‘You got the impression that something was happening?’
‘I think so.’
With that, Honey had to be content for the moment. She settled on the couch and told herself that every great leader had had to learn how to relax and let others do their delegated tasks. She had just decided that such detachment was not possible for one of her disposition and that, but for her pregnancy, she would have been out there, rushing around and getting in the way, when to her later surprise she fell asleep. Her restless night was overtaking her.
She was woken by the sound of the telephone. June would usually insist on answering it and informing Honey who was on the line; but June had quite enough to do and she could see reasons for keeping her telephone traffic as confidential as possible. She fumbled muzzily on the occasional table beside her and lifted the phone before June could dash to the instrument in the hall.
The voice that greeted her had a French accent so strong that it almost belonged on the stage, though it was soon evident that the speaker’s English was rather better than Honey’s French, so English was the preferred language.
‘’Allo. Is that Madame Laird who speaks?’
‘It is,’ Honey said.
‘And you are an officer of the police, yes?’
‘That’s so,’ said Honey. ‘I am taking calls at home because I am pregnant – enceinte, is that right? – and my baby is due. If you are in any doubt you can check my identity by—’
Even the laugh at the other end had a distinctly French accent. ‘That will not be necessary. My good friend Harry Kristmeier spoke for you. I am Donna Michelet. My friend Harry gave me your number to call.’ At every mention of Kristmeier her voice softened. ‘This is important?’ she asked.
‘Very important,’ said Honey.
‘Harry says that you wish to know of the progress of the patients who the good Doctor McGordon treated in Scotland. It will take some time because they have returned to their own countries, different countries you understand, and sometimes the time difference will make delay. The matter is urgent?’
‘Very.’
‘It is difficult to understand what business this is of the police.’
Shit or bust, Honey told herself. Even so, she chose her words with care. ‘It is a question concerning the honesty and integrity of certain medical staff. I beg you to accept that it is so.’
There was a pause at the other end of the line. Honey thought that she might be coming up against the Anglophobia and obstruction for which the French are famous. But apparently she was wronging Madame – or Mademoiselle – Michelet. ‘I will do what I can. You will be at that telephone all day?’
‘I’ll give you my mobile number.’ Honey quoted it. ‘You can reach me on that at any time. Please give me yours . . . And a thousand thanks.’
*
One anxious hour later the phone rang again. Honey snatched it up. Dodson was on the line. ‘Inspector, we have a good correlation between patients being brought back to Britain, operations in the Gilberton Clinic, patients returning to their home countries and money reaching the Doctor’s bank account. There will have been some imaginative recording of medical details because the nature of the operation doesn’t always correspond exactly with the condition recorded for the patient. One woman, for instance, was brought from Afghanistan for surgical removal of infected ovaries. A few days later a patient of Dr McGordon’s received a kidney transplant. There’s no word of a donor, dead or alive.’
‘That’s good enough,’ Honey said. ‘Or at least it’s the best that we’ve any right to expect. Tabulate what we’ve got and let me have it.’
*
The day dragged onward. Honey ate a light lunch. Then, while June entertained Mrs Deakin, she and Sandy took Pippa for a gentle walk, remembering to carry her mobile phone both charged and switched on. Leaning on her husband’s arm and encouraged by a sudden improvement in the weather, she managed a longer walk than she was accustomed to. They were near the top of the hill and admiring the view across the Forth to Fife when her mobile suddenly played its little tune, the clog dance from La fille mal gardee.
Donna Michelet was on the line. ‘I have much of what you want,’ she said. ‘Of the Doctor’s patients one has died, but he had a heart disease and was not expected to live. The Doctor’s efforts must have been of desperation. The others progress well but with one exception. There was a man from Bosnia. I am told that he lives still but I have difficulty hearing any more. There is secrecy about his progress.’
Honey and her husband exchanged a look. ‘Could you make a guess,’ Honey asked, ‘as to why they are being so secretive?’
