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Charlie met with Wallace and Kelly early on Tuesday morning, eager to share news of the discoveries made by the Southern Investigations team.
The fingerprint team had worked into the night to examine the samples. After careful comparison of the patterns of arches, loops and whorls, the team had agreed that the original poison bottle – taken from the workroom – held prints that matched Mrs Ormsby, Miss Lawson and one unidentified person. A promising start to narrowing the suspect pool, assuming the murderer was not wearing gloves.
The poisoned tonic bottle, which Agnes had hidden in her room, was dotted with dozens of fingerprints. Unfortunately, many of the prints were layered on top of each other and impossibly smudged. Nevertheless, Lily had identified impressions left by Edgar Ormsby and Finch, his valet, along with smaller smudges that must have been Agnes. One partial impression appeared to match Richard, who had a distinctive scar on his thumb, while others appeared to match Mrs Ormsby and Miss Lawson. At least two other people had handled the bottle, if not more. The variety of prints was to be expected, as many persons had contact with the bottle since it had been opened the previous week.
Alistair had the clever idea of examining the remaining bottle of heart tonic from the bathroom cabinet. Agnes had admitted to putting a replacement bottle back in the cabinet to disguise the fact that she had spilled the poisoned one. Alistair reasoned that the killer would want to come back and remove the poisoned bottle, so no one would know how the poison had been administered. Charlie had no trouble imagining the killer’s shock when he or she discovered that the bottle showed no trace of the poison. With luck, the killer had then replaced the untainted bottle in the cabinet, rather than drawing suspicion by throwing it away.
This bottle had fewer prints. Mrs Ormsby and Miss Lawson, presumably from contact in the workroom when filling the bottle, as well as Finch, Agnes, and an unknown fingerprint. The same unknown print as on the original poison bottle.
Thus, only Mrs Ormsby, Miss Lawson and the unidentified person had touched both the poison bottle and the bottle of heart tonic. The fingerprints of Mrs Ormsby and Lawson proved nothing, since both had legitimate reasons to touch all the bottles. Either one of them might still be the murderer.
Charlie needed to figure out the identity of the unknown person who had handled both the poison and the tonic bottle. He had yet to collect fingerprint samples from Henry and Cecilia Ormsby, Mr Pugh, Betsy Dean, Duncan Grant and all the outsiders who had been at the house on the day of the party. That included Mr Horncastle and Doctor Alexander, who were next on Wallace’s interview schedule.
“Well, I never,” Declan declared, after Charlie had finished explaining the findings. “Think of all the time we’d have saved over the years if we’d known about fingerprints before. You are sure they are unique to an individual, Charlie?”
“Apparently so,” Charlie replied. He had presented the results impassively, but underneath, he was every bit as excited as Declan was.
“Might have trouble getting a judge and jury to place their faith in smudges,” Wallace said, “but fascinating nevertheless. When this case is over, Pyke, perhaps you and your father could prepare a discussion paper for the police hierarchy to consider. Our superiors will be guided by what Scotland Yard are up to, no doubt, but they ought to be informed of the potential of this method. The fact that a private detective agency is ahead of the police force might rouse some action.”
Wallace pushed his chair back and reached for his overcoat. “Right lads, enough mucking around with science. It’s time to get some good old-fashioned policing done.”
“I’d best be off to the medical school,” Kelly agreed. “Charlie, you’ll not have heard that I talked to Ormsby’s attorney yesterday evening. Ormsby gave no explanation of his sudden change of mind or why he reverted to the original beneficiaries. Or perhaps the attorney was simply unwilling to share his client’s motivation. Might as well have been talking to a stone.”
“I’m interviewing Horncastle at the hospital at nine o’clock this morning, Pyke, if you wish to come.” Wallace pulled his hat on, wrapped his scarf, and headed for the door, without waiting for a reply.
