‘And that’s it? Lennie and Wayne?’ Cassie wondered if she sounded as incredulous as she felt. ‘Lennie’s fairly methodical, but I wouldn’t have thought Wayne could organise his way out of a paper bag, and McCall keeps reminding me how carefully this person plans. Also, I doubt either of them has a computer.’
‘There are computer terminals all over the hospital and I imagine there are a couple at the vet’s place, too,’ McCall pointed out.
Dave held up his hand.
‘They’re not the only two,’ he said, before Cassie could begin to argue with McCall. ‘I’ve seven others who’ve no one to corroborate where they were yesterday morning. I mentioned Lennie and Wayne because I know they’ve no alibis for the other incidents.’
‘Who’d have an alibi for the night Judy died? Unless they were in bed with someone, which I suppose could rule out married men,’ Cassie protested.
‘Even a married man could slip his wife a sleeping tablet,’ McCall reminded her.
Cassie frowned at him.
‘Not in this town—not easily. Unless one of them took them regularly and there was a supply in the house. Otherwise things like that are hard to get hold of. Someone comes to see me—or any of the doctors in town—asking for drugs like that, I’d have to be sure he or she needed them.’
‘What about a doctor? What about Mike?’ Dave asked, glancing at the paper in his hand, then shaking his head. ‘Why isn’t he on the list?’
‘Maybe because he wasn’t even in town on Australia Day,’ Cassie reminded him, exasperated by the way the spectre of guilt could stretch to encompass so many people. ‘Let’s talk about the seven you know, not waste time on stupid suppositions.’
‘All of them,’ Dave said, looking at his list again, ‘including Lennie and Wayne, were at the Australia Day picnic, though Lennie says he went home early, long before anyone went swimming.’
‘Lennie would—he helps Derek with the barbeque then goes home, not because he doesn’t like swimming but because he’s not social.’
‘Why does Derek do the barbeque?’ McCall asked, and Cassie, pleased to have something to think about other than a list of possible murderers, explained.
‘When he came to town—about five years ago—he replaced a vet who was born and bred in Wakefield. Now, the dynamics of a country town are that if you’re not born here, you have to live here about fifty years before you become a local. Derek thought he’d cut the lead time short if he got involved in things, and because he came at the beginning of the year, the Australia Day festivities towards the end of January were about the first big town function he was here for. The Lions Club run it so he joined and offered to help. He was asked to take charge of the barbeque, and over the years it’s become Derek’s job. Women do salads and serve, and other men help around the fire, but they tend to start arguing about cricket scores or something and drift away, so Derek prevails on Lennie to come along so he’s got one reliable helper.’
McCall nodded as if this all made sense, and Dave, whose barely contained impatience had been obvious throughout Cassie’s explanation, waved his hand as if to remind them how immaterial that conversation was.
‘With the dam incident, we’re down to nine possible suspects, which is a whole lot better off than we were when the list was about thirty. I’m going to talk to the other seven now.’
‘And I’ve got to get to work,’ Cassie offered. ‘Sure as anything, Don Trask will have stayed in town, and when I arrive at work he’ll be standing on the top step at the hospital, looking pointedly at his watch.’
‘Did you get a car?’ McCall’s question, directed not at her but at Dave, made Cassie turn to watch the two men, so she saw Dave hesitate before answering.
‘Yes. It’s a red Patrol, parked next to Cassie’s outside.’
He turned to Cassie, and passed her a set of keys.
‘Would you like to get anything you’re likely to need out of your car and put it into the Patrol? Then give me your car keys. I’ll take your car.’
Cassie could feel suspicion narrowing her eyes. ‘You’ll take my car where?’ she demanded.
Dave’s shrug was far too casual, as was his insouciant reply.
‘Oh, here and there.’
‘You’re not going to do anything stupid like put on a wig and drive around in it, making yourself a target, are you?’ Cassie asked him. ‘Because that would be too ridiculous for words. The Carews aren’t the only family in town fond of you, you know. I’ve had enough trouble getting used to the idea that I’m in danger, now I’ve got to constantly be worrying about you and McCall!’
