Heartless Reaction

by Dawn Marsanne

  ‘No, well, he won’t be in the future. The only person he’ll be troubling is the undertaker.’

  ‘Oh, really, how sad,’ said Chris, sarcastically.

  ‘So, took an overdose did he?’

  ‘He might have done although it looks as though he had an argument with a sharp knife. Died in a ditch and was found by someone who got caught short due to a sickness bug.’

  ‘I see. So anyone else involved?’

  ‘Yes, an unidentified young male who died in surgery last night.’

  ‘Two fatalities in one night, unusual for Persford?’

  ‘Well, it’s not unknown but we aren’t an exceptionally high crime area.’

  ‘So, a drug deal went wrong?’

  ‘Looks like it. It’s a complex forensic scene so it will take a while to unravel.’

  ‘Well, keep me posted. I’ll have a word with colleagues at my end. See if they’ve heard of anything big happening down in Persford.’

  ‘OK, will do. Chat later.’

  They ended the call and Andy relaxed back in his chair. He would tell his colleagues to keep their ears open for news of any new players on the scene locally. He was also minded to have a word with a small-time drug dealer who had been helpful in the past. He had a few favourite haunts for doing business so he shouldn’t be too difficult to track down.

  **

  Maureen and Ron had been waiting for Dr Ward for half an hour and were hoping that they would be next. Ron was becoming increasingly agitated about the wait and kept cursing as his mobile reception was poor. Once or twice he wandered over towards the door to pick up a better signal. She noticed from time to time he rubbed his chest and winced. It was clear that the stress was making the problem worse.

  He rejoined her and sighed. ‘God, I was a fool to take an appointment at this time of day. Should have waited until I could get one first thing in the morning.’

  ‘It can’t be long now, we should be the next ones.’

  ‘Good name for a doctor! Ha, I nearly laughed when they gave me the appointment.’

  Maureen smiled. ‘It could be worse, Dr Payne, for instance!’

  ‘Very good,’ he said. ‘We could go on for ages like this. Dr Prick! That would be a good one.’

  ‘Shush,’ said Maureen.

  ‘I’m starving as well, I think we should go into town for lunch after this. What about Cafe Zero down by the river?’

  Maureen didn’t get a chance to reply as Ron’s name was called out. They followed Dr Ward back to his room and sat down next to his desk.

  ‘Sorry about the wait,’ apologised the doctor. ‘Now what brings you to surgery this morning?’

  ‘I’ve been getting indigestion in the night, quite often,’ said Ron, ‘and it doesn’t respond very quickly to antacid tablets.’

  The doctor perused Ron’s notes on the screen and tapped different pages and reports.

  ‘I’ll just check your blood pressure if I may?’

  Ron offered his arm and the doctor attached the cuff. Maureen noticed that it continued to inflate for a long time before the pressure was released. It was going to be a high reading.

  ‘What’s your blood pressure like normally?’

  ‘It’s a bit higher than it should be, about one forty, I think.’

  ‘Hmm, well it’s very high today. Nearly two hundred. Are you feeling very stressed at the moment.’

  ‘Not particularly, but I’ve been waiting a while, that hasn’t helped.’

  Maureen cast a stern glance at Ron but the doctor merely ignored it.

  ‘Let me listen to your chest, please.’

  The doctor placed his stethoscope on Ron’s chest and then his back.

  ‘You had some heart problems a couple of years ago?’

  ‘Yes, they thought it was probably narrowing of the arteries but I lost weight and changed my diet and I’ve felt much better. They decided I didn’t need any treatment.’

  ‘Well, I am pretty sure that the pains you are getting in your chest are due to angina, not indigestion. I’m going to prescribe a spray which you must use at the first sign of pain. If it continues you must go to A&E.’

  ‘What? Seriously?’

  ‘We need to be careful. I’m going to add in another blood pressure medication and I want you to have an appointment with a cardiologist.’

  ‘Christ,’ tutted Ron. ‘Well, if that’s necessary I’ll go private, then I can go when it suits me.’

