The Visitor (#3 - The Craig Modern Thriller Series)

by Catriona King

  “Now, let’s be very frank, Inspector. When I was brought in last August, it was initially in an interim role, now permanent. I was parachuted in to deal with major concerns about the last Chief Exec, Robert Moore. One of Stormont’s biggest worries was the death and sickness rates of patients, for some consultants in particular. And Murdock was very high on their list.”

  He inhaled before restarting, tapping the table for emphasis. Craig noticed a pale line on his finger where his wedding ring used to be. Divorced or having problems? He shrugged to himself. High earners paid penalties that had nothing to do with Her Majesty’s Revenue.

  “The medical training here is good, but there’s been a lack of organisation in some places. And some people have really ‘played themselves’. Swinging the lead and what have you. They got away with murder, if you’ll excuse the pun.”

  His voice grew more determined and Craig could see the leader emerging. “But that’s all over now, mark my words. I was an engineer before I went into management, and avoiding risk has always been high on my list. Our accountability’s in line with the rest of the UK now. Any old boy’s network sheltering ropey practice has long gone.

  That was a big part of my remit when they brought me in, and Moore and Murdock seem to have had a little network all of their own. There were rumours they were too chummy with the old head pathologist Davis as well. Lots of sick jokes about ‘burying their mistakes’ - you know the sort of thing. Anyway, rest assured any irregularities on this case will be dealt with. We’ve a hot-to-trot new Medical Director and he won’t stand for any crap. So if it’s Murdock’s negligence that you’re on to, then we’re already there.”

  He stopped talking and took a long breath, satisfied that he’d defended himself against Craig’s anticipated assault. Craig considered him coolly.

  “That’s excellent, Mr McAllister. But, and without pre-empting the outcome of our enquiries, we also have major concerns about a number of other cases. They were brought to our attention by Dr John Winter. Do you know Dr Winter?”

  “I know of him, new Director of Path. He has a reputation for a very low shit tolerance.”

  “Indeed he has - and he’s right.”

  McAllister caught the look in Craig’s eyes and pushed his chair back, as if to escape what he was hearing. He was about to enter every Chief Executive’s worst nightmare and he knew it.

  “Dr Winter has brought two other cases to our attention which show striking similarities to today’s. So we have more than enough concern to launch an enquiry. I really hope that we’ll have your support. Investigations in hospitals always cause public anxiety and that’s the last thing we want. Will we have your full co-operation, Charles?”

  Craig’s voice had hardened incrementally as he spoke. Now he was staring coolly at McAllister, weighing him up. The C.E.O.’s face reddened in panic at the mention of more cases.

  “Of course, of course. Absolutely. But tell me about the other cases you mention. When did they occur? Was it before I arrived?”

  His voice rose hopefully and Craig saw the Kevlar vest coming out. McAllister’s face said he was about to distance himself from any blame. Terry Harrison obviously wasn’t the only one made of Teflon.

  “Which wards were they on? Are any other consultants implicated?” Then he added, hopefully. “What were the dates? I was in England on and off until November.”

  Craig sighed inwardly at his self-protection. But he knew McAllister would be no use covering his ass, so he decided to cut him some slack. Without naming names, he laid out all the facts. Yes, the cases had all occurred since he’d arrived, since January in fact. And they were all on the Maternity Unit. No, the patients weren’t under anyone but Nigel Murdock. And, although another consultant had given an opinion on Evie’s diabetes, they hadn’t consulted on the first two cases, so they were low on the suspect list at the moment. Although that could always change.

  Craig casually slipped in a question about McAllister’s own whereabouts on Monday evening, making a mental note that he’d been at home with his wife. Not divorced yet then. They’d be interviewing them both on the alibi.

  The rest of the meeting was spent formulating a plan to tie down the risks. Maternity would be closed immediately, with services diverted to Bangor. They might have to suspend some staff members in the future, but not just yet. For now, all maternity staff would be on leave, pending investigation.