Quarter of an hour later, Charlie and Wallace were shown into a dim, wood-panelled room lined with the portraits of solemn, bewhiskered gentlemen. Horncastle stood up from the head of the oval table, which filled the room, gesturing them to the leather seats beside him.
Wallace stretched out a hand, which Horncastle shook, after a moment’s hesitation. “I’m Detective Inspector Wallace. I presume you are Mr Horncastle, Chairman of the Hospital Trustees.”
“I am. I do hope this will not take long, Inspector. I have important business to attend to.”
Horncastle spoke with an upper-class English accent that matched his appearance – top hat, silk cravat, bespoke tailoring, neatly-trimmed beard. His accent seemed a little contrived. Charlie knew Horncastle had made his fortune importing quality furnishings. He diagnosed a self-made man, who had taken the opportunities available to him in a relatively young colony and made the most of them. He could be a Cockney barrow boy made good, as far as Charlie was concerned, but wealthy men often went to considerable effort to hide humble origins.
“I understand your role as Chairman is not a full-time occupation, Mr Horncastle,” Wallace began.
“Indeed not, Inspector. All the Hospital Trustees are professionals and businessmen, who undertake the role for the benefit of the community. I confess, had I realised how much time it would take, I might have hesitated to accept. Nevertheless, one must do one’s best for the betterment of society.”
“I will come straight to the point, Mr Horncastle. You had a meeting with Doctor Ormsby at eleven o’clock on Saturday morning. Furthermore, you were observed to be angry with him during the soirée that evening.”
Horncastle glared at Wallace, his monocle accentuating his irritation. “We met, yes, but I was not angry, merely frustrated at Ormsby’s inconstancy.”
“Perhaps you could tell me the reason for the meeting.”
“Doctor Ormsby summoned me to his house on Saturday morning.” Horncastle’s pursed lips indicated that he was not a man who appreciated being summoned by others. “Ormsby informed me that he had altered his stated position on the new hospital wing. I had put my reputation on the line, supporting his suggestion of a new operating theatre. Ormsby himself had convinced me of the merits. I could see it would bring in fee-paying patients, which we desperately need, the financial situation of the hospital being precarious in these harsh economic times.”
“Did Ormsby give a reason for his change of mind?” Wallace asked.
“He did not seem to feel I was owed an explanation.” Horncastle tipped his head back slightly, causing the glass in the monocle to glint in the light. “I presumed Ormsby’s wife pressured him to renege. Indeed, when I left, I saw Mrs Ormsby coming out of the stable across the other side of the garden, so I ventured across to ask her.”
Wallace went absolutely still, a hound on a scent. “You stayed on, after the meeting with Ormsby?”
“I was merely returning to my carriage, which was standing by the entrance to the stables. Mrs Ormsby darted back into the building, snubbing me, which rather confirmed my suspicions. She is a leading member of the ladies’ group agitating for a women’s ward.” Horncastle had dropped his voice for the last sentence, making it sound as if Mrs Ormsby was part of an dangerous gang of conspirators.
“You didn’t follow Mrs Ormsby?”
“Absolutely not. I was quite put out by her rudeness, as you may imagine. I returned directly to my carriage. Frankly, Inspector, I blame the suffragists for giving women misguided ideas about their role in society. The women’s group is incorrigible. One of them even harangued Ormsby during his soirée that evening. I don’t know what their husbands are thinking, condoning such disgraceful conduct.”
Charlie would have liked to shut this man in a room with Grace’s suffragist friends for an hour or two, not that he expected a man like Horncastle would change his ways. He wanted to ask if Horncastle had ever walked the wards of the hospital he had such power over, to see with his own eyes the conditions patients endured. Fortunately, Wallace was of like mind.
“No doubt you and the other Trustees conducted a thorough investigation before coming to your decision to switch from a new women’s ward to an operating theatre,” Wallace said, in a sympathetic tone. “I expect these women were exaggerating the dire state of the current women’s ward, eh? Perhaps you would have time to take us on a quick tour?”
