by Mairi Chong
It was then Cathy who was asked to speak. She had been fine up until that point but now found that her legs were shaking slightly. A fine cover of perspiration had formed across her forehead and she licked her lips repeatedly. Saliva pooled in her mouth and she thought she might be sick. She was very glad that she didn’t have to get up and stand. She was asked about the resuscitation attempt and a little about Mark’s behaviour that morning. It was all over and done with very quickly. When she finished speaking, she felt exhausted.
Irene and James were asked briefly about the resuscitation attempt, and then the coroner asked DCI Rodgers to make a short request to the court as how he would like them to advance. The detective stated that he would like to be given more time to investigate the circumstances of the as yet, unexplained death.
The coroner finally summed up. ‘This preliminary inquest has been to establish the answers to four questions,’ she said. ‘Who the deceased was, where they died, when they died, and how.’ She paused as she looked around the room. ‘As yet, we are unable to establish fully how Dr Mark Alexander Hope died and I must, therefore, give an open verdict and allow the police to investigate the matter further.’
‘Cathy?’ Brenda asked, as having been dismissed by the coroner, they got up to leave. The practice manager had begun to slip her arms into her jacket, but instead came around the table to her. ‘You’ve gone pale, hang on.’ She took Cathy’s elbow. ‘Don’t start fainting on us. That’s all we need.’
Brenda gestured for James to come over, but Cathy shook her head and smiled. ‘Overthinking and not enough sleep,’ she said. ‘I’m fine, honestly. I’m fine.’
Although she couldn’t see it in herself, it was clear for everyone around her that she was anything but fine. Having it spoken of so plainly was enough to shock anyone. Cathy knew that very grave reality of the matter was that there must be a deliberate poisoner in their practice.
28
That evening following the inquest, Cathy had the kind of uncomfortable inkling that something wasn’t right. The sort of instinct that only comes when one has forgotten something of both great importance and urgency. The nausea had lessened somewhat since the afternoon, but she still felt off-kilter, as if her head wasn’t quite up to speed. Trying to think, she filled the kettle and made a mug of tea. Something had been said to her, or in her presence and it was vital she remembered.
Slowly, she walked back through to the living room. The curtains were drawn shut, and the TV was blaring. She had been half-watching a programme about some animal rescue centre and it had just finished. She didn’t usually watch sentimental rubbish on TV. Tonight though, she had put it on for company more than anything else. A background noise, to drown out her own thoughts, but now she needed to think.
As she sipped her tea, the something-that-had-niggled-her began to resurface. As it happened, it was a TV advert that must have jolted her mind. It had been a request for donations to a cancer charity. And then it hit her like a slap to the face. She scalded her mouth as she accidentally gulped on her hot tea. Why had the police been asking about James’s dead wife? Wasn’t that what Brenda had said to her earlier in the practice? Cathy had only been a doctor at the practice a short time when James’s wife Maureen, had died. Cathy recollected that it had been an aggressive form of ovarian cancer. James’s children had briefly come back to be with their mother, but they were abroad now. The illness had been short. The disease, Cathy assumed, had been diagnosed late, and must have been too advanced for surgical treatment. Cathy wondered if James had much contact with his children now that his wife was gone. He didn’t really speak about his home life or family, but then, he was a private sort of person anyway. Did his children know that their father had been questioned by the police, Cathy wondered?
As she sat cradling her mug of hot tea, Cathy considered the police’s apparent new line of inquiry. Was it possible that they were beginning to suspect that the death of James’s wife was suspicious now too? What on earth had James been saying to them? She couldn’t remember any talk within the practice, or gossip for that matter, after poor Maureen had died. But Cathy had been new to the scene then and perhaps still trying to find her feet. Was it possible that she had missed something? Brenda had been there though.
