“Well, I do question it, sir . . .”
“Do you really, Tennison? It’s been classified as non-suspicious and PC May has informed the coroner of that fact. Now, get out there and start investigating that pickpocket with the razor before he does some real harm to anyone who tries to stop him.”
Jane wanted to add that she also wasn’t happy with Barry Dawson’s behavior, but Lawrence looked at her and surreptitiously shook his head for her to keep quiet.
“Who was the pathologist that carried out the examination, sir?” Lawrence asked.
DCI Shepherd looked at him sternly, but Lawrence was quick to give his reason for the question.
“Tennison will need his name for her report.”
“That new chap, who’s just come down from Leeds . . .”
“Dr. Forrest,” Lawrence said. The DCI nodded and then left the room. Jane sighed and lifted up her hands.
“Honestly, it’s as if I am not allowed to have an opinion!”
“Forrest’s an old boy who’s self-opinionated and lazy. Rumor has it he screwed up a few jobs in Leeds by misdiagnosis and only applied for the job down here cos he was under pressure to hang up his medical bag and retire.”
“Could we get someone else to look at Shirley Dawson’s body?”
“I doubt it . . . besides, it’s not protocol. Prof Martin is head of the Pathology department. He and Forrest are drinking buddies. You’ll need something more to persuade the coroner to give the go-ahead for a second PM.”
“Will you help me, Paul? I just have a feeling something is wrong, but I don’t know enough about forensics and dead bodies . . .”
Lawrence shook his head.
“But why not? You told me yesterday that you wanted to have a more central role in investigation—this could be your opportunity. Please, Paul, I have such a strong gut feeling about this.”
“Gut feelings are not a bad thing, as you already know from when you recognized the bank robber’s voice. But you need to find hard evidence to prove them. I’m in the lab all morning, but after lunch let’s meet at the Dawsons’ flat and we’ll go over it inch by inch together. If we find anything solid to go on I’ll approach another pathologist I know for advice and an off-the-record second opinion. In the meantime, why don’t you make some inquiries about Barry Dawson at the hospital? See if his statement about what time he left the hospital and returned home matches with his work records.”
Jane nodded. “Thank you, I’ll call you.”
Lawrence left Jane alone in the CID room. She was halfway through reading the autopsy report when Edith arrived for work. She was in a very tetchy mood again as her mother was continuing to be difficult.
Not wanting to be drawn into a long discussion about what Edith’s mother had got up to in the night, Jane left the autopsy report on her desk to finish later and said, “Edith, I’m going over to St. Thomas’ Hospital to check a few details out.”
Edith rolled some fresh paper into her typewriter.
“On whose authority? I’ve got you down for making further inquiries about this bag slasher . . . is DI Gibbs going with you?”
“No, he’s not in yet.”
Edith looked at her watch. “That man is skating on thin ice. He is supposed to be working on the bag slasher case. Well, go along to St. Thomas’ and I’ll tell Gibbs when he deigns to come in.”
“It’s still very early,” Jane said, hoping she hadn’t got DI Gibbs in trouble.
“Early birds, my dear, catch the worms. Right, let me go over this autopsy report and hopefully that’s one case sorted.”
Jane was at St. Thomas’ Hospital by eight thirty. She went straight to the porters’ rest room in the basement. It was a very untidy, smelly room with old wing-backed chairs, worn carpet and overflowing bins. There were food plates from the canteen left on a low table, with full ashtrays and old newspapers littered around. The off duty night porter was resting in one of the moth-eaten chairs, as the morning shift came on ready to work.
Jane was able to check that Barry Dawson was on duty and had arrived on time that day as usual. However, nobody could recall seeing him after he clocked on at six forty-five and it was suggested that Jane go up to one of the wards on the second floor as the porter, a Mario Goncalves, was handling patients scheduled for theater and he had been on duty the same morning.
