Deadly Diagnosis

by Mairi Chong

  She started, of course, with Thomas. He appeared to have been seen a good deal in his former years. Paediatrics had assessed him on and off throughout his time at school, although it seemed from the notes, that he had not fully engaged with the education system. No specific label had been given to his disability. It was simply referred to as ‘global delay’. At the age of six, his fine-motor and gross-motor skills had plateaued. His speech and language skills, along with his ability to learn, had stopped some time before. On several occasions, the notes mentioned a poor home life and lack of stability.

  Cathy continued to read and found that in his teens, Thomas had been referred urgently for psychiatric assessment following concern from a neighbour. The boy had been apparently, ‘talking gibberish’, and behaving aggressively to passersby. Thomas was documented as being restless on assessment and melancholy at times also, talking of ‘ending his life with a blade.’ It seemed that he had been put on a strong tranquilliser and sent home without follow-up.

  Cathy leaned back in her chair and sighed. How things had changed. Poor Thomas. She felt for him, and all the other confused, young people who had gone through the system and been mismanaged.

  There was little else to find. Thomas had been lost to the system for some time. In his late teens though, he was noted as behaving aggressively and in a sexually inappropriate manner towards a doctor. Cathy wondered if the police would read this and wonder if it was the start of something sinister. She thought it unlikely. It wasn’t uncommon for young people with learning disability to become frustrated, especially if they were misunderstood. These days, the health service was so much better prepared to deal with such difficulties.

  Before she moved onto the other file, James came to the door.

  ‘You found them then?’ he asked, seeing her sitting with the dusty files on her desk. ‘Michelle said the police rang. I assume they want a copy?’

  Cathy nodded. ‘I’ll get Michelle to do it in a minute. Painful reading, I’m afraid. Things were pretty insensitively documented back then. Words like ‘imbecile’, were banded about a good deal.’

  James nodded. ‘It would have been worse a generation before. His mother. You’d not have come across her though. I think she’s alive actually, and still registered with us, but possibly now in a nursing home. Don’t think I’ve been out to see her in a good while, though. She was locked up for most of her life. Much the same as poor Thomas mentally, but treated appallingly.’

  ‘These will be her notes then,’ Cathy said. ‘Flora Hogg?’

  ‘That’s her. Don’t get me wrong, she was always a very difficult person to deal with, but, well, that was the way things were done, I suppose, back then.’

  Cathy smiled sadly. ‘You going up for coffee, James? I’ll head up in a minute, I just want to finish here.’

  James left her to it. Cathy was unsurprised when she read that Flora Hogg had been a detainee in Fernibanks psychiatric hospital for almost all of her adult life. Then, at the age of fifty, she was released to a nursing home on the outskirts of Glainkirk.

  Cathy gazed out of the window. Was this the connection between Betty Scott and Thomas? Had the young boy visited his mother in the hospital and known the matron? Had there been some bad feeling between the two? The link was tenuous, but resentments, when they ran deep, were often intensified over time. Cathy still wasn’t convinced that Thomas Hogg was a killer, but she had proved the link and perhaps the police might do the rest.

  18

  The nursing home could not have been called salubrious. It was positioned down by the old mill that had long since been converted to flats. Cathy parked her car and sat for a moment wondering what she was doing there. James would be furious if he knew that she had ignored his plea. Over coffee, he had again suggested that she leave it alone. ‘They aren’t as daft as you make out,’ he had laughed. ‘If Thomas is innocent, then you need to trust that they’ll find him so. That’s how it works, Cathy.’ She told him about the officer’s comments on the phone. James grimaced. ‘Not helpful,’ he agreed. ‘But we’ve enough on our plate without adding murder investigations to our workload.’

  She knew he was right, of course, but when she came down from the coffee room to find that Linda had already taken the only two visits, leaving her free until after lunch, she set her jaw. Well, what harm would it do to have a conversation with someone?

  Flora Hogg hadn’t requested a visit in nearly two years. According to her notes, she had only a single recording of mild hypertension and had refused her flu vaccination every year that it had been offered. Just as well she had come out, Cathy justified. The poor lady had been neglected dreadfully by the practice.

