by J G Alva
Sutton looked at Diane. She shook her head. She didn’t believe it any more than he did.
“Scott Bradley,” he said.
Fin turned. “What?”
“Potentially, this could be the man that killed Gavin. Forty one, unmarried. Previously treated at the Jefferson Out Clinic. Can you see what you can find out for me?”
Fin opened up a lined writing pad and made a note.
“I’ll try,” Diane said, interrupting them.
Sutton looked up at her, surprised.
“I’ll talk to the clinic,” she said. “I’ll try to get the information out of them. Somehow.”
“Okay. Good.” He nodded. Turning to Fin, he said, “what can you find out for me on Dr Archibald Bodel?”
*
“Sutton, no,” Diane protested.
“Why can’t you see this?” Sutton said.
“Because there is nothing to see,” Diane said. “He’s our family doctor. I’ve known him my whole life. My father has known him for most of his life. So what you are saying is absolutely ridiculous, because I trust him more than I trust you.”
“Look, Diane, let’s just go through it,” Sutton said, and then took a moment to line up the pieces in his head.
He began, “in July, Gavin is ill. Dr Bodel diagnoses Non-Hodgkin Lymphoma, and gives him six months to live.
“In September, he visits Dr Waverley, who does a full physical and pronounces him perfectly healthy.
“At about the same time, Gavin embarks on a fraudulent scheme to make money from false credit cards.
“In November, Gavin visits me and then tries to convince me that people are being intentionally given cancer-“
“Was he talking about himself?” Fin interrupted.
Sutton stopped. He thought that Gavin probably had been.
“I don’t know,” Sutton said eventually.
“Okay. Carry on with the timeline.”
“After he visits me, he changes his will, to include items that he knows will set me in motion to investigate, should anything happen to him.
“Three weeks later, he is killed in a way that is made to look like a robbery, when in fact it was not.
“And yesterday, his body is stolen.”
Diane stared at him, fresh hurt on her face. She had not wanted to be reminded of such a long list of terrible events.
“At every point, in some way, Dr Bodel has been involved.”
“Coincidence,” Diane said, implacable.
“Possibly,” Sutton granted. “But he’s too close to everything that’s going on to completely ignore.”
Diane seemed unconvinced.
“I don’t know what’s happening,” Sutton said. “I don’t know if Bodel messed up the diagnosis, or if Waverley did.”
“It was Waverley’s counter diagnosis that set him off,” Fin pointed out. “If you look at the timeline.”
“Maybe Gavin thought Bodel was lying to him,” Sutton speculated. “Maybe that’s why he went to Waverley in the first place.”
“Maybe,” Diane said, “Waverley is on the list because Gavin didn’t trust him.”
“Maybe we shouldn’t trust Gavin,” Fin said, avoiding both of their eyes. “You know. If he was taking cocaine.”
“He wasn’t,” Diane said stiffly.
“What if,” Sutton said hesitantly, with a quick look at Diane. “What if Bodel is selling drugs?”
Diane’s head whipped round.
“No.”
Sutton held up a finger to stall any more protestations.
“Just think about it,” Sutton said. “If, for whatever reasons, he’s selling drugs, then this would explain why Gavin didn’t trust him. Maybe he found out by accident. Maybe Bodel let something slip. How would you feel about a trusted doctor selling drugs on the side to make money? Would you trust anything he said?
“What if Scott Bradley is working for Bodel? What if he is Scott’s supplier, and gets him to do whatever he wants with a promise of an unending supply?”
Sutton paused before adding, “what if he sent Scott to kill Gavin so he couldn’t talk about what he knew?”
Diane’s expression was unpleasant when she said, “it’s all fantasy-“
Sutton jumped on that.
“Unless we find some way to connect him to some other part of what is happening here. So. Fin. Look into Bodel for me.”
“Will do,” Fin said, looking between the two of them before making a note on the pad.
Diane sat stiffly, radiating disapproval from every pore.
Sutton asked Fin, “what have you found out about Grace Chapel?”
“Not much so far,” he said. “A couple of articles from the Evening Post and on farming and agricultural websites. Her husband owns a lot of land. And two dairy farms. They seem to pop up at a lot of farming social events. I’ll keep digging. Here.” He rifled through a folder and handed Sutton a printout.
“What’s this?”
“The next name on the list,” Fin said. “What I could find out about her anyway.” Fin smiled. “At least this time you’ll know what you’re getting into.”
Sutton looked at the printout.
Rita Schofield.
He briefly read the contents.
“Well,” he said eventually. “I won’t have just this to arm me with when I go into battle.”
“Oh?” Fin said.
“Yeah. Because Diane will be coming with me.”
Diane looked up, startled.
“What?”
*
CHAPTER 15
SATURDAY
Diane parked opposite the Redland Library and they sat looking at it a moment.
At least Sutton did anyway; Diane stared resolutely ahead, as if she couldn’t look at it. It was an old red brick building built in the 1880s. Sutton couldn’t remember if it had been a schoolhouse once, or if it had always been a library…but it looked like a schoolhouse, with circular windows and ornate towers. He did however remember that it was due for closure and demolition soon.
