by Sarah Ward
Camilla looked up at the bent window and the narrow gap that could only fit a small child, or perhaps a very thin adult. ‘Uncle Francis is definitely the person I need to speak to.’
27
Connie got through the post mortem by breathing in through her mouth and exhaling through her nose, a trick shown to her by an old timer years ago, and by shutting her eyes during the worst bits. Dahl had made a quick call muttering down the handset something about being late home that afternoon. The person on the other end didn’t appear to be bothered and the call ended abruptly. They’d made the trip to the warren of Portakabins at the back of the hospital, aware that the bustle of the building would, in all likelihood, soon be augmented by a team of detectives with their professional manner and intrusive questions.
Connie watched in silence as Bill began his ministrations, inspecting every inch of the corpse for puncture marks.
‘There’s multiple bruising from various sites on her arms where it looks like she’s had blood taken. However, I don’t see any puncture marks, on the thighs or buttocks for example, to indicate any rogue injections. It wouldn’t be the first time I’ve seen these on a cancer patient.’
‘What do you mean by rogue?’ Dahl’s face was pale, clearly not enjoying the examination any more than Connie.
‘Sometimes well-meaning friends and relatives will try a new type of quackery to add to the already vile mix that patients are receiving. It can be administered via injection. They think they’re doing good but, at best, it’s useless. Anyway, I don’t see any evidence of this here.’
‘What do people give them?’ asked Dahl.
‘All sorts. Pain relief, vitamins, amino acids. I even heard of one patient being injected with mistletoe.’
‘So if there’s something wrong, it’ll probably have come through the saline bag?’
‘It looks like it. I’m going to take muscle and tissue sample from around the site of the cannula. I’ll leave a wide margin. If the drug doesn’t show up in bloods, it might be present in the skin samples.’
‘Any idea what it could be?’ asked Connie.
Bill looked at them over his facemask. ‘I’m not psychic. Let’s see what the tests show.’
After the PM, Dahl rushed off and Scott, Bill’s assistant who was usually good for a chat, was nowhere to be seen. Bill looked preoccupied and didn’t offer Connie the chance for a tea or a natter, so she took herself off to the canteen in the main hospital building and sat nursing a cup of coffee. She called Matthews to update and closed her eyes at her colleague’s panicked tone.
‘It’s not looking good. Should we start questioning the nurses?’
‘Dahl and I took statements from those on the ward when we arrived. There are quite a few others to interview, though, if tests prove suspicious.’
‘How long does Bill think they’ll take?’
‘If there are raised levels of morphine or insulin in the victim’s blood, which Bill’s asked them to look for, he should know within a day or so. Full toxicology will take around two weeks. It’s the saline bag that will be our focus. We should know within twenty-four hours if anything’s been added to the contents.’
‘Shit.’
‘To be honest, Bill’s playing it cool at the moment. Saline drip bags do break occasionally. It might just be an accident.’
‘It looked like puncture marks, though?’ Matthews asked.
‘I could see thin cuts. Bill says that’s typical of puncture marks.’
‘Have you spoken to the next of kin?’
‘There’s a daughter, Mina Kemp. She’s not answering her phone. I’m about to head to her house, although I’ve stupidly left my car at the station.’
‘Where’s Dahl?’
‘Gone home.’
The silence from Matthews spoke volumes and Connie rushed to cover for her new colleague. ‘Plenty of taxis outside. I’ll go first to the address we have for Mina Kemp and, if she’s not there, the deceased lived on a houseboat so that’ll be my next stop.’
Matthews breathed in sharply. ‘Simply tell the victim’s daughter that the hospital noticed an anomaly with the drip and asked for a PM on her mother. Don’t tell her anything else for the moment. Play it cool but find out if she was administering any drugs to Hilary. See if she had any concerns about her mother’s treatment too. There’s a wide pool of people who had access to the patient.’
‘Okay. Do you want me to report to you tomorrow?’
‘No. I want you to call me tonight.’
