Superintendent Claude Chatfield was accustomed to using the telephone to issue orders or to demand information. His rank ensured that officers obeyed him at once. That, at least, was what happened in England and – to a lesser extent, perhaps – in Wales. Both countries seemed to play by the same rules. Scotland, he had now learnt, was a foreign country that operated on a system he could neither understand nor admire. Ringing the Aberdeen City Police was an essay in frustration. It took him an age to make what he thought was a simple request. He wanted someone to track down Mr and Mrs Bruce Tindall of Kilbride Avenue, Dyce and give them some distressing news about their son. The parents would be asked to get in touch with Scotland Yard for more detail. By the time he lowered the receiver, Chatfield’s arm was aching, and his temper frayed.
It was over an hour when he finally got news about his request. Someone spoke to him in an impenetrable accent that meant he only understood one in ten of the words that were fired at him like so many bullets. When he asked the caller to talk in English, he got an indignant reply. The man went on to speak to him as if he were a child, putting great emphasis on each word. Chatfield eventually understood much of what he was being told.
‘Thank you, Inspector,’ he said, mastering his irritation.
‘It’s nae trouble.’
‘You’ve been … helpful.’
‘Aye, I know.’
Replacing the receiver, Chatfield sat back in his chair and breathed a sigh of relief. Next time he rang anyone in Aberdeen, he promised himself, he would have an interpreter standing beside him.
It was only when she left the church that Ada Hobbes remembered how early she had had to get up. Every bone in her body seemed to be crying out in protest. On the walk back home, she acknowledged greetings from some of her neighbours but made sure that she did not stop to talk to them. She simply wanted to get back to the safety of her own four walls. When the house came into view, however, she was dismayed to see someone standing outside the front door. Her first instinct was to dodge down a side street and hide there until her visitor had left. Then she realised who the woman was. Breaking into a trot, she waved her arms in greeting.
‘Kathy!’ she cried. ‘Thank goodness you’ve come.’
‘I felt that I had to, Ada. Oh, come here,’ she said, spreading her arms to embrace her sister and plant a kiss on her cheek. ‘Let’s go inside and have a cup of tea. Then we can talk.’
‘But we can’t, I’m afraid.’
‘Why not?’
‘The police told me I was to speak to nobody. I gave them my word. They’ll be very cross with me if I break my promise.’
‘It’s different now, Ada.’
‘Is it?’
‘Yes. When I told them I’d come here, they didn’t try to stop me. I think they wanted me to comfort you.’
Ada was taken aback. ‘You’ve seen them?’
‘I’ve seen them and had a long talk with them. They asked me all sorts of questions about Dr Tindall. As soon as they left, I came straight here. Now, get your key out and let us in.’
‘Oh, I’m so relieved to see you, Kathy.’
‘Hurry up, woman. I want my blooming tea.’
Ada smiled and hugged her.
Before they went back to Scotland Yard, they returned to the hospital. Marmion was keen to make a second visit because Major Palmer-Loach had promised to search for as many photographs of George Tindall as he could find.
‘It will make a big difference if we can release a photo of him to the press,’ said Marmion. ‘It’s bound to jog memories.’
‘Why were there no photos of him at his home?’ asked Keedy.
‘I suspect that they were deliberately stolen, Joe. The killers removed lots of things that might have been of use to us.’
‘That’s worrying.’
‘It’s annoying, I grant you that.’
‘It tells us something about those two men. They were cold, brutal and well-organised. They’ve obviously gone out of their way to make our job more difficult. We’re up against professionals, Harv.’
‘Then we must rise to the challenge.’
When the car stopped outside the main building at the hospital, Marmion got out and went inside. Keedy decided to take a walk around the complex. He had read a great deal about military hospitals but had never been inside one before. As he strolled off, another building soon came into view and he was able to identify it at once as the nurses’ home. He stopped to admire the nurses going into or coming out of the building. Marmion had been right. There was something about their crisp, white uniforms that gave the women a special lustre. Even the older ones looked attractive. He stood there gazing at the nurses as they flitted to and fro.
