Sidney Chambers and The Problem of Evil (The Grantchester Mysteries) (31 page)

The show neared its conclusion as Alice the heroine walked on stage hoping for the return of her beloved. ‘Christmas Eve, and still no sign of Dick.’

Hildegard nudged Sidney in the ribs. ‘Now I understand the humour! I know how she feels.’

Her husband was appalled.

The Redmond farm was a twenty-minute bicycle ride from Grantchester and Sidney had already made sure that Hildegard had the telephone number of every place he intended visiting should there be any sudden developments during the late stages of her pregnancy. Dr Michael Robinson was just leaving as he arrived.

‘I’ve given Abigail something to settle her down,’ he said. ‘Try not to ask too many of your direct questions. I know what you are like.’

‘It is a pastoral visit.’

‘Then it’s just as well you are in the countryside.’

Sidney smiled wearily. Dr Robinson was always partial to puns.

On entering the kitchen, he discovered that Agatha Redmond was in no mood to shilly-shally. ‘I don’t know whether you’ve come to collect your new puppy or ask some questions about my missing grandchild?’

‘I have a sense of priority in these matters,’ Sidney replied, ‘and I was hoping I might have a word with Abigail.’

‘She’s sleeping. The doctor has just given her something to help her do so. No doubt he told you. It’s been like Piccadilly Circus round here. However, I know she wants to see you so you’d better get up there before she’s out like a light.’

Sidney was shown upstairs and knocked quietly on the door. Before he said who it was he was told to ‘go away’ but then, on revealing his identity, he was allowed in. He sat on the edge of the bed. Abigail Redmond lay on her side with her face pale and blotchy. She was already drowsy. ‘I know I look ugly,’ she said. ‘But I don’t care. I just want my baby back.’

‘The police are doing all they can.’

‘But are you, Canon Chambers? You’re the one I trust. You know things.’

‘But I don’t understand enough about this case yet, Abigail. I need to ask you a few questions. I won’t be long.’

‘I don’t know if I can tell you anything. I was so tired. I didn’t know what was going on. It’s all my fault. I should have stayed awake.’

‘You’ve done nothing wrong.’

‘I have. I lost my baby.’

‘He’ll come back.’

‘Do you think so? How will he do that? He can’t walk. He’s so little. I love him so much and I need him to be here.’

‘I understand and we will find him for you. Try to remember. When exactly do you think it happened?’

‘I’d had something to eat, so it was after six thirty and I was just off to sleep. Like now. Mum was leaving. She said goodbye, but there was so much coming and going and I was so tired it was hard to know what was happening.’

‘Could it have been around eight o’clock at night?’

‘Yes, I suppose so. Why do you ask?’

‘That’s when the nurses change shift. So if no one knows quite who’s in charge around then
.
.
.’

‘I’m sure they have a system. I remember there was always at least one nurse there all the time,’ Abigail said.

‘Of course we must remember there are the porters to consider.’

‘I don’t think it can be a man
.
.
.’ Abigail had thought through all the possibilities. ‘Although it might be a couple working together.’

‘We need to pin down exactly who was there at the time of John’s disappearance; when your mother left and who was on duty. I’ll have to have a word with the ward sister. I am sure we will find him soon.’ Sidney was determined to remain positive.

‘There were three of them looking after me in all. There were Sisters Bland and Foster. I didn’t like either of them very much. They were a bit creepy, to tell you the truth. Sister Bland took over from another one called Sister Carrington. I remember getting confused and not being sure which one was which.’ Abigail slid down in the bed and turned away.

‘I’ll need to speak to all of them.’

‘Sister Bland’s got a moustache. The other one’s got fat legs. Sister Carrington was all right. She was kind.’

‘I am sure they are good at what they do.’

‘Will I get my baby back safe?’ Abigail asked.

Sidney tried to reassure her. ‘I am sure you will.’

‘Do you think if I close my eyes and sleep now then it will all go away? Then when I wake the cot will be back by my side with John sleeping in it?’

‘We will find him,’ said Sidney quietly.

He gave her hand a little squeeze and, as he left, he remembered holding her baby’s. ‘“There was a man sent from God whose name was John,”’ he said to himself. ‘“The same came for a witness, to bear witness of the Light, that all men through him might believe.”’

Sidney hoped and prayed for a witness, as well as a little more light.

He headed for Trumpington Street, worried about returning to the hospital and treading on the toes of a chaplain who regarded Addenbrooke’s as his personal fiefdom. The Reverend ‘Call me Stephen’ Drabble always made it clear that he was far more practised in the diurnal rounds of birth, sickness, recovery and death than any fly-by-night clergyman who popped in and out of the hospital as he pleased. It was yet another area which required tact, and Sidney was determined to give his visit, as well as his investigation, as low a profile as possible. He also knew that people were not going to take kindly to yet more questioning when their main priority was the care of patients. He would have to wait for the tea breaks and hope for the best.

Sister Samantha Bland was a large Leicestershire woman with strong forearms that made her look as if she could have been as successful a blacksmith as a nurse. As she sat down opposite him in the staff canteen, Sidney remembered what Abigail had told him and realised that he had made his first mistake before opening his mouth.

He had promised himself that he would not look too closely at Sister Bland’s upper lip but found that as soon as he had clapped eyes on her moustache he could not avert his gaze. It was amazing that she had done nothing about it. She had dark hair, too. It reminded him of the one Leonard Graham was attempting to grow the first time he had met him. They were such ridiculous things, Sidney thought to himself; but at least it would be something to tell Hildegard when he got home. He remembered the myth of the great female Saint Uncumber who had sprouted both beard and moustache in order to get out of, or ‘unencumber’ herself from, a betrothal she hated.

