The Pregnant Police Surgeon

by Abigail Gordon

  ‘What? By marrying someone who doesn’t love you?’

  It wasn’t until she’d actually said it that she realised just how untrue it was. She did love him, had from the moment they’d met, and at another time, another place she would be telling him so.

  She wanted to bite back the words, but what was the point? They weren’t going anywhere together…and in any case it took two to make a loving partnership. If he’d been attracted to her before, he wasn’t now.

  Blair’s face had whitened, whether with pain or anger she wasn’t sure, but his reply when it came made her think that anger was the uppermost emotion.

  ‘You seem to spread it around easily enough. Maybe I didn’t see it as a problem,’ he said through gritted teeth, and, leaving her to ponder on that, he got in his car and drove off.

  Spread what around? she thought furiously as she drove the short distance to her father’s house. Had Blair been inferring that he had her labelled as someone who’d become pregnant because she slept around?

  She’d never told him the full story of Sean and herself so could she blame him if he did? But it hurt, even so.

  When Blair arrived home Simon was at the restaurant so he wasn’t able to tell him that the wedding was off. His smile was tight around the edges as he thought about how his younger brother had warned Imogen off.

  He was going to find out that he needn’t have bothered. Imogen had a mind of her own. Her agreement to the marriage had been a momentary blip and now her natural resilience was surfacing again. His offer to marry her had bounced back on him, and he was surprised at the degree of irritation and disappointment it was causing him.

  He’d made the gesture in spontaneous concern for her and had meant it, without looking too deeply into his heart, and now he was back in the role of onlooker in her life.

  As he cooked his evening meal her face was before him—the high cheek-bones, smooth ivory skin and the determined mouth. How was she coping with her father’s response to her pregnancy? he wondered.

  No doubt he would find out soon enough…if she was still speaking to him after his comment regarding her lifestyle. He’d no right to have said what he had. It had been said in pique and frustration. Instead of the relief that any sane man would have felt at being saved from making a fool of himself.

  ‘I might have known!’ Brian Rossiter said coldly when Imogen had finished saying her piece. ‘Blair Nesbitt is not the type of man to make a woman pregnant outside marriage. He must be out of his mind, offering to take on someone who’s having another man’s child. And where is he, this fellow who’s made you pregnant? Skulking in the background somewhere?’

  ‘He’s dead,’ she said tonelessly.

  Bushy grey brows shot up like a rocket. ‘How? Where?’ he rasped.

  ‘He died in bad weather on Everest, along with a friend of his.’

  ‘So he went doing something completely foolhardy when he’d given you a child.’

  Imogen sighed.

  The interrogation wasn’t turning out as badly as she’d been expecting, but it was bad enough. She’d been hoping that Celia would be there to calm her father down, but she’d gone to some charity function and wouldn’t be back until late.

  ‘Sean didn’t know I was pregnant when he went.’

  ‘I see,’ he said heavily, and she knew that the worst was over. ‘So what about you and Blair Nesbitt?’

  ‘It was just a gesture on his part,’ she told him with eyes downcast. ‘I wasn’t thinking straight when I let him take responsibility for a problem that wasn’t his. I’ve sorted it. There won’t be a wedding.’

  When she looked up she was amazed to see that her father was actually smiling.

  ‘Spoken like a true Rossiter,’ he said. ‘We don’t always see eye to eye but you’re not short of courage, Imogen. And in any case, lies don’t get anyone anywhere.’

  She let out a deep breath. What a pity Blair wasn’t here to hear this, she thought. He would know that she’d done the right thing in refusing to marry him. Yet there was little satisfaction in the thought because she knew deep down that she had wanted to marry him…more than anything else on earth.

  On the way home Imogen called at Blair’s apartment. She’d never been there before and under other circumstances would have been curious to see inside, but tonight her mind was full of many things and the decor of Blair’s place wasn’t one of them.

  ‘Imogen,’ he said without surprise when he opened the door to her. ‘Come in.’

