‘Because she was your patient?’
‘Yes.’ It was a snapped answer. Slightly too brusque.
‘Nothing more?’
‘How d’you mean?’
‘She was an extremely personable young woman.’
Sisson reddened under his tan. ‘You’re not suggesting …’
‘I’m suggesting nothing. But I thought you did.’
Sisson stared at him for a moment, and then said: ‘O.K. You might as well know. I thought she was everything a girl should be.’ Then he changed his tone. ‘But that doesn’t mean I ever …’
‘Of course not. I realize you would respect her too much ever to give her a hint of your feelings. But just off the record, had you hopes?’
Sisson toed the carpet, uncomfortably. ‘You’re a nosey bastard, but yes, I suppose I had. After she’d been diagnosed as diabetic. I thought that there might be just a chance …’
‘Of Dent throwing her over?’
‘Not really. Brian wouldn’t dream of it. But he’s a bit under his parents’ thumb, and his mother’s a protecting old hen who wouldn’t want her boy tied up to an invalid. She was heard to use those very words. So I thought perhaps Brian might yield to pressure. And if he had!’
Masters smiled. ‘I know.’
Sisson said, a bit shamefacedly, ‘Well, I could have given her expert care.’
‘And more, I’ve no doubt. Thank you very much indeed. I expect we shall meet again. In fact, can I come running if I find something I don’t understand?’
Sisson held out his hand. ‘It’ll be a pleasure. I’ll confess I wasn’t very keen on meeting you tonight. I thought you’d just ask a lot of tomfool questions I couldn’t answer—like the local lot. God, how they floundered! But you arrived and asked for information and advice. Your attitude was a revelation to me, I can tell you.’
‘That’s the way we work, doctor,’ Green said. ‘I’ve been telling Chief Inspector Masters all day that we were going to be up the creek unless we got our bearings about diabetes. So our very first job was to look up the expert and consult him.’
Sisson grinned at Masters. Neither said anything. Green shook hands and the doctor showed them out.
By now it was dark. A warm, soft darkness that felt pleasant after the heat of the day. Masters started to stroll slowly. ‘Come on. Step lively,’ Green said. ‘We’ve only got about ten minutes before the bar closes.’
‘We’re resident.’
‘Maybe we are, but they won’t send draught Worthington up to rooms. Only bottles.’
Masters increased his pace. They reached the hotel in silence.
They took the first drink quickly so as to get a refill before time was called. ‘Did you get all that the doc gabbled about?’ Green asked Masters.
‘I think so. Didn’t you?’
‘Oh I got it. I expect I could almost repeat it word for word.’
‘I expect you could.’ Green’s memory was phenomenally good.
‘But I’m just a bit puzzled by it.’
‘Sleep on it. It’ll sort itself out.’
‘Maybe. But it’s given us some leads hasn’t it?’
‘Such as?’
‘Why wasn’t she missed before Monday evening?’
‘That’s a good point. And tomorrow, being Saturday, we should be able to find out.’
‘You’ve got a plan?’
‘I’d like you to take on her two partners. I propose to see Dent. If you want Brant with you, take him. But if not, he and Hill can go over the block of flats where she lived …’
‘Wye House?’
‘That’s right. We might pick up a few reports from somebody who saw or heard her on Saturday night.’
‘I’ll go alone.’
‘Right. Brant can take you in the car before he starts on Wye House.’
‘That’s the lot?’
‘Not by any means. I want a word with Sisson’s receptionist and Dent’s parents. And I’ve no doubt a few others might occur to us before we’re through.’
Green picked up his beer and drank deeply. He said, inconsequentially, ‘I wonder if diabetics are allowed to drink beer? If not, in spite of doctors saying they can lead normal lives, they’re missing one of God’s better inventions.’
Masters put his empty tankard down. ‘We can discuss that tomorrow, too. I’m for bed now.’
‘Me, too.’
3 |
At breakfast time the next morning Green asked for sausage, bacon, eggs, tomatoes and sauté potatoes. ‘Don’t stint yourself,’ Hill said. ‘Have a few kidneys as well.’
