by Ruth Mancini
‘That’s true,’ I agree. ‘That’s exactly how it is.’
As we walk across the foyer and approach the sliding doors into the car park up ahead, Lady Barrington-Brown stops and touches my arm. ‘I’ll leave you here,’ she says.
‘Of course. And thanks again,’ I say. ‘I really appreciate what you did. It was very kind, given the circumstances.’
But Lady Barrington-Brown’s eyes have clouded over. She looks tired, suddenly, absent, as if she can’t hear me. She nods, says goodbye and heads back in the direction of the ward. I know that she’s worrying about Ellie, or whoever hurt Finn, that they could get access to the ward, do the same thing over again. The ward is meant to be secure, but I’ve just proved it, haven’t I? I’ve just proved that anyone could have gained access. Anyone at all.
12
The full prosecution case is served two weeks later.
‘We have most of the statements you’d expect,’ I tell Will, over the phone. ‘And the toxicology report – which doesn’t really tell us anything we don’t already know. They’ve not tested for drugs. We’ll seek secondary disclosure of the samples and run our own tests. But the main thing is that there’s no CCTV from the hospital.’
‘When are we going to get it?’
‘That’s the problem. We’re not. The police say their copy is in an unplayable format. And they’ve served a statement from a Kathy Fosdyke, Senior Operations Manager and Head of IT at the hospital, who says that the disc has corrupted. Something to do with the compression and functionality of the time-lapse system. Basically, the relevant period of time is missing.’
‘So that’s that.’
‘Sadly, yes. Can we make an “abuse of process” argument?’ I ask.
Will is silent for a moment. He says, ‘There’s no other evidence of bad faith by anyone at the hospital or of any failing by the police to investigate or preserve the evidence. I don’t think it will be enough to sustain it. It’s a matter to raise at trial, but no more.’
‘A nurse – a key prosecution witness – goes missing, and now there’s no CCTV of who went in and out of the ward. Their systems are “state-of-the-art”, according to the hospital administrator. It may not be bad faith, but it doesn’t mean that someone, somewhere, hasn’t made a big mistake.’
‘So, where do we go from here?’
‘Well... Anna’s husband, Tim, has tracked down a nurse for me: Liberty Jones. She was working on the PICU ward at St Martin’s in July, on the same shift as Mary. She’s agreed to talk to me. I’m meeting her today. And we have two more names: in the unused material there’s a statement from a nurse called Stacey Bennett, who also mentions a Dr Kent being on the ward that night. It seems Stacey is another agency nurse and Dr Kent’s a locum. If I can find them, and speak to them, they might have seen something. As agency staff, they might be more willing to blow the whistle, to speak out about any improprieties. And if they saw anything irregular, we would be entitled to full disclosure of the hospital records.’
‘Well, it’s a long shot – and far from certain that that’s where it’s going to take you, but sure, it’s worth speaking to them if you can. In the meantime, we need to take Ellie through the rest of the statements.’
‘OK. I’m meeting Liberty at twelve thirty at Borough Market down on the South Bank. We could have our con after that, if you like?’
‘That works well, actually. I’m down at Southwark Crown this afternoon for a two o’clock hearing. I shouldn’t be more than half an hour, an hour tops. Why don’t you and Ellie wait for me in the Côte Brasserie by the Thames at two thirty?’
‘Great. I’ll call Ellie and let her know.’
I can hear Matt’s phone ringing and his voice answering. Out of the corner of my eye, I can see that he’s looking across at me from his desk near the window. I look up and he points to the phone receiver in his hand and mouths something to me.
‘Will, I’d better go,’ I tell him. ‘I think I have another call coming through. I’ll see you this afternoon.’
‘OK. See you then.’
As I hang up, Matt says, ‘It’s Lucy,’ and transfers the call.
‘Hi, Lucy, what’s up?’ I ask.
‘We’ve got one in at the police station,’ she says. ‘Charing Cross. It’s ready to go.’
I look at the clock on my phone. ‘I can’t do this one,’ I tell her. ‘I’ve got an appointment at twelve thirty on the South Bank. I’ve got to go.’