The streetlights had long since come on and it was the kind of half-light that made driving quite difficult. Cathy pulled down the visor to shield her eyes from the glare of oncoming car lights. The early evening was tinged auburn and above, the clouds drifted restlessly on a quickening wind. Brenda’s house was only ten minutes’ drive away, but to Cathy, it felt like an eternity. What on earth was she going to say? Turning onto the high street, Cathy saw that the town was fairly quiet. A few adolescents still hung around on street corners and she saw a harassed mother cajoling her screaming toddler. Cathy’s route took her past the front of the practice, and she noted that all the lights were out.
When Cathy arrived at the house, she felt an increasing sense of unease. Getting out of the car, she awkwardly climbed the stone steps. On either side of the front path, despite the poor lighting, Cathy could see that the borders had been tended to with care. Cathy wondered if it was Brenda or her husband who was the keen gardener. She had only been to Brenda’s once before to drop the practice manager off after a practice night out, but Cathy had not been invited in. Steeling herself, Cathy knocked on the door and hoped that nine o’clock wouldn’t be too unreasonable an hour for visitors. A light in the hallway came on and then, a pale-faced Brenda appeared. Cathy considered how differently the woman looked without make-up or her usual smart, floral attire.
‘Brenda,’ she said apologetically, ‘I am so sorry. I know it’s late. I couldn’t settle though for thinking about things.’
Brenda hurriedly adjusted her face from shock to passivity and stepped back. Cathy continued to talk as she accepted the woman’s unspoken invitation, and walked in.
‘I just wanted to run something by you. Have you got five minutes?’ Cathy said, pausing in the hallway, unsure through which door she should go.
‘Come on through,’ Brenda said and led Cathy into the living room. ‘We don’t usually get visitors at this time of night. I thought it might be kids messing around and ringing doorbells. Frank’s just gone up,’ and then to Cathy’s look of anguish: ‘Oh don’t be daft, I wasn’t ready to turn in just yet. He likes to go up and watch the television in bed sometimes. His leg’s been bothering him all day.’
‘I’m sorry,’ Cathy said, realising that she knew nothing about Brenda at all and feeling that she had been impulsive. ‘Maybe I should have waited.’
‘No,’ Brenda said firmly, seating herself and indicating that Cathy should do the same. ‘No. I couldn’t stop thinking about it all either. Do you want a cup of something? I was about to have myself. I was worried about you earlier at the inquest anyway. You looked so pale.’ Brenda got up again.
Cathy had just had a cup of tea and didn’t really want anything, but agreed to another tea to ease the awkwardness of the situation. While Brenda was through to the kitchen Cathy was left alone. Getting up, she wandered around the room, looking at some of the photographs propped up on the sideboard, a painting on the wall. She noticed a book face-down on the coffee table, its spine stretched. She picked it up to see what her visit had interrupted.
Coming back through with two cups, Brenda laughed. ‘Oh goodness, don’t look at that,’ she said.
‘Didn’t have you down as a romance fiction reader Brenda,’ said Cathy putting the book back.
The other woman laughed ‘Not normally, I fancied a change. I’m usually not a big reader at all. No time for it. I forgot the biscuits,’ Brenda said, and before Cathy could stop her, she had gone through the house once again.
The room was small, but clearly well-loved. Brenda had obviously taken care to choose pleasant, neutral soft furnishings. She evidently had a passion for cushions. The sofa was fit to burst, and Cathy had already moved three to inch herself down.
She was surprised to see no TV, just a computer on a desk. The room was lit by only a lamp behind the chair that Brenda had obviously been reading in before she had arrived.
Brenda came back with the biscuits and fussed around trying to find a placemat to protect the coffee table surface from the hot cups.
‘It’s fine. I’ll hang on to it Brenda,’ Cathy said. ‘I need to warm my hands. Chilly out there this evening.’
Brenda finally found the placemats and pushed one across the table to Cathy anyway.
‘Cheers,’ said Cathy and tasted the tea. The cup smelled strongly of washing up liquid and she felt slightly sick.
