The Police Doctor's Discovery

by Laura MacDonald

  ‘Maybe this will bring Jeremy to his senses,’ said Georgie.

  ‘Yes, maybe.’ Rachel shrugged again. ‘Trouble is, I’m not even sure about that any more. Jeremy, I mean...’

  They were silent for a while then Rachel looked up again. ‘How about you?’ she said.

  ‘How about me?’ Georgie wrinkled her nose.

  ‘Well, is there anyone in your life at the moment? Wasn’t it Scott someone?’

  ‘Scott was a ski instructor,’ Georgie replied, ‘and that was months ago. It’s Robbie now,’ she added with a wicked little grin.

  ‘Robbie?’

  ‘Yes, I met him in Peru and he’s gorgeous.’

  ‘You say that about them all.’ Rachel smiled weakly.

  ‘I know I do.’ Georgie sighed, growing serious again. ‘But maybe, just maybe, this will be the one...’

  They were silent again, each reflecting on their past and the men they had loved, then suddenly Rachel spoke again, changing the subject. ‘Did you say your father wasn’t too well?’

  ‘Yes.’ Georgie nodded. ‘I’m not sure what’s wrong—he went for some tests a couple of months ago and there didn’t seem to be anything too wrong then, but he really isn’t right now.’

  ‘He’s on Steve’s list, isn’t he?’ said Rachel.

  ‘Yes, he is.’

  ‘Would you like me to call round and see him?’

  ‘Oh, Rachel, yes. Yes, please, I was hoping you would say that.’ Georgie looked relieved. ‘It’s so hard to get him to go to the centre but if you were to just call in for a chat and a cup of tea I’m sure he would be delighted—he’s very fond of you.’

  ‘And I of him,’ Rachel smiled. ‘So that’s settled, then.’

  ‘If only everything were as simple.’ Georgie sighed. ‘Tell me, what are you going to do about Nick?’

  ‘What can I do?’ Rachel shrugged. ‘I’ve resigned myself that I’ll have to see him and work with him from time to time.’

  ‘What will you do if he wants to take it further?’

  ‘What do you mean, take it further?’ Rachel frowned.

  ‘Well, if he asks you out—for a drink or something, you know, for old times’ sake, that sort of thing.’

  ‘Actually,’ she said, ‘as it happens...’

  ‘You’re not going to tell me that’s already happened!’ Georgie sat up straight, clutching a cushion which she hugged against her body.

  ‘Yes.’ Rachel nodded, a little shamefaced.

  ‘Wow! Well, I must say, the pair of you didn’t waste any time getting it together again.’

  ‘It wasn’t like that!’ protested Rachel.

  ‘So what was it like?’ Georgie demanded. ‘Go on, tell me.’

  ‘I was called out to see a patient in police custody. Nick was in charge of the case...’

  ‘Was that the first time you’d seen him since you came back?’

  ‘No,’ Rachel explained, ‘I’d seen him earlier when I went to police headquarters to familiarise myself with the place.’

  ‘So it wasn’t as much of a shock as it might have been.’ Georgie paused and peered at Rachel. ‘But was it a shock that first time?’

  ‘Yes,’ Rachel admitted ruefully, ‘it was. A real shock. I had no idea he was back in Westhampstead.’

  ‘So, go on. What happened this next time?’ Georgie was agog now.

  ‘He asked me to go for a drink with him after I’d seen the patient—that’s all. We went to the Red Lion...and, well, we sort of caught up on what each of us has been doing for the last however many years it is since we last saw each other.’

  ‘You were mad about him, Rach,’

  ‘Yes,’ Rachel agreed, ‘I know I was.’

  ‘And he was about you as well...’

  ‘So much so that he married someone else,’ said Rachel bitterly.

  ‘Not immediately he didn’t,’ Georgie protested.

  ‘Maybe not.’ Rachel shrugged.

  ‘So what did happen between you?’ asked Georgie curiously. ‘What ended it? I never really knew. You just told me it was over and that you didn’t want to talk about it.’

  ‘He just stopped writing to me—that’s all.’

  ‘No explanation or anything?’

  ‘No, nothing.’

  ‘Didn’t you ask him why?’ asked Georgie almost in disbelief.