‘Don’t worry about us, Cassie,’ Dave said, reaching out and putting his arm around her shoulders to give her a quick hug. ‘We’ll be fine.’
McCall hoped his spurt of annoyance at Dave for even such a casual embrace had gone unnoticed, then his mind began to toy with Cassie’s suggestion. If they were to shift her to another motel, then park the car outside this motel room tonight with himself and Dave inside—no, the man was a planner. Somehow they had to guess what his next plan would be.
Simple but effective—that’s how the previous ones had been…
‘Don’t even think about it, McCall,’ Cassie said, bringing him out of his thoughts with a start. ‘And don’t give me that innocent look! You’re planning how you can take me out of the picture—I could see it in your eyes. Well, I’m not going to be taken out. I’m not taking any more evasive action. If he wants me, he can damn well come and get me.’
McCall was shocked by her words, but his internal reaction to her final sentence was more than shock. It was anguish…
He pulled himself together with an effort, forcing his mind back to what they’d been discussing before his mind had flitted into fantasy land.
‘Here’s how I read the current situation,’ McCall said, including both Cassie and Dave in his summing-up. ‘Our man’s plan for you has come unstuck, but what we don’t know is whether he will lie low for a while or go with something makeshift. I think…’ he followed them outside where Dave opened the door of the exchange car ready for Cassie to pass him her things ‘…he’ll be rattled, and very, very angry, which…’ he turned to Dave to stress this point ‘…will make him much more dangerous.’
‘So you’ll have to be ready for him,’ Dave reminded McCall. ‘Stay alert—stay suspicious. I’ve got the background information you wanted on all the people still on the list. I’ll fax it through to Cassie’s office for you—something in it might strike you as meaningful.’
With Cassie satisfied she had everything she’d need out of her own car, she handed over her keys to Dave then, without an argument, climbed into the passenger seat of the other vehicle and sat, waiting for McCall to drive her to the hospital.
‘It all becomes far too personal,’ she muttered, ‘when a list is reduced to nine men. I hate it.’
‘He’s a killer,’ McCall reminded her, finding his way back to the hospital so easily he realised he was becoming very familiar with the town.
‘I know he is, but I want it to be a stranger.’
‘We all want people who do harm to be strangers,’ McCall reminded her. ‘Or,’ he added, pulling up into the visitors’ car park again and seeing Don Trask at the top of the front steps where Cassie had predicted he’d be, ‘someone we don’t like.’
He’d said it to relieve a bit of the tension in the car, so was pleased when she gave a reluctant smile.
‘If only!’ she said, then she reached out and grasped McCall’s arm. ‘But couldn’t it be someone from out of town?’ she demanded. ‘Perhaps a traveller who comes here often enough to know some of the townspeople and their habits? Has Dave checked whatever records the police keep for similar crimes in other places? Perhaps this person is an itinerant worker of some kind, who might spend six months in one place, six months in another. There’ve been fruit-pickers in the district since before Christmas, which covers the time frame of the murders.’
She was
so patently anxious for it to be someone she didn’t know, McCall felt his heart lurch with sympathy for her. He reached out and grasped her hand, giving her fingers a comforting squeeze, but the tactile gesture reminded him of all the reasons he shouldn’t be touching Cassie.
Touching Cassie was like playing with electricity. It not only generated shocks along his nerves, and was infinitely dangerous at the time, but the after-effects lingered on, distracting him—making him think things he shouldn’t…
‘You could be right, and I’ll speak to Dave,’ he said, when he realised she was looking at him with a question in her vivid eyes, and remembered what they’d been discussing.
But then he saw the slump of her shoulders as she got out of the car and knew, even before she muttered ‘But you don’t believe it!’ that she hadn’t been taken in by his words.
Or much comforted by the finger squeeze!
