by L M Krier
It was another former private house, converted into an elderly care home. Its sign called it Turnpike House. A large detached residence in a mock half-timbered style typical of the area. The off-road parking ran the length of the front of the building. The only greenery around comprised gloomy evergreen trees and some rhododendrons, which probably provided a splash of colour at the right time of year.
The door was opened by a young woman in a lilac tunic. Her name tag identified her as Sally. Mike produced his warrant card and asked to see the manager, saying his visit was expected. Ted meekly remained quiet, though his keen eyes were busy checking out the security arrangements.
'Oh yes, Mrs Williams said you would be coming,' Sally told them. 'Would you like to come with me?'
She led them through an entrance lobby in which an elderly man was sleeping in a wheelchair, and two blue-rinsed women were deep in conversation, ignoring their passing. They walked down a carpeted corridor, at the end of which Sally stepped aside to let the two men into a small office, where a woman was sitting at a desk, just finishing a phone call.
Sally mouthed to her, 'It's the police,' then backed out to return to her appointed tasks.
Mike identified himself again, not referring to Ted, who got the message, loud and clear. Observe, but don't interfere.
'Mrs Williams, you mentioned to me on the phone that about three months ago, one of your residents died very suddenly after a bout of violent vomiting. Could you tell me a little more about the circumstances?'
'Yes indeed. It was our Mrs Protheroe,' she began. 'Lilian Protheroe. She was one of our younger residents, comparatively speaking. Seventy-six, but sadly affected with dementia. Very confused, which was why she was with us. She was in quite good physical health, so we were rather surprised at how quickly she went downhill and died.
'She hadn't shown any signs of being ill, but late one afternoon, she complained of feeling dizzy. Then she said she had a bad stomach ache and started vomiting violently. We called the doctor straight away but there was nothing he could do. There wasn't even time to get an ambulance. She started having difficulty breathing, then her heart just gave out.
'The doctor signed it off as natural causes. He thought it was probably some sort of a virus, although luckily no one else came down with it. It was very sad, we were all very fond of our Lilian. She was a real sweetie, apart from being confused all the time.'
Ted was itching to ask questions but he had promised to keep quiet. He knew he could safely leave it to Mike, who asked, ' Which doctor was that, Mrs Williams?'
'Dr Evans,' she replied promptly. 'He's our usual doctor. He's very good with our residents, so kind and understanding, and very patient.'
'Did Mrs Protheroe have any family, and did they visit her?' Mike asked.
'Not many,' she replied. 'I think some of them live abroad. There was a son who came occasionally, and I think a younger sister, but she wasn't local. I know it was a long journey for her so she came for celebrations like birthdays when she could.'
'Any other visitors?' Mike persisted.
'There was a woman who came to see her sometimes. I think she said she had been her carer at one time, when she was still living at home.'
'Do you know her name?'
'Ange,' she replied. 'I'm not sure that I ever knew her second name. Perhaps Morton, or something like that?'
'Can you describe her, please?'
'A real hippy type,' came the prompt response. 'Henna red hair to her shoulders. Hippy clothes. You know, swirly skirts, sometimes short ones over leggings. Not very tall. Dressed quite young for her age, I always thought. She must have been into her forties. She always smelled of that flower power stuff, you know, that patchouli oil.'
'Do you know where she lives? Do you keep any kind of record of the visitors who come to see your residents?'
She shook her head. 'No, we don't really. Not all the visitors. We just have details of family, next of kin, that sort of thing. It's just so nice when our residents get visitors at all. So often elderly people in long-term care get a bit forgotten about.'
Ted could see that Mike was getting ready to leave, so he shot him an apologetic look and asked, 'Mrs Williams, did this Ange ever bring food in for Mrs Protheroe? Cake, or anything like that?'
'Brownies,' came the prompt reply. 'She always brought chocolate brownies for her. She handed them round to the staff, too. I tried one but it was disgusting, tasted very bitter. We all had a good laugh about it, we wondered if she was putting something in them. You know, drugs of some sort. But then Lilian seemed to enjoy her company and she used to eat them happily enough with no ill effects.'
