Chameleon

by Ken McClure

  Jamieson nodded. 'Weren't you ever tempted to find out where your husband went when he went out?' he asked.

  'At first but then I became frightened. I decided that I didn't want to know…'

  Marion Thelwell started to shake with pent-up emotion. Jamieson found the sight alarming for there was absolutely no sound coming from her, just a series of silent shuddering convulsions. He pressed her further. 'Because the killings had started in the city?' he asked.

  Marion Thelwell continued to shake. She nodded. She made no attempt at argument.

  Jamieson put his arm round her and led her to a seat. 'You need a drink,' he said softly. 'Is there anything up here?'

  Marion Thelwell indicated with her right hand and Jamieson opened up the bureau she had pointed to. There was a crystal decanter sitting there on a silver tray with four glasses. He poured Scotch into one of them and handed it to her. He watched her take a long gulp and said, 'You've been through a lot. You must be absolutely exhausted.'

  'That's nothing to what's to come,' replied Marion Thelwell distantly and Jamieson could not disagree. 'It's not so much for myself I worry but the girls… Other children can be terribly cruel. I'll have to take them away somewhere, somewhere where we'll not be known. Start a new life. Isn't that what they say?' A new life. Marion Thelwell put her hand to her head and closed her eyes. There was silence in the room.

  Jamieson had difficulty in finding Moira Lippman's flat. He had to stop twice and ask for directions before finding the small back street and the number he was looking for. He had half expected to find no one at home, fearing that Moira's flat mate might have gone to work, so he was pleasantly surprised when a voice behind the door replied, 'Who is it?'

  'It's Dr Jamieson from Kerr Memorial. I spoke to you on the phone last night.'

  'Can you prove who you are?' said the voice.'

  Jamieson put his ID card through the letter box and waited patiently while the door was unchained and then unlocked. The door opened a few inches and Jamieson could look down at a thin, dark girl in her mid twenties. She had a sallow skin and large hazel eyes which mirrored the apprehension she felt.

  Jamieson smiled.

  'You can't be too careful,' said the girl opening the door further and taking off the final restraint to allow Jamieson to enter.

  'I thought you might have gone to work,' said Jamieson.

  'I couldn't after what happened to Moira,' said the girl. 'Besides the police wanted to ask me a few things.

  'Like what?'

  'Like what time Moira got in last night and what time she left. Things like that.'

  'Were you here when she got back from the hospital last night?' asked Jamieson.

  'Yes I was.'

  'Was Moira carrying anything?'

  'Only her briefcase. Why do you ask?'

  Jamieson, excited by the girl's reply, ignored her question and asked, 'Can I see it please?'

  The girl shook her head. 'No you can't.'

  'Why not?'

  'Because she took it with her when she went out.'

  'Are you absolutely sure?' asked Jamieson.

  'Absolutely. I watched her take out some papers from it and check them over before putting them back. I remember her actually saying that she had to show them to someone from the hospital. Thelwell I think she said his name was. Would you like some coffee?'

  Jamieson agreed absent-mindedly because, for the moment, his mind was elsewhere. If Moira had taken her notes with her why hadn't he found them in Thelwell's house? What had happened to them? The briefcase hadn't been in the hut with her body and it hadn't been in Thelwell's study so where the hell was it?

  'Penny for them,' said Moira Lippman's flat mate returning with two mugs of instant coffee.

  Jamieson smiled apologetically and said, 'I'm sorry, that was rude of me.' They spoke a little about Moira and agreed what a nice person she had been. Jamieson asked the girl if she was in the same line of work.

  'I'm a physiotherapist at the Royal,' replied the girl. 'Bacteria give me the heebie jeebies.'

  'So you two wouldn't talk about work much?' said Jamieson.

  'Not really, although I did ask her about the infection problem of course.'

  'What did she tell you?'

  'That is was caused by bacteria that were very difficult to treat. I can't remember what she called them.'

  'Nothing more than that?' asked Jamieson.

