CHAPTER THREE

Llewellyn broke into his reverie. 'I had a word with Constable Hanks. Seems the body was found this morning by one of the gate porters.' He consulted his notes. 'Name of Gilbert. Apparently, he was just coming on duty by the side gate.'

'He had a key to that gate, did he?'

Llewellyn nodded.

'You're sure, man?'

Llewellyn looked down his long nose at Rafferty's sharp tone. 'Quite sure, Sir. Gilbert's at the gate-lodge now should you wish to question him about it yourself.'

Rafferty stifled a sigh as he remembered that his superior Welsh sergeant had been educated at a fee-paying private establishment, and had then gone on to university to read English and Philosophy. His notebook certainly testified that he held degrees in the correct use of the English language, which perhaps explained why he looked so peeved that the secondary-modern educated Rafferty should question its accuracy.

Quite why Llewellyn had decided to join the police was a mystery to Rafferty. He hadn't even come in on the special entry scheme for graduates that offered accelerated promotion, which got his grudging respect. But, like so many university types whom he encountered on the force, Rafferty considered the Welshman had little "nose" for things, and he thought smugly of his own extremely sensitive nasal member. 'So,' he remarked finally. 'The chief suspect now has company. Pity.'

Dr. Melville-Briggs was either a liar or a fool who didn't know what went on in his own hospital. Or did he expect his orders to be obeyed without question? Surely, a psychiatrist, of all people, knew that rules were made to be broken? If Gilbert, the gate-porter, had a key to the side gate it was possible that others had too. Was it likely a lowly gate-porter would be permitted a privilege permitted to no-one else but the boss?

Rafferty made off briskly towards the gate lodge. Hampered by his still bruised dignity, Llewellyn followed more slowly.

Gilbert, the gate-porter, was a sharp-featured little man, who gave the appearance of having a grudge against the world. He sat, nursing a pint mug of tea, looking very sorry for himself. The mug was inscribed with the legend "work is a four-letter word," and Rafferty got the impression that it stated a large part of Gilbert's limited philosophy of life.

'Yes,' Gilbert admitted, with a show of reluctance when Rafferty began to question him, 'I found the body. Gruesome it was.' His eyes swivelled sideways at Rafferty and he whined self-pityingly, 'By rights somebody should take me 'ome. Ain't right to expect a man to carry on working after seeing such a sight.' He took a sip of his tea. 'Ain't right,' he repeated glumly, as though he felt he was being unfairly deprived of a legitimate day off.

'I'm sure Dr. Melville-Briggs will let you go just as soon as you've answered a few questions.' Rafferty's lack of belief in Dr. Melville-Briggs's compassion for his fellow-man was evidently shared by Gilbert, whose face became even glummer.

'Him?' He snorted. 'Not likely. There's more chance of me getting the sack than sympathy from him.'

Despite the aura of gloom that surrounded the man, Rafferty got the distinct impression that Gilbert was enjoying himself in a rather perverse way. He was star for the day. Tonight he would probably hold court in the local pub and expect to be bought free drinks all night as he told and re-told his grisly tale. Gilbert and Llewellyn should get on well together; they both seemed to get pleasure from looking on the black side.

'Have you any idea who the victim might be, Mr. Gilbert?' Rafferty questioned. Gilbert shook his head. Although Melville-Briggs had told him no-one from the hospital was missing, Rafferty wanted to double check. 'Are there any girls with long dark hair amongst the staff or patients?'

'There's one or two, but they're away at the seaside, lucky so-and-so's. Wish I was.'

'I believe you have a key to the side gate. Is that right?'

Gilbert nodded once, guardedly, then added, with the air of one who – if he had to take the road to hell – wanted to make sure that it was on the coach during the staff outing, 'Mind, I'm not the only one. I like to oblige people when I can. Do 'em good turns like.'

Gilbert was a most unlikely do-gooder. Rafferty eyed him without enthusiasm. Fiddling the tea-money and stocking his freezer from the hospital kitchens would be more his line. Scared that possession of the key would incriminate him, was Gilbert confessing to the lesser sin of providing half the staff of the hospital with illicit keys?

Rafferty groaned softly, but he needed to be clear on the point. If so, it immediately threw the list of suspects wide open. 'I understood from Dr. Melville-Briggs that no-one else besides him had a key to that gate and that all the staff had to use the main entrance.'