The nurse spoke with an unexpectedly high voice (Sidney had been anticipating something deeper) that drew power away from the firmness of her opinion. She told her inquisitor that the reason he hadn’t seen her in church was that she was, in fact, a Roman Catholic and she wasn’t about to have a change of heart now. She had taken over from Sister Carrington at eight o’clock on the night of the abduction and was praying for the return of the baby in her every waking moment.

‘And it was you who discovered the child was missing?’ Sidney asked.

‘Around half past eight. I’ve told the police this.’

‘I think you said that you saw a figure disappearing.’

‘Yes, I did. Have they briefed you then?’

‘I have read your witness statement.’

‘Then why are you here?’

Sidney evaded the question. ‘Could you describe the person you saw?’

‘I can’t be sure. She had her back to me and was hurrying to the end of the corridor but I thought she was carrying something. She was wearing high heels, I can say that, and she didn’t have a handbag which was strange. She wore a smart coat. It was camel-coloured. You don’t often see members of the public moving that quickly in the hospital. She must have been keen to get away.’

‘So she looked like she knew where she was going?’

‘I suppose so. Although there are signposts to all the exits.’

‘That’s true but I have noticed that people are often confused when they come to Addenbrooke’s. They can never quite find what they’re looking for.’

‘They can always ask.’

‘I think that they worry that everyone is too busy.’

‘That’s because we are.’

Sidney pressed. ‘But do you think the confidence and speed of her movements suggested a familiarity with the hospital layout?’

‘I couldn’t say. So many people come and go. I just noticed the haste and the high heels.’

‘But you didn’t see an actual baby?’

‘No.’

‘It would be dangerous to move at speed and in high heels while carrying a baby down a hospital corridor.’

‘Yes, I suppose it would.’

‘And you’re quite sure you saw this woman?’ Sidney persisted.

‘Of course. Are you accusing me of lying, Canon Chambers?’

‘Not at all, Sister Bland. Only some people might imagine that the sight of a mysterious woman disappearing down a corridor could be a case of wishful thinking.’

‘I saw what I saw. I don’t need to feel bad about that. I only feel guilty about the child disappearing on my watch. Obviously I feel responsible and upset. In fact you are distressing me.’

‘I’m sorry. I don’t mean to. I only have a few more questions.’

‘I don’t see why I should answer them.’

‘You have been very kind, Sister. Could I just ask at what time you arrived for work on the night in question?’

‘Around seven forty-five. I always try to get to work early. I don’t like to rush.’

‘Unlike the woman in the camel coat. Did your husband bring you?’

‘I’m not married, Canon Chambers.’

‘And is Sister Carrington?’

‘She was.’ Sister Bland finished her tea. She clearly preferred being on duty to talking to Sidney. ‘Why are you asking? That’s a very personal question.’

‘I was curious.’

‘I don’t see how it’s relevant. Sister Carrington is separated from her husband but not divorced. I am a spinster and perfectly happy to be so. I don’t need the distraction and vanity of men.’

Sidney checked himself. ‘I’m sure that is a wise choice. But I wondered if I could also ask if you saw anything untoward before eight thirty?’

‘No.’

‘By which time Sister Carrington had gone home?’

‘Yes. It was the end of her shift. Grace left on her own. I can tell you that. She’s not the type to go round stealing other people’s children, if that’s what you’re implying. Baby John was in his cot when she went.’

‘I’m not sure there is a type. Although you’ve told Inspector Keating about those unfortunate people
.
.
.’

‘Who have lost a child? Yes, I have. I don’t think they need any more misery, do you? The police have been poking their nose in with them already, asking personal questions. Now you are doing it as well. I should get back.’

‘These are very sad times, Sister Bland, and we all have to remember that a living child is still missing.’

She stood up to go. ‘You are assuming that the person responsible is someone who has suffered a misfortune?’

‘What do you think?’ Sidney asked.

Sister Bland was clearly irritated that she was expected to give an opinion. ‘It’s not that simple, Canon Chambers. The culprit could equally well be someone who has had one child and can’t have any more; a woman with daughters who has always longed for a son; someone suffering from post-natal depression
.
.
.’

‘How easy would it be to pretend to be a nurse?’ Sidney asked quickly. He knew that he was running out of time. ‘Could you buy a uniform or steal one from the staffroom?’

‘We all know each other here. But it would be easy enough to steal one from the laundry. It could even be someone who works there.’

‘You mean it could be anyone?’

‘Any woman. Yes, I do. Although I’m certain it’s not one of us.’

‘What makes you so sure?’

‘Faith, Canon Chambers. You have to trust people.’

If only it was that simple, Sidney thought.

There was no time for backgammon but he met Keating for a quick debrief in the Eagle before he went home. Sidney had no leads other than that he thought that the culprit was a woman who knew her way round the hospital and she wore high heels. Geordie told his friend that he knew this already. They discussed the possibility that the thief was either a nurse or had disguised herself as one, taking advantage of the change in shifts, and made a quick exit at the back entrance where she had either effected her own getaway or was driven off by an accomplice. But who was this woman, and was she still in the vicinity? Sidney suggested that a watch was kept at the Cambridge chemists and at the shops that sold baby clothes. They should be particularly vigilant at looking for women who bought supplies but did not bring their child with them, and they should circulate photographs of any suspects. The police should also find an excuse to search their homes.

Keating was in a curiously defeatist mood. ‘It’s not as easy as that. I think we should concentrate on the nurses. I bet they’re not telling us everything. Have you been to see the others?’