#YouToo

by Candy Denman

  Doreen had the good grace to look a little abashed.

  ‘Yes, but it’s not like she was young and inexperienced. She really ought to have known better, and, as a solicitor herself, she also ought to have known that this was unlikely to lead to a successful prosecu- tion.’ She sighed and then suddenly looked up. ‘Fiona, that was it, Fio-na Hutchins – that was her name.’

  Jo made a note.

  ‘When did this happen?’ ‘About a year ago, roughly.’

  ‘Do you know where she’s working now?’

  Doreen went on to the professional websites again.

  ‘There doesn’t seem to be any current position listed for her. Of course, that doesn’t necessarily mean much. She’s still on the register and could be freelancing. Or maybe she took her payoff and decided to take some time away from law. I can’t say that I’d blame her if she did.’ ‘Or maybe took some time off to get her revenge?’ Jo suggested.

  Doreen wasn’t looking convinced.

  ‘I just can’t see it,’ she said. ‘The fact that she made a complaint against Giles and I declined to prosecute him doesn’t tell us why she went after all the other people, does it? It’s not enough to convince me. Not unless you can connect her to Wendlesham’s as well.’

  As she walked back to her car, Jo gave that some thought. The last hour had been like being on a rollercoaster. One minute she was eu- phoric because they had a new connection, not to all but to some of the victims, and which also matched her conviction about the motive for the crime, then Doreen was pouring cold water on her theory, saying it was not enough. But at least they had a name. A name that she could follow up and check. Now that Mervyn had become one of the victims, he might be willing to talk to Jo about what had happened when Fiona was employed at Townsend Bartlett.

  As she started the engine, she wondered if she should tell Mill-er. She realised that he might have been about to tell her that Fiona had made a complaint of rape against Townsend when he was called away from the coffee shop, and he would be able to check out Fiona Hutchins more easily than Jo could, but would he? Would he be con- vinced by this new information and act on it? Somehow Jo thought not. Miller would think like Doreen that it wasn’t enough just yet, so perhaps it would be best if she did a little more searching for infor- mation about the woman. If she could show that Fiona Hutchins had ever been employed by Wendlesham’s that would be her link between all the cases and the time to tell Miller. She had no idea how she could find that out but there were a number of places she could start. She would check the company website, and she could see if Fiona had a profile on LinkedIn with a CV listing past employers. She would get Kate to do further checks on professional websites and, even though Doreen had said Fiona Hutchins was not currently working as a lawyer, she would ask Kate to check that, because Jo had no faith that all the websites were kept rigidly up to date. She knew from checking medical ones that sometimes they were woefully behind. Jo smiled to herself as she imagined a meeting with Miller and Jeffries where she not only handed them the details of someone with a motive for all the incidents, but also helpfully told them where they could find her.

  She’d like to see the look on their faces if she did that, she thought as she walked away from Doreen Ponting’s house and headed for home. She’d like to see that very much.

  Chapter 23

  What Jo had optimistically thought would be an easy task, finding out about Fiona and where she had worked and lived, both in the past and currently, was proving much harder to do. She had spent what was left of the evening searching the Wendlesham’s website, where there was no mention of a current or former employee called Fiona Hutchins. A LinkedIn search had not come up with any suggestions at all and there were no details on the free electoral roll search for anyone with that name living in East Sussex. Of course, the details on that were probably a few years out of date too, so she had tried her name in London and was rewarded with a listing of several F Hutchins but she had no way of knowing if any of them were the correct one, or exactly where they lived. To get more details she would need to register and she wasn’t sure she wanted to do that just yet.

  Jo knew that she would get much more up-to-date information if she went to the library and examined the electoral roll there or she could ask Kate. Jo knew that Kate had bought a disk of the local elec- toral roll some time before, ostensibly to check client details, but Jo knew she also used to look up men she dated, making sure they didn’t have other adult females listed in their household. Kate wasn’t quite as concerned as Jo that her boyfriends were truly available, but she liked to know where she stood. The information on the disk was a few years out of date now, but probably more recent than the details freely obtainable online. She also decided to ask Kate about freelancers. She was kicking herself for not asking Doreen about them. She knew that there were recognised agencies that you had to go through to work as a locum doctor, but you still had to have all your credentials checked before you were added to the approved list for the area. No one wanted to accidentally employ a doctor who had been struck off in another country. That’s not to say it never happened, but if everybody stuck to the agreed systems, then it shouldn’t. Jo wanted to know if there were similar procedures for lawyers. She also thought that Kate might know someone who knew Fiona from the time she spent at Townsend Bartlett and that she might get more information that way. Despite the late hour, thankfully, Kate was not asleep, or otherwise engaged, and picked up the phone straight away.

  ‘But I know Fiona!’ was the immediate response from Kate, sur- prising them both.’ Or rather I used to know her; haven’t seen her in ages.’

  ‘How long ago is ages?’ Jo asked. There were a few moments’ silence as Kate gave that some thought.

  ‘Must be about a year, maybe more like eighteen months. She did work at Townsend Bartlett now I come to think of it.’

  ‘And you didn’t think to mention it before?’ Jo asked in exasper- ation.