During the momentary silence Honey could envisage a Gallic shrug. ‘It is something legal, that is all I know. I have tried all I can but there is a barrier.’
‘Thank you,’ Honey said. ‘Thank you very much.’
‘We’d better go back to the house,’ Sandy said. ‘I may be able to find out something over the police network but I need a proper phone and my book of numbers.’
*
Sandy left his wife to make her own way from the corner of the Doctor’s garden while he hurried ahead to use the phone.
Honey arrived home, relieved to have managed to walk without allowing Pippa to roll in anything worse than straw. Sandy’s voice could be heard from the study but there were no voices to be heard from the kitchen. Honey looked in. June was putting away the teacups but she poured a fresh cup of tea for her mistress. Mrs Deakin, she said, had hurried back next door.
Honey draped her coat over a chair and sat down. ‘What did you get?’ she asked.
‘I’m no’ sure,’ June said. ‘Mrs Deakin didn’t seem too sure herself. She hadn’t felt that she could stay out too long because the Doctor had been like a cat on hot bricks. She thought that some packing might be in train because every now and again he would call on Mrs Deakin to produce some half forgotten item, but he never let her see what he was packing. And no, he hadn’t said anything about going away, but the dogs behaved as if they knew that he was going, and then he went off in the car with the two dogs and came back without them, just as he did when he went off on his foreign trips.’
‘Thank you,’ Honey said slowly. ‘That’s very interesting.’
‘Do I get my holiday?’
‘It seems very likely.’
Honey had to wait some time before Sandy came off the phone. He joined her in the sitting room. ‘I couldn’t go through anybody local,’ he said, ‘but I have a pal in Strathclyde who owes me a favour and he has a pal in Bosnia who’s going to find out about it and call me.’
Honey greeted the news with a kiss to Sandy’s left ear. ‘Now that that’s as settled as it can be for the moment,’ Honey said, ‘here’s another news item. The Doctor’s housekeeper thinks he may be planning another sudden trip abroad although he hasn’t said anything to her. Would it be in my best interests to let him do a runner? Or should we prepare to pull him in?’
‘I’m going to have a dram while I think about it. Too bad about you.’ Sandy poured himself a generous ration of very good malt. Clearly he had thought to some purpose. He rejoined his wife on the settee and pulled her back against him. ‘It’s a temptation. We could put a car outside his house and another at his nephew’s, to pull them in if they head for an airport. But that would put you immediately in the wrong. And just suppose that it turned out that their medical trip for this year had been brought forward and he hadn’t got round to telling Mrs Deakin yet. No, I think we have to let him go and then put the blame squarely where it belongs.’
Chapter Eighteen
Honey might have spent another restless night but Sandy, recognising the symptoms, had slipped half a sleeping tablet into her milky drink. Any problem is far greater to the person likely to be affected but Honey left it all behind and slept deeply and dreamlessly. She woke slightly fuddled but her head soon cleared and she congratulated herself on having risen above her anxieties.
She found San
dy already dressed for the office ‘I let you sleep,’ he said. ‘You’ve plenty of time before your meeting.’
‘I think I’ll need all of it.’ She helped herself to a mug of tea.
‘You’d better have something solid and some sugar.’
Honey did not feel in the least like anything solid. She rather thought that her worries were giving her an ulcer. However, she might well need sustenance before her ordeal was over, one way or the other, and something milky might be good for an ulcer. She took a bowl of cereal and carried it through to the study. There was an email from Dodson.
Kristmeier’s contact has been in touch with him. Some rumblings at the Kosovo end have got back to her and she wants to know what’s going on. He says she can wait a day or two. I have the tabulation you wanted. I will meet you near the ACC’s office.
Her mind was not yet in fully active mode but experience told her that it would wake up at the same pace as the rest of her. Anything that she did or thought now would only find an uncertain resting-place in her memory. She decided to get ready for the day before gearing up for thinking.