Horncastle sniffed. “I do not have time to waste visiting the wards, Inspector, and neither do the other Trustees. We operate at a higher level, dealing with proposals and budgets and the wider overall vision for a modern hospital facility. We aim to build a legacy that will be the envy of the southern hemisphere.”
Wallace stared at him for a long moment, unblinking, before continuing. “Of course, my mistake. Were you aware that Doctor Ormsby had made provision in his will for a substantial donation to the hospital?”
“He intimated as much to me. The generosity of wealthy men is vital to keeping this hospital from falling into disrepair.”
“Ormsby’s death, tragic as it was, would thus be of benefit to the hospital, Mr Horncastle, would it not? Perhaps to the benefit of your own legacy as well? I understand that retiring chairmen are often remembered in the naming of new wards.”
Horncastle removed his monocle, so he could glare all the harder. “I find that offensive, Inspector. Donations are always welcome, but it is hardly appropriate to talk of such things so soon after Ormsby’s heart attack.”
“It wasn’t a heart attack. Edgar Ormsby was murdered.” Wallace must have seen the shock on Horncastle’s face, but he ignored it and ploughed on. “Did you know Ormsby changed his will again, the day before he died? Unfortunately for the hospital, the revised donation is a fraction of the previous bequest.”
Shock turned to a mix of horror and disbelief. Whatever Ormsby had said to Horncastle at their Saturday morning meeting, it was abundantly clear that he had not mentioned his altered will.
Wallace waited until Horncastle had recovered his composure. “Mr Horncastle, do you know who murdered Edgar Ormsby?”
“No, of course not. Absolutely not. Why would I?”
“Do you recognise this type of bottle, sir?” Charlie asked, holding a reagent bottle out to him.
“No.” Horncastle touched it briefly, when Charlie thrust it into his hand, before handing it back. “I trust that will be all, Inspector. I am a very busy man. If you require a character reference, you need look no further than your own Chief Inspector, who is an acquaintance of mine.”
Wallace didn’t so much as blink. He rose from his chair and gave Horncastle a brief nod. “Please notify me at the police station if you recall any further information, Mr Horncastle.” Wallace left his suspect staring at the vast, empty table. Horncastle did not seem to notice their departure.
Charlie followed Wallace back down the corridor to the hospital lobby. Horncastle seemed like the type of man to take offence at every slight. Charlie had no problem imagining him slapping an opponent with a glove and demanding a duel, had this been a tale of old. However, he couldn’t imagine Horncastle killing Ormsby over a simple, if frustrating, withdrawal of support for the new operating theatre. Horncastle’s motive was simply not compelling, unless ...
Charlie hurried to catch up to Wallace. “Horncastle seemed excessively put out by the change of will. Perhaps it might be worth investigating the hospital accounts, to see if our honourable Chairman of Trustees is somehow benefitting personally from donations and bequests.”
Wallace grunted his agreement. Horncastle had made the mistake of annoying DI Wallace with his superior attitude – never a wise move. If there was wrongdoing, Wallace would sniff it out.
Fascinating as the interview had been, the most useful insight had been Horncastle witnessing Mrs Ormsby coming out of the workroom, late on Saturday morning. She had not mentioned this in her interview. Charlie was sure Wallace would be heading back up to Royal Terrace to have further discussions with Mrs Ormsby, her lady’s maid and Richard.
Cecilia too. The daughter’s character seemed as insubstantial as mist, unless she really was as shallow as she appeared to be. Her one concern seemed to be marrying Gideon Alexander, a man who hadn’t shown his face at the Ormsby house since Saturday night, as far as Charlie could tell. He was looking forward to meeting Cecilia’s suitor, especially as Grace had given such a fine account of the young surgeon. That is, if he and Wallace could find their way through the maze of corridors to the duty surgeon’s room, where Doctor Alexander had agreed to meet them.
