by Dawson, H A
Pushing aside a gnawing ache, he combed his hair with his fingers, rubbed his eyes, and stared deep into his mug of coffee. It was yet to provide any stimulation.
‘Luke Adams! I never thought I’d see the day. You’ve got a hangover.’
He looked up and moaned.
‘You must really like her.’
‘She’s all right.’
‘I’ve never known you like this. When do I get to meet her?’
Luke reached for his coffee, took a warming sip and imagined Imogen’s expression if he were to introduce them. Crystal was gorgeous and Imogen would surely be impressed. He responded vaguely.
‘Seeing her again tonight?’
‘Maybe.’
‘Looks like I’m going to have to take on the role of the sensible one. We’ll never get anything done otherwise.’
‘Makes a change.’
He leaned back and lifted his arms above his head. It would be good to take some time off. After all the stress he had suffered in the hands of Sarah, he needed a break. Maybe after this case he could do just that.
‘I’ve had a call from Brittany,’ Imogen said. ‘She wants to abandon the investigation.’
‘I thought that might happen. Why now?’
‘That’s where it gets interesting. She’s found out that her mother is renting a house local to her, and when she went around, Michelle was speaking to Doctor Jerry. It appears she knows what’s going on.’
‘So she was involved.’
‘It seems so. Brittany is worried that her mother will go back to prison. I also got the impression she was concerned that someone else in renal may suffer if the investigation continues. I take it she was talking about Jason and his little boy. I tried to calm her down.’
‘What exactly was said?’
‘Well, it seems from the conversation Brittany overheard that Michelle wanted to expose Doctor Jerry, but he persuaded her otherwise. I told Brittany, she was doing her mother a favour by taking on this case, and she agreed to continue.’
‘Well done.’
‘We should visit Michelle right away.’
‘I suppose we should.’
‘Great, I’ll get right onto it.’
‘Not so fast. We need to make plans first . . . and I need to clear my head.’
‘Need to get stop dreaming of Crystal more like.’
Luke smirked.
‘I’m glad you’ve found someone you like. It should help you forget Sarah.’
‘I have forgotten Sarah!’
‘Glad to hear it.’
Imogen returned her attention back to her monitor leaving him to do the same, yet as he rotated the pen between his fingers yet struggled to arouse any motivation. There was no clarity or sharpness in his mind, only fuzz and disconnected notions, and his body felt squeezed of energy. He needed air.
‘I’m off out for a bit.’
Imogen looked surprised. ‘Where to?’
‘Nowhere special.’
Luke swallowed the remains of his coffee and left the building. The traffic had eased, and few shoppers wandered through the streets. It was tranquil and soothing, and his tension lifted as he followed a familiar route through the centre. Minutes later, he arrived at a small bridge overseeing a narrow river, and took the steps leading down to the riverside. He headed along the path away from the town centre.
The concrete edging soon gave way to a more natural bank, and the walkways expanded, extending into a small reserve for bird and aquatic life, with multiple small ponds, shrubs and a few trees.
In the shimmering water swans gathered, about fifteen in total, and a little distance away were a couple of mallard ducks and three moorhens. The birds weaved around each other, unwilling to drift too far away from the assembly. It was a curious act.
Luke stood at the bank, urging himself to feel inspired to return to work, and mulled over the case, but nothing would crystallize. He stared at the swans, pondering their simple life, and watched as they drifted closer to the bank.
There was a scurry of movement and the waterfowl headed to a spot to his right. A few metres away was a scrawny woman with close cut brown-grey hair and large mole on the side of her nose, and she carried a bag of broken bread. Bit by bit, she flung the morsels into the water. Seeing the action, the ducks and moorhens darted towards her, leaving a visible trail of ripples and small waves at either side of the wake. They fought with strength and determination for the reward, but remained on the outside of the gathering of swans, their small size a disadvantage.
‘Do you come here daily?’ Luke asked.
The woman nodded. ‘As regular as clockwork. In the winter, I’ve fed as many as twenty-three swans and seven ducks.’
‘That must cost you a fair bit in bread.’
‘Better that, than on drugs and alcohol.’
She tossed a piece of bread to the far side. The birds squabbled.
‘People don’t have time for nature these days. Their lives are far too busy . . . I’m appalled at the amount kids these spend on a night out. My grandson tells me he can get through fifty pounds easily.’
Luke averted his gaze. He didn’t want to even contemplate how much he had spent the last couple of nights, what with meals, entrance fees and numerous rounds of drinks. It was easy to see how people got into debt.
‘You look a decent sort,’ the woman said, ‘what you doing here?’
‘I have an office in the centre. I need a bit of thinking time.’
‘Are you sacking someone?’
‘No . . . I’m a private investigator.’
The woman held her gaze. Luke shifted, uncomfortable.
‘Did I see you at the hospital?’
‘I was there the other day.’
‘I thought so. You were with a pretty girl.’
‘That’s my colleague, Imogen.’
‘You were skulking in the corridor.’
It sounded like an accusation, and he feared she had seen him spying on Angela ‘Where did you see us?’
