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“What a fine kettle of fish,” Aunt Butty said with a slight shake of her head. The wax grapes clustered on the side of her hat trembled dangerously. The urge to reach out and grab them before they tumbled to the floor was almost irresistible.
She had popped ‘round ostensibly for luncheon, but it was clear it was gossip she was after.
“Indeed. I simply don’t know what to do next.” I didn’t bother to explain that it wasn’t only the murder—and the attempted murder—that stumped me. There were two men in my life who were causing a great deal of consternation.
“What about this Bamber fellow? Has that copper figured out yet what he knows?”
“Unfortunately, the last I heard, Bamber was still unconscious.” Not that North would tell me anything anyway. I’d have to beg Varant to hit him up for information. It was my only option, though I worried it would send Varant the wrong message. Or perhaps the right message. Really, it was most baffling.
“What do we do now?” Butty asked.
Her excitement surprised me. “I’m not sure. I’m at a bit of a loss.”
“Why don’t we go visit this Bamber person? We can pretend to take him flowers. Or a fruit basket. Then we can get the goods, as the Americans say.” Her eyes gleamed with excitement.
“I’m not sure North will let us in to see him,” I admitted.
“Are you a woman or a mouse? Forget North! We shall just have to go around him.” She stood to her feet. “Grab your hat, Ophelia.”
Obediently, I went upstairs. I selected a green cloche to match my shoes and handbag, touched up my lipstick and powder, and went to rejoin my aunt who was nearly trembling with excitement. “Let’s go.”
It was a rare sunny day so I left the top down. I drove through the streets of London with Butty on my left, hand firmly holding to her hat perched on her gray shingled hair at a jaunty angle. It would have been chic except that it somehow missed the mark entirely and went into the land of ludicrous.
I swung wide around the corner and Butty let out a screech as we nearly plowed into a Royal Mail delivery van. The driver shook a fist at me and shouted something unintelligible. I gave him a smirk and a finger wave.
“The way you drive, it’s a wonder you haven’t killed anyone, Ophelia.”
I ignored her. I drove fine. I was just in a hurry.
Which made me think about the near miss with Alfred Musgrave. That car had been going at quite a clip when it swung toward Musgrave. It had looked like it was on purpose. Had it been? A first attempt on his life that had failed, perhaps. And if so, who was behind it? Which of my many suspects had access to a vehicle and the skill to drive like that? Something to ponder.
I parked out front of the massive gothic building that housed the hospital, and Butty and I hustled inside. Striding to the admissions desk, Aunt Butty demanded loudly, “We’re here to see John Bamber.”
The nurse behind the desk had a pinched expression as if she was in dire need of prunes in her diet. “I’m sorry, but Mr. Bamber is not allowed visitors.”
“But this is his wife,” Aunt Butty declared, indicating me.
I tried to hide my startlement and gave the nurse a wide-eyed look which I hoped conveyed anxiety for my supposed spouse. Instead, the nurse looked me up and down.
“I’ll bet.”
Nothing could budge her. Not even when Aunt Butty tried to bribe her with a ten-pound note. Which, frankly, I considered excessive.
“Fine. We shall leave, but we will be back,” Aunt Butty declared. The nurse just gave her an exasperated look. My aunt grabbed me by the arm and steered me outside.
“Now what?” I said. “You let the whole floor know our plan. They’ll be looking for us.”
“Hardly,” she tutted. “There must be a dozen ways into this monstrosity.”
“And how do we find Bamber once we’re in there?”
She grinned. “I just happened to see his name on the patient list. He’s in the East Wing, ward 2A, bed 302.”
“How convenient,” I said dryly.
“Isn’t it just.”
We hurried around the side of the hospital toward the East Wing. There were plenty of windows, but the sills were at head height and half hidden behind ornamental bushes. There was no way we were getting in that way. Which was something of a relief. I didn’t fancy flashing my knickers to the patients and nurses sunning on the lawn.
We finally found a second entrance around a corner. Heavy greenery blocked the narrow door from sight. I was guessing it was an entrance for nurses and doctors, or perhaps tradesmen. I tested the latch. Sure enough, the door swung open easily. Inside was a narrow hall, utilitarian and empty. I waved at Aunt Butty to follow me and we crept inside, trying not to let our heels echo.
On either side of the hall were doors leading into various rooms for exciting things such as storage, cleaning products, and a small kitchen which I could only assume was for nurses and such as there was no way it could provide for the entire hospital. There were no patient rooms in this part of the building. I supposed we needed to go up.
