The Lately Deceased Page 14

  ‘Could have come from any of the flats,’ he said to himself. ‘But it’s better than nothing.’

  Masters took it back to the station and showed it to Grey.

  ‘No purchaser’s name on it, boy,’ the inspector sighed. ‘That’s just to make it harder for us,’ he added, with a tired grin.

  ‘It says ‘one at night’. The name could have been on this bit of label that’s torn off.’

  Grey nodded his head. ‘Could be,’ he agreed. ‘Better go and see the chemist. He may have some ideas about it, but I doubt it. Have the box dusted for fingerprints before you go. It’ll be a waste of time, but we’d better play it safe.’

  Masters eventually found himself at the chemists’ named on the box. It was just before closing time when he entered the shop and he found the dispensing counter wedged in a corner between ‘Sanitary Appliances’ and ‘Health Foods’.

  A thin girl with projecting teeth was keeping a motley collection of sufferers under observation, as they stood like sick sheep clutching slips of paper. Clinking sounds came from behind a glass partition, where the apothecary was at work.

  The girl held her hand out for Masters’ prescription.

  ‘I’d like to see the dispenser, please,’ said the sergeant.

  ‘Did you want a gentleman assistant to serve you?’ she sniffed.

  ‘No, thank you,’ Masters replied with a smile. ‘I’m a police officer. I’d like to see the dispenser about his drug register.’

  The girl stepped behind the glass screen and immediately a little man in a long white coat scurried out, looking worried.

  ‘Please come behind, officer,’ he twittered. ‘No DDA trouble, I hope?’

  He was referring to the Dangerous Drugs Act, the devious regulations of which plague every doctor and chemist.

  ‘None at all,’ Masters reassured him. ‘I was hoping you might be able to help me in tracing some sleeping capsules. We have found a box with the address of this shop on it. The patient’s name is missing, unfortunately. Can you give me any idea to whom and when this particular box was issued?’

  He handed over the box and the little man looked at it short-sightedly through pebble-lensed spectacles.

  ‘Dear me, difficult, very difficult!’ he muttered, turning the box over. ‘It was certainly dispensed more than three years ago. We changed our style of printing then – this label is one of the old sort. The directions are those of sleeping tablets, of course,’ he ended hopefully.

  Masters sighed as he took the carton back again. ‘You can’t tell us anything from the box itself?’

  ‘Not a thing. I’m afraid.’ The chemist rubbed his hands worriedly and waited.

  ‘Let’s try it another way, then. Can you tell me if you have issued any sleeping drugs to a Mr or Mrs Colin Moore at any time?’

  The dispenser darted into an alcove and rummaged amongst books. Within seconds he was back again, looking even more anxious.

  ‘It really is most unfortunate, officer,’ he said. ‘Mr Thropp, our new manager, had a clear-out last month and got rid of all the out-of-date prescription files and record books. In law, you understand, we have to keep them only for two years in the case of Schedule Four drugs. I personally always keep them much longer, of course, but Mr Thropp is new.’

  He looked round furtively, and then added, ‘And like many a new broom he is determined to sweep clean.’

  Defeated, Masters left the shop, and went back to Comber Street to report to Grey.

  ‘Don’t worry about it,’ said Grey cheerfully. ‘The way things are going, I don’t suppose it matters a damn. The whole case will be forgotten in a fortnight’s time.’

  Masters put the box away ready to be produced if necessary at the inquest and thought no more about it.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Things quickly drifted back to normal during the rest of that week. A spectacular pay-snatch in the West End on the Wednesday that occupied most of the detective force of the Divisions in that area effectively drove the Walker-Moore case from the public eye, but not from Meredith’s unceasing watchfulness.

  Margaret Walker was laid to rest quietly, almost secretly, in an Oxfordshire churchyard, only Gordon, the Leighs and a few local friends attending the short service.

  Gordon moved back into the Beachy Street flat, no longer seeming to be disturbed at living in the house where his wife had come to such a violent end. Geoff had offered him hospitality for as long as he cared to stay on, but Gordon, his earlier reluctance dissipated, had replied that he had no intention of becoming morbid about the affair. He had a part-time housekeeper, who cooked breakfast and kept the place in order. The rest of the time he ate out, or the woman left him a cold evening meal when he wished it.

  Geoff was secretly relieved when Gordon went back to his own flat. The main reason for this was Eve. When Gordon was there, Geoff and Eve felt inhibited, not so much in the amorous sense as in their freedom to act the fool and become like children again in their light-hearted behaviour towards each other. Of late, their mutual attraction had become all-consuming; they could hardly bear to be apart and almost every evening was spent eating out together or in each other’s company at a show or a cinema.

  Some of the other guests at that fateful party had fared less well. Leo Prince was languishing in Brixton jail, on remand in connection with the stolen property found on his premises. The magistrate had refused bail on being told of his attempt to leave the country.

  Martin Myers still lay in a coma at the hospital. The local police had given up their daily telephone calls and were waiting on the medical staff to let them know if, and when, he recovered consciousness.

  At the television studios, the case had ceased to dominate the canteen gossip. Everyone was back at work, the Christmas shows were being rehearsed and the commercials were going full blast in an orgy of advertising for the pre-Christmas shopping period. Pearl was fully booked by her sponsors; the recent publicity seeming to have consolidated her popularity rather than diminished it.

  On the morning of the resumed inquests, Meredith and Stammers met in the Divisional CID office to collect the papers for the proceedings.

  ‘Have you got all the statements and medical and laboratory reports?, asked the superintendent.

  ‘Yes, everything except the Yard’s report on the suicide note. Has it come through yet?’

  ‘Only verbally. They are perfectly happy that the note was typed on that machine. We’ll get it in writing later, but I don’t think it matters.’

  They arrived at the coroner’s court early and, as they stood in the weak sunshine of one of the few fine days of the winter, a uniformed constable, a coroner’s officer for another district, approached them. He knew Meredith by sight and came up to tell him that he was wanted on the phone in the court office.

  Going into the busy room, Meredith picked up the receiver and heard Masters at the other end, sounding excited.

  ‘I thought I’d better tell you before you went into court, sir,’’ came his voice over the line. ‘There’s a message from the hospital about Myers.’

  Meredith suddenly felt an uneasiness in the pit of his stomach.

  ‘Well, what is it?’ he snapped.

  ‘Myers came out of his coma early this morning and began saying something about ‘Poor dead Margaret – I must tell them.’ Kept repeating it over and over again, the doctor said.’

  ‘Hell and damnation, Masters!’ Meredith bellowed down the phone. ‘Don’t keep me in suspense, what else did he say? What’s he saying now, never mind what he was saying bloody hours ago!’

  ‘That’s what I’m trying to tell you, sir. He was only conscious for a few minutes. Then he went into a coma again and is as bad as ever now. The doctors think he’s had a fresh brain haemorrhage and may never snap out of it now.’

  ‘Did the doctor think that he was in possession of his senses at the time, or was he in a delirium?‘

  ‘Sorry, sir, the doctor didn’t pass any opinion.’


  Meredith made up his mind quickly. ‘Look, get over to the hospital right away and stay there until you hear from me.’

  ‘Right, sir. I’m on my way.’

  ‘And take a note of every sound he makes, even if it’s only a burp!’

  Meredith rang off and hurried back to Stammers, telling him what had happened.

  ‘Damn!’ Stammers said. ‘That makes it awkward for the inquest! Though there’s probably nothing to it. After all it stands to reason that the first thing to come back to him after being in a coma should be what he’d been thinking about just before his accident. Anyway, we do know that Myers had no connection with the Moore business, because he was in hospital before that happened.’

  ‘That’s true, but we can’t pass this over. I’ll have to go in and tell the coroner what’s happened and ask for a further adjournment until we can get it sorted out. Moore’s body will have to be held, in any case.’

  ‘What about Mrs Walker’s body?’ Stammers asked, casting a further shadow on Meredith’s gloom. ‘That’s been buried already. There’ll be hell to pay if this job blows up in our face at this late stage. Have to be an exhumation. It begins to look as though the coroner was a bit rash in giving a burial order so soon.’

  Meredith looked thunderously at him. ‘He did it on my say-so. He did it because I said the case was all buttoned up, the murderer being dead by his own hand. God, I’ll be bashing the beat again if this goes wrong now!’ With deep anxiety showing on his dark face, he went to see the coroner in his room behind the court.

  ‘Hmm, most difficult, Superintendent,’ said Dr Hope sympathetically. ‘We can hardly hold either inquest in the present circumstances. What do you want me to do about it?’

  ‘I’m afraid I’ll have to ask you for another adjournment, sir. I’ll get over to the hospital myself right away to try to get some sense out of the situation. Quite possibly there’s nothing in it. If you could give me a few more days, things should resolve themselves.’

  ‘Very well, Superintendent. It’s unfortunate that the witnesses and the press should have turned up to no avail, but it can’t be helped. The newspapers will make a meal of it, though.’

  He was quite right. Fleet Street had turned up in force, hoping to resurrect interest in the case, and they were not disappointed. The coroner took the bench and Meredith was called to the witness box. He was not sworn as he was not giving evidence.

  ‘Superintendent, I understand that fresh information has just reached you concerning the two cases due to be heard this morning, which makes it necessary to pursue further investigations?’

  ‘That is so, sir.’

  ‘Very well, I will adjourn both cases again until Friday of this week.’

  Once more the reporters fled outside and swarmed over Old Nick. But he would tell them nothing, saying that a Press statement would probably be released later that day. In spite of their protests, he forced his way through them and drove back to Divisional Office with Stammers, leaving almost immediately again for the Whittington Hospital.

  When he reached the ward, Masters was sitting uncomfortably on a small chair beside Myers’s bed. The area was screened off from the rest of the ward and a nurse came in frequently to keep a watchful eye on the patient and a suspicious one on the police officers. The heavily built patient was lying under a single sheet on the bed, the foot of which was propped up to a considerable height by an elevator.

  His head had been shaved, but no operation marks were visible. He had two large bruises on the right side of his face, and more on the backs of his hands, which lay out on the sheet. His eyes were shut and his breathing was shallow. He seemed to be in a normal sleep.

  ‘Anything happened, Masters?’ asked Meredith quietly.

  ‘Not a thing, sir. He’s been like this since early this morning, apparently. The house doctor thinks he’s a bit better.’

  ‘No further talking?’

  ‘No, he’s not made a sound while I’ve been here.’

  Meredith considered his best plan of action. ‘You’d better stay here for the time being. I’ll get hold of the doctor and see what goes on.’ He left the screened area and found the ward sister, explaining who he was.

  ‘Could I have a word with the doctor in charge, please, to get some idea of what may happen? I don’t want to leave my sergeant here if no change is likely.’

  The very pleasant and efficient sister spoke on the telephone and within minutes the neurosurgical registrar appeared. He wasted no time in polite preliminaries.

  ‘We don’t really know what’s happened to him officer,’ he said. ‘A few hours ago his condition changed – it got better temporarily, then rapidly worsened. We thought he’d had another haemorrhage between the membranes of his brain and the skull, but now those signs have gone and we honestly haven’t a clue. We just have to wait again, I’m afraid.’

  ‘Any chance of him recovering consciousness again?’

  ‘Sorry, Superintendent, we just can’t tell. I should doubt whether it’s worth your leaving a man here; it may be days or weeks or perhaps never! We’ll certainly let you know as soon as he shows any sign of waking up.’

  A younger man in white trousers and coat approached. It was the house surgeon, fresh from the theatre. ‘I heard you were here, officer. I thought you might like the first-hand story of what happened this morning.’

  ‘I would indeed, Doctor.’’

