settled for the night. Then, in my view, she would have been physically capable of leaving her suite, although there would, of course, have been a possibility that someone would have seen her. And she would have needed a set of keys. She couldn't have taken a set from the key cupboard in the office without setting off the alarm. This map of the Manor shows how the system works. The front door, the great hall, library, dining room and office are all protected, but not the west wing, where we rely on bolts and keys. I am responsible at night for setting the alarm, Miss Cressett when I'm not here. I bolt the west door at eleven unless I know someone is out. Last night I bolted it at eleven as usual.”

“Was Miss Gradwyn given a set of keys to the west door when she arrived for her preliminary visit?”

“Certainly. All patients are. Miss Gradwyn inadvertently took her keys with her when she left. It does happen. She returned them with apologies within two days.”

“And on this visit?”

“She arrived on Thursday after dark and said she had no wish to go into the garden. In the normal course of events, she would have been given the keys this morning.”

“And you keep a check on them?”

“A reasonable check. There are six suites for patients, and six numbered keys with two spares. I can't vouch for every set. Patients, particularly long-stay patients, have freedom to come and go. I'm not running a psychiatric hospital. The west door is the one they use. And, of course, all members of the household have keys to the front and west doors. These are all accounted for, as are the patients' keys. They're in the key cupboard.”

The keys were in a small mahogany cupboard fitted to the wall beside the fireplace. Dalgliesh checked that all six numbered sets were there with two spares.

Chandler-Powell didn't question what possible reason Rhoda Gradwyn could have had for arranging an assignation when postoperative, or the many objections to any theory based on this unlikely hypothesis, nor did Dalgliesh pursue the matter. But it had been important to ask the question.

Chandler-Powell said, “From what Dr. Glenister said at the scene, and what I myself observed, no doubt you will be interested in the surgical gloves we keep here. The ones for use while operating are kept in the surgical-supplies room in the operating suite, which is kept locked. Latex gloves are also used by nursing and household staff when necessary and this supply is in the housemaid's cupboard on the ground floor next to the kitchen. The gloves are bought by the box and one box is open, but none of the gloves, either there or in the operating suite, is checked. They're disposable items used as necessary and thrown away.”

Kate thought,
So anyone at the Manor would know that there were
gloves in the housemaid's cupboard. But no outsider would, unless told in
advance.
There was no evidence at present that surgical gloves had been used, but they would be the obvious choice for anyone in the know.

Chandler-Powell began folding the map and the plan of the Manor. He said, “I have Miss Gradwyn's personal file here. There's information which you may need and which I've already given to Chief Inspector Whetstone, the name and address of her mother when she gave a next-of-kin and of her solictor. And there's one other patient who spent the night here and I think she may be helpful, Mrs. Laura Skeffington. At her request I fitted her in for a minor procedure today, although I'm running down the clinic for the long Christmas break. She was in the room next to Miss Gradwyn and claims she saw lights in the grounds during the night. Not unnaturally she's anxious to leave, so it would be helpful if you or one of your team could see her first. She has already returned her keys.”

Dalgliesh was tempted to say that this information could well have been given earlier. He said, “Where is Mrs. Skeffington now?”

“In the library with Mrs. Frensham. I thought it wise not to leave Mrs. Skeffington alone. She's frightened and shocked—that's to be expected. Obviously she couldn't stay in her room. And I thought you wouldn't want anyone on the guest landing, so I put the corridor and lift out of bounds as soon as I was called to the body. Later, on Chief Inspector Whetstone's telephoned instructions, I sealed the room. Mrs. Frensham has helped Mrs. Skeffington to pack, and she has her suitcases with her, ready to leave. It can't be too soon for her—or indeed for us.”

Kate thought,
So he took care to preserve the scene of crime as far as possible,
even before he rang the local police. Thoughtful of him. Or is he demonstrating his willingness to co-operate? Either way, it was sensible to keep the
landing and lift sacrosanct, but hardly crucial. People—patients and staff—
must use them daily. If this is an inside job, we shan't get much help from
prints.

The group passed into the great hall. Dalgliesh said, “I should like to see everyone together—that is, all those who had any contact with Miss Gradwyn from the time she arrived and who were in the house yesterday from four-thirty, when she was taken back to her room, including Mr. Mogworthy. There will be individual interviews later in the Old Police Cottage. I shall try to interrupt people's routine as little as possible, but some disruption is inevitable.”

Chandler-Powell said, “You'll need a reasonably large room. When Mrs. Skeffington has been interviewed and has left, the library will be free, if that will be convenient. The library can also be made available to you and your officers for any individual interviews.”

Dalgliesh said, “Thank you. That will be convenient for both parties. But first I need to see Mrs. Skeffington.”

As they left the office, Chandler-Powell said, “I'm arranging for a team of private security men to ensure that we don't get bothered by the media or a crowd of rubber-necking locals. You have no objection to that, I presume.”

“None, as long as they stay outside the gate and don't interfere with my investigation. It will be for me to decide whether or not they do.”

Chandler-Powell made no reply. Outside the door, Benton joined them, and they made their way to the library and Mrs. Skeffington.