We came to a staircase of the sort one sees in manor houses for the servants. Clutching the railing, I climbed upward, Aunt Butty behind me. She had been the one who wanted this little adventure, yet she seemed awfully keen on sending me up the stairs first.
On the landing was another door with a window that gave a view out into yet another hall. This one was brightly lit with several open doorways on either side.
“It has to be this floor,” Aunt Butty said. “The ward began with a two.”
I nodded and pushed open the door. We crept into the hall, trying at once to act as if we belonged there and not to let anyone see us.
“There.” She pointed to a doorway which had a sign above it that read “Ward 2A.”
I carefully peeked inside. The ward was a large, open room with several windows along one wall. There were at least two dozen beds, each with a male patient. Some moaned in pain or delirium. Others slept. Still others sat and chatted with visitors or quietly read newspapers.
At the far end of the room, off to itself, was a bed next to which sat a uniformed policeman. On the bed huddled John Bamber looking pale and wretched.
“There he is,” I said softly. “Now what? There are sisters everywhere.” Three nurses—sisters—roamed the ward, administering medicines and comfort. Seemed an awful lot for one ward.
“What we need,” said Aunt Butty, “is a diversion.”
“Oh, Lord, what are you planning?”
“Get ready.” She gave me a sly smile before disappearing down the hall. A few moments later there was a loud crash, followed by screaming and shouting. The sisters and the policeman all rushed from the room, ignoring me as they charged for the noise. With a quiet laugh, I slipped into the room and took the chair next to Bamber’s bed.
“Hello, Mr. Bamber.” I kept my voice low to avoid being overheard by the others.
John Bamber’s eyelids opened and he stared at me a moment. “You’re the woman from the club.” There was the faintest trace of nasal Cockney in his voice. “The one that’s always sticking her nose in.”
“That’s quite cheeky coming from the man who has embezzled thousands of pounds from his employer,” I said archly.
He had the grace to flush. “I didn’t mean to. It’s just... she asked me to, you know.”
“She asked you to skim a few hundred pounds, not thousands.” I gave him a stern look. “I think it’s time you told me everything.”
“Why?” His expression turned mulish. “You’re no copper.”
“No,” I admitted, leaning forward. “But I am friends with Helena Fairfax and what I tell her about our meeting may seal your future fate.” Actually, I doubted any such thing. Helena would likely do whatever she wanted regardless of what I said or didn’t say, but he didn’t know that.
“Fine.” He heaved a sigh and stared at the ceiling a moment. “Mrs. Fairfax came to me several months ago. She suspected Mr. Musgrave was trying to take over the club, and she needed a way to fight him. Everything she has is wrapped up in that place. Plus, I never liked Musgrave. Not a nice man.”
I murmured something encouraging. He was right about Musgrave.
“So I did it. Twenty quid here or there, at first. It was easy to slip it right past Musgrave’s nose. And then, well...” He swallowed, his prominent Adam’s apple bobbing up and down in his skinny throat. “You see, I owed some people money. Quite a lot, actually, and they were becoming increasingly aggressive. So, I thought, why not take a little for myself? After all, I was risking a great deal skimming for Mrs. Fairfax.”
“Understandable,” I encouraged him. “But two thousand pounds is a lot.”
“I know.” He rubbed his forehead. “Things snowballed. I ended up owing more money. I kept meaning to pay it back.”
I didn’t say so, but I was beginning to suspect Bamber had a gambling problem. “Of course, you did. You’re not a bad person,” I soothed. “I suppose it was quite a shock when Musgrave wanted to do an audit.”
“Terrible shock. I panicked. I didn’t know what to do. Mrs. Fairfax assured me all would be well, but...” He shrugged. “I couldn’t stop worrying, you know. I was so relieved after Musgrave was killed. He would never know what I’d done. But then Mrs. Fairfax decided to continue the audit. No idea why.”
I suspected it was because Helena hadn’t entirely trusted him. “You knew she’d find out you’d stolen quite a bit more than she knew about,” I guessed.
“Yes,” he admitted. “I was terrified! I didn’t know what to do.”
“So you did the only thing you could think of and tried to end it all,” I said a bit dramatically.
His eyes widened. “Good gosh, no! I was going to run, you see. I had a little money left over. My plan was to get the money from my hiding place, go home and pack, and take a ferry tonight to France.”
“Your hiding place was at the club?” I guessed.
He nodded. “It was easy enough. A false panel in the wall of the dressing room. No one would be suspicious of my coming and going. I’m the manager, after all.”