Jane made her way toward the nurses’ bay to ask if Mario Goncalves was available to have a quick chat. The nurses were drinking tea and one was at an open cabinet selecting medication to put into rows of small containers with name tags. Jane introduced herself. They were very pleasant and offered her a cup of tea, explaining that Mario was taking a patient to the X-ray unit but was expected back any moment. Jane declined the offer of tea and stood beside the small horseshoe desk. On one wall there was a large cork noticeboard with time schedules, postcards and patients’ room numbers pinned to it. There were also menus, a diet sheet listing special needs, and numerous photographs of nurses’ outings and birthday parties, plus a few thank-you cards.
Jane checked her watch. She had to constantly step aside as one nurse after another came into the bay or left. She glanced back at the cork board for something to do, and one photograph caught her attention. It looked as if it was some kind of celebration party, and she recognized one of the girls in the photo as the nurse selecting the medications. But there was a redhead standing behind her and Jane moved closer for a better look.
“Excuse me?” Jane looked at the nurse who was locking up the medication cupboard.
“In this photograph . . . who is that red-headed girl standing behind you?”
“That’s Katrina. It was a drinks do for the new nurse.”
“Does Katrina work here?”
“She did, but she left about eight or nine days ago. She wasn’t happy and didn’t get along with us. There was a bit of a situation.”
“Could I ask you what it was?”
The nurse wheeled her trolley out from the bay. “Not entirely sure . . . not my business really. Can you excuse me?”
Jane had to step aside, and turned to one of the other nurses. “Why did Katrina leave?”
There were hooded looks between her and her colleagues. Jane explained that she was making inquiries regarding a police investigation and would be grateful if they could answer her question. A plump nurse stepped forward and introduced herself as the Ward Sister.
“Her name is Katrina Harcourt. Basically she was not up to a very professional standard as she had been working with some temping agency before she came here. In fact, she wasn’t here for that long . . . no more than eight or nine months.”
Jane opened her bag and took out the envelope of photographs she had developed from the reel of film. She selected the black and white photograph of the woman caught on camera.
“This is her, isn’t it?”
“Yes, she had really auburn hair. Very pretty . . . but like I said, we all have a job to do here and she wasn’t very well liked.”
“Do you have an address for her?”
The nurse was becoming rather irritated by Jane as the phone kept on ringing and they were preparing to go on the wards. They were able to give Jane the last address they had for Katrina, which was the nurses’ accommodation close to the hospital, then Mario appeared with a wheelchair. He was very affable and good-looking, and stacked the wheelchair into the annex before he joined her in the corridor. They sat on some hard-backed chairs as Jane introduced herself and asked him about the morning of Shirley’s death.
Mario said that everyone was very sad for Barry as he had not, as yet, returned to work but had called in explaining his reasons.
Mario was able to confirm that Barry had eaten breakfast as usual in the canteen that day. Then he recalled that later that morning he had been in the A&E corridor when Barry had asked him for some change to use the payphone.
“It was about ten thirty. He had been calling for some time and asked me for change as he said he couldn’t
get through. He was very agitated.”
“Did he say why?”
“Yeah, he said he was trying to call his wife, but wasn’t getting any reply. So he had called his mother, but he was very concerned. I gave him some change, but I had an emergency to attend so I didn’t see him again.”
“Did you know a nurse called Katrina Harcourt?”
Mario appeared evasive, and shrugged his shoulders.
“Yeah, she worked here on Ward C . . . but I wouldn’t say I knew her.”
“Did Barry know her?”
“Like I just said, she used to work here so we all get to know each other. She left under a bit of a cloud, but that’s all I know.”
Jane thanked Mario, then went up to the canteen to double-check if any of the serving ladies recalled seeing Barry having breakfast that morning. It was rather a pointless inquiry as they all remembered seeing Barry at breakfast every day if he was on the morning shift, as he was a regular, but none of them could confirm categorically seeing him that particular day.
