She read the name; Mr Colin Read – based at the DRI. No time like the present.
Shrugging off her gown, Kate stepped out into the labyrinth of corridors trying to get her bearings and hoping that she was heading in the right direction for oncology.
10
The oncology receptionist was unimpressed with Kate’s credentials and her request to speak to Mr Read. In her mid-sixties with her grey hair scraped back into a steely grey bun, the receptionist peered over the thin frames of her reading glasses with a schoolmarm look of disapproval as Kate explained the need to clarify the details of Dennis Lambert’s records.
‘I’m afraid Mr Read is unavailable at this time,’ the woman said, dropping her eyes back to her keyboard in dismissal.
‘When will he be available?’ Kate asked, trying to keep her tone pleasant despite the supercilious attitude.
‘He’s on holiday.’
‘And when will he be back?’
The woman sighed as though giving out this sort of information was beneath her pay grade. ‘In two weeks. He only went yesterday.’
‘Are you able to contact him?’
The woman shook her head. ‘He’s taking his annual family ski holiday in the Alps. I can hardly just ring him up about a hospital matter.’
‘But this is a murder enquiry. Surely he’d be willing to help?’
Silence.
‘Is there somebody else I can talk to?’
Another sigh. ‘We value relationships with our patients at the DRI. You could speak to another oncologist but he or she would not have detailed knowledge of this patient’s case.’
Kate tapped on the desk in frustration. The woman seemed to be deliberately making this difficult. ‘You do understand I’m acting for the coroner and I have the right to those records?’
The woman ignored her, tapping away at the keyboard with efficient bird-like pecks. ‘And my records show that the relevant documents have been supplied,’ she said with a smug smile.
‘But they’re incomplete,’ Kate said, repeating her point.
‘Then you’ll have to talk to Mr Read.’
Kate clenched her fists and stomped away from the reception desk. There was no reason why the woman should be obstructing the inquiry. The receptionist was only doing her job, but Kate wished that she had some cause, however small, to arrest her and wipe that self-satisfied smirk from the woman’s face. Kate looked around the reception area, seeking inspiration, or at least something to calm her down. It was more like the foyer of a mid-range hotel than a hospital waiting area; the carpet was deep blue and plush and the walls were a comforting shade of violet. Instead of posters and leaflets, the walls were adorned with prints of watercolours, and the few low tables held a range of special interest magazines and some more general celebrity gossip rags. Then inspiration struck and she went back to the reception desk.
‘Hi,’ she said, trying her most winning smile. The receptionist looked up and glared at her, her lips pinched together like she’d just tasted something sour. ‘You said that I could speak to another oncologist. Would that be possible today?’
A quick flurry of key tapping. ‘I’m not sure that it will be of any use but you could meet with Mr Tsappis in twenty minutes.’
‘And he is…?’
‘He’s another well-respected member of the oncology department. I can make an appointment as he has had a cancellation today.’
She emphasised the word cancellation just enough for Kate to sense her disgust that people would waste a doctor’s valuable time, leaving Kate wondering if the appointment had been cancelled because the patient couldn’t face the wrath of the gatekeeper.
‘That’ll be fine,’ Kate said. ‘I’ll wait.’ She strode over to a comfortable-looking sofa, sat down and picked up a magazine about motorbikes. Crossing her legs, she alternately turned a page and stared at the receptionist.
Less than fifteen minutes later, a door opened behind where Kate was sitting.
‘Ms Fletcher?’ a voice asked.
Kate stood up and turned to face a tall, dark-haired man in an expensive-looking charcoal-grey suit. He smiled at her, his dark eyes lighting up with what looked like genuine warmth as he gestured for her to follow him into his office.
‘You asked to see me, Ms Fletcher,’ he began as soon as they were positioned on opposite sides of a dark-wood desk. The top of the desk was empty except for a laptop and it seemed to stretch on for acres, dwarfing the one that Raymond was so proud of in his tiny office at Doncaster Central.
‘Actually it’s Detective Inspector Fletcher.’
‘I apologise. Rosemary didn’t give me your title.’
He smiled, flashing straight, white teeth which could have been displayed on a poster on a dentist’s wall. He was unsettlingly handsome; black hair cut short in the back and on the sides but forming natural waves on top, deep brown eyes and skin that looked like it had been tanned on a yacht on the Mediterranean.
‘I’m leading a murder enquiry involving one of Mr Read’s patients and I need to access his full medical record.’
Tsappis smiled. ‘I’m sure that the relevant paperwork will have been forwarded to the coroner as soon as it was requested. If not, Rosemary can–’
‘No.’ Kate interrupted. ‘We have the notes but we don’t have any of the original scans or images or whatever you call them, only descriptions of the findings.’
‘And what would you like from me?’ he asked with a smile.
‘I’d really like those images. Or, if not, I’d like you to text your colleague and ask him to ring me at his earliest convenience.’
‘I’m not authorised to release the case notes of somebody else’s patient without the consent of the relevant consultant,’ Tsappis said with a shake of his head. ‘I can have a look at the case myself and share my thoughts with you but that will probably only support the notes that you’ve got. As for texting my colleague, that would be highly irregular.’
‘But you could do it?’
He stared at her as though considering her worthiness for such an honour.
‘I could. But I’d like something in return?’
Kate’s heartbeat picked up. Was he trying to bribe her? Did he have some sort of criminal past that he needed her to wipe from the records? Or was it just a parking ticket?’
‘What?’
Another flash of that smile.
‘I’d like your phone number.’
‘That’s fine,’ Kate said with relief. ‘Obviously Read will need to be able to get in touch with me, I’ll give you my card.’
She dug in her pocket for a second before she realised what Tsappis really wanted. She wasn’t used to being asked out, especially when she was on a case, and his direct approach had thrown her. She felt herself beginning to blush.
‘That’s not what I mean,’ Tsappis said. ‘I’m sure you’re busy but I’d like to take you to dinner when you’re next free. Quid pro quo.’
Kate had a sudden vision of Anthony Hopkins’s Hannibal Lecter leering at Jodie Foster through the glass of his prison cell as he asked her to share her most intimate secrets.
‘I er… I suppose so,’ Kate said, handing over her business card, thrown by his request. It was unusual but hardly unethical – this man had nothing to do with any of her cases; he wasn’t a witness or a suspect and he was very good looking. Tsappis opened a drawer on the other side of his desk and passed his own card back to her.
‘I would have texted Read anyway,’ he said with a sheepish grin that was worlds removed from his earlier confident smile. ‘I just thought I’d take a chance on you being single. Feel free to change your mind if you think I’ve bullied you into it. I don’t normally ask out women that I’ve just met but I couldn’t help myself.’
If it hadn’t been for the grin it would have been corny, but Kate could see that he felt a bit embarrassed by his own bravado. She surprised herself by accepting his card and his invitation.
‘I’ll let you know wh
en things quieten down for me,’ she said. ‘But it could be a long wait.’
The team office was fairly quiet when Kate got back to Doncaster Central. Cooper was hunched over her keyboard, Hollis was talking to somebody on the phone and there was no sign of Barratt or O’Connor.
‘Been having fun?’ Hollis asked, hanging up the phone.
‘Great,’ Kate responded. ‘I love the smell of formaldehyde in the morning.’
‘Nothing helpful with our mystery woman?’
She gave him a brief account of Kailisa’s findings including his speculation about the house brick. Hollis tapped the top of his desk with a pen while he listened, his frustration obvious.
‘I really thought we might be able to ID her. Thought she might have an unusual tattoo or something helpful like that. I hate this. Somebody, somewhere must be missing her especially if she’s got a kid out there. She’s been missing from home for two nights and nobody’s come forward.’
Kate understood his frustration even though hers was tinged with a creeping feeling of unease. The missing woman could be somebody like her. Somebody who lived alone, had minimal contact with family, and had little going on in her life besides work. Was that why she’d accepted Tsappis’s invitation? It was unsettling to realise that, if she went missing, there would be nobody to make the initial report, nobody to be told to wait twenty-four hours, nobody to pace up and down with worry and fear.
‘Have you checked that no missing person reports have come in overnight?’
‘I keep checking,’ Hollis said. ‘That’s who I was just on the phone to. Nothing.’
‘Cooper, anything?’ Kate called over to her colleague.
A shake of Sam’s head. ‘I’ve got all the CCTV I can find from the area. So far I haven’t found anybody who looks like her. Not that surprising though. Cameras are few and far between down there. There’s one above the access gate to the marina, one on the road that runs parallel with the towpath and another at the major junction further down. Can’t find her on any of them. That’s assuming she was on foot. If she was driving it’s hopeless because we have no idea what car we might be looking for.’
‘You don’t know her?’ Kate asked. ‘She doesn’t live at the marina?’
Cooper shook her head. ‘I had a look at some of the pictures from the scene. I’m fairly certain that I haven’t seen her before.’
‘Could you show some of your neighbours one of the least disturbing pictures? Ask around, see if anybody knows her?’ Hollis suggested.
Cooper flushed and shifted in her seat. ‘I… er…’
Kate leapt in, sensing the DC’s unease. ‘It might be best if you or Barratt does that,’ she suggested to Hollis. ‘These are people who Sam knows, it might not be appropriate.’
Cooper flashed her a grateful smile and went back to her keyboard. Kate didn’t know much about Cooper’s life outside the job but that fact itself was very revealing. She knew quite a bit about the others, even Raymond spoke about his wife and kids from time to time and his crippling mortgage on the new house, but Cooper never revealed anything about her personal life unless asked a direct question. It wasn’t that she was secretive; she just never talked about herself in the way that the others did.
‘What about Dennis Lambert?’ Hollis asked. ‘Anything weird in the PM?’
‘Not really. He had cancer, he was dying. The bloods should be back tomorrow. Kailisa suggested that his cancer wasn’t advanced enough to keep him bedbound and the notes were missing some scans, so I’ve asked one of the oncologists to get Lambert’s consultant to contact me. No signs that he was suffocated or strangled. Nothing really to contradict his daughter’s story that he killed himself with an overdose. I don’t see any way to move forward on that until the rest of the results come in.’
‘There is one thing,’ Hollis said. ‘Lambert was in hospital for a while before Caroline took him home. Is it worth asking on the ward? Get some impressions of their relationship, that kind of thing? At the moment, Caroline Lambert’s story seems to stack up but she might have let something slip or not been entirely honest about her relationship with her father. Brenda Powley thinks that there’s something not right.’
It was a good idea, and the hospital wasn’t too far from the Ings Marina.
11
The five-minute drive from Doncaster Central to the town’s Royal Infirmary took nearly half an hour because the rain that had been threatened for the last few days had finally materialised, as snow. The traffic had slowed to a crawl and the heater in the pool car seemed to have given up even trying to demist the windscreen.
‘Are we there yet?’ Hollis asked, in his best petulant toddler voice.
Kate took another swipe at the windscreen with a duster and extended her reach to include Hollis. ‘Shut up or you won’t get an ice cream,’ she said over his pretend outrage, as she finally turned into the visitors’ car park. ‘Thank God for that. I thought we’d never get here.’
The car park hadn’t been gritted and the trek to reception had them both tiptoeing across the icier stretches like new-born foals. At one point, Kate had to cling on to Hollis for support. He gave her a knowing grin as she grabbed his arm.
‘See. Every woman needs a big strong man at some point. Even you.’
Kate was about to retaliate when she lost her grip as he slipped on a pile of slush and nearly lost his balance. ‘Looks like you could do with one as well,’ she joked, hitting a clear patch and picking up pace as the doors to the main reception were finally within sight.
