Call It Pretending (#3 - D.I. Paolo Storey Crime Series)

by Frances di Plino

  “You mean not having females working under him? Yes, it was. He didn’t agree with women in the professions – any of the professions. He was very much of the school of keeping females at home and out of the world of men.”

  Paolo reflected that the more he heard about Professor Edwards, the more he could understand someone wanting to do away with him. But there were five others on the killer’s list, so the motive might not even be connected to personality type.

  “So how did you come to be on his team?”

  Jessica laughed. “I was foisted on to him by the hospital and he never let me forget it. He made my life pretty miserable, which was why I left Bradchester for a few years. I took a position in a London teaching hospital to get away from his sphere of influence.”

  “He sounds like a charming man. Anyway, let’s see who you can remember from that time.” Paolo looked down at the piece of paper CC had given him and started at the top. “Andrew Manning?”

  “I only knew Andrew for a couple of months. Level headed, good sense of humour, fell in love with an Australian nurse working over here. They married and settled in Australia. I still get cards from them at Christmas.”

  “Michael Sergeant?”

  “Hmm, fiery personality. Often clashed with the professor, but on a superficial level. He went up north somewhere to open a private practice. I can’t see him coming back to commit murder.”

  “Do you know where up north?”

  “Newcastle, I think, but I’m not one hundred per cent on that. These are names from over ten years ago.”

  Paolo scribbled Australia next to the first name and Newcastle with a question mark next to the second.

  “Only a couple more to go. Patrick Kirkbride?”

  “Patrick? Patrick? I don’t remember a Patrick. Oh, hold on, yes I do. We only overlapped by a few weeks. I’m sorry, I don’t recall too much about him. Can’t help you on that one.”

  “Right, last name. Conrad Stormont?”

  “Wow, now there’s a name from the past. Poor Conrad. I haven’t thought about him in a long time.”

  Paolo picked up on the sadness in her voice. “Sounds like there’s a story attached to him.”

  Jessica sighed. “There is. It’s a long one. Again, this was shortly before I transferred to London. Professor Edwards went on vacation and his outpatient cases were split between me and Conrad. A young man, I can’t remember his name, Jon somebody, came in for a routine check and renewal of prescription. According to Conrad, the professor left him instructions on how to deal with the patient, including a change of medication.”

  “According to Conrad?”

  “Yes, the professor claimed otherwise in court, of course. The patient, I wish I could remember his name, anyway, the patient had a psychotic episode due to taking the wrong medication. He was driving at the time and caused an accident that resulted in the death of a woman. His younger brother, who’d been in the passenger seat, was paralysed from the waist down in the crash. The young patient was arrested and tried, but found not guilty of dangerous driving or driving under the influence. I’m surprised you don’t remember it. It was quite a big thing in the press for several weeks. A true cause celebre.”

  “Why?”

  “Because the professor wanted to make sure he couldn’t be held accountable for Conrad’s actions. He spoke to every journalist within a country mile.”

  “So the patient was acquitted, but had to live with knowing he’d killed someone and caused the paralysis of his brother?”

  “That’s right.”

  “Poor man,” Paolo said. “What was he suffering from?”

  There was silence for a few moments, then Jessica spoke.

  “Normally I wouldn’t tell you, but you could find it in the trial transcript if you searched for it. The professor was treating him for dissociative identity disorder.”

  “What is that in language I could understand?”

  “In lay terms it would be better understood as having a split personality.”

  “So being prescribed the wrong drug would have had serious consequences?”

  “Yes, absolutely. Basically, the medication he was given did the complete opposite of what he needed. He literally wasn’t himself while behind the wheel of the car. He wouldn’t have been able to tell you what happened or why. After the accident he would have had no conscious memory of his actions.”

  “Okay, can you remember what happened to Conrad Stormont?”

  “He was struck off. Professor Edwards stuck to it that Conrad had made an error and hadn’t followed his written instructions.”

  “Your voice tells me you didn’t agree.”