  'Maybe,' smiled the girl. 'But it probably washed over me. I didn't understand most of it.'

  Jamieson smiled and they fell to talking about other things while he finished his coffee. During the lulls he took note of his surroundings. The flat was clean and tidy but none of the furniture matched. There were several small piles of crockery on an old Welsh dresser but again, it didn't match. It was a typical rented, furnished flat, the kind he used to live in when he was a student. He drained his coffee and took this as his cue to get to his feet. He shook hands with the girl and they said that they would probably see each other at the funeral.

  Jamieson sat in the car for a moment before starting the engine. He wondered about the missing briefcase. It was important. Maybe Thelwell had dumped it somewhere outside his house after murdering Moira Lippman. An outside rubbish bin, the garden compost heap? He decided to drive back to Latimer Gardens and check.

  'Something in particular you're looking for sir?' asked the constable as he watched Jamieson empty the rubbish sack outside the kitchen door of the Thelwell house.

  'A briefcase.'

  The officer gave Jamieson a hand to sift through the refuse and then replace it when they had no luck. They pitchforked their way through the compost heap with the same lack of success.

  'What makes you think it's here sir' asked the policeman.

  'I just hoped it was,' said Jamieson.

  The constable gave Jamieson a puzzled look. 'Hoped sir?'

  Jamieson shrugged and said, 'Because if it's not here it means that someone took it and that means I have to figure out who and why.'

  'You're not happy,' said Sue as Jamieson stood with his back to her at the window.

  'I'm not happy,' agreed Jamieson.

  'Want to talk?'

  'I'm uneasy about the whole thing. There's something fundamentally wrong.'

  'Explain.'

  First Richardson finds something out about the infection and then commits suicide before telling anyone. Then Moira Lippman finds out something, maybe the same something, and gets herself murdered before she can tell anyone.'

  'Thelwell killed them both to keep them quiet,' suggested Sue.

  'And then committed suicide himself? Why go to the bother of killing someone to keep them quiet when you are going to kill yourself anyway?'

  'The man was deranged.'

  'Maybe, but it’s all a bit too convenient.'

  'I don't follow.'

  'There were no papers or notes in Richardson's office to suggest what the theory was he had been working on. None at all.'

  'So Thelwell took them,' suggested Sue.

  'And now the same thing has happened with Moira Lippman's notes. She gets murdered and now there's no trace of them.'

  'Same thing. Thelwell took them.'

  'But Thelwell didn't have them. I looked everywhere.'

  'Maybe he destroyed them.'

  'But how? Marion Thelwell is positive that her husband did not leave his study last night. According to her he did his damndest to dissuade Moira Lippman from coming round; it was she who insisted. So now we have to believe that Thelwell climbed out of his study window and waited for Moira to arrive. He murdered her in the garden, climbed back into the house, destroyed her notes and her briefcase, God knows how, and then committed suicide. It doesn't make sense.'

  'What's the alternative?' asked Sue.

  Jamieson turned round and faced her before saying, 'The alternative is that someone else killed Moira and took her notes.'

  'Not Thelwell? I don't think I like the sound of that,' said Su
e slowly.

  Jamieson agreed with a forced smile. He said, 'But maybe you are right. Maybe it was just the irrational behaviour of a lunatic.'

  'What are you going to do?'

  'Leave it all to the police. For my part I am going to insist that all instrument packs in storage and all dressing packs in the Gynaecology wards are re-sterilised. When that is done I think surgery can re-commence safely and I can report as much to Sci-Med.'

  'And then we can go home?'

  'Yes,' smiled Jamieson.

  'How long?'

  'Couple of days.'

  'I'm counting the hours.'

  'Let's count them in bed.'

  Once again the rain started and pattered against the window pane.

  THIRTEEN

  The rain persisted through the night, waking Jamieson who was a light sleeper at the best of times, with the noise it made against the tall windows of the residency. At seven he gave up trying to sleep and got up. He washed and shaved as quietly as possible to avoid waking Sue who was still in a deep sleep.

  As he emerged from the bathroom holding the towel to his face he looked down at her left profile against the pillow and was filled with affection. He reached out with his hand intending to trace the back of his fingers down her cheek but stopped when she moved in her sleep and turned over. He finished patting his face dry and walked over to the window to see if the rain showed any signs of slacking off.

  There were large puddles in the courtyard below; they were being pock-marked by falling rain and a heavy grey mist hung over everything. Across the wet cobbles on the other side of the yard Jamieson could see a small group of nurses, huddling inside their red capes as they talked in the shelter of the entrance to the wards. He looked at his watch and saw that it was time for the change-over from night staff to the day shift. It was not hard to guess what they were talking about. By nine o'clock Thelwell's demise would be common knowledge throughout the hospital.

  Sue opened her eyes and made a sleepy sound.

  'Coffee?' asked Jamieson as he plugged in the electric kettle.

  'Please. You are up early.'

  'The rain woke me,' said Jamieson.

  'And what else?' asked Sue sensing that something was wrong from the inflection in Jamieson's voice.

  Jamieson shook his head in a dismissive gesture and said, 'Oh, just what we were talking about last night. I'm missing something about the whole affair. I keep thinking I should be able to see what it is but I can't and it's getting to me.'

  'Maybe you are too close to it. Maybe you have to step back a little before you can see clearly?'

  'Maybe,' agreed Jamieson. 'But I keep thinking that if Richardson realised something about the infections and then Moira Lippman did the same surely I should be able to see it too.'

  'Not necessarily. They were both bacteriologists. You're not.' said Sue.

  Jamieson looked at her as if she had just given him an idea. 'Perhaps that's it,' he said, 'I've been assuming that they discovered something about the source or spread of the infection but maybe it was something about the bugs themselves. Something only an expert would see. That would fit in with Richardson's interest in the Sci-Med tests on the Pseudomonas. He wasn't surprised at all at a result that clearly surprised everyone else but never got round to telling me why. On the other hand it's difficult to think what could be gained from lab tests on the bugs themselves. I've seen the results of all the tests that were done by Richardson's people. I've carried out some myself and the Sci-Med people have been involved too. At the end of the day we are left with two highly virulent microorganisms which are very difficult to treat and which display some odd biochemical characteristics.

  'How "odd"?' asked Sue.

  'The Pseudomonas differed from the text book response it should have shown to several tests,' said Jamieson.

  'What can you take from that?' asked Sue.

  Jamieson shrugged and said, 'It could hardly be regarded as a typical example of its species,' said Jamieson. In fact, both bugs were oddballs because of their high resistance to antibiotics.'

  'Did you discuss this with anyone?' asked Sue.

  Of course,' replied Jamieson. 'Moira Lippman thought it odd that the Pseudomonas should vary from the norm so markedly but Clive Evans didn't think it too strange.'

  'Well, not much to go on there,' said Sue. She sighed and said, 'As you said yourself last night the main priority is that there should be no more post operative infections at Kerr Memorial. You've seen to that and now that Thelwell is dead the matter of how he actually introduced the contamination into the wards and theatres has become more or less academic.'

  'Just as long as there are no more deaths,' said Jamieson.

  'What are you going to do this morning?'

  'Write my report.'

  'And then?'

  'This afternoon I'll go over to the CSSD and make sure that all the instruments and dressings from the gynaecology department have been re-sterilised.'

  'And this evening you can take me out for a meal,' said Sue.

  'I should be honoured,' smiled Jamieson.

  Jamieson was well into the substance of his report by eleven o'clock. He had no great love of paper work and, recognising this, had chosen to work in the medical records office where there were no windows to gaze out of, making distraction more difficult to find. One of the assistants brought him a cup of coffee at eleven fifteen and laid it gently down on the desk in front of him. There was also a shortbread finger sitting in the saucer. 'I hope you don't mind me asking,' she said. 'But there's a rumour going about that Mr Thelwell from gynaecology is dead?'

