Tuesday, 7th November—Late morning.
Veronica came to with the odour of smelling salts in her nostrils and a strong feeling of déjà vu. Something cold and damp covered her forehead. For a second, she thought she lay in the lobby of Chesterton Hotel, but certain differences appeared as her vision cleared.
A man with neat slicked-back blond hair and round spectacles smiled down at her. “She’s regaining consciousness,” he said to someone out of her eye-line.
Claire hovered behind him, her anxiety turning to relief at his words. She almost pushed the man aside to clasped Veronica’s hand. “Oh, darling, I thought I’d lost you! How are you feeling?”
The cold compress on Veronica’s forehead helped a little to stop the pounding headache that made its presence felt. “Terrible.” Her voice sounded slurred. “What happened?”
“Someone pushed you into the path of the tram!”
Memory came flooding back. “I remember. You saved me.”
“Oh, I could’ve done better.” Claire looked miserable. “It was a glancing blow, but you still took a jolly hard bang on the old noggin and went out like a light.”
Veronica tried to sit up, but the man gently pushed her back.
“Please, Mrs. Nash. You must rest. I’m Doctor Young. We’ve sent for an ambulance, but it’s having trouble getting to us through the press of people in the streets. We’re in the foyer of the Royal Hotel.”
“Did... did anyone see who pushed me?”
Dr. Young looked inquiringly at someone out of her direct eye-line.
A police sergeant stepped into view. “I’m Sergeant Trumbull, Mrs. Nash. Are you certain someone pushed you?”
“Yes. I felt the blow on my back. It... it felt like a hand, just below my shoulders, not somebody jostling against me.”
“I see.” The sergeant’s grave expression did not bode well. “Well, ma’am, that sounds like attempted murder to me.”
Veronica’s blood ran cold at his words, and Claire gasped.
The sergeant addressed Claire. “You were closest to the incident, miss. Did you see anything?”
Claire shook her head. “No. The crowd was too boisterous.”
Dr. Young changed the compress for a fresher one. “There’s a lot of ill-feeling out there, I’m afraid. At least the crowd had the good grace to allow you to be carried inside once they saw you were injured.”
Veronica closed her eyes for a moment. “Let’s be thankful for small mercies.”
Two ambulance men carrying a stretcher entered the foyer and came straight over. Dr. Young apprised them of the situation.
Sergeant Trumbull listened and jotted down details in his notebook. “I’ll speak to my superiors, Mrs. Nash. Someone from CID will be round to talk to you at the hospital.”
She touched his arm. “Tell Detective Inspector Forester, please. He knows what’s going on.”
“DI Forester?” Trumbull looked surprised and eyed her for a moment, then nodded. “Oh, ah, now I remember where I’d heard your name before. Right you are, madam.”
Within moments Veronica found herself transferred to a stretcher and carried out through a side door to the waiting ambulance.
Claire walked by her side with an expression full of concern. “I’ll be with you all the way to the hospital. You really do need to have your head examined.”
Veronica managed a smile. “Some people have been telling me that for years.”
As the ambulance crew hoisted her aboard, Veronica saw the crowd had gathered around the front of the hotel. A few faces looked her way. Her vision had become blurry with the bang to her head, but one of the watchers looked familiar. She squinted and recognised Mitchell, glaring at her from the edge of the crowd, the red rosette of the Labour Party he wore on his jacket showed brightly in the weak sunlight.
The ambulance men pushed the stretcher home on its rail, secured it, and closed the doors, cutting off her view. She wondered at Mitchell’s hostility, but fatigue overwhelmed her, and she dozed off.
The hospital X-rayed Veronica’s head before she was taken to a ward and put to bed. She felt groggy, but the nurse would not allow her to sleep, telling her she might not wake again if she did. Keeping awake took major effort, and the nurse had to step in more than once to prevent her from falling asleep.
Next morning her head still ached but at a much-reduced level. The doctor visited on his rounds and confirmed her skull to be intact, but she did have a case of mild concussion. With the immediate danger over the doctor prescribed a day of bed rest, which Veronica was glad to accept.
For hours she dozed, her sleep helped by a sedative. Huge purple trams loomed in her dreams, always on the verge of squashing her flat, but always at the last second, something would jerk her out of harm’s way.
When she opened her eyes, evening had fallen, and the ward lights shone brightly. Detective Inspector Forester stood by her bed. He wore a heavy overcoat, sprinkled with melting snowflakes, and carried his hat in his hand.
