Chapter Four-2
1175 Words
MELVILLE-BRIGGS WAS half-way down the stairs when they entered the house. And, like the arrogant Lord that Gilbert the porter had likened him to, he waited for them to come to him.
There was none of the usual institutionalised scrimping here, Rafferty noticed as he started up the stairs. The carpet was thick and luxurious; the stairs magnificent; the open strings of the tread-ends were decorated with scrolls and the treads carried turned banisters with graceful refined curves. Of solid oak, like the panelled walls, they hugged the side of the house as they rose to meet the first floor.
Rafferty tore his thoughts aware from the beauty of the house, and reluctantly relieved the doctor of the role of chief suspect. 'I've just been talking to Gilbert, the gate-porter, Sir, and it seems that most of the staff here have keys to that side gate. Naturally, that widens the entire scope of the case.'
Melville-Briggs's eyes narrowed, and the look in them boded ill for the unfortunate Gilbert. He subjected Rafferty to a thoughtful scrutiny before commenting, 'Well, if this case is to be solved, you'll want to get on, I'm sure.' He led the way briskly up the stairs.
Rafferty asked conversationally. 'Have you managed to find us a room, Sir?'
Melville-Briggs nodded. 'I've spoken to my secretary and we've sorted out something suitable.'
Suitable for what? His lowly rank? Was it to be the attic or the basement? He followed Melville-Briggs's broad and expensively tailored beam up the stairs, and hoped it wasn't the attic. The thought of all those stairs was enough to bring on his smoker's cough. Ex-smoker's cough, he corrected himself. There was to be no backsliding this time. He was determined on it. 'I'll need a full list of the staff, Sir.' One of the first things to do would be to get their movements checked out.
Apparently, the great man didn't soil his hands with clerical work. Melville-Briggs didn't pause in his regal ascent but waved his arm irritably. 'I think you might save such requests for my secretary, Mrs. Galvin. She's perfectly capable of dealing with such matters.'
They reached the landing that ran around three sides of the hall and Melville-Briggs paused and glanced speculatively at the two policemen. 'You know, Rafferty,' he began. 'I've been thinking.'
Rafferty waited to hear the results of these deliberations. He hoped he wasn't to be treated to another little lecture on the importance of the hospital and its residents. But as Melville-Briggs went on, he discovered he'd wronged the man.
'You remember I mentioned I thought someone had a powerful motive for leaving the body of that poor girl on my premises?' Rafferty nodded. 'I've given it some more thought and realise that it's my duty to give you the name of the man I suspect.'
This unexpectedly helpful attitude made Rafferty wary. Was the doctor trying to settle some old score by his allegations? He didn't doubt he was capable of it. Most people had ulterior motives for what they did, and they all came out of the woodwork in a murder investigation. You're just an old cynic, Rafferty, he told himself. Perhaps the doctor was simply improving with acquaintance. The thought was encouraged by the fact that for the first time, Melville-Briggs had mentioned the unfortunate victim with every appearance of compassion. Up till now, it had been only himself and extensions of the same – his hospital, his patients, his patients' relatives – that had merited his consideration. 'Yes, Sir?' he said cautiously. 'Go on.'
'This is strictly confidential, of course, but I suspect a man called Nathanial Whittaker. He's the owner of the Holbrook Clinic a few miles away.'
'Have you any reason to think he might wish you harm, Sir?'
'He threatened me only last night. In front of witnesses, too. Rather a coincidence, don't you think?'
Rafferty remained silently non-committal and Melville-Briggs went on in the manner of a man with a deeply-felt grievance which he felt wasn't being given sufficient consideration.
'Shows what was on his mind, to my way of thinking. I believe his lack of success has unbalanced him. It does that to some men and, of course, his entire life's been a disappointment. No wonder his wife left him. You might find it interesting to look him up in the Hospital Yearbook and send for some of his literature. You'll be able to see just how unimpressive his place is. Bitterness and failure can do sad things to a man's morals, Rafferty. In your line, you should know that. You must encounter such people all the time.'
'But surely he wouldn't go as far as murder just to damage you, Sir,' Rafferty remarked quietly. Still, he mused, it might sound a crazy motive for murder, but it was incredible what people could get up to and for the strangest of reasons. And Melville-Briggs would make enemies with the greatest of ease. Hadn't he taken an instant dislike to the man himself?
The doctor gave a mirthless laugh. 'It's obvious you don't know many medical men, Rafferty. But in this instance, no, I'm not suggesting it was murder. Not necessarily, anyway, though, of course...' He let his voice tail off suggestively. 'A medical man wouldn't necessarily need to commit murder to get hold of a convenient body. Perhaps one of his patients had a fall, fractured her skull and died, and rather than embarrass himself, he decided to embarrass me; damage my reputation by dumping the body here, mutilating her to make it look as bad as possible for me.'
'But what about the patient's relatives?' Rafferty asked reasonably. 'Even a doctor can't just lose a body without questions being asked.'
'You'd be surprised. Doctors still need bodies for experiments and Whittaker does a lot of research.' He gave a derisive laugh. 'None of it very successful, I might add. Some men would do anything for fame, and Whittaker's one of them.'
He paused to let that sink in, and then continued. 'I grant you, any patient such a doctor might lose would never be an important patient. Good lord, no,' he added, as though the bemused Rafferty had just accused him of something quite shocking. 'Not that Whittaker attracts that type of patient. Drop-outs and dregs are more his line, you'll find, the sort who wouldn't be missed and Whittaker takes a lot of National Health patients. He smiled sardonically. 'He has to. Few of the relatives of private patients would be foolish enough to send them to that mismanaged clinic of his. His patients tend to come and go as they please. Why should anyone think it odd if the occasional one vanishes? Such people discharge themselves all the time without bothering to go through the official formalities. Sometimes they die—from an accident or an overdose or an accumulation of the abuse to which they've subjected their bodies. Sometimes they just give up and turn their faces to the wall.'
A murder victim that hadn't even been murdered. It was a bizarre suggestion. Rafferty’s gaze met that of his sergeant. Bizarre, but not impossible. 'Would he have access to a key, though, Doctor?'
Melville-Briggs sniffed. 'As it appears that Gilbert handed them out like Smarties, it's not beyond the realms of possibility, Rafferty. Or, one hopes,' he added tartly, 'beyond the ability of the police to find out.'
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