'Mrs Williams, do you happen to know if Mrs Protheroe was buried or cremated?' Mike asked her.
'Buried,' she said. 'The family were insistent on that, something about their beliefs.'
As they were walking back to the car, Ted started to apologise but Mike cut him short. 'No, it's just as well you did, boss. I almost forgot to ask her about cakes and stuff, pillock that I am.'
It wasn't like his DS to be forgetful, or to swear in front of him, so as they got into the car, Ted asked, 'Is everything all right, Mike? Nothing on your mind?'
'No, not really,' Mike said, as he started the car and turned it round. 'Well, yes, there is. The missus is coming home next week. The hospital say she's fine now, as long as she takes her medication. It's just, when someone's been ill like that, in that way …' he hesitated before continuing, 'well, you rather wonder if it's all going to start up again.'
'Do you need any time off?' Ted asked. 'Is there anything I can do to help? You know my door is always open.'
'Thanks, boss, I really appreciate all you've done to help already. We're just taking one day at a time for the moment, see how things go. Now, back to the case. What do we need to do next?'
'Well, I need to talk to the coroner, and to the Super. It looks like we'll need an exhumation order and I hope to hell the press don't get hold of that. Last thing we need now is to start people panicking, thinking we have a mad serial killer on the loose, randomly poisoning pensioners.'
'But what if we have?' Mike said. 'I know you don't like coincidences any more than I do, but we must surely be past that stage now with this Angie, whoever she is.
'We've got a different doctor this time, so she's the only common denominator left, isn't she? But how do we even start to find her, from the information we've got? No second name, no address and a completely different description every time she's surfaced. Also, what possible motive can she have for going round bumping off old people she's not even apparently related to?'
'Maybe we need to look for possible motives first, which might in turn lead us to the killer,' Ted suggested. 'At the moment, I don't have any other answers or suggestions. Let's hope the rest of the team come back with some more leads. In the meantime, I'll talk to Inspector Turner about perhaps getting some more help from uniform. And I'll also chase the Super yet again about another DC.'
Ted headed in search of Inspector Kevin Turner, his opposite number in uniform, as soon as he got back to the station. He briefly outlined the information they had so far, then asked him if he could spare any officers to help.
'Bloody hell, Ted,' Kevin replied, clearly deeply concerned. 'My dad's in a home, the poor old sod. Not been playing with a full deck of cards for a long time now. Shocking to think of someone going round picking off defenceless old people like that. You know how short of manpower I always am, but I'll certainly try and find you a couple of spare bodies for this one. Sorry to hear about your gran, by the way.'
Ted shrugged. 'Thanks. We weren't close, we lost touch thirty-odd years ago. But I was fond of her when I was a kid. Haven't seen my mother for years, either. She came in here to tell me about it.'
'So that was your mother? Bill told me there'd been a mystery woman at the desk, asking for you. Surely the Ice Queen doesn't want you on this case if it's a relative, even one you've not seen for years?'
/> 'I've mostly handed it over to Mike. I'm taking a bit of a back seat, but still watching from the sidelines. This could be a very tough one to crack. We need everyone we can muster working on it. You know as well as I do how hard it is to catch a random killer.'
Chapter Eight
Late Wednesday afternoon. Ted was staring at the carpet. It was a rather nice carpet, in a soft shade of green which he liked. He had a shirt in a similar colour. He had spent rather a lot of time staring at the same carpet in the past weeks. It was good quality. Pure wool, he felt sure. That was probably so that it didn't generate static electricity.
Sometimes it bothered him that there were indentations in the carpet, from the feet of the chair he was sitting in. Sometimes he felt he should move the chair, so that its feet were back in exactly the same marks and not causing new ones. He never did. He felt the action might be misinterpreted.
The chair was surprisingly comfortable. It was also good quality, probably real leather. Ted had been relieved to find a chair to sit in. He had spent a long time worrying that he might be expected to lie on a couch to talk.