  Jessica sighed again. “Conrad insisted he’d followed the professor’s notes to the letter. I hate to say this, but I always wondered if Professor Edwards doctored his notes when he realised what had happened. Conrad was conscientious and not at all the type to go off and do his own thing. He used to drive me to distraction because he would check and double check instructions before doing anything. It just wasn’t credible to me that he would have made a mistake like that. But the Medical Council believed Professor Edwards.”

  “Did Conrad accept their findings? Did he have no right of appeal?”

  “He seemed to lose heart afterwards. When he lost his licence to practice he tried to commit suicide – slashed his wrists. If it hadn’t been for his wife coming home early from a girl’s night out, he would have bled to death. Fortunately she knew what to do to staunch the bleeding and got Conrad to the hospital in time to save him.” She sighed. “As I say, I haven’t thought about Conrad for years. The last I heard he had a bad drinking problem. When the door slams on the only thing you want to do in your life, some people find it hard to move on to other jobs. Conrad took it really badly and fell to pieces, but I’ve always thought the blame lay at Professor Edwards’s door.”

  “Do you know if Conrad Stormont is still in Bradchester?”

  “As I said, I haven’t thought about him in years. I have no idea where he is now. I’m sorry, Paolo, I’m not being much help.”

  “There’s nothing for you to apologise for. You’re wrong, though, you’ve been really helpful. Thank you.”

  “You’re welcome. Regardless of what I thought of Professor Edwards on a personal level, I hope you catch his killer.”

  “I intend to,” Paolo said.

  “Okay, bye then,” Jessica said.

  It’s now or never, Paolo’s mind yelled at him. “No, wait!”

  “Sorry, I thought we’d gone through all the names.”

  “We have, but…would you like to have dinner with me?”

  She kept quiet for such a long time Paolo feared she’d ended the call.

  “Aren’t you back with Lydia?” she asked after a lifetime of silence.

  “I was, but not anymore. It didn’t work out. Don’t worry; we’ve parted as friends this time. I moved out this morning into a place of my own.”

  “And Katy? How did she take it?”

  “She’s fine about it. Lydia and I gave it our best shot, but even Katy could see it wasn’t right for either of us.”

  Jessica went quiet again. Paolo felt as if his future hinged on the next few seconds and could almost hear each one ticking away. Face it, he thought, you had your chance just before Christmas and you blew it. You need to accept that she’s no longer interested.

  “Jessica, I—”

  “Yes, I’d love to have dinner with you,” she said.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  Jon opened his flat door and listened. He began counting silently. One, two, three, four, five, six…

  “Jon? That you? Where’ve you been? You’re late.”

  Jon’s fists clenched and he forced himself to wait before answering. Just once, he thought, just once I’d like to get to ten before Andy started his whining. He shrugged off his jacket and hung it on the hook by the door. Taking a deep breath, he held back until he was sure he could speak without letting his anger
come through.

  “Yeah, it’s me.” He just stopped short of asking who the hell else it would be. “I’ll be through in a minute. I’m just putting my bag and stuff away.”

  He slung his work bag in the hall cupboard and walked through to the lounge. Andy was sprawled out on the couch, beer cans scattered around the section of floor in front of him. His thumb on the remote control was flicking through the channels so fast, it was impossible to work out what the programmes might be. Jon sighed and moved forward to pick up the cans.

  “You’re in my way. I can’t see the television.”

  Jon clenched his lips. He wasn’t going to rise to it again. Andy was bored and wanted an argument. That’s all there was to it. He straightened up, arms full of empties.

  “You want a cup of tea before we eat?”

  “I’d rather have another beer.”

  Jon looked at the cans in his arms and then down at his brother. “Don’t you think you’ve had enough for today?”

  “What else have I got to do?” Andy snarled. “I’m stuck here in this dump while you’re out all day. If I don’t drink I’ve got fuck all else in my life.”

  Jon walked through to the kitchen without answering. He dumped the cans in the bin and flicked the switch on the kettle before going back to Andy.