Though she’d given him some food for thought. They should be checking records of any spate of ‘accidental’ deaths in other places. He assumed Dave had done it, but often something so obvious could be overlooked.
‘You missed the meeting.’
McCall caught up with Cassie as Don greeted her with this abrupt remark.
‘I wasn’t well, then we had an emergency. In case you hadn’t heard, a man died here yesterday.’
‘I know that,’ Don snapped at her. ‘But life goes on, Dr Carew, and you’d better get your act into gear if you want to remain as MS of this hospital. I’ve had reports of you allowing unauthorised personnel not only into the wards but into the operating suite.’
Aware from the way her body tensed that Cassie was angry enough to say something she might regret, McCall stepped into the fray.
‘Oh, that’s me,’ he said cheerfully. ‘Doing what you might call work experience. I thought country doctoring might suit me, so suggested to Cassie I spend a bit of time here. I’m Henry McCall, by the way.’
He held out his hand, forcing Don to take it, then continued, ‘If you want to check my credentials, Barry Renshaw should be able to fill you in.’
McCall thought it unlikely Don Trask would have the hide to phone the Director-General of Health—Trask’s ultimate boss—to check on a visiting doctor, but he made a mental note to give his cousin a call and explain where he was and what he was doing.
Trask looked slightly taken aback, then marshalled his mental forces and demanded Cassie accompany him to his office.
She turned to McCall, more questions in her lovely eyes, but now wasn’t the time for explanations. He gave her a slight nod.
‘I’ll look in on Mrs Ward then meet you in your office,’ he said, and walked away. He knew Dave had already asked Mrs Ward what she remembered about the accident, but that had been yesterday. Something else might have occurred to the woman by this morning.
Wondering how the hell McCall knew the Director General of Health, or if it had been another lie made up on the spot—though surely even McCall wouldn’t take the risk that Don wouldn’t phone—Cassie followed Don into his office.
She even listened to most of what he had to say, though she was thankful it was, in the main, a repetition of what he’d said to her the previous morning, so part of her mind could keep wondering about McCall.
Had Dave had to get authority from the highest level before he’d brought McCall into things? But surely the Director General couldn’t be interested in every country doctor under his command.
Cassie was still thinking of McCall’s strange declaration when Don dismissed her, but once she hit the wards for her morning round, she knew she had to put it right out of her mind. McCall had departed but Mr Ward was sitting by his wife’s bed. He didn’t take long to let Cassie know he wanted his wife released, although the woman was obviously ill, coughing weakly and running a high temperature.
‘I’m sorry, but she’s got to stay. I need to do more chest X-rays and some blood and sputum tests. There’s a chance she has a lung infection or is developing pneumonia.’
Arguing seemed to be Mr Ward’s favourite occupation, so when the X-ray technician walked in, Cassie fended the angry man off on him and walked over to the nurses’ station to organise Mrs Ward’s other tests.
The rest of the patients were relatively easy. Bert McGraw had persuaded his wife Mary to accept help, so Cassie was pleased to phone his daughter to tell her he was ready to leave. Two other patients could also be released, but Mike had admitted three new patients during the night. The first two, a young man with suspected appendicitis, who hopefully would wait for the surgeon to arrive, and an older man with mild concussion from a fall, were resting comfortably. The most serious was a small boy who’d suffered a severe asthma attack during the night, so Cassie spent some time with him and his mother, talking about what might have brought on the attack.
‘I had a bad dream,’ he admitted. ‘A bogeyman was chasing me, and running fast to get away made the asthma come.’
Cassie accepted the explanation, but she wondered if maybe panic could bring on an attack.
‘He had some milk,’ his mother said, accompanying Cassie out of the single-bedded room. ‘I didn’t know it at the time, but the others had some hot chocolate before going to bed and his sister tells me he drank some of hers.’
‘Well, it’s triggered an attack before,’ Cassie agreed, knowing the allergy list of her young patient, but she thought of the little boy’s dream and her own panic the previous night when she’d woken in a strange room. ‘Does he have a night-light?’