The woman’s lips were pressed tight. ‘Are you investigating something?’
‘We were visiting a friend.’
‘I don’t like them there, they’re not like the nurses and doctors at my old hospital.’
‘Oh?’
‘A few weeks ago I was with Anne, my granddaughter. She had an appointment in Ear, Nose and Throat, and afterwards we had words with one of the nurses. She insisted on taking a blood sample, but the doctor had never warned us. Surely that’s not right.’
‘Did you let him take it?’
‘She was very insistent . . . we felt intimidated. Shouldn’t we have been told?
‘I would have thought so.’
‘Well anyway, Anne let them do it. I told her not to give in, but the young these days . . .’
‘I’m sure it’s all above board.’
‘Will you investigate it?’
‘I’m not sure there’s anything I can do.’
‘What if it happens again?’
Luke reached into his inner pocket, extracted a business card, and passed it to her. ‘If you do, here’s my card.’
‘Thanks,’ she said.
‘And you are?’
‘Mrs Jacobs.’
She turned and departed, moving in a short penguin-like gait. He should go too, but maybe first he would give Crystal a quick call. Work could wait.
‘Feeling better now?’ Imogen asked, as Luke walked into the office.
He glanced across and sensed a hint of sarcasm in her eyes. He did feel better, his head was clearer and his steps less sluggish, but his enthusiasm still waned. It was a strange sensation. Normally, he lived for work and loved nothing more than having an interesting case to labour over. Fighting his listlessness, he switched on the computer monitor, opened his email box and scanned the list. There was nothing urgent or eye catching.
Drifting, his mind wandered to Crystal. She laughed at his jokes, paid attention to his monotone descriptions of ca
ses, and caressed his skin with her gentle, seductive touch. Luke glanced at the time, regretting his earlier inability to contact her. It may be worth trying again. She would be on her lunch break and drinking coffee and eating sandwiches; her delicate fingers would be stretched around the spongy, white bread, she would be nibbling at the edges, and she would be chewing, slowly and deliberately.
But she was not Sarah, and his heart ached.
‘You’re not with it today, are you?’ Imogen said.
‘What?’
‘I was speaking to you and you ignored me. It must be love.’
Flustered, Luke shuffled in his chair.
‘I think it’s great.’
‘Now you won’t need to act as cupid anymore.’
‘Thank goodness. I was running out of friends.’
‘They were all a bit girly for me. Far too high maintenance.’
‘High maintenance? Is that what you think of me?’
‘You are always touching up your make up and doing your nails. I want someone straight-forward and simple.’
‘So tell me, is Crystal plain?’
Pride coloured his cheeks. ‘No.’
‘So what’s the difference?’
‘Okay, so your friends are just not my type.’
Imogen stepped away and switched on the kettle. ‘Am I your type?’
‘What?’
She passed him a twisted smile. He averted his gaze.
‘I’d like to meet her . . .’ Imogen said, smiling. ‘. . . the woman who’s captured your heart.’
‘It’s not like that.’
‘Really?’
‘Really.’
Imogen was scrutinising him. He looked away, and fighting the tingling sensation deep within, forced his thoughts onto Sarah. He was merely passing time; Crystal could never be the woman of his dreams.
‘You’re such a bad liar,’ Imogen said, ‘it’s so obvious you like her.’
Uncomfortable, he returned his attention to his case notes. Forcing his motivation, he reassessed their discoveries. Angela’s covert relationship was with Jerry O’Riordan, a senior consultant Nephrologist, giving Tim a motive for his investigation. They were yet to talk to her.
First, Luke wanted to make sure he had an aim, something definite he needed to extract. He intended to tread very carefully, unwilling to arouse any suspicions just in case she was involved in the inappropriate events in the department, and told Imogen his plans.
‘I’m going to take another trip to the hospital. I don’t think there is any need for you to come.’
‘As you wish.’
While I’m gone, will you make an appointment with Sarah?’ he said.
‘Sarah?’
He gave her a puzzled look.
‘You just said Sarah.’
‘No I didn’t.’
‘Imogen grinned. ‘I take it you meant Michelle?’
Heat rose to his cheeks. He grabbed his jacket and headed to the door.
Luke had a contact, and strolled through the hospital car park and to a reception area in outpatients. Mr Rosser had told him two-thirty. He waited in a corridor, willing himself to look inconspicuous and scanned a selection of posters and health issue pamphlets. After a few moments, a broad shouldered man wearing a canvas pants and a sweatshirt, sauntered across.
‘Can I help you?’ he asked.
Luke gazed at a label on his shirt: hospital volunteer. ‘I’m meeting a porter here. He told me two-thirty.’
‘Okay. If he doesn’t come let me know and I’ll ring him.’
‘Thanks.’
The man walked away.
Luke glanced up and down the corridor. After a few moments a porter appeared and their eyes locked.
‘Luke Adams?’ he said.
Luke nodded.
‘Jim Rosser. What can I do for you?’
‘I was investigating a case for Mr Canning before he died. I’d prefer not to say what it was about.
‘Okay.’
‘What type of man was he?’
