Unnatural Wastage

by Betty Rowlands

  Carla shifted in her seat and clasped her hands together in an attempt to steady them, but even her voice was shaking as she stammered, ‘I have a lot on my mind; I can’t recall every detail of every conversation.’

  ‘Wouldn’t it be more accurate to say that you were telling a deliberate lie?’

  ‘No, I was not lying. I simply made a mistake.’

  ‘Because the last time quinine was prescribed for a patient was such a long time ago?’

  ‘I suppose so.’

  ‘We may have up to thirty residents at any particular time, Sergeant,’ Brian Seaton interposed. ‘Sometimes they are here for only short periods of respite care and then return home. And their average age is about seventy, so one way or another there is a considerable turnover. It is not reasonable to expect me or my wife to carry all their details in our heads.’

  ‘Quite so, sir,’ said Rathbone briskly, ‘but I presume you keep a file on each resident?’

  ‘Naturally. All the files are on our computer.’

  ‘We’d like to see the late Mrs Donaldson’s history, please, Mr Seaton.’

  ‘Mrs Donaldson? So that’s what this is about! Her son put you up to this!’ After wriggling uncomfortably under Rathbone’s questioning, Carla now managed to summon up a display of righteous indignation. ‘Despite your assurances that no blame whatsoever attached to us, Bradley Donaldson has made some trumped-up excuse to bring you back here to make our lives a misery and disturb the peace of our establishment. What’s he accusing us of? Having caused her death by mismanaging her medication? It’s absolutely monstrous! Brian!’ She rounded on her husband. ‘Shut down the computer and call Mr Goodall. We’re answering no more questions without consulting our solicitor.’

  There was a knock at the door. Sukey opened it and an officer entered, carrying in gloved hands two clear plastic bags. ‘Sergeant Drury told me to bring these to you right away, Sarge,’ he said. ‘This –’ he held up one of the bags – ‘was in a special waste bin along with a load of similar items.’ Sukey recognized a foil strip of the type used by used by pharmaceutical companies to pack capsules containing drugs. ‘One of the staff told us it was a load of out of date or out of use pills and stuff waiting to be destroyed. The packet in this other bag was with paper waiting to be recycled.’

  Rathbone took the bags, turning them while he scrutinized their contents through the plastic. ‘This strip held quinine sulphate three-hundred-milligram tablets,’ he read aloud. ‘According to the label on the packet, identical tablets were prescribed for Mrs Angela Donaldson in February this year.’ He turned back to the couple behind the desk and said, ‘I suggest you call your solicitor from police headquarters. You will probably wish to nominate one of your senior staff to deputize for you during your absence.’

  There was a brief consultation between husband and wife before Brian said, ‘Barbara Melrose is our most senior nurse. Shall I go and find her?’

  He half rose from his seat, but Rathbone said, ‘No thank you, sir.’ He turned to the officer. ‘Find Nurse Melrose, pass on Mr Seaton’s instruction and tell her where we’re going. Inform Sergeant Drury and tell him to let me know immediately if you find anything else.’

  ‘Will do, Sarge.’

  At police headquarters Brian and Carla Seaton, with their solicitor, Hedley Goodall, sat side by side at a table in an interview room. Opposite them sat DS Rathbone and DC Sukey Reynolds. After the completion of formalities, Goodall said, ‘Sergeant, I have had a full and frank discussion with my clients and they assure me that while they deeply regret the death of Ms Jennifer Freeman they categorically deny any responsibility for it.’

  ‘Thank you, sir, your comments are noted,’ said Rathbone. ‘Perhaps, so that you should be fully informed, I’ll ask DC Reynolds to read you an extract from this afternoon’s interview with your clients in their office at Holmwood Care Home.’ After Sukey read the exchanges referring to the use of quinine in the treatment of night cramps, Rathbone turned to the Seatons and said, ‘Do you agree this is an accurate record of what was said?’ They exchanged glances and nodded. ‘Please speak aloud for the tape.’

