She rang a bell and a female secretary appeared in the doorway. “Susannah, coffee for three this morning please.” She turned again to her two visitors. “It will be here directly. Susannah makes it in her room across the corridor. We won’t have to wait for it to come up from the kitchens, you’ll be glad to hear. Now, do tell me what I may do for you? We’re not accustomed to helping out gentlemen in our ladies’ clinic, so I’m preparing for a surprise.”
“A surprise, I’m sure, but a sad one,” Joe began. “We’re bearers of news—bad news, I’m afraid. Concerning Miss Natalia Kirilovna who was here as a patient, we have been led to believe. At any rate, on the premises from last Tuesday until Saturday.”
“Was? What has happened to her?”
“She’s dead. She died from a gunshot to the head on Saturday morning. Murder or suicide? The autopsy is at present being done at Scotland Yard and I expect to have further information for you in good time.”
The lady appeared stunned but, quickly establishing control, she asked, “Do you suspect anyone of her murder, Commissioner?”
“One or two suspects come to mind. Perhaps you can help us?” She nodded and Joe pressed on. “She is believed to have driven down to Surrey in a Maybach Zeppelin, registered to this establishment, in the company of two gentlemen named Onslow and Cummings. Are they known to you?”
“Yes. Employees—though on a sporadic and temporary basis. They are chauffeurs. If a client is signing out of our care but feeling a little wobbly and doesn’t wish to travel by taxi or have transport of her own, we ring up Kerry Onslow and ask him to deliver her home in the Maybach. Our other vehicle is a Hispano-Suiza. We do not run an ambulance service for reasons of discretion and anonymity but the two large cars suffice. If, for reasons of delicacy, a woman driver is required, I perform that service myself.”
Noting their silent puzzlement, she went on with a challenge in her tone: “For example—we had a case of rape so serious it required the very best surgery to effect a repair and the young victim could not bear to see a man in her orbit for months after the event.”
Joe knew she was trying to shock them. Test them out.
“Natalia was feeling better and wished for some country air, she told me. She told me she’d be back by tea time. She knows the two drivers well and I trust them. We’ve never had a complaint about them. Not the slightest problem. I think you must look elsewhere for her killer, if indeed, it was not herself. She had been having emotional problems recently. With an overpowering and demanding man who fancied himself her fiançé. He was in the disconcerting habit of trailing after her all over the world. Finally, after an unsuccessful attempt to dissuade him, she fled here for a few days rest. Emotionally distraught. We have supplied her with accommodation in the annexe on several occasions when she’s been in London. She is, after all, a shareholder of some consequence in the business. We give her every consideration.”
“Her emotional balance, naturally, is in the forefront of our minds. It would be of interest to us to know if she had a visitor—perhaps even this man you mention—before she took off. Something clearly triggered the flight by Maybach … or someone. May I see your visitors’ book? That might help.”
Her response was instant. “Of course you may.” She opened a drawer and took out a large red leather notebook. Joe noted two further ones alongside—one blue, the other black.
“The writing is Susannah’s. She keeps the records. She is available to answer any further questions you still have.”
Joe opened the book using the red ribbon page marker provided and turned back to the week beginning the previous Monday.
“May I ask you, gentlemen, to confirm your discretion? This is a private health clinic and we guarantee absolute anonymity for our clients. I would not be showing you this, were the circumstances less disturbing.”
“Of course, Matron.” Joe ran a finger down the list. The patients were discreetly referred to by what Joe presumed to be their room number. The signatures were either illegible or clearly pseudonyms. Florence Nightingale appeared to have visited twice. Annoyed by the smug confidence that accompanied his perusal of the list, Joe raised his eyebrows and chortled. “Aha! Lucky for some! I see the lady occupant of room twenty three enjoyed the attentions of Rudolph Valentino for half an hour last Tuesday!”
Her flare of surprise was replaced with an indulgent grimace at his little joke but the starch in Miss Frobisher’s smile was slightly wilted as she hurried to point out: “Natalia’s number is two-B. It refers to the suite she occupied.”
“A VISIT ON Wednesday evening. Lasting for a half hour. From her maid, Miss Ivanova. And that’s all. That’s all?”
“That is a complete record. Her maid was delivering a small case containing personal possessions.”
“No visits after Wednesday …”
“That is the whole point, Commissioner. She needed privacy and rest. No one but her maid knew her whereabouts and, having seen her mistress settled, no further attention from the outside world was required or advised.”
“Do you have a record of people arriving at the clinic for purposes other than visiting?”
“Of course. If you wish to see when exactly our groceries were delivered, when our drains were last inspected, you may see the blue book.”
The blue book joined the red one on the desk and Joe made a cursory inspection, noting that no traffic was logged for the time Julia had rung the bell. One courier arriving at nine that evening was listed. Apart from that—an uneventful Friday evening.
“What other record of arrivals do you keep apart from this?”
“Only the record of our clinical clients. Established patients or ladies seeking appointments and that I will not let you see.”
Joe knew that she was within her rights. It would take a good deal of time and argy-bargy to get a search warrant in the circumstances. With their connections, he acknowledged it might never be forthcoming. He was never going to be allowed to open the black book.
The two men expressed appreciation for the excellent coffee they were served and made polite conversation with Matron over the Worcester china cups. Ellen Frobisher showed no sign that she was eager to be rid of them. She even refrained from consulting the large watch that dangled distractingly on a red ribbon over her left breast.
As they stood and shook hands, Joe held her long cool fingers and asked one last question. “Could you tell me his name? The father of Natalia’s baby? I should like to speak to him.”
She snatched her hand away and took a pace back from him. “What on earth are you talking about, man? Miss Kirilovna was not even pregnant.”
“WELL SO MUCH for turning the clinic upside down,” Bacchus commented grumpily as they retreated to the squad car. “Not the slightest touch of pregnancy, eh? That rather wrecks your theories, doesn’t it? You’re absolutely sure of the day and time of the maid’s second visit?” Bacchus asked grumpily as they retreated to their car.
“Armitage and I both noted it. She rang the bell and we watched her go into the reception hall. We waited for a quarter of an hour. She was back at the hotel two hours later.”
“Well, she wasn’t there to visit or make a delivery so—if they recorded it at all, and that must be a big ‘if’—she has to have been there in the capacity of patient herself. Or making an appointment. Your Julia was a black book entry.”
“Why would she do that? Women’s problems? She appears perfectly healthy.”
“No, she’s not, Joe! Even I noticed she’s had infantile paralysis and she’s coping with the effects of it still. It can’t be easy for her. She makes the best of it when she knows there’s someone watching but I’ve spotted moments when that pretty face shows she’s going through agony. Massage required? Painkillers? Drugs of some sort? A place like that—they could probably prescribe and supply just about anything, legal or illegal.”