‘We want to know if we can have a post mortem done.’
‘Really?’ She looked startled. ‘That’s not usual where it’s a death due to natural causes.’
‘But if we want it done – who do we have to see?’
‘Let me check for you.’
We sat in the TV lounge, which was mercifully empty. The minutes ticked by. Agnes closed her eyes. I got up and went for a wander up and down the corridor, reading the notices. In the background the curious cheer that’s endemic to places of illness rang out in the calls and comments of staff and patients. There was the clatter of a dinner trolley making its rounds. The scent of onion and cauliflower wafted through the building. I went back and joined Agnes.
The tall nurse appeared. ‘Sorry to keep you waiting. We should be able to go down now. You asked about the post mortem. Now the certificate was issued giving a natural cause of death, she didn’t die during surgery, as the result of a fall or anything like that, so you’ll need to talk to the coroner and explain why you want a post mortem, and of course the next of kin will have to give their permission. I’ve notified pathology to wait until they hear before they do anything else.’
I asked her about Lily’s personal belongings.
‘Her son said he’d pick them up on Friday when he comes backup for the funeral. I’m so sorry about the mix-up. You can see her now; If you’ll come this way.’
We took the lift up and walked the length of the corridor before taking another lift down to the basement. On the way the nurse commiserated with Agnes. ‘I don’t know if it helps but it was very peaceful. There was no pain. She just stopped breathing.’
We turned left through double doors: the pathology department. The nurse led us to a door on the right. She opened it and we filed into the small anteroom. In the centre, on a trolley, lay Lily. Her face was soft in death. They’d removed her glasses, folded her arms across her chest. She wore a white hospital gown, a sheet covered her from the chest down and a towel was tucked round the back and sides of her head. There was no sign that they’d started recovering bits from her body. Thank God they hadn’t been halfway through removing her eyes or something.
I looked again at her arms. The arms that had held her daughter, Olive, in birth and death. The sentiment caught me unawares, tears prickled my nose. I swallowed hard, touched Agnes on the arm. ‘I’ll wait outside.’ This was her bereavement.
There was nowhere to sit in the corridor so I paced up and down for a bit. Double doors at the end led to the pathology labs and adjacent double doors to an outside yard, delivery area and wheelie bins. Presumably this was where the vehicles came to take bodies away to the funeral parlours. I was leaning against the corridor wall when the doors from the lab swung open. A young man in a white coat swept through and out of the doors to the yard.
I followed. I caught the whiff of tobacco smoke. He inhaled deeply, leaning back against the brick wall. He looked a little startled when he saw me, straightened up.
I smiled. ‘Hi! They ought to give you a smokers’ room.’
‘They have,’ he dragged again, ‘it’s miles away.’
‘And too smoky?’
He laughed. ‘Right.’
‘Do you work in the lab?’
He nodded, blew out smoke.
‘I’ve brought my neighbour in to see her friend, died last night. They’d already moved her down here. Bit embarrassing really. She’s an organ donor. When you do that do they use everything?’
He shrugged. ‘Depends. Some organs go for transplants, kidneys and that. They take those in theatre. Or there might be some research going on so there’s a demand for something particular. Like last year there was someone doing some stuff on livers, they wanted lots of whole livers.’
‘Do they do it here, the research?’
‘Some. Lot of stuff goes off to other centres, some abroad, research labs. Depends.’
‘What sort of thing would they take from Mrs Palmer?’
He looked uncomfortable, looked away. ‘I don’t know if that’s…’
‘I’m sorry. Bit ghoulish, isn’t it!’ I giggled, trying to play up the chatterbox character. ‘Just thought with her being old perhaps they can’t use much.’
‘She had Alzheimer’s, didn’t she?’
I nodded. So did he.
‘They’ve got her down for the brain.’
Of course.
‘They’ve still no way of treating it, still trying to work out why it develops. Lot of research going on all over the place. Like AIDS,’ he said. ‘Whoever finds the cure, they’re going to make millions. Big bucks.’