  ‘I’d completely forgotten her. It’s not like I knew her that well, and anyway, you seemed to think it was a receptionist or administrator who was harassed.’

  ‘I thought it was more likely to be someone in a role like that, given how Giles seems to have behaved, but apparently he slept with Fiona and promised to make her a partner.’

  ‘God, sleeping with the boss. Never a good idea.’

  ‘No, as she found out to her cost.’ They both paused, thinking about mistakes they had each made in the past. Again.

  ‘And you honestly think she could have something to do with this?’ ‘Her or someone connected to her.’ Jo explained about the woman who had rented the flat downstairs to Giles and the description of the

  woman seen helping Doreen.

  ‘It is possible the two women were actually the same person.’ Jo knew she was stretching it, given that the description could fit half the women in Hastings.

  ‘And the police have been unable to trace either of them?’ ‘That’s right, and it does seem strange.’

  ‘That can’t be Fiona though. It doesn’t sound like her at all. I mean, she’s absolutely gorgeous. Legs up to her armpits and glossy blonde hair. Had all the men in the Law Society meetings absolutely drooling.’ ‘Hmm. No. That doesn’t sound like our woman, but it could be someone connected with her. Do you know anything about her family? Where she’s from? Anything?’

  Kate thought for a moment.

  ‘No. I can’t honestly remember talking to her about personal things. I seem to remember the most we did was swap war stories about work; not that she mentioned she was sleeping with one of the partners or that he was into any interesting sexual practices. Believe me I’d have remembered if she had.’

  Jo could believe it.

  ‘What about mutual friends? Do you know anyone who might have known her better than you?’

  Kate was not sure that she did.

  ‘The trouble is, when someone is so bloody good-looking, the men are all trying to hit on her, and failing miser
ably I might add, and the women are all so insanely jealous that no one actually befriends them, if you know what I mean?’

  Jo did know what she meant. She remembered a particular medi- cal student she had trained with who had always had a crowd of male admirers hanging around but was never invited to anything by the fe- male students because of it. Jo had visited her when she was admitted to the psychiatric wing after a suicide attempt. It seems that her male admirers were only interested in one thing and were pretty hopeless when she got into difficulties with her studies and it all got too much for her. There was no one for her to turn to when she needed help and support. She went home soon after she was discharged from the unit and never did complete her studies. Jo had felt terribly guilty that she and her friends had not been there for a fellow female medic.

  ‘I’ll have a think about it and do some digging for you,’ Kate fin- ished. ‘I’ll let you know if there are any details on my electoral roll disk or if I come up with anyone or anything of interest.’ And Jo had to be content with that.

  Later, as she lay in bed, Jo thought about what it must mean to be not just good-looking but as stunning as everyone seemed to agree Fiona had been, as well as clever. The medical student she knew had been mentally fragile as well as beautiful; did that apply to Fiona as well? Or had she been more like others Jo had also known with a sense of entitlement because they knew they were beautiful. Entitlement to the best-looking and richest boyfriends just because they could take them and therefore an entitlement to all the good things in life: nice cars, the best restaurants and designer clothes. Had Fiona possibly thought that she deserved a partnership even if she hadn’t worked for it? Was she so used to getting her own way all the time that when the tide turned against her and Giles wouldn’t give her a partnership, like the medical student who got behind with her studies, she couldn’t cope?

  As she lay there, Jo wondered if perhaps, again like the medical student, Fiona had had a breakdown of some sort after the debacle at Townsend Bartlett. That was certainly something she could try and check: see if she had been treated in any local psychiatric units. Like the woman whose name was used by the downstairs tenant. Now that would certainly be a good place to start looking, as there simply had to be a reason why her identity was chosen. It was all starting to make sense.

  Happy to have a course of action planned for herself, Jo finally fell asleep.

  Chapter 24

  It wasn’t until after a particularly long and difficult surgery next morning that Jo found the time to try and contact Mervyn Bartlett. Unsurprisingly, he didn’t answer on any of the phone numbers she had for him and she ended up just leaving a message with the new receptionist at Townsend Bartlett, who told her that Mervyn was work- ing from home today. Jo wondered how long it would take before the name was changed to Bartlett Hersham, or even Hersham Bartlett, because she had no doubt that Antonia would want that eventually. Or would she give up on the practice, even though she was now a partner, in light of Mervyns’ troubles? Jo couldn’t see her still wanting to be associated with them now that both Townsend and Bartlett had been publicly outed, even if in Mervyn’s case it wasn’t true. The press certainly was not holding back with its opinion of the firm, which had been dubbed ‘The Pervert Partners’. She tried to explain to the recep- tionist that she wanted to speak to Mervyn with a view to proving his innocence, but she was pretty sure that that part of the message would not be passed on, so she had little hope that he would return her call. It looked as though door-stepping him, as she had done with Doreen Ponting, was going to be the only way she would get to speak to Mervyn Bartlett. His address was not in the phone book, probably so that disgruntled clients couldn’t bring their complaints to his door. She could add Mervyn’s home address to her request for information from Kate but she knew that she was in court and so wouldn’t be able to help until later. There was nothing for it – she was going to have to go to the library and look on the electoral roll, probably along with half the reporters in East Sussex.