Gilbert snorted again. It seemed to be his favourite mode of expression. 'Supposed to. Only this morning I was a bit late, like, and thought I'd sneak in. Jack, the night porter would 'ave covered for me and clocked me in as usual.' He sighed heavily. 'Now I suppose when 'is lordship finds out, I'll be for the 'igh jump.' His voice rose indignantly. 'What did she want to go and get herself murdered 'ere for? On the very morning I was late, too. It ain't fair.'

The wretched victim seemed to have discommoded everybody. Rafferty probed a little deeper. 'Jack, the other porter, did he see anything?'

Gilbert grinned with sour amusement. 'Old Jack? No. Didn't know nothin' about it till I told 'im. Likes to get 'is 'ead down of a night does Jack. No chance of that on the day shift, worse luck.'

He could do with a bit of shut-eye himself. Rafferty rubbed his gritty eyes and forced himself to concentrate. 'How many of the staff have keys to that side gate?'

Gilbert's grin faded. 'Most of em,' he replied gloomily. 'I suppose you'll want a list?'

Rafferty agreed that it would be helpful, and with several mutterings and mumblings, Gilbert provided it. As he wrote, he continued his explanation. 'I go through the pantomime of locking the rest of the keys up in this cupboard 'ere.' He indicated the metal key cabinet that hung on the wall. 'But it's only to keep old smarmy-pants happy, ‘cos they all keep the keys to the side gate. They usually 'ang around the staffroom for coffee before they start and I bring the general keys over in bulk then, before ol' Tony puts in an appearance. I do the same in reverse before they leave, so they can use the side gate without having to drop the general keys in at the lodge. I'd let 'em keep the keys if it was up to me, less trouble all round, but you can never tell when 'is lordship might decide to check up. He can be right sneaky like that.'

Rafferty wondered whether Melville-Briggs would be pleased to discover the reluctant admiration behind the complaint of his gate-porter. 'But I thought they had to sign in and out as well as hand over the keys?'

Gilbert's eyes slid away and Rafferty concluded that Gilbert supplied a certain skill as a forger along with his other services. Quite an enterprising fellow. 'Never mind. Go on,' he prompted.

Gilbert seemed relieved that Rafferty was so obliging as to gloss over his little difficulty and now he became confiding. 'As I said, most of us come and go as we please through the side gate. It's more convenient like for the bus.'

'Does old—' Rafferty caught himself in time. 'Does Dr. Melville-Briggs keep keys himself or does he hand them in to you?'

'Not 'im.' Gilbert looked aggrieved. 'He's always 'ad a key to that side gate as long as I've been 'ere and that's gettin' on for seven years now. Makes more use of it than the rest of us put together 'an all.' He sniggered as though he had said something amusing and then he looked speculatively at Rafferty. 'Do you reckon 'is lordship done it?'

The idea seemed to appeal to him. How many titles did the blasted man have? Rafferty wondered. 'Does 'is Lordship?'

'He's not a lordship!' Gilbert sneered at the very idea. 'I just call 'im that because he acts as if 'e was one. It's 'er that's the Ladyship. 'er dad were an earl or a lord or somethin'. He's only a Sir because 'er money greased a few palms. It's 'er title, 'er money, even 'er bloomin' name.'

'What do you mean?'

Gilbert grinned slyly. 'She insisted 'e take her name, Melville, when they got married. She's got a brother, but even then, 'e showed no signs of producing an 'eir. 'e's a bit...' He flapped a limp wrist graphically. 'Herself and her brother were the last of the line and the name would have died out, see?' He sniggered again. 'Though if you saw her precious son, you'd think she might have saved herself the trouble. I can't see her gettin' an 'eir out of 'im!'

'Oh? Is he...?' His flapping wrist was every bit as graphic as Gilbert's had been.

'Supposed not to be —he's gettin' married after all. But whenever e's been 'ere on the cadge from 'is old man 'e looked as limp as a week old lettuce to me. I 'eard as 'ow 'e's got himself a fancy car-renovation business in London, paid for by his ma, complete with muscular mechanic. I reckon 'e's only marrying that horse-faced Lady Huntingdon's daughter to keep in with his mum.' Gilbert sniggered. 'Probably rather shack up with that mechanic, 'arry. Mind, if you saw the bride, you might agree wiv 'im. She was 'ere at Christmas with some big-shots ol' Tony was showing round and you'd think she'd been sucking on a lemon from the sour puss of 'er.' Gilbert was well into his stride now and had perked up considerably.

'Lady E gave him all this you know.' He waved his arms to take in the beautiful house and grounds and all that went with it. 'My ol' woman 'elps out at the Hall when they 'ave big do's and not much gets past 'er. You'd be surprised at what people let slip after all them fancy wines. Riveting' some of it,' he added with a certain bright-eyed satisfaction.