I frowned. “So you went to the dressing room to retrieve the money.”
“Yes. But first, I was a bit... overwrought. Shaking. My nerves, you see. They’ve never been the same since the Great War. I was at Gallipoli.”
Good gosh. No wonder he was a mess of nerves. That disaster of a battle had left over one hundred thousand men dead and destroyed Churchill’s career. “I’m sorry to hear that. I was a nurse, so I understand a little.”
He nodded. “You saw how it ways. In any case, I decided to take some of my tonic. I keep a bottle here at the club. Easier than hauling it back and forth with me all the time.”
“Quite sensible,” I applauded him. “You take a tonic, not powders?”
“But of course.”
“Where do you keep it?”
“In my office, next to Mrs. Fairfax’s.”
I pondered this. “You went there first. Before retrieving your money?”
“Yes.”
“Did anyone else know where you kept the tonic?” I asked.
“Nearly everyone, I imagine. Mrs. Fairfax and Mr. Musgrave were both well aware of my war record. They were very kind to take me on and Mrs. Fairfax assured me that I was welcome to take my tonic whenever necessary. In fact, when she was feeling particularly anxious, I would give her some. She was most appreciative.”
Now that was interesting. Perhaps that explained Helena’s glassy look the day I met her at Harrod’s. She’d probably been hitting Bamber’s nerve tonic. “Anyone else?”
He frowned. “Mabel, of course. She’s been there longer than I and knows just about everything about everyone.”
“I’m thinking specifically about the musicians and singers.”
“I imagine they might, as well. I mean, gossip runs rampant in such places. Though I don’t know that any of them specifically knew where I kept it.”
Interesting. Only three people knew for sure where Bamber kept his tonic and one of them was dead. “All right. What happened next?”
“I tucked my tonic in my pocket and snuck into the dressing room to get the money. I began to feel a bit dizzy. I thought perhaps I would lie down for a moment. Then I could collect the money and continue with my plans. The next thing I knew, I was waking up here.”
“You never took any powders?”
“Of course not. I find them vile. So bitter.”
“And you weren’t trying to kill yourself?”
He appeared shocked. “Definitely not! I may not have the strongest constitution, but I had plans. I’ve always wanted to start a little cafe in Paris. Spend my nights drinking good wine and my mornings walking by the Seine.” He stared dreamily into space.
“Did you write a note for Helena?” I asked, wondering if the suicide note had been misconstrued either accidentally or deliberately.
“I did. I wanted to apologize, you see. I knew she’d discover the truth, and she was always good to me. I felt I couldn’t go without explaining myself.”
“Do you remember what you wrote? Was it on a scrap of paper?”
He gave me a funny look. “No. It was a full sheet. I explained everything. That after I helped Mrs. Fairfax, I’d found myself in trouble and had skimmed more than she asked. That I felt guilty about it. That I was sorry.”
“That you couldn’t go on working at the club, pretending everything was aces.”
“Well, yes. Something to that effect.”
I leaned forward. “Do you remember exactly what that line said?”
“I believe it was ‘I can’t go on like this, but I am too much a coward to face the music.’” He flushed crimson. “Then I said I was sorry and signed it. I planned to leave it in her office.”
Instead, someone had taken it and ripped out one single line, adding a period to the end to make it look as if he’d tried to kill himself. Obviously, the killer had planned to pin everything on Bamber: Not just the theft of the jazz club’s money, but the murder of Alfred Musgrave.
“What did you know about Musgrave’s murder?” I asked. “Quickly. It may save your life.”
His eyes widened with fright. “I don’t know anything.”
“Don’t lie to me, Mr. Bamber. You must know something, or the killer wouldn’t be after you.”
He clutched at the blanket, knuckles white and hands shaking. “It was the room. You see, I found Musgrave first. He was already dead, but the room wasn’t messed up. Not like it was later. And the pocket watch was in his pocket. I’m certain of it.”
Which confirmed my suspicion that the scene had been deliberately set. “What time was that?”
“Five minutes past one. I was scared the killer would come back. So I ran.”
Heavy footsteps echoed in the hall. The policeman was returning. Aunt Butty popped her head through the doorway, hat slightly askew, and beckoned me frantically.
I stood quickly. “Thank you Mr. Bamber. You’ve been most helpful.”
“I have?”
I gave him an enigmatic smile and hurried from the room after my aunt. Behind me came the shout of the policeman. I lifted my skirt and ran for the stairwell.