Ted was sitting in his usual posture. Legs apart, elbows resting on his thighs, hands clasped between them. Studying the carpet as if he was going to be tested on what he knew about it. Occasionally he spoke. Sometimes he even managed to look up as he spoke.
His therapist, Carol, was patience personified. She constantly reassured him that there was no pressure at all, no deadline which had to be met.
'It's not an exam, Ted,' she repeatedly told him. 'You don't have to find the answers within a certain time.'
Lately she had started asking him to evaluate his progress. To give himself a mark for where he felt he was now compared to where he had been when he started the sessions. Ted was not normally a negative person. Except when it came to himself. He wanted to award zeroes. With her encouragement, he had tentatively marked himself as a five on one occasion.
He had at least managed to talk to her about the dark episode in his childhood which had recently surfaced to haunt him. It was the main reason he had finally consented to counselling, under pressure from both Trev and DCI Jim Baker.
'I met my mother again this week,' Ted began, his first words in the current session, after a lot of carpet studying. 'I think I told you, she walked out on me and my father when I was small, when I was eight. After my dad's accident.'
His therapist said nothing, waiting for him to continue. All her patients were different, with individual needs. To date, Ted was the one who required the most time and greatest patience to get him to externalise his feelings.
Ted was good with facts. He was trained for presenting them. The perfect witness in any Crown, magistrates', or coroner's court. His delivery was always flawless, without a stumble, seldom requiring notes to jog his memory. He looked up now with a steadying breath. Then he launched into professional mode as he told her all about how his mother had come to see him and the facts which had emerged about his grandmother's death. He maintained eye contact with her throughout.
'And how did that make you feel?' she asked, when he had finished.
The carpet became magnetically fascinating once more. Ted had known she would ask that question. He should have been better prepared for it. He tried to remember what he had said to Trev on the subject, to see if he could use that again.
'Confused,' he said eventually, recalling his conversation with Trev. Then he surprised himself by continuing, 'Betrayed. Lied to. Let down. I spent my whole life believing my mum walked out on me. Now she tells me she didn't and that my dad was the one who lied to me my whole life.'
'Will you see her again?'
'At the funeral. Perhaps before. I said I'd help her to organise things if she needs me to.'
'And will you tell her how you feel?'
This time he made eye contact.
'I doubt it. I haven't even told her yet that I'm gay. She asked if I was married. I just said I had a partner.'
She was so used to him by now that she always knew the precise moment to wind things up, until the next time. She also knew he would go straight on to his martial arts evening and that would, as usual, help him to deal with any feelings which had emerged during the session.
She stood up and showed him to the door. As he always did, Ted shook her hand warmly and gave her a dazzling smile. His relief at the end of each session was always palpable. She wondered if he knew how attractive he was. As ever, she asked herself with a mental sigh why all the best ones were either married or gay.
Trev was just putting something in the oven when Ted got home.
'Your kitbag's ready in the hall, and this is a Lancashire hotpot for when we get back,' Trev told him. 'Do you want anything before we go?'
Ted shook his head. 'Just some water, thanks.' He tried to peer past Trev at the dish going into the oven. 'Are there oysters in the hotpot?'
'No, there aren't, so you can stop leering like a randy billy goat,' Trev laughed. 'They're out of season and there's no R in the month, as you know perfectly well. How did your session go?'
Ted made a rueful face. 'Two out of ten. I tried to tell her how I feel about what my mum told me, but I failed miserably, as usual.'
Trev gave him a hug. 'You know what Carol always says. It's not an exam, there's no pass or fail. Anyway, as hard as it is for you, at least you now know both your parents loved you and tried to do right by you. Even if what they did was misguided.'
He added bitterly, 'What do you think my parents would have to say if they suddenly reappeared after fourteen years? You know how, when you came out and told us you were gay, we said that you were disgusting and to get out and never darken our doors again? Well, hey, we were only kidding. Love you really, son.'
Ted felt ashamed of himself.
'I'm sorry. I know I'm being a bit self-obsessed at the moment,' he said.