  ‘I’ve called to tell you what happened with my dad,’ she said quickly, anxious to explain her presence.

  ‘Yes. I thought you might have,’ he said quietly, pointing to the sofa. ‘Take a seat. Can I get you a drink?’

  ‘No, thanks,’ she told him with the feeling that she wasn’t exactly as welcome as the buds in spring. ‘Dad was a bit grim at first, but he was pleased that I’d been honest with him and I think even more pleased that his opinion of you hadn’t been tarnished.’

  ‘And what’s his opinion of you?’

  She grimaced.

  ‘Something like yours, only more so.’

  ‘And what’s that supposed to mean?’

  ‘That you think I’m a bit stupid. What was it you described me as? Someone who spreads my affections around easily enough.’

  ‘Yes, well, I apologise. That was said in anger. You are the only one who knows if it’s true.’

  Her face crumpled but she fought back the tears. No way was she going to weep in front of him again, but she had to ask, ‘Why are you so angry with me, Blair? I thought you’d be glad that you’d been saved the kind of marriage that ours would have been.’

  His jaw tightened. ‘It’s myself I’m angry with, not you. Goodness knows, you’ve had enough to put up with in recent months without being the recipient of my bad humour. It’s just that I don’t like untidy arrangements. I prefer my life to be organised and you have to admit that isn’t easy when you’re around.’

  Imogen found herself smiling through her tears.

  ‘I’m not sure if that is meant to be critical or complimentary, but I could make a guess. And now I’m going, Blair. It’s been a long day…And thanks for being there for me when I needed you.’

  On impulse she put her arms around him and gave him a hug, and as if the gesture had switched on an electric current he returned the embrace, but there was nothing casual about the way he was holding her.

  It was like that night in her apartment in the seconds before she’d told him about her pregnancy. The age-old chemistry between the sexes. And for a brief enchanted moment Imogen put the thought of the baby to the back of her mind and pretended that there were no obstacles to separate her from this man she’d fallen in love with.

  He groaned and his arms fell away.

  ‘You need to make up your mind, Imogen,’ he told her. ‘If you’re going to start dangling your sexuality in front of me like a carrot, I might just decide to take a bite.’

  ‘I wasn’t dangling anything,’ she protested angrily. ‘I was merely trying to say thank you, but I’ll make sure it doesn’t happen again. Goodnight, Blair.’

  When Imogen had gone Blair went to the window and watched her go to her car. The lithe slenderness of her was already thickening, he thought morosely. That fact alone should have told him to have more sense than let himself be aroused by her nearness.

  And now she’d gone home miserable and confused, but not any more confused than he was. One second he was telling himself that his feelings for her were the concern that he would feel for any woman in her position, and the next he was having to admit there was more to it than that…much more.

  Why couldn’t his yearnings be directed at someone less complicated than Imogen? He’d invited her to join the practice and had had no cause for regrets on that score, but it was the rest of it that was driving him crazy.

  He was charmed by her vibrancy. The dark allure of her. The way she stood up to her father. And he envied the poor
dead guy who’d given her a child.

  During the weeks that followed a calmer atmosphere prevailed between them. With the spectre of her father’s anger out of the way and on the face of it Blair back to his usual crisp and pleasant self. Imogen was beginning to settle into her pregnancy with a more tranquil mind.

  If any of the staff thought it strange that she and Blair spent no time together out of surgery hours no one commented, and if she spent the warm summer evenings in pensive solitude no one but her knew it.

  There was a park near her apartment and sometimes she went to sit there, now a bulky figure in a loose top and stretch jeans.

  She watched parents with young children feeding the ducks or sailing toy boats on a small lake. Lovers wandering hand in hand along tree-lined paths. And she envied them their togetherness.

  One night in late July the park’s leisurely appeal was missing. Those who were there looked nervous and apprehensive, and officers from two police cars parked near a secluded wooded area mostly frequented by courting couples were cordoning it off and preparing to erect a tent.