‘Oh. I just asked Matt and he said you could do it.’
I look across at Matt who is tapping away at his keyboard and staring straight ahead at his computer screen. ‘Matt, I have an appointment,’ I tell him. ‘I can’t cover Charing Cross.’
Matt stops typing and looks at me. ‘What? You’re joking? What appointment?’
‘A potential witness on the Ellis Stephens case. I have to meet her in less than an hour.’
‘Ellis Stephens. Of course you do.’ Matt starts typing again. I watch him for a moment, unsure if he is finishing up what he’s doing or has decided that this is my problem and that he’s leaving it with me.
‘Lucy, I’ll call you back,’ I tell her. I put the phone receiver down and look across at Matt, but he carries on typing. ‘I was just on the phone to Counsel about it,’ I tell him. ‘Maybe you didn’t hear?’
‘Can’t you move it?’ he asks.
‘It’s already arranged,’ I tell him. ‘She’ll be on her way there by now. And besides, I need to talk to her – and I have a con with Counsel straight after.’
‘Are we getting paid for this?’ Matt asks, still typing.
‘For what?’
‘All this extra work you’re doing on that case.’
I bite my lip. ‘I believe that taking a witness statement from a potential defence witness is chargeable.’
Matt stops typing. ‘It’s a fixed fee,’ he says, sharply. ‘I’ve checked the page count and worked it out. We’re going to get paid less than three thousand pounds for the whole case. You’re never going to recover all your costs.’
‘I can’t let that influence me,’ I reply. ‘I have to defend her properly.’
Matt ignores me. He clicks and saves his document and switches off his monitor, before pulling his jacket off the back of his chair in an overly dramatic movement and picking up his bag. He heads out of the door and down the stairs.
I shut down my computer monitor and pick up my own bag. He’s right that I’m spending more time on this case than we’ll be paid for. But this is Ellie’s life we’re talking about. I’m not going to give up now.
I head down the stairs in the direction Matt has just gone. Lucy glances up as I pass her. ‘So which one of you is covering Charing Cross?’ she asks.
‘Matt,’ I tell her, although instinct tells me she knows that already.
As I head out of the door I hear Lucy say, ‘Again,’ but when I look back at her, she’s busy typing and doesn’t look up.
*
Liberty Jones is already seated at a table in the Borough Central café, eating a messy crêpe with one hand and emptying a sachet of sugar into a large latte with the other. She brushes some chocolate crumbs from her mouth with a paper napkin and waves when I walk in. She has striking curly red hair, which is tied up in a messy bun, stray ringlets escaping and tumbling around her ears. She’s just as I imagined her from her description of herself: petite and attractive with an open, friendly face and a smattering of freckles across her nose.
‘Sorry.’ She grins apologetically, through a mouthful of pancake. ‘I was starving. I couldn’t wait.’
‘Am I late?’ I ask.
‘No. I’m early. I just wanted to leave enough time to talk to you before my shift starts.’
‘Thanks, I appreciate that.’
I pull out the chair opposite her. The waitress appears behind me and I order a crêpe and a latte too. Through the window beyond I can see the wholesale fruit and vegetable section of the market. Giant watermelons are stacked in a barrow
just beyond the windows of the pub, and tray upon tray of apples, pears and bananas are piled high upon a bed of plastic grass.
‘So,’ I say, taking out my iPad. ‘Do you mind if I make notes as we talk?’
Liberty shakes her head. ‘Of course not. But you know I was in PICU, right? Finn had just been moved off PICU and onto Peregrine Ward. I wasn’t there when it happened.’
‘That’s OK. Anything you can tell me might help. You remember the incident?’ I ask her. ‘You heard about it?’
‘How could I forget? We all knew Finn. He was a gorgeous little boy. So lush with his big blue eyes and his cheeky smile. He’d only been with us for... well, it must have been less than a week when it happened.’
‘So, do you remember much about that evening? Who was working – and where they were?’
Liberty picks up what’s left of her crêpe and folds the last bit into her mouth. I wait for her to finish. ‘I was on the late shift with Mary that day,’ she says, swallowing and wiping her mouth with the napkin again. ‘Mary was really attached to Finn. I remember when he was ready to go, she wanted to be the one to go with him over to Peregrine Ward for the handover. It was early evening and I remember she went over a couple more times to take his meds and check on him before we went off shift.’
