Whisper the Dead

by Stella Cameron

  ‘I’ve been invited to Knighton late tomorrow afternoon. For tea or something. Esme called me and asked if I’d like to go. She said she wanted to get to know me better, which creeps me out a little. Not because I don’t like her, but, well, you know.’

  Tony said, ‘Yes, I do. You’re not going, are you?’

  ‘I said I would. It seemed a bit offhand to just refuse and I couldn’t explain why, if I did say, no. And I might find out something useful.’

  ‘Alex, Alex. You never switch off that nose of yours.’

  Tony heard the door to the clinic open. Radhika had the afternoon off, so he went through the passage – and walked into Grant Hill.

  ‘You won’t like this,’ Grant said, shoving past and into the sitting room with its old-fashioned and worn chintz armchairs and ancient electric bar fire. ‘Is there anyone else here?’

  Tony followed him and stood just inside the door. ‘Do you have a sick animal?’

  ‘Don’t be funny. I’m sick. Sick and tired of your lady friend playing games with my family. I bet you don’t know what she’s getting up to with my father, do you.’

  ‘I advise you to watch your mouth.’

  ‘Or you’ll what? What will you do? Tell the very small world you live in that the woman you sleep with is into hooking up with men old enough to be her father if she thinks they’ll make her rich?’

  Pity rapidly replaced anger. Throwing the idiot out on his arse would feel good for a minute or so, then he’d remember how it felt to fear the loss of a parent, the complete collapse of your family as you knew it. Tony’s mother had been ill for a long time before she died and when she’d been slipping away faster and faster, he’d panicked and made things even harder for his father by blaming him for not being able to cure her. After she was gone it was as if everything Tony had thought he could trust had turned on him. For different reasons than Tony’s, this young man was starting through the same tunnel filled with jeering mind games.

  ‘Answer me,’ Grant shouted. ‘You need to show her up for what she is. Don’t you have what it takes to save your self-respect and stop her from ruining a man who’s at a certain age when his ego needs stroking? He’s making a fool of himself and doesn’t know it. You should see him fawning over her. It would make you sick. It makes me sick.’

  ‘Are you finished?’ The pity Tony had felt was waning. Grant Hill could simply be a nasty young man afraid of someone else getting any part of what he considered his – and possibly his sister’s. ‘Alex is kind to everyone. You’re mistaking that kindness for something else and it’s insulting.’

  ‘I came here to give you a chance,’ Grant said. He ran fingers through his hair and it stood on end, making him look like a panicky teen. ‘Warn her off. That’ll be the last you hear of it – either of you. Tell her I mean it when I ask her to stay away from my father, completely.’

  The tone was unpleasant, threatening. ‘Is that some sort of warning? If so, it’s a bad idea. What Alex decides to do is her business. I’m not her keeper.’

  Grant shoved his hands in his pockets as if he wanted to make sure he didn’t do something with them that he’d later regret. ‘Don’t say I didn’t come to you and try to make peace.’

  ‘Is that what this was?’ Tony laughed. ‘You’d better go before you make an even bigger fool of yourself. Let grown-ups work out their own issues. They won’t admire you for interfering.’

  Shoving into Tony as he left the room, Grant said in a voice with an hysterical edge, ‘You’re all the same. You’re jealous people. You aren’t happy and you can’t stand to see anyone else happy. You want what’s ours. For all I know, you’re encouraging her. You’ll find out what I can do about that.’

  He hurried from the building, slamming a shoulder against the doorjamb as he went.

  THIRTY-SIX

  Before six the next morning, a call from Harriet Burke catapulted Alex and Tony from sleep. Tony swung his legs over the side of the bed and grabbed his mobile.

  ‘Tony?’ Harriet all but whispered. ‘I’ve never done a thing like this before but you gave me this number and I had to make sure you knew. You’ll have to go to Alex and tell her. She’ll need a lot of comforting. We think it’s important for you to decide how to deal with it before people start babbling and asking all sorts of questions. You know how they are. Then they’ll talk about so-called remembering this and that and how they can’t imagine why they didn’t notice at the time. You—’

  ‘Harriet,’ Tony interrupted, as gently as he could. ‘Please, take a big breath and explain what’s upsetting you.’

