Daniel felt a thud of recognition because he instinctively recognised her words as the truth. ‘You didn’t say anything?’
‘I did to her,’ Bobby said. ‘I did. I told her what she was doing was wrong. She simply looked blankly at me. Doctor…’ She touched his arm. ‘I honestly don’t think Vanda knew what she was doing. I don’t.’ There was real distress in her face. ‘I can’t believe…’ she began. ‘I can’t. She couldn’t have smothered Anna-Louise. She just couldn’t have done it. Surely?’ Doubt was creeping into her voice as she spoke. Then her shoulders drooped. ‘I should have done something more, shouldn’t I?’
It would have seemed cruel to have agreed with her but Daniel couldn’t disagree.
Yes, he thought. She should have done something, said something more, involved the authorities. But then – so should I.
And now it was too late.
Bobby Millin was standing, looking at him with an expression of fear in her eyes.
‘What is it?’ he asked, feeling a snatch of fear.
She put her hand on his arm. ‘Doctor,’ she said. ‘She thinks she might be pregnant again.’
Daniel stared at Bobby Millin’s face. ‘Who?’ he asked.
‘That goof…’ Her face showed clear contempt.
Daniel knew exactly who she meant. Guy Malkin. He recalled seeing the two of them together, walking up the High Street, Vanda’s tiny figure trotting alongside Guy Malkin’s gangling shape. Oh, no, he thought. This was the worst scenario. Another child would make things worse. If Vanda had failed to cope with Anna-Louise, what would happen now? More abuse?
Daniel felt disturbed as he left the nursing home. And he felt terribly guilty. He had failed. He should have picked up that something was wrong between mother and child, that they were failing to bond, that the relationship was pathological. He could have prevented it by alerting the authorities. The shame was that Vanda Struel wasn’t a bad person. Confronted with her behaviour she could have changed – at least been given the chance to. It was her mother’s responsibility to speak out, to protect her granddaughter but, ultimately, the fact that the child was dead lay at his door. It was his job.
The question now was how to proceed?
He was depressed as he opened his car door.
Bobby Millin watched him through the window. She had picked up on the fact that he felt in some measure responsible. Her lips tightened. Her gaze slid across the desk to a framed photograph. She picked it up. Anna-Louise, nine months old, in a pale pink dress, still needing to be propped up, gazed solemnly back at her. She stared at it until one of the other health care assistants came up, put her arm around her and said, ‘You must be heartbroken.’
Bobby was still crying as she replaced the photograph on the desk.
Although Guy had Vanda now, he still felt he was missing out on something. Vanda was easy game but Claudine – now, she was a challenge. Yes, he had Claudine’s pretty earrings, her underwear. But he wanted her. He wanted to touch her, to feel her in the flesh. Not just have her things. He wanted her to look at him with love. That was what he wanted.
And he knew how he was going to get it.
Brian was not pleased to be told he would have to do nights again. ‘Starting on Saturday,’ the sergeant said. ‘Hope you didn’t have anything special planned with that lovely young wife of yours.’
Brian mumbled a reply. He was formulating a plan. He would do his nights but he would also watch the house. Pretend not to be there and he would see. Then he could act.
Daniel heard nothing from Claudine.
The solicitor made Daniel’s day by ringing to say that he had heard from Maud Allen’s niece who said that she was prepared to settle out of court for £100,000 and he strongly recommended that he accept.
Daniel said he’d think about it. He felt a certain fury that this niece, of whom he had never heard, should suddenly pop out of the woodwork and claim her right. What had she ever done for the old woman?
He sat in his surgery, calculating. Applegate Cottage was worth about £400,000. He could get £500,000 for The Yellow House but, thanks to Elaine, he had a £300,000 mortgage on it. That would still give him £200,000 left minus solicitor’s bills and no mortgage. He and Elaine had sorted out all their moneys in final settlement. She earned a good wage as an accountant so he didn’t have to give her any more.
He decided quickly and picked up the phone before he could change his mind. Let the niece have her money. In that, at least, he could have finality.
He instructed the solicitor and sat back. What was he really going to do about Bobby Millin’s confession? Inform the police? The Social Services? He didn’t have her permission. She had trusted him as a doctor and he couldn’t break that trust. Without her statement there would be no evidence. If the pathologist could not be certain that Anna-Louise had been smothered the case could not be proved. He knew where his responsibility lay – to ask Bobby to give her permission to go to the Social Services armed with her information.
But at the back of his mind lurked a further fear.
He had sensed that all was not right; he had done nothing apart from referring her, and the little girl had died. It was possible – but only just – that it had been from natural causes. She had certainly suffered from apnoeic attacks – or so the family had said – and the post-mortem had been inconclusive.
The sense of guilt was always floating around, familiar now, but joined by this further fear. What if Vanda really was pregnant again? If he did not do something a second child might follow the path of its dead sister. But what could he do? He was not allowed to speak. Confidentiality is valued very highly. The doctors’ surgery is as close as a confessional. Break that and you risk people not being open with their medical advisers. Doctors have been struck off the medical register for not respecting the confidentiality clause. But a child’s life was at stake. After tussling with the problem for some minutes Daniel finally did what any doctor would do. For the second time in as many months he dialled the number of the Medical Defence Union.
They, for their part, advised him to ask Bobby Millin’s permission to speak to the police.
Their point was clearly made. Vanda Struel needed help as did her unborn infant.
He rang The Elms to speak to Bobby, only to be told that she had gone home for the afternoon.
He tried her home number but there was no answer and he didn’t have a mobile number.
He had one last resort. He scanned the addresses on his mobile phone and connected with Caroline Letts. They had been in the same year at medical school, briefly been lovers and parted very good friends. She had never married and currently worked as a child psychiatrist in one of the units in the University of North Staffordshire, Stoke-on-Trent.
She was friendly when he spoke.
‘Goodness, Daniel, it’s been ages. How are you?’
He told her he was fine, asked about her, and then steered the conversation round to Vanda Struel. She listened, without interruption, before giving her opinion. ‘As I see it your problem is, Daniel, proving it. If the pathologist can’t be certain the child was deliberately smothered you have absolutely no chance. The only way it can ever be brought to court is if you rig up surveillance on the mother and child and actually see her deliberately harming the child. And that is fraught with difficulties as some of my colleagues have found to their cost. But if the little girl is dead…’
Dully he told her that the mother might be pregnant again. Again Caroline was sympathetic.
‘Should I let her know of my suspicions? Make her aware that I’m not happy about what happened to Anna-Louise?’
‘Absolutely not,’ she said with conviction. ‘That often escalates the incidents. They are more dangerous when they are suspected. The best thing might be to take the grandmother into your confidence and get her to act as your “spy”. Or at least,’ she added, ‘advise the grandmother to supervise and visit her daughter often and not to be afraid to speak to you if she is a
t all worried. Give her an open understanding, Daniel, take her into your confidence.’
‘I have already,’ he said, ‘to some degree.’
‘Well then – you can but hope that she can protect this second child. And if there are any suspicious illnesses in the new baby it might have to be made a Ward of Court – taken into care and only see the mother under supervision. It’s the only way of protecting vulnerable infants.’
It didn’t help him much. He made a loose arrangement to take Caroline out to dinner, knowing as he put the phone down that it probably wouldn’t ever lead to a definite date.
What was wrong with him, he thought crossly, wanting a woman who was unavailable and rejecting two perfectly eligible women? He felt irritated with himself and meeting Lucy Satchel in the reception area didn’t do anything to make him feel better. Her smile was very tight and false. ‘Well, Dan,’ she said coolly, ‘so your little slip up with Maud Allen has borne unexpected fruit.’
He didn’t like the acid tone in her voice.
‘Yes, it was unexpected,’ he said. ‘I was absolutely flabbergasted.’
Her eyebrows lifted. ‘Really?’
He was well aware that to have pressed home the point would have appeared like the protestation of a guilty man. But what did she really think he’d done? Driven the old woman to suicide? Surely not. He muttered something non-committal and left it at that but it registered that she didn’t even make an effort to extend her congratulations.
It had been an eventful day. The weather was clear and chilly. Wearily he decided to leave his car at the surgery and walk home. Mistakenly he thought that the walk would do him good.
It was not to be.
Halfway up the High Street he saw Claudine sitting in the passenger seat of their car. Bethan was in the back, waving at him madly. He could have sworn Claudine had seen him too but she carried on staring straight ahead. He rapped on the window and Claudine turned to face him, a look of complete fear making her look like a character out of a horror movie, both her mouth and eyes wide open. He felt a tap on his shoulder and knew who it was before he turned around. ‘Stay away from my wife, Doctor Gregory.’
Daniel felt compelled to defend himself. ‘Look, Brian,’ he said in a vain attempt at friendliness, ‘you’ve got the wrong impression here. Claudine and I…’ He glanced at her. Her eyes were still wide open, her mouth tense and unhappy. He couldn’t do any good by trying to reason with Anderton. ‘Well you’ve just got the wrong impression. Come on…’ He put a hand on the policeman’s shoulder. ‘Our daughters are friends. There isn’t anything wrong in that.’ He felt uncomfortable at the policeman’s frozen stare. ‘I’m hoping that Holly will be moving up here permanently.’
But Brian was staring right through him. The confidence hadn’t thawed him at all.
Daniel knew he simply wasn’t listening. He shrugged, gave an apologetic smile at Claudine and Bethan and walked on.
Ten steps later he turned and looked back.
Brian Anderton was still staring after him.
Daniel felt a pricking of anxiety. He had seen that identical stare once before. It had been when he had been studying psychiatry. He had worked for a few months in a secure psychiatric unit where some of the worst cases of violent and unstable mental illness were housed. One evening an inmate had been staring at another patient with the same, identical look that Brian was giving him now. Seconds later the patient had sprung at the man, trying to tear his throat out. Even now Daniel shivered when he thought of it, prising fingernails out of flesh, a swift spurting of blood, the animal snarling. The alarm bells had sounded, five strong male nurses summoned and they had needed all their strength to tear the man away from his victim.
