Death on the Table Page 7

  The fire engines were clustered in the consultant’s car park, and a part of Lucy’s mind registered the fact that Mr. Fitzwilliam’s car, a rather flashy purple Jaguar, had received a heavy dent in one wing, and was amused. He would be speechless with rage when he saw it.

  Thick snakes of swollen hosepipe were twisted along the ground, and the smell of smoke was stronger, as the air seemed to thicken, and people appeared as heavy shadows moving awkwardly in the murk.

  Lucy stopped, and pulled back, and Barney put both arms round her from behind, so that she stood in the shelter of his body. And even in her anxiety and the fear that twisted its tendrils through her belly, she felt that familiar lurch of pleasure at his touch.

  ‘Where is it? Can you see?’ Barney shouted, for the noise here was considerable, as people shouted and the engines rattled as hose was drawn out and equipment organised.

  ‘Not properly—but it must be the Home,’ Lucy shouted back, and then, ‘I can’t just stand here—there may be girls in there who can’t get out—look, I’m going to the Home along the Private Wing lower corridor—are you coming?’

  ‘Yes——’ And Barney turned and together they ran across the car park, past the engines and the crowds of people who were standing straining their eyes to see what was happening, and into the small door that led to the Private Wing.

  The silence inside came almost as a shock. The corridor that ran the full length of the ground floor—a considerable length for the Private Wing was a long narrow sliver of a building—was silent and deserted. The wall lights were burning on its pale primrose painted walls, their stark Nineteen Thirtyish design repeating to apparent infinity right to the far end, where a tall mirror blocked the way and reflected the corridor back on itself.

  ‘I hope the garden door is unlocked,’ Lucy said anxiously, ‘though we could get the key from the board in the Porter’s Lodge in the entrance hall if it isn’t——’

  ‘Lucy——’

  She turned her head to look at him, and was startled at the expression on his face. He looked as though he was concentrating on an idea, concentrating hard, yet at the same time there was an element of remoteness in his eyes.

  ‘Yes?’ she said, a little puzzled, creasing her forehead.

  But all he did was take her face in his hands, cupping her cheeks in his palms, and bent his head and kissed her, gently at first and then more urgently.

  And Lucy was so startled that she didn’t even close her eyes, found her vision filled with an enormous close up of his eyelids.

  And even when he lifted his head, and let go of her she stood quite unmoving, staring upwards in a sort of stupefaction.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ Barney said softly. ‘But quite suddenly that was the only thing I could possibly do.’

  It was like coming to from a faint—or so she imagined, for she had never fainted in her life—and she stood still for a second before speaking. And then was startled at the huskiness of her own voice.

  ‘Don’t apologise. I—there’s no need to apologise. Though this is a pretty extraordinary moment to choose——’

  ‘Yes, I know. But I had to. We’ll talk about it later. Come on——’

  Together they ran along the corridor and Lucy didn’t know whether her heart was pounding so heavily because of the physical effort she was making, or because of her fear of the fire, or because of that unexpected, incredible, marvellous moment she had just experienced in Barney’s arms.

  ‘You think the garden door might be locked, Lucy?’

  ‘It might——’

  ‘Then we’ll take the keys anyway—in case,’ Barney said, and then turned right into the square parquet floored hall that led to the main entrance to the Wing.

  The Porter’s Lodge, a small glassed-in cubicle that contained a small chair, a table, and a tiny three line switchboard, was quiet—clearly the porter on duty had gone to the fire. On the far wall was a tall board, with hooks arranged in rows of six, and on several of the hooks, bunches of keys dangled.

  ‘Which key is it?’ Barney asked, and Lucy reached past him for it.

  ‘This one—next to the theatre bunch,’ she said quickly and unhooked it, and then they were running again, along the rest of the corridor, to the door at the far end.

  But the door was unlocked, and they pushed its heavy panels, and emerged into the garden beyond, and almost reared back as the noise and smell and the livid flickering light hit them.

  It was a moment or two before Lucy could make out properly what was going on, so thick was the smoke, and so many were the people whose figures were moving about in its hazy clouds.