  After they had both reluctantly muttered, ‘Yes,’ Rathbone continued. ‘I have here –’ he held up a file that lay open on his desk – ‘a report of the proceedings at the inquest on Jennifer Freeman that was held yesterday afternoon. Do I take it that neither of you attended?’

  ‘We didn’t even know the inquest was taking place,’ said Brian.

  ‘Have you read any reports of the proceedings?’ Both the Seatons gave negative replies. ‘Then you may be interested to know that as certain questions remained unanswered it was adjourned pending further enquiries.’

  ‘May we know what questions?’ asked Goodall, as neither of his clients showed any reaction.

  ‘The post-mortem examination revealed a significant quantity of quinine in Jennifer Freeman’s system – a drug that had never been prescribed for her.’ At the mention of quinine, Sukey noticed Carla stiffen. ‘As we have just heard,’ Rathbone continued, ‘it was once the practice to use it as a relief for night cramps but as you, Mrs Seaton, told us it is no longer recommended, chiefly because – as an experienced nurse – you are no doubt well aware that it has been known to cause certain side effects such as dis­orientation and confusion. That’s true, isn’t it?’

  ‘Yes,’ she replied through tight lips.

  ‘Now, let me remind you of some further exchanges between us, this time from this morning’s interview. Sukey?’ Once again, Sukey read out her transcript of the relevant passages.

  The Seatons listened in silence. When Sukey had finished, Rathbone said, ‘Quinine has a bitter taste. You, Mr Seaton, informed us that Jennifer Freeman had expressed a fondness for bitter drinks, among them strong, black, unsweetened coffee. And you, Mrs Seaton, suddenly invited Jennifer to stay for lunch by way of apologizing for having been “a bit unpleasant” during a previous discussion. I put it to you that, hoping she would ask for Campari as an aperitif, you saw an opportunity to spike her drink with quinine with the deliberate intention of causing some of the known side effects.’

  ‘That is a preposterous statement,’ said Carla indignantly. ‘Why on earth do you suppose I wanted to harm her?’

  ‘I’ll come to that in a minute. As you anticipated, Jennifer did ask for Campari with, according to your husband, a splash of soda. Which of you poured the drinks?’

  ‘I did,’ said Brian Seaton.

  ‘And did you hand Jennifer’s drink to her immediately?’

  Brian Seaton hesitated for a second and glanced at his wife. Sukey read a desperate plea in her expression; in his was a dawning look of apprehension. ‘I’d like an answer please,’ said Rathbone.

  With an obvious effort, Brian Seaton turned from his wife’s face and looked directly at Rathbone. ‘I poured the drinks – Jennifer’s Campari and a couple of sherries for us – and put them on a tray.’ His voice had a slow, almost mechanical quality, as if he were reliving the scene. ‘Jennifer was looking out of the window admiring the garden. She had her back to us. I was about to take the tray and put it on the low table beside her when Carla said, “You forgot to return Mrs Lear’s call. You’d better do it now.”’

  ‘And is that what happened?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘What was the nature of the call?’

  ‘It was to a lady wanting to talk about her mother who has been ill for some time.’

  ‘Where did you make the call?’

  ‘In the office.’

  ‘How long were you away?’

  ‘I suppose we were talking for almost ten minutes.’

  ‘And when you returned, what did you find?’

  ‘Carla and Jennifer were sitting on the sofa with their drinks and chatting.’

  ‘So you were out of the room for almost ten minutes,’ said Rathbone. ‘How far is the drugs cupboard from the room where the drinks were being served?’

  ‘It’s next door.’r />
  ‘Next door,’ Rathbone repeated. ‘That would have given you plenty of time, wouldn’t it, Mrs Seaton, while your husband was out of the room and Jennifer’s back was turned, to take out the pack of quinine tablets which you happened to know were still there, break open a couple of three hundred milligram capsules of the drug and slip it into her drink, knowing it would at worst enhance the bitter taste for which Jennifer had expressed a liking?’

  Before she had a chance to reply, Goodall intervened. ‘On behalf of my client I strongly object to this line of questioning,’ he said. ‘What you are implying is pure supposition on your part and I advise her not to answer.’

