The Heron's Cry

by Ann Cleeves

  Ross tried not to yawn. He wished Venn would get to the important stuff. His boss was still talking:

  ‘Nigel Yeo worked for an organization called North Devon Patients Together or NDPT. I’ve checked his diary and on the morning of his death he had a meeting with three individuals who work in the hospital. I’ve arranged to see them today. There was a possibility that Dr Yeo had found evidence of negligence or lack of care in the treatment of a young man with a mental health illness who went on to kill himself. That man was called Alexander Mackenzie and he provides another link with the second victim, because his sister, Janey Mackenzie, was a friend of Wesley Curnow’s. They were together on the evening before Mr Yeo’s body was found.’ Venn looked round at the room to check that everyone had understood the importance of the information and the complexity of the relationships.

  This time Ross did yawn. It was like being back at school.

  ‘We can assume that both men drove themselves to the places where they were found; the pathologist has confirmed that both were killed at the scenes. So, were they lured to some fictional meeting? We still haven’t found either man’s mobile phone.’ Venn looked out at the room. ‘Ross, I know you’ve had information from Yeo’s service provider, but can you follow up with Wesley Curnow’s? I’d like you with me for the meeting in the hospital, but they can’t see us until nine thirty.’

  ‘Sure, boss.’ He tried to sound eager.

  Jen Rafferty stuck up her hand. ‘I’ve dug up some interesting info on Roger Prior, the CEO of the health trust. Husband to Cynthia who hosted the party on Friday night.’

  Venn was interested. ‘He’s one of the people we’ve arranged to see.’

  ‘He was forced to resign from a big trust in London after an inquiry following the suicide of a teenager with mental health problems. The report failed to hold any individual responsible, but Prior was blamed by implication in the press and he was hounded on social media. The suicide occurred in the hospital, but you can see why he wouldn’t want another scandal.’

  ‘Indeed.’ Venn shut his eyes for a moment. It was impossible to tell what he made of this news. ‘Thanks, Jen. Can you get all the relevant information across to me? I’ll read it before the meeting. And, of course, copy Ross in.’

  Oh, great! Ross thought. An hour of reading boring background information, which will turn out to be irrelevant, and chasing mobile phone records. Just what I joined the police for. Not.

  ‘Sure,’ Jen said. ‘I was thinking I’d speak to the mother of the lad who committed suicide in Camden. His name was Luke Wallace. I’m sure I can track her down and get a few more details.’

  Venn nodded. ‘Good plan. But before that, I’d like you to speak to the Mackenzie family. See if you can talk to them all together. Martha, the actress mother, is home at the moment. Get a feel for what’s going on there. I’m not after witness statements just yet. I can’t see they’d have motive to kill either man, but somehow they’re at the heart of the case.’

  ‘I’ve been a regular at the Sandpiper, though I’m not close to the family. Are you still happy for me to do that?’

  In the moment before Venn answered, Ross held his breath, hoping that he and Jen might be asked to swap roles. Let her do the phones and sit with the suits in the hospital. He wouldn’t mind seeing Janey again. He imagined sitting in the bar by the beach, chatting over coffee, getting to understand her better, while picking up a detail vital to the case.

  But the inspector only smiled. ‘Most of us have been in the Sandpiper at some time or another. I’m sure we can trust you to keep it professional.’ He looked out at the room. ‘Anyone got anything else to contribute? Ideas? Information? Anything that I might have overlooked?’

  Ross stood up. ‘When I chatted to Janey Mackenzie yesterday, I asked about the car Curnow saw driving very fast down his lane. She hadn’t seen anything when she dropped Wesley off, but she said that when she was walking from the bar to her home, a vehicle drove at speed through the village.’

  ‘Any description?’

  Ross shrugged. ‘Something big and black.’

  Jen stuck up her hand. ‘Roger Prior drives a black SUV.’

  Venn smiled. ‘Useful to know, but so do many of our residents and most of the visitors to the county. Vicki, could you go back through the CCTV? Any other contributions?’

