I was glad to see his face light up. “Excellent. We’ll get another few hours together that way.”
We were able to find good seats on the train and used the time to prepare Josh for his meeting. I found myself enjoying the work talk. It took my mind off Helena, the postcard, and auras. When the train pulled into the station, Josh went off to find a taxi to take him to his first appointment and I decided to walk to Eliza’s house.
The residential roads were quiet. One or two sleepy-looking students rode past me on bikes, but mostly, the streets were empty of pedestrians or moving cars. When I reached Eliza’s house, I traversed the short, narrow path to the front door and rang the bell. Inside, her cat meowed loudly but no one came to the door. I waited a couple of minutes, then pushed the letterbox open and peered into the hallway. The cat was sitting in the middle of the hall, its eyes shining green in the gloom. Obviously, Eliza wasn’t home, which was strange. I’d got the impression she never went anywhere.
I crossed a strip of scrubby lawn and leaned on the windowsill to take a look through the window. The book-filled living room was empty. Just as I turned away, the cat sprinted into the room, jumped on to the back of the sofa and stared at me. There seemed to be nothing to do but wait. Maybe Eliza had gone to the shops. I tried calling the number I had for her, but heard the phone ring inside the house. She either didn’t have a mobile phone or she hadn’t used it to call me.
I walked up and down the long street twice, wondering if I should give up and go back to London. It was bitterly cold. I remembered someone telling me that the winds blew straight from Siberia across the Fens to Cambridge. On a day like today, it was easy to imagine the boreal temperatures of the faraway tundra.
When I passed Eliza’s the second time, I noticed the lace curtains twitch at the window of the house next door. A dog barked as I ventured up the path to the front door, and a woman in a pink robe and curlers opened it before I had a chance to knock.
“You looking for Eliza?” she asked, holding the dog by its collar. It was large and brown with lots of teeth bared in my direction.
“Yes, I am. Do you know when she’ll be back?”
“She said she was going on a trip. Couple of days, she said. I’m feeding the cat for her ’til she gets home.”
“Did she say where she was going?”
The woman frowned. “Not really. She said it was very important. She was going to meet a man, I think?”
What did that mean? Was she going to London to talk to Colin Butler? Or was she going after Scott herself? But what would she do? Hit him over the head with a book? Thanking the neighbor, I began the walk back to the station.
On the way, I called Detective Clarke to tell him what the neighbor had said.
“I appreciate the help,” he said. “But I hope the list of people you suspect doesn’t get too much longer. Have you heard from Chris Melrose at all?”
Chris. I’d almost forgotten about him. “No. Nothing. Have you?”
“Would I be asking you, if I had? I’ve put out an alert for him. I expect we’ll pick him up soon, but if you hear from him, let me know immediately, all right?”
“Of course.”
22
I made my way back to the station and caught the next train back to London. I felt as though I’d done all I could about Eliza. I’d notified Detective Clarke and could only hope that he’d take my concerns seriously.
Standing in the main concourse of Kings Cross station, I texted Anita. She said she was working an afternoon shift at the hospital, but had an hour or so free and wanted me to go over. Grace had an update on Dr. Reid’s death.
When I got there, Anita led the way to the keypad-protected lift, where I braced for another encounter with the autopsy room. In fact we bypassed it, going to Grace’s office, where a faint odor of antiseptic and Chanel Number Five hung in the air.
“Glad you’re here,” said Grace. “I’m supposed to have today off, but I have a ton of reports to write, so here I am. I can’t stop thinking about Dr. Reid.”
She glared at her computer screen as though it was guilty of preventing her from writing.
“I wanted to give you an update. First of all, the analysis of the drip bag turned up more or less what we expected. There were traces of insulin, digitoxin and barbiturates.”
“And did you hear back from Ted?” Anita asked.
Grace nodded. “Yes. Ted says that no one doctor ordered that mix of drugs. There were lots of individual prescriptions for insulin and for digitoxin, and a wide array of sedatives, of course. So, it’s almost impossible to pinpoint a specific physician who could have gained access to all of the medications.”