His surveillance was interrupted by a firm tap on the shoulder.
‘Excuse me, sir,’ said a voice.
Keedy turned to see a uniformed soldier glaring at him.
‘Do you have a legitimate reason to be on the premises,’ continued the man, ‘or did you just come here to ogle the nurses?’
‘I resent that question,’ said Keedy, taking out his warrant card. ‘I’m Detective Sergeant Keedy of the Metropolitan Police Force and I’m investigating the murder of one your surgeons.’ He showed his card. ‘Are you satisfied now?’
‘Yes, sir. I’m sorry. I was only doing my job.’
‘Do it better next time.’
‘We don’t allow intruders on the site.’
‘Do I really look like an intruder?’
‘To be honest – yes, you do.’
Keedy grinned. ‘Fair enough,’ he said, putting his card away.
‘Which surgeon was it?’
‘Dr Tindall – George Tindall.’
The soldier recoiled. ‘No – I don’t believe it.’
‘I’m afraid that it’s true.’
‘Someone killed him? Why ever would they do that? I don’t know the names of all the surgeons here, but I know his. Dr Tindall stood out from the others. He was so popular.’
‘That’s what we’ve been told. His patients will be shocked.’
‘Not only his patients,’ said the soldier with a sly wink. ‘Think of those nurses. Some of them worshipped him – lucky devil. If he’d wanted to, he could have had his pick of them.’
During the time that Marmion had been away, the major had been busy. By raiding his files and scouring the hospital, he had gathered a whole dossier of photographs. Most of them were taken of groups of patients and staff, carefully arranged by the photographer. Everyone looked happy in front of the camera. Once the doctor had been pointed out to him, Marmion found it easy to pick out George Tindall in every group. He was a tall, slim man in his early forties with a dignified air.
‘The patients in this one,’ said Palmer-Loach, handing him a photograph with over fifty people on display, ‘were all due to be released. It’s a farewell photo. That’s why they’ve got those broad grins. They were the lucky ones,’ he added. ‘Many of their friends left in a hearse.’
‘They must have arrived here in a bad state,’ observed Marmion.
‘Some came straight from the battlefield with their mud-covered uniforms still clinging to them. They had to be cut off.’
‘These photos are fascinating, Major, but they’re not really suitable for our purposes, I’m afraid.’
‘That’s why I brought some others.’
The major showed him some photographs taken of three surgeons, holding their masks as they stood outside the operating theatre. Tindall was among them. Of the new batch, the best photograph showed him standing beside a colleague in the open air. He looked weary but managed a smile.
‘This is the one for me,’ said Marmion, ‘but, if I may, I’ll borrow a couple of the others as well.’
‘We would like them back, Inspector. They’re a precious record of how this hospital works. Take great care of them. I’m only sorry that we don’t have one with Dr Tindall entirely on his own.’
‘Don’t worry. We have a man at Scotland Yard who is a genius at cropping photographs. And if we still fail to get a satisfactory result,’ said Marmion, ‘we have an artist who can produce a good likeness of Dr Tindall.’
The major put the selected photographs in a large brown envelope and handed it over to his visitor. Marmion thanked him once again.
‘You’ve made a significant contribution to the investigation, sir,’ he said.
Since they had started their shift early, Alice and Iris had finished by mid afternoon. When they returned to their headquarters, the redoubtable Inspector Thelma Gale was waiting for them. Even though relatively short, she had an imposing presence. She ran a critical eye over their respective uniforms to see that they were clean and being worn properly.
‘Anything to report?’ she asked.
‘Not really,’ said Alice. ‘All in all, it was a rather quiet day.’
‘It’s true,’ added Iris. ‘The most exciting thing that happened was the chat that Alice had with an old friend.’
The inspector bristled. ‘You are there to keep the peace,’ she snarled, ‘not to talk to a passing acquaintance.’
‘Oh, she was more than an acquaintance, Inspector. Alice used to work at the same school with her. Mrs Powell was rather naughty,’ she went on with a giggle. ‘She tried to poach Alice from the WPF.’