  ‘Of course, that is your choice. Now, I’ll give you a prescription for a beta blocker to use alongside your ACE inhibitor, enalapril. When you get chest pains you need to use this spray sublingually, under your tongue. It’s a nitrate and it should act quickly.’

  ‘Goodness, I’m going to be a walking chemist’s shop!’ said Ron.

  ‘I should warn you that you may need some surgery or an operation to remove any furring of the arteries.’

  ‘I’ll look forward to it,’ said Ron, coldly.

  The doctor printed off the prescriptions. Maureen looked concerned. She realised Ron had his pride and still regarded himself as a young man but ageing was a process that spared nobody. Ron continued to live life to the full and he had more than his share of stress. She tried to encourage him to take things more easily but she realised it was a fruitless task. Ron showed no signs of slowing down and if anything he was speeding up now he had assumed control of ClinTry.

  ‘I’ll get my secretary to send off the referral to the consultant, I would expect you to receive an appointment in about a week to ten days,’ said the doctor.

  ‘Thank you,’ said Maureen. Ron remained silent and headed for the door.

  ‘God, what a nuisance,’ said Ron, as they headed to the car park. ‘He’s being over cautious I’m sure. Stuff and nonsense. You’ll see, I’ll get a clean bill of health from the consultant and he’ll get a big fee for telling me I’m in good shape for a man of my age.’

  ‘It does no harm to get checked out,’ said Maureen. ‘I don’t want you keeling over when we get married.’

  ‘Ha! Not much chance of that. Which reminds me, we need to finalise a date. Let’s chat about it over lunch.’

  Hopefully, a change of subject would lighten his mood. It was difficult to tell whether it was bravado or whether Ron was really unaware of how serious his condition could be. She was just pleased that now he had someone to look after him.

  Chapter 7

  Andy Walters looked through the incident log and saw that there had been another victim of a shooting last night. An apparent car-jacking. Three gunshot victims in one night were indeed unusual for Persford.

  He ran the name Pete Davis through the system but it didn’t deliver any hits. He looked up as Dave Goodman came into the CID room.

  ‘Morning, Dave, have you seen the report about this car-jacking last night?’

  ‘Yes, sir sounds nasty. Are you OK, sir, you look a bit pale.’

  ‘Oh, just a headache, I’ve taken some pills,’ he replied, rubbing his hand over his closely cropped hair. The action was a familiar sign he felt self-conscious at his colleague’s enquiry as to his well-being. ‘So, phone the hospital and find out when he’s fit to be interviewed. Also keep an eye out for whether the car turns up anywhere, OK.’

  ‘Will, do sir. What about the incident in Foal Lane. Any news?’

  ‘Well, we’ll investigate Sean Bailey’s associates. See what forensics tell us and hopefully later today we’ll have an identity for the other victim.’

  Andy Walter’s phone rang.

  ‘Persford CID.’ Andy listened as the caller spoke. He jotted down the details on his pad. His suspicions about a drug deal in Foal Lane were confirmed but now the incident had taken on a whole new dimension and it was very worrying.

  **

  Jennifer Williams had worked at Blandford’s as a legal secretary for many years and was always the first to arrive. Although she drove to work she wasn’t able to park on the forecourt of the offices as there were only enough
spaces for the partners. She usually found a space in a residential street about a quarter of a mile away. This morning as she approached she noticed a car she didn’t recognise already parked on the hard standing in front of the offices.

  ‘What a cheek,’ she muttered to herself. Not only that, it was parked carelessly which would mean that there wouldn’t be enough room for all the partners to park. This had occasionally happened before but the police had informed her that they couldn’t intervene as it was on private property and not causing an obstruction.

  She walked up behind the car and noted down the registration in her phone. The car looked to be in quite a good condition and only five years old so someone should come to collect it. Jennifer peered in through the passenger window and gasped. The seat, although dark grey appeared to have a large stain on it, it looked sticky, perhaps coke or a fizzy drink had been spilt. Then she looked at the window. The smear was definitely not coke, it was blood. There also looked to be a bloody mark on the block paving and she automatically stood back from the car, checking the soles of her own shoes.