“But someone must have acquired all three drugs,” said Anita. “Which means they either stole drugs from somewhere in the hospital, or they bought them through outside sources.”
Grace nodded her agreement. “Neither is hard to do. We’re talking about very small amounts needed to achieve the desired effect. A vial here and there.”
She tapped her fingernails on the desk. “There’s something else. They tested the IV and the vials for fingerprints. Dr. Reid’s showed up.”
Anita shook her head. “That’s inconclusive. Whoever did it wore gloves.”
“And pressed Dr. Reid’s fingers against the IV bag and the bottles,” I said. “It would have been easy enough to do.”
Grace nodded. “Agreed.”
Anita pressed her forehead to the desk in a dramatic show of frustration. “So where does that leave us?”
Grace went to a small refrigerator in the corner, and handed us each a bottle of water.
“We have to come at it from a different angle,” I said. “If we can’t pinpoint who might have done this, we have to look for motive. Why would anyone want to kill Dr. Reid? It sounds as though any one of the medical staff in the hospital could have set up an IV, but why would anyone want to? If it was murder, it wasn’t random. It was premeditated, which means that whoever did it had a reason.”
“The staff all admired Dr. Reid,” Anita said. “No one would want to do him harm.”
I put my hand on her arm to get her attention. Her fingers were beating out a staccato on the desk, and she kept crossing and uncrossing her legs. “Maybe we shouldn’t talk about this,” I said. “It’s just too upsetting for you.”
She took a deep breath. “No, we have to talk about it. I’ll be all right.”
“Well, can you think about anyone with a motive?” I asked. “A rivalry with another doctor perhaps? Had Reid threatened to fire a nurse recently, or had a falling out with someone?”
Grace’s eyes lit up. “Good idea. Anita, did you ever see him arguing with anyone?”
Anita began to unscrew the top from her bottle. She stopped and looked up at us. “What about Eric Hill? The sales rep. Remember I told you, Kate, that he was meeting Dr. Reid late one night about a week ago? That was very unusual and Dr. Reid was in a foul mood that evening. He and Eric could have been fighting about something. And Eric would have access to all those drugs. We should talk to him.”
“Not so fast,” said Grace. “You can’t run around accusing people of murder. And if Eric did have something to do with it, then it could be dangerous. It’s better that the police handle it, which they will if anything shows up in the toxicology report.”
“But it’s still a couple of weeks away isn’t it?” I asked. That was far too long. Anita was in danger. We had to move more quickly than that.
“Kate’s good at charming people into talking to her,” said Anita. “I’ll introduce her to Eric and we’ll see what we can find out.”
I took a big gulp of water. Anita was right that Eric might be a good lead and Grace was right that it could be a rash move. We risked warning him that we were on to him, or worse, we could provoke him into some kind of retaliation. Still, we had few other options. “Let’s give it a try,” I said, draining the last of my water.
“We’ll find him first thing in the morn
ing,” Anita said. “He’s always here early.”
Grace looked at her watch. “I think I’ll call it a day then. A hot bath and a glass of wine are beckoning.”
Anita stood. “I have to get back to work.”
Just then, Grace’s pager went off. “So much for that great idea,” she said. “There’s an incoming body. Come on, I’ll walk you out.”
In the corridor we met two orderlies pushing a gurney towards the autopsy room. A white sheet covered a figure underneath. There was no aura over the dead body, but that was normal in my experience. The auras always disappeared when the person died. Somehow that made me feel better. When I’d first started seeing them, I’d thought of auras as alien beings, attaching themselves to victims, sucking the life from them. Later, I’d realized that they were organic, a living part of the body. On my best days, I thought of them as visiting angels, ready to accompany the fated person from this life when the time came.
“This one is yours, Dr. Trillo,” one of the men said.
Grace gave me a quick hug. “Be careful tomorrow, Kate, and let me know how it goes.”