Green, who had appeared in a pale grey Palm Beach suit said, ‘I’m never going to eat offal again. I’ve been hearing things I don’t like.’
‘I’ve never seen that suit before,’ Brant said. ‘Where’ve you been keeping it?’
‘The government paid for it. Remember when I was sent out to Cyprus? Had to have something to wear in all that sunshine in the Med. This is it. I was fitted three times for it.’
Masters was reading the Telegraph as he ate. Green didn’t enlighten the others that it was Masters who had suggested to the A.C. that the suit should be paid for out of public funds, had helped Green choose the material and had bullied his own tailor into doing a rush job for his subordinate. Green could never have done this for himself, but would never acknowledge the fact. Masters appeared to be paying no attention now. He was dressed in light grey himself—a check bookie suit, cut hacking-style and built to suit his huge figure. He smiled inwardly at what appeared to him a naive conversation: astute enough to realize that Green was slightly embarrassed at wearing this particular suit, because it was different in colour, weight and cut from his usual reach-me-downs, but ideal for the present heat-wave. He also realized that in his oblique way, by stating he had not paid for it himself, Green was acknowledging the help he had been given.
When his plate was set before him, Green rubbed his hands in anticipation before beginning to eat. Masters lowered his paper, poured himself another cup of coffee, and said, ‘Seeing you enjoy yourself over that little lot reminds me of something you said last night.’
‘Wha’?’ Green said, with his mouth full.
‘About beer. Can diabetics take beer? We don’t know much about what they can and can’t eat. I was thinking about it before I went to sleep.’
‘I might have known you’d have some beer in your bonnet.’ Green laughed at his own joke. Getting no response from the others, he went on: ‘Everybody knows diabetics have to be bloody careful about what they eat and how much.’
‘Do they? Sisson last night said a diabetic should never go hungry. Probably they’re not allowed to tuck in, like you, to their hearts’ content, but exactly what can they eat?’
‘No sticking in till they stick out, but if they can never see green cheese but their een reels, then they’re allowed to have a bit. That what you mean?’
‘Something of the sort.’
‘How will it help us if we know?’
‘Just an idea I had.’
‘In other words you’re not talking.’
‘I can’t explain unformed theories.’
Green sneered, ‘Theories!’ and got on with his breakfast.
‘We went for a jaunt round the town last night,’ Hill said.
‘And?’
‘We stopped and looked in a chemist’s window. They’ve got a series of little books on every disease there is. Things like bronchitis, arthritis, migraine and so on. For people who suffer from them to buy so they can understand what their complaint is all about and to cope with it. There’s a diabetic book among them. If it’s for use by the patients themselves it’s bound to have instructions on diet, I’d have thought.’
‘Excellent,’ Masters said. He looked at his watch. ‘I don’t know what time the shops open here, but it must be any minute now. Buzz off and get me a copy. And while you’re at it, have a word with the pharmacist. He might have other leaflets he can let you have.�
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Hill put his napkin on the table and got to his feet. ‘Can you give me half an hour?’
‘Until ten if you like.’
Green wiped his mouth with an air of satisfaction. ‘D’you want me to wait?’ he asked.
‘No. That’s why I told Hill he could have until ten o’clock. Brant can drive you to Cheltenham while I’m waiting. If you’re too long in getting there they may be out for the day before you arrive.’
‘Going to see the other two girls?’ Brant asked. ‘Now I know why he’s got his snazzy suit on.’
Green lit a Kensitas and flicked the match at the sergeant. ‘Come on, Po-face, wheel out that old crate of yours while I have another drink of tea. I’ll expect you at the front door in five minutes.’
Masters was smoking his first pipe of the day at the door of the Bristol when Hill returned, carrying a small handful of booklets. ‘I’ve got quite a bit here,’ he said. ‘The chemist gets all sorts of reprints of papers sent to him. The manufacturers use them to advertise their goods—diabetic tests and foods and what-have-you.’
‘Lovely. We’ve got a bit of time before Brant gets back. I want the two of you to question the occupants of Wye House, but you can drop me at the doctor’s surgery on the way. Until we go, we’ll comb these booklets. I want to find information about diabetic diets in young adults.’