She climbed the stairs, took a shower and began to think about clothes. The men would probably be in dark suits. The leading designers were now turning their attention to maternity wear so that her own range of choice was only slightly circumscribed by her pregnancy and was much wider than a man’s but would also be more revealing. She wanted to look good but at the same time to appear strong and not a supplicant, certainly not like somebody who would accept being pushed around. Too much dark formality might look funereal, as if she were already condemned. But too much colour would look frivolous. A suit would have been best, but she could no longer get into any of her suit skirts. From among her purchases of maternity wear by top designers and those passed on by her sisters-in-law, she chose one of navy blue with a pale pattern and a deep neck, and she allied it to a pale pink blouse. Some jewellery, but very little. She brushed out her hair and gave thanks that she had visited the hairdresser just before Mr Blackhouse’s visit. Her natural waves would do the rest of the job for her. She made up with care, making allowance for the fluorescent lights that were common through the offices.
She had time for a phone call. Her intention was to contact Allan Dodson for more details than were revealed in his email. To retain a record, she attached her tape recorder to the phone. At that moment the phone rang, making her jump. She picked up the receiver.
‘Mrs Laird? Or should I say Detective Inspector Laird?’
If the accent had been any one of the many local accents to be found in Scotland she might have had difficulty in picking out individual tones, but within the combination of a raised voice with the neutral accent of the educated Scot she could hear echoes of the Doctor’s authoritative voice. A guess at the identity would do no harm if wrong. She kept control of her own voice. ‘Either will do, Mr Samson?’
There was a momentary silence that she thought denoted shock. This in turn suggested that he had not intended to reveal his identity. The person intending an anonymous phone call must, she thought, feel very naked when addressed by name. He made a quick recovery. ‘So you know my voice. Have you been tapping my phone?’
Honey felt a momentary dizziness and a fresh twinge somewhere below her midriff. She concentrated on keeping her voice calm and steady. ‘Certainly not. That would be most improper. Was that what you wanted to ask me? The answer is no. What else can I do for you, Mr Samson?’
‘You can stop looking into my affairs and those of my uncle. You’ve been poking your pretty little nose in where it isn’t wanted. And against very definite orders to the contrary.’
Any idea of being conciliatory went straight out of the window. Honey felt her hackles rise. Her breath quickened but her voice remained calm. ‘And how do you come to know anything about orders given to the police, Mr Samson?’ she asked.
‘Never you mind how I know. I do know. And I know a lot more. I know that you’re going to be told very firmly from on high to lay off. And I know that if you disobey that order again you’ll be a very sorry girl. I’m warning you, leave me alone. If you poke that pretty nose in any more you could lose it. And how would you look to your baby after that?’
‘You seem to be suggesting a surgical operation,’ Honey said as calmly as she could manage. ‘How do you think the Ethical Committee will look on it?’
‘I . . . I’m not suggesting anything of the sort. This isn’t a consultation. I’m just warning you.’ The connection was suddenly broken.
Honey hung up and sat breathing deeply for some seconds. She told herself that nothing had changed. On the whole, she thought that she had had the better of the exchange. Then it came to her that something very definitely had changed. She had no recollection of starting the tape recorder but she saw that the reels were turning. When she wound it back, she found that she had a recording of the Doctor’s threats. She found herself grinning. That, surely, should help to convince the ACC(Crime) that something was far wrong. She put the cassette carefully into an envelope.
The day outside had turned into one of those perfect winter’s days of sunshine and blue sky that promise, usually without any semblance to the truth, that springtime will soon come around. But it also looked very cold. She was choosing a wraparound tweed coat when Sandy appeared beside her. ‘You still have time in hand,’ he said.
‘I’m meeting Dodson to find out what he and Kristmeier have got.’
‘All right. I’ll drive you.’
‘June could do that.’
He smiled. ‘June will be busy.’