Turning, she followed the orderlies back to the autopsy room, one skewed wheel on the gurney clicking rhythmically in the silence.
23
We found Eric the next morning, pouring himself a cup of coffee in the fourth floor staff kitchen.
“Hi Eric!” I heard the fake warmth in Anita’s voice and hoped he wouldn’t notice. “This is my friend Kate. She’s taking me out for lunch as soon as I’m off duty.” She made a show of looking at her watch. “Good lord, I’m late. Must run. Can you pour some coffee for Kate? I’ll be back in fifteen minutes.”
He raised an eyebrow, but turned to take a cup from the shelf. “Milk?” he asked.
“Yes please, but I can do it. You don’t have to.”
“I’ll do anything Anita tells me to do,” he said. “She normally avoids me like the plague.”
I took the cup from him, noting the gold links threaded through his pristine white shirt cuffs. His dark blue suit looked expensive, as did his red silk tie. It was a shame his appearance was marred by his bad skin, which had a greasy sheen under the kitchen lights.
“Why would Anita avoid you?” I asked. “Aren’t you a doctor, a colleague of hers?” I’d decided that appearing to know nothing about him might elicit the most information.
His laugh was dry, like desiccated leaves scraping along a pavement. “No, I’m not a doctor. I’m a sales rep from one of the pharmaceutical companies that supplies drugs to the hospital.”
He took a business card from his pocket and gave it to me. “PharmAnew,” I said, reading the company name out loud. “How long have you worked there?” I tucked the card into my wallet and put it in my shoulder bag.
“Ten years, more or less,” he said. “It’s a good job, apart from having to deal with doctors.” He gave another dry laugh.
“You don’t like doctors?”
“Not really. They look down on drug reps. To them, we’re just like car salesmen. I have a Chemistry degree from Imperial College, but that makes no difference.”
“So why do you do it then?”
“Because the money is good— really good— and there are plenty of perks. I don’t mean to complain. It’s not that bad. And some of the people I deal with are nice. Here, for example, the nurses are a decent lot.”
“Do you spend much time here?”
“A fair amount. This place is one of my key accounts. I have a couple of other hospitals in London and I do a lot of work with private clinics. But yeah, sometimes I feel like I live here.” He looked around the cramped, ill-lit kitchen. “Although thank God I don’t. I have a penthouse in Canary Wharf with views up the river.” He smiled. “One of the perks.”
I sipped my coffee. It wasn’t awful. “What other perks?” I asked. “Apart from the money?”
“Sales conventions in exotic places. They’re boondoggles, really, for the doctors who attend. Lots of free booze, free food, fancy hotel rooms and rounds of golf or casinos and nightclubs, depending on where they’re located.” He shrugged. “It’s good advertising. Keeps our products front and center when a doctor’s prescribing.”
He eyed me suspiciously. “Why? Are you looking for a job?”
“Maybe,” I said. “I’m always looking around for something interesting to do. My dad says he should have called me Kat, not Kate. You know that phrase, curiosity killed the cat? That’s me. I’m just the nosy type.”
He smiled. “I get paid to be interested in other people. The more I know about a doctor, the more likely it is that I’ll convince him or her to use our products.”
“So you know personal stuff about all the staff here?”
Eric poured himself another cup of coffee. That was a good sign. He wasn’t rushing off.
“Depends on how you define personal. Mostly, I know about their kids, their hobbies, that kind of thing.”
He flicked back a cuff to look at his watch, even though there was a clock on the kitchen wall. The watch was big and gold, rather gaudy for my taste, but it probably sent the right signals to anyone who cared about that sort of thing.
“So you talk to doctors directly about drugs?” I asked.
“Of course. I also talk to nurses, pharmacists, and anesthesiologists. Heck, I’d talk to the office cat if there was one.” His face took on an intent look, eyes slightly narrowed and focused on me. “Unlike in the USA, we can’t do direct to consumer advertising, so the only way patients know about the drug options available to them is via their doctor. That’s why it’s so important that we educate all medical professionals, let them know what’s out there, what’s new, what’s working. We share study data with them, that sort of thing. If we can make people’s lives better, or save lives, then I’m doing my job right.”