The row of houses was quite run-down and they were mostly divided up into bedsits. Gassiot House, the address she had been given, was at the end of the row. Jane rang the bell for number 12. She was about to turn away when the front door was opened by a woman carrying a mop and bucket.
“Do you know if anyone is in number twelve?” Jane said as she showed her ID.
“I don’t, love. I just clean the landings and hallways, but not the rooms.”
“Do you mind if I go and check.”
“No, go ahead—it’s on the second landing.”
Jane moved up the wide staircase. The threadbare carpet had bald patches and the wide polished oak banister rail was obviously from a more affluent period when the property was perhaps privately owned. It appeared that every room had now been made into bedsits. There were bathrooms on each floor and the ceiling was cracked and peeling in places.
Number 12 was at the end of the corridor. Jane knocked, waited, then tried again. There was no response. She was about to try one more time when the door opened.
“Yeah?”
“I’m so sorry to disturb you—”
“Listen, I’ve not had time to clear up . . . you’re early.” The girl was wearing flannelette pajamas and had tousled hair, with a sleeping mask around her neck. She swung the door open and gestured for Jane to come in.
“I’m on nights . . . this is really inconvenient.”
Jane stepped into the shambolic room, which had the curtains drawn shut and two single beds on either side. The unmade bed had sheets and blankets piled up on it, with cardboard boxes on the floor beside it. Hanging on the back of the door was a nurse’s uniform and cape.
“I would like to introduce myself, as I think you may be confused.” Jane took out her warrant card and held it up. “I am Detective Constable Jane Tennison. I’m making inquiries about Katrina Harcourt.”
“What?”
“I’m sorry, what is your name?”
“Brenda March. I thought you were here to take up the other bed. Katrina doesn’t live here anymore, and she’s cleaned out all her stuff.”
Brenda sat on her bed and switched on a bedside lamp. The untidy room was quite large, with a chest of drawers covered in makeup and perfume bottles. There was a huge free-standing wardrobe with the doors open and a jumble of clothes spilling out, and a dirty laundry bag dumped beside it. On a side table was an electric kettle with bottles of milk, tins of coffee and tea bags, and packets of biscuits. Chipped mugs were lined up alongside a saucer with used teaspoons.
“I am sorry to inconvenience you but I just need to ask a few questions about Katrina.”
“As I said, she doesn’t live here anymore and there’s another nurse moving in today. I am going to tidy up, but she left her side in a mess. I didn’t get in until after my shift and I’m really knackered. Katrina paid up until the end of the week, so I’ve had the place to myself.”
Jane glanced further around the room. There was a washbasin with dirty towels on a rail, and a broken mirror above it.
“How well did you know Katrina?”
Brenda shrugged and got up to open the cheap curtains.
“Well, she slept here, but I wouldn’t say I knew her that well. We were often on different shifts so she’d be sleeping when I was working. But she was OK. What’s this about?”
“I’m just making inquiries and would like to talk to her. Do you have a forwarding address for her?”
“No, she left in quite a hurry. Said she didn’t get on with the new Ward Sister and was fed up, so she packed her stuff. In fact, I wasn’t here. I think she has parents in Brighton.”
“Do you know Barry Dawson?”
“Yes, he’s a porter at the hospital. I was told that his wife had died . . . is that what this is about?”
“Did Katrina know him?”
“I suppose so. I mean, it’s a big hospital but you do eventually get to know most of the staff.”
“What can you tell me about Katrina?”
“Like I just said, I didn’t really know her. I mean, we weren’t friends. Sometimes we’d have a drink in the pub after work with everyone. She was very attractive, very stylish, but she was quite edgy cos she knew the other nurses didn’t really get along with her. They didn’t reckon she pulled her weight and wasn’t as professional because she had mostly worked in care homes before. She didn’t take to all the rules and regulations you have to adhere to when you’re in a hospital like St. Thomas’. Apparently she was often late and complained a lot.”