  But then she could see more easily as a sudden sharp gust of wind swooped across the garden and sent the clouds swirling into patches of clarity. And found tears running down her cheeks, ridiculously, for it wasn’t the Nurses’ Home that was burning at all. She could see it clearly, see the figures of the Home’s occupants craning their heads eagerly out of windows as they stared at the hubbub below, in what was usually their peaceful garden.

  It was the Pharmacy that was burning, and burning with a vigorous greedy intensity that lit the sky with a spurious cheerfulness. Clouds of orange yellow smoke lifted and danced above the shallow pitch of the roof, and even as Lucy craned her head to see, there was a heavy crackling roar and part of it caved in.

  The crowd shifted and moved again, and then Lucy could see the broad silver pencils of water jets as three hoses, each held by a group of straining shiny jacketed and brass helmeted firemen, worked at the blaze, and then the crowd moved again, as a field of wheat moves when a wind passes over it.

  Lucy tried to move forwards, but Barney’s grip held her, and she turned her head to speak to him. But just then one figure detached itself from the crowd and came lurching towards them.

  ‘Hey—John—what’s the matter?’ She heard the sharp note of anxiety in Barney’s voice behind her, and peered at the figure in front of her.

  It was John Hickson, his usually sleek hair rumpled, and his eyes staring behind his glasses. There was a broad black streak across one cheek, and he stopped, bewildered, and stared at them both.

  ‘What? Oh—Barney—and Sister Beaumont. My God, but this is a mess——’

  ‘How did it start?’ Barney shouted above the noise.

  ‘Don’t know—I just don’t know——’ Hickson sounded as bewildered as he looked. ‘But it’s a mess—and I’ve had enough. I’ve got to get away from all this—it’s driving me mad——’ and indeed he looked ghastly in the uneven light of the flames.

  ‘How long have you been over here?’ Barney persisted, and the other man shook his head.

  ‘I don’t know—I don’t know——’ and then he plunged past them, and fumbled with the Private Wing’s garden door, and almost fell through it, letting it slam behind him.

  ‘Poor devil——’ Barney said. ‘He looked terrified—hey, Lucy—where are you going?’

  For she had pulled away from him, and was moving towards the burning building, hugging the wall of the laundry block that lay between the Private Wing and the burning Pharmacy.

  ‘I’ve got to get nearer,’ she called back over her shoulder. ‘I might be needed——’

  ‘Don’t be a fool,’ he shouted, moving along beside her, and trying to pull her back. ‘Don’t be such a bloody little fool!’ But she shook her head and moved on, purposefully.

  ‘I’ve got to. I’m on the accident team—I’ve got to. If someone is there, and hurt, I’ll be needed.’

  Immediately he stopped pulling on her shoulder as he had been, and followed her. The specially trained accident teams the hospital provided to send out to disasters like fires and multiple accidents were valuable people, and he knew perfectly well that Lucy might indeed be needed. But even though he wasn’t himself trained for one of the teams, he wasn’t going to let her go alone into the inferno ahead of them. She had suddenly become a great deal too precious to him for that.

  And she was needed.
As they reached the small embrasure by the side of the Pharmacy, at the far end of the laundry block, they saw the small knot of people by the wall. Colin Jackson was on his knees beside the prone figure of a fireman, with Harry Caspar beside him as they worked on his inert shape.

  ‘Sister Beaumont—thank God you’re here—look, carry on with this man, will you? Artificial respiration. There’s another fireman in there and they’re trying to get him out—come on, Caspar——’

  Barney helped too, and together they worked in grim silence over the still figure of the young fireman. It seemed an eternity passed while they worked, and Lucy was vaguely aware of more shouts from the Pharmacy, more roaring and crackling.

  And then, the man under their hands moved, and gasped, and she felt a sudden lift of exhilaration. He was breathing properly, for himself, and she stopped the rhythmic pumping of her arms, and felt the deep ache in her muscles for the first time.