  Imogen could see a slender leg, shoeless and bloodstained, sticking out of the bushes and her heartbeat quickened. Something was very much amiss.

  There was a gathering of the curious nearby and a police officer was asking them to move away, but there was no immediate response and he had to repeat the request more demandingly.

  The general public with its morbid fascination for crime and its accompanying gruesome details wasn’t going to miss out on some excitement, and they were still showing a reluctance to depart.

  Imogen stepped forward and received a hard stare from the officer.

  ‘I’m Dr Imogen Rossiter, and I’m a police surgeon,’ she told him. ‘I was out for a stroll and saw that there’d been some sort of incident. Can I be of any help?’

  His face lightening, he lifted the tape and beckoned her forward.

  ‘Possibly. We have a suspicious death. One of the park attendants found the body of a young woman in the bushes. Someone like you has just arrived but you can come through if you want to.’

  The eyes of the girl lying in the stillness of death stared up at Blair lifelessly as he bent over her. Anger rose in him. She was just a kid. Sixteen or seventeen maybe. Well-dressed and cared for, she was somebody’s cherished child and her life had been snuffed out.

  A footstep behind had him turning and he threw Imogen a grim smile when he saw her standing there. ‘Where have you sprung from?’ he asked, turning back to the body.

  ‘I was passing and saw the commotion,’ she told him, dropping to her knees beside him. ‘What gives?’

  He pointed to thumbprints on the neck and the face that had turned a bluish shade of purple from congested blood.

  ‘All the signs of strangulation. It wouldn’t take long with a pair of strong hands. There’s nothing to indicate that a ligature was used.’

  ‘Poor child,’ she said sombrely.

  ‘Yes, indeed,’ he agreed. ‘It doesn’t matter how many deaths of this kind we see, it never gets to be any less painful.’

  ‘Any sexual interference?’

  ‘Not visibly. There are no semen stains on the clothing but that’s a job for the pathology people.’

  At that moment there was a shout from officers searching the undergrowth further along the path.

  ‘Sarge!’ a young constable bellowed. ‘We’ve found another body.’

  The two police surgeons eyed each other in surprise.

  ‘This I don’t believe,’ Blair said as they joined those hurrying towards where the shout had come from.

  It was a youth this time, of a similar age to the girl and badly battered around the head.

  ‘There must be a lunatic around this place!’ Blair said in cold rage as they knelt beside him. ‘First the girl and now this young fellow.’

  ‘Aye,’ the police sergeant said. ‘Somebody has given him a real going over. How long would you say they’ve both been dead?’

  ‘What do you think?’ Blair asked of her.

  ‘The body temperatures indicate a space of a few hours,’ she replied. ‘Rigor mortis is only just beginning to set in.’

  He nodded his agreement.

  ‘Yes. I’d say they were killed within a short time of each other. In what order it would be hard to say.’

  The crowd was pressing forward again, their excitement at fever pitch with the finding of a second corpse, and when Imogen looked up she saw that she was being watched.

  The man was standing on his own beneath a clump of trees, an unkempt-looking fellow with long greasy hair and furtive eyes. She shuddered.

  Blair saw it and asked, ‘What’s wrong?’

  ‘Nothing,’ she said firmly.

  Just because some down and out had given her a second glance, it didn’t mean that he was a villain.

  ‘Are you sure?’ he persisted.

  ‘Yes, I’m sure.’

  When Imogen looked across again the man had gone and she breathed a sigh of relief. He was probably only watching out of interest like the rest of the crowd, but she did wonder if the police had noticed him as they seemed to be more intent on grilling the unfortunate park attendant than spreading themselves around.

  After they’d finished examining the two bodies and Blair had recorded his findings on tape for the pathologist, they packed up their equipment and prepared to leave the police to their enquiries.

  ‘I’ll drive you home,’ he said, ‘but I’ll have to get a move on as I’m taking someone out for a meal.’

  ‘There’s no need. My place is only five minutes’ walk away,’ she said immediately, miffed that someone else, probably a woman, was going to have Blair’s company for the rest of the evening.

  With a casual wave of the hand Imogen pointed herself in the direction of her apartment, leaving him with no chance to say anything further.

  She had barely had time to lock the door behind her when the doorbell rang and she found herself smiling. Was it his turn to be peeved because she’d left him so abruptly? Or had he changed his mind and decided that it was her company he wanted?

  That wasn’t likely, though, was it? In recent weeks there’d been countless times when he could have sought her out in the evenings or at weekends, but her doorbell and phone had been silent.

  So sure that it was Blair, she didn’t look through the peep-hole in the door, and as it swung back with a vicious swish she knew she’d done a very foolish thing.

  Her hands came out to slam it shut but she wasn’t quick enough. The man who’d been in the park rammed it back with his foot and then he was in the hallway of the apartment with his hands around her throat.

  She couldn’t cry out or even move. It was as if he had her neck in a vice and all she could think about was how long would her baby live after she was dead? Would they find her body in time to save it?

  ‘I saw you looking down your nose at me back there in the park,’ he snarled. ‘All pretty, pretty, working for the police. You weren’t clever enough to know I was following you, though, were you?

  ‘You’re just like those two kids. Full of your own importance. The girl laughed at me when I tried to talk to her. Said she was waiting for her boyfriend and that I needed a bath. She wasn’t laughing when I’d finished with her, though, and neither was he when he showed up. Never saw what hit him.’

  His voice seemed to be coming from a long way off and she thought weakly that this was how it must be when death was near. A gradual withdrawing from life into the unknown.

  But help was at hand. Someone else had hurled himself through the open door and her attacker was gripped from behind with a force that made him loosen his hold on her throat.

  As she slumped against the wall, gasping for breath, she saw Blair and the intruder struggling in the doorway. Picking up a vase from the hall table, she staggered up to them and hit the fellow on the head. As she watched in a dazed sort of surprise, Blair followed it up with a blow to the jaw and th
e man caved in at the knees and sank to the floor.

  ‘Well done,’ Blair gasped with his foot on the murderer’s chest. ‘Can you manage to phone the police before this madman comes round, Imogen?’

  She nodded and, after croaking the necessary details of the attack and impressing on the person at the other end of the line that they had the murderer in the apartment, she lowered herself onto the nearest chair.

  Blair’s eyes were glowing like hot brown coals from the fury inside him as he’d listened to what she’d said. Imogen had told the police that this fellow was the murderer, he thought incredulously, and the only way she could know that was because he’d admitted it.

  He’d seen the man in the park but hadn’t taken much notice of him until he’d seen him following Imogen as he’d been about to pull away from where he’d parked his car and alarm bells had started to ring.

  When he’d decided to keep tabs on him, the engine had refused to start, and after fiddling with it for precious minutes he’d hurried round to her apartment on foot. And, he thought raggedly, he’d only just got there in time.

  If anything had happened to his Imogen, he would have gone insane, he told himself, and didn’t even notice that he’d thought of her as his.

  She was crouching there, white and shaken, and he wanted to take her in his arms and hold her close, but there was no way he was going to move an inch from his captive until the police arrived.

  When they came dashing in with truncheons at the ready, the attacker was beginning to come round. Yanking him to his feet, Blair told them, ‘Dr Rossiter is very shaken up, and I want to examine her as soon as possible, but I think she has something to tell you about the murders first, as she was nearly victim number three.’

  While they were taking the man to the police van outside, one of the officers took from Imogen the details of what had happened. When she’d finished he closed his notebook with a satisfied snap and said, ‘So he’ll be facing two murder charges and an attempted. We’ll need you to come down to the station to make a full statement as soon as you feel up to it, Dr Rossiter.’ He turned to Blair who was hovering anxiously. ‘The lady is all yours, sir.’