  ‘I was going to,’ she said, ‘and then I heard, well, I heard he was going out with someone else so in the end I didn’t do anything.’

  ‘This someone else, was it Marilyn Rooney—the one he married?’

  ‘I don’t know.’ Rachel shook her head. ‘I don’t think so...I’m not sure.’

  ‘How did you feel at the time?’

  ‘I was heartbroken,’ Rachel admitted. ‘Devastated really. I didn’t come back to Westhampstead for a long time after that.’

  ‘So how did you feel this time, when you saw him again?’

  ‘All right, I suppose.’ Rachel wrinkled her nose.

  ‘Rach, this is me you’re talking to,’ said Georgie. ‘Now, tell me how you really felt.’

  ‘Honestly?’

  ‘Yes, honestly.’

  ‘Cross my heart and hope to die honestly?’

  ‘Yes, cross your heart and hope to die honestly.’

  ‘I...I...well, I suppose really, if I’m really honest...it’s knocked me for six,’ she admitted at last, ‘and truthfully, Georgie, I don’t really know what I’m going to do about it.’

  CHAPTER THREE

  ‘JULIE, there was a plain envelope in my tray last night marked “Personal”—have you any idea who handed it in?’ Rachel had been about to leave on her house calls but she paused at the reception desk.

  ‘No. Sorry.’ Julie shook her head then turned to Danielle, who was checking and filing patient records. ‘Do you know, Danielle?’

  ‘It was in the outside mail box,’ Danielle replied, ‘where people leave their repeat prescription requests when we are closed. I particularly noticed it because it was marked personal—that’s why I didn’t open it,’ she added. Her voice had taken on an anxious note and Rachel hastened to reassure her.

  ‘That’s quite all right,’ she said, ‘I just wondered if any of you saw who handed it in, that’s all.’

  ‘Didn’t it say who it was from?’ asked Julie with a frown.

  ‘No.’ Rachel shook her head. ‘It didn’t.’

  ‘It wasn’t a repeat prescription form, then?’ asked Danielle.

  ‘No, it was simply a handwritten note—without a signature.’

  ‘I wish people wouldn’t do that,’ grumbled Julie. ‘They put grubby little scraps of paper in the box asking for more of “that ointment you gave me for my piles”, and not only are we expected to know which ointment they are talking about, we are also expected to know who it’s for. Is that the sort of thing you got, Rachel?’ she added.

  ‘Something like that, yes.’ Rachel nodded vaguely. For some reason she didn’t want the staff to know that it wasn’t a request for medication she’d received. Neither did she want to have to say that she suspected the note was from Tommy Page. Instead, she turned her attention to the patient records that Danielle passed across the desk.

  ‘That’s today’s house calls,’ the receptionist said. ‘I should take an umbrella with you if I were you. It’s absolutely chucking it down out there.’

  ‘Right.’ Rachel peered out of the main entrance and saw that it was indeed raining hard. Picking up her case and opening the main doors, she made a quick dash for her car. Her calls that morning included a new mother and baby who had just been discharged from hospital, an elderly man in the final stages of terminal cancer and a woman suffering from emphysema. All were, of course, patients of Steve O’Malley and only the wife of the elderly man knew who Rachel was and asked after her father. When she had seen the final patient she returned to her car and picked up a further set of records, which she had taken from the files earlier and studied. These belonged to Georgie’s fat
her, Harvey Reynolds, whom Rachel had promised to visit.

  The Reynolds family home was tucked away at the end of a long drive—a Tudor-style house set in beautifully tended gardens, which perfectly befitted Harvey’s status as a retired university don. Georgie’s mother had died when Georgie had been in her teens and her father had never remarried, choosing instead to live alone.

  After Rachel had parked the car at the front entrance and rung the bell, Georgie herself opened the door. ‘Rachel!’ she cried. ‘You came.’

  ‘I said I would, didn’t I?’ Rachel smiled.

  ‘Yes, I know, but...’ Georgie threw an anxious glance over her shoulder. ‘I don’t want him to think I’ve asked you to come specifically.’

  ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about,’ said Rachel briskly. ‘I’ve come for coffee and a chat—surely an old friend can do that?’

  ‘Bless you,’ murmured Georgie.

