‘You could have gone on treating her, surely? It’s hardly very far to go.’
‘Not for me in a car. But for her, on a bus, it was.’
‘So you were thinking of her rather than yourself.’
‘Of course. It’s not particularly comfortable for someone with back trouble to be bounced about on public transport and then walk nearly a mile from town, just to be told to quit a job she can’t afford to quit.’
‘She argued with you, about the job?’
‘I wouldn’t say argued. I told her there was nothing we could do to help her, other than provide pain-killers, as long as she did such heavy work. And that the problem could only get worse. Reluctantly, she accepted that. There was a possibility that surgery could have relieved the problem – it was a question of spinal fusion – but she was afraid of surgery, and refused. It doesn’t always help, anyway, so I couldn’t wholeheartedly recommend it. The whole situation was very unfortunate. I felt sorry for her. The pain was considerable, believe me.’
‘So, in each case, we have women in positions of frustration or difficulty, each seeing their doctor and then being murdered. Interesting.’
‘I resent the implication that this coincidence is in some way relevant to your investigations,’ Gregson exploded, suddenly. Oh, you’re being very bland, very non-committal, but the pattern of your thinking is very clear.’
‘Is it?’ Abbott grinned, suddenly. ‘In that case, I wish you would explain it to me, Doctor. The coincidence may not lie in the visits themselves, but in the results that such visits can bring about. When one sees one’s doctor, it’s usually in order to achieve something – surcease from pain, a way to go on, an answer. All things of that nature have a tendency to force decisions. Decisions have a way of forcing events and precipitating confrontations. And it’s such confrontations that sometimes lead to murder. These women visited their doctors and then died, yes. Which leaves me with no choice. Did you or Jennifer have something to do with the deaths – directly, or indirectly? For example, did you perhaps decide to murder the women because you felt sorry for them, or you felt they were annoying, or wasting your time?’
‘Preposterous!’
‘I agree it seems unlikely, but not impossible. Alternatively, did you tell them some fact or advise some course of action that made them bring about their own deaths?’
‘I don’t understand.’
‘It’s really very simple. Say you told Mrs Tompkins to quit her job, and after some consideration she decided to do so. She told her husband that there would be less money coming in, and he lost his temper and murdered her. Or you told Mrs Taubman she was under too much of a strain and she decided to tell her son that she was not prepared to go through with his proposals for the manor after all – and he killed her, in order to remove her opposition. You see? Ripples going out from this particular centre. Or one thing leading to another. We find that murder is usually like that – the result of one thing leading to another. It’s finding the one thing that’s so difficult.’
‘Well, you won’t find it here!’
Abbott stood up. ‘On the contrary, I may have done just that. Good morning, Dr Gregson. Thank you for your time.’
Chapter Twenty-five
‘Watch out for Dr Gregson, he’s in a right mood,’ Kay said, putting on her coat as she stuck her head around Jennifer’s office door. ‘Better you than me there tonight, I can tell you.’ The doctors handled their own evening surgery, which was by appointment only.
‘What’s happened?’ Jennifer asked.
‘Your precious policeman happened,’ Kay said. ‘Put him into a right tiswas and no mistake. Watch out for flying potatoes at the dinner table is my advice.’
‘Good heavens,’ Jennifer said. ‘Thanks for the warning.’
Kay grinned. ‘He just wants listening to, that’s all. Haven’t you learned that yet? Poor man hasn’t got an ear to lean on these days, what with his wife walking out and your uncle too poorly to take the strain.’
Jennifer smiled. ‘And me too bolshie to listen?’
‘I never said that. Exactly.’
‘Do you think you’ll ever get us straightened out?’ Jennifer asked, with a weary smile.
‘I don’t know. I’m working on it,’ Kay said, grimly. ‘It’s a bit like that chap pushing the boulder uphill, but I’m working on it. Like a couple of stubborn kids, the pair of you. Pig-headed. Good thing I’m here to keep an eye on you.’