  Alex scrambled to sit beside him and put her face by his, trying to hear the conversation. He moved the phone closer to her ear.

  ‘Do you take the morning paper?’ Harriet said.

  ‘At the clinic, yes,’ Tony said.

  ‘Well, we get two copies and we each read one in bed,’ Harriet announced. ‘The murders are all over the thing. Of course, there aren’t many other things of interest, are there? No. But, and it’s hard to say this, but there’s an unsavory piece written in that unpleasant secret-sharing way these people have sometimes. A source who can’t be named for their own safety, that’s what it says.’

  Tony closed his eyes. ‘What else does it say?’ He thought he knew what was coming.

  ‘It’s one of those local interest pieces – at least I suppose it is. Just a sidebar but on the front page. About how some women can’t be trusted with other women’s husbands. A well-known local woman who owns one of the most successful businesses in Folly-on-Weir likes multiple men in her life. Lately she’s been seen in rather questionable situations with a very prosperous businessman who is much older than she is. This isn’t the first time this woman has caused heartbreak. She ruined her first husband’s life with her demands during a messy divorce in which many consider her the unreasonable party.’

  ‘That little shit,’ Tony muttered.

  ‘Excuse me?’ Harriet said. ‘What did you say? What can we do to help? You see, everyone will know who this is talking about, don’t you think?’ The sound of rustling paper was clear. ‘And Mary says to tell you there’s another artist’s sketch of this Beverly woman – in a different article, of course – it shows her with more gray in her hair and older again than the first pictures. The police have had a lot of calls but it doesn’t say anything about finding this person.’

  ‘Thank you very much, Harriet,’ Tony said. ‘And thank Mary for me, please. I’ll talk to Alex and we’ll see you soon. Meanwhile, the only thing you can do to help is be noncommittal. The truth will come out eventually and we’ll hope it doesn’t take long.’

  Alex held his arm and rested her head against his shoulder. ‘I’m beginning to wonder if we will see all this cleared up.’

  ‘I think we will but I don’t think it’s a good idea for you to go to Knighton today, do you? Under the circumstances?’

  ‘If I don’t and Grant finds out I was coming but changed my mind, he’ll use that as proof that his nasty tales have frightened me because they’re true and now they’re in the open. Let me think about it.’

  Yesterday’s struggling sun was a memory. Lashings of rain slanted out of gunmetal gray skies and a vicious wind drove the rain harder while it made creaking monsters of the trees.

  Dan ran from the car to the parish hall and cranked the door handle until he all but fell inside the building. Bill followed, cursing aloud at the infidelities of nature.

  ‘Morning, guv, sergeant.’ Ashton and Longlegs stared at their superiors. ‘Early, aren’t you? Good thing LeJuan got the coffee here. No pastries yet, though.’ That was Longlegs’ contribution. Ashton continued to stare.

  ‘All right, all right,’ Dan said. ‘This isn’t the first time you’ve seen either of us early in the morning. I’m glad you got the message to be back here today. I hope you also heard you’d better be on your toes. My temper is very short. You’ll have seen what’s in the papers and there will be an early news conferenc
e on the tele. Where’s LeJuan?’

  ‘He said he’ll be back in half an hour,’ Longlegs said. ‘That was, well, it was a little while ago.’

  ‘Does he have a romantic interest in Folly?’ Bill asked. ‘Someone he’s romantically interested in, I mean?’

  ‘I wouldn’t know about that,’ Ashton said, deadpan.

  The constable answered a phone and frowned while he listened. ‘I think he knows but I’ll tell him. Yes, I’m listening.’ There was a pause. ‘Is that so? Any confirmed contact for that. Let me ask Detective Chief Inspector O’Reilly and one of us will get right back to you.’

  Dan waited while Ashton hung up. ‘Well?’

  ‘Response to one of yesterday’s sketches that sounds promising, guv. Woman says she’s a retired nurse who worked for a plastic surgeon in London. They’re asking what you want to do about it.’

  Crossing his arms, Dan did his best to keep his tone level. ‘What about the retired nurse who worked for the plastic surgeon?’

