by Sarah Ward
‘According to Monica they didn’t, but I’m not sure she was telling the truth. Nell had been looking at the death notice in the local paper and Ingrid Neale’s address was in her book. The death had some significance for her.’
‘It’s a link of sorts, isn’t it? You were right to follow it up and interview Ingrid’s family even if you feel it hasn’t got you very far. What about cause of death?’
‘It’s just odd. Both women were found sitting upright on the sofa and both had chronic conditions. A heart problem in Nell’s case and asthma in Ingrid Neale’s. The same GP signed off the death certificates, a Dr Parsons, but Dahl and I went to see him and we reckon he’s completely on the level. Plus, Bill did the PM on Ingrid and he’s not likely to miss anything.’
‘Dahl. How’s he getting on?’
‘He’s all right, actually. A bit of a geek but all right. He’s worried about meeting you.’
‘Me?’ Sadler swung around. ‘Why’s he worried about me?’
‘Your reputation goes before you.’
‘If you think he’s all right, I trust your judgement.’
Connie looked flattered. ‘What do you think about the deaths, though? Nell Colley had a visitor the morning she died that we haven’t been able to trace. Ingrid Neale was on her own in the house as the other occupants were out.’
Sadler began to slice onions into a frying pan. ‘Was Hilary Kemp found upright, and dressed?’
Connie sighed. ‘Of course not. She was in her hospital bed.’
‘So there’s nothing to link the three deaths whatsoever.’
‘You think it’s nothing?’
Sadler was silent for a moment, thinking. ‘I don’t know. Nell’s death was mentioned to me in a legal context. She was concerned about being sued for libel regarding the memoir she was writing.’
‘You said. I’ve got an odd feeling about that memoir, although it’s hard to articulate. On the one hand, Dahl and I looked through the house and we didn’t see any evidence of her having started the book, which is odd if it’s important to her. However, it looks like she might have started the research even though she was very sick. I’d love to know what she was planning to write.’
‘You’ve not found anything at all? No matter how secretive someone is, if they’re planning on writing about their life they must have left traces somewhere.’
‘I know. Dahl and I had a good look around the house. The trouble is that all resources are now focused on Hilary Kemp so I can’t realistically go back and dig deeper into Nell’s life. It feels, though, like something half-finished.’
‘We might yet uncover a connection. Hilary Kemp’s death is being investigated. Let’s see what the tests show up.’ He kept his voice calm, stirring the onions. ‘Dr Parsons wasn’t Hilary Kemp’s GP as well, was he?’
Connie, in the process of taking a huge gulp of wine, stopped the glass at her lips. ‘Oh God, I didn’t ask. She’d been in hospital a month so I didn’t even think of the GP.’
Sadler didn’t turn to her but Connie could sense him weighing up his words. ‘I know in the last case you went with your instinct and it led you into all sorts of trouble.’
‘That’s putting it mildly.’
‘It’s also your greatest strength. If you think the memoir is important then it probably is. It’s whether it has an impact on the case that will affect whether it becomes a priority in the investigation, but don’t doubt your instinct if you feel it’s an avenue worth exploring.’
‘You think I’m doubting myself?’
Sadler poured some of the wine from his glass into the pan to make a glaze. ‘I’m looking forward to meeting Dahl. He comes highly recommended from Glossop. Don’t let him make the decisions for you, though. If you think there’s a connection between the deaths, then you should find it.’
32
Emily Fenn looked astonished to see Mina, her eyes darting from Mina’s face to her overnight bag and back again.
‘I need to stay the night. Possibly a few more. Do you have a spare room?’
Emily turned to a board on the side of the bar and picked up a key with a huge brass fob attached to it. ‘Follow me.’
She led Mina up steep wooden stairs to a large room that looked out onto the front road. She walked over to the curtains and drew them across the window with a sharp tug. Out of the corner of her eyes, Mina could see Emily was taking in her dishevelled appearance. ‘It’ll be quiet here, despite the road. It’s not on top of the bar, you see. I shut at eleven sharp anyway but you can hear the noise from below in some of the other rooms. This is the quietest.’