‘Do they do that here as well?’ I asked. ‘I’m so nosy,’ I added, ‘but my mum always used to say, “Don’t ask – never know”.’
‘I think they do some here but this is going to some private lab they use in Cheshire.’
‘Malden’s!’
Suspicion clouded his face.
‘My cousin works there, research. What a small world, honestly! It’s always happening.’ I rattled on inanely. ‘I went on holiday last year’– Corfu – and who turns out to be in the next apartment but someone from primary school. Amazing. Well, I’d better get back.’ I must have come across as either crass or suspect but it didn’t matter. Lily Palmer was dead and Malden’s were expecting her brain. It just added to the stench surrounding the whole affair.
I returned to wait outside the anteroom. The smoker came in a couple of minutes later. He glanced my way. I grinned and waved like an old friend. He smiled weakly. I guessed he was probably regretting answering my questions but wasn’t worried enough to do anything about my snooping. Probably chalked me up as a typical nosy parker.
Agnes emerged from the anteroom pale but dry-eyed.
‘Has the nurse gone?’ she asked.
‘Yes.’
‘It feels strange, leaving her alone with no one to watch over…’ She broke off for a moment, her hand crept to the brooch on her lapel and fussed with it. ‘That’s what we used to do, you know, when the bodies were laid out at home. You’d keep the candles lit and take turns sitting up with them. It was part of life. That sounds silly, doesn’t it, death being part of life, but it was. Not like this.’ She gestured at the corridor. ‘People wanted to be at home. There was always a neighbour who knew how to prepare the body, she’d come in and you’d help. It was so natural. Nowadays you never hear of it, do you? People would be shocked, wouldn’t they? It’s all left to the professionals now.’
When she finished she stood there, trim in her smart coat and slightly bewildered.
‘Come on,’ I said, ‘time to go.’
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
I nearly collided with Jimmy Achebe leaving the hospital. I don’t know who was more surprised.
‘Jimmy!’
He looked startled, poised to run, until he realised who I was. We both spoke at the same time.
‘How are you?’ I asked. ‘I’m so sorry…’
‘I’ve sent a cheque,’ he blurted out.
We both stopped, embarrassed.
‘Yes, thank you. I got it on Saturday. About Tina…’
He looked away, ill at ease, dropped his cigarette and ground it out, pushed his hands into the pockets of his jacket. I was aware of Agnes moving a little bit further away from us.
‘I’m so sorry. It must be awful, and to be held at the police station on top of everything else…’
He nodded briskly, sniffed and hunched his shoulders against the cold. ‘Yeah,’ he said quietly.
‘I saw in the paper, about the charges. Do you know when it’ll come to court?’
He shook his head again. ‘They don’t tell me anything.’ He raised his eyes to mine. They were shiny, blazing with hurt. He shuddered.
I couldn’t think of anything to say but it seemed abrupt to leave it like that. He spoke first.
‘Better go, visiting my mum,’ he explained. He nodded towards the entrance. ‘She’s in for tests – and now with all this…’
He left the sentence hanging. The murder of a daughter-in-law would be devastating, even for someone in good health, but to have your son all but accused of killing her into the bargain – horrendous.
‘I am sorry,’ I repeated. ‘Bye, Jimmy.’
He dipped his head in reply and wheeled away through the doors and back into the brightly lit corridor. He seemed eager to go. Did he think hiring me had set in motion the chain of events that had led to Tina’s death? Had it? It wasn’t a question I could ask. I’d have to wait for Bill Sherwin’s trial to see if it was answered. But had that association made him uncomfortable with me or was it just the sheer bloody pain of grief and the awkwardness between people who don’t know how to share it?
I didn’t say anything to Agnes about Jimmy and she was discreet enough not to ask. We made our way back to the car. The sun still shone but the bitter wind cut right through my clothing. It was a relief to get into the car.
‘Did you find anything out?’ She fastened her seat belt.
I hesitated. Would it be insensitive to tell her?
‘Please don’t spare me the details,’ she said sharply. ‘Lily’s dead now, she’s at peace, nothing else can hurt her. The least I can do is find out whether her death was inevitable.’