Diane turned to him suddenly.
“I don’t understand why you want me to ask the questions,” she said. “I don’t understand why you want me here at all.”
“Trust me. She’ll be more inclined to talk to you.”
“Why? Is she a man hater?”
Sutton laughed, and got out of the car. The twinge in his side cut the laughter short.
“How do we know she’s not involved?” Diane asked, also getting out.
“We don’t,” Sutton admitted. “But I think we’ll be able to tell soon enough, just by the way she reacts. Anyway, if she does react, I’m sure, between us, we can handle a sixty two year old woman.”
“I don’t think I’ll be able to tell,” Diane said, finally looking at the library…as if sizing up an enemy.
“Alright,” Sutton said, and they crossed Whiteladies Road together. “We’ll use code words then. If it’s not going well, I’ll call you Diane. If it is going well, I’ll call you Glynne.”
“Glynne?” Diane said, wrinkling her nose at the name. “Why Glynne?”
Sutton smiled, and pushed open the red swing doors for her.
“Why not?”
*
“I’m Rita Schofield.”
The woman looked her age. She had short cut white hair, wore round spectacles, and a dark knitted cardigan. Her face was lined and tired, and her voice seemed to lack any and all inflections; it was as if no emotion existed to sway the words one way or another.
She worked as an assistant at the Redland Library, and was using a bar code scanner to check books in to the system that were being returned.
“Does the name Gavin Thompson mean anything to you?” Diane asked. “Did he visit you? I’m a friend of his.”
Rita frowned.
“Gavin Thompson?”
“A tall man,” Diane said, holding up a hand above her head, “with sort of dark, curly hair.”
Rita continued to frown. Her ey
es flicked to Sutton.
Sutton took that as his cue.
He leaned in close to Diane’s ear, but spoke loud enough so that Rita could pick up what he was saying.
“Come on, Glynne,” he said. “She doesn’t know anything about who hurt Gavin.”
“Your name is Glynne?” Rita asked Diane. Her voice was suddenly tight.
“Uh…”
“What happened to Mr Thompson, dear?” Rita asked. Something coloured her voice now: concern. “Is he alright?”
Diane, to her credit, rallied admirably well.
“Did he…did he come to see you?” She asked.
“Yes. Such a nice man. Did you know, he knew my daughter? He’d met her once or twice, at the hospital. He just came to see how I was doing, after he’d gotten to know my daughter a bit. What happened to him?” Rita asked, looking between the two of them. “You said…he’s been hurt?”
“He was murdered,” Diane said flatly.
A hand went to Rita’s throat.
“Oh, my,” she said. “I’m sorry, dear. Were you…good friends?”
Dumbly, Diane nodded. There was no faking the look of hurt on her face.
“Oh,” Rita said, reaching out to touch Diane’s shoulder sympathetically. “Oh, I’m so sorry. Come. Come round here. I’ll get you a cup of tea.”
She flipped back a section of the counter on hinges, and Diane allowed herself to be led down a hall and into a small communal area; Sutton followed.
There wasn’t much going on in the room: half a dozen comfortable chairs, a snack machine, a coffee machine, and a long table beneath the window with a kettle, cups, and a selection of different magazines stacked on it.
Rita went fussing to the kettle but Diane interrupted her by saying, “please. No tea. Thank you. I’m fine. I just want to know what Gavin came to see you about. We’re just trying to find out what he was up to in the days before he died.”
Rita blinked, and then drew her cardigan together.
“Well,” she said. “It was only what I just said: that he knew my daughter.”
“And that was all?”
“Well…” She thought, looking down at the floor. She was a tiny woman, not quite reaching five feet. “I think he might have been worried about Dr Bodel as well.”
“Dr Bodel?” Diane said, with a look at Sutton. “You know Dr Bodel?”
“Oh yes,” Rita said, smiling. “He looked after my daughter when she got ill.” The smile began to slip, and the voice lost some of its animation. “She was a little older than you. She had cancer. She died six weeks ago last Tuesday.”
“I’m very sorry,” Diane said.
“Thank you, dear.”
“Did Gavin say why he was concerned about Dr Bodel?”
“No. He just kept asking me about him: how had he acted, did he act strangely, that sort of thing. I got the impression – I don’t know how real – that Dr Bodel is not well. You know. Mentally. Which is terrible, if it’s true. Dr Bodel was absolutely fabulous with my beautiful girl. I mean, there was nothing he could do, but he made sure that she didn’t suffer unnecessarily, even if some of the tests and the procedures that had to be done could sometimes be painful…”
Rita had started to shake, and she pulled her cardigan up to cover the lower half of her face.
“Rita, I’m sorry,” Diane said, looking helplessly at Sutton.
Rita tried to regain her composure, sniffing several times and wiping at her face with her cardigan. Her eyes sparkled with unshed tears.
“It’s alright,” she said. “It’s just that you remind me of her a little bit.” She smiled painfully at Diane. “Her name was Glynne too.”
*
“You asshole,” Diane shouted at him, and then got into the car and slammed the door.
Sutton walked around to the passenger side and tried the handle, but it didn’t seem as if she was going to let him in.