  ‘Oh, sorry, guv. She thinks she remembers a patient who looked like the second sketch of Beverly Irving. That name doesn’t ring a bell. She says if the woman in the sketch is the one she’s thinking of, she doesn’t look anything like that anymore.’

  THIRTY-SEVEN

  The mews flat where Joan Sperry lived was in St John’s Wood. Regency villas surrounded Hamilton Mews, its cobbles slick and wet today. Lords Cricket Ground was a short walk away.

  Dan and Bill had arranged to interview Ms Sperry themselves and driven from the Cotswolds to London.

  ‘Evidently plastic surgery pays well,’ Dan commented. ‘Even the trusted nurses. This place must be worth a bomb.’ They parked against a high stone wall at the back of the house where former owners would once have kept a horse and carriage stabled beneath Ms Sperry’s flat.

  ‘We’re a few minutes early,’ Dan said. ‘The best way to do this is with a lot of respect and gratitude. You agree?’

  Bill clicked his tongue. He hadn’t been keen on doing this interview but Dan had rushed them out of Folly without discussion. ‘You know how I feel about not being in the driver’s seat. I do agree with you but I hope she’s not a talker. And I hope she isn’t eating up a chance at some fame or what she thinks could be fame.’

  ‘We won’t know till we get in there,’ Dan said. ‘It’ll be obvious if that’s the story. Did someone get back to us on Carmen Hill?’

  ‘Back at some fancy school she goes to. She did go early but some of the girls do that to settle in. That’s the school’s story and I don’t think they’ll budge. I think the parents wanted her out of the way, though.’

  ‘Let’s go.’ Dan pushed open his door. ‘Keep your mobile on so you can step out if you need to.’

  The door in the left lower part of the property, 2A, opened before Dan and Bill got there. Joan Sperry must have been watching from one of her upstairs flat windows and run downstairs to greet them.

  ‘Good morning,’ she said.

  They took out their warrant cards and Dan made the introductions.

  ‘In you go then,’ Ms Sperry said, standing aside to let them precede her up the stairs. ‘To the right past the kitchen. The sitting room is at the end. Make yourselves comfortable. Will you have tea or coffee?’

  ‘Tea would be good, thank you,’ Bill said although Dan’s preference was for getting on with interviews minus the almost inevitable wait for refreshments.

  ‘I’ll also have tea,’ he said.

  The sitting room, long and narrow with a small marine style stove set into a red brick fireplace and radiating heat, was a room any reader would love. Dark green leather armchairs, footstools, strategically placed tables supporting books and magazines, a window seat upholstered in green and red tartan and partially hidden by heavy curtains in matching fabric, hung from a brass rod and looped back on either side.

  An open book and a pair of glasses lay on the slightly sagging seat of a single fabric-covered wingback. Joan Sperry’s chair, no doubt. She was reading short stories by someone named Flannery O’Connor, a vaguely familiar name to Dan.

  ‘Do sit down,’ Ms Sperry said, entering the room behind them. ‘Just move anything in your way, please.’

  She poured tea, added milk as requested, and left the mugs on the brass coffee table she’d used. Dan was glad not to be presented with fiddly china cups and saucers.

  ‘I’ll let you take the lead,’ the woman said, sitting on the edge of a chair that threw her face in the shade and left Dan and Bill squinting toward the window. ‘So, fire away and I’ll answer what I can.’

  From her tone, she was used to being in charge, even when she was telling someone else they were in charge.

  ‘You recognized artist’s sketches of Beverly Irving,’ Dan began.

  ‘I believe so.’

  ‘Did you work at a busy practice?’

  ‘That depends on what you mean by busy. We were an exclusive practice but there were never any open appointments.’

  Dan glanced at Bill who hadn’t written anything in his notebook yet. He stirred and said, ‘Roughly how many patients did the doctor see in a day?’

  ‘Surgeon,’ she corrected Bill. ‘That varied. He operated in the morning so there were no consultations until the afternoon. Clients required different lengths of consultation.’

  ‘Depending on how much they were having done?’ Bill said, finally jotting something down.

  ‘Depending on the procedure being considered,’ Ms Sperry said.

  Dan barely stopped himself from remarking that she’d repeated Bill’s question.