Connie sighed and disconnected the call. She’d worked closely with Matthews on a previous case and they’d got on well. Yet there was an air of desperation in her tone, verging on panic. What Connie needed was someone sensible to talk through the day’s events. She sat in the canteen for a moment and phoned another number. Switched off. Damn.
*
Sadler stood on top of the hill and surveyed the landscape around him. The grasses had lost the verdant green of the summer and were softening into a pale brown hue that would see them through the autumn until the snow came. It would soon be too cold to walk in the hills. Unlike those occasionally rescued by the mountain air ambulance, Sadler had no desire to walk in frost and ice-covered Peaks. He was well aware of what an enforced sick leave of six weeks due to a broken leg would do both to his career and his mental health. This holiday would be the last of his walks until the spring. In the distance he could see the town of Bampton, the passage of the canal the clearest landmark visible from here. He took his mobile out of his pocket and switched it on. It was often on top of the hills that he had the best reception, the satellite connection unimpeded by steep valleys, buildings or clumps of trees. He saw, with a lurch, that he’d missed four calls from Camilla and he fumbled for her number to return the call.
‘Is everything all right?’
‘No, it’s not. I’ve been trying to call you.’
‘What’s the matter?’
‘Mum’s been in hospital.’
‘What? Why didn’t you let me know?’
‘Francis! I’ve been trying to call you since this morning. Why didn’t you turn the bloody phone on? I’ve even sent you emails and text messages.’
‘I’m out walking. There’s no signal so I keep the phone off. Is she all right?’
‘She started having chest pains. They thought it might be a result of fluid around her heart. I’ve been back and forth to the hospital for the last couple of days but she told me not to call you.’
‘Things have got worse?’
‘Not especially but she’s having a procedure to drain the fluid today.’
‘How is she?’
‘She’s actually all right. She’s hopefully coming home tomorrow. She called the ambulance herself and then me.’
‘I’ll come over.’
‘You’ve not gone away then? Look, I’m at Mum’s and visiting hours are finished for the night. Maybe come and see her tomorrow when she’s back home. The thing is, it wasn’t only about Mum that I need to talk to you.’
‘Why? What’s the matter?’
‘I think someone might have tried to break in today while she was in hospital. There’s a window in the larder that she sometimes leaves open. What with the ambulance and everything it was probably left ajar. It looks like it’s been forced further open. Someone might have seen the ambulance outside the house and taken their chance. You know what people are like.’
‘Did anyone get in?’
‘I’ve had a look around. Her jewellery is still on her dressing table as is some money in the kitchen tin. That’s hidden but would have been easy to find if someone was looking. I don’t think whoever it was actually got in.’
‘Is the window big?’
‘It’s tiny.’
Sadler sighed. ‘It’s probably kids. They saw the window open and had a go at getting into the house. The little sods can get in through tiny spaces. It might even have been an adult with a small child as an accomplice.’
&
nbsp; ‘John’s coming over to board it up. Do you think I should tell her? I’m going to try to get it replaced before she comes home tomorrow. Do you think I should call the police? Apart from you, that is.’
Sadler smiled but kept the tone out of his voice. ‘I think you should nip down the station to report it tomorrow. Or call 111. Sometimes you notice things are missing after the event. It won’t do any harm. The main thing is to make sure the house is secure. Sure you don’t want me to come around?’
‘I really think it’s all right. Only—’
‘Yes?’
‘I think Mum’s struggling at the moment and I feel guilty for not noticing it before. The house is okay but only superficially so. It needs a really deep clean. And the garden hasn’t been touched since the spring. You remember how particular Mum used to be.’
‘We need to get her a cleaner and gardener then. It’ll only be a few hours a week. I can pay for it.’
‘Are you sure?’
‘Of course. Do you know anyone?’
‘I’ll ask my cleaner if she’ll go into Mum’s. I don’t know any gardeners, though.’
‘I can look at that.’ Sadler thought of the woman with the green van. ‘Leave it with me.’