  ‘It was very little, really. He rambled for some minutes, nothing intelligible. The nurse called me when I was looking at a patient in another part of the ward. When I got to Mr Myers, he was still mumbling, then suddenly he got out several intelligible words. His eyes were open and roving about, then he said several times, “Poor dead Margaret. Poor dead Margaret. I must tell them.” Then, after a minute or two, he got agitated and tried to sit up. That’s when he had a fit and dropped back into a deeper coma than before. He had signs of a left paralysis, but they’ve faded now.’

  The doctors had done their best to help him and Meredith did not press them any further. He collected Masters and left, leaving an urgent reminder to be called if the witness showed any signs of coming round again.

  Meredith kept the new development to himself as much as he was able, though the ACC sounded disturbed when he heard that the smooth path that had been forecast for the case had suddenly developed a stony patch. The press worried Meredith for a day or two, and some papers became mildly acidulous in their columns when the promised statement failed to appear.

  There was no word from the hospital and Masters’ daily inquiries told of no change either for better or worse. The main witnesses in the affair were mystified. Gordon, Geoff Tate and Eve Arden had all arrived at the coroner’s court on the Monday and had been disturbed to learn that they would not be needed until Friday.

  Gordon had been going to give further evidence of identification in the case of his wife, and the two others had made statements concerning Colin’s drunken condition on the night of the party. Leo Prince, although having evidence on this point, had not been called from Brixton, as the coroner had been satisfied up till the news of Myers momentary recovery, that all could be explained by the note and the evidence of the police.

  The fresh development had thrown the cat amongst the pigeons. No one except the CID and the hospital knew what it was and no one at all knew its significance. Unless Myers woke up properly, it looked as if they never would know.

  On the Wednesday evening, Geoff Tate and Eve dined out and on the way home decided to call in on Gordon. They arrived at Great Beachy Street to find the two Leighs there with him. They had been staying there since Monday, having come up from Oxford for the inquest.

  ‘Now we have to stay until Friday at least,’ complained Webster nasally. ‘We had to cancel our flight to Montreal yesterday because of it. God knows when we’ll get away now!’

  ‘You’re going back to Canada so soon?’ asked Eve surprised.

  ‘Yes, dear. We only went to Oxford to p
ack our things; they’ve already gone to Southampton. We had too much for air baggage. Now all we have with us is one valise apiece!’ said Barbara, aggrievedly.

  ‘Won’t the police mind if you go off to Canada?’ asked Eve, her eyes wide with doubt. ‘I thought they put that horrible Leo Prince in jail because they caught him at the airport trying to run away.’

  Geoff smiled at her affectionately. ‘That was for hiding stolen fags in a warehouse,’ he explained.

  Webster was indignant about the possibility of being detained.

  ‘No, sir. I’m off home as fast as I can get there. Can’t see why they want us to stay for this coroner’s affair. I thought the case was all wrapped up. This Moore chap done the deed, so why the hell all this fuss?’

  ‘I wonder what they can have found out to postpone the inquest again?’ mused Gordon Walker. ‘Any idea, Geoff?’

  ‘Not a clue. They’re pretty close-mouthed about it. A chap I know in Fleet Street rang me up yesterday and tried to pump me about it. It seems that Meredith promised them a handout, then cancelled it. He gave no reason – it got the news boys a bit niggled.’

  ‘If they have found something,’ persisted Gordon, ‘they should at least have told me. I’m the principal one concerned – it was my wife that was killed.’

  ‘And you were number one suspect at the start,’ Geoff reminded him.

  ‘I was,’ Gordon concurred with a wry smile. ‘But I sunk that one pretty convincingly. Then Moore confirmed it for me!’

  They talked the problem backwards and forwards until Eve persuaded them to give up the morbid discussion and led them around the corner of the street to the lounge bar of the ‘Antelope’ public house.

  As they sat in the warm panelled room, with the cheerful clink of glasses punctuating the conversation, Eve wriggled closer to Geoff and said quietly, ‘It would give me the willies to stay in that flat as Gordon does. I hate the place now.’