Rafferty made no comment. Was Gilbert fancying his chances at extracting a little blackmail money from the well-to-do diners? He wouldn't put it past him.

'er brother had let the whole estate go to wrack and ruin.' Gilbert continued his confidences. 'She 'ad it all tarted up. No expense spared, so I 'eard. She organised the whole show. Even acted as 'is secretary while he got 'imself established. Very capable woman is Lady Evelyn, no airs to 'er—not like 'im. She encouraged 'im to be one of them 'ead shrinkers. Mind you, she's right, there's money in it. All them neurotic women he treats—very profitable, I reckon, though few of them seem to ever get cured. Why wave good-bye to the goose that lays the golden egg? Think he's a god they do. Mind, I don't reckon her ladyship would agree wiv 'em.'

'Oh?' Rafferty's ears pricked up at this hint of gossip. 'Why's that?'

'My ol' woman reckons they don't get on. He's got a flat on the top floor 'ere and often stays there at night. That's why he finds the side gate so convenient.' He winked and tapped his nose. 'Very cosy that flat is too, for 'im and his assorted lady friends. Regular procession of them there is.'

Lucky old Tony, Not only a rich wife to buy him success, it seemed she put up with his bits on the side as well. The possibility of one of them being the victim seemed a distinct possibility to Rafferty, given that everyone else was supposedly accounted for. 'She must be a very understanding woman,' he remarked.

'I don't know about that. She's one of the old school—the put up and shut up sort. Believes in duty, the stiff upper lip and all that. Mind, I don't hold that against 'er. It's the way she were brought up and at least you know where you are wiv 'er. Not like 'im.' Belatedly, he seemed to realise he had been a trifle indiscreet and now he looked anxiously at Rafferty. 'ere, you won't tell 'im I've told you all this will you?'

'Think of me as a priest, Gilbert,' Rafferty reassured him. 'I hear everything but repeat nothing.'

Rafferty's reassurance didn't seem to comfort Gilbert at all. If anything, he looked gloomier than before, as though he found the possibility of a cop keeping a confidence less likely than one of Grub Street’s finest doing so.

Rafferty borrowed Gilbert's telephone to get the house to house organised. The search for the murder weapon and the victim's clothes were also got under way and now Rafferty left the team to it while he and Llewellyn made for the house. He prayed that the victim had a record, because, if she hadn't, it was likely to be a long case, and after his boast to Melville-Briggs, he didn't fancy having to break the news to him if he should turn out to be wrong. He didn't think he'd get receive any more sympathy than Gilbert was likely to get.

Still, at least Melville-Briggs should have found them a room by now. Presumably the man was capable of working out that parading his patients past the gutter press for their interviews at the police station was unlikely to improve his profits or his reputation.

Melville-Briggs was half-way down the stairs when they entered the house. And, like the arrogant Lord that Gilbert the porter had likened him to, he waited for them to come to him.

There was none of the usual institutionalised scrimping here, Rafferty noticed as he started up the stairs. The carpet was thick and luxurious; the stairs magnificent; the open strings of the tread-ends were decorated with scrolls and the treads carried turned banisters with graceful refined curves. Of solid oak, like the panelled walls, they hugged the side of the house as they rose to meet the first floor.

Rafferty tore his thoughts aware from the beauty of the house, and reluctantly relieved the doctor of the role of chief suspect. 'I've just been talking to Gilbert, the gate-porter, Sir, and it seems that most of the staff here have keys to that side gate. Naturally, that widens the entire scope of the case.'

Melville-Briggs's eyes narrowed and the look in them boded ill for the unfortunate Gilbert. He subjected Rafferty to a thoughtful scrutiny before commenting, 'Well, if this case is to be solved, you'll want to get on, I'm sure.' He led the way briskly up the stairs.

Rafferty asked conversationally. 'Have you managed to find us a room, Sir?'

Melville-Briggs nodded. 'I've spoken to my secretary and we've sorted out something suitable.'

Suitable for what? His lowly rank? Was it to be the attic or the basement? As he followed Melville-Briggs's broad and expensively tailored beam up the stairs he hoped it wasn't the attic. The thought of all those stairs was enough to bring on his smoker's cough. Ex-smoker's cough, he corrected himself. There was to be no backsliding this time. He was determined on it. 'I'll need a full list of the staff, Sir.' One of the first things to do would be to get their movements checked out.

Apparently the great man didn't soil his hands with clerical work. Melville-Briggs didn't pause in his regal ascent, but waved his arm irritably. 'I think you might save such requests for my secretary, Mrs. Galvin. She's perfectly capable of dealing with such matters.'