  Craig knew that the press would come knocking once they sniffed a story, so when the P.R. manager joined them, they hammered out a press release to Ralph Jameson at The Telegram. He was the most responsible journalist Craig knew. Well, he could be trusted not to terrify people at least. The last thing they needed was ‘Police Penalise Pregnant Women.’ as tomorrow’s headline. Craig sighed, knowing that no matter what they did, Ray Mercer at The Chronicle would write it anyway. The alliteration was already making his teeth hurt.

  At 6.40 he finally stood up to leave. “Right, I’ll run this past the superintendent before we give it to Jameson. We’ll secure the Unit tonight with uniforms, and the staff can just deal with any emergencies that come in. Leave the statement with me. And no-one here speaks to the press please. I’m the S.I.O. so all queries come through me.”

  “What does S.I.O. stand for? The Board will want all the details.” McAllister sighed heavily, exhausted by just thinking about the questions heading his way.

  “Sorry, we use too many acronyms. Senior Investigating Officer.”

  “Yes - we have lots of those as well. Unfortunately everyone in the public sector suffers from A.R.S.E.”

  “What!” Craig stared incredulously at the professional man in front of him. He couldn’t have heard him correctly.

  “A.R.S.E.: Acronym Rich Service Environments. We work in them.”

  Craig laughed, making a note to tell Liam. He would love it. Or maybe not - his language was bad enough already.

  They shook hands, and Craig left for the rush-hour drive back to Belfast. And another hour’s work before he met John.

  ***

  The mousey-haired bouncer nodded Katy into Ten Square’s bar with a smile. It was a bright spring evening outside, but the warm walls and wooden floors gave the bar a cosy autumn feel. She felt soothed immediately. The wine-bar was heaving with suited workers from the nearby banks and offices, and she couldn’t see Natalie anywhere. Until a small hand waved frantically through the crooked elbow of a man at the bar.

  Natalie’s smiling face and dark hair popped into view and Katy laughed. It didn’t matter that she was only five-foot tall, she always managed to get served somehow. Katy would have been standing there for hours. Natalie indicated a small table, where her coat was already draped across the chair. “I thought I’d get the drinks in. White wine spritzer OK?”

  A small bottle appeared for Katy with the straw already in the neck. Natalie hefted a larger bottle of Sauvignon Blanc onto the table, falling heavily into her seat.

  “God I’m wrecked. What a day. Owens was being a real get. He had me in theatre holding-up a leg for three hours! I thought my arm would fall off. But I wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of admitting it.”

  She grinned and waited for Katy to laugh as she always did, but was greeted with complete silence. Katy was staring at the table, lost in thought. After a minute she realised Natalie had stopped speaking, and smiled apologetically.

  “I’m sorry Nat, but I’ve had a shocking day. I warned you I wouldn’t be much fun tonight.”

  “What happened?”

  Natalie stared in horrified sympathy as Katy told her, springing immediately to her friend’s defence.

  “It’s not your fault that she died, Katy, I’m sure it was something completely unrelated. Do you want me to come to the station with you tomorrow? I’m not scared of the police.” Her fiery voice took on a wistful tone. “I know lots of people who work with them…”

  Katy missed the nuance, deep in her own misery.

  “Would you, Nat? That woul
d be brilliant. To be honest I’m terrified. I’ve never been interviewed by the police, apart from giving expert testimony.”

  Natalie gave her a hug and nodded. Although she was a year younger, and tiny, she wasn’t afraid of anyone. She called a spade a JCB and didn’t care what people thought.

  “Don’t you worry, I’ll ask Rowan to cover my theatre list and go with you. I won’t let them bully you. I’ll punch them in the knees if they even try!”

  Katy managed a weak laugh but their drinks went untouched, as the horrors of medical negligence haunted both their thoughts. Finally they gave up on the wine, retreating to Katy’s flat with a rented romantic comedy. It was Natalie’s choice, although she wept all the way through it.

  Katy didn’t see the screen at all.

  Chapter Eight

  The Visitor was growing tired of the charade. It was a challenge to hide in plain sight. But in a few days the father would seek vengeance for Evie, and the guilty would be exposed. Then the police would arrest them all. Just a few more days until it was finally over.