“Blimey, missus!” He eyed her bruised forehead with professional interest. “What did the other fellow look like?”
“You’ll have to visit the tram depot to find out.” She gingerly touched her head. “I think I got the worst of our encounter.”
He grinned and took the bedside chair. “It’s nice to find you in good spirits. Sergeant Trumbull reported to me, but I wasn’t able to get away to visit you until now.”
“It’s quite all right, Inspector. I wasn’t going anywhere.”
“From the look of you, it’s a good thing, too.” He pulled out his notebook. “Now, according to Trumbull, you say someone pushed you. From the doctor’s report, you have a number of small bruises on your back that bears this out. It must’ve been a violent shove or punch indeed to bruise you like that. What do you recall of the incident?”
Veronica recounted everything that had happened from the time she and Claire had begun to skirt the crowd to the time she woke in the Royal Hotel foyer.
Forester made notes and nodded. “So, neither you nor Miss Sibfield-Murray saw anyone push you?”
“No.” She sighed. “The crowd was quite dense. Anyone could’ve sprung at me without being seen.”
He scratched his jaw. “Well, I’ll ask around, but I doubt much will come of our inquiries. The Communists don’t like talking to the oppressive forces of state.”
She managed a smile at his dour expression. “This has something to do with Captain Brooke’s murder, Inspector, not politics. Perhaps I’m getting too close to the culprit, although I don’t know how.”
“I’m concerned to hear it.” He narrowed his gaze. “To be quite honest, although I hoped you’d do well, I didn’t think you’d get very far. I certainly didn’t think you’d be in any danger.”
“Nor did I.” Veronica reached for her glass of water to ease her dry throat. “I might not get much farther in any case. Mr. Fielding gave me the sack.” She frowned and winced. “By the end of this week, I’ll be out of work and out of the building.”
He gave her a sympathetic look. “I’m sorry to hear it. Perhaps you’d better tell me what you have found out.”
She sipped and set the glass aside. “Well, not much...”
When she’d told what she’d been able to discover, Forester looked surprised.
“I would call that quite a bit.” He smirked. “So Chapman’s playing fast and loose, is he?”
“He’s cuckolding his wife, yes. My friend and I, we, ah, saw him.”
“Politicians!” He shook his head. “They’re nothing but a headache.”
Veronica struggled to sit up. Forester showed surprising tenderness in helping her, arranging pillows to support her shoulders and head.
“The frustrating thing is, Inspector, I’ve eliminated every possible suspect I can think of. Someone in Chesterton Hotel committed murder. Someone tried to kill me, yet I can’t think what it is I’ve discovered that could pose a threat to that person.”
He frowned in thought. “You’re certain it has to be someone from the hotel?”
“Yes, I’m sure of it. You didn’t find any sign of forced entry to Captain Brooke’s room, nor were there signs of the lock being picked. The culprit had to have used the master keys.”
“Which are kept where?”
“One set’s kept in the manager’s office, which is under direct observation from the reception desk at all times. Those were the keys I used to get into the captain’s room that morning. Fielding took charge of them after you interviewed us. The office itself is kept locked out of hours. Another set is with the housekeeper, Edna Biggin. She keeps hers with her when she’s on duty, and they’re locked in her room when she’s off the premises. Edna and Fielding were away the night the captain was murdered. I checked.”
Forester frowned. “So, of the two possibilities, it’s more likely someone filched Mrs. Biggin’s keys. Someone would have to work on picking the lock on the office door to get the manager’s set. From what I saw, it’s not a sophisticated lock. I know a few crooks who’d pick it as quick as using the key. But, having said that, it would be impossible for anyone to pick the lock if the receptionist was there.”
“Except Monsieur Durand, the night manager, was away for a brief spell that night dealing with a guest’s problem. It was around four o’clock that morning.”
“Ah. You know this for a fact?”
“Yes. I was able to verify it another way.” Veronica felt her headache worsening, but she gritted her teeth and gave voice to her thoughts. “Any one of the live-in staff could’ve killed Sylvester Brooke. As for who’d try to kill me...” She hesitated. “Inspector, I’m sure I saw the head porter, Charlie Mitchell, in the crowd as I was carried to the ambulance. He dislikes me for... well, I’m bound by confidence to another person, so I can’t say why he dislikes me. Let’s just say he has cause to do so, although his reason is unjust.”
“Mitchell, you say?” Forester made a note then closed his notebook with a snap and patted her hand as he stood. “Don’t you worry about it for now, Mrs. Nash. I’ll look into a few things when I can. Just you rest and get better.”