“Did she have a boyfriend?”
Brenda frowned. “I think she had someone, but I dunno who. She was quite secretive about whoever it was. You know, if it was a doctor the gossip goes round like wildfire. Everyone always thinks that nurses go after the doctors. She used to get all dressed up and she had some nice clothes.”
“So you think she was having an affair with someone from the hospital?”
“Well, I did think it might be a doctor or one of the surgeons, but I never saw her with any of them outside the hospital. Whoever it was gave her a necklace . . . oh yes, and a nice ring . . . she showed me the ring, it was a garnet but not that extravagant.”
“So when she showed you the ring what did she say?”
Brenda sighed. “She didn’t actually show it to me . . . it was on her bedside table and being a bit nosey when I was here I took a look at it. There was a card with a heart on it as well. Look, I don’t know what all this is really about. She was very unpleasant when I asked her if it was an engagement ring, because I was obviously letting her know I’d seen it. She had a temper on her and was telling me to mind my own business. I just let her rant on at me because I had been nosey. She sort of apologized for being so nasty to me and then she told me that the reason she was so upset was because of a previous engagement she had and whoever it was broke her heart.”
“To someone from the hospital?”
“No, she said it was a while ago. She was preparing her wedding, had a designer dress, bridesmaids and everything arranged by her parents and he must have dumped her . . . she became very upset and said she didn’t want to talk about it anymore because she had virtually had a nervous breakdown about it.”
“Did she mention to you who it was? Maybe gave you his name?”
“No, just that he was a doctor and that he had hurt her deeply. And he cost her family so much money as they couldn’t get the deposit back from the venue they’d booked for the reception.”
“That must have been awful for her.”
“I suppose it was, and that was why she was so secretive about who she was seeing. She did tell me something else . . .” Brenda chuckled.
“What else?”
“Well, she said that she took a pair of scissors and cut her wedding dress to shreds. It was a bit freaky because she started to laugh, you know, as if it was funny . . . but obviously it wasn’t. Anyway, it was shortly after that that she left and we never discussed
it again.”
Jane smiled and thanked Brenda, apologizing for waking her. She was unsure just what she had gained from the interview; however, she did now know that Barry Dawson’s statement about when he had left the hospital was confirmed by Mario Goncalves.
On the bus back to the station Jane went over her notes and jotted down the timing of Katrina leaving the hospital and bedsit. This would have been a week before Shirley Dawson drowned. She was uncertain about the connection, it just made her wonder why there were three photographs of Katrina Harcourt on the roll of film from the Dawsons’ camera.
Jane used a payphone to call DS Lawrence at the lab. She agreed to meet up with him at the station so they could walk to the Dawsons’ flat. It was almost midday when they set off and Jane gave Lawrence the details about her visit to the hospital and her questioning of Brenda March. He listened attentively and then asked if Jane could be on the wrong track, as from what he had gathered Barry appeared to be very distressed about his wife’s death.
“Yes, he was . . . but I have a suspicion that perhaps he could be the man having an affair with Katrina. There is also the possibility that it was Katrina who had been outside their flat on the morning Shirley died.”
“All this from the photographs we developed?”
“Yes, it was Katrina. Even though the photos were black and white I recognized her from a photograph at the hospital. She has red hair.”
“Well, Mrs. Cook only saw a woman’s feet so that’s going to be hard to prove. Also we can’t be one hundred percent certain she went into the Dawsons’ flat. We also don’t have her fingerprints on record, so that can’t help us.”
Climbing up the stairs to the flat, they discovered the front door was ajar. Lawrence indicated to Jane to be silent as he moved in front of her and entered the hall. They could see no one, but the sound of hammering drew them toward the bathroom.
Barry Dawson was on his knees hammering the bath panel into place. He had a bag of tools with screwdrivers and heavier hammers beside him. Lawrence knocked on the door and Barry turned round in shock.
Hidden Killers Page 20