  Wednesday. 12pm.

  “God, that was rough. But at least the Judge let the knife stay in.”

  Craig was running a finger under his collar like a strangling man. He finally gave up, ripping off his tie and opening his top button. Annette rarely saw him rattled, but murderers getting off topped his list of mood-altering events.

  “They haven’t won yet, sir. The trial’s just started.”

  “But did you see Mrs Warwick’s face when they tried to throw the knife out? I wish she wouldn’t come to court, Annette. It’s killing her hearing the details.”

  “I tried to stop her, but she wouldn’t listen. Look sir, you know they’ll try every trick in the book to acquit. But we have it tight enough. You’ll see.”

  “Aye boss, sure the whole justice system sucks and we all know it. It’s always on the side of the scrotes. In the good old days her Da would’ve just got a gun and done the job himself.” Craig knew that he should say something disapproving, but he didn’t have the energy or the inclination.

  Just then Liam tensed. Roger Doyle and his black-suited posse of barristers had walked up behind Craig before he could warn him. Doyle was pontificating loudly to his juniors and his affected drawl made Liam want to deck him.

  “Well...round one to us, don’t you think? Given that the prosecution’s evidence is circumstantial, I think our client should walk free very soon. Justice must be done, you know.”

  Craig knew that he was meant to hear and he glared at Doyle in disgust. He wondered, as he often did, what kind of man defended the ones he knew were guilty. But discussion outside the court-room was forbidden. And Doyle would just trot out the ‘every man deserves a defence’ crap that they’d heard so many times before, usually from ambitious barristers out to make a name for themselves.

  John said he’d like to devise a version of the movie SAW, just for defence barristers...

  Craig’s silence spoke volumes, so Doyle shrugged and indicated his juniors with a sweep of his hand. “We’re off to the Harbour View for lunch, after a very successful morning.”

  Annette caught Liam’s angry look and quickly stood between the three men.

  “We have a meeting, Mr Doyle.” Then she grabbed Craig and Liam by the elbows and wheeled them towards the patrol car, before testosterone got the better of them.

  “What meeting?”

  “Be quiet, Liam.” She turned to Craig. “Let’s go to The James for lunch, sir. We have interviews all afternoon.”

  It was a statement not a question. At times like these Annette went into ‘mum-mode’, with damage limitation her main aim.

  “I just need to speak to the Warwicks, Annette.”

  “No you don’t sir, not today. With respect, they won’t want to hear it.”

  Craig nodded. She was right. “OK. Lunch is on me then.”

  “Aye, that’ll do, boss. We can comfort-eat. Well, that’s what Danni calls it when she’s shovelling-in the chocolate.”

  Annette raised her eyes in sympathy with Liam’s long suffering wife and climbed into the car.

  The patrol car dropped them by the boarded-up Rotterdam Bar in Pilot Street. They wandered past the once-famous venue onto the reclaimed land of Barrow Square, then over the tram lines in Princes Dock Street, towards The James.

  Liam grabbed a small table inside, arguing it was too breezy to sit out, despite the sun. “I’m not getting dirt in my chips, even for you two.” Just at that moment, a seagull swooped low enough to make his point and they conceded.

  They relaxed to the sound of Anthony Toner’s ‘Sailortown’ as the bar’s older occupants gazed out the window, remembering the thriving area before the developers had come.

  “Annette, give Nicky a call and invite her to join us please. She can divert the phones to my mobile for an hour.”

  Liam lit up immediately. “Excellent idea.” He had a real soft spot for Nicky. They were both happily married and neither would have taken it further, but their innocent office flirting amused everyone. Nicky was as sharp as a whip and handled Liam’s banter brilliantly.

  Craig’s mobile rang and he coloured, recognising the caller. Liam smiled to himself. Craig had been dating D.I. Julia McNulty lately. And although he didn’t say how it was going and they’d never ask, at least it took him away from work occasionally.

  Craig waited until it cut to answerphone and then turned the phone to silent. He wouldn’t call her back at work. Julia would understand - work took priority for both of them.