“That’s wonderful,” I said. “It must be so rewarding to know you’re helping people.” I paused. “Like poor Dr. Reid. Anita says he was an amazing doctor. Did you know him?”
Eric’s eyebrows came together, and his mouth tightened. “Yes, I know all the doctors here.”
“That’s right, of course,” I said as though just remembering. “I thought I’d seen you somewhere before. I shared a lift with you and Dr. Reid, about a week ago.”
He didn’t respond, so I carried on talking, watching his face. “It’s so sad. To be under so much pressure that you’d commit suicide. I can’t even imagine how that must feel.”
He took another swallow of his coffee. “So, they are saying it was suicide?” he asked finally.
“Apparently, yes. Isn’t that awful? Right here, in the hospital.”
Eric remained silent, lips clamped together.
“I suppose Dr. Reid never asked you for any advice on medications like anti-depressants?” I asked. “I mean, you’re the expert. I’m sure you could have helped if you’d known what was going on?”
He put his cup on the counter before pulling his cuffs straight. “Not my job. I don’t prescribe, I promote. Nice to meet you, Kate.”
He strode out of the kitchen. Even from the back, he looked angry. What did that mean? That he was guilty? Or just that he was offended by my questions? He certainly seemed to have a chip on his shoulder about the lack of respect shown him by the doctors. But that wouldn’t be enough of a motive to kill one of them, would it?
24
Despondent, I went to find Anita. I hadn’t learned much from Eric. If he were involved, I’d just waved a big red flag in front of him. I saw her at the reception desk, chatting with a couple of nurses. She excused herself and came over as soon as she saw me.
“Well, what did you find out?”
“That Eric has a big chip on his shoulder,” I said. “But that’s all.”
“Damn. Well, it was worth trying. Listen, I really do have patients to see. Why don’t you go home? I’ll come over after work.”
“Will you be all right? I hate leaving you alone.”
Anita w
aved her arm around, encompassing the hallway, which was busy with patients and visitors, and the nurses’ station where a doctor had joined the nurses.
“Alone? I wish.”
“Okay. Text me when you’re leaving, then I’ll know you’re on your way home.”
“You sound like my mother.”
Just as I turned to go, a short, pudgy man in a tweed jacket and creased tan pants hurried towards us. “Dr. Banerjee, can I have a word please?”
When he reached us, he stuck his hand out to shake Anita’s. “Detective Parry,” he said. He was in his fifties, with sandy hair combed over to hide his pink scalp. He smelled of smoke.
“I’d like to ask you a few questions, doctor,” he said. “Can we use your office? It won’t take long. Just a minute or two.”
Anita grabbed my hand. “Come with me,” she whispered.
When we were seated in Anita’s office, Parry pulled a notebook from his jacket pocket.
“I expect you have everything on computers nowadays,” he said, “But I prefer the old-fashioned tools. Just as efficient.”
“So are you investigating Dr. Reid’s death?” I asked.
He frowned at me. “And you are a doctor too?” he asked.
“No. A friend. The name is Kate Benedict.”
He raised his sandy eyebrows. “I see.”
Jotting some notes in his book, he asked me a few questions about where I lived and if I worked. When he’d finished, he looked up at Anita.
“Can I ask where you were on Tuesday night?“ he asked Anita.
“I was with Kate at her place. I got there at about 6 p.m. We both rushed straight back here when I got a message from one of the nurses.”
“And what time was that?”
“Nine-fifteen, more or less. I didn’t really pay attention.”
Tapping his pencil against his notebook, he asked if I could confirm that Anita had been with me on the evening of Dr. Reid’s death.
“Yes,” I said. “So you’re treating this as a murder?”
The Complete Kate Benedict Cozy British Mysteries Page 40