Season Of Darkness (12 page)

At the memory, Rose almost burst out crying. While she was singing, her cheek pressed against Dolly’s warm hide, the milk hissing rhythmically into the pail as accompaniment, her best friend was probably already dead or close to it. Maybe she’d had a psychic message? Maybe the song had come into her head from Elsie? To comfort her … we’ll meet again, don’t know where, don’t know when. For a minute, Rose was afraid. She didn’t know how she’d feel if Elsie’s ghost did drop in on her. She’d better ask the Father about that. She’d been raised as a Roman Catholic but she was a bit hazy about the church’s position on departed spirits.

A little while ago, one of the girls had passed on a pretty frock with a matching hat. Rose loved the outfit, although Elsie had been a bit jealous. She was possessive of her Rose’s affections. It was this frock that Rose reached for. She was almost out of the door when she remembered her rosary. She snatched it out of its box, put it in her pocket, and went downstairs to Miss Stillwell’s office. At the door, she hesitated, not only because she was entering the warden’s territory but because she wanted to run from her own decision. She could hear a bluebottle fly buzzing at the window. Outside, a dog barked in the distance. Rose shivered. She felt more alone than
she had in her entire life. But the copper had promised he would find Elsie’s killer.

Go on, she muttered to herself. Get it over with.

She walked to the telephone and picked up the receiver. The operator’s cheery voice came over the wire.

“Number please.”

“I’d like the police station.” Rose could hear her own heart thumping. “I want to speak to Inspector Tyler.”

“Shall I say who is calling?”

“Tell him it’s Rose Watkins. Will you say that it’s important?”

“One moment, please. I’ll connect you.”

The phone rang and rang at the other end. Rose waited until finally the operator came on again.

“Nobody is answering. Shall I take a message, caller?”

“Er … no, I’ll ring back later. Thank you.”

She replaced the receiver. That was done, then. She wished she could have finished there and then, but at least she had taken the first step. No going back now.

Like Rose, Elsie was Roman Catholic, but she had rebelled against the church as she’d rebelled against any authority she didn’t respect. Rose remained devout. Initially, she’d attended Mass at the Catholic church in Whitchurch, but it was a long way to go and she’d found another closer sanctuary. Not sure if it was something she should be doing, she hadn’t told anybody. Elsie liked to sleep in on Sunday mornings so even she didn’t know.

This evening, Rose desperately wanted the solace that her religion gave her. She would ask the priest to say a prayer for Elsie’s soul. Once again, that thought almost caused her to break down into sobs, but she knew if she was going to get there in time for evening Mass, she had better hurry. Elsie had always said there was time for tears later. “When’s later?”
Rose had asked her. “Later never comes, silly. By then you’ve forgotten what you were crying about.”

Rose went outside. It was turning into a lovely evening, cooler now but soft; a slight mist was creeping in over the fields. Rose wished she’d thought to fix her flat tire but it was too late now. She would have to take the shortcut through the woods. She straightened her hat, took her rosary out of her pocket, and set off.

T
YLER HAD SPENT A COUPLE OF HOURS AT THE
station. He supposed that closing doors and cancelling out possibilities was progress, but he was impatient. Nothing significant had emerged yet. Major Fordham had rung earlier and said the search of the camp had yielded nothing.

“I walked around the enclosure myself and I could see no evidence of the wire being tampered with. The two sentries on duty swear that nobody can get out without them being alerted. I doubt you’re going to find your criminal here, Inspector.”

Tyler thanked him, but just as he was about to hang up, Fordham said, “Lordy, I almost forgot. One of the internees offered his services to you.”

“What is he, a chimney sweep? We have been having troubles with the flue.”

The major chuckled. “Nothing like that. He’s a psychiatrist. Apparently, he’s a specialist in the criminal mind. Written all sorts of papers. He’s highly respected in his own country.”

“Has he been a police officer?”

“Not as far as I know.”

“But he’s read a lot of books and is now an expert?”

The major coughed. “I know what you’re getting at, Tyler, but it would be very good for camp morale if they saw that one of their leaders was conferring with the police. Besides, you never know, the chap might prove useful.”