The waitress appears again with my food.
Liberty continues, ‘I was gobsmacked – we both were – when we came back on again the next afternoon and found him back there in PICU, intubated and sedated all over again, and fighting for his little life. It was unbelievable... shocking. He nearly died. The thought that someone could do that to an innocent little boy. A baby.’ She shakes her head, then looks up at me. ‘Sorry. I know you’re her lawyer and everything, and I’ve never met her, so I don’t know what she’s like—’
I interrupt her. ‘You’ve never met Ellie? Finn’s mother?’
‘No. I don’t think so. It was the other lady that was there all the time.’
‘The other lady?’
‘The posh lady. Lady Bla Bla Bobbington-Plum or whatever her name was...’
I laugh. ‘Barrington-Brown?’ I suggest.
She grins. ‘Yeah. That’s the one.’
‘So, was there anyone else who visited regularly?’
‘There was that other woman from Social Services.’ She rolls her eyes. ‘Now, she was a piece of work.’
‘How do you mean?’
She looks me in the eye. ‘I probably shouldn’t say this, but she was a bit of a bossy cow. I felt really sorry for Mary. She was totally on her back.’
‘In what way?’
‘Telling her what to do and when to do it,’ Liberty confides. ‘Always telling her she was doing stuff wrong.’
‘Really? Like what?’
‘Oh, I don’t know. I can’t remember now. There were various things that Mary was supposed to have done or not done. Mary was a good nurse, don’t get me wrong. But she didn’t always do everything by the book.’
I look her in the eye. ‘Can you give me any examples?’
‘Well, she didn’t always remember to...’ She tails off suddenly, and her friendly smile fades. ‘Wait a minute, is this going to be used in Court?’
‘Well, possibly,’ I say. ‘If you agree.’
She shakes her head. ‘Well, then, no, I don’t... I don’t really want to say. It really wasn’t anything much. I don’t want to get Mary into trouble.’
I nod, calmly, reassuringly. Inside, my mind is racing. Mary didn’t always get it right; Mary might have made a mistake. This is the first time that I’ve been told that Mary is anything other than hard-working and reliable. This evidence is crucial to Ellie’s defence. But Liberty clearly isn’t going to be the one to deliver it.
On the other hand, one person who is going to be giving evidence in court is Heather Grainger. So, we can ask her, can’t we? Cross-examine her – under oath – about Mary, about how she wasn’t as careful as she should have been. This is definitely something to work with, even if Liberty doesn’t want to get involved.
‘OK. Not to worry,’ I tell her. ‘So did anyone else visit Finn?’
‘There was the baby’s dad, of course.’
‘That’s it? No one else?’
‘Not that I remember. Why?’
‘No reason,’ I tell her. ‘I’m just really surprised that you didn’t bump into Ellie, that’s all.’
She shrugs. ‘Well, we were on lates. Came on at two and left at ten. So she might have been there in the morning. Or at night.’
‘OK. So what else can you remember about what happened?’ I ask her.
‘Nothing. I just remember the police talking to everyone the following day.’
‘Can you remember who they talked to?’
‘Well, there was Brooke Allen, Susie Johnson... me and Mary. I can’t remember who else. I couldn’t really help them, though, I told them that. I was busy when it happened. I remember when Mary went over to Peregrine to say goodbye to Finn, the last time, we’d already finished our shift. I got collared at the same time by the parents of a little girl that I was looking after. I didn’t see or talk to anyone about Finn until we came in and found him on PICU again the next day.’
‘And what did Mary tell you about what happened?’
‘Not much, as it goes. She told me she’d given a statement to the police and that she would be called to give evidence, but she didn’t say any more. We were really busy that day. That would have been the Saturday. She did an early shift on the following Monday. I was on lates and I did the handover. But, again, we didn’t really have time to talk and I never saw her again after that. I think it was Wednesday or something when they told me she’d gone.’
‘Gone? She left the PICU? Just like that?’