  ‘All right,’ said Rathbone. ‘Let me turn to the empty drug packet which, according to the label, contained quinine tablets prescribed for Mrs Donaldson, who died several months ago. Leaving aside your assertion that quinine had not been prescribed for any of your residents for a long time, can you explain why the empty packet came to be with a quantity of material waiting to be recycled?’

  ‘I came across it a few days ago in the drugs cupboard. Due to an apparent oversight it had not been thrown away.’

  ‘I see. Were any of the tablets left over?’

  ‘No, it was just an empty packet.’

  ‘You’re quite sure of that?’

  ‘Quite sure.’

  ‘Now, Mrs Seaton –’ Rathbone made a point of referring to the open file in front of him – ‘let me return to your earlier question concerning your motive – or lack of it – for wishing to harm Jennifer Freeman.’ He paused for a moment before saying, ‘I believe that you have in the past had occasion to suspect your husband of being unfaithful to you?’

  Once again, Goodall intervened. ‘Really, Sergeant, what relevance has my clients’ private life to do with the present enquiry?’

  ‘It has every relevance, as I propose to show in a moment.’ He turned back to Carla Seaton. ‘It is true, is it not, that you once employed a private detective, who found evidence that confirmed your suspicions?’

  Carla bit her lip and lowered her eyes; her husband took her hand. ‘Yes, it’s true,’ he said. ‘It was unforgivable and I bitterly regret it, but she did forgive me and I promised it would never happen again.’

  ‘But you didn’t really trust him to keep that promise, did you Mrs Seaton? In fact, you suspected that he had already started – or was about to start – another affair, this time with Jennifer Freeman. You saw an opportunity to cause her harm, even so far as to affect her control of her vehicle on the drive home—’

  ‘Sergeant Rathbone, I cannot allow you to intimidate my client with these accusations for which you have so far not produced a shred of evidence,’ said Goodall angrily. ‘In the circumstances I must insist that you either charge her or release her and her husband immediately.’

  Rathbone turned to Sukey. ‘Constable Reynolds, you informed me that shortly after our visit to Holmwood this morning you received a telephone call from one of the employees. I take it you took a careful note of what you heard.’

  ‘Yes, Sarge.’

  ‘Read it back, please.’

  As Sukey read out Barbara Melrose’s report of the angry exchanges she had overheard between her employers, the Seatons sat rigid with horror. As the call ended, Carla let out a sudden scream of despair. ‘All right, I admit it . . . I did lace her drink . . . I once saw the effect quinine had on a patient and I hoped it would do the same for Jennifer Freeman . . . but all I was hoping was that she’d just become confused and disorientated . . . and make a fool of herself in front of Brian . . . so help me God, I never meant to cause her death!’ She rounded on her husband and screamed, ‘This wouldn’t have happened if only you’d loved me just a little!’ To everyone’s astonishment, and to Brian Seaton’s obvious embarrassment, she clung to him, sobbing uncontrollably. After a moment’s hesitation, he put his arms round her and held her close.

  NINETEEN

  Sukey arrived home on Friday evening physically exhausted and mentally drained. She dropped her bag and jacket on the sitting room floor, sank into an armchair and closed her eyes. She felt a sudden need for Harry’s company; the news of the Seatons’ arrest would be released to the press within a few hours and she was tempted to call him and unload some of the conflicting emotions that, knowing it was part of her job to view the case objectively, she had been fighting to keep under control. From past experience she knew she could rely on him not to release any details before the official announcement, yet she still hesitated.

  She became aware of feeling empty, having had little to eat since her lunchtime sandwich. Reluctantly, she dragged herself out of the chair with the intention of foraging in the kitchen for something quick and easy to prepare. As she did so, she noticed the light on her answering machine indicated that she had a message. It was with a surge of relief that she heard Harry’s voice.

  ‘Hi,’ he said, ‘I hear things have been popping. Call me ASAP.’