Cathy started her query slowly. She didn’t want simply to jump in and make something of nothing. And she didn’t want to scare Brenda. Since she had arrived, Cathy realised that the unexpected visit had possibly done just that. She watched the other woman, clearly unpractised at hosting visitors in her own home. Usually so self-assured at work, Brenda now came across as quite the opposite.
‘So, you’ve been worrying too?’ Cathy said, smiling across at Brenda who was now settled opposite. ‘What are you thinking about it all then? I’ve not been able to relax since the inquest.’
Brenda nodded in apparent understanding. ‘Oh, I just don’t know. It’s like a nightmare. I can’t believe they still might have James in mind. I’ve tried to play it down to the reception staff, but it looks awful. I’ve already had to have sharp words with Michelle for talking out of turn.’
Cathy winced involuntarily on hearing this. ‘Brenda,’ she said, her determination renewed. ‘The reason I came out tonight was because of something you said to me actually. It was something today and I only just got my head around what it was you were telling me.’
Brenda looked quizzically at her and Cathy felt herself blush.
‘You said the police were asking about James’s wife,’ Cathy said with resolve. ‘Can you tell me what it was the police were asking about? If you remember, I had only just arrived at the practice as a new doctor when poor Maureen died, so I don’t really know much about it. But there wasn’t anything strange, was there? Maureen had cancer, am I right?’
Brenda seemed to stiffen as Cathy spoke and the older woman set down her cup on the table in front of her, as if unable to take another sip. ‘Poor Maureen,’ Brenda said. ‘Yes. It was tragic really.’ She paused as if recalling something and then went on. ‘Cancer, yes, but there really wasn’t anything to tell the police when they asked.’ Brenda looked directly at Cathy now. ‘When Maureen was dying, and goodness what a terrible time it was, James insisted on nursing her at home himself. The district nurses and the Macmillan nurses, or whoever it was, were going in and out to do her medications from what I can recall. It went on for weeks rather than months though. It was only at the end that there was something slightly odd.’
Cathy leaned forward in her chair as Brenda continued.
‘From what I remember, there was some query from the district nurses at the end. I can’t quite remember. It was so long ago now. Some discrepancy though, and I know for a fact that James was quite hurt. I think he was quite annoyed with the nurses. It didn’t sit too well, if you see what I mean? Left a bit of an after-taste.’
‘What were the nurses questioning? Can you remember anything, Brenda?’
But Brenda looked embarrassed. ‘Something and nothing,’ she said, shaking her head. ‘It was a mix-up to do with the painkillers from what I recall. James wasn’t too happy about it though.’
‘What? Had they given her the wrong dose or something?’ Cathy asked.
Brenda shook her head. ‘A vial of something went missing, if you really want to know. I don’t know what the stuff was. It didn’t matter anyway, but it never turned up. I think it was emergency pain-relief for poor Maureen. It wasn’t accounted for after she died. Nothing more came of it. I think at the time; James was adamant that there had been some silly mistake and that the medicine hadn’t actually been in the house at all. I suppose it must have been a controlled drug because they had to notify the pharmacy about it, I think.’
‘Were the police involved, Brenda?’
‘Oh, my goodness, no! Whatever for? No. Dr Frobisher calmed James down and sorted the business out.’ Brenda said half-laughing, and then in explanation: ‘Your predecessor, Dr Frobisher. James’s hero really, in many ways. Although I never thought of it before, I suppose it was his final act of support to James before retirement. And of course, then you arrived and took Dr Frobisher’s place.’
Cathy smiled grimly. She knew only too well that what Brenda had spoken of was of significance. The police must think so also, it seemed inevitable. If a vial of a controlled drug like an opiate given to someone dying, went missing, usually a protocol was swiftly kicked into action. A drug such as morphine or diamorphine might quite easily get into the wrong hands. To an addict, a drug such as this might have a very high street value indeed. Diamorphine, after all, was simply another name for heroin. As Cathy drove home having apologised once again for disturbing Brenda, she considered why this apparently unexplained and serious incident had been brushed under the carpet so hastily. Could it possibly have a bearing on the inexplicable death of her colleague, and was her other practice partner, further implicated now that this new piece of information had come to light?