‘She left the hospital. She came in on the Monday, and then never came back.’
‘Were you surprised?’
Liberty pokes with a wooden stirrer at the froth that’s clinging to the sides of her empty coffee mug. ‘Well, not really, no. She was agency, at the end of the day. They come and go.’
‘But... she left so suddenly after Finn’s tube was tampered with. Didn’t people wonder why? Did the managers tell you what had happened?’
‘They said they didn’t know.’
‘Wasn’t anyone suspicious?’
Liberty frowns. ‘Of Mary? No. Why would they be?’
I shrug. ‘No reason. Maybe it was just a coincidence...’
‘What was?’
I push my iPad aside and lean towards her, my elbows on the table. ‘Look, could it have been an accident?’ I ask. ‘What happened to Finn?’
‘What do you mean? Could his mother have pulled the line out by accident?’
‘No. I mean, could a member of hospital staff have done it? A nurse?’
Liberty stares blankly at me for a moment. ‘Well, yes,’ she says, finally. ‘Technically. If the catheter was knocked out of the exit site, or if it hadn’t been taped up properly. But that’s never happened, not in all the time I’ve been nursing.’
‘Would you know about it if it had?’
Liberty shrugs. ‘I don’t know. But it would be a huge mistake to make. The nurse would be suspended immediately... and she’d be disciplined. We’d know if another nurse was being disciplined. Word gets around...’ Liberty tails off.
‘But they couldn’t discipline her if she wasn’t there, could they?’
Liberty chews the end of the wooden stirrer and looks thoughtfully at her empty coffee mug.
‘Would you like another?’ I ask her.
She shakes her head and checks her watch. ‘I’m going to have to go in a minute. Shift starts at two.’
‘OK. I don’t want to make you late... but can I just ask you a couple more questions?’
She hesitates. ‘Go on then.’
‘There’s a statement here in the unused material...’
Liberty frowns.
‘That’s basically statements – and other evidence
– that the prosecution have given to us because they are of no use to them but might help us.’
‘That’s nice of them,’ she says.
‘It’s the rules. Equality of arms,’ I tell her. ‘The prosecution have a whole police force at their disposal to gather their evidence but we only have... well, me. So, this is a statement from a nurse called Stacey Bennett. It seems she’s no longer at St Martin’s. Do you know her?’
‘I remember the name. She was agency. She was a ward nurse on Peregrine. She was also on the General Medical Ward for a while. I knew her, but not well.’
‘Do you know where she is now?’
‘No, sorry.’
‘OK, well she mentions that she was – as you say – on Peregrine Ward on the twenty-fifth of July. She mentions a consultant looking after Finn that evening, a locum named Dr Kent. Do you know the name?’
Liberty frowns and purses her lips. ‘No. Doesn’t ring a bell. He’s never worked on PICU. You should speak to someone on the ward, or the hospital admin department.’
I pull a face. ‘Yeah, I tried that. I didn’t get anywhere.’
‘Sorry.’ Liberty looks at her watch. ‘Last question?’ she smiles.
‘OK,’ I agree. ‘Last question – the big question, now. There are three Mary Ngombes on Facebook. None of them would appear to be our Mary. Is there anyone who might know where she is?’
Liberty shakes her head. ‘She wasn’t... well, good friends with anyone, really. Don’t get me wrong, I liked her and we got on. But it doesn’t surprise me that she’s not on Facebook, or that she hasn’t kept in touch. She was the sort of person who kept herself to herself.’
‘So there’s no one who could tell me where she’s gone?’
Liberty shakes her head. ‘I’m sorry. Not that I know of, no.’
*
I head out of the wholesale section of the market, past the gigantic cheeses and huge tubs of olives. I wish I had time to stop and investigate the incredible aromas of fried chicken and Catalan stew, the rows of Turkish sweets and slabs of chocolate all mingling enticingly with the bitter scent of coffee. I circuit the cathedral and pass under London Bridge before heading along beside the choppy grey waters of the Thames towards Battle Bridge Lane. The wind whips my hair around my face so that I struggle to see where I’m going. I pull a hairband from my wrist and tie it back into a messy knot.