  And then a great deal happened at once. The noise from the fire seemed to subside, and though the smoke was still billowing in thick choking clouds, the flames diminished and a darkness spread everywhere. Two men with a stretcher appeared, and with Barney and Lucy’s help, shifted the now moaning fireman on to it and took him away. And there were more voices, receding now, as other people moved away from the scene of the fire towards the hospital proper.

  Lucy sat back on her heels, aware of the roughness of the ground through the knees of her trousers, and leaned shakily against the wall, and Barney crouched beside her, and put an arm round her, and gratefully she let her head rest on his shoulder. They sat there, side by side on the rough ground, in a sort of numbed weary silence.

  A group of people passed them, forming patterns against the sky, and she looked up, almost dreamily, but they didn’t seem to notice either her or Barney, down in the shadow of the building, tucked away in their corner.

  ‘I tried to tell you. I tried to, this very afternoon, but you wouldn’t see me. And now it’s too late, and you’ll never be able to find out the truth of it——’

  It was a high voice, yet a man’s one, and there was an hysterical note in it. Then Stroud’s rich plummy voice cut across.

  ‘Tried to tell me what? Pull yourself together, Bruce! Bad enough the place was burned, but at least no one has been badly injured, so there’s no need to get into a great panic. Just calm down, will you? Take yourself over to Casualty with the others—someone will give you a sedative no doubt, and then we can sort out matters in the morning when we can see the damage——’

  ‘I tried to tell you—I had the evidence and everything, and now it’s gone, all gone, and we’ll never know the truth of it——’

  ‘What evidence?’ Stroud said irritably. ‘I do wish you’d go to Casualty, Bruce——’

  ‘It will be better to listen to Mr. Bruce now, Mr. Stroud.’ It was Colin Jackson’s voice, dry and brittle. ‘If he’s got something to say let him get it out. Otherwise, what with the state of shock he’s in, he’ll collapse, or something——’

  ‘Well, Bruce?’ Stroud’s voice was gentler. ‘What is it?’

  Lucy listened dreamily. It was as though she were an audience at some very realistic play, and as the ache in her arms subsided, and her body relaxed, she burrowed her head more comfortably into Barney’s shoulder and listened with a sort of remote interest.

  Bruce spoke rapidly, almost gabbling the words.

  ‘I’ve been puzzled, you see, puzzled for some time. It was amphetamine at first—I couldn’t understand why so much was being used, and I checked the ward requisitions, and it was odd, because they weren’t ordering it. But where was it going to? And it worried me, seeing that amphetamine is one of the drugs the wrong people always want to get their hands on. And I thought about other drugs—morphine and cocaine and heroin, and I began to check up, going through all the drug books as they came in from the wards—only I had to do it slowly. I had to wait till books came in, normally, with requisitions, because it wouldn’t do to start a whole hue and cry without real evidence, would it? And then I saw it—saw what had been going on. Someone had been getting large quantities of cocaine and heroin out of the place—it was clever, oh it was clever, I grant you that —but once I’d gone through the books and the records of ordering I could see how it had been done. And I brought all the books over to you, and wanted to show you so that we could deal with it quietly because I knew you wouldn’t want the story to get out—I mean, if people found out that we were being robbed of drugs that were worth thousands and thousands of pounds on the illicit drug market, what would it mean to the hospital?—but you wouldn’t see me, not at all, and said to come back tomorrow, so I locked the books in the safe in my office and now it’s too late and the evidence is all gone and what do we do now——?’

  ‘My God!’ Colin Jackson said softly. ‘Oh, my God——’

  Stroud’s voice was strained. ‘But the books are surely all right? They must be? Safe? Your office—even if it is destroyed the safe will be all right—it was a fireproof one, I know that——’

  The little man beside him almost wept. ‘But it isn’t—it isn’t! I mean—it was fireproof, but I got in to try to get the books out safely, and the door was open and the fire was everywhere and the fireman who pulled me out, he said it was obviously where the fire started——’

  ‘It can’t be,’ Stroud spoke sharply. ‘It can’t be! It must have started in the sterilising room—you have bunsen burners there and all sorts of inflammable stuff—it must have started there——’