  He replied after two rings. ‘Where have you been? It’s after nine o’clock. Your mobile’s switched off . . . I was getting anxious.’

  ‘I’ve only just got in,’ she said. ‘Sorry about that; I left my mobile on silent but I forgot to check it. Anyway, how did you know things were popping, as you put it?’

  ‘Aha, we news hounds have our sources. Is it all right if I come round so we can compare notes? Have you eaten, by the way?’

  ‘Not a lot,’ she admitted, touched by his concern. ‘I’m too tired to face anything that calls for too much effort so I was just about to have some soup with a bit of bread and cheese. Come and chat while I eat it.’

  ‘With you in ten minutes.’

  He was there in five. His eyebrows rose at the sight of the empty can. ‘Don’t tell me you’ve run out of your wonderful home-made soup!’ he said in mock disgust.

  ‘No, of course not. There’s plenty in the freezer but it would take too long to defrost. Do you want some of this – there’s enough for two?’

  ‘No thanks, Dad and I had dinner a couple of hours ago.’

  ‘Huh! All right for some.’

  ‘It has been known to be the other way round,’ he reminded her. ‘Would a drop of wine make you feel any better?’

  ‘It might.’ While he fetched a glass and poured her wine, she ladled soup into a bowl and put bread, butter and cheese on the kitchen table. ‘You can tell me what you’ve heard while I have this.’

  ‘Enough to make me keen to know more. Major Howes is my source, by the way. I’ve been in to see him a couple of times and told him we suspect Brian Seaton of having it away with Fenella Tremaine. He reads all the crime reports in the press and knowing I’m with the Echo he loves to chat about them. Mostly he asks me questions, but this afternoon he called me in great excitement to say Holmwood was swarming with police and the Seatons had been arrested. I called my editor and he told me to get over there right away. Is it true?’

  ‘Harry –’ Sukey paused with her spoon in mid-air – ‘I can imagine the rumours that have been flying around, but please don’t publish anything before the official press statement.’

  ‘How long do we have to wait?’

  ‘Only till tomorrow.’

  ‘Fair enough . . . but as you can imagine I’m dying to know the inside story. You can let me have a little advance information, surely? In the strictest confidence, of course,’ he wheedled.

  ‘So you can have your story all ready to file while your rivals are still writing theirs, I suppose.’

  ‘So what’s wrong with that? Come on, love, you know you can trust me. I might even be able to offer some helpful suggestions. It wouldn’t be the first time, would it?’

  ‘True,’ she admitted. She put her spoon down, took a mouthful of wine and cut a slice of cheese. ‘All right, here’s what happened. Acting on information received, we – that is DS Rathbone and I – interviewed the Seatons this morning about Jennifer Freeman’s visit to Holmwood the day of her accident. We weren’t satisfied with eve
rything they told us, but there was no evidence to justify taking them in for further questioning.’

  ‘What was the “information received”?’

  ‘Sorry, I can’t tell you that.’

  ‘Would it have anything to do with the quinine found in Jennifer’s body? I was at the inquest, remember?’

  ‘So you were. Well, it was significant enough to make Rathbone apply for a search warrant and we went back in the afternoon with a posse of uniformed.’

  ‘Which is what the dear old major called to tell me,’ said Harry. ‘He also rang again later to tell me that the place was buzzing with rumours that the Seatons had poisoned one of their residents! Some of them are feeling pretty alarmed.’

  ‘Well, at least I can assure you there’s absolutely no truth in that,’ said Sukey. ‘There’s no need for any of the residents to worry.’

  ‘So where did they get the idea about poison?’

  ‘Things lose nothing in the telling, but I assure you there’s no threat to anyone at Holmwood.’

  Harry gave a deep sigh of frustration. ‘I can see you mean to play it close to your chest,’ he said resignedly. ‘I suppose that should go some way to reassuring them, except that the latest news is that the Seatons have been brought back and everyone’s frantic to know what’s been going on.’

  ‘I’m afraid they’ll have to wait until the evening edition of the Echo tomorrow – or they may see it on the TV lunchtime news.’