A nurse took pity on them and took them to right place. She halted in the doorway, her face full of sympathy as she held a finger to her lips and pointed to the man fast asleep on the narrow bunk. All that was visible of Doctor Alexander was a hand dangling from under a blanket and a tangle of light brown hair. He was so still, he might have been heavily sedated, or dead.
“Do you have to wake the poor man?” the nurse whispered. “He’s been on call for days, we’re that short staffed. After a nasty accident down on the wharves late yesterday, Doctor Alexander worked through the night, attending to an amputation, several broken bones and a crushed skull. Three ships in at once and the dockworkers labouring all hours, just like us. Shouldn’t be allowed. An accident waiting to happen if you ask me. The House Surgeon told Doctor Alexander to go home, but he insisted on waiting for the police.”
Wallace hesitated. Charlie knew he was eager to return to the Ormsby house, but they still only had Alexander’s evidence second hand, through Grace. Alexander had no apparent motive and limited opportunity, but a policeman had to be thorough. Besides, he might have witnessed something suspicious.
The nurse’s expression softened. “I heard what happened to his sweetheart’s father. Terrible tragedy, right before they were to be engaged. I know Doctor Alexander was beside himself having so much work to do here, taking over Ormsby’s operations as well as his own, when all he wanted was to be by his sweetheart’s side. I hope Miss Ormsby understands that he is wearing himself to the bone for her and her family.”
No wonder Grace admired the man, Charlie thought. He felt a stab of guilt for thinking ill of Alexander for his absence from Cecilia’s side. Nevertheless, they still needed to question him. Charlie turned back to the nurse. “Do you happen to know his future brother-in-law, Henry Ormsby?”
Compassion fell away to wariness. “The medical student. I know him all right.”
“Have you seen him recently?” Charlie asked.
“Yes, I have. I found the little blighter sleeping in the duty surgeon’s bed. Poor Doctor Alexander was asleep in a chair in between patients, because he was too soft-hearted to kick the Ormsby boy out. I don’t care who Henry Ormsby’s father is, that’s not acceptable. Showed young Mr Ormsby the door this morning, I did.”
Charlie suppressed a surge of frustration at missing their quarry again. “Do you know where Henry Ormsby might have gone?”
The nurse planted her knuckles on her hips. “I don’t know and I don’t care, as long as he’s out of my sight and not harassing any nurses.” She glanced behind him and waved. “Here’s our Miss Penrose. She might know. We could do with a few more like her around. She’s got more dedication to duty in her little finger than that Ormsby boy could summon in a lifetime.”
Grace hurried towards them. “Gentlemen, Nurse Evans, good morning to you all. Have you been interviewing Gideon Alexander?”
Nurse Evans pointed to the sleeping figure, who hadn’t moved an inch, despite the sudden arrival of a bawling child, one arm twisted unnaturally to the side. The nurse rushed over to the distraught father and son and directed them onward into the hospital maze.
Declan Kelly turned into the corridor, his arm looped through Anne Macmillan’s, supporting her as she struggled to keep up with Grace’s rapid pace. “Charlie, Henry Ormsby might be here, in the hospital.”
“He was, Declan, but the nurse shooed him out of the surgeon’s bed this morning.”
“Have you tried the old lying-in ward? Apparently, there is a place there where medical students will spend the night if they are too drunk to get to their own homes.”
Charlie turned to Grace. “Do you know where it is?”
“No one tells me these secrets, Charlie. The maternity ward was closed a few years ago. We only get the occasional emergency deliveries now.”
“I know exactly where it is,” Anne said. “And a sorrier excuse for a hospital ward I never wish to see again as long as I live. A cold, dank building, accessed by rickety stairs, not suitable for swine or even medical students. Deemed unfit for birthing women five years ago, and not before time. Come with me.”