Aunt Butty was a few feet ahead of me, already halfway down the staircase. The heavy thump of police boots sounded from behind as we hit the first landing and continued on our way. I was worried about my aunt as she was huffing and puffing and swearing like a longshoreman.
Finally, we made the ground floor. Unfortunately, our pursuer was so close I could have sworn I could feel his breath on the back of my neck. Hiding seemed like a good idea.
“In here!” I grabbed Aunt Butty’s hand and dragged her into the first room with an open door. It was a rather spartan office with only a simple desk, a chair, and a single case of books against one wall. The only place to hide was behind the curtains gracing the window which overlooked the front lawn.
I grabbed one half and jerked it closed and we slipped behind it. Just in time, too. A floorboard in the hall creaked as the policeman paced up and down, searching for his prey. I turned and eyed the window. It was the only way out. The drop to the lawn didn’t look too bad. If I could slide it open, we could lower ourselves out and get away with no one the wiser.
The window slid up easily and quietly enough. I stuck my head out. Four or five feet with a small bush to break our fall. I could go first, and then catch my aunt. I signalled Aunt Butty, pointing to the open window, miming that we should use it to escape.
Just then, the heavy tread of the policeman indicated he’d entered the room. My motions became more frantic. Butty shook her head vigorously. So vigorously that one of the wax grapes dislodged from her hat and hit the floor with a soft plop. We both stared in horror as it rolled beneath the curtain and out into the room.
“Ah ha!” the policeman boomed.
“Go! Go!” I practically shoved Aunt Butty out the window. She hit the ground, tangled in the bush. I managed to jump out, barely missing her. I hit the grass, the ground beneath still soft from the morning rain. Jumping to my feet, I glanced up at the window to find a red-faced copper staring back at me.
I grabbed Aunt Butty beneath the armpits, heaved her from the bush, and gave her a shove toward the car park. She charged across the lawn, grapes quivering. I noticed a few extra twigs now graced her hat as I ran after her, ignoring the splatters of mud which now decorated the front of my dress.
Shouts echoed behind us as we hit the graveled parking area. We hopped in the car and sped away, spraying rocks everywhere. Just like the movies.
I careened around a corner on two wheels and nearly took out a milk truck. Aunt Butty gripped the door handle with one hand while holding onto her hat for dear life with the other. We hit the main road and I breathed a sigh of relief. “That was a close one.”
“They would have thrown us in prison for sure!” Aunt Butty declared.
I seriously doubted that, but I left her to her wild imaginings and focused on the road. Fortunately, there wasn’t much traffic, which meant we sailed along at a good pace.
Aunt Butty glanced behind us and let out a gasp. “I think someone’s following us!”
I craned my neck. Sure enough, a car barreled along the road behind us. A very familiar Morris Minor. My heart kicked into high gear, pounding so hard I saw spots dancing in front of my eyes.
I pressed down on the accelerator and the Roadster sped up a little. We roared past genteel houses with white pillars and neat porticos. Nannies walking their charges in prams paused to stare. A small dog on a leash yipped at us, his owner chiding him. A uniformed beat copper shouted and blew his whistle. We ignored him and carried on.
Behind us, the Morris Minor crept closer. Not close enough I could see the driver’s face, but enough I could make out a few details of his clothing. He wore a distinctive yellow and green tweed fedora hat. It was Leo Fairfax, the same man who’d run over Alfred Musgrave. I was sure of it! I had a bad, bad feeling. Was he trying to kill us to prevent us revealing the truth about Bamber? Or perhaps because I witnessed what I now realized was no accident, but the attempted murder of Alfred Musgrave?
Pressing harder on the accelerator, the Roadster leapt forward. I whipped around another corner with a screech of tires. Aunt Butty let out a shriek and clasped her bosom. I swerved around another vehicle going much too slow, nearly plowing into a rag and bone cart clopping the other direction. I veered back into my lane just in time to avoid a head-on collision.
“We’re going to die!” Aunt Butty wailed.
“Nonsense,” I snapped. “Stiffen your spine, Aunt!”
A quick glance in the rearview mirror revealed the Minor hadn’t rounded the corner yet. Now would be a good time to hide. But how to hide a car like mine?
Up ahead, I saw a narrow alley. Hoping it was wide enough, I whipped into it, and slammed on the breaks. Aunt Butty was nearly unseated, but managed to catch herself in time.
“Have we lost him?”
I glanced back. “You better pray we have.”
“Or else?”
My tone was grim. “Or else we may be dead women.”