29
‘James? The girls at reception have just told me that you’ve had the police at your door again?’
He looked up from his desk, and sighing, relaxed back in his chair. ‘Talk of the town?’ he asked, with the intonation of exhausted sarcasm.
Cathy shrugged. ‘Seems so. Well? What’s going on? Did they come to your house then? I’ve not seen them here today anyway.’
It was the following day and James’s predicament still concerned her a good deal. After leaving Brenda’s house, she had struggled to sleep and that morning awoke with a dreadful sinking feeling when she recalled Brenda’s words.
James rubbed his forehead. ‘Oh Cathy,’ he said, and then glanced up at her.
She didn’t speak.
‘They were rooting around,’ he finally said. ‘I suppose it’s par for the course, in an investigation of this sort.’
‘Rooting around where, James? I wish you’d just say.’
‘The house. The shed.’
‘They’ve been in your garden shed? Whatever for?’
‘What do you think, Cathy?’ he asked. He blinked slowly and she saw defeat in his eyes.
‘James?’ She was now gravely concerned. ‘But they didn’t find anything, did they?’
‘They found what they would find in anyone’s shed. A whole host of potential poisons. Weedkiller, creosote …’
‘Oh James,’ she said in horror. ‘But they’ll send them for analysis and it’ll be alright. They’ll be forced to move onto someone else.’
James shrugged. ‘We’ve both got patients waiting, Cathy.’
He’d given up already, she thought. It was as if he knew that the police would find something with which to incriminate him and he had given up even trying to argue. But it made her task all the more imperative. If the police really were trying to prove James’s guilt, she must keep one step ahead. Firstly, she must first find out if there was any truth in what Brenda had told her about the death of his wife, and the missing vial of diamorphine. Undoubtedly, the police would be looking into James’s past now, and this would show up as a glaring red flag.
She waited until her last patient left the room. It wasn’t that difficult to find out the details really. James had mentioned his previous practice partners many times before. Cathy knew that her predecessors had been held in high esteem by not only the patients who still talked of them even now on occasion, but by James himself, who must have been fresh out of medical-school all those years before, when the two doctors had taken him on. From what Cathy had gleaned from the various mentions of them in the past, the partnership had been at that time, a very happy one. And so, whilst scrolling through the
computer records, it hadn’t taken her that long to discover that poor, old Dr Frobisher had died three years ago. Cathy paused and read the man’s obituary. ‘An excellent doctor, being both hardworking and methodical,’ the author had said, but added that more than this, ‘he was caring and empathic, a man who was loved by his patients and peers alike.’ Cathy wondered what on earth could be said in Dr Hope’s memorial. Empathic and caring could be most definitely dropped.
Having made this discovery, Cathy instead focused her attention on Dr Clark, the other retired partner. He turned out to be rather trickier to trace. She eventually found that he had moved to a nursing home some time in the last year. Closing the computer screen, her hand slightly shaking, she sighed, now knowing what she must do.
Cathy hadn’t anticipated how busy her morning’s visits might be. She arrived for her appointment far later than she had intended. It was clearly a rather up-market nursing home. It seemed that it had been a mansion house of some sort in the past and had now been sold off and tastefully converted. The driveway leading up to the front door was lined by trees and there were wooden garden chairs positioned at the sides of the entrance. The stone steps had been made wheelchair friendly with a small ramp and a handrail ran up to the door. On the manicured front lawns, bird tables had been placed, presumably so that residents could watch the wildlife from the comfort of their rooms.
Cathy stood in the foyer leading to a grand staircase spoiled only by the ugly chairlift attached to the bannister.
Soon enough, someone came. A woman in green uniform carrying a huge pile of white sheets. She knew who Cathy was immediately, presumably having been warned by the matron.
‘I’ll just put these away,’ said the woman, indicating the sheets, ‘and then I’ll find Jennifer. She’s Dr Clark’s keyworker and she’ll take you up. Have a seat.’