‘They’re going to remove her brain. It’s going to be sent to Malden’s for research.’
‘Malden’s again. What is going on, Sal?’
I sighed. ‘I don’t know. You need to ring Charles and get him to agree to a post mortem. I can’t see he’d object with what we know about the pills. And that’s what I’ll tell the coroner – that we know she was given very high dosages and we want to see if it contributed to her death. I’ll try the police again too.’
There was a bank statement waiting for me at the office along with another exhortation to take out a loan. Hell, they just wanted to get me deeper in debt. Kilkenny Investigations was hardly in a position to pay the bills, never mind a loan.
I got out the Achebe file, made a note of the payment from Jimmy. Clean slate. I put the cheque in my bag to deposit at the bank.
I trembled. The office was freezing. I’d no fresh milk. Sod it, I could do my other calls from home either side of collecting Maddie and Tom.
I rang the police. DS Wignall was out of the office and would return my call when he got back.
The coroner was in. He listened to my concerns. I concentrated solely on the medication Lily had been receiving, and he agreed a post mortem should be held. ‘We’re always happy to arrange a post mortem in a case like this, set people’s minds at rest.’
Or set them thinking.
He needed to hear from next of kin, though, for permission. Meanwhile he would confirm with the hospital that the body was to be held in the morgue until further notice.
When I spoke to Agnes she still hadn’t managed to get through to Charles. She would ring me when she had.
I was ravenous. The children had polished off spaghetti hoops but I wanted something more substantial – stir-fried vegetables and rice. I’d just started slicing things up when the phone went. The police?
‘Sal, this is Agnes.’ She paused.
‘Hello. Did you speak to Charles?’
‘Dr Goulden is here. I think you better come over. He wants to talk to us.’ Her voice sounded strained, shaky. The phone went dead before I could respond.
Ray wasn’t back, Sheila was out. I couldn’t leave the children and I didn’t want to take them with me. I rang Jackie Dobson, whose eldest daughter, Vicky, sometimes babysat. She was saving for a car and every little helped. She was round in five minutes. I asked her to explain to Ray when he got in and I left Agnes’ phone number in case there was a crisis. Digger leapt to his feet, inspired by all the rush of activity; was this his big chance?
‘No, Digger. You’re not coming. Stay.’ He slumped. As I left Maddie and Tom were competing for Vicky’s attention by diving off the sofa.
The traffic was snarled up along Wilmslow Road. The delay gave me plenty of opportunity to worry. Goulden must have got Agnes’ address from the phone book, or maybe it was in Lily’s notes at Homelea. Presumably he had heard from the police. I wished I’d been able to talk to DS Wignall before I’d set out. Had they actually interviewed Goulden yet? Why did he want to talk to Agnes and me? More threats?
I tapped my fingers on the steering wheel. It was freezing. The heater in the car worked but gave out an ominous stench of burning rubber that caught at the back of my throat. I turned it off. Gazed out at the people walking by: clusters of students in a range of clothing styles – grunge, Joe Bloggs, mod, high street – making their way back from the universities; a large party of women and children in saris and shalwar-kameez, the vivid-coloured, silky material flapping in the wind; an old woman bundled in layers of faded dark clothes peering in a litter bin; a man teetering on the kerb edge, arms wheeling, shouting at the sky.
‘Come on,’ I muttered. I inched forwards till we reached the junction. The lights were out. A traffic cop was just arriving. Two drivers had managed to collide and were out of their cars, one red-faced, screeching at the other. At last I wheeled right and drove on to Agnes’ house. There were no lights on even though the day was fading. There was a Volvo parked directly outside which I assumed was Dr Goulden’s. I rang the bell.
He opened the door. Why not Agnes? Half-smile. ‘Miss Kilkenny.’
Ms actually.
‘Do come in.’
I stepped into the hall, gloomy without the lights on. His bulk made me feel small and vulnerable.
‘Where’s Agnes?’ I demanded.
‘We’re in the back,’ he said.
I headed along to the back room.
‘Jesus Christ!’
