A Dead Man in Malta Read Online Free PDF Page A

Seymour.
    He looked at their bookings for the afternoon the German had died and, yes, they had been out of their office for considerable periods.
    ‘Can I have a look?’ asked Melinda.
    ‘Are you setting out to move into Work Study or something?’ demanded Berto.
    ‘I’m like Dr Malia: I think things could always be improved,’ said Melinda.
    ‘Malia: that daft old bugger!’ said Berto.
    ‘So someone could have got in and taken the key,’ said Melinda, handing the log-book back to Seymour.
    ‘No they couldn’t,’ said Berto unexpectedly—he was another one, thought Seymour, who was sharper than at first sight. ‘Because if they had tried it, they’d have Laura up their ass!’
    ‘Laura?’ said Seymour.
    Laura was the receptionist. She was a middle-aged lady with her hair tied up tightly in a bun and sharp shrewd eyes.
    ‘Yes,’ she said, ‘I keep an eye on things when they’re out. And I wouldn’t let anyone in there. What business would anyone have in the porters’ office by themselves?’
    ‘Delivering a package?’ suggested Seymour.
    ‘They would deliver it to me,’ said Laura firmly.
    From her position at the Reception desk she had a good view of the door into the porters’ office: and also of the general entrance into the rest of the hospital.
    ‘What is the policy about visitors?’ asked Seymour.
    ‘Most of them are sailors,’ said Laura. ‘This is a naval hospital,’ she added with pride.
    ‘And they can come and go pretty freely?’
    ‘They just have to sign in.’
    She showed Seymour the book. Many of them, a little self-consciously, had given their rank. Some, however, had not given their name at all, just putting down the name of their ship.
    ‘I know all the ships,’ said Laura. ‘If I needed to, I could pretty soon find out who it was.’
    ‘Not all of them are sailors,’ said Seymour.
    ‘We do take some general patients as well. Most of them are local.’
    ‘And they sign in, too?’
    ‘Yes.’
    She showed him.
    ‘Just their names,’ said Seymour.
    ‘I don’t need anything else. They all come from around Bighi and I know their families.’
    ‘What about strangers?’
    ‘They have to give their addresses, look!’
    And there, written in a neat, firm hand, was: ‘Philippa Wynne-Gurr.’ And, just beneath it, more casually: ‘Dr Wynne-Gurr’ with the address of a hotel.
    ‘And son?’ inquired Seymour.
    ‘The boy? Had to be with his father. I wasn’t having him wandering around the wards. Nor in the units, with all that equipment!’
    ‘Dr Malia?’
    ‘Oh, him! Well, he’s always roaming around. But he signs in, like everyone else. Just as he used to. On the doctors’ pages. He used to work here, you know. He’s part of the furniture.’
    ‘So you could tell me who was in the hospital on the afternoon of the eighteenth?’
    ‘The day the German died?’
    Here was another one who was pretty sharp.
    ‘Yes.’
    She turned over the pages.
    ‘Can I just make a note of the names?’
    ‘I will write them down for you.’
    Seymour could see that she was a lady who liked to have everything under her control.
    ‘Thank you. And this would be pretty comprehensive, would it?’
    ‘The name of anyone who entered the hospital that afternoon would be here, if that’s what you mean.’
    Seymour looked at the book again. ‘Except that there’s no record of Mr Kiesewetter’s arrival.’
    ‘There is.’ She showed him. ‘Kiesewetter. To A and E.’
    ‘He would have been taken straight there,’ said Melinda. ‘After Laura had booked him in.’
    ‘And then he would have booked in again,’ said Laura triumphantly. She looked sternly at Melinda. ‘I hope.’
    Melinda nodded. ‘He would.’
    ‘My guess is, though, that when he arrived, a lot of people arrived with him,’ said Seymour.
    ‘Half the island,’ said Laura. ‘I soon cleared them out!’
    ‘You didn’t sign them in?’
    ‘No need to. They weren’t going anywhere. Except out.’
    ‘Someone