‘Or didn’t care if evidence was there on account of he was so sure he couldn’t be found,’ she said.
‘I suppose that’s possible. Not likely, but possible,’ he said, and shook his head. ‘But no one can be that sure. Just as,’ he added, with an air of sudden illumination, ‘it’s possible it wasn’t a he, but a she.’
‘Or a they,’ she said. ‘These people were — well, odd …’
He quirked his head at her. ‘You know more than you’re telling me,’ he said accusingly and she sighed.
‘I cannot lie, dear sir. I must be like the other little George, one Washington. I did chop down the cherry tree …’
‘Stop fitting about and tell’
‘This child — I saw it in life.’
He opened his eyes wide. ‘Did you, by God. So tell!’
‘Like I said, it’s an odd story.’ And she told him. He listened with narrowed eyes and a face smoothed by concentration.
‘Let me recap to make sure I get it right. You were asked to see this child by the — who was it? — registrar, Dr Jennings. She’d been told by the parents, whom you did not see, that the child was eight months old. She reckoned it was over eighteen months, but very frail and underdeveloped.’
‘I agreed with her,’ George said. ‘I have evidence now. I’ve had a chance to look at the skull properly and at the epiphyses —’
‘Epi-bleedin’ what?’
‘The places in the long bones where growth occurs. In infants they’re large, in adults they’ve vanished. This child was almost two years old, I’d say, and had the body weight of an infant of less than half its age. It’s been consistently underfed all its life.’
‘OK. So, there’s a mystery child, brought in by the parents who make this crazy claim about its age. They’re persuaded against their will to leave the child for tests. Have I got that right?’
‘According to Prudence, yes. They didn’t want to leave it. The mother didn’t, that is. The father insisted.’
‘Right. And then you discover, via this other doctor, what’s his name?’
‘Harry Rajabani.’
‘Yeah, him. He finds out that they’ve given false information for the child’s hospital notes. But by the time he discovers this, it’s too late. They’ve vanished, baby and all, and that’s the end of it till we find the body on the waste ground, under a pile of old bricks.’ He frowned sharply. ‘You should have seen Old Potato Head. He’s a layabout lives down there, sells what he picks up to fund his boozing. Pinched the bricks a couple of days ago, seemingly, and left them, then went to get them on account he’d found a buyer and there’s this poor little corpse. Really turned him up, that did.’
it had been there about forty-eight hours, I’d say. Can’t be sure,’ George said.
Gus nodded. ‘That fits with what the old boy told us. He’d brought the bricks in over a couple of days, built them into a pile with a space in the middle — he does that to make it easier to load them again afterwards. So someone dumped this baby in just after he’d started his bit of entrepreneuring. Right!’ He rubbed his hands and turned to the door, ‘I have things to do. Where’ll I find this Prudence woman? And Harry Thingummy?’
‘Paediatrics,’ she said. ‘And — er — Gus?’
He stopped at the door. ‘Yeah?’
‘Come back and tell me what’s what, will you? I’m interested in this one.’
He leered at her. ‘When aren’t you interested? OK, but what’s in it for me if I do?’
‘You’ll find out,’ she said. ‘A surprise. Go on, get on with it. I’m busy. Got another of these waiting.’
‘What, another for me?’ He grinned beatifically. ‘Oh, Dr B., Dr B., won’t we be spendin’ a lot o’ time together!’
‘Not at all. This one died in his bed and no one found him for a couple of days. No mystery. He was eighty-nine and had a heart, so I’m told. On your way, Gus. Come back later …’ And he grinned, flicked his thumb and forefinger at his forehead to mime the tip of a hat, and went.
It was late in the afternoon when he came back. She’d got her paperwork done, sorted out a drama in the haematology lab over a set of prothrombins that someone had mislaid, organized a training session for her junior histology technicians and swallowed three cups of Sheila’s over-brewed tea by the time he arrived, and she glowered at him. ‘So what kept you? Here am I panting to hear —’
‘She’s yearning to hear my step on the way,’ he said, holding his hands together at chest level and casting his gaze upwards in a look of ineffable soulfulness. ‘Be still my beating heart! She cares, oh, lo, she cares —’
‘She’s busting a gut to know what’s the news about this infant,’ she interrupted, pushing a chair forwards for him. ‘Do you want some of this tea? It tastes like something Russian wrestlers’ jockstraps have been washed in, mind you.’