  ‘Who is it, Georgie?’ Harvey appeared in the hallway behind her, a still handsome man even now in his seventies, with thick white hair and striking blue eyes. ‘Why,’ he exclaimed, his face lighting up, ‘it’s Rachel. Georgie said you were back. How lovely to see you again, my dear.’

  Together they made their way into a pleasant drawing room that overlooked the garden then Georgie took herself off to the kitchen to make the coffee. They chatted briefly of Rachel’s return to Westhampstead, of her own parents and of her mother’s fragile health, and then carefully, subtly Rachel tried to draw the conversation round to Harvey himself. ‘The garden is still looking good, Harvey,’ she said, standing up and walking to the window.

  ‘It’s rather bedraggled today with all this rain. Mind you, it’s not before time—we needed it.’

  ‘Just as long as it knows when to stop,’ Rachel replied with a laugh then casually added, ‘Do you still do the gardening yourself, Harvey?’

  ‘Not as much as I used to,’ he admitted. ‘I have a man come in these days to give me a hand with the heavy stuff. I’m not as young as I used to be, Rachel.’

  ‘My father says exactly the same thing,’ said Rachel with a nod. ‘The trouble with him is he doesn’t know when to ease up.’

  ‘And that’s why you’re here, isn’t it, my dear?’ Harvey’s blue eyes twinkled. ‘To tell me I’m getting past it and that I should be thinking of easing up a bit.’ As Rachel opened her mouth to protest, he lifted one hand to stop her. ‘I’m not stupid, you know,’ he went on. ‘I know it was that girl of mine who asked you to call in to see me.’

  ‘Do you know something, Harvey?’ said Rachel with a laugh. ‘You have just made things a whole lot easier for me. We can stop pretending now and you can tell me how you really are.’

  By the time Georgie returned with the coffee Rachel had established that Harvey was experiencing symptoms that could indicate a heart problem and had arranged for him to attend her surgery for a thorough examination and blood tests.

  ‘Thanks, Rach,’ Georgie whispered when half an hour later Rachel walked to the front door with her friend. ‘There was no way he was going to come to the centre off his own bat. But...’ Her eyes clouded anxiously. ‘You don’t think it’s anything too serious...?’

  ‘Let’s not speculate until we know for certain,’ Rachel replied. ‘The tests should tell us more.’ As she finished speaking her mobile phone suddenly went off and she took it out of her pocket. ‘Excuse me,’ she said to Georgie. ‘I need to answer this.’

  ‘Of course,’ Georgie murmured, and moved discreetly away.

  ‘Rachel?’ It was Nick. There was no disguising his voice, neither was there any denying the way her heart lurched.

  ‘Yes.’ She swallowed.

  ‘You are duty for us today, aren’t you?’

  ‘Yes,’ she replied, ‘I am.’

  ‘Good. We need you to certify a death.’

  ‘Give me the address,’ she said, aware now that Georgie had turned and was watching her.

  ‘There isn’t an address as such,’ he replied. ‘A body has just been recovered from undergrowth.’

  ‘Oh, I see. Where do I come to?’

  ‘The towpath beyond Millar’s Wharf—I’ll meet you. How soon can you be there?’

  Rachel glanced at her watch. ‘Fifteen minutes?’ she said.

  ‘OK. See you then.’ He hung up.

  ‘That was him, wasn’t it?’ Georgie demanded as Rachel ended the call and turned to her. ‘Nick. Nick Kowalski.’

  ‘I...How...?’

  ‘No need to ask me how I knew,’ said Georgie with a grin. ‘It’s written all over your face. You never were very good at hiding anything like that—especially from me.’

  * * *

  It was still raining when Rachel arrived at Millar’s Wharf and parked her car on a large patch of wasteland alongside several police vehicles. As she switched off her engine and stepped from the car Nick climbed out of an unmarked vehicle and crossed to meet her. He was dressed in dark clothes, the collar of his black bomber jacket turned up against the relentless rain.

  ‘Don’t you have a coat?’ His tone was faintly incredulous as his gaze travelled over her, taking in the suit she invariably wore for work and her neat shoes—totally unsuitable for scrabbling about in undergrowth on wet towpaths.

  ‘I was on house calls,’ she replied coolly, thankful that she had remembered the advice of the senior partner in her previous practice who had told her always to be prepared for any eventuality when working with the police. ‘But, yes, I do have other clothing with me.’ Moving to the rear of her car, she unlocked the boot and under Nick’s watchful gaze drew out a green waxed jacket with a hood and a pair of sturdy rubber boots. She pulled on the jacket and set the boots on the ground. Stepping out of one of her shoes, she would have overbalanced in a sudden gust of wind if Nick hadn’t stepped forward and steadied her by taking her arm.

  ‘Thanks.’ She pulled a face, feeling suddenly foolish and expecting Nick to laugh at her ungainly action, but his face remained deadly serious and Rachel was reminded of exactly why they were there.

  ‘Do we know any details?’ she asked as she closed the boot, pulled up her hood and picked up her case.

  ‘The body is that of a young woman,’ Nick replied as they fell into step and began crossing the waste ground in the direction of the towpath and the canal. ‘We think it is probably that of the girl who was reported missing a few days ago.’

  ‘The girl who was on the news?’ asked Rachel, half turning to him.

  ‘Yes, that’s right.’ He nodded, his face set into grim lines.

  ‘Has she been murdered?’

  ‘It looks like it,’ he replied, ‘but I’d like your opinion.’ By this time they had reached the towpath. ‘Watch your step here.’ Nick turned and helped her to climb over a low brick wall. ‘The path is very muddy after all this rain.’ He looked up, narrowing his eyes against the wind and rain. ‘It’s about three hundred yards further on.’

  In single file they made their way along the towpath, dense undergrowth to the left of them and the muddy depths of the canal to their right. On a summer’s day the canal was a delightful place dividing buttercup-filled water meadows, a place where families with young children came to play or to have picnics. Now, on this grey autumn day, in the wind and rain, it was desolate and, with the implication of what might have taken place there, somehow forbidding. In the distance Rachel could see a group of figures, some in fluorescent jackets, others in plain dark clothes, and as they drew nearer she could see that an area of bushes and scrub had been cordoned off with the familiar blue and white tape used by the police and a tent-like covering had been constructed from green tarpaulins. Two uniformed officers guarded the construction while another plainclothes officer approached Nick and Rachel as they slipped and slithered their way down from the towpath.

  He looked cold, wet and miserable. ‘Afternoon, miss,’ he said, nodding briefly at Rachel.

  ‘This is Dr Beresford,’ said Nick. Turning to Rachel, he briefly i
ntroduced the other man. ‘DI Terry Payne.’

  ‘Forensics are on their way, Guv,’ said DI Payne, ‘and a pathologist from the Home Office. We just need the doc here to certify the death. Oh, and the press have somehow got wind of it and are champing at the bit.’

  ‘How did that happen?’ Nick sounded annoyed.

  ‘Search me, Guv.’ The man shrugged his shoulders. ‘You know what they’re like—the slightest thing and they’re all over the place like flies. And let’s face it, this story has had national coverage.’

  ‘We don’t know yet that this is the young woman who has been missing,’ said Nick tersely. ‘First things first, so, Dr Beresford, if you’ll come this way please.’

  No longer was it Rachel and Nick—formalities now prevailed, and at least in front of his staff it was ‘Dr Beresford’ and ‘DCI Kowalski’.

  Nick entered the tent first then held back the flap of canvas for Rachel to do likewise.

  The body lying on the ground and covered with a sheet was indeed that of a young woman and as Rachel drew back the sheet she saw that the body was naked apart from a flimsy black sequinned top. The girl’s long blonde hair was wet and matted and her features appeared bloated, her lips blue. Carefully Rachel carried out the necessary tests for signs of life and briefly examined the body.

  ‘Any observations on cause of death, Doctor?’ asked Nick as Rachel straightened up.

  ‘I would say she’s been sexually assaulted and strangled,’ Rachel replied. Pointing to an area of bruising on the girl’s neck, she added, ‘See here, these marks indicate that, but you’ll have to wait for the pathologist’s autopsy report, of course, to be absolutely certain.’

  ‘Any idea how long she’s been dead?’ asked DI Payne.

  ‘Again, you need to wait for the report...’

  ‘A rough guess?’ urged Nick.

  ‘A couple of days at least,’ Rachel replied, looking down at the dead girl. ‘What a dreadful waste, a young woman like that with her whole life before her.’ She paused. ‘Do you think this is the missing girl?’