  There was a silence and, after a pause, Matthew Venn went on. ‘We’ll need good routine policing then. Thanks to Vicki, we have a record of Nigel Yeo’s car in the service station just outside Instow on the night before his body was discovered. Jen, could you check with the staff there? See if anyone remembers seeing him? And besides checking for our mysterious black SUV in Instow in the early hours of Saturday morning, let’s look at the roads coming into Barnstaple yesterday afternoon. If we can find the same vehicle in both places, we might just have hit the jackpot. I’d like to fix a time for Curnow’s arrival at the Woodyard and CCTV might give us that answer too.’

  He looked up again. ‘One more thing. Yeo was in a relationship with a colleague. A woman called Lauren Miller. Thanks for the heads-up on that, Ross. Let’s see if you can get an equally speedy result on Wesley’s mobile records.’ He collected his papers into a neat bundle and walked away to his office.

  * * *

  The hospital was on a slight hill. It was on the edge of the town, but surrounded by trees, so it had the air of being in the country. Ross and Venn waited in a queue at reception, behind a wheezing elderly man and a woman with a screaming kid. Ross thought he and Mel might start a family sometime – Mel mentioned it occasionally in a kind of dreamy, wistful voice – but of course, any child of theirs would be well behaved. It wouldn’t scream or have tantrums in public. That sort of thing was down to the parents, wasn’t it, and Mel would be a brilliant mother.

  He thought they should jump the queue, by flashing their warrant cards, but Venn seemed to have endless patience. At last, they reached the desk and the receptionist pointed them to a square building separate from the main hospital. ‘They’re in the admin block.’

  Three people were waiting for them in a long, airy room with a view of the car park. There was a tall, older, black-haired man and two women, one sleek and middle-aged, one younger, Asian. The group sat at one end of a rectangular table, and looked, Ross thought, like an interviewing panel. It was clear that they had met earlier to discuss tactics, to come up with a shared position. His mother had always given doctors God-like status and Ross felt suddenly nervous, as if he were the one to be interrogated.

  Venn introduced himself and took a seat close to the group. ‘This is Ross May, one of my team.’ Ross nodded and took out his notebook. He wasn’t expecting to speak, but the boss would want a detailed record of the meeting.

  Ross had anticipated that the guy would take charge, but it was the older woman who stood to greet them. ‘Fiona Radley, head of comms. These are my colleagues, Roger Prior, CEO of the trust, and Ratna Joshi. She’s the psychiatrist who worked most closely with Alexander Mackenzie, and I understand you have some questions about his care.’

  ‘Of course, we’re all deeply upset by Nigel’s death,’ Prior said. ‘He was a valued colleague before he retired to work with Patients Together. He had many friends here and he’ll be sorely missed. Please pass on our condolences to his daughter.’

  Ross thought this sounded like a rehearsed speech.

  ‘You were a personal friend too, I understand,’ Venn said.

  The statement seemed to make Prior uncomfortable. ‘He was a neighbour. My wife and I supported him after the death of his wife.’

  Ross decided Prior was the kind of witness who’d never give a straight answer. He hated that.

  ‘I’m sorry, Inspector,’ the head of PR had a shrill voice, ‘but I think we should stick to the clinical facts here.’

  ‘The clinical facts are that Dr Yeo was stabbed to death by a person or persons unknown and that the three of you saw him on the morning before he died.’

/>   The room fell silent. Fiona Radley took a tissue from her handbag and sneezed. ‘Sorry,’ she said. ‘Hay fever.’

  Venn ignored her. ‘What did you discuss at that meeting?’

  ‘I think you know, Inspector. Dr Yeo had asked for the meeting because he was looking into the suicide of one of our patients.’ Radley paused. ‘I’m sure you won’t expect us to pass on details of a confidential conversation.’

  Venn ignored the question and asked one of his own. ‘Was Dr Yeo aware that Mr Prior had resigned from his previous post in north London following a similar scandal?’

  Silence descended again, before Venn continued. ‘Because that was a matter of public record and not at all confidential.’

  This time Prior responded. ‘There was a serious case review, Inspector, and both the trust and I were cleared of any blame.’ The words were trotted out as if he’d said them many times before.

  ‘It wouldn’t look good, though, if you were caught up in a similar incident.’

