William Monk 04 - A Sudden Fearful Death

wrinkled very slightly.
    “We did not know it was a dead body,” Kristian said in distaste. “We assumed it was a bundle of sheets.”
    “Did you?” Jeavis walked over, pushed the basket out of the way, and peered up the chute for several moments. “Where is the top of this?” he said at last, withdrawing to look at Callandra.
    “In the corridor on the ground floor,” she replied, disliking him more by the moment. “In the west wing corridor, to be precise.”
    “A very odd place to put a body, don’t you think?” Jeavis remarked. “Not easy to do without being observed.” He turned to Kristian, then back to Callandra, his eyes very wide open.
    “That is not entirely correct,” Kristian answered. “The corridor has no windows, and during the daytime the gas is not lit, it saves expense.”
    “Still,” Jeavis argued, “one would be bound to notice aperson standing or sitting around, and certainly one would see a person lifting a body and putting it down the chute. Wouldn’t one?” There was a faint lift of inquiry in his tone, less than sarcasm but more than courtesy.
    “Not necessarily,” Callandra said defensively. “Bundles of sheets are sometimes left on the floor. The nurses occasionally sit in the corridors, if they are intoxicated. In the dim light a corpse could look like a pile of linen. And certainly if I saw someone putting laundry down the chute, I would assume it was merely a bundle of sheets. I image anyone else would also.”
    “Dear me.” Jeavis looked from one to the other of them. “Are you saying that anyone could have stuffed the poor creature down the chute in full sight of respectable medical people, and no one would have thought anything amiss?”
    Callandra was uncomfortable. She glanced at Kristian.
    “More or less,” she agreed at length. “One is not usually watching what other people are doing, one has one’s own affairs.” In her imagination she visualized a dim figure, shapeless in the half-light, lifting a bundle, heavier than it should have been, shrouded in sheets, and pressing it down the open chute. Her voice, when she continued, was husky and a little choked. “I myself passed what I assumed was a nurse in either intoxication or sleep this morning. But I do not know which it was. I didn’t look at her face.” She swallowed with a sudden sick realization. “It could have been Prudence Barrymore!”
    “Really!” Jeavis’s pale brows rose. “Do your nurses often lie about in the corridor, Lady Callandra? Do they not have beds to sleep in?”
    “The ones who live in the dormitory do,” she said tartly. “But many of them live out, and they have very little indeed. There is no place for them to sleep here, and precious little to eat. And yes, they frequently drink too much.”
    Jeavis looked temporarily disconcerted. He turned back to Kristian.
    “I shall want to speak to you again, Doctor. Anything you can tell me about this unfortunate woman.” He clearedhis throat. “To begin with, how long do you estimate she has been dead? Not, of course, that we won’t have our own police surgeon tell us his opinion, but it will save time if you can give us yours now.”
    “About two hours, perhaps three,” Kristian replied succinctly.
    “But you haven’t looked at her,” Jeavis exclaimed.
    “I looked at her before you came,” Kristian answered.
    “Did you! Did you indeed?” Jeavis’s face sharpened. “I thought you said you had not disturbed the body! Was that not why you remained here, to see that no one tampered with the evidence?”
    “I looked at her, Inspector. I did not move her.”
    “But you touched her.”
    “Yes, to see if she was cold.”
    “And she was?”
    “Yes.”
    “How do you know she has not been dead all night?”
    “Because rigor had not yet passed away.”
    “You moved her!”
    “I did not.”
    “You must have,” Jeavis said sharply. “Otherwise how could you know whether she was stiff or not?”
    “She fell out of the chute, Inspector,” Kristian explained patiently. “I saw her fall, and how she collapsed into the basket, the movement of her limbs. It’s my estimate that she has been dead between two and four hours. But by all means ask your own surgeon.”
    Jeavis looked at him suspiciously. “You are not English, are you, sir? I detect a certain accent, shall we say? Very slight, but it is there. Where are you from?”
    “Bohemia,” Kristian replied with a faint flicker of amusement in his