They reached the landing that ran around three sides of the hall and Melville-Briggs paused and glanced speculatively at the two policemen. 'You know, Rafferty,' he began. 'I've been thinking.'

Rafferty waited to hear the results of these deliberations. He hoped he wasn't to be treated to another little lecture on the importance of the hospital and its residents. But as Melville-Briggs went on, he discovered he'd wronged the man.

'You remember I mentioned I thought someone had a powerful motive for leaving the body of that poor girl on my premises?' Rafferty nodded. 'I've given it some more thought and realise that it's my duty to give you the name of the man I suspect.'

This unexpectedly helpful attitude made Rafferty wary. Was the doctor trying to settle some old score by his allegations? He didn't doubt he was capable of it. Most people had ulterior motives for what they did and they all came out of the woodwork in a murder investigation. You're just an old cynic, Rafferty, he told himself. Perhaps the doctor was simply improving with acquaintance. The thought was encouraged by the fact that for the first time, Melville-Briggs had mentioned the unfortunate victim with every appearance of compassion. Up till now, it had been only himself and extensions of the same—his hospital, his patients, his patients' relatives—that had merited his consideration. 'Yes, Sir?' he said encouragingly. 'Go on.'

'This is strictly confidential, of course, but I suspect a man called Nathanial Whittaker. He's the owner of the Holbrook Clinic a few miles away.'

'Have you any reason to think he might wish you harm, Sir?'

'He threatened me only last night. In front of witnesses, too. Rather a coincidence, don't you think?' Rafferty remained silently non-committal and Melville-Briggs went on in the manner of a man with a deeply-felt grievance which he felt wasn't being given sufficient consideration. 'Shows what was on his mind, to my way of thinking. I believe his lack of success has unbalanced him. It does that to some men and, of course, his entire life's been a disappointment. No wonder his wife left him. You might find it interesting to look him up in the Hospital Yearbook and send for some of his literature. You'll be able to see just how unimpressive his place is. Bitterness and failure can do sad things to a man's morals, Rafferty. In your line, you should know that. You must encounter such people all the time.'

'But surely he wouldn't go as far as murder just to damage you, Sir,' Rafferty remarked quietly. Still, it might sound a crazy motive for murder, but it was incredible what people could get up to and for the strangest of reasons. And Melville-Briggs would make enemies with the greatest of ease. Hadn't he taken an instant dislike to the man himself?

The doctor gave a mirthless laugh. 'It's obvious you don't know many medical men, Rafferty. But in this instance, no, I'm not suggesting it was murder. Not necessarily, anyway, though, of course...' He let his voice tail off suggestively. 'A medical man wouldn't necessarily need to commit murder to get hold of a convenient body. Perhaps one of his patients had a fall, fractured her skull and died and rather than embarrass himself, he decided to embarrass me; damage my reputation by dumping the body here, mutilating her to make it look as bad as possible for me.'

'But what about the patient's relatives?' Rafferty asked reasonably. 'Even a doctor can't just lose a body without questions being asked.'

'You'd be surprised. Doctors still need bodies for experiments and Whittaker does a lot of research.' He gave a derisive laugh. 'None of it very successful, I might add. Some men would do anything for fame, and Whittaker's one of them.' He paused to let that sink in and then continued. 'I grant you, any patient such a doctor might lose would never be an important patient. Good lord, no,' he added, as though the bemused Rafferty.had just accused him of something quite shocking. 'Not that Whittaker attracts that type of patient. Drop-outs and dregs are more his line, you'll find, the sort who wouldn't be missed and Whittaker takes a lot of National Health patients. Well,' he smiled sardonically, 'he has to, few private patients would be foolish enough to go to that mismanaged clinic of his. His patients tend to come and go as they please. Why should anyone think it odd if the occasional one vanishes? Such people discharge themselves all the time without bothering to go through the official formalities. Sometimes they die—from an accident or an overdose or an accumulation of the abuse to which they've subjected their bodies. Sometimes they just give up and turn their faces to the wall.'

A murder victim that hadn't even been murdered. It was a somewhat bizarre suggestion. Rafferty met the enigmatic gaze of his sergeant. Bizarre, but not impossible. 'Would he have access to a key, though, Doctor?'

Melville-Briggs sniffed. 'As it appears that Gilbert handed them out like Smarties, it's not beyond the realms of possibility, Rafferty. Or, one hopes,' he added tartly, 'beyond the ability of the police to find out.'