‘Amen,’ Jennifer agreed. ‘See you tomorrow.’ She finished up her paperwork and glanced at her watch. Barely time to wash up before tea. She went through the waiting room, and looked around at the empty unmatched chairs standing at attention around the wall, the big table with the stacks of magazines neatly aligned, the soothing pictures on the walls. Beyond the window, the lawn stretched to the hedge – a single bit of sodden paper caught under a leafless bush, a scatter of gold and scarlet leaves, a bedraggled thrush hopping about hopefully. The rug was worn thin in front of the reception desk and in front of each chair. Under the big table was a box of toys to amuse restless children. Behind the reception desk the cover was over the typewriter, the filing cabinets were closed on their secrets, trays were cleared of work – ready to fill up again the next morning. If only Kay could straighten out the doctors the way she straightened out their place of work.
What on earth had Luke said to upset David? From experience she knew it needn’t have been much. David was so touchy at the moment, so defensive. Perhaps she should make an effort with him, as Kay said. Somebody had to make the first move, after all. She sighed, heavily, and went back to knock on David’s door. There was no response, and she opened it to look through. Either he was still out on house calls, or had already gone through to tea.
The empty office bore the imprint of the man, nonetheless. Jennifer had inherited Uncle Wally’s room, and had hesitated to make any changes in it yet. David’s room was peaceful, like the waiting room. His desk was clear – unlike her own which was awash under a tide of papers, samples and literature from the pharmaceutical houses, clippings from medical journals she meant to read, odd pencils and pens. She entered, tentatively, trying to reach out to the man in his absence, and walked round his desk. She rested a hand on the back of his chair. The view out of his window was bleak – just the path that encircled the house, and, almost against the window itself, the laurel hedge, closing him in. Still, the windows were high enough to let in plenty of light, and the room didn’t feel enclosed or claustrophobic.
She paused beside a glass-fronted bookcase and saw that inside he had a collection of old surgical instruments. Surprised, she opened the door and examined some of them. It seemed an incongruous collection, for both the room and the man himself were modern in the extreme. And yet the brass trim and the steel blades were gleaming bright, and the wood in the handles was freshly oiled to a rich warm glow. Not a speck of dust was on anything. She wondered if Kay looked after this, too, but somehow she doubted it, for it had never been mentioned, and surely such an exacting task would have been cause for some comment on her part.
Jennifer picked up a particularly fierce-looking scalpel and touched the edge, starting when it cut the skin and drew a thread-fine line of blood. It was as sharp as a modern instrument, but much, much heavier in the hand. She went to the sink, rinsed it, carefully wiped it with a paper towel and replaced it on the glass shelf, hoping David wouldn’t notice that it had been disturbed. She felt she had intruded on something secret and private, almost as if she had touched the bare skin of his body, not with a physician’s objective hand, but with a woman’s touch, reaching more than the surface. She knew, instinctively, that he would be angry with her for it. He did not seem to be a man who wanted to be touched.
A few minutes later she arrived at the lounge to find quite a cosy group gathered in front of the fire and the tea-tray: Aunt Clodie, Uncle Wally, Frances, Paddy, and
Luke. No David. Was he still out on house calls, then? Or in his room, hiding? The thought startled her – why should she think he would hide?
‘What’s wrong, Jenny?’ Luke asked, standing up. Her face had changed so suddenly. She had come in, looked at him, then through him, and the sensation had been almost physical. Having been kept busy all afternoon, he had forgotten how lovely she was, how tumbled and strong his feelings were for her, and how upset he had been at Mark Peacock’s calm announcement of their engagement. She stood in the doorway, pale and somehow enclosed. His voice reached her, brought her back from wherever it was she had momentarily fled.
‘Nothing. Hello, Luke, Paddy. Are we being questioned over the crumpets, then?’ The suggestion, meant to be light, fell heavily between them.
‘Of course not,’ Aunt Clodie said. ‘What an idea, Jennifer. Luke and Paddy came by to see how Frances was, and I insisted they take tea with us.’