Anne led the way. Charlie had been in the hospital twice before, but had been in no condition to take in his surroundings either time. Once he had been seriously injured, the second time his sole focus was on getting Grace out of here. He had forgotten the evil smell of inadequate bathrooms and poor drainage, the overlying whiff of disease and boiled cabbage, the pervasive air of decay. He felt sick just being here.
They took a short-cut through the women’s ward, one end of which was sweat-inducingly close to the heating, while the other end was icy. Rows of metal-framed beds fought for space. In each bed, a pale, shrunken face peered at them above a tightly tucked sheet. Enterprising nurses had erected blankets to stop the chill coming in the loose window sashes. Most of the blankets were pulled aside this morning, as insipid sunlight streamed through the windows alongside the breeze.
Grace had told Charlie about conditions in the older wards of the hospital, but it was completely different to be here, in person, being assaulted by all five senses. When this case was over, Charlie was going to personally ensure that every hospital trustee, and every government health official he could get his hands on, visited this ward, preferably dressed in a thin nightgown. Even if he had to handcuff them and drag them in himself.
The livelier patients welcomed their presence as an amusing distraction from the boredom and discomfort of bed-rest. Charlie and Declan returned the hellos and ignored the more ribald comments, which would have had him blushing back in the days when he was a raw recruit. Most of the women recognised Grace, who darted here and there, using Anne’s slower pace as a way to fit in a little extra bedside caring.
A thin woman pushed herself upright, calling out in a stage whisper. “Don’t let the tall one get away, Doctor Penrose. I reckon he’s got an eye for you.”
“Nice to see you’ve recovered both your health and your cheek, Mrs Jamieson. Must be time you were discharged. As for me, alas, I’ve no time for anything but work.”
“Och, you know what they say about all work and no play, lassie.”
Charlie detoured to the patient’s side to whisper that Doctor Penrose was never dull and certainly not about to escape his clutches, earning himself a cackle from Mrs Jamieson and a raised eyebrow from Grace.
Eventually, Anne took them through an external door into the freezing bite of autumn. The wooden stairs, still slick from overnight rain, were no place for a pregnant woman. Grace turned and rolled her eyes, as she pushed through the door into the abandoned maternity ward.
“It’s been years since I was here,” Anne said. “The room that used to be reserved for the midwife might be our best bet.”
The midwife’s room gave the odd sensation of being both deserted and in occasional use, like an abandoned building used by squatters. The air was stale, but not without traces of human life. Discarded hospital cups and cracked enamel plates littered the bench. The narrow bunk still had a mattress, disreputable grey sheets and a blanket. No nurse would have left it in such a rumpled state.
More to the point, if Henry Ormsby had been here, he was here no longer.
They retraced their steps to the surgeon’s room. Wallace was still waiting there, but Gideon Alexander had departed. Wallace returned the reagent bottle Charlie had left with him, holding it by the top.
“I sent Doctor Alexander back to his lodgings,” Wallace said. “He’s been working non-stop at the hospital, doing his own work and Ormsby’s, as well as filling in for the on-call duty surgeon, who is ill. Alexander hasn’t been in touch with the Ormsby family since Sunday morning. He was only there for a short time, to pay his respects and see if there was anything he could do for his fiancée and her family. Cecilia received him, but was in such a dire state that he gave her a sleeping tonic. Richard said the most helpful thing Alexander could do for them was to see to his father’s patients, until such time as other arrangements could be made. And so he has, unstintingly. I’ve rarely seen a man so close to being asleep on his feet. Had the devil’s own job waking the poor man.”
“Did Doctor Alexander talk to Henry last night?” Charlie asked.
“No, he left him to sleep. But he did wake Henry this morning and told him to go home and see to his family, like a man ought to do. However, he thought it was unlikely that Henry would follow his advice. Doctor Alexander is not very impressed by young Henry’s character, or lack thereof. Reading between the lines, I think Alexander didn’t want to force the issue, as he wishes to remain on good terms with Cecilia’s family. That’s when the nurse arrived and kicked Henry out.”