  “You could go out if you wanted to, but you choose to stay inside.”

  Andy glared at his wheelchair. “Yeah, outside in that thing. You’ve no idea what it’s like for me. You don’t care.”

  “Oh, please, Andy, not this again. How many times do I have to hear it?”

  “Yes, this again. You fucked up my life, Jon, so why shouldn’t you have to listen to me?”

  “Because it was years ago, Andy. Years and years ago. And it wasn’t even my fault. Fuck it; you know that as well as I do.”

  “It wasn’t my fault,” Andy whined. “That’s all I ever get from you. It wasn’t my fault. But what about me, hey? I’m the one stuck in a wheelchair. I’m the one who has no bloody life. What have you ever done to try to make it up to me?”

  “You mean apart from spending every penny of my compensation money buying this flat and getting it fitted out so that you can move about in it? And making sure you’ve got every mod con you need? You mean apart from that?” Jon yelled.

  “Yes,” Andy yelled back. “I mean apart from that. That’s just money. What have you done for me to make up for putting me in this fucking state?”

  “Oh, it’s just money, is it? Really? I notice you don’t feel the same way when I point out the repairs that need doing around here. Your compensation money is sitting in the bank earning interest. You aren’t so keen to dip into it when the plumbing gets fucked up, or the heating needs servicing. No, then it’s down to me to work in a job I hate to make sure the bills get paid and you can afford to drink yourself senseless.”

  Andy laughed. “It really bugs you, doesn’t it? Well my money is staying in the bank. I’m going to need it when you’re dead and I’ll have to get someone in to care for me.”

  Jon felt his fists bunch. He wanted to punch Andy’s face until it disappeared into a mass of bloodied flesh.

  “Every night we go through this,” he said, trying to calm down. “Just once, Andy, I’d like to come home and not get into a screaming match with you. I’ve had the shittiest fucking day at the hospital. That bastard Montague was on my case, just because I took a few hours off on Friday, I don’t need your crap on top of it.”

  “What do you mean, you took a few hours off? Where did you go? Out on a jolly? How come you didn’t take me with you?”

  Too late, Jon realised what he’d said.

  “Nowhere. I didn’t go anywhere. I just wanted some time to myself, that’s all.”

  Andy heaved himself into a sitting position. “Well, fuck you, Jon. Fuck you to hell. Try thinking what it might be like having too much time to yourself. You leave here first thing in the morning, get home as late as you can in the evening. I know what it’s like to have time to myself. I never have any other fucking kind!”

  Jon could feel the heat rising. If he stayed here he’d end up doing Andy a serious injury. At least he had a plan in place to change the way he felt. He’d taken the first step on Friday, but he needed to keep that to himself.

  “Enough, Andy. Let’s call a truce for tonight. I’m going to the White Horse,” he said. “You want to come with me?”

  Andy’s face changed so rapidly it was as if a switch had been flicked. He grinned at Jon, almost as if he was content now that he’d pushed all the right buttons and got the reaction he wanted. “What’s in it for me?”

  “I’ll treat you to a steak as long as you promise not to moan for the rest of the night.”

  Andy held out a hand. “Deal. Help me up.”

  Jon helped Andy into his chair. Not that he needed to. Andy could shift himself in and out when he wanted, but Jon knew Andy liked to take every opportunity to remind him not only that he’d been driving when the accident happened, but that he’d only been in the car because Jon had insisted. Andy had planned to stay home and study that night, but Jon had convinced him to go out. Jon got his way and Andy ended up paralysed from the waist down as a consequence. No wonder Andy was so determined not to let him forget, but Jon would willingly exchange a year of his life to live through a single day without having it thrown at him.

  Jon manoeuvred the wheelchair down the ramp outside the front door of the Victorian terrace and turned towards the pub, just as Gordon came down the steps from the flat above theirs. Shit, Jon thought, this evening is turning into a nightmare.