Tyler thought that highly unlikely. When he was in the army, as well as during his time as a police officer, he’d had
sufficient experience with some of the top brass to distrust the ones who’d learned everything from a book. In his opinion, they were dangerous.

“Perhaps you could come over to the camp tomorrow and meet him. His name is Beck. Dr. Bruno Beck. He was the one speaking for the internees when you addressed them this morning. He’s their elected representative.”

“I remember. He has a beard. He looks like George V.”

Fordham chuckled. “I don’t know about the late king but he does resemble the big cheese, Sigmund Freud.”

Whoever that is
, thought Tyler.

Reluctantly he agreed.

He sat for a moment at his desk, tempted to take out the paintings that he had stowed at the back of one of the drawers.
My God, Tyler, you might as well be a silly girl mooning over a film star. Take hold of yourself
.

Admonishment received, he grabbed his hat and coat. Sergeant Gough had gone home for his tea. Tyler locked the door behind him.

He didn’t hear the telephone ringing.

The hospital where Dr. Murnaghan had conducted the post-mortem was on the edge of town. Not willing to wrestle with the Humber, Tyler decided to walk there. He was hoping the coroner would have something helpful to tell him. He had many reasons to want this investigation to be concluded quickly, not the least of which was his desire to be seen as an officer capable of dealing with serious crime, not just a kind of headmaster slapping the knuckles of petty thieves and rule breakers. Not for the first time he regretted moving back to the quiet backwater of Whitchurch. The work in Birmingham had been much more dangerous and challenging.
And I wonder who you’re trying to impress, mate?

At the turn of the century, the hospital had been a poorhouse. The plaque was on the wall.
This house is intended for the Relief and Comfort of the Poor of this Parish
. In spite of the soothing words
relief
and
comfort
, there was nothing welcoming about the place. In fact, in the deepening dusk, the square, severe building appeared grim and cheerless.
Can’t make the poor too comfortable or they’ll want handouts all the time
.

There was a masked light over the entrance, but all the windows were blacked out.

Tyler went into what was now the lobby, deserted except for a young woman in a white, starched nurse’s uniform who was sitting behind the reception desk. When she saw him she broke into a wide smile.

“Inspector, what a lovely surprise! What brings you here? You not be ill I hope.”

Tyler knew they’d met before but for the life of him he couldn’t remember where. “No, I’m quite healthy, thank you Miss … er …?”

“Parsons, Winifred Parsons.”

“I’m here to see Dr. Murnaghan.”

“He’ll be downstairs. I’ll let him know.”

She switched on the intercom. Tyler thought she seemed disappointed that he hadn’t known who she was. She was a pretty girl, nicely round with smooth skin and light brown hair tucked under her stiff cap. Why was he thinking Christmas? More to the point, why did he feel vaguely guilty?

The coroner’s voice crackled over the line. “Yes?”

“Inspector Tyler to see you, Doctor.”

Murnaghan’s answer was unintelligible to Tyler, but Miss Parsons replied, “I’ll send him down.” She looked up. “He be in the morgue. Go through that door at the end of the hall and follow the stairs down.”

“Thank you.… Excuse me, I have a pounding headache. Do you have any aspirin?”

“Of course.”

She reached into a drawer and took out a bottle. “You can have the whole thing if you like, we’ve got lots.”

“Thank you. How much?”

She gave him a wink. “Ten shillings.”

“What!” For that price he’d expect an entire box of pills.

Her face fell. He’d disappointed her again.

“Never mind. I was joking. There’s no charge.”

He popped three pills into his mouth and swallowed them down.

“I would have fetched you some water,” said the nurse.

“Thanks. I couldn’t wait.”

He put the bottle in his pocket, tipped his hat, and headed for the morgue. Where the heck had he met her before? As he shoved open the heavy wooden door, he suddenly remembered. Last Christmas there had been an auction at the church hall to raise money for the Spitfire fund. Some of the local girls were sitting at a row of booths, a sprig of mistletoe over their heads, selling kisses. Ten shillings a kiss was steep, Tyler thought, but all for a good cause. Most of the men gave perfunctory pecks on the girls’ cheeks or a hasty press on the lips while their wives watched. The coroner’s nurse was in one of the booths. She looked appealing with her wavy hair down about her shoulders, her lips rouged and her eyes bright.