Agnes sat in her armchair by the gas fire. Her wrists were bound in front of her, her mouth taped up. The creel with its washing lay broken in the corner.
‘I had to restrain her.’ He spoke calmly. ‘She became distressed. I could have used a sedative,’ he patted his pocket, ‘but she’d have been out for the count. She had the carpet tape out when I arrived.’ He motioned to the table where the roll of heavy-duty tape lay.
Agnes’ eyes glittered furiously. I was appalled. I turned on him. ‘Untie her, now. What the hell do you think you’re doing? This is assault. Are you mad? Untie her.’
He made no move. ‘We’ve got to talk,’ he said. ‘I’m taking you both to the hospital. We need to see Mr Simcock, the consultant. I realise you’ve had some concerns about Mrs Palmer.’ The man was cracked, going on about the need to clear things up while he’d bound and gagged Agnes.
‘Untie her,’ I insisted.
He looked at me, wearily.
‘This is ridiculous. I’m ringing the police.’ I snatched up the phone, my heart galloping. The line was dead. He’d ripped out the wires. The realisation brought with it a kaleidoscope of images, mainly from the movies. None of them pretty. A wave of panic. He really was off his trolley. I felt the buzz of fear froth my blood. I relived the endless moment of terror from my past, waiting for the knife to slide in, watching the blob of spittle dance.
He smiled thinly. ‘The hospital.’ He stooped to lift Agnes, his thick, straight blond hair falling forward.
‘Wait!’ I tried to steady my voice. ‘Take those things off her first. We’ll come to the hospital but not like that. Untie her.’
‘Get on with it.’ He brushed past the pair of us and opened the door. I moved to step outside, his arm shot out and he grabbed my hair. Used it to bang my head against the door frame. The sickly pain made me reel, reminding me of childhood falls. His other hand still held the kitchen knife.
Agnes cried out.
‘Don’t mess me about,’ he whispered in my ear. ‘You’ve caused enough trouble, you silly bitch. You, you wait here till she’s in the car. You come when I say, understand?’
I did.
He glared at me, considered for a moment. ‘If she screams…’
‘She won’t.’
/> He twisted round and before I could draw breath yanked the tape from her mouth. Agnes yelped in pain, then pressed her lips together. A band of red bloomed round her mouth where the tape had been.
‘Don’t!’ I swallowed hard. He ignored me. He fumbled with the rough cord around her wrists for a minute before cursing in exasperation. He went into the little kitchen, rummaged in a drawer and returned with a small vegetable knife. He sawed at the cord; the knife was sharp and cut through it quickly. Agnes rubbed at her wrists.
‘Come on,’ he snapped, ‘in the car.’ He made to take Agnes’ elbow but she twisted away and pushed herself to her feet.
‘Go on.’ He jerked his head. We went down the hall to the door.
‘She’ll need her coat,’ I said. ‘It’s freezing out there.’
‘Get it,’ he hissed at Agnes. She reached for it from the hooks in the hall, put it on, taking her time.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
He motioned for Agnes to come and stand in front of him so I could see the knife pointing at her kidneys. ‘Don’t mess me about,’ he repeated.
I stood in the doorway watching as he steered her to the passenger door and into the car. My mind scrabbled for routes of escape but I couldn’t come up with anything that wouldn’t jeopardise Agnes. At any rate we’d have more chance of attracting attention at the hospital than we would here. I firmly suppressed the idea that Goulden might not be taking us to the hospital once he had us in his car. At least if Ray tried to ring Agnes he’d find the phone wasn’t working and realise something was wrong.
He signalled for me to come to the car. I left the front door slightly ajar – if the wind opened it wider it might alert a neighbour. My legs were unsteady as I walked the few steps to the Volvo. I was at sea and the pavement lurched. I slid into the back seat beside him. The car was impeccable and smelled of some pine air-freshener. Goulden looked into the mirror, his pale blue eyes held mine. I could see he had a large freckle on his lip.
‘We’re going to the hospital. Don’t do anything stupid.’ He held up the knife. ‘I wouldn’t like to have to use this on Mrs Donlan here.’
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