  ‘I’ll warn you,’ the woman said as they now stood together in the foyer. ‘Flora isn’t the easiest to talk to. Never been keen on men, and not a fan of doctors either.’

  ‘I’ll be as sensitive as I possibly can,’ Cathy said. ‘I see from her notes that she rarely asks to be seen.’

  ‘That’s right,’ the woman said as she led Cathy through the building. The corridors were narrow, and along them, a handrail was positioned on either side.

  ‘How long has she been a resident?’ Cathy asked the back of the other woman’s head.

  ‘Nearly eleven years. I was just glancing over her notes before you arrived as it happens. Here we are,’ she said as they came level with one of the many doors in the corridor. ‘Usually, she likes to go to the television room in the morning but today she’s in her bedroom.’ The woman knocked. ‘Can we come in Flora? Just me and a nice lady to visit, like I told you.’

  Cathy wasn’t quite sure what she had expected. Flora Hogg sat on the edge of her bed. She was a squat, rounded sort of a woman, and her face was a deep red. Her eyes seemed to be constantly moving and when Cathy introduced herself, the eyes flicked over towards her, and then away again, across the room, never resting on a single thing.

  Cathy thanked the woman who had shown her through.

  ‘I’ll wait just outside the door if you don’t mind,’ she said. ‘I’m sure Flora will be just fine, but there have been issues in the past.’

  Cathy nodded. ‘If I need anything …’ she said and the woman closed the door.

  Cathy looked across at Flora, trying to judge how best to begin. ‘Your room,’ she said, ‘it’s pretty.’ There were no photographs at all. She looked at the curtains and the matching bedspread. ‘You like flowers?’ she asked and Flora’s eyes skimmed the top of Cathy’s head but didn’t settle. ‘Do you have a favourite?’ she asked, sitting on the chair by the bed.

  Flora sniffed and seemed to be deciding on whether she should speak. ‘Roses,’ she finally said. Her voice was slightly lisped.

  Cathy grinned. ‘Well, you’re a great romantic then,’ she said. ‘Roses are not only beautiful, but they smell good too. I’ll bet you get a lovely view from your window of the garden. Do they have many flowers here?’

  Flora shrugged.

  ‘It’s too cold for growing much just now,’ Cathy continued. ‘But Spring isn’t far off. It’s my favourite season. New life. Baby lambs in the fields.’ Cathy looked across at Flora, trying to gauge how the other woman felt. But Flora was scowling.

  ‘I don’t like babies.’

  ‘No,’ Cathy went on. ‘Sometimes they are tiresome.’

  ‘Crying and causing bother. Making me want to scream myself,’ Flora said, her face deepening in colour to a near-purple.

  Cathy felt that she had chosen the wrong line in discussion and quickly changed course. ‘We’ve not seen you in a while. Not in ages. I had wanted to check and see how you were doing. I know you don’t take any tablets these days, but I thought we could give you a look-over and see if your blood pressure was good. I expect it will be. You clearly take care of yourself and the people here seem very nice.’

  Flora turned and for the first time, looked at Cathy.

  ‘Who are you?’ she asked.

  ‘I’m sorry, I thought I’d said. I’m C
athy. Dr Moreland.’

  Flora suddenly clasped her hands to her ears and without warning, began moaning. Cathy watched in horror as the poor woman rocked and cried, her shouts becoming louder and more insistent.

  The door to Flora’s room opened and the other woman walked in. ‘Not to worry,’ she said crossing the room. ‘I thought this might happen. Now, now, Flora. Not to worry.’ She turned to Cathy. ‘Does she really need this now? She’s had enough of doctors to last her a lifetime.’

  Cathy got up. ‘I didn’t realise,’ she said. ‘No, it can wait. It was simply a routine check. Perhaps I can leave a blood pressure monitor …’ But the other woman was wrapping her arms around Flora and rocking with her. ‘I’ll leave you in peace. I’m very sorry.’