‘Of course. Sorry.’ She flushed, avoided Luke’s eye, and sat on the couch, beside her uncle’s chair. ‘Mrs Rustle had twins, Uncle Wally. Boy and a girl, all well and happy.’
‘Grand. I told you she would. You and David owe me ten pence each, then, as agreed.’ The old man was inordinately pleased.
‘Couldn’t you tell from the scan?’ Frances asked, puzzled.
Jennifer chuckled. ‘Uncle Wally told us she was having twins when she was only two months gone – long before the scan. You old warlock, you. I think you have a crystal ball hidden in your room.’
‘Hidden in my files, more like,’ he grinned. ‘If you’d bothered to look back in the records you’d have never taken the bet. Dora Rustle was born Dora Wentlock, one of twins, daughter of a twin. And Tom Rustle’s father was a twin, too. Sucker bet, I believe they call it.’ He laughed at her expression. ‘And she was already showing at two months, Jenny.’
‘If we put our records on computer, the way David is always saying we should, it would have shown up,’ Jennifer conceded.
‘Ah, good economics,’ her uncle said, sarcastically. ‘Spend five thousand pounds on a damned computer so you can save twenty pence bets against an old man. Try using your own brains instead. Much cheaper.’
Luke listened to this exchange, and observed the deep affection and respect between Jennifer and her uncle, evident in glance, gesture, and tone of voice. She was the natural inheritor of the old man’s kingdom, a good doctor and getting better every day. What right had he to expect her to include him in that kingdom, he, a travelling knight, passing through? This was where she belonged. Even, perhaps, at Peacock Manor. Not as the wife of a copper, the mother of another woman’s sons.
The thought came as a shock to him. He hadn’t realised he’d been thinking that way, that far ahead. But, of course, he had. Since the previous night, since she’d returned his kisses with more than nostalgia, he’d been subconsciously committing her to his life, his heart. She obviously regretted what had happened already, otherwise why was she avoiding his glance? Her voice had been cool, she hadn’t reached out to him, smiled at him, claimed him or allowed herself to be claimed in any way.
He suddenly felt out of place, and it was damned uncomfortable, but not unfamiliar. Policemen grow used to being out of place except with other policemen. Even old friends can be uneasy in a policeman’s presence. The jokes soon begin – ‘Uh-oh, watch what you say, there’s a copper listening now,’ and the gap appears, widens, becomes a gulf, unbridgeable. Luke had always thought it was because they brought with them, unbidden and unwished for, an aura of judgement and censure. They were spectres at the feast, reminders of the wrongs that men do. And every man has wrong in his heart for someone, something. Everyone is afraid of being caught, if only by their own conscience.
He had hoped that here it would be different, that somehow Jennifer would make it different, that his long friendship with Dr Wally would make a bridge for Jennifer. But Dr Wally had grown old, and Luke was here investigating a violent series of deaths that involved people and patients she knew. He glanced at Paddy and Frances – the gap had not been so wide, there. A bridge was building that he thought had a good chance of becoming permanent.
He hid a smile in his teacup – that hard-headed Paddy would be caught by such a dreamy creature as Frances Murphy was as unexpected as it was satisfying. He would protect her, admit the existence of his own softer nature, and become a better officer for it.
Luke’s own marriage had done that – for as long as it had lasted. With his wife’s death he had been left with his softer side unprotected, and two small boys to keep him vulnerable. His hardness had been painted on in layers – it did not come from within, as it did with Paddy. He had a sudden and terrible conviction that his feelings for Jennifer would require a great deal of covering over, for he had been caught unawares, assuming he was safe as he approached middle age. He was not safe. He wondered if he would ever be safe, now.
‘I understand you called on David Gregson this morning,’ Jennifer suddenly said, looking at him across the tea-tray. There was a sound of betrayal in her voice, a cloud in her eyes. ‘Kay said he was upset all afternoon.’
‘I’m sorry if he was upset,’ Luke said, evenly. ‘I can’t think why anything I said would have distressed him.’