‘I don’t like the sound of that.’
‘It was not serious, Inspector,’ explained Alice. ‘Gwenda – Mrs Powell – is now the headmistress at the school. They have some unruly children there now, apparently. She remembered that I was good at keeping discipline.’
‘You’re far more use to us than you’d be in a classroom,’ said the other with a peremptory snort. ‘Put the idea out of your head.’
‘Yes, Inspector.’
‘You hold a responsible position. Never forget that. Women are making an important difference in the war effort. We’ve proved ourselves in every way.’
‘Alice knows that,’ said Iris, unguardedly. ‘She’d never desert us. But there’s no reason why she shouldn’t help the school when she’s off duty, is there?’
‘There’s every reason,’ hissed the inspector, turning to glare at Alice. ‘Have you made this friend of yours some sort of promise?’
‘Not really,’ said Alice. ‘I was just thinking, that’s all.’
‘Thinking about what, may I ask?’
Iris blurted it out. ‘She thought it might be a good idea to give a talk to the pupils. Alice was a born teacher. They’d listen to her.’
‘And what sort of talk did you have in mind?’ demanded the inspector.
‘It was just an idea,’ said Alice, wishing that the subject had never come up. ‘I can see now that it was a mistake. For a start, I simply don’t have the time.’
‘You could make time,’ suggested Iris.
‘I’d rather forget the whole thing.’
‘But the children keep asking after you. In fact—’
‘That’s enough,’ said Alice, cutting her off. ‘The matter’s closed.’
‘It certainly is,’ agreed the inspector. ‘When you joined the WPF, you made certain commitments. I expect you to honour them and not get distracted by the prospect of working in a school again. You operate in the adult world now.’ She drew herself up to her full height. ‘Do you understand what I’m saying?’
‘Yes, Inspector.’
‘Don’t forget it.’ She turned on Iris. ‘The same goes for you.’
‘Yes, Inspector,’ said Iris, meekly.
‘The Women’s Police Force must always come first!’
Having delivered her final warning, Inspector Gale gave each of them a withering look before stalking off to her office. Alice was dazed by the confrontation and angry with Iris for mentioning the conversation about the school. There were times when her beat partner’s loose tongue maddened her, and this was one of them. Iris sensed that she had done the wrong thing.
‘We’re still going to the West End tomorrow, aren’t we?’ she whispered.
The first pot of tea steadied them and gave them the strength to cope with the shock they had both had. By the time that Ada Hobbes had brewed a second pot, they felt restored. Kathleen Paget rolled her eyes.
‘Dr Tindall was my best client,’ she said. ‘I’d do anything for him.’
‘So would I, Kathy,’ said her sister.
‘Apart from anything else, he paid me more than the others.’
‘I didn’t do his cleaning for the money. It was just a pleasure to be on my own in such a lovely, big house. I was able to set my pace without having someone standing over me. I just wish Bert had still been alive for me to tell him all about Dr Tindall.’ She became reflective. ‘He was funny, though.’
‘Who – Bert or the doctor?’
‘The doctor, of course,’ said Ada. ‘When I first saw all those photos of his wife, I thought it was wonderful of him to remember her that way. I’m not so sure now. I mean, it’s not something I did when my husband died. If I put a photo of Bert in every room, it would unsettle me. Wherever I went, he’d be watching me.’
‘I’d feel the same about Alf.’
‘Does that mean we’re bad people?’
‘It means that we grieve in our own ways, Ada.’
They drank their tea and lapsed into a companionable silence. It was minutes before Ada remembered something.
‘Thank you, Kathy.’
‘I should be thanking you. It’s a lovely cup of tea.’
‘I’m so grateful that you recommended me to Dr Tindall.’
‘What’s the point of family if we can’t help each other?’
‘That’s true.’
‘And you deserved something good for once. You’ve had so many blows in your life, Ada, and you never felt sorry for yourself.’
‘Yes, I did,’ recalled her sister. ‘When I took over Bert’s round, I felt very sorry for myself. Sweeping chimneys almost crippled me. The soot got everywhere. And I hated being laughed at by children in the street.’