He knocked on the window.
She ignored him, but at the same time didn’t drive away.
“My side really hurts,” he said, through the glass.
Not looking at him, she reached over and unlocked the door.
Sutton got in.
They sat silently beside each other.
“That was a really horrible thing to do,” Diane said eventually.
“I know,” Sutton said. “But it got us in the door, so to speak.”
“That lovely old lady-“
“You haven’t hurt her,” Sutton pointed out. “In fact, you probably made her day. She saw the ghost of her dead daughter-“
“Sutton,” Diane said, outraged, and then for a full ten seconds couldn’t speak. “We lied to her. No. I lied to her. Do you know how that makes me feel?”
“I didn’t know you were so sentimental.”
“You’re a shit. Is this what you do? Manipulate people? Con little old ladies? I’m glad your side hurts.”
She turned a vitriolic stare on him. If she had been born on Krypton, he thought with humour, then she could very well have melted a hole through his head with that stare.
“I bet you only brought me along because you knew I looked a bit like her daughter. That is despicable. Do you know how despicable that is?”
Softly, Sutton said, “I hear murder is pretty despicable too.”
She closed her mouth with a snap.
“Don’t forget why we’re here,” he continued. “It’s not to make friends. It’s to find out who killed Gavin.”
“We already know-“
“No. I told you: there’s somebody else in the background, pulling the strings. A puppet master. It’s him we really want. Or her. Scott Bradley is just a drug addict; no better, no more disciplined, than an animal. Drugs are his leash, so he’ll do whatever his master commands him to, to get his fix. He’s not capable of organising anything, let alone a murder.”
Sutton stared at Diane, who was busy staring at her hands in her lap.
“And now we know Bodel is involved,” he said.
Diane compressed her mouth miserably, but didn’t offer any defence of the physician this time.
“As for how involved,” he said, “well…I’ll need to do some more digging.”
Diane nodded.
“For your information,” he continued, shifting in his seat to ease the pain in his side, “I didn’t bring you along just because you looked a bit like Rita’s daughter.”
Her head came up.
Sutton smiled when he said, “I needed a lift too.”
Diane stared at him, trying to work him out, and then shook her head, ultimately giving up on him. But she seemed easier, he thought.
She was a very serious young lady indeed.
“If you don’t mind,” Sutton said, “I’m meeting someone at the hospital.”
“Who?” Diane asked, starting the car.
“A nurse. Her name is Janice Richmond. Like you, I’m going to ask her to do something for me which she is not going to like…and I’m sure she’ll eventually resent me as much as you do at the moment.”
“She may do,” Diane said, “but I don’t resent you. I know what you’re trying to do.” She pushed for a smile, and almost made it. “Even if I think your methods are horrible.”
*
“The hospital canteen is not the most romantic place for a first date,” Janice said.
Sutton spread his hands.
“You keep working nights, what am I meant to do?”
The hospital canteen was a long room with out of date tables and chairs, reasonably quiet in that time between the change of shifts. Only one attendant was working behind the counter, absurdly cheerful in a blue caterers uniform. Beyond where they were sitting, near the windows, only one other table was occupied: four doctors in white lab coats laughing and joking some distance from them on the other side of the room.
Janice would begin the night shift in an hour, but had agreed to come in early to meet Sutton. Even though she looked tired she was still an incredibly attr
active woman. There was something about her, some way that she moved or held herself, some inner sense of grace, that meant even when sitting on a hard backed rickety old plastic chair she looked elegant and poised. It was something that dancers and athletes have, that awareness of the body and its limitations, an intimate knowledge and understanding of what it can or cannot do.
“I only have to do one more night. Then I’ve got a week off. That means Christmas at home.” She looked pleased with herself. “I haven’t not worked a Christmas for about three years now.”
He shook his head, smiling.
“That’s too many double negatives for me to be able to take in. Are you staying with your parents over Christmas?”
She made a face.
“Only if they’re still together. God knows, it’s not looking likely.” She paused. “I meant to ask you, your friend…was it recent? That he passed?”
“He was murdered.”
“My God. I thought…”
“He had NHL,” Sutton said, nodding, “but that wasn’t what killed him.” He shook his head. “I didn’t know,” he said, feeling suddenly bleak. “He never said…”
“It’s not uncommon,” Janice said. “Absurd as it sounds, sometimes people don’t want to be a burden.”
Not be a burden…it was purely ridiculous.
Carefully, she asked, “have they…have they caught the man responsible?”
He shook his head.
“No. The police have a description, but they haven’t caught him yet.”
“They will,” she said, nodding. “They will.”
“I’m not so sure,” he said.
“Give them time.”
“It’s been ten days already.”
She put a hand over his.
“He was a good friend of yours, wasn’t he.”
He nodded.
“A long time ago now, but we kept in touch. I was one of the ushers at his wedding. They were so in love. It’s hard to describe. Or maybe it isn’t. You know what love looks like; everyone does; that look…they looked like that. But she died two years ago now. An accident. And now he’s dead.” Sutton cleared his throat and tried to smile. “I used to think he was incredibly lucky. He’d always find a way to land on his feet. But now…” He shrugged.