The woman looked surprised.
‘No. None of the children have ever seemed to want one.’
‘Perhaps he could have one for a few nights when he goes home, just an ordinary lamp will do, with a low-watt bulb, set somewhere it won’t be bright enough to keep him awake but will shed enough light for him to see around the room.’
‘Worth trying,’ the woman agreed. ‘In fact, I’m sure I’ve got a proper child night-light somewhere at home. A present to one of the kids.’
Finally satisfied that all was well in her hospital world, Cassie made her way to her office, trying not to hurry then hurrying anyway, telling herself it was because she was anxious, not because she wanted to see McCall again but because she wanted to know what he’d learned from Dave’s notes.
But both issues would have to wait. McCall wasn’t there.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
HABIT made her turn to the ancient fax machine, where a ribbon of paper suggested she either had a mass of paperwork to contend with or the information McCall wanted had come in.
She tore off the screed and carried it to her desk to read.
Definitely from Dave, and reading through the names—most of the histories she knew—she became more and more concerned they were on the wrong track.
She was wondering whether to phone Dave to discuss her thoughts with him when McCall ambled back into the room.
‘Where have you been?’ she demanded, releasing a little of the anxiety she hadn’t realised she’d been feeling.
‘Bathroom?’
It was more a suggestion than an answer, and she knew it probably wasn’t true.
She waited.
‘Actually, I was out in the yard, talking to Wayne. I was thinking about Dave’s lists and it struck me as all wrong.’
McCall paused and saw Cassie smile and nod as she said, ‘Me, too, but you go first.’
‘No, I’m interested,’ he told her. ‘What did you feel was wrong?’
‘The manipulation thing. He’s sending letters to people before he kills them, but how’s he getting off on their fear and apprehension if he doesn’t see it or feel it coming from them? Judy’s easy—after she told Dave she was getting letters, he listened in to her radio show, and he said, knowing the situation, he could tell her usual playful chat between records was growing more and more tense with each letter. One night, after she’d received a letter, she called in sick. So the man would also have known his tactics were working. The proble
m with Judy was, we hadn’t connected the other deaths, and though Dave had police checking the town she’d left for a potential enemy, and he was keeping an eye on her here, he didn’t know if the letters were a threat to kill or just sheer nastiness.’
‘So it wasn’t until you received a letter and spoke to Dave that you heard about Judy’s letters?’ McCall asked.
Cassie nodded grimly. ‘And remembered Lisa mentioning funny letters. Neither of us ever really thought of her as a victim.’
She sighed, then continued, ‘But getting back to manipulation, how did this person get a thrill from terrifying Mrs A. and Lisa, and how’s he getting his kicks from the letters to me? He’s got to be someone who saw us, or at least made an opportunity to see us, on or soon after we received each letter. So, realistically, you’d think it was someone all three of us were in contact with on a regular basis.’
‘You’re good,’ McCall said, and the simple praise lightened her anxiety. ‘That’s what struck me. It makes Wayne stand out, because he was seeing Mrs Ambrose regularly when he did her lawns—it’s just a shame she didn’t write down the dates she received the letters. We could have checked if they were his lawnmowing dates. We can get Dave to check with Lisa’s mother to see if Lisa had regular days she visited, and if lawnmowing days coincided with the visits.’
Cassie nodded, but her head was bent over the lists again.
‘This chap, Paul Barton, works at the local bakery—I never go in there because Mum or Gwen do the shopping, though Suzy goes in each day to get us buns for afternoon tea. I suppose he could ask how her boss is. Mrs A. probably shopped there, and maybe Lisa and Judy—in fact, we can assume they did because he’s on the list.’
‘So, you never see him?’
Silence, then a long sigh.
‘I do see him—usually every couple of weeks at Outpatients. He has bad psoriasis, which isn’t an ideal condition for a man who works with food. He comes in for more ointment or because he’s read of some new treatment on the internet and wants to try it.’
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