‘Is there a bathroom?’
‘It’s shared but you’re the only one here so it belongs to you. It’s two doors down. You’ll find it comfortable enough.’ She paused for a moment. ‘What’s happened?’
‘It’s Mum. She’s gone.’ Mina could feel her legs begin to shake underneath her and she reached out a hand, holding on to the bedpost to steady herself.
Emily nodded. ‘Bad. Comes to us all, but bad. Have you eaten?’
Mina’s stomach contracted at the thought of food. ‘I couldn’t.’
‘Come down if you feel up to it. The soup is homemade. There’s a lot to do around a death. You need to eat.’
When Emily had gone, Mina sat on the bed and looked around the large, homely room. A candlewick bedspread, soft and comforting, the covered sheets and blankets reminding Mina of her childhood. She opened her bag, took out her pyjamas and put them under the pillow. She left her wash bag on the bedside table and went to the window. There was a street lamp outside the pub throwing a strong yellow glow onto the car park. She hoped it was turned off sometime during the evening. She drew the curtains and listened, hearing only the faint sound of laughter from the bar below.
She descended the stairs and entered the room. Emily pointed at a small round table near the fire with a reserved sign on it. Despite her off-hand demeanour, her landlady must have had a sensitive eye for where a single female diner might like to sit. The table was in the main lounge next to the fire but tucked slightly into a recess giving an illusion of privacy. Two chairs were at the table, one turned slightly away from the room towards the fire, the other facing the other diners. Again, Mina had the choice of being as sociable as she wished. She took the chair facing the room. No one was paying her any notice, although a woman at the table next to her looked up and smiled.
Emily came over and put a small glass of brandy in front of Mina. ‘Just the one but it’s good for shock. The soup will be along in a minute. That’s best enjoyed with a glass of water.’
Mina looked at the brandy. ‘I can’t get a mobile signal. Is there anywhere I can make a call?’
‘The village box is outside. You need a credit card, though. It doesn’t take change any more. Or you can use my phone in the back if it’s local.’
‘I’ll go outside. Thanks.’ Picking up her bag, Mina left her diary on the table and a scarf on the chair to show that they were taken. As soon as she entered the night air, a gust of wind blew her to one side almost knocking her off her feet. She made it to the phone box and pulled open the stiff door. Inside it was clean but with a musty smell. After inputting the card number, it instructed her to dial the number required. Her fingers fumbled over the unfamiliar buttons but the tone changed to a ringing one and then came the voice she’d been waiting for.
‘Mina. Where the hell are you calling from? What’s this number 01629?’
‘I’m in a place called Cold Eaton. Do you know it?’
‘I’ve heard of it. Why are you there?’
‘Mum’s gone.’
‘Gone. You mean—. Oh Mina.’
‘Listen, will you do me a favour? I need to sort something out.’
‘Anything.’
‘Will you go to my house? You’ll find the key on the top shelf of the garden shed. The combination lock for the shed is 1122. Go into my house and bring me more clothes. I’m staying at the only pub in the v
illage, The Nettle Inn, and I’ll probably be here a while. The other thing is …’
‘What?’
‘If anyone contacts you, please don’t tell them where I am. I’m tired and upset and I need some time by myself.’
‘Mina. Is everything all right? You don’t sound yourself.’
‘I need to think, that’s all, and I can’t do it in Bampton. Need to get away for a bit. You do understand, don’t you?’
‘Of course I do. Ring me if you need anything, won’t you?’
Mina put the clunky phone back in its cradle and braved the wind back into the bar, which had continued to fill in her absence. Her table was still empty and, as she squeezed back into her chair, the woman from the next table leant across.
‘A few people had their eye on it but me and the landlady saw them off.’
‘Thanks, that’s much appreciated.’ Mina shrugged off her coat.
‘I think the last lot would have argued the toss with me but one look at the landlady was enough.’