There was another delay as the young man on reception had to get his supervisor to ensure that he was able to give out the relevant information, then a seemingly endless walk, escorted by another member of staff, to the ward where Dennis Lambert had been treated.
‘Finally,’ Kate breathed as their escort pushed open one half of the double door barring her entry and gestured for them to go inside. A nurses’ station stood a few feet beyond the door and beyond that, Kate could see doors which presumably led off to the patients.
‘Can I help you?’ a voice asked. ‘Visiting time’s over until half past seven.’ A woman in uniform poked her head above the counter which ran in a semi-circle around the nurses’ station. ‘I’m afraid you’ll have to wait until then.’
Kate quickly flashed her ID. ‘We’re not here to see a patient; we’d like to ask a few questions about somebody who was here in November.’
‘That’s a long time ago,’ the woman said with a regretful smile.
‘It’s only six weeks,’ Hollis said.
‘Can you imagine how many people come through these doors in six weeks? The turnover of beds is high in this ward. Most patients are assessed here and then moved on to specialist services.’ She brushed a stray strand of mousy brown hair from her face. Her tight bun was coming unravelled and was threatening to collapse if she didn’t give it some serious maintenance.
‘Please,’ Kate said trying not to sound too desperate. ‘Five minutes.’
The woman sighed and scowled up at Kate, her pale grey eyes narrowing with frustration. ‘Look, we’re short-staffed. If you can talk to me here while I finish this report, you can have your five minutes.’
It wasn’t ideal but Kate could see that it was the best she was going to get. ‘Okay.’ She leaned over the counter top. ‘Dennis Lambert. Admitted on November twenty-first last year with stage four liver cancer.’
The nurse was tapping on the keyboard. ‘What about him?’
‘Do you remember him? Anything about his case?’
‘I do, actually. He was admitted while I was on shift. I remember because he’d been here two days before anybody came to visit him. I thought it was a bit sad that he had nobody. Then an elderly woman turned up and a family member came as well.’
It fit with what Kate already knew. The elderly woman must have been Brenda Powley.
‘Were you involved in Mr Lambert’s care?’ Hollis asked.
The woman stopped typing
and looked up at him, a faint smile playing on her lips. ‘I’m involved in everybody’s care here. We all are. It’s not like we can pick and choose. And nor can the patients.’
She wasn’t being difficult, Kate could see that she was willing to help, but it was probably impossible for her to have spent much time with Dennis; he’d have been one among many.
‘How long was he here?’ Hollis asked.
‘If you give me a second, I’ll find out.’ She continued whatever she was doing on the computer then a few more mouse clicks. ‘He was admitted on November twenty-first and discharged on the twenty-ninth. Eight days.’
‘And his contact details? Is the daughter listed as his primary contact?’
Her eyes flicked down to the screen and back up again. ‘Yes. Caroline Lambert. An address in Sheffield.’
This wasn’t getting them very far. Kate had had visions of a stern matron who remembered everybody and who made snap and accurate judgements about her patients and their visitors. She knew that modern hospitals weren’t at all like the Carry On films that she’d watched as a child but a part of her wished that it was that straightforward instead of a faceless bureaucracy where everybody was overstretched and overworked.
‘Is there somebody who would have had oversight of Dennis Lambert’s care?’ she asked, expecting to be directed to his consultant, the absent Mr Read.
‘Of course,’ the nurse replied, looking slightly offended. ‘There is a protocol in place for each patient depending on their needs.’
She looked back at the computer screen. ‘I’m afraid that the nurse in charge of Dennis Lambert’s care isn’t on duty at the moment. She’s not been in today. I don’t know if she’s off sick or if she had holiday booked. I can probably find out.’
Another dead end.
‘Don’t bother,’ Kate said, slipping her card across the counter. ‘Have her call me when she gets back, if you don’t mind. And thanks for your time.’
Merciless: a gripping detective thriller (DI Kate Fletcher Book 2) Page 8
