West glanced back to where the others stood. Andrews raised his hands and nodded. They had no choice.
They had no choice. Heather had killed before. There was nothing to stop her killing again. West hesitated, searching for the right words, needing to stir up some empathy for Kelly.
‘Ms Larsson,’ he started hesitantly, ‘you mentioned that you’d met Kelly Johnson, the woman whose husband was murdered earlier this year. You had hoped to see her again.’
It was a minute, at least, before Viveka Larsson nodded, busy as she was with the whole business of dying. Without turning her head, her voice a shade quieter, she said, ‘She didn’t turn up.’
‘No, she didn’t. In fact, she hasn’t been seen for a few days. We’re looking for her. She had appointments she didn’t keep, neighbours haven’t seen her. Her car is parked outside her house.’
A look of sadness crossed Viveka’s face and this time she turned to look at West. ‘Something has happened to her?’
West nodded. ‘Yes, we believe so.’ He sighed and continued, ‘You know we’ve been looking into Offer, Ms Larsson. We found a connection and erroneously thought you were involved.’
Frail, and unwell as she was, Viveka Larsson was not a fool. ‘And I am not, as you know. But, it seems to me that, perhaps, you have found another connection. Not, I hope, this woman?’
‘No, not Kelly. But we think she may have gone to warn someone else that we were looking into Offer. Someone, who we have reason to believe is connected.’
If it was possible to look paler and frailer, Viveka Larsson managed it. ‘Somebody I know? You think it is one of my volunteers and that they have hurt Kelly too?’
‘We have no evidence, just our suspicions.’ West said, trying to feel his way to bring Heather Goodbody into the conversation.
‘I had hoped Offer would be my swan song,’ Viveka said, and for the first time a note of desolation sounded in her voice. She coughed then, a sad rattle of a sound, before saying firmly. ‘Tell me who this person is, I insist.’
‘We think this person has Kelly.’ West said, ignoring her request ‘We think she means to do her harm.’
Viveka Larsson looked puzzled. ‘But you know it is not I. Why then are you here?’
It was time. ‘Heather Goodbody called to see you a while ago, stayed for a short time and left. When she left she was carrying something. What was it?’
There was a palpable silence. West watched an array of emotions cross Viveka’s face before she said in disbelief, ‘You think Heather Goodbody is responsible. Impossible, Sergeant. She has been my second-in-command, the person who has done the most to keep Offer going, who promotes it endlessly. In the beginning, when it didn’t seem as though it would be a success, it was Heather who encouraged me, who stood by me, who had belief in me and in Offer.’ She finished on a high note, her voice frail but euphoric.
‘In fact, she would do anything for you, Ms Larsson. Anything to keep Offer going for your sake.’
Viveka Larsson looked appalled and then as the truth hit home, she looked stricken. ‘Surely not...’
‘Why did she come here today?’ West persevered.
‘She just came to see if I needed anything. Nothing more.’
‘Does she do this regularly?’ West asked.
Viveka shrugged, and then winced, needing to wait for the pain to subside before saying, ‘Not really. But it is not too unusual.’
There had to be some reason she came today. West knew he was right. ‘What did she take away with her? She was carrying something small in her hand when she left.’
‘I gave her nothing, Sergeant,’ Viveka said puzzled. ‘Honestly. She stayed only a few minutes and left.’
Frustrated, West tried again. ‘Are you sure? There was nothing she could have taken? Think, please, Kelly’s life may depend on it.’
The woman shook her head and then sighed, her head slumping, the very effort of holding it up becoming too much of a feat. Raising her eyes, she whispered, ‘I’m sorry I cannot help you, or Kelly. There is nothing more I can tell y...’ She stopped mid-word, looking at West in dawning horror. ‘Oh my goodness,’ she said, holding a thin, bony hand to her mouth as if to prevent the words, the thoughts escaping. A sob edged its way around her fingers quickly followed by another.
‘What is it?’ West asked, sitting forward, ‘What?’
Her face a picture of desolation, Viveka took her hand away and then, on the back of a sob, whispered, ‘She asked to use the bathroom before she left. The bathroom cabinet. I keep my morphine in the bathroom cabinet.’
West looked back at Andrews who, without a word, pulled a pair of latex gloves from his pocket and headed for the bathroom.
The cabinet over the wash-handbasin was unlocked. Each shelf was stocked full of medication of all sorts but his keen eyes quickly found what he was looking for. He took out the boxes, opened and counted the supply and returned them to the cabinet shelf .If they were right they’d have the door fingerprinted, collect the hard evidence they needed.
It only took a minute and he returned to the sitting room where the tableau was much as he left it, all three present waiting for the outcome of his search.
‘There are two boxes holding five ampoules in each,’ he said. ‘And several boxes holding syringes and needles.’
West looked to Viveka for confirmation.
Her face contorted and tears appeared. ‘There were three boxes. Oh my God, there were three.’
West swung into action. ‘Jarvis have the fingerprint people do their thing here. We need to get this pinned down.’ He wasn’t going to risk compromising the case; he owed it to the Roberts’ family to make sure Heather Goodbody was put away for Gerard Roberts’ murder. Kelly couldn’t be the only person he thought about. ‘Peter, get on to the inspector, fill him in, he can get them to issue a warrant based on this theft. Tell him we’re going straight there. There is a strong possibility the morphine is for Kelly.’
Jarvis and Andrews started on the phone calls leaving West to console Viveka Larsson who had been overcome with grief at the outcome of something that had been designed to be her atonement.
‘It was no fault of yours Ms Larsson. You just wanted to do something worthy. You should know from all your experience with people, it’s impossible to tell the good from the bad.’
‘You will save Kelly?’ she said, her voice muffled with tears.
West’s face looked grim, ‘Yes,’ he said, ‘I will save her. I promise.’
He just hoped it was a promise he could keep.
39
Leaving a reluctant Jarvis behind to advise the finger-print tecs when they arrived, West and Andrews took off at speed, hoping the warrant would be issued before they arrived at Heather’s house. Andrews drove, West acknowledging with a nod the other man’s faster driving skills. Anyway, it left him free to speak to Inspector Morrison when he rang which he did five minutes later, West answered and listened, breathing a sigh of relief when he heard the warrant had been granted.
‘Thank you, Inspector,’ he said, ‘we’re on our way there now.’
‘I hope you’ve done everything by the book, Sergeant West,’ Inspector Morrison’s voice was sharp, ‘we don’t want this case compromised.’
‘We’ve done everything by the book, sir. Jarvis is at the Larsson apartment, he’ll ensure everything is done there that needs to be. The case against her will hold.’ West didn’t tell him they’d inveigled their way into Heather’s house earlier. That was most definitely on a need to know basis and, hopefully, the inspector would never need to know.
They wouldn’t be able to produce the warrant when they arrived but West hoped Heather Goodbody wouldn’t ask to see it. If she did...well, they’d address that issue when it occurred. Traffic was heavy, and conscious that it had been more than two hours since Heather went home with enough morphine in her possession to kill, West did something he rarely did, he pressed the switch that activated the strobe lighting on his front
and back window and sent the siren wailing. Traffic moved out of their way, and Andrews put his foot to the floor.
They switched off the lights and siren as they pulled into Heather’s road. There was no point in forewarning her. It didn’t take long to cause grievous bodily harm. Even less time armed with a syringe filled with morphine.
Pulling up directly outside, Andrews cut the engine and they stared grimly at the ordinary suburban house in front of them. No hint as to what was going on inside.
The front gated squeaked a welcome and then they were at the door. West reached for the doorknocker and slammed in down smartly, waiting a second to see if there was a reply, hammering it down again and again.
Andrews peered in the downstairs windows. ‘Nothing in view, Mike.’
They’d never kick the door in, West decided. It was old-school, heavy and dependable. There were two small panes of glass, set at eye level, too small to be of any use. ‘Let’s try plan B,’ he said, and turned to scan the garden.
‘What’s plan B?’ Andrews said, giving up on the windows and trying to see through the small panes of glass in the door.
West picked up a heavy garden ornament, a weather-worn tortoise, and waved it in Andrews’ direction. ‘This is,’ he said, moving to the front window and drawing his hand back to throw it through the glass.
Just then, Andrews saw movement inside. ‘Hold it, Mike. She’s coming.’
There was the distinct sound of a key in the lock and bolts being drawn. The door opened slowly and Heather Goodbody stood in the gap, one hand holding the door, an uncertain smile on her lips that faded quickly when she saw the stone tortoise in West’s hand.
‘What on earth...?’ she spluttered, closing the door, fiddling with the safety-chain and then opening the door wide. ‘What are you doing with that?’
West dropped the tortoise unceremoniously and brushed the dirt from his fingers. Looking at the woman, he expected a trace of anxiety, some outward sign of her guilt. But her face was bland, vacuous even. But he noticed her hand on the door, knuckles white, nails biting into the wood.
‘Ms Goodbody,’ he said, his voice firm, ‘you are under arrest for the theft of Morphine from the home of Viveka Larsson. You do not have to say anything but anything you do say can be used in evidence against you.
‘We have a warrant to search your house to locate and confiscate the stolen items. West turned from the woman and spoke to Andrews who stood close behind. ‘Read her, her rights, Garda Andrews.’
‘This is ridiculous,’ Heather Goodbody blustered, her free hand going to rest on the door-frame as if to bar their entrance.
Time didn’t allow for gentle persuasion. Andrews moved in and firmly removed one hand and then the other and led the woman into the house.
Just then a car pulled up outside and turning, West saw Baxter and Edwards climb out and hurry up the path.
‘Jarvis rang us,’ Baxter explained, ‘we thought we’d be of help.’
Andrews could be heard reading Heather Goodbody her rights. Baxter and Edwards smiled. ‘We got her then?’ Edwards asked.
West nodded and indicated the dresser behind which he hoped to find Kelly Johnson, safe and well. ‘Give me a hand with this.’
It didn’t need two of them. The dresser slid easily along the carpet to reveal the door behind, a small key in the lock, bolts to the top and bottom.
‘Kelly,’ West called, fumbling with the metal-ware before pulling the door open. Unconsciously, they all pulled back as the offensive smell of body waste and the cloying, metallic smell of stale blood hit them. West looked down in disbelief at the body lying prone in the small space. Baxter bent down and picked up the wrist that lay almost at his feet.
He looked up at West, his mouth set in a grim line. ‘I can’t get a pulse.’
West couldn’t move. He saw Andrews push the others out of the way, heard him bark an order at Baxter to stay with Heather and then saw him gently turn Kelly, saw his hands move to her neck, search for a jugular pulse. ‘There’s a pulse. But it’s faint. She’s banged her head, there’s some blood. Not a lot,’ he added hastily. ‘It looks like she banged her head on the sloped wall. There’s blood there.’ He pointed, and West, following his finger to the dark stain on the slope of the small room, felt his stomach lurch.
Edwards moved, took out his phone and called for an ambulance, explaining briefly the problem. ‘Possible morphine overdose,’ he added, knowing that the faster they administered an antidote the better the outcome would be.
‘We need to make sure,’ Andrews said, eyeing the motionless body critically. ‘Mike, I’ll stay with Kelly. Go find out what you can. You’ll be more use there,’ he added firmly as West hesitated, resisting the temptation to tell him he was of no use whatsoever standing there like a lovelorn fool.
It was the push West needed. He nodded and moved into the sitting room where Heather sat looking unperturbed, while Baxter stood, one eye on Heather, one eye on what was happening outside.
West sat opposite. ‘We’ve found Kelly, Ms Goodbody.’
He was interrupted by the arrival of Edwards who had begun a search for the morphine.
‘I’ve got them all Sarge,’ he said, holding out a gloved hand to show five empty morphine vials and a syringe and needle.
‘You injected her with the morphine you stole from Ms Larsson? I can’t believe she just allowed you to do so,’ West questioned, ‘she’s a strong woman.’
Heather smiled. ‘She tried to escape. I had to do something.’
West waited but there was nothing more forthcoming. ‘So what did you do?’
‘I warned her,’ she said, as if this vindicated her next action. ‘I gave her clear warning that if she tried anything I’d use my Taser.’
Shocked, West looked at Edwards who immediately moved on the quest for this item.
‘You used a Taser?’
‘Very effectively, she hadn’t regained consciousness by the time I returned, so it was easy to inject her with the morphine.’
West couldn’t resist the next question, ‘Why? Why did you do it all?’
Heather face wore the fervent look of the fanatic and her eyes sparked with the flame of the zealot. ‘For Viveka, of course,’ she cried. ‘Offer has to be a success. It is going to be her legacy. It has to succeed. And it was working. Everything was going to plan. Offer was a success. You needed us.
‘And then that stupid woman thought Viveka was to blame. She was going to tell you. If she had, you’d have questioned Viveka and realised she wasn’t and then...well, the game would have been up, I suppose.’
‘So you decided to kill her just as you had killed Gerard Roberts.’
Heather looked puzzled, ‘Who?’
West could see no guile in her face, she’d really forgotten. ‘Gerard Roberts. The man you poisoned with the cassava.’
‘Oh yes, him,’ she said, as if they were discussing someone she’d once met socially. ‘Well, I’m sure you realise, that was an accident. He wasn’t supposed to die.’
‘But it wouldn’t have been an accident with Kelly,’ West continued, ‘it would have been premeditated murder, Ms Goodbody.’
Heather Goodbody smiled. ‘It may still be, Sergeant West. It was quite a lot of morphine. Do you know, I was quite upset when I heard that man died? It’s much easier second time around.’
40
West went with Kelly in the ambulance leaving Andrews, Baxter and Edwards to deal with Heather. He really couldn’t spend any more time in her company without attempting murder himself. She was mad, he decided. No other excuse.
Thanks to Edwards’ quick thinking in providing the information about the morphine, the ambulance technicians had the antidote ready to administer, the intravenous drip already set up and ready to go when they wheeled the gurney onto the ambulance.
Desperately wanting to ask, if they were in time, if she’d be ok, West bit his tongue. He knew they were doing what they could.
The ambulance
pulled up outside the A&E department of Vincent’s Hospital. The doors were opened, a ramp lowered and then West followed as the gurney was wheeled at speed through the mass of people who swarmed about the entrance.
A young nurse attempted to stop West from following into the cubicle. ‘Garda Siochana,’ he said quietly, ‘I have to keep her in my sight at all times.’ The nurse looked at Kelly, unconscious on the trolley and then at West. Just then she was called to assist in another cubicle, so with strict instructions to keep out of the way, she let him stay.
A very efficient woman in a green scrub suit listened as the ambulance crew gave a rundown on what they knew, what they’d done. She nodded, dismissing them and turning to give Kelly the once over before checking and adjusting the flow of the intravenous infusion. With a small torch she shone a light into her eyes and then using another piece of equipment she looked in her ears. West watched, breathing a sigh of relief when she seemed to be satisfied with what she saw.
Without raising her voice, she gave instructions to the staff who waited, her voice a measure of calm in the hectic unit. Within minutes, first one and then another monitor was attached, the slow steady beep from them reassuring. Surely that augured well, West thought, releasing and stretching fingers that had been clenched tightly since they left the house.
He stood, at a distance, not getting in the way but close enough to see Kelly’s pale face. Close enough to see a worried look appear on the very efficient A&E doctor who immediately rapped out a new set of instructions. Another monitor appeared and was connected. Somebody took blood, filling up a selection of little bottles, their lids absurdly colourful.
And then, moments later, in the answer to a phone-call West hadn’t seen made, another older man entered the cubicle. Wearing an expensive suit, crisp white shirt and subtle stripped tie, he looked as though he had wandered into the cubicle by accident straight from the nearest law-office.
But West caught the faint look of relief on the face of the A&E doctor as she moved to greet him, handing him the clipboard she carried. She pointed out some figures, he nodded and there was a look of relief on her face. The suited man moved closer to Kelly, the other doctors and nurses pulling back out of his way without a word being said. Taking a tiny pencil-torch from his inside pocket, he shone the light into Kelly’s eyes, repeating the action twice before switching off the torch and nodding.
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