‘Oh, great,’ he said and sat down. ‘Some of Sheila’s real poison? Lead me to it, I’m parched.’
She waited as he drank his tea thirstily. She knew by now that there was never any point in trying to hurry Gus. If she nagged he became slower and more and more circuitous. Patience was the only ploy that paid with him.
It did today. ‘Right,’ he said cheerfully as he clattered his cup back into its saucer. ‘What do we have? I’ll tell you what we have. A thorough-going mystery, that’s what Ain’t that nice?’
‘Lovely. It’s the identity of the parents, I take it?’
‘And a bit more besides. There’s this Prudence in charge of Paediatrics with a tricky case in, right? She also has to watch her rear, on account of the boss, who is, I gather, a cow of the first water —’
‘First cream,’ murmured George.
‘I stand corrected. A boss who is a right lump of rancid old butter when she’s crossed, then. So you’d think this Prudence would be extra careful, eh? But not she. She goes buggering off somewhere, leaving her tricky case to the care of a very young and slightly dippy houseman.’
‘Who says he’s dippy?’ she said sharply, jumping immediately to another doctor’s defence.
‘The nurses. They should know. He tends to forget things, seemingly. If there’s a mucky place to put his foot, he’ll find it. One of Nature’s mistakes, they say. Like one or two I’ve got cluttering up the nick.’
‘Well, he seems OK to me,’ she said. ‘Did his best to find out who the parents were. Had the nous to try to call the GP.’
‘Yeah, that’s interesting, isn’t it? Turns out there’s not only no such person but no such place — the address the parents gave for themselves, down in Docklands, is one of the new developments that never got finished. Very peculiar, all that So, all right, this young Harry ain’t so bad as he’s painted. But Prue, now, I’m puzzled by that one.’
‘Was she supposed to be on duty all night?’ George said. ‘Is that what you mean? That she went off when she should have been on?’
Gus nodded. ‘It’s usual, according to the nurses, for the consultant on call, or the registrar, always to be available. They don’t have to be actually there, you understand, just as long as they can be reached fast in an emergency.’
George was mystified. ‘Well, of course. That’s normal practice. What’s the problem?’
‘But this one didn’t do that. She goes off at around midnight tells the boy Harry to stay on the ward in case of problems — so he bunks down on a chair in the nurses’ office — and then vanishes. She wasn’t in her room in the residence and she’d left no numbers to reach her where she was. All a bit dicey, eh, when this terrifying boss, who checks every damned thing when she comes back from one of her jaunts abroad, is supposed to be the bane of Madam Prudence’s little life? Again according to the nurses.’
George frowned. ‘It is a bit unusual for someone on call for a department to go and not leave contact numbers. What about her bleep? I imagine they tried that?’
‘Is the Pope a Catholic?’ Gus said and she grimaced.
‘Silly question. Sorr
y.’ There was a silence and then she said, ‘Is there any other way you can find out about this child?’
‘Do you think I wouldn’t have used them by now if there were? Or at least started. No, there isn’t Usually if a baby’s body’s found we check all the maternity units and community midwives as well as the registrar’s office for information on births, but this one’s difficult. I mean, you said the child was almost two —’
‘That’s right.’
‘Even though the mother said eight months.’
She was silent again and then said, ‘What name did they give in the notes?’
‘Eh?’
‘I know it’s a false one, of course, but you know how people are. If they invent names for themselves they sometimes leave clues. Like using the same initials or something like that.’
He reached into his breast pocket and pulled out his notebook. It was a messy affair held together by rubber bands, with masses of scrappy pieces of paper tucked into it. He spread the scraps on her desk and picked them over.