  Radley came in again, smooth and composed. ‘Nigel was concerned that our procedures hadn’t been strictly followed. Alexander had been sectioned under the Mental Health Act, after being brought to A&E by one of your officers. He was admitted to Gorsehill, our acute psychiatric hospital. The following morning, we decided that he had capacity to make his own decisions and allowed him to discharge himself.’ A pause. ‘At the meeting on Friday morning we were able to reassure Dr Yeo that, in fact, the guidelines had been strictly followed. He seemed satisfied by the explanation.’

  And yet, Ross thought, that evening he went to a party, held by the wife of the trust’s CEO, especially to talk to a detective sergeant about the case. The facts don’t quite hang together.

  ‘Who took the decision to allow Mr Mackenzie to discharge himself?’ Venn’s voice hadn’t changed in tone. There was no judgement, just a mild enquiry.

  ‘I did.’ This was the younger woman, Ratna Joshi. She was slight, dressed in black trousers and a gold silk blouse.

  ‘Dr Joshi is a registrar in Gorsehill.’ This was Radley again, trying to keep control.

  ‘Newly appointed,’ Joshi said. She had a North Country accent and the words were sharp, uncompromising. ‘In charge of the unit over the weekend. With two more emergency admissions to process and no beds. Mack had a family who cared for him. I thought it would be safe to discharge him into community support.’ She looked up and stared at Venn. ‘But of course, the community team was as stretched as we were.’

  ‘So, he fell through a gap in the service.’

  ‘Something like that,’ the young doctor said. ‘It didn’t help that until his eighteenth birthday he’d been treated as a child, so there wasn’t a continuity of care. But Nigel wasn’t interested in apportioning individual blame. He said the NDPT wanted to check that there was no systemic problem, and that it wouldn’t happen again.’

  ‘The family had talked about going to the media.’ Radley was becoming impatient. ‘The last thing the NHS needs is more bad press, and for a poorly resourced sector to have to pay out huge sums in compensation. We explained to Nigel that we’d improved our service as a result of Alexander’s death. I think he accepted that. I hoped that he’d be willing to explain our change of procedure to the Mackenzies.’

  ‘And was he?’ Venn asked. ‘Was he willing to talk to the family on your behalf?’

  ‘I had the impression that his view on the matter had mellowed a little. He was, at least, listening to our arguments.’ She looked at her colleagues. ‘I’d say we parted on good terms. Wouldn’t you agree?’

  Prior nodded vigorously. Joshi said nothing.

  ‘Were minutes taken?’

  ‘No!’ Radley again. ‘It wasn’t a formal meeting.’ A pause. ‘Are you implying that you don’t believe our account of events?’

  ‘I’m not implying anything,’ Venn said. ‘But a record of the conversation would have been useful.’ A pause. ‘Did Dr Yeo give any indication of how he intended to proceed with his investigation?’

  ‘No.’

  Venn nodded but made no response. Instead there was another question. ‘How did Dr Yeo appear to you at your meeting? Did he seem distracted? Anxious?’

  Radley thought for a while. ‘Not anxious,’ she said. ‘I can’t imagine Nigel being anxious about anything. But perhaps he was a little distracted. I thought that he might have had other things on his mind.’

  ‘His diary showed that he had another meeting at the hospital, later in the day. Would you know who that was with?’

  Radley shook her head. ‘But of course, I can try to find out for you, Inspector.’ A bright, professional smile. She was being very helpful, Ross thought, now the focus had shifted away from Prior.

  ‘At the end of the meeting,’ Venn said, ‘perhaps you talked about other, less formal things. Plans for the evening, for the weekend?’

  ‘No,’ Radley said. ‘I’m sorry. There was nothing like that.’

  They looked at Venn to check that the interview was over. Roger Prior started gathering together the files on the desk in front of him. Ross thought they were relieved. It was as if this had been less disturbing than they’d been expecting. There was a sense of relaxation, a release of tension.

  Venn was already on his feet too. ‘Just one more thing.’ The words caught them all, froze them, so they posed like statues, waiting for the question. Dreading it, perhaps. ‘There were some numbers in Dr Yeo’s diary. 8531 or 8537. They were smudