Under Parr

by Andrea Bramhall

  “Kate calls me that too.”

  “I know.”

  “I like Kate.”

  “Me too.” She ran a hand down Sammy’s cheek. “Tell me about the dream last night.”

  Sammy gazed into her eyes. It wasn’t the gaze of a nine-year-old. It was the gaze of a child who had seen too much. The gaze of a lost childhood, lost innocence, but most of all a child who’d lost belief in the wonder of the world. She’d seen the black horror of what human beings could do to each other. She’d survived it, come out the other side. But it had left its brand upon her.

  “It started just like the other ones. On the marshes, but when I go and look at what Merlin’s upset about, I don’t see Connie.” Tears welled in Sammy’s eyes, but they didn’t fall.

  “What do you see, baby?”

  “Sometimes I see you there instead of her.” The tears trickled down Sammy’s cheeks. “And sometimes I see me.”

  Gina tugged Sammy on to her lap and wrapped her arms about her skinny frame. “Who did you see last night?”

  “Me.” Sammy sobbed. “I saw me dead with my face blew off.”

  Gina didn’t want to imagine the horror of waking up after having seen your own body like that. She didn’t want it to be true that Sammy did. But she couldn’t change that. She couldn’t take those images away from her daughter’s mind. It was just one more way in which she felt helpless. Powerless to do even the smallest of things to help her little girl.

  She held her as she wept, content to sit with Sammy in her arms for as long as Sammy wanted to stay.

  Eventually it was a knock at the door that drew them apart. Both with their faces tear-stained, their hair a mess, but both feeling a little lighter than they had in quite a while.

  “Feel a bit better?” Gina asked.

  Sammy nodded.

  “Good, go wash your face again and get your coat. You’re late for school.” There was a second knock at the door. Louder this time. “Coming,” Gina shouted and tapped Sammy’s bum to get her moving. She hurried to the front door and pulled it open to a huge bouquet of flowers. Roses. Beautiful yellow roses. And lots of them.

  “Georgina Temple?” The voice behind the bouquet asked.

  “Yes, that’s me.”

  A clipboard appeared from underneath the display. “Sign on the line, please.”

  Gina did and handed the board back as she reached for the flowers.

  “There’s a card in there too.”

  “Thanks,” she said as she closed the door and went back to the kitchen. She placed the flowers on the table and searched amongst the fragrant heads for the card. Counting as she did so. Fifty. Fifty yellow roses. Why fifty? Wasn’t it supposed to be a dozen red roses for a lover? What was the significance of fifty yellow ones? She remembered reading somewhere that the amount as well as the colour of the roses given always signified something. She wondered if Kate was into all that kind of traditional thing. Must be to send this.

  The message was short and sweet.

  Missed you last night. How about tonight we make it special? The Victoria, 8pm? xx

  “Oh, Kate, what am I going to do with you?” she said to the empty room. She picked up her phone and checked the last message Kate had sent.

  Okay. Sorry.

  Damn it. The best and worse things about text messages. You can’t hear the tone of voice on the other end. You couldn’t tell if someone really was fine, or just pretending. You had to trust them or your gut. Clearly Kate trusted her gut a lot more than Gina’s response right now. It was instincts like that that made her so good at her job.

  Sorry, I’m just a little stressed right now. Sammy had a meltdown this morning and I don’t really want to leave her with a babysitter so while I’d love to see you tonight, can we do a night in rather than out? Your place would be perfect. You’re there so little anyway, it’s practically a night out anyway. xx

  She hoped the conciliatory tone she was feeling right now made it across the text. Damn, I forgot to thank her for the flowers. She shook her head and grabbed her coat and ushered Sammy out of the door. I’ll do that tonight.

  CHAPTER 24

  Kate stared at her phone and frowned as she tried to make sense of Gina’s text message. She tried to recall if they’d arranged to go out, but couldn’t for the life of her remember if they had. Was this some sort of seven-week anniversary thing they were supposed to be doing? Was this something she should just know? Shit. What if she was making a huge fuck-up because she couldn’t remember the stupid dating rules? She didn’t want to fuck things up with Gina.

  She read the message again. No. There were no further clues in the text as to what she was missing, but she didn’t want to go out anyway. Gina wanted to stay in. At her place again. She liked that. That Gina felt comfortable there. Sammy clearly did, which was cool, and it made it easier with Merlin. Who Sammy also loved. So, no drama. Just play it cool and agree.

  Night in at mine sounds great. Want me to pick up food? You know I have nothing in. Lol. Is Sammy okay? Need me to do anything for her? xx

  She read the message back three times before she was sure she couldn’t be making anything any worse, then hit send, and beeped her horn. She was quickly discovering that waiting for Gareth was just as bad, if not worse, than waiting around for Jimmy had been. At least Jimmy usually brought food with him. Hot toast, bacon butty, coffee on a good day. Gareth just stood at the mirror, checking his hair was gelled to within an inch of its life. God forbid that one strand tried to move of its own accord. It’d probably be plucked and tossed into the wind. She snickered to herself. Now, now, Kate. Play nice with the little children. One day he’ll probably end up being your boss if he can figure out how to play nice with the other kids.

  “Sorry, sarge,” Gareth said as he got into the car. “Had some stuff to do this morning that put me behind schedule.”

  “Nothing serious, I hope.”

  “Nah.” He smiled a little Mona Lisa smile and buckled his seat belt as she pulled out on to the road. “Where to this morning?”

  “Brancombe House. We need to have a talk with Sister Lodge to check out some of those details Eva Kutenova gave us yesterday. See if they pan out.”

  “Do you think this will cause problems for the home?”

  “Undoubtedly.”

  “Will it have to close?”

  She shook her head. “Not on the back of one relatively small case of fraud that didn’t harm any of the residents.” She indicated and pulled out of the junction. “I don’t think so. There will need to be an investigation on how it could have happened in the first place, but given the fact that Eva couldn’t get into the system again to stop the payments, I’d say Diana Lodge has already taken significant steps ensuring that it can’t happen again. Wouldn’t you?”

  “Yeah. I just don’t like that place.”

  “The nursing home?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Why not?”

  “It’s just, I don’t know. Sad, I suppose. I mean, we’ve been there loads of times now. Stuff about Alan Parr’s been in the newspaper, on the news, online, but have you seen a relative visit any of them?”

  “Nope.”

  “Exactly. And they’ve got family. I checked on them all. I mean, yeah, there’s one or two who don’t have kids, or they live abroad and stuff, but most of them have family living within a twenty-minute drive. And not a one of them’s been to check up on them. It’s like they’ve already buried them, dumping them in there.”

  “It won’t be like that for all of them.”

  “No?”

  “No, I think that for some of them it may hurt too much to see their loved ones like that. To walk into the room with your mum or dad, and have them not recognise you. Can you imagine how much that must hurt? To watch them wasting away and know there’s nothing you can do to help them?” Kate tapped the steering wheel. “That’s got to be one of the most powerless feelings in the world. And the people in the home aren’t aware of what they
’re missing because they have no memory of it. How can you miss what you don’t know?”

  “So you’d agree with it?”

  “With what?”

  “Euthanasia. Assisted suicide. Whatever you want to call it. You agree with it?”

  “Where did that come from?”

  “It’s been playing on my mind a lot since this case started. Seeing all of those people like that, just wasting away. It’s cruel, sarge, and it got me thinking. I mean, oh, I don’t know, I guess I was just curious about your opinion on it. As a theoretical thing.”

  Kate shook her head. “Whether I agree with the idea of assisted suicide in theory or not, I uphold the law. It is against our law. So no, I don’t agree with it. As for euthanasia, that’s a different thing to assisted suicide.”

  “How so?”

  “Euthanasia is the caregiver making the decision for someone who doesn’t have the capacity to make it themselves and actively participating in the act. Administering the drugs or whatever. Assisted suicide is helping someone who has the mental capacity to make the decision, but lacks in some way the physical capability to obtain the means to perform the act. They could depress a plunger on a syringe, for example, but couldn’t get the drugs needed. Maybe they could take the pills, but they couldn’t open a container. Those are the distinctions.”

  “So you’ve been looking into it too?”

  “Not recently.” She swerved around a parked car and tried to stop herself remembering all the websites she’d visited when her gran had finally told her what was ahead of them both. Kate had cried when she’d told her that she didn’t want to die in a home pissing on herself and relying on other people to clean her up. She didn’t want that to be her end. Kate hadn’t realised it then, but she knew now that her gran was feeling her out. Seeing what her reaction would be had she asked Kate to do the unthinkable. To help her end her own life.

  In the end she’d never asked. Kate was sure she’d seen the answer she needed that day and took matters into her own hands when she was ready. But Kate had wondered ever since she’d been old enough to really understand what she was being asked that day. Could she have helped her gran if she’d asked? Could she have popped the pills and put them in her hand, knowing she wanted to die? Would Kate have been willing to risk everything to prevent someone she loved suffering any longer?

  She didn’t know then, and she didn’t know now. She truly hoped she’d never have to find out.

  She cleared her throat and continued. “If we were to legalise either act, the question would become where do we draw that line? Who is eligible to be put down? Anyone who can’t walk? Who loses the use of a limb through injury or stroke? For one person, that wouldn’t matter. They’d still live a life they were happy with. To someone else, the idea of living in a wheelchair or with an amputated limb is devastating. They simply couldn’t cope no matter how much you helped them. So who decides who qualifies for the law to apply to them?”

  Gareth merely frowned as she glanced at him and continued driving.

  But she wasn’t done. “If the patient doesn’t have the capacity to make the decision, then who does?. Say they were in a car accident and have a traumatic brain injury or a stroke. Or maybe they no longer have communication skills but they’re completely aware of what’s going on, and can enjoy that for what it is. Seeing their loved ones interacting with them in whatever capacity they can. For some, that would be enough to make life worth carrying on with. For others, it would be hell. But if they can’t communicate that, who makes that decision? Who decides which of those people want to live and which of them want to die? It’s too big, too vague a question, Gareth.”

  “Isn’t that where the experts come in? The doctors and lawyers who know enough about the medicine to be able to make those decisions.”

  She shook her head. “I don’t think it’s a question that can be answered for each person as a rule or a law. Or at least I don’t think it should be. I think every person has to make their own decision on what they can or can’t live with, and let their families and loved ones know their personal decision. Because it is a personal decision that will differ from one person to the next.”

  “And if the families disagree with their decision?”

  “Many will, I’m sure. Some people will think those who don’t want to live because they’re stuck in a wheelchair are selfish for wanting to end their lives. Others will think they’re selfish for wanting to continue life in a wheelchair.” She shrugged. “But it has to be up to them. Then if they’re prepared to honour the patient’s decision in the event that such a tragedy occurs, or if they can’t live with that act on their conscience.”

  “And you think something like that could be legislated?” Gareth said sceptically.

  “Probably not. At least not well enough to be certain that coercion couldn’t be brought to bear. Think about it. You’d have to have sworn testimony from the patient that they wanted to die in the event of x or y circumstances. Then you’d have to have a doctor, if not a bank of independent doctors, confirm that x or y criteria were met, and then the family member would have to perform the act of euthanasia.” She shook her head. “Can you imagine what that would do to the family member? Can you imagine what they’d have to live with from that point on? The stress, the guilt.” She shuddered. “The money saved on the NHS in caring for the elderly or disabled that are now dead would instead be spent on counselling all the living family members who couldn’t handle what they did.”

  “So it’s not really something you’ve ever thought about, hey, sarge?” Gareth tried to lighten the tone in the car.

  She sniggered. “You asked, Gareth. If you don’t want to know…” She decided to leave the rest unsaid as she parked up and got out of the car.

  Anna answered the door when she rang the bell.

  “Hello, again. Is Sister Lodge in her office?”

  “Detective. I believe so. Want me to go and check for you?”

  “No, that’s fine. I’m sure you’re busy. We’ll just head on back, if that’s all right?”

  “Sure, sure. You know where you’re going now.”

  “Thanks.” She brushed past her as she closed the door behind them and went back to whatever task she’d been doing before they arrived. Since it was early, she assumed breakfast feeding, maybe helping people get dressed still.

  Diana Lodge sat at her computer staring at the screen.

  “That looks engrossing,” Kate said as she tapped on the open door.

  “Ah, Detective. I wish it were as interesting as I’m trying to pretend it is. But it’s like watching paint dry. I hate spreadsheets.”

  Kate pursed her lips, and waited.

  “Please sit down, both of you. How can I help you today?”

  “We’ve come by to let you know the outcome of yesterday’s little enquiry session.”

  “Ah, right.”

  “I’m sure you know some, if not all, of it, but we have to do this as part of our debrief as you’re the one now in charge of the business at the heart of the matter.”

  “Of course. Thank you for filling me in.”

  “There are some details we can’t share until after the trial, but others that you’ll need to know in order to guard against them in the future, if you haven’t already.”

  “I appreciate it. Before you start can I get you something to drink? Tea? Coffee?”

  “Coffee would be great, thanks.”

  “Same, please,” Gareth said.

  “I’ll be right back.” Diana stood and squeezed her body around the large desk.

  “Do you think she knew?”

  “Knew what?”

  “That it was Eva?”

  Kate frowned, but thought about it seriously. If she did, why hadn’t she said so, or at least pointed them in Eva’s direction when she came to them with the funky number and missing money? Would she cover for her? Did she know of Eva’s circumstances and sympathise? If that was the case, then why bring them the in
formation at all? Why not just let the investigation peter out as it seemed to be doing?

  If Diana Lodge hadn’t given them the data, they wouldn’t have found out that 3840 was Alan Parr, and they wouldn’t have been able to trace the money to Eva’s bank account. It didn’t make sense that she knew who the culprit was, or that she had any kind of sympathy for them if she did. “No, I don’t. But I’ll ask her.”

  “Ask her what?” Diana asked as she came back in with three mugs balanced on a tea tray.

  “If you suspected that Eva was behind the mystery of 3840?”

  “Good heavens, no.” She handed them each a cup and sat back down in her chair. “I always thought she was a lovely woman. Very sad.” She took a sip. “She has a haunted look, that one.”

  “Did you know about her daughter? When she died I mean?”

  Her eyes widened in surprise as she shook her head. “Her daughter died? I didn’t even know she had one.” She put her mug on the desktop. “Eva was always very distant from me. Kept very much to herself, and played her cards very, very close to her chest. I can see why now. I mean, if anyone knew anything about her past and started asking questions, where would they end up?”

  “I see.”

  “It made her very difficult to know. But she was a hard worker, and I never saw any reason not to trust her. She came to work, did her job, well, I might add, and went home. What she did after that was no business of mine, and frankly, I was glad that I didn’t have to worry about dramas with her. No boyfriend dramas, or drunken-night-out dramas. She was easy to manage.” She took another drink. “Watch the quiet ones. Isn’t that what they say, Detective?”

  “I believe they do.”

  “But you’re here to debrief me on what I need to know. So fire away.”

  Kate was quick but thorough as she went over the details she could divulge.

  When she’d finished, Diana looked stunned. “That poor girl.”

  “Excuse me?” Gareth said.

  “She lost everyone she loved, and now she’s going to prison for trying to help them.”