  She glanced back as she left the room. What a pitiful sight Flora Hogg made. What on earth had caused her to react so dramatically at the mention of her being a doctor? Cathy thought that she knew. Life must have been unpleasant for many residents at Fernibanks, and poor Flora Hogg had been incarcerated for nearly her entire adult life. It made her feel quite sick.

  As she crossed the car park, now glad to be outside, she wondered if she had learned anything at all from the visit. Flora Hogg had without question, been an unsuitable person to mother a child given what she had said. But where did that leave things with her son Thomas? Had Thomas been to visit his mother in Fernibanks all those years ago? Had he witnessed his only known relative’s distress and possible ill-treatment at Betty’s hands as she worked there as the matron? Had he harboured a grudge against the old woman? Cathy just wasn’t convinced.

  19

  It was Neil who greeted Holly at the door. He stood, partially blocking her entrance. Had she wanted to try; she would have to pass too close to his horrible figure. Holly was unsure what he was playing at, until he looked up and down the street like some rubbish mime artist, and then bent in closer.

  ‘Before you go in,’ he said conspiratorially, ‘I heard that you’ve been seen hanging around with a murderer. They’re saying it’s crazy Thomas. Don’t suppose he confessed to you then, did he?’

  ‘Piss off, Neil,’ she said and pushed past. His body felt like a rack of empty coat-hangers, shifting and clattering. It took Holly an eternity to shake off the violation.

  The shop was yet to open, but it seemed that most of the volunteers had arrived in good time to get things organised. Everyone assumed that they would be busy. It was a reasonable supposition given the material on offer to local gossips, and the shop was, of course, at the centre of it all. Perhaps they might take advantage of the situation and make a huge profit that day.

  ‘Morning,’ Alex called through from the kitchen, and Holly realised that it was the first time she had seen him since he plied her with alcohol the other night. She was slightly unsure of how to behave, but he made it easy, stepping out of the room and grinning. His hair was newly cut and Holly saw that he was greying slightly at the temples. It suited him, in a way.

  ‘You left some shopping at mine,’ he said, still smiling. Fortunately, Neil was out of earshot. If he had been there, he would have winked and jogged her in the ribs like a complete weasel. Holly walked through and hung her jacket on a peg at the back.

  ‘Keep it,’ she said to him, indicating the proffered bag. She wrestled with a hanger of tabards that had been freshly washed and ironed. When she turned back, he looked uncertain. It was as if she had slighted him, so as she walked back through, she told him she was going sober for the rest of the month and he laughed at that.

  The morning was busy, as they had anticipated. It seemed that the charity shop was the hub of the community that day. Carbolic came in just after nine, keen to gloat over the arrest of his arch-enemy. He brought with him, a packet of Wagon Wheels and said that it was a gift after what they had all been through. Holly had no idea how a marshmallowy biscuit would help them get over the horrific death of a colleague, but she supposed it was the thought that counted.

  Carol was her usual ingratiating self with Carbolic, maybe it was just to spite Holly. Perhaps only she saw the man’s true motive for bringing in the treats. He was, of course, muscling in on Thomas’s patch, and toading up to Carol so that he could establish himself as a favourite. Holly couldn’t understand how they were all blind to it.

  Holly was sure that Carbolic knew she couldn’t tolerate him, as much out of loyalty to her new friend, as anything else. He tried to catch her eye while he was waving the shiny, red packet of biscuits around but she wouldn’t be drawn. She heard his voice prattling on and on from the back room later, with him detailing how the police had arrived late-afternoon to go through the bins at the back of The Court. Presumably, they were looking for bloodstained clothing, for if Betty had been walloped on the head before being thrown on the railway, the perpetrator must have been in a bit of a state.

  Even Alex noticed that Holly was off form and asked if she was alright, but she couldn’t be bothered explaining herself. Part of her wasn’t sure about trusting in anyone too hurriedly. As she upended bag after bag onto the floor, she found herself reflecting. To be fair, there wasn’t much to go on, but she was inflexible in her belief that Thomas was innocent.

