Chapter 15 #2
“Resilient lady,” Tom commented. He paused, then said to Piper, “Aren’t you going to congratulate me on my extensive vocabulary, laddie?”
“Not likely, Sarge. I’ve been studying the dictionary, and that thesaurus you gave me. I know what resilient means. Didn’t know how to say it, though, till just this minute.”
“It sounds as if you’ve undercut your own advantage, Tom,” said Alec with a grin.
“Ah.” Tom’s moustache twitched in a matching grin.
“Resilient.” Piper savoured the word. “Just right for Mrs. Fletcher. She solved the case yet, Chief?”
“No. And, thank heaven, for once she has no excuse to get mixed up in it any further. Like us, she suspects Rumford was the intended victim, but she’s as baffled as we are as to who did it.
I’ll go and see if I can talk to him in a couple of minutes.
In the meantime: Ernie, what do we know about a yeoman by the name of Parkinson? ”
“Married, three kids.” With his head for detail, Piper spoke even as he went straight to the appropriate page of his notes. “Lives in Mint Lane. That’s what they call the casemates where you turn left just after the Byward Tower. In the Outer Ward. Why, Chief?”
“He’s mislaid his partizan. It may—or may not—be locked up safe in the Wakefield Tower.
But if he lives in the Outer Ward, he didn’t use it, unless .
. . Tom, I want you to check whether it’s possible to climb down that vine on the wall below Ralegh’s Walk, and if so, whether there are any signs that someone did. ”
“I couldn’t do it, Chief, that’s for sure.
” Tom patted his own vast midriff. Much of it was muscle, but it tended to mislead villains, who didn’t realize in time that the big man was as quick on his feet as any sprinter.
His size would be an insurmountable handicap for climbing down a vine, though.
“Ernie might manage it, if you want a practical demonstration. I don’t mind standing below to catch him. ”
“Hey, Sarge!”
“I’ll go give it a dekko, Chief. What else?”
“You can put your mind to devising unobtrusive tests of athletic ability for the inhabitants of the King’s House.
I don’t want to have to ask them all to attempt the climb from that balcony.
” He gave them each some details to clear up.
“We’ll meet here in an hour. If I’m not back and haven’t sent a message, come to the hospital and rescue me from the clutches of an unmasked blackmailer and/or a morphinomaniac. ”
“Sure you don’t want us to go with you, Chief?” Piper asked anxiously. “How’d we explain it to Mrs. Fletcher if you got hurt?”
“I’m sure Daisy would appreciate the thought, Ernie, but there are orderlies about, and nurses.
On the other hand, come to think of it, it may be important to have a competent witness other than myself to anything he says.
Let’s leave Tom to get on with the rest and you come along.
I’ll explain on the way how I intend to tackle him.
” Straight-faced, he added, “Bring your notebook and several well-sharpened pencils.”
Piper gave him a reproachful look. “As if I ever go anywhere without ’em, Chief!”
Tom chuckled. “You’ve wounded him to the heart, Chief. Right, I’ll get on with this lot, and if you’re not back when I’m done, I’ll go and rescue the both of you.”
Dr. Macleod had not yet put in an appearance. A disapproving Sister admitted that he had left orders to let the police speak to Rumford.
“I’m sure I don’t know why you’d want to.” She sniffed. “Any nurse—any hospital orderly even—knows you can’t believe a word they say when they’re coming out from morphine.”
“Is he still very dopey, Sister?”
“Not really,” she said grudgingly. “The last dose wore off a few hours ago, and he was left to sleep it off. He’s drunk about a gallon of tea since he woke up, so he should be able to talk to you. But don’t take his word for anything.”
She showed them into a small, rather dreary ward with north-facing windows. Only one bed was in use, the occupant lying down, staring at the ceiling. At first glance, he could have been Crabtree’s twin.
“Wait here while I make sure he’s comfortable.” Starches rustling, the nurse went over to the bed and announced in the loud voice even nurses often use to the sick, “Gentlemen to see you, Mr. Rumford. Do we want the bedpan first?”
“Nay!” growled the patient.
Waiting at the door, Piper whispered, “Chief, why’s she so keen we shouldn’t believe him?”
“Protecting Macleod,” Alec guessed. “Come on. Thank you, Sister.”
They went over to the bed. Rumford was flat on his back. Indeed, he had little choice, since, in typical hospital fashion, the sheet was tucked down so tightly over his chest as to allow no activity but breathing. He turned his head on the pillow to look at them, and scowled.
Alec saw that his pupils were smaller than seemed normal for the dull grey light. Presumably he was still under the influence of morphine to some extent, and no doubt the Sister’s warning about not taking his word as gospel was justified.
“Good morning, Mr. Rumford. I hope you’re feeling up to a short interview.”
“Who’rt tha?”
“Detective Chief Inspector Fletcher of the Metropolitan Police. Of which you are a sworn Special Constable.”
“That’s right,” Rumford said grudgingly. “Sir.”
“I’m afraid I bring bad news. The Chief Warder, Mr. Crabtree, was attacked the night before last.”
“Night before . . . ?” He sounded confused.
“The night you were admitted to hospital. Mr. Crabtree was pushed down the steps by the Bloody Tower at midnight. I’m afraid he did not survive the attack.”
Rumford blinked. It took him a moment to assimilate the information. Then he sat up straight, bursting the bonds of the bed-clothes, and roared, “Some bastard tried to kill me!”
Alec couldn’t have hoped for a more useful reaction. As planned, he postponed “Why?”—which could lead to the need for a caution—and went straight to “Who?”
Rumford started spitting out names. Piper’s shorthand pencil flicked across the page.
“What’s going on in here?” The nurse’s sharp voice made no impression on her patient, who continued to reel out his list. Alec moved to head her off. “Chief Inspector, I can’t allow—”
“Is it dangerous for him to sit up?” he asked. “If not, I’ll have to ask you to leave, Sister. This is important police business. You may recall that we’re investigating a murder.”
“But—”
“You might also consider that anything Mr. Rumford says in answer to our questions is confidential and for our ears only.”
She bridled. “I’m sure nurses are every bit as good at keeping confidences as policemen,” she snapped.
“Good.” Behind him, he heard Rumford running down. He smiled at the nurse. “We’re nearly done. Your patient isn’t coughing. I think you’ll find he’s come to no harm.”
“No thanks to you.” She hovered in the doorway but didn’t follow as he rejoined Piper.
Rumford had stopped. Alec decided against pressing him.
However unpleasant, the man had been ill.
Anything he said was unlikely to be admitted in evidence, in view of the lingering effects of morphine.
“Why” could wait. It might never have to be asked, now that they had the names of those he believed had cause to wish him dead.
They left the Sister fussing over him.
“You handled her a treat, Chief. Interfering old witch.”
“It’s her job to take care of her patients, Ernie. You got everything down?”
“Got the lot,” Piper said with satisfaction. “Mostly Beefeaters, I think, but would you believe—”
“Not here, Ernie,” Alec said grimly. “I heard the first couple. We don’t want to start any rumours. We’d better have them notify us when he’s released. Someone might have another go at him.”