They turned through the foyer of the hotel and out of a door at the back. Here the garden was provided with green-painted iron tables and slatted, folding chairs. The dew had gone, but the sun was not yet high enough to be unpleasantly warm. Hill, however, took his jacket off before getting down to work. Masters put his feet up and started looking through the first of the pamphlets.
They read for some minutes in silence. Then Hill said, ‘There’s an advert here for beer.’
‘Diabetic beer?’
‘No. Carlsberg. It says, “A more than fair exchange. Don’t deny yourself a glass of Carlsberg, but do remember that it has to be used by exchange as the carbohydrate content is not negligible.” What does “by exchange” mean?’
‘That’s one of the points I’ve picked up. Every food or drink that has carbohydrate in it is given a value that is taken off the total the patient is allowed for the day. Does it say how many grams of carbohydrate there are in Carlsberg?’
‘Ninety four calories, six point seven grams of carbohydrate in half a pint of Export Lager.’
‘There you are, then. A hundred grams of carbohydrate according to this book is 1,000 calories. Though it doesn’t seem to work out like that with your beer.’
‘Perhaps it averages out at that, Chief.’
Masters looked at a chart in his book for a moment. ‘Maybe it does. Fifteen ounces of cauliflower and two ounces of orange both have five grams of carbohydrate.’ He turned the pages again. ‘Ah. Here we are. “The different foodstuffs vary weight for weight in the calories they produce, and a doctor, when planning a diet, should take caloric needs for heat and energy into consideration as well as carbohydrates and proteins.” That sounds clear enough. So we know they can substitute half a pint of Carlsberg Export for three ounces of orange or a pound and a half of cauliflower. Interesting.’
‘Here’s a dietitian saying they can eat near normal diets.’
Masters grunted. He was in the middle of an article about young diabetics on insulin. The diet for these people was said to be much more liberal … no need to measure caloric intake as long as carbohydrates were balanced by injections … take plenty of proteins and reasonable amounts of fat … remember soft drinks, beers and sweet wines contain sugar which must be counted when working out the diet … fortunately, dry wines and spirits contain negligible amounts of sugar and may be taken in moderate quantities by the young diabetic who does not need to watch calories … and so on.
Masters began to feel he was getting the hang of it. A youngster like Sally Bowker could eat a diet adequate to fulfil her appetite and energy requirements just as long as she took sufficient insulin to counteract it. He put down the pamphlet and relit his pipe. He was still sitting there thinking when Brant found them. Masters said, ‘I’ll keep these. I’ll read a bit more later. Would you mind going up to my room and putting them on the dressing-table?’
Hill did as he was asked. He rejoined the others as they were getting in the car. Masters directed them to Sisson’s house.
‘Will the doc have finished his surgery by now?’ Hill asked.
‘Possibly. But it doesn’t matter if he hasn’t. I want a word with his receptionist.’
Masters found the surgery door locked. Obviously patients had to arrive before ten. After that the door was locked and the last visitors were allowed out, one at a time, and the door relocked behind them. Masters pressed the bell. There was no response, so he pressed again. Still no answer. He was about to ring a third time when an elderly man let himself out. Masters stopped him from pulling the door shut behind him.
‘You’ll not be allowed in there.’
‘You think not?’
‘I know not. She’ll be after you.’
‘She?’
‘That young woman. Reg’lar spitfire she is. Treats you like a criminal. If the doctor wasn’t so good he wouldn’t have no patients. She’d drive them all away, she would. Stands at the door with a stop watch in her hand waiting to bolt up, she does. It’s a job of work for her. Nowt else.’
‘Thanks for the warning. I’ll take my chance.’
‘Well, you looks big enough to take care of yourself.’
The old man went slowly down the steps. Masters stepped into the hall. As he did so a woman dressed in a near imitation of a nurse’s uniform came out of the second door on the right of the passage. ‘You’re too late to see the doctor,’ she snapped. ‘Pull the door to behind you as you go.’