  It was a fine day and Jo felt that a short stroll across town to the library would help her wind down. She could even stop at a café for lunch once she had the details she needed. The library had moved recently and was now situated in the Brassey Institute, a lovely building in Claremont, a small street just off the seafront. Jo had visited the library with Kate soon after it opened as they both wanted to see the Quentin Blake artworks that adorned the children’s library, but today she was barely inside the building before her phone rang and she hur- ried back outside to answer it.

  ‘Hi Jo, Linda here. Can you go to June Springfield’s? We’ve just had a call from her son to say that he thinks she has died.’

  Jo felt a sudden feeling of dread in her stomach. Despite her termi- nal cancer, June had been quite well the last time she had seen her. Jo felt guilty that she hadn’t visited more, and was also anxious, as it was more than possible that June had taken an overdose again, in which case Jo had no idea how Ben would react.

  ‘Thanks Linda, I’ll go there straight away.’ And Jo turned around and hurried towards the Old Town again. Finding out where Mervyn Bartlett lived would have to wait.

  Ben opened the door as soon as Jo knocked.

  ‘I think she’s, well, I don’t think she’s breathing, Doctor,’ he blurt- ed out as he ushered Jo through the door. She hurried up the stairs to Mrs Springfield’s bedroom. The curtains were closed and it was hard to see in the gloom, so she switched on the light and approached the bed. She could see her patient was very still and her face had a relaxed, peaceful look. Jo sat on the bed beside her and reached out for the wrist. The skin was already cooling and she could find no pulse.

  She heard a noise behind her and looked around to see Ben com- ing up the stairs. He stood at the doorway.

  ‘I was downstairs, working on my laptop,’ he told her. ‘She was so quiet. I came up to ask if she wanted some lunch.’

  ‘It’s what she wanted: to go quietly, without any fuss.’ He nodded.

  ‘I know.’

  ‘Right. I have a few formalities I need to go through,’ she told him. ‘I’ll wait downstairs.’ He turned, then hesitated. ‘Can I make you a

  cup of tea? Or coffee?’

  ‘Tea would be lovely,’ Jo replied. Once he had gone back down the stairs, she opened her bag, took out her stethoscope and took her time listening for breath sounds. There were none. As she continued to do the formalities, she carefully checked in and around the bed. There were no hidden pill bottles or signs that she had overdosed again. Nothing to arouse suspicion about this death at all. After she had completed her examination, she sat for a moment, holding Mrs Springfield’s hand and allowing herself a moment of, not really prayer, but more of quiet contemplation. It was something she always liked to do before taking her leave of a patient for the last time.

  Ben was sitting in the living room, two mugs of tea in front of him, when Jo came down the stairs.

  ‘As it was only last week when I last saw your mother, I’ll be able to do a death certificate as soon as I get back to the surgery,’ she told him as she sipped her tea. ‘You can collect it later this afternoon, or whenever suits you.’

  He nodded.

  ‘Do you know what undertakers you will be using?’

  ‘Wrights. She was in touch with them, before, when ...’ He hesitated for a moment as he remembered how awful that day had been, ‘... when she planned to kill herself. She told them she was dying and wanted to make all the funeral arrangements herself so it wouldn’t be a worry for me.’ He had to stop for a moment as his voice broke and a tear slid down his cheek before he brushed it away. ‘She’s got the service all planned. She said she wants to be cremated and her ashes scattered in the woodland walk at the crematorium.’

  Jo should have realised that Mrs Springfield might want to be cre- mated. From Jo’s point of view, it complicated matters a little.

  ‘Okay, Ben. Scratch what I just said. As she wants to be cremated, the form is
in two parts which have to be signed by different doctors: her GP and someone from another practice. I’ll come back after evening surgery, if that’s all right with you, with a second doctor. Then the certificate will be ready tomorrow.’

  ‘Is that usual?’ Ben seemed suddenly fearful.

  ‘Absolutely normal and I am sure there will be no problem. I’ll go to the surgery now and ring round and find someone to come out this evening.’

  She was being as reassuring as she could but Ben’s worried expression made Jo wonder if perhaps Mrs Springfield’s death wasn’t quite as natural as she had hoped and that Ben might know that his mother had taken another overdose.

  It was dark when Jo saw Hazel Johnson, the GP from a neighbouring surgery who had agreed to sign part two of the cremation form, hur- rying along the High Street, umbrella braced against the wind and rain, sensible boots keeping her feet dry. Jo had only walked the short distance up from her surgery but she was already feeling cold and damp. They met outside the tiny terraced cottage.

  ‘Hi Hazel, thanks for coming out on such an awful night,’ Jo said as they approached the door.

  ‘No problem, could do with the ash cash if I’m honest, eldest wants to go on a field trip to South Africa,’ Hazel confided and Jo’s smile be- came slightly fixed. She hated the term ‘ash cash’ for the money paid to doctors signing cremation forms; it felt disrespectful somehow. ‘Good of you to come out for a second time as well,’ Hazel added.