‘It’s just … you’re coming over for the fireworks on Saturday, aren’t you? We’ll go to the ones in Bampton. When you come over, let’s have a chat.’
*
On the fourth attempt, Connie got through.
‘Camilla?’ Sadler sounded breathless and she could hear wind whistling down the line. In contrast to the overheated hospital, the sounds of outdoors made her desperate to get out of the building and into the autumn afternoon.
‘No, boss. It’s me, Connie.’
‘Is everything all right?’
‘I know you’re on holiday but I thought you’d want to know we’ve got a suspicious death.’ Connie could feel relief flooding through her. It was Sadler she had needed to speak to. This was the voice of reason she wanted to talk through the day’s events with.
‘A suspicious death in Bampton?’
‘I’m at St Bertram’s hospital. We’ve got a woman with unaccounted-for puncture marks in her saline drip on the oncology ward.’
‘Are you sure it’s oncology?’
‘Of course. I’ve just been there. Why do you ask?’
Sadler sighed down the line. ‘My mother’s in there at the moment. Cardiac care.’
‘It’s not your mother, Sadler. We’re not even sure it’s deliberate at the moment. I’m just off to see the daughter shortly. I’ll update you when you get back to work on Monday. I called because … actually I don’t know why I called.’
‘I’m glad you did. The holiday is beginning to drag a little, to be honest, and it’s good to know what’s happening at the station. What does Bill say?’
‘He’s noncommittal but there are what appear to be puncture marks in the drip. It’s not looking good, to be honest, and I needed to chat to someone about it.’
‘Matthews is in charge of the case?’
‘She is and I think I’m going to be calling her every five minutes.’
‘Matthews is a competent detective, Connie. She’ll be excellent at ensuring the early part of the investigation is handled correctly. You’re off to see the victim’s daughter now, you said.’
‘Matthews wants me to play down our suspicions until we know more.’
‘That makes sense. Can you come and see me tonight? Afterwards, I mean.’
‘You haven’t gone to Wales?’
‘I’m enjoying the comfort of my own home, which is where I’m headed. You did the right thing calling me and I’d like an update tonight.’
‘Why? What’s the urgency? Because of your mum?’
The silence stretched on for so long, Connie had to check the call hadn’t been disconnected. Only the whistling of the wind reassured her that Sadler was still on the line. When he spoke, his tone was brisk and professional.
‘I want you to tell me where you got to with the sudden death of Nell Colley.’
28
The Evening Star had been Hilary’s pride and joy. It was painted a deep bottle green set against a red trim and when Mina first saw the boat it had reminded her of a train carriage, although her mother had looked annoyed and told her not to be so stupid. The move onto water had been both a blessing and a curse. A narrowboat isn’t the safest place to be when you’re unsteady on your feet but, at the same time, the small community had kept an eye out for Hilary, cooking her meals when she was too nauseous to feed herself and popping in to check on her welfare.
With the move to the boat, her mother had also divested herself of the friends that she’d made over the years. There had been people in and out of the house from university and from work all through Mina’s childhood but Hilary had stopped seeing them. With the exception of Mina, she had shed people from her life. Mina had never stopped to think about her mother’s lack of contact with school friends. It would have been natural for Hilary to have kept in touch with at least one or two of them given that, apart from a three year stint at Leeds University, Hilary had always lived in Bampton. Yet none of her mother’s friends were from either her childhood or teenage years.
Mina’s mind was full of her mother’s fears and, in Hilary’s home, the sense of dread invoked uneasy images. She couldn’t get Hilary’s last words to her out of her mind. What could her mother have been involved in?
Mina went onto the deck, desperate for some of the cold evening air to relieve the pressure of her aching head.
‘How’s your mum?’ Charlie, Anna’s partner, was watering the plants on the roof of their boat, his face buried in the mass of leaves as he struggled to reach the earth. He looked up and caught sight of Mina’s face.