To her surprise Masters continued towards her. ‘You heard what I said?’
‘I could hardly fail to. But I chose to ignore it.’
‘Surgery ends at ten.’
‘I’ve no quarrel with that.’ He stood towering over her. ‘In fact, that’s why I came at this time. So as not to interrupt Dr Sisson in the middle of his business.’
‘Who are you?’
‘Not a patient. Detective Chief Inspector Masters. I believe you and I have spoken on the phone, Miss …?’
‘Oh, the policeman.’ She was sharp featured with pale, gingery hair, showing wispy under her cap. Her eyes were yellow, under faint ginger brows. The eyelashes were almost non-existent, and her fact was pale with a sprinkling of freckles. Her body, fairly thin, was nevertheless well proportioned under the spotless, well-ironed uniform. Her legs and feet were neat, and she stood proudly, like a turkey cock at dawn, nothing abashed by his presence and size. There was the same sneer in her voice that he had detected over the phone. ‘The doctor has still got three patients to see.’
‘Never mind. I’ll wait.’
‘And then he has his domiciliary visits.’
‘No doubt. I’ll still wait.’
‘In that case the waiting-room door is behind you.’
‘Not in there. I’d like to speak to you, Miss …?’
‘Don’t keep calling me Miss. My name is Nurse Ward.’
‘Very good, Nurse Ward. Can we use your room? I see it has Receptionist written on the door, so I presume it is your room.’
‘I have nothing to say to you.’
‘It really would be a pity to spend a nice afternoon in a stuffy police station when ten minutes now would suffice.’
‘Are you threatening me?’
‘Yes.’
The affirmative took some of the wind out of her sails. Simply because she hadn’t expected it. For a moment she stared at Masters. Then: ‘Policemen can get into trouble for using threats.’
‘Can they for threatening to ask you to accompany them to a police station? Think again, Nurse Ward. And stop being obstructive or I’ll begin to think things about you you won’t like.’
‘More
threats?’
‘Certainly. People who put difficulties in my way during a murder inquiry find life made difficult for them in their turn. I’m a mean man, Nurse Ward. A mean man.’
As he knew she would, she turned and led the way into her room. Here the doctor’s metal filing-cabinets lined one wall. A yellow varnished desk with a staggered row of prescriptions for collection occupied the centre of the room. In one corner was a white wash-hand-basin with a pedal bin below it. A row of shelves held pharmaceutical samples, and a small table an electric kettle and cups. She sat on the chair at the desk. He took the other one.
‘Now, Nurse Ward, let’s discuss Sally Bowker.’
‘Her medical facts are professional secrets.’
‘But not her movements, her personality, her gaiety and so forth. She was an extremely popular girl, I understand.’
‘With the men, perhaps.’ She sounded prim: something more than disapproving.
‘Not with her own sex?’
‘Hardly. When she couldn’t leave the men alone.’
He paused a moment to consider this. There was a decided amount of nastiness here. He switched his line.
‘You’re not married, Nurse Ward?’
‘You can see I’m not. But I can’t see what that has to do with Sally Bowker.’
He said blandly, ‘Can’t you really? Now you’re a trained nurse … you are, aren’t you?’
‘S.R.N.’ It was said proudly, with a toss of the head.
‘Exactly. Well, your training has been not only professional, but vocational, too. That means you’re interested in people and, no doubt you’ve learned a good deal of psychology in your time. Am I right?’
‘If you mean I can see as far through a brick wall as the next person, you’re right.’
‘Good. Now, you’re an exact replica of Sally Bowker in many ways …’
She set her face. ‘I don’t see how you make that out.’
‘You’re a young, attractive, unmarried woman, earning your own living. Miss Bowker was the same, I believe?’
The flattery seemed to soften her, ‘Attractive, but not much character.’
‘I see. You’ve just made my point. I would expect a girl like you, like Miss Bowker in many respects, but with professional training to back up your female intuition, to be able to give me a better insight into this girl’s character than any man. Men, I suppose, were attracted by … what? Her prettiness?’
Masters and Green Series Box Set Page 72