  “Hi, Gordon,” Andy called out. “We’re off to the pub. Wanna come? Jon’s paying.”

  “Shut up, you moron,” Jon hissed. “Take no notice of him, Gordon. He’s just playing silly arseholes. He knows I’m skint.”

  Jon couldn’t put his finger on what it was about Gordon that bugged him, but whenever the man got within a couple of feet Jon always felt like rushing back indoors and having a good scrub. It wasn’t that the man smelled, or even looked unclean, but there was something grubby about him. Something that made Jon want to keep him at a distance.

  “It’s okay, Jon. I’m off to fetch a DVD from my mate. It’s a good ‘un, he says. Hot. You and Andy can borrow it after me, if you want. I’ll try not to get any stains on it,” he said with the laugh that made Jon want to throw up.

  Jon returned a non-committal answer and pushed the wheelchair away before Andy could say anything. The idea of coming home one night and finding Andy and Gordon watching porn wasn’t something he wanted to think about.

  “Oi, you,” Andy said. “I might have wanted to see the DVD. I’m not a fucking baby being pushed about in a pram.”

  Jon said nothing, just kept walking as fast as he could. The more distance he could put between him and Gordon the better.

  They reached the pub a few minutes later.

  “It’s a nice evening. Inside or outside in the garden?”

  “Garden,” Andy said.

  Jon pushed the chair through the side gate and saw with relief that a couple of people they knew were there. At least they’d have someone else to talk to. Maybe they could get through the evening without another fight. He edged the chair through the tables and stopped at one next to where the two men were.

  “Right, a pint and steak and chips, yes?”

  “Yeah, but tell Bradley the chef overcooked my steak last time.”

  Jon nodded and headed into the pub. The restaurant side wasn’t very busy. Lots of empty tables, but the bar was packed. He edged his way through and managed to attract the barman’s attention.

  “Brad, I’ll have the scampi and chips. Andy wants a steak, cooked medium, he said it was too well done last time. And two pints of lager.”

  He handed over his credit card and waited for Brad to run it through the machine. He looked along the packed bar.

  “Have you got someone to bring the food out? You look a bit run off your fe
et.”

  “Yeah, one of the kitchen staff is doubling up as a waiter,” Bradley said, handing back the card. “Hang on, I’ll pour the drinks.”

  Jon struggled back through the crowd with the two pints and settled himself next to Andy in the garden.

  “That barman is bloody good,” he said. “He’s only been here five minutes and he’s already got the place under better control than the last idiot the landlord had in charge.”

  Andy reached out and took a long pull on his pint. Jon watched him out of the corner of his eye. At least his brother seemed happier now. Thank God it was a nice night, not like Saturday where it had poured until the early hours. Jon relaxed.

  Andy put his pint back on the table.

  “So, you going to tell me where you went on Friday or not?”

  CHAPTER FIVE

  On Wednesday morning Barbara Royston murmured into the Dictaphone as Paolo and Dave stood by, watching as she went about the business of cutting up the professor. Paolo thought she was paler than usual, making the birthmark on her neck stand out, livid and raw looking. Her face was drawn, as if she hadn’t been sleeping very well. They hadn’t discussed it, but he was fairly sure there was someone serious in her life. Maybe the path of true love wasn’t running too smoothly. And what’s that got to do with you? he asked himself. Nothing, so keep your nose out.

  Barbara stood back from the body and ripped off her gloves.

  “Let’s go through to my office,” she said. “There’s something odd about this.”

  Paolo and Dave waited while Barbara washed her hands and then followed her out of the autopsy room and along the corridor to her office. Taking one of the chairs opposite her, Paolo held off on his questions until Barbara and Dave were also sitting down. When Barbara thought something was odd, it was always worth listening to what she had to say.

  While he waited, he had a surreptitious look around. The fancy coffee maker from her friend, as she’d put it with the emphasis on friend, was still in place. But then, it wasn’t like a ring, was it? Do you give back coffee making machines if a love affair breaks down?