  Without hesitation, she dialled the emergency services on her phone. Hopefully, this time the police would take her seriously.

  **

  Savannah Beggs had been awake until the early hours, texting and talking to her friends on a group chat and hadn’t surfaced until 10 a.m. She’d made herself an instant coffee and took it through to the lounge, thankful that her mother had removed herself from the sofa. Doubtless, her brother Dylan wouldn’t stir until lunchtime after his late night. She’d heard his noisy return, thus, on rising this morning she had performed her familiar ritual, banging on his bedroom door and hurling a stream of abuse at him. He had replied in a similar fashion but had customarily turned over and gone back to sleep.

  Now she had a couple of hours to kill before her friends Kaylee and Lorelle joined her. Both had managed to secure holiday jobs, working a few hours each day in local shops. Savannah hadn’t been interested and besides she was barred from most of the local convenience stores after being caught trying to steal their merchandise. There were now only a couple of weeks left of the summer holiday and she planned to enjoy herself, though it would be difficult on her tight budget. Before leaving this morning, she’d managed to swipe ten pounds from her mother’s bag in the lounge. Another year of pointless school would soon be upon her and the only subject she was looking forward to was her GCSE Art class which she actually felt she had a chance of passing.

  It was sunny and warm, so she sat on a bench in a small park area near her home. The term park was somewhat an exaggeration for a green area where every flat surface, bench and building was liberally coated with graffiti but being outside was better than being in their depressing home. She opened her can of coke and packet of crisps and stretched out on the bench exposing her legs to the sun.

  Savannah, fifteen next month, was of average height, slim but curvaceous and often received wolf-whistles as well as more explicit comments on the street. Her long mid-brown hair was pulled back into her usual high ponytail. On occasion, she fastened it up into a bun on top of her head or wound it around in a plait. She regarded herself as the most attractive of her group of friends and few would disagree, however, her attractiveness was tempered by her aggressive expression resulting from her loveless upbringing.

  As she relaxed in the fresh air, she imagined herself on a sun-drenched beach far away from teachers, her mother and this town. Perhaps when she was eighteen she could go and work abroad in a bar in Spain. Making a fresh start was an attractive idea but required money and unless she could find some rich boyfriend to take her, Savannah knew the odds of this happening were not in her favour. She scanned the depressing vista and saw an unfamiliar group of young men, laughing and joking amongst themselves. One of them appeared to be making his way over towards her so she felt in her bag for her rape alarm. Feigning disinterest, she looked at her phone as a shadow fell across her. Would he stop and talk to her? She continued to check her messages as the mystery man spoke to her.

  ‘Hi, gorgeous? Mind if I join you?’

  Chapter 8

  John Endleman, Head of Finance at Persford University was meeting with all the heads of the Faculties, in turn, to discuss the fiscal pressures facing them.

  ‘Come in, Ian,’ said John, ‘take a seat.’

  ‘I assume this meeting isn’t going to fill me with a sense of euphoria,’ smiled Ian French, Head of the Science Faculty.

  ‘Well, I doubt it, unless you have some strange masochistic personality where you enjoy pain and hardship.’

  ‘I’m becoming used to it, each year we are asked to tighten our belts. As you can see, my belt is very tight at the moment!’ He patted his bulging stomach. ‘I’m starting a diet tomorrow,’ he joked.

  John smiled. He too knew the perils of having a largely sedentary job. It was so easy to pile on the pounds in middle age.

  ‘Well, the Vice-Chancellor held a meeting last week to lay out the situation and I am charged with disseminating the news to each section. Then it will be your job to take it away and mull over some solutions.’

  Ian nodded. ‘A problem is just a solution in disguise, isn’t that the phrase.’

  ‘Yes, some idiot came up with that, didn’t they. I’ll leave you to decide when I’ve given you the facts,’ he paused. ‘So, our latest calculations show that our overall fiscal deficit is eleven percent, up from eight percent two years ago. There is a wide disparity across subjects, the largest being in the Faculty of Science. Chemistry is operating on a deficit twenty-three percent and physics on nineteen percent.’