‘Those days have gone now.’ Kathy sipped her tea. ‘I’ve got to do some thinking,’ she said, putting the cup back in the saucer. ‘The police told me that, if I remembered anything about Dr Tindall I thought might be useful, I was to get in touch with them at once. But my brain just won’t work properly.’
‘Mine’s the same, Kathy. It’s the shock.’
‘That’ll wear off, I hope. When it does, I’ll remember things he said or did. Think of that, Ada. What I tell them about the doctor might help them to catch whoever killed him.’ She tapped her head. ‘I might have some important information locked away inside here.’
On the drive back to Scotland Yard, they studied the photographs. Keedy was fascinated by the way that Tindall caught the eye immediately.
‘Even when he’s wearing a white coat,’ he said, ‘he somehow manages to look smart. The two doctors with him in this photo just disappear.’
‘Think of those suits in his wardrobe, Joe.’
‘I’m still green with envy.’
‘He really cared about his appearance.’
‘Yes, and he was a good-looking devil. No wonder he made so many hearts flutter in the nurses’ home. It makes you wonder, doesn’t it?’
‘What do you mean?’
‘Well,’ said Keedy, ‘both the neighbours and those two cleaners told us that Dr Tindall was obsessed with his late wife. Yet that smile on his face and those expensive suits of his suggest he might – just might – be a ladies’ man.’
‘Then there was the smell of perfume in his bathroom.’
‘I hadn’t forgotten that.’
‘Let’s not jump to conclusions,’ warned Marmion. ‘Mr and Mrs Crowe knew him much better than us and so did Mrs Hobbes and Mrs Paget. Then there was Major Palmer-Loach, of course. He gave me the impression that Dr Tindall was on duty at the hospital almost every single day. In fact, he stayed the night there sometimes. That’s real devotion to duty.’
Keedy studied the last of the photographs, then handed it back. Marmion slipped it into the envelope. He remembered something.
‘The major has been extremely helpful,’ he said, ‘but, on my first visit there, we did have a difference of opinion.’
‘What about?’
‘Endell Street Hospital.’
‘Ah, yes,’ recalled Keedy. ‘You went there with Alice, didn’t you?’
‘I was intrigued to find out if a hospital with an entirely female staff could function properly. Endell Street gave me the answer. It could match any other military hospital. I thought it was remarkable.’
‘What was the major’s opinion?’
‘He called it “the Suffragettes Hospital” as if that were something obscene. I told him how impressed I was, but he’ll never change his mind. He prefers hospitals where men make all the decisions.’
‘You’ll have to set Alice on to him.’
‘It would be a waste of time. The major has a closed mind.’ Marmion patted the envelope. ‘We got what we came for, that’s the main thing. A photo is better than a thousand words. If we can get Dr Tindall’s face in tomorrow’s papers, we’re going to reach people nationwide.’
‘My guess is that we’ll have a big response,’ said Keedy.
‘It’s what I’m hoping for, Joe. Before we can solve this murder, we need to find out a hell of a lot more about the victim.’
It was weeks since Ellen Marmion had seen her daughter and she was filled with nervous excitement. She had baked some cakes for the occasion and cleaned Alice’s room in readiness. Uncertain of what time she would arrive, Ellen was torn between going to meet the bus and waiting at the house. In the event, the decision was taken for her. Before she could put on her coat to go out, she heard a key being inserted in the front door. When her daughter suddenly appeared, her mother flung her arms around her.
‘You’re earlier than I expected,’ said Ellen.
‘Is that a complaint, Mummy?’
‘Of course not. This is a wonderful surprise.’
After an exchange of greetings, Alice took off her coat and hat and followed her mother into the kitchen. She saw the plate of cakes on the table.
‘Oh, that’s just what I need!’
‘You look exhausted. Have you had a tiring day?’
‘Not really,’ said Alice. ‘It was just … irritating.’
‘Sit down and tell me all about it. I’ll put the kettle on.’
‘Can I have one of those cakes first?’
Ellen laughed. ‘Have as many as you like.’