‘Oh no.’
Mina glanced at the clouds gathering overhead. They hung ominously over the lock, heavy with moisture.
‘I need to get away for a bit. Would you keep an eye on the boat? I’m going to pack a few things and stay elsewhere.’
‘Of course.’ Charlie looked concerned. ‘Anna is out. Will you wait until she gets back? She’ll want to see you’re okay.’
‘I’ll be around for a short while.’
Mina descended back inside. The interior was less majestic than the outside but imbued with a homely charm. She looked around the room and, in her exhaustion, made a decision. Even though she’d warned herself of the dangers of making a promise that she couldn’t keep, she’d nevertheless told Hilary that she would find Valerie. It must have been one of the last words Hilary had heard from Mina and she would keep her promise, wherever it led her. She would find Valerie and check that she was okay.
Mina lifted up the seat of one of the sofas and rooted around amongst the bits and pieces Hilary kept there. Her mother’s sparse lifestyle meant that there were few personal items, just a file with the essential certificates and paperwork. Mina flicked through the documents, stopping briefly to read her own birth certificate, and then put them back in the seat. Mina moved on to the bookcase and there, shoved into one corner, was a photo album. Not the one stuffed full of pictures of Mina as a baby but the blue leather book from Hilary’s own childhood.
It was a relic of time past. Black and white photos gummed with corner stickers onto thick grey paper. Most of the pages were missing a photo or two, lost over the course of time. Mina carefully turned the pages. They were roughly chronological, starting when Hilary had been given a brownie camera for her twelfth birthday. It was one of the few stories about her childhood that she’d shared with Mina. How she’d asked for a new satchel because the strap of her old one had worn away to a sliver. Her father had played a joke on her and given her first the strap. A replacement one, she’d thought. Well, fair enough. They hadn’t much money and a new strap was better than nothing at all. Then had come the second part of the present. Not a satchel as Hilary had requested but something much nicer wrapped in a brown leather box. A camera, black and squar
e. She had celebrated by taking a picture of her two tabby cats, their heads together, eyes wide for the camera.
Here was the photo. One animal leaning slightly towards the other who had its eyes closed in contentment. Two cats, long dead, and yet the affection of the photographer for her subjects leaped decades. Mina turned the pages. There were her grandparents looking improbably young, Grumps wearing braces over a flannel shirt. Another was of her grandmother standing in the middle of a vegetable patch next to a row of runner beans. She was beaming broadly into the camera, but wasn’t it Grumps who had been the gardener? It must be him behind the camera. She stopped at a page that held a single photo of a group of girls.
There were five of them, standing together in front of a building made of Derbyshire stone. A barn possibly or the side of a house. Although the picture was black and white, a combination of the light behind the girls and their clothes suggested that it was a summer snap. Mina squinted at the image, searching for her mother, but none of the girls bore any relation to how Hilary would have looked as a teenager. Hilary must have taken the photo of her friends with her camera and put it into the album.
Mina took the photo over to a lamp to examine the five girls more closely. They all looked around the same age, probably fourteen or fifteen, and were dressed for a game of tennis. One of the girls, second from right, was wearing a high-necked cardigan, buttoned at the top and open at the sides. She was carrying a picnic basket and a magazine under her arms. Less sporty than the others perhaps, she looked dressed to watch a game from the sidelines. The other girls had an air of hauteur and advantage. Two of them were looking away from the camera, the stiffness of their postures suggesting that deliberate attitude of nonchalance. The girl resting against the wall was facing the camera but looking behind the photographer. Only the girl on the far left was looking sullenly into the lens.
Mina turned over the photo and saw in faint pencil marks the word ‘GIVEN’. Mina stared at the writing. GIVEN? It had a vaguely biblical feel to it. What had these girls been given? Youth, definitely, and possibly privilege. She turned over the photo again and looked at the girl standing in the middle of the group. The shorts she was wearing were wide and high, a daring piece of clothing for nineteen fifties Bampton.