  ‘Oh, dear, we are a profligate lot aren’t we?’ said Ian.

  ‘Well, it’s not surprising is it that science subjects cost more to run than others?’

  ‘Exactly.’

  ‘There is another problem nowadays in that we are unable to use funds from the humanities’ budget to cut the shortfall in science now that we are more accountable for providing value for money. We might have got away with this in the past but with the high cost of tuition fees it’s just not possible.’

  ‘What about the increase in funding by the government for the next five years for science subjects?’ asked Ian.

  ‘Well, twenty-six billion sounds like a huge sum but that is countered by the projected decrease in funding for teaching in 2019-2020. It’s also not entirely clear how the UK will be affected by funding from EU research grants post-Brexit.’

  Ian murmured his understanding. He didn’t really have anything to add. He let John continue with his depressing statistics.

  ‘We have also recalculated our net-liquidity figure. Two years ago we had enough funds to meet our short-term obligations for a hundred and six days, now we are down to sixty-two days.’

  ‘Christ,’ said Ian, ‘that’s getting a bit tight.’

  ‘It sure is. Previous experience from other sites has shown that if we don’t act now and we have some unforeseen crisis, then we could be talking about the sudden axing of courses or even whole sections.’

  ‘Really? That bad?’

  ‘We have to face facts I’m afraid. We need to come up with some effective plans, sooner rather than later,’ confirmed John. ‘In the past, we’ve had the ability to fund some high profile projects which aren’t revenue enhancing but gain us kudos. I fear that we need to think radically and imaginatively. No area is immune.’ He paused and rubbed his forehead.

  Ian took a deep breath and let the information sink in.

  ‘I’ll give you a copy of this spreadsheet with detailed costings and targets for budget re-alignment.’

  ‘Thanks, I’ll look forward to studying it,’ said Ian, sarcastically.

  ‘I’ll get back to you with timelines for suggestions from each faculty. There’s no easy answer to this.’

  Ian knew from experience that once any proposals were touted the shouts of opposition would ring loud and clear. Every faculty was protective of their own, which was only natur
al, however, they would need to face reality. There would doubtless be job cuts. Not just in support staff and services which had borne the brunt of previous rounds but this time it could be much wider in scope.

  **

  Alex Goodwood and Olivia Frensman were meeting for lunch in ZigZag, a bistro near to their offices. They had just finished their starters and were waiting for their main courses to arrive.

  ‘Has your source agreed to testify in court if necessary?’ asked Alex.

  ‘He has but anonymously. We may not need him if we can find evidence from the documents. We are hoping that once we’ve had the chance to interview the main suspects they may confess as part of a deal to negotiate a reduced sentence.’

  ‘So, a fine plus a custodial sentence is the usual protocol, agreed?’

  ‘Yes, the fine will be used to offset any tax owing due to tax avoidance. It might be hard to secure a custodial sentence, we will have to see how the information pans out. We are dealing with very clever people and they will no doubt mount a good defence.’

  ‘It’s a big step forward though, I could hardly believe my eyes when I read the document you sent through!’

  ‘I thought you’d be pleased. If I get a lunch like this each time I find some info like that I’ll be very satisfied,’ she joked.

  ‘So, are we going to work together on this one then?’

  ‘I hope so. My boss is happy for us to do so. We will pursue the conviction on an insider dealing basis and your section can monitor just how lax the auditors were in following the anti-money laundering process.’

  ‘It would be a good scalp for OPBAS, so soon since inception. God, that acronym is awful. FCA is much easier, I don’t know whose idea it was.’

  ‘It’s not our job to question the powers that be, merely to implement their guidelines.’

  ‘True. I’m hoping that if we can demonstrate our worth we will be able to take on more staff. Would you still be interested in joining us?

  ‘I would if you were to make it worth my while,’ smiled Olivia. ‘I guess you got some financial inducement for your move?’