‘Hardworking, always willing to take on a bit extra, meticulous. He was a proud man and is sorely missed.’
‘Would you say he liked to pry into other peoples business?’
‘No, I wouldn’t say so.’ Jim glanced along the corridor. ‘There might be someone else who can fill you in better. I didn’t know him that well. Come with me.’
Jim walked at quite a pace to a room with lockers and benches. Jim peered inside, asked a woman if he’d seen Paul Neff, and scooted along another corridor and to another area with lockers. Paul was there. Jim made quick introductions and departed.
‘How well did you know Mr Canning?’ Luke asked.
‘Fairly well I suppose.’
‘What was he like?’
His gaze flitted. ‘A good sort. He liked helping people. He told me once he would have likedto have been a doctor, but he didn’t think he would have been bright enough.’
‘So you’d say he was a caring man?’
‘Yes, I suppose I would. He never spoke negatively about people, and always tried to find something positive to say. We often have to wheel patients around, and he was always chatty and friendly. Some of the regular patients would complain if they didn’t have Tim doing the transporting – it irritated some of our colleagues.’
‘So he was well-liked.’
‘I’d say so. The staff moaned about him on occasions, but the patients never did. In fact, just this morning I was with a lady and she was devastated at the loss . . . inconsolable. She said he always did that bit extra for her and listened to all her woes.’
‘Did he ever tell you what the patients said?’
‘No never. He wouldn’t do that. What’s this about?’
‘I’d prefer not to say.’
‘Is it about Angela, his wife?’
‘Why do you say that?’
‘She was seeing someone and I got the impression he was gathering evidence – maybe for divorce.’
Luke nodded.
‘It was destroying him. I told him to confront her, but he didn’t want to.’
‘Do you know who she was seeing?’
‘He worked here. I think his name was Jerry, but that’s all I know. Tim said they often met at a café across town and he would go watch them. I’d tell him not to go, but he insisted. God only knows why. It seemed like deliberate self-torture to me . . . not healthy.’
‘Did he ever say where this man worked?’
‘No, I never asked . . . thought it was best to stay out of it.’
‘Was he the possessive type?’
‘I got the impression from the way he spoke about Angela that he allowed her as much freedom as she wanted, without question, and he seemed unconcerned. That’s why I assumed he was planning a divorce.’
‘But he never actually said.’
‘No.
‘So you don’t think he loved her.’
‘I don’t really know. Either way, I didn’t think it was a good idea spying on them. He . . . he’d take his camera.’
‘Did you ever see the photos?’
‘No. We never spoke about it. It wasn’t my business.’
‘And did he ever discuss the evidence he had gathered?’
Paul looked puzzled. ‘No.’
‘Okay. You’ve been most useful. Thanks for your time,’ Luke said.
Paul fidgeted with his watch. A nurse entered, retrieved something from a desk, and turned to leave. Luke started to follow.
‘Wait.’
Luke spun around.
‘Then there’s something you should have.’ His eyes flitted. He opened a locker, peered over his shoulder to the open doorway, and shoved an envelope into Luke’s hand.
‘I don’t know what it is. He asked me to look after it. For some reason he didn’t want to keep it in his locker.’
‘Thanks.’
‘He said his wife mustn’t see it.’
Chapter 14
Luke turned off the engin
e, picked up the envelope from the passenger seat, and headed along the street to the office. The light was on and there was a faint shimmer of movement. Imogen was still there, and his body tightened.
He had hoped she had already left the office, and feared she would want to quiz him regarding his slip about Sarah. She would pass him a pitiful gaze and ask why Sarah was on his mind. It was too soon to share his emotions, whatever they were, and he needed privacy to mull over his thoughts. Even if he did say something about his need for a reunion with his ex, Imogen would never understand. There were times when their ideas were worlds apart.
With Sarah, their opposing opinions were part of the attraction. She craved the intensity of being a lawyer in a large firm, whereas he enjoyed the quiet life. It made life interesting and they had complemented each other beautifully.
He would have never believed that she would have been the one to change. Sarah was stubborn and stoical and never admitted she was wrong. She would talk herself out of the problem and persuade the other person that they had misjudged or misread the situation. She would always be striving for the upper hand, always in work-mode.
Sarah’s admission that she had made an error ending their relationship surprised him. She wanted him, yearned for him, and wondered if he should contact her and not let her slip away a second time. Maybe next week or next month she would think differently, and may even find someone else. His finger hovered on the dial button of his phone.
A little voice cried out its disapproval, stopping him for proceeding and reminding him of the poor way in which she treated him, as well as her continuing callous actions. She knew exactly where he was if she wanted contact and he had decided to wait. It was the right course of action. Nonetheless, struggling to abide by the common-sense voice in his head, Luke still clung to his phone inside his pocket and urged her to call. Would she be so cold-hearted as to ignore him in the following days and weeks, and especially when it mattered – when she needed a friend? He believed not. Underneath her hardened exterior, was a soft, squishy centre; she would do the right thing. He had to believe.
Luke burst through the door to his office and caught sight of Imogen adding a document to a ring binder.