The two of them were soon sitting opposite each other at the table. Alice was able to relax for the first time that day. Being back home was a tonic for her.
‘Now, then,’ said her mother. ‘What made the day so irritating?’
‘Iris.’
‘I thought the pair of you got on so well together.’
‘We do as a rule,’ said Alice. ‘In fact, I was enjoying her company so much, I suggested that the pair of us should go to the West End tomorrow on our day off.’
‘She’d have been thrilled at that.’
‘Iris couldn’t stop talking about it. Then we bumped into a friend of mine …’
Alice told her about the chat with Gwenda Powell and about the latter’s attempt to get her back to school again. Ellen was interested to hear that Gwenda was now headmistress.
‘I thought that Mrs Latimer would never retire,’ she said. ‘You used to be so frightened of that woman.’
‘I still am.’
‘But she’s left the school altogether.’
‘Yes,’ said Alice, ‘and she’s turned up under another name. Inspector Gale is Mrs Latimer in disguise – just as strict and twice as nasty. And what does Iris do?’
‘Tell me.’
‘When we get to the end of our shift, Gale Force is waiting for us. Iris tells her that Gwenda Powell was trying to lure me back into teaching, so I get told off good and proper. Oh,’ she cried through gritted teeth, ‘I could kill Iris sometimes. The worst of it is that I’ve got to spend most of the day with her tomorrow.’ She held up an apologetic hand. ‘I’m sorry, Mummy. I shouldn’t go on about it. And I have got something lined up for tomorrow. It will wipe away all memory of Iris Goodliffe. Joe is taking me out.’
‘Ah,’ said Ellen, ‘I’m glad you mentioned Joe.’
‘We haven’t spent time together for weeks.’
‘You may have to wait a little longer, I’m afraid.’
‘Why?’
‘Joe rang me from Scotland Yard about an hour ago. He sends his love and says how sorry he is, but something has come up – a murder in Edmonton. He and your father will be working on it around the clock.’
Alice sagged. The next day began to look bleak.
They were still examining the body when Marmion came into the morgue. Harrison broke away and took him into his office where the smell was less pungent.
‘There’s still a long way to go, Harvey,’ explained the pathologist. ‘I tell you the same thing every time. You can’t rush a post-mortem.’
‘Just bring me up to date, Tom.’
‘Time of death is what I told you earlier.’
‘It fits in with what Joe discovered.’
‘Oh?’
‘He did a stint at door-knocking. At a house on the corner, he found an old man who was in his bathroom when he heard two motorbikes drawing up and stopping. We think that whoever had been riding them walked up to Dr Tindall’s house and somehow got in. The result is out there on your table.’
‘How do you know that the motorcyclists committed the murder?’
‘They came as quietly as possible,’ said Marmion, ‘and left as fast as they could. Everybody in the next street heard them roar away.’
‘I see.’
‘What can you tell me about the nature of the injuries?’
‘Do you really want to know?’ Marmion nodded. ‘They made sure he died slowly and in great pain. He was tortured. They cut lumps off him as they went along. His stomach was cut open and his testicles sliced off. I could go on and on.’
‘That’s enough, Tom. I’d prefer to see it all in a report.’
‘There’s one thing you might care to know.’
‘Is there?’
‘Something bigger than a knife was used to inflict some of those wounds. If you asked me for a guess, I’d say it was a bayonet.’
Marmion gulped. ‘A bayonet?’
‘Now where would they get hold of that?’
As soon as they had reached Scotland Yard, Keedy had gone off to pursue a line of enquiry on his own. He kept thinking about the suits hanging in the wardrobe in Dr Tindall’s house. A surgeon would be paid far more than a detective sergeant but not enough, he believed, to be a regular client in Savile Row. A large amount of money had been lavished on the suits and other items of menswear they’d found. There had also been three pairs of gold cufflinks. The array of hats alone would have been well beyond the reach of Keedy’s modest income.