She’d called him over. “All in a good cause, Inspector.” She reached up and grabbed his face between her hands, giving him a smacker on the lips.

The vicar was standing nearby supervising. “I think that was worth at least a pound,” he said disapprovingly.

Tyler had paid up, but he saw the look in the girl’s eyes and suspected she’d be more than happy to give him a kiss for free
next time. He was almost ready to hand over another ten shillings for a repeat performance, but Vera had come along at that moment.

“Sins catching up with you, are they?” she’d asked. Perhaps they were.

The morgue was the same one that had been used for the poorhouse when it probably had plenty of business. Long and narrow with a low ceiling, the walls were thick whitewashed brick, the floor grey slate. High windows on one side let in a meagre light and a huge stone fireplace took up a large section of the rear wall, although its presence seemed to contravene the necessity for low temperatures. A portrait of Queen Victoria in her regal, plump prime was hung over the hearth. She stared at a round railway clock on the opposite wall. Several storage rooms led off from the far end, used for maintaining samples and, on rare occasions these days, a body. The place was so cool even on a warm day that refrigeration for short stays wasn’t always necessary. One single bright electric light dangled from the ceiling over the antique porcelain gurney where Murnaghan conducted the post-mortems, but the original gas sconces had been retained and they hissed softly, casting out a yellowish light.

As Tyler entered the hall, Murnaghan was just removing his surgical gloves. He was a short, trim man with a neat sandy moustache and springy, greying hair. Underneath his rubber apron he was dressed in a brown corduroy jacket and high-necked jersey. Tyler could understand the need for all the clothes. He could almost see his own breath.

The coroner greeted him. “Good timing, Tyler. I’ve just finished. I should probably have sent her over to Shrewsbury or Birmingham where they have more equipment, but I know you wanted a result as soon as possible.”

“I rather thought you were glad of the opportunity to work again, sir.”

The coroner chuckled. “True enough. When I got the call I was in the middle of cleaning out my mother’s attic. Mostly old books, lots of filth.”

Tyler assumed he was referring to the state of the library, not the contents.

Murnaghan rubbed his hands together. Tyler couldn’t tell if he was cold or excited. Perhaps both.

“Basically the girl was in excellent health. I have taken the usual organ and blood samples, but I don’t think we’ll find anything remarkable there. Liver and kidneys look to be in excellent condition. There was some indication of early malnutrition in the bones, but she was well nourished as an adult.” He walked over to one of the specimen jars standing on an antique marble-topped table. “There were partially digested fish and chips in her stomach. That was the last thing she consumed, probably last evening. She smoked and there is some residue in her lungs, which would indicate she has been a heavy consumer for some time.” He glanced over at Tyler. “She had sexual relations not long before she was killed.”

“Rape?”

“No, I don’t think so. She was not a virgin, but as you saw, her clothes were intact and there was no sign of forcing in the vagina.” He went over to one of the wall shelves and took down a cardboard box. “She had money concealed in her dungarees. Two pound notes in the straps. I might not have found it, but I cut off the clothes for easier access. Of course, she might have put it there for safekeeping. Strange girls at the hostel and all that, but it’s a lot of money for a Land Army girl to have.”

“Are you saying she was on the game?”

Murnaghan raised his eyebrows. “Not necessarily. Ordinary young women are, shall we say, giving favours for as little as
a pair of silk stockings. Sad really. It’s yet another of the consequences of war. There was absolutely no sign of venereal disease, but she may have been paid for the sex. There’s no way to tell really.… Here you go, I put the bills in here with the rest of her effects, the hair combs and so forth. I’ll have everything sent over to you, shall I?”

“Thanks.”

Murnaghan returned to the gurney and removed the sheet. “Look at this. I found something quite unexpected. This is the
pièce de résistance.”
He had sewn up an incision he’d made in the upper thigh, but surrounding it was a livid bruise extending all the way from knee to hip. “I thought there was something wrong with the way the body was lying when I put her on the gurney, so I opened up the hip and the thigh. Her femur was broken in two places.”