He got himself a glass of water, drained it quickly, then went to pick up his kitbag for their judo session that evening.
'Right, I'm ready. Are we walking, as usual?'
'The exercise will do us both good. Blow a few cobwebs away before the serious stuff, on the mat.'
Trev's mood had lightened again. They were seldom at odds for long. They strode out briskly together, heading for the gymnasium near Davenport which housed the judo club they attended, as well as the self-defence group for children which they ran jointly.
'Anyway, you know what they say. Don't speak of the devil or he will appear,' Trev said. 'If we talk about my parents, they might suddenly pop out of the woodwork, like your mum did.'
Ted grimaced at the mere thought. 'Statistically unlikely though,' he said. 'Unless parents are like buses? You wait ages for one to come along, then two appear at the same time?'
'Not impossible, though,' Trev countered. 'Remember Rich and Andy's mothers both died on the same day, within a few hours of one another, at opposite ends of the country. Anyway, please let's not talk about my parents. I'm better off without them.'
They walked on in silence for a short distance.
'I need to take you clothes shopping again,' Trev said, changing the subject.
Ted looked aghast. 'Really? It seems only five minutes since we went last time. What do I need new clothes for?'
Trev laughed and shook his head. 'Honestly, Ted, what sort of a gay man are you that you don't like clothes shopping? I despair of you sometimes. Don't forget we're going to Rupert and Willow's wedding very soon. Mixing with the Cheshire set. We might even get our photos in Tatler!'
Ted groaned at the very thought. 'Can't I just wear one of my work suits?' he asked plaintively.
'No, you can't, certainly not if you're coming with me,' Trev said firmly. 'And don't forget there's Rob O'Connell's wedding coming up too.'
Ted had one last go. 'What about a work suit, freshly dry cleaned, with a new shirt and tie?'
'Out of the question! Shopping it is. Now come on, hurry up. I have a good feeling about judo tonight. The f
irst throw will definitely be mine. Down is where you are going, uncle,' he added in a phoney accent, quoting a line from a film which they had both enjoyed watching.
He upped his speed to a steady jog. Ted smiled and shook his head, marvelling again at his partner, then broke into a short sprint to catch him up.
Chapter Nine
Professor Nelson arrived for Sunday lunch full of profuse apologies to Ted, as she had not had the time to carry out the post-mortem on his second victim. That meant that were no results back yet from toxicology testing
'We've been very busy this week. People seem to be dying inconveniently and keeping me from your lady,' she said. 'And I want to do this one for you myself, as it's such an intriguing case.'
As she was anticipating a motorcycle ride home, she had come dressed in trousers, rather than the old-fashioned tweed skirts Ted was used to seeing her in. They were in some sort of hounds-tooth check and looked more functional than fashionable.
'I had no idea what to bring as you told me you don't drink, Edwin, so I settled for some elderflower cordial. It's home-made, but not by me. Mummy still makes things like that, although these days I have to pick the blossom for her as she can't get about,' she said as she thrust the bottle awkwardly at Ted.
'Thank you, Bizzie, that's very kind. Can I introduce you to my partner? This is Trevor. Trev, this is Professor Elizabeth Nelson, our new senior pathologist.'
'Do please call me Bizzie, as Edwin does,' the Professor said, as she pumped Trev's hand enthusiastically in an iron grip. 'I'm delighted to meet you, Trevor. It's so kind of you to invite me. What a treat.'
'You're very welcome, Bizzie,' Trev replied. 'Would you like a little aperitif outside before lunch? I wasn't sure of your taste but I've made a small jug of Pimm's for the two of us, if that interests you? Ted can have the cordial, it will make a nice change for him.'
He smiled warmly as he ushered her through the house and out to the small patio beyond the kitchen, picking up the jug and glasses on his way. He turned back to Ted with a wide grin, raised his eyebrows and mouthed, 'Edwin?' He, of course, knew Ted's full name but never used it himself, except in fun. Bizzie was the only person he had ever heard use it.