‘Sandy,’ she said, ‘you have things to do and you can’t spare time to nursemaid me when I’ve let Mr Blackhouse persuade me to put my head beside his on the block. Now I have to stand or fall by my own wits. I don’t want to take you away from your own things—’
He put an arm around her shoulders and gave her a quick hug. ‘Can’t you see that I want to drive you? I waited for you. I want you to see that you have my support all the way. Also I haven’t heard back about the patient in Kosovo yet. I’ll call you on your mobile or get a note taken in to you if anything helpful turns up.’
She was touched. She returned his hug. ‘Thank you, darling. I do appreciate it and I accept your kind offer of support in the spirit in which I hope it’s meant. Shall we go?’
‘Don’t you want any papers with you?’
‘I’ve been over them so often that I know them by heart.’ And if she carried papers into the meeting she could no longer pretend that she had taken no action.
Sandy took the Range Rover because Honey found it more comfortable than his Vectra. They drove in silence through streets that looked grey in spite of the sunshine. He parked near the main entrance. ‘Would you like me to come in with you? You’d be quite entitled to have a more senior officer to advise you or to speak up for you.’
She kissed his cheek. He was perfectly shaved. ‘Bless you, but no. That would make me look guilty before I began.’
‘All right.’ He dabbed at his cheek to make sure that she had not left a lipstick mark. ‘Mind that you don’t get stressed – it would be bad tactics and it wouldn’t do you or the baby much good. I’ll be in the office preparing a brief for counsel for most of the day, but my mobile will be switched on. Phone me as soon as you’re ready or if you need me and I’ll come for you.’
As she walked to the door, she felt choked with emotion. She seemed to be developing a nervous stomach. She told herself not to be ridiculous. She was not going to the guillotine. The worst that could happen would be dismissal; more likely would be a reprimand and some loss of seniority. Even that was improbable, if it was accepted that she had been instructed by her superior officer. It was even possible that Mr Blackhouse would suffer a forced retirement and his post be offered to Sandy. She toyed with the dream during the ride in the lift but she knew that a husband and wife working in such close harness would not be acceptable. And how far if at all, she wondered again,
would Mr Blackhouse go to exonerate her? He had taken one of his inexplicable likings to her but he was not noted for loyalty and consideration towards his juniors.
The lift discharged her at an unfamiliar floor, distinguished by a décor which, though not more expensive than elsewhere in the building, was more carefully chosen. The corridor was empty. She was about to start reading the names on the doors when her attention was attracted by a low hiss. A small recess opposite the lifts held four chairs and Allan Dodson was trying to attract her attention. He was seated, with a disintegrating batch of papers on one knee while he tried to write on the other. She sat beside him. A seated position seemed to have become more comfortable than standing.
‘Progress, Inspector,’ he said softly. ‘Quite a lot of it.’ He produced a double sheet of typing paper almost covered with small blocks of his neat writing. He was smiling. Honey looked closely at him to judge whether the smile was forced. ‘Some of this is guesswork but the dates seem to fit. I thought it safer not to put headings to the columns, so you’ll have to remember them. The first column gives the dates of the two doctors’ foreign trips. The next shows the name of anyone they brought back with them. Two of the spaces in that column are blank, so they didn’t find any matching kidneys or other bits or pieces in those years. On the other hand, three times they came back accompanied by more than one person. Once, one of those was the recipient, an Arab prince receiving a testicle from one of his staff.’ Allan paused and she perceived a half concealed look of pain on his face. ‘A reluctant volunteer, I suspect. That time, Dr McGordon made the reservations but the prince paid the fares.
‘The third column gives the date and nature of an operation following immediately after their return. In the fourth column, I’ve listed the dates and amounts of large, unexplained credits to the Doctor’s bank account. Those facts in the fourth column are in pencil. That’s so that you can rub out that particular information if necessary or if it turns out to be irrelevant. The information was not obtained in a manner that I would want to speak about in court. You have an eraser?’ he asked anxiously.
A Dead Question Page 16