  'It's true I'm afraid,' said Jamieson wondering if the question was the quid pro quo for the biscuit bonus.

  'I suppose I should say I'm sorry,' said the girl.

  'But?' prompted Jamieson.

  'That man gave me the creeps,' said the girl.

  'Did you know him?' asked Jamieson.

  'Not exactly,' said the girl, quickly on the defensive as she read an implied accusation into what Jamieson had asked. 'You didn't have to know him. Everyone disliked him. It makes you wonder what goes through the heads of people like that.'

  'What do you mean?' asked Jamieson.

  'Well, you'd think that they would realise that everyone dislikes them? Can't they sense it? Why don't they do something about it? Or do you think it doesn't matter to them?'

  'I'm not at all sure,' said Jamieson. 'Maybe the real unpleasant people don't even notice.'

  'But we all need love,' said the girl.

  The girl turned on her heel and left Jamieson to consider what she had said. The girl was right about one thing. You did not have to know Thelwell in order to dislike him. He had been that kind of a man. The point was, what part had natural dislike played in his own judgement of Thelwell? It was always so easy to believe ill of people you didn't like. You could do it without a second thought, you expected it, you even wanted it to be true, but was that relevant to anything that had happened?

  The rain stopped and the sky showed every sign of brightening so Sue decided to take the bus into town, ostensibly to do some shopping but for nothing in particular. She had no particular reason for going at all but the idea of crowds and bustle appealed to her. Apart from anything else it would be an excuse to get away from the forbidding grey confines of the hospital for a while. She looked out one of the back windows from where she could see the turning circle outside the hospital gates that the buses used. There was a double-decker sitting there. She saw that the driver was in his cab, reading a newspaper. Sue grabbed her coat and hurried downstairs.

  The town was very busy but because Sue had nothing particular in mind to buy, she could avoid the busier shops and browse at will. She was drawn to the windows of Mothercare and felt good as she looked at all the things that she and Scott would be buying in the near future. She resisted the urge to go inside the shop and find some excuse to tell the assistant that she was pregnant but it was a close run thing. Her han
d strayed to her stomach in an unconsciously protective gesture as she made her way across the road and through the pavement throng to the doors of Marks and Spencer's.

  She lingered a while in the men’s' clothing section, admiring some Shetland pullovers and wondering whether or not to buy one for Scott. Her only reservation lay in the fact that he did not like having his clothes chosen for him. He preferred to do his own shopping, although in truth, he hated the very idea of shopping at all and usually had to be goaded into it, an early morning expedition two or three times a year. On the other hand she felt that she knew Scott's tastes by now. A plain grey pullover would be nice. He would like that. She picked out one his size and held it up in front of her but as she did so she became aware of a man looking at her from the other side of the counter.

  There was something disconcerting about the intensity of his stare. She diverted her eyes but was still very aware of his presence. There was something familiar about him but at first she could not think what. Then she remembered. The man had been on the same bus as her on the way down from the hospital. She couldn't remember where he had got on; she had only noticed him when he had stood on the platform with her as she waited to get off. The recollection made her uneasy. Was it her imagination or was he still staring at her?

  As an attractive woman she was used to having men stare at her on occasions but as a rule, eye contact was always broken when she decided to indicate that she was aware of being watched. She steeled herself to try again and looked directly at the man with a contrived cold, blank expression. To her discomfort the man just stared back and what was worse it was not difficult to understand what he was thinking. The look on his face was one of pure hatred.

  Sue felt a slight tremor in her hand as she put down the garment she was holding and looked away. She was breathing a little unevenly and something akin to real fear was starting to threaten her. She could feel the blood pounding at her temples and a slight unsteadiness in her legs. This is ridiculous, she told herself. It wasn't as if she were walking through a lonely park on a dark night for goodness' sake. She was in the middle of a crowded shop and it was eleven o'clock in the morning. There were people all around her.