Mina laughed and picked up the brandy glass. ‘I wouldn’t like to get on the wrong side of her, that’s for sure.’
‘You’re local?’
‘Not really. You?’
‘I’m from Devon. We’re staying up at a cottage at the top end of the village. There’s a family wedding tomorrow. You don’t know your landlady very well?’
‘No. Why?’
‘It’s just, well, when she put down your soup bowl, she had a look through the book you left there.’
‘My diary? But that’s private. Why was she going through my things?’ Mina looked across at Emily who was pulling at a beer pump, her strong arms making the task look effortless. For a woman in her seventies she emanated robust health. It was hard to believe she was around the same age as Hilary, who had shrunk with illness. Mina could feel panic rising in her chest. ‘What business is it of hers what’s in my diary?’
‘Don’t worry. It’s the same in every country village. They like to know each other’s business.’
Mina picked up her diary and hunted for the photos she’d slipped between the pages. They were still in place, decades of secrets nestled between smudged pages of countless gardening tasks. She put her diary in her bag. Despite Emily’s gruff kindness, there was something else going on that Mina couldn’t grasp. Did she have an enemy in the place she’d come to escape the confusion of her mother’s death? There was the note left on the windscreen of her van that suggested someone was watching her movements. Someone who didn’t want her asking about Valerie. Could her landlady have left the message for her at the Cutting?
Emily caught her eye and it was Mina who was the first to drop her gaze. I have nowhere I feel safe, she thought.
33
Sadler was back at work after an early morning call from Llewellyn summoning him to the station to lead the investigation into suspected tampering with medical equipment at St Bertram’s hospital. No one in the Detective Room looked like they had slept well. Sadler was standing in front of the team, going through the sequence of events that had led to the discovery of incisions in Hilary Kemp’s drip. He looked tired, his face drawn. Matthews was sitting next to him, trying to hide the fact that she was pissed off even though she knew she only had temporary occupation of his office. Mayfield had announced to all and sundry when she’d walked in that morning that the baby had been kicking her all night and she hadn’t had a wink of sleep. Connie glanced over to Dahl, who was trying to stifle a yawn. Which left her, who never slept well anyway. So a team of exhausted detectives. Not a great start to Thursday morning.
Sadler looked at a piece of paper that had been handed to him by Llewellyn. ‘So, the PM was done late yesterday and has proved inconclusive. The victim had metastatic cancer but, given the presence of liquid from the saline drip, Bill has held off issuing a death certificate. We’re still awaiting toxicology on both body tissue and blood from the PM plus an analysis of the contents of the drip. However …’ Sadler lifted up the paper. ‘I’ve had the results of the forensic examination of the bag that took place last night. There was a small V-shaped cut to the rubber septum of the resealable bung and two puncture holes to the inner membrane of the bung.’
‘Bloody hell,’ said Connie.
‘The holes are consistent with the punctures made by a hypodermic needle.’ Sadler looked around the room. ‘While we need to know what drug was used, and I’m hoping to hear that today, the forensic scientist’s view is that the saline drip has been tampered with. Which is where we’ll start.’
‘This could be a huge operation,’ said Matthews. ‘It took ages before they found the person responsible for adding drugs to the drips in Stepping Hill. Manchester Met were tied up for months.’
‘I’m asking for extra resources, which will be particularly necessary when we find what was injected into the bag as it will involve trawling through patient records, access to drug storage rooms and so on. However, we can start with the patient, Hilary Kemp. I’d like to focus on interviewing nurses and auxiliary staff. Anyone who had access to the room yesterday morning, even if they weren’t supposed to be there.’
‘Including visitors?’
‘We’ll need a list of people from outside but Hilary died before the first visiting hours so I think it’s unlikely we’re looking for a member of the public at this moment. The drip, according to the records, was changed around 8.30 a.m. when the nurse noticed it was empty. So we have a small gap in time between 8.30 and 11.15 a.m. when Hilary’s body was discovered.’
‘What will the hospital feel about us being there?’ asked Connie.