  Holly thought of what she had learned about the lives of the other volunteers, and how Betty’s interactions with them had been less doddery and passive, and more ominous than she had originally supposed. Betty had been a dubious character, and it appeared to be quite possible that she had stirred up trouble, certainly for Neil. Then there was the blazing row with Carol also. Betty had at one time, been a matron. It must have been a position of great responsibility. How might she have taken Carol’s constant needling and micromanaging?

  Of course, there was always a possible link to the fire up at the old psychiatric building and the death of the psychiatrist all those years ago. It seemed significant that all of this had kicked off after Neil’s horrible tale too. Holly cast her mind back to when Neil had shown around his newspaper cutting. She recalled everyone’s polite interest, but Betty had looked like she had seen a ghost. What did it all mean?

  Straightening up from her bundle of assorted clothes, Holly sighed. She couldn’t stand the back room any longer. She crossed the corridor and came to stand in the kitchen doorway. The room was even more chaotic than usual. Alex, despite his preference to sort books, had stepped in to help Neil, as things it seemed, had begun to get rather out of hand.

  Alex looked at her and smiled.

  ‘I can’t settle,’ she said and shrugged.

  ‘Thomas?’ he asked.

  She nodded and hoped he wouldn’t be too nice to her.

  ‘They’ll keep a close eye on him,’ he said, and glanced behind her, presumably in case someone was listening. Holly came further into the room and they stood huddled together. ‘I know you felt sorry for the guy,’ Alex said quietly, ‘but if they do release him, it’s probably best not to be seen hanging around chatting and being too friendly. That’s my advice, but you can ignore it of course.’

  Holly nodded. ‘But even if the blood outside his flat was Betty’s, it hardly points the finger directly at him, does it?’

  Alex sighed. ‘True, but they’ll be looking for more evidence. If they’re still waiting on forensic tests, they’ll probably keep Thomas under some kind of surveillance, and even have him come into the station daily, just to make sure he doesn’t do a runner.’

  Holly snorted at this. ‘Where would he go?’

  ‘I suppose he is a vulnerable person too, so he might conceivably be a suicide risk,’ Alex said.

  Holly’s stomach lurched.

  ‘Cosy in here, you two?’ Neil said, suddenly appearing and squeezing his way into the kitchen. ‘Thought the pair of you’d been getting a bit chummy. Hope I’ve not missed anything exciting. They do say that tragedy brings people together. Now you have a common enemy in Thomas, who knows what could blossom?’

  Holly hated the vile man, and out of spite more than anything, she ignored him c
ompletely.

  ‘This evening, Alex?’ she said, with a wicked glint in her eye. ‘Your place. Eight o’clock? I won’t bring a bottle because I know you’ve got.’

  ‘I thought it was dry January?’ Alex asked.

  ‘Like hell it is. You’d better not have any plans for tomorrow because we’re getting off our faces, and we’ll be of no use to anyone.’

  Neil looked like a school kid who had just lost his best mate, but Holly was already counting the hours until she could forget her concerns and slip happily into oblivion. It helped of course, that her co-conspirator wasn’t a complete idiot, but she supposed, had Alex turned her down, she might quite easily have spent the night alone.

  Admittedly, drowning her sorrows had become a bit of a habit, but the past few weeks had tested her to the limit. She had already decided that once this God-forsaken business was cleared up, she’d be packing her bags and leaving. She might never find out what she came for originally, but she owed it to Betty to stick it out. Alcohol would help. It always did.

  After leaving the shop, having re-established with Alex that he’d better get the glasses ready, Holly turned back down the high street in the opposite direction.

  The evening was cold and she drew her jacket tight around. He fell in step beside her, without her notice. She had no idea how long they walked together; her mind furiously engaged in the unfairness of it all. When she glanced sideways, it had been because of his shadow as they passed together under a street light. He was perhaps a couple of steps behind. Holly had no idea if he intended to announce himself, or if he would have followed her the entire way up to the old psychiatric hospital in silence.