A Crowded Coffin(49)

There was no sign of the portly clergyman on guard by the tomb so Rory stuck his head into the chapel. He gave a sudden exclamation and withdrew, beckoning Sam with a shocked expression.

‘What the …?’ Sam shoved him aside and hurried in, with Edith on his heels. Rory glanced round briefly and followed them.

Oliver Sutherland was leaning back comfortably in a corner, feet stretched out on a kneeler. His head was tilted against the carved wood of the pew, with Sam’s panama hat slipping down from where it had been precariously balanced over his face, with the brim now resting on his chest. The hand that had been holding Sam’s handkerchief as a fan lay lax at his side, the handkerchief a blue splash of silk on the floor. He looked as though he was taking a peaceful nap as any elderly cleric in his mid-eighties is surely entitled to do. But he appeared to be quite, quite dead.





chapter nine





The next half-hour was a nightmare jumble of discreet panic. The last thing anyone wanted was to have a commotion in the cathedral, which was packed with visitors. Disruption, however, turned out to be unavoidable.

Sam Hathaway took control. Rory had taken up the old man’s wrist and finding no trace of a pulse, looked round for guidance. As Sam, trying to summon up what he knew of resuscitation, took Rory’s place at the old man’s side, the only other occupant of the chapel, a middle-aged woman who had been sitting in quiet meditation in the opposite corner, now rose in concern.

‘Is something wrong? Can I help? I used to be a nurse.’ Her accent was Canadian and Rory saw, from her comprehensive glance, that she understood the situation. To Sam’s relief, she took over, directing him to help her lay Oliver Sutherland down and begin CPR, so Sam told Rory to hurry to the booth at the cathedral entrance to alert the authorities and to call for a first-aider.

‘There’s an ambulance on its way,’ Rory panted, returning within minutes. ‘The first-aider should be—Oh.’ He was interrupted by the woman who had followed him in. She quickly assessed the situation and nodded to Sam to change places with her. He took a pace back, then spotted his panama hat on the tiled floor, partly obscuring the puddle of blue silk, his handkerchief. As he reached to pick them up he glanced at the still, serene old face and bent his head in a moment’s quiet prayer.

Rory, after one look at Edith’s chalk-white cheeks and dazed expression, pushed her into a pew and looked to Sam for instructions. Grieved, but not shocked, Sam was sure there was nothing to be done for his old friend, though he knew that CPR would continue until the further help arrived.

‘You stay here and keep people out,’ he said crisply to Rory. ‘Here, put the rope across and stand guard. I’d better go and report to the powers-that-be what’s happening.’

Within less time than seemed possible the ambulance crew were on the spot and a defibrillator put into use but Sam wasn’t surprised when they made a quiet decision to stop trying.

‘I’ll go with him to the hospital,’ he told the anxious group in the chapel. ‘Rory, can you talk to people here?’ At Rory’s nod, Sam followed the discreet procession to a side door.

‘How peaceful he looked, the poor old gentleman,’ remarked the Canadian nurse. ‘And what a nice way to go for a minister, right here in the cathedral.’ She patted Edith’s hand. ‘There, dear, don’t take it too hard. Is he your grandfather?’

‘No-o,’ Edith roused herself. ‘I don’t really know him at all. I’m sorry, I don’t know why I was so upset.’ She mopped her tears away. ‘I suppose it made me think about my own grandparents. How silly, what an unhelpful thing to do.’

Rory reappeared, having given all the information he could to the authorities. He glanced anxiously at Edith, but was reassured by the colour returning to her cheeks.

‘Poor old chap,’ he commented. ‘I suppose it was a heart attack, it’ll come out at the post mortem, I suppose. Mind you,’ he added, ‘he did have a couple of nasty scratches on his hand and wrist. I wonder what caused that?’

The Canadian woman shook her head in dismissal. ‘I noticed them too, but it’s nothing to worry about. I’d guess those are cat scratches. Does he have a cat, do you know? Failing that, it could be rose thorns or brambles if he was a gardener. Anything could have caused it; they weren’t freshly done.’

He hunched his shoulders as he nodded in agreement. ‘You didn’t notice anything odd in here, did you?’ he asked her in a low voice. ‘Nobody talking to him, upsetting him or something like that?’