When he was dropped off by the police car in Savile Row, he remembered a case that had taken him and Marmion to nearby Jermyn Street. It had concerned the murder of a Jewish tailor, the rape of his daughter and the burning down of his premises. Keedy hoped that the current investigation would be less complex and bewildering. Before he went into the shop, he looked in the window of Boyle and Stoddard, Bespoke Tailors. To someone as interested in the latest styles as he was, the suits on display were minor works of art. He enjoyed a momentary fantasy of wearing one of them as he took Alice to dinner at The Ritz.
Keedy entered the shop to be given a practised smile by an immaculately dressed man in his thirties with carefully barbered hair and moustache.
‘Good afternoon, sir,’ he said. ‘How may we help you?’
‘I’ve come in search of information about a client of yours.’
‘I’m sorry, sir, but such information is strictly confidential.’ Keedy produced his warrant card and held it in front of his face. ‘Ah,’ said the man, reading the name and changing his tone, ‘that’s different.’
‘Good.’
‘In which of our clients are you interested?’
‘Dr Tindall.’
‘May I ask why?’
‘We are investigating his murder.’
After his visit to the pathologist, Marmion went off to report to Claude Chatfield. The superintendent was as peppery as ever and was only partly mollified by the sight of the photographs from the hospital. He sifted through them before picking out the one with only two figures in it. ‘Let’s see what we can do with this,’ he said. ‘Now, what else have you found out? Were he here – as he was, a mere twenty minutes ago – the commissioner would be asking you the same question.’
‘Then my answer is this, sir …’
Marmion gave him an abbreviated account of the visits to Kathleen Paget and the hospital, then mentioned that Keedy had gone off to Savile Row. The superintendent was not encouraged by the news.
‘What the devil is he doing there?’ he howled.
‘Well, he hasn’t gone to be measured for a new suit,’ said Marmion, drily. ‘The sergeant felt that he might get another piece of the jigsaw named George Tindall. Slowly and surely, we’ll build up a complete picture of the man.’
‘You won’t do that if you rely on the word of two cleaners and a tailor.’
‘You missed out Major Palmer-Loach.’
‘He at least seems to have been helpful to us.’
‘You also overlooked the people living next door to Dr Tindall.’
‘They admitted quite frankly that they never really got to know him. And please don’t tell me that a tailor is going to supply us with a fund of insights.’
‘Be patient, sir. In the past, tailors have provided vital information and I am not simply referring to the case that took us to Jermyn Street. Tailor and client have a close relationship. They get to know each other well.’
‘Does that mean Sergeant Keedy will come back here with the doctor’s chest measurement?’ said Chatfield, scornfully. ‘Or has he gone there in search of details regarding his inside leg?’
‘You may be pleasantly surprised, Superintendent.’
‘I doubt it.’
‘Let’s wait and see,’ said Marmion. ‘Meanwhile, I’m dying to ask if you got anywhere with your call to Aberdeen. If you sent them off to speak to the doctor’s parents, we may soon get several new pieces of the jigsaw.’
‘That’s a forlorn hope, Inspector.’
‘Why?’
‘I’ll draw a veil over my protracted attempts to get the Aberdeen City Police to speak in a language compatible with English,’ said Chatfield. ‘Eventually, they managed to understand my request and were, to be fair to them, quite efficient. They went in search of Dr Tindall’s parents in Kilbride Road.’
‘And?’
‘It does not exist.’
‘Are they sure?’
‘Yes, Inspector. They also went through a list of residents in Dyce. Bruce Tindall and his wife were not among them – nor were they living anywhere else in the area. The police were thorough. We’ve been misled.’
‘Major Palmer-Loach gave me that address in good faith.’
‘I’m not blaming him. The finger points at Tindall himself. He deliberately gave false information.’ Picking up a photograph, he studied the doctor’s face. ‘He looks so honest and trustworthy, doesn’t he?’
‘The major vouched for his reliability.’
‘Then he was mistaken,’ said Chatfield. ‘Dr Tindall lied about his parents’ whereabouts. How many more lies has he told? I’m sorry, Inspector,’ he went on. ‘You’ve just lost most of the pieces in your jigsaw. I suggest that you start this investigation all over again.’