“I don’t suppose Alexander had a theory on where Henry Ormsby would hide next?” Kelly asked.
“I showed him your list of Henry’s friends,” Wallace said. “His finger went straight to one address on the hills above St Clair beach. Alexander was reluctant to tell me why, until I informed him this was a homicide investigation. Seems young Henry has an obsession with fire. He was staying with his friend when Cargill’s Castle burned down a couple of months ago. Went on and on about watching the house burn, leaving Alexander with the impression that Henry is mentally unstable. He was so worried about his future brother-in-law, he offered to come with us, despite being half dead with exhaustion. I’m not sure whether Alexander thinks Henry is a danger to himself or danger to others, but it’s one or the other, for sure.”
Charlie agreed with Alexander’s doubts about Henry’s mental state. No sane man would pay a man to abduct Grace, in order to convince her that his life was in danger. No wonder Cecilia was so obsessed with marrying a decent man like Gideon Alexander, before he had second or third thoughts about the family he was marrying into. However, Charlie couldn’t shake the feeling that Henry was frightened, rather than frightening. Not that he would have been stupid enough to test that theory by turning his back on him, even for a second.
Wallace paced the corridor, deep in thought. On the return lap, the doubt had cleared from his brow. “We need at least two men to confront Henry Ormsby. He is either a killer or unstable. Either way, he is withholding vital evidence. Kelly, you and I will go back to the station. If Elliot and Weston are there, I’ll send them to South Dunedin, otherwise we will have to go.”
Charlie understood Wallace’s dilemma, but he had a gut feeling that the answer lay within the Ormsby household.
Wallace pre-empted him. “Pyke, could I ask you to return to the Ormsby house? We cannot ignore the possibility that Henry followed Alexander’s advice to go home. We’ll follow, as soon as we can.”
Wallace and Kelly strode off down the corridor, before Charlie could voice his doubts.
Grace took Charlie aside, nodding at Anne, who was seated on a chair, looking her age. “I’d better take my great-aunt home, Charlie.”
Charlie passed the two reagent bottles to Grace. “Can you give these two fingerprint samples to Lily, please. Once you’re home, stay there. There’s a killer on the loose and I don’t think it’s Henry Ormsby.”
“I agree. I didn’t like to interrupt DI Wallace when he was in the mood for action, but I have information for you from our interview with Doctor Harvey. I told Declan, so he will let Wallace know. I’m not sure if it’s relevant, it happened so long ago, but it confirms our suspicion that Doctor Ormsby had a dubious past.”
“I’m all ears, Grace.”
“Doctor Harvey loathed Edgar Ormsby because he let a fellow surgeon take the blame for Ormsby’s fatal mistake. It happened in Edinburgh. The other surgeon, Iain Thayne, was struck off and ruined. He drowned soon after, either accidentally after drinking too much, or intentionally. Thayne’s family vowed revenge. Thayne died exactly ten years ago – the same date as Ormsby’s murder.”
Charlie saw the sparkle in Grace’s eyes and knew his own face was equally alight with excitement. “Did Harvey know anything about the Thayne family?”
“Iain Thayne left a wife and three children – two girls and a boy. The family left Edinburgh to stay with relatives, reverting to Mrs Thayne’s maiden name. Harvey couldn’t recall the widow’s name, but Siobhan Mairi Thayne, known as Mairi, rang a vague bell. And Mrs Thayne was a pretty, delicate nurse, who was likely around the same age as Mrs Siobhan Ormsby. I’m going to see Doctor Harvey’s wife as soon as I can, in the hope that she may remember more about them.”
Charlie touched her hand discreetly, all too aware that they were not alone in the hospital corridor. “What would I do without you, Grace? Send a message to the police station, if you find out any more details from Mrs Harvey.”
Grace seized his hand and held it tightly. “I don’t like the thought of you being at the Ormsby house on your own, Charlie. Please be careful. I can’t afford to lose my favourite private protection agent.”