Days later, when the sedation had been starting to wear off, it had been Daniel’s job to interview the patient, whose name was Mark Shilling, and try to ascertain what had provoked the attack. Shilling had looked puzzled, almost confused at the question, but he had thought about it before giving what to him was a rational explanation. ‘He just wouldn’t stop sniffing,’ he said. ‘It was getting on my nerves.’
Daniel had nodded, shocked at this glimpse into a volatile mind.
So now he quickened his step away from Anderton trying to reason with himself. What was he saying? That the town’s policeman had an unstable mind? As diseased as someone who needed to be locked up for their behaviour?
He reached home and pushed open the front door.
Chapter Eighteen
The house seemed empty without either Holly or his mother. It took a while to readjust to the silence that greeted his return home from work. The corridor seemed longer, narrower and darker. He went into the kitchen. The first thing he noticed was that his answerphone was flashing out two messages – the first was from Marie Westbrook. ‘Daniel,’ her tone was wheedling, coaxing, ‘I expect Holly and your mother have left and you’re on your own again. I’m on my own; you’re on your own. Why not give me a ring and we’ll have a drink together?’ She rapped out her mobile number – twice.
He flicked on to the next message. It was from his mother. ‘Daniel, dear. Just to let you know, I’ve left Holly with Elaine. I must say she looks well on all this, knee-deep in wedding plans. I’m sure I don’t understand her. The man she’s marrying is—’ Daniel pressed delete. He didn’t really want to hear about Elaine’s new man. It wasn’t that he still cared about her. He didn’t, but the very subject of her ‘knee-deep in wedding plans’ simply bored him.
He settled down for the evening, searched the Internet dating website but saw nothing he could be bothered with, channel-hopped the television for an hour or two and went to bed early. At eleven o’clock his telephone rang. He stretched out his hand then withdrew it. He couldn’t face fending off either his mother or Marie right now. Ten minutes later he was asleep.
It was almost two weeks later that Vanda Struel turned up in his surgery, proudly brandishing a miniature Bell’s whisky bottle containing a urine sample. He looked at it with something approaching distaste.
She was almost beseeching him to be pleased for her. ‘I’ve got a new bloke,’ she said. ‘He’s really nice. Good to me and all that. We’re gettin’ on really well.’ Her eyes still met his with that hopeful expression. ‘We’d like a kid of our own.’ Her gaze dropped to the whisky bottle.
He asked her when her last period had been, then offered to get the nurse to test it, aware that he was unable to share in her enthusiasm. Marie was grumpy when he handed her the bell-shaped bottle. She practically snatched it from him without a word. He watched her perform the test awkwardly, hardly registering surprise when the line turned blue. What did this mean? he wondered. Another child to be harmed at its mother’s will? He felt suddenly impotent to prevent it. What could he do? I could counsel her, he thought, take the line of, Are you ready for another child so soon after…?
Marie was watching him. ‘It was only a friendly gesture,’ she said sharply. ‘There was no need for you to ignore it.’
He struggled to understand and returned her stare blankly.
‘Don’t you ever pick up your phone messages?’
‘Not always,’ he said and left it at that.
He was just leaving the room when she asked softly. ‘What do I have to do, Daniel? Go down on my knees?’
He couldn’t answer her – not truthfully – so he avoided saying anything, whisked through the door and back along the corridor to where Vanda Struel was waiting.
‘Well?’ she demanded.
‘It’s positive,’ he said, knowing that this was both a momentous and monstrous statement.
She jumped up. ‘Fantastic,’ she said beaming. ‘Guy’ll be over the moon. He’d love a little boy.’ There was no mention, no memory, no regret for Anna-Louise.
Claudine was picking up a few things from the supermarket.
‘Hello, Mrs Anderton. Nice morning.’
Claudine focused on the gangly youth who frequently served her at the Co-op store. She
gave him one of her wide, friendly smiles. ‘Hello, Guy,’ she responded. ‘How are you today?’
‘Well,’ he said. ‘I’m well.’
‘Good.’
She was aware that he was anxious to engage her in some sort of conversation, however banal.
‘How’s Bethan?’
‘Oh – Bethan’s very well too, Guy. She’s looking forward to spending some time in France next month with my family.’
‘Oh. Is the Constable going too?’
Claudine’s eyes flickered. ‘No,’ she said. ‘We have decided it would be a good idea if…’ She started again. ‘Brian does not have any time off.’
‘Oh,’ he said. ‘Shame.’
‘Yes.’ She passed some of her groceries across to him. ‘It is a great shame but it’ll be good for Bethan’s French to be with my mother. I am anxious for her to learn the language and my mother speaks very little English.’
‘’Course,’ he agreed.
He was staring at her rather stupidly, she thought, and handed him a litre bottle of milk.
‘I think I’m going to be a dad.’
She looked up, startled. ‘Really?’
‘Yes.’
‘Congratulations.’ She couldn’t think what else to say. Who is the mother, would have seemed inappropriate but she couldn’t remember ever seeing him with a woman. He had always been alone. A loner, she thought.
The Watchful Eye Page 19