‘Can’t you?’ came Gregson’s voice from the doorway. ‘It seemed rather deliberate to me.’ He addressed the company at large, but it was Jennifer he was telling. ‘According to the good and wise inspector, there is a connection between our surgery and murder. Women who come to us on perfectly legitimate visits have a way of getting their throats cut afterwards. I wonder if we should perhaps post a health warning on the door – “Visits to this practice could result in exsanguination by violence” – it would make quite a selling point.’
‘I don’t understand,’ Uncle Wally said, anxiously, looking from David’s stormy face to Luke’s deliberately blank one. ‘Did you say such a thing, Luke?’
‘I merely pointed out the coincidental factor,’ Luke said. ‘I’m sure one could also discover others – they had all gone shopping the day before, or read the same magazine, that sort of thing. You have a largish practice in a small town – it’s quite conceivable that the three women would all be your patients. Were Wychford a village it would be inescapable. There are only three others doctors in town, after all. It is a coincidence, but hardly a sinister one.’
‘At the moment, you mean. Suppose another woman dies – and she’s one of our patients, too. What will you do then?’ Jennifer demanded in a bewildered voice.
‘I would respectfully request a list of all your patients and would put them through our computer to see if we could come up with any common factors,’ Luke said, calmly, finishing his tea and standing up. ‘I’m sorry, Clodie, to have disturbed your home with my investigations. I assure you, I didn’t bring them with me deliberately. Thank you very much for the tea. If you’ll excuse us, we’ll move on now. Paddy?’
‘Sure,’ Paddy said, standing up, too, but with obvious reluctance. He gave Frances’ shoulder a gentle pat, then thanked Clodie and followed Luke out.
‘Is there any tea left?’ David asked, blandly, sitting down on the sofa beside Frances.
Chapter Twenty-six
‘What’s going on between you and Gregson?’ Paddy asked, as they drove back into town.
‘Nothing, yet. I put some pressure on him, that’s all. He seems so unnecessarily antagonistic,’ Luke said. ‘It bothers me a little – but I can’t put my finger on why.’
‘I think he feels you’re intruding on his territory,’ Paddy observed.
Luke glanced at him, puzzled. ‘Territory? You mean his practice?’
‘I mean his partner,’ Paddy said. ‘It may have escaped you, and it’s almost certainly escaped her, that David Gregson has a yen for Jennifer.’ He checked the rear-view mirror, then turned into the parking area before the station, parked and switched off the engine.
‘Seems to be a lot of it about at the moment.’ He chanced a look at his partner and saw comprehension and anger there.
‘You make it sound like a bunch of tom-cats going after a female in heat,’ Luke growled. ‘My God, if I thought it was interfering with my investigation, I’d turn it over to someone else instantly.’
‘No, you wouldn’t,’ Paddy said, calmly. ‘Once you had a chance to think about it, you’d use it. That’s why I mentioned it.’
Luke stared at him for a moment, startled. ‘And I thought you were developing a softer side.’
‘I am,’ Paddy said. ‘But I have an on-off switch that’s still in good working order. You haven’t had to use yours in a while.’
‘Rusty?’
‘A little,’ Paddy acknowledged. ‘Nothing that can’t be fixed.’
‘I think I’m in love with her,’ Luke said, quietly. ‘I expect I always have been, in a way.’
‘Memories are funny things,’ Paddy observed, watching his own strong, square hands clench and unclench around the steering wheel. ‘Your first love, was she?’
‘Yes.’
‘And were you hers?’
‘I don’t know,’ Luke admitted. ‘Perhaps that’s where the trouble lies. Dammit, I feel like a bloody idiot, sitting here, talking like some spotty adolescent about the girl at the party last night. I only realised what was happening—’
‘—When she walked in the door this afternoon,’ Paddy said.
‘Christ! Was I that obvious?’ Luke asked, appalled.
‘Only to me. You’ve been edgy and restless all day – but you went totally still when she appeared, interrupted yourself to ask if she was all right. You generally finish your sentences.’
Luke grimaced. ‘Said the warden to the recidivist.’ He stared gloomily at nothing, cursing his own weakness.
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