‘The oncology department were extremely quick in notifying us of a problem. They have a reputation for efficiency. You’ll need to be discreet but I’ll ask them to turn over a room in the hospital to interview staff.’
‘What about the daughter, Mina Kemp?’ asked Dahl.
‘I met her by chance last week. I don’t suppose it matters but I want it put on record I have met her in a personal capacity. At the moment, given she wasn’t at the hospital, she’s being treated as a grieving next of kin and I suggest we bear this in mind. We’ll reinterview her when we have the results from toxicology.’
As the meeting drew to a close, Connie picked up her bag to go back to her desk.
‘Connie and Dahl. Can you come in here for a moment?’
They looked at each other and followed Sadler into his office. He sat down heavily in his chair and pulled out the familiar file on Nell Colley.
‘The focus is, for the moment, on the death of Hilary Kemp. However, Connie updated me on the investigations you’ve conducted on the deaths of Nell Colley and Ingrid Neale. Can you see any similarities at all to those cases?’
Dahl frowned. ‘There may be a connection to St Bertram’s. Ingrid Neale had been hospitalised with an asthma attack earlier in the week that she died.’
‘What about Nell?’ asked Sadler.
Connie looked at Dahl. ‘She had a chronic condition. I don’t remember any note being made about St Bertram’s.’
‘The nature of their illnesses was completely different. Hilary was terminally ill, Nell and Ingrid only chronically so,’ said Dahl.
‘Does that make a difference?’ asked Connie, surprised to see a flush growing under Dahl’s skin.
‘They were just old and sick, not dying.’ His voice was curt and Connie felt as if someone had pinched her.
Sadler leant back in his chair and considered. ‘Leaving out Hilary Kemp, you were prepared to conclude that the deaths weren’t suspicious, merely odd?’
‘Not odd,’ Dahl clarified. ‘Unusual.’
‘Right.’ Sadler looked at his watch. ‘I want one of you to look again at Nell Colley and Ingrid Neale. In depth. Check if they went to St Bertram’s and any other link between them. In particular, see if you can find a link with Hilary Kemp.’
‘You think something’s up?’
‘I’m not sure but I want this avenue explored. When Connie
described the two cases to me, it reminded me of Harold Shipman’s victims.’
‘The GP mentioned Shipman. He said procedures had been tightened after that case,’ said Connie.
‘Interesting, although I suspect GPs are at pains to show how things have moved on since then. What was unusual about Shipman’s victims, what made their deaths so strange, is that they were sitting upright on the sofas fully dressed when they were found. This isn’t normal in death. If you’re poorly, you often don’t get dressed and you tend to stay in your bedroom. Or, if you are in the living room, it looks like a sick room.’
Connie glanced at Dahl. ‘You said something similar the other day. I didn’t make the connection then. Shipman was able to enter his victims’ homes unnoticed because he paid them impromptu visits outside the hours he normally visited.’
‘Exactly,’ said Sadler. ‘You’ve followed that up. You went to see Dr Parsons and he has given a convincing explanation for the procedure following both the deaths.’
‘But he or someone else she was expecting could have called at her house outside normal visiting hours. That’s quite a risk, isn’t it?’
‘If the deaths are connected, and it’s only a very loose if, then we need to see who might have had a legitimate reason for visiting the two women in their homes and Hilary Kemp in hospital. St Bertram’s could be the link. Dahl, you go to the hospital and help with the interviews. I’d like you to keep an eye on things bearing in mind what we’ve discussed. Look for any mention of those two names. Connie, I want you to stay here and look into links between these women. Study their backgrounds and see what you can find.’ He paused. ‘I don’t want a Shipman in Bampton.’
34
Mina came down to the smell of cooking bacon. The plate put in front of her had two thick rashers, their edges curling up at the sides. A squat sausage and a fried egg with a soft yolk filled the plate. Emily hadn’t even asked her if she wanted breakfast but Mina’s stomach rumbled with hunger. She picked up a slice of thin toast sitting in a silver rack in the middle of the table, contemplated it for a moment, and took a tentative bite.