  ‘No! No! It started in the office—it started in the safe! Someone did it on purpose, I tell you! Someone found out I was going to tell you, and burned it deliberately! Don’t you see? It was the best way to get rid of the evidence against him—and there’s something else—there was the hospital’s entire supply of heroin and cocaine and amphetamine in that safe—I wasn’t taking any more chances, and that’s gone too, and who can say whether it was burned, or stolen before the fire started? Whoever’s been stealing these drugs—whoever it was, he knew I’d found out, and he did it to get out of trouble——’

  Bruce was now frankly weeping. Lucy could hear the sobbing in his voice, and lifted her head, the feeling of remoteness leaving her as she realised the import of what he was saying.

  Barney, beside her, seemed to realise at the same time, and quickly pulled her head down again.

  ‘Shhh!’ he hissed. ‘For God’s sake be quiet! I’ve got to hear this—it may explain——’

  ‘—but who could possibly know what you wanted to tell me?’ Stroud was saying. ‘I didn’t know—who could have guessed such a thing—who could imagine it could happen here at the Royal? Drugs—oh, my God, it’s more than I can cope with——’

  Agitation made his voice rise, and Colin Jackson’s cut across it like a knife.

  ‘You’d better keep your voice down, Mr. Stroud, unless you want the whole damn world to know what’s going on. If there was arson here, then the fire people will discover the fact, but until then, Bruce, we’d better say no more——’

  ‘You doctors!’ and Bruce’s shrill tones showed the hysteria that was in him. ‘You doctors! Always stick together—I know you! That’s why I wanted to tell Mr. Stroud and not the medical staff, because I knew you’d try to cover up——’

  ‘What are you saying?’ Jackson’s voice was as sharp as a whiplash.

  ‘It was a doctor who did it—or maybe a senior nurse! Someone with access to the ward drug books, and the dispensary—only someone with the special knowledge senior staff have could have done it! That’s why I wanted to tell Mr. Stroud privately tonight, only he wouldn’t listen to me——’

  ‘But no one knew you wanted to see me!’ Mr. Stroud cried. ‘No one knew—or—oh, my God!’

  ‘Yes,’ Jackson said dryly. ‘Your secretary came into your office and said Mr. Bruce wanted to see you urgently, remember? And you sent her to tell him to go away and come back in the morning——’

  ‘
Oh, my God,’ Stroud said again, helplessly, and Lucy, sitting rigid in the shadows, turned her head and stared at Barney in the darkness, her weariness and aches quite gone as she tried to fit this newest piece of information into the kaleidoscope of odd happenings the day had brought.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  LUCY sat curled up in one of the wheelchairs in Casualty waiting room, her hands crooked round a mug of hot Ovaltine.

  The worst of the hubbub had subsided. The firemen were gone (apart from one who had been admitted to Male Medical with severe respiratory embarrassment due to inhaled smoke), and Mr. Bruce, in an almost comatose state, had been tucked into bed in the Private Wing to sleep off the horror of the night.

  Beside her, on one of the benches, Jeff Heath and Barney were also drinking Ovaltine gratefully. Jeff’s face was strained and dirty, and Lucy grinned at him as he looked up and caught her eye.

  ‘I thought you were right behind us when we ran out of the “Ship in Bottle”,’ she said apologetically. ‘I’m truly sorry to have alarmed you.’

  ‘Hmmph!’ Jeff grunted. ‘Of course it alarmed me! One minute we’re talking and the next you both disappear into a cloud of smoke. For all I knew you could have burnt yourselves to a crisp, rushing off like that——’

  ‘I’m sorry,’ Lucy said again, and stilled the little voice inside that whispered at her, ‘No, you’re not. If he’d been with you, Barney wouldn’t have kissed you, would he? And that was——’

  But she refused to think about how that kiss had made her feel. And anyway, it all seemed so odd and absurd now that part of her didn’t really believe it had happened at all; thought that it was a mad fantasy born of the wish that it would.

  ‘Jeff,’ Barney said abruptly. ‘Something happened tonight——’ Jeff threw back his head and laughed harshly. ‘Something happened! There’s the understatement of the year!’