  ‘On average?’ Dan said. ‘Four, perhaps?’

  ‘Rarely. Two or three.’

  ‘Still, two or three new people an afternoon. That’s a lot of people to remember over the years since you think you saw this woman. I congratulate you on your recall.’ Dan smiled at her.

  ‘I have a better memory for faces than names.’

  Apparently she wasn’t a talker, nor easily flattered.

  He picked up the file he’d carried in and slid out copies of the police artist’s sketches. ‘These are as clear as they get,’ he said, passing them to her.

  She put on her glasses and looked at each one carefully. ‘I’ve seen her and I’m sure she was a client. Yes, she was definitely a client.’

  ‘When a client came for a consultation, photographs were taken?’

  ‘Yes. Always.’

  ‘How long did it usually take between that appointment and surgery?’

  ‘That depended.’ The skies darkened and Ms Sperry turned on a lamp beside her.

  ‘On what?’ Bill asked bluntly.

  She didn’t smile even a little. ‘On whether the case was for medical reasons, as in post-surgical reconstruction or perhaps a child born with an issue. Those were done quickly.’

  ‘And then?’ Bill kept his eyes on his notebook.

  ‘Then the importance of the procedure or procedures.’

  ‘Importance?’ Still Bill didn’t look up.

  ‘I think you can work that out, sergeant. One doesn’t like to mention money, does one?’

  ‘This one is perfectly happy mentioning money, Ms Sperry,’ Dan said. ‘You’re saying that if the patient is going to spend enough money, that buys a better place in the line?’

  ‘As I said, you can work out these things.’

  ‘And did Beverly Irving get treated quickly?’

  ‘As far as I remember, she did. It really was a wonderful job. Eyes, nose, mouth, cheeks, jawline. Reconstruction, that is. There was a complete facelift of course. Naturally we didn’t do the teeth. She was sent elsewhere for that.’

  Bill glanced up and around the room. ‘What did you say was the name of the surgeon you worked for?’

  ‘I didn’t.’

  ‘May we have his address?’

  ‘That won’t be possible.’

  Dan sighed. ‘Impeding the law can be a very serious thing, Ms Sperry.’ They could find out the details with
out her help.

  ‘I’m not impeding the law. I remember this woman because she was transformed. It was amazing. I had never seen anything like it and I’ve seen many, many extensive plastic surgeries.’

  ‘What we need most are the photos taken after the surgery. As Beverly looked when all the work was finished and as she presumably looks now.’

  ‘Full healing takes longer than just “after surgery” as you put it. I think you mean after full recovery.’

  ‘Yes, Ms Sperry, I do.’ Dan gave her another smile.

  ‘There aren’t any photographs.’

  The desire to groan overwhelmed him. He clamped his teeth together.

  ‘What does that mean?’ Bill asked.

  ‘If memory serves, the patient would not be photographed after recovery. When the transformation is that extensive, patients quite often refuse to be photographed.’

  Dan considered his next move. ‘In that case and since this could well become a most serious crime case, I must insist on contacting the surgeon.’

  ‘He wouldn’t be able to give you as good a description as I can. His magic was a rare one – seeing the before and after and how to get there in his mind. He died seven years ago. Only the records of medical cases were retained. I shouldn’t even be telling you that but I’m doing my duty as best I can.’

  ‘You’re an extraordinary woman, Ms Sperry, and I’m grateful for all the help you’re giving us.’ And why didn’t you tell us these things before?

  ‘I’m glad to be of any help I can. The patient underwent an impressive number of procedures. I think I could do better if I wrote down everything I can think of. If I’d had more time before you came, I would have tried to get it ready.’

  Dan took a card from his inside pocket. ‘Please contact me the moment you’re ready with your description. Call me at any time if you have a question.’

  Joan Sperry studied the card. ‘I can say she had liposuction – a lot of it. And breast augmentation – also extensive. She wanted to be unrecognizable and that was an accomplishment.’

  This time Bill drove and Dan gave directions. ‘The Duke of York,’ he said, ‘Queen Anne’s Terrace, I think. Find the St John’s Wood tube station and we’ve got it made. The station is on the corner with Acacia Road. If I’m remembering it correctly, you take the first right off Acacia.’