  The welcome sight of food coming towards the table interrupted his thoughts, just as Annette came back in. “Sorry, sir, Nicky had to take Jonny to view a school. She can’t make lunch.”

  Liam’s face dropped.

  “There, there Liam, you’ll see her later.”

  “Ach, away on with you...she’s just good craic.” But his red flush gave him away. “Anyway, what do mean view a school?”

  “You’ve all this ahead of you with Erin and Rory. Jonny’s doing his transfer test before he moves to secondary school.”

  “Thank God, I’ve eight more years before that.”

  They ate in silence for a moment until Annette broke it. “I meant to tell you something, sir...it’s about Nigel Murdock.”

  “What about him?”

  “Well…I was chatting to my friend Jo last night. She’s a Sister I trained with, and she works in Obstetrics now. Anyway, I happened to mention Murdock, just by-the-by.”

  “Annette...behave yourself. We have nothing on him yet.”

  “No honestly, I didn’t give anything away. It was just medical gossip. If you think the police force is small then the health service here is even smaller. Everyone knows everyone.”

  Craig shot her a slight frown, but he was curious. “Go on.”

  “Anyway, it seems that old Nigel gets up to all sorts of stuff, but no one’s been able to touch him for years. He’s been reported by patients loads of times. But his best mate from Windsor College, Robert Moore, was the C.E.O. His other mate was Alan Davis, Dr Winter’s predecessor, so he was flameproof. Now Moore’s been sacked and this new guy McAllister has been brought in from Manchester to shake things up. So they’re all hoping that Murdock finally gets his.”

  Craig nodded slowly. It tallied with what he already knew. Annette leaned forward, dropping her voice.

  “There’s more, sir, and this is gossip. But Jo’s a reliable source. Apparently Murdock and his wife, she’s one of the Burton family, her grandfather made a fortune out of the ships. Anyway, apparently they belong to a racy little sailing crowd up in Cultra. There are rumours about their wild house parties. Car keys being chucked into the fruit bowl and white powder up the nose.”

  ‘Coke and Key Parties’. Craig had dealt with them in London.

  “Jees, you’re joking, Annette! They’re swopping their women? What do you think I’d get for swopping Danni?”

  “A thick ear, if I tell her.”


  Liam smiled sheepishly. “Ach now, you know I wouldn’t change her for the world. But tell me more about this wife-swopping. I have to get my thrills at arm’s length these days.”

  “Well...apparently Murdock’s crowd are known locally as the White Waves.”

  A confused look crossed Liam’s face.

  “You know. Because of the boats.”

  “And the Cocaine, I imagine, Annette.”

  “Oh aye. I see now.”

  Craig picked at his food thoughtfully. “It’s just gossip, but the drugs aspect is interesting.”

  He thought for a moment. “We can’t dig deeper on the drugs without getting warrants, but it’s useful background. Follow it through carefully, Annette, and do a bit more digging on any complaints made against Murdock. But without contacting the Trust just yet please. Nicky and Davy are looking at the professional side, so work with them on it.

  Look at Murdock being under the influence of anything at work; legal or illegal. But quietly, please. The last thing we need is a harassment charge, and he sounds just the sort. I’ll have another word with John and see what he knows on the drugs score.”

  Craig stopped. “Liam, did Joe check McAllister’s alibi?”

  “Aye, his wife confirmed he was home all night. But Joe said that she was wild shifty, wouldn’t look him in the eye at all. And wives have told wee lies for hubbies in the past, so I’ll dig a bit deeper there.”

  “OK, go ahead. Just be aware that the marriage many be ropey.” He told them about McAllister’s ring and his suspicions. “His appointment to St Marys was before the murders started, so he’s not off my hook just yet. See what else you can get when you interview him, unless he insists on me.”

  “Aye OK. Here, I’ve found out about the Private Surgery, the place they had their baby scans. It’s in the private patient’s wing of the M.P.E., up near the paediatric wards. The private wing has a contract with the Trust. I had a word with them and the scans were done by two different female doctors, both juniors at St Marys. I’ve put them both up for interview. But to be fair, anyone could have accessed the notes on the computer and known the babies were girls.”