‘I do remember it was something daft,’ he said. ‘Ah! Here we are. Teddy Oberlander. I ask you! If you were going to invent a name would you go for anything as outlandish as that? John Smith might be a bit too obvious, but there’s something between that and Teddy Oberlander, surely?’
‘It does sound a bit over the top,’ she said. ‘I imagine you’re checking the Oberlanders in the phone book?’
‘Even as we speak,’ he said gloomily. ‘But I expect nothing from that. We’ve had a false address, a false GP, why the hell should we expect a real name?’
‘People can do strange things. Well. All right. There’s the mystery. What now?’
‘We go on plodding.’ He got to his feet. ‘It’s the way that wins, in the end. Meanwhile, ducks, anything else you might have that could be useful would be warmly welcomed. How about it?’
‘What could I possibly have —’ She looked up at him and he grinned down at her cheerfully.
‘You look a right mess,’ he said. ‘Your hair’s all over the place.’
‘Thanks a bunch!’ she said and managed, just, not to run one hand over her head to smooth it. The hair dryer hadn’t been working properly after the shower she’d taken following the PM and she’d had to leave it to dry by itself. The resultant curly mop, she knew, looked less than businesslike. ‘Stick to the point.’
‘I am. I’m being happy in my work. And it helps to look at something nice. Like you in a mess. Very nice. Where was I?’
‘Out on your ear any second,’ she said and stood up too. ‘Go on, Buster. Scram.’
‘Oh, I know. Asking you for anything else you might have.’ He didn’t budge from his place beside her desk. ‘Like those other cot deaths you were on about.’
‘The other —?’ She sat down again. ‘Oh, yes.’
‘What about them? Anything funny there?’
‘Just that note,’ she said. ‘The one that suggested they were linked in some way. I never did track down who wrote that. But I don’t see how they can be connected to this case. It’s entirely different.’
‘Not entirely,’ He sounded judicious. ‘It’s all babies.’
‘Work on that basis and you’d link up every death in the hospital and call them crimes because they’re all people,’ she said. ‘That’s crazy.’
‘Maybe. But when you’re stuck with a crazy sort of crime — and you have to admit there is an element of craziness in a case where someone uses a name like Teddy Oberlander as a pseudonym for a baby — then even the craziest notion comes in useful. Or might.’
‘Well, I can’t see — but OK. I take your point. Anyway, I should check on that. I can’t deny I sort of pushed it to the back of my mind. I’ve been a bit — well, I’ve had things to think about.’
She opened her drawer and began to leaf through the papers that had been pushed in there. It was a simple filing system; anything that wasn’t urgent got stuck there until she had time to look at it Sometimes, she thought guiltily as she pushed a rather large pile of papers around, it does get a bit behind. I’d better sort this stuff first thing tomorrow.
‘Here we are,’ she said at length. ‘I managed to get hold of the notes for the other cot deaths there’ve been. I’ll go through them first chance I get and see if there’s anything for you.’ She looked up and caught his quizzical gaze and reddened a little. ‘I promise I will.’
‘No hangin’ on to ‘em to do a bit of your fancy private sleuthin’? You know I don’t reckon that.’
‘You don’t mind it when it helps you out,’ she retorted. ‘I didn’t do so badly over the —’
He sighed. ‘I know, I know. The Oxford case. You didn’t do badly, I admit, except for bloody nearly getting yourself killed while you were doing it and getting me fairly duffed up too. Anyway, promise me on this one.’
‘I will,’ she said, a little ungraciously, and then brightened. ‘On one condition.’
‘I knew it. The woman’s shameless.’
‘That you get me the background stuff on the baby that got Dr Choopani beaten up. You said you would, and you never did.’
‘Oh, come on! Why should there be any connection with that one?’
‘Because they’re all babies, of course. Remember? It was you who said that.’
‘I did?’ He looked wilfully blank.
‘Why should there be any connection between these cot deaths, either?’ She tapped her papers. ‘It cuts both ways, mate.’
‘OK, OK.’ He gave in. ‘Fair dos, I suppose. I’ll have to track the papers through the system. The fellas who went for Choopani have been in court, and I’m not sure the paperwork’s come back. I’ll let you know, then maybe afterwards we can get together and talk it all out. How about that, hey? I thought you were going to bring your Ma and her pal to eat at my place with me. We had a date, didn’t we? You never showed.’
She made a face. ‘Sorry about that. I did send a message, though, didn’t I? They were too bushed. And anyway …’ She hesitated.
‘You didn’t want ‘em to see you’re hangin’ around with a low life like me?’
‘Try not to be any stupider than you were born to be —’ she said. ‘No. Nor is it the other way around, if that’s what you’re thinking. It’s just that — well, Ma’s not the healthiest of women.’
‘She can’t be that bad if she got herself here from the USA,’ he said.
‘No, it’s not exactly that she can’t — Oh, damn. Look, let me talk to them about it, hmm? Then I’ll call you and we’ll make a plan.’
‘You’re on. I’ll send the trawlers out to get the best fish in the North Sea for you. And I’ll set the jelliers to work on the eels at once.’
She grinned. ‘OK, just stop crowing, will you? You were right and I was wrong. Jellied eels are human food after all. Now, will you go away, Gus? I have things to do. Like going home to look after my visitors.’
He showed a strong disposition to linger. ‘Are they staying for Christmas?’
‘Yes,’ she said a little firmly. ‘It’s going to be busy.’
He nodded. ‘Then I have an idea for you. No, not now. I can think of a night out for your two old ladies that’ll knock ‘em in the aisles. I’ll sort things out and we’ll talk about it. It’s Friday night I’ve got in mind for takin’ you all out to supper. Call me, hmm? It’ll have to be early. Around six, even. But it’ll be worth it’ This time he did go, with that familiar flick of thumb and forefinger, leaving her to lock up the office at last and get on her own way. But she had to admit she felt better for talking to him. He did cheer the place up so, she told herself. That was all it was. And it would be nice to go out and introduce Bridget and Vanny to fish and chips, Gus style. She felt positively excited at the thought.
10
She took the sets of case notes on the cot-death babies home with her. There was no urgency about going through them for clues for Gus, but she felt it might be useful to have them with her; and in the event she had bee
n wise. Bridget had dragged Vanny round the West End of London and through Knightsbridge and Kensington on a shopping spree that had left the pair of them depleted in more than money. They sat after dinner in a state of semi-exhaustion in her small living room, dozing in front of the flickering TV as it murmured softly in the background and fell asleep almost before they’d finished their coffee, so George was grateful to have something to do which wouldn’t disturb them.
She almost fell asleep herself, for there was nothing there she could get hold of. She had ordered up the ward notes from the hospital registry before she left, sending Sheila hotfoot to get them, and though the Chowdary file was only a précis — the main file was signed out to Maternity still — there was enough information for her to work on. Now, as she plodded her way through the accounts of the pregnancies and labours that had produced the infants, she marvelled at the detail, even in the Chowdary précis, that the midwives had offered. Every moment of monitoring and the treatment over the long pregnant months and the hours of labour and delivery had been carefully recorded and very monotonous reading it all made.
So did the reports of the post-mortems she had not been there to do herself; they were as straightforward and as unsatisfactory as her own post-mortem report on the Popodopoulos baby had been: no real answer to the question ‘Why did they die?’ She sighed deeply as she pushed the papers back together again and tried to think of where she might go next in her investigation.
Was there anything different about any of these babies? She looked again at the brief notes she’d made while going through the voluminous hospital ones. The first two had weighed around three kilos at birth, but the last one had been bigger. The first two had been around 50 centimetres in length, the third one a couple of inches longer — 55 centimetres. She stopped and looked again at her postmortem notes on the Popodopoulos baby. According to her own measurements that child had in fact been 59 centimetres long — a discrepancy of about an inch, and she was hopeful for a moment that she’d found something different that might be useful. But then shook her head. She had measured a dead body stretched out and flaccid. The midwives had measured a newborn live and kicking and with normal muscle tone. The chances of their getting the same measure she had were very slim, and anyway, what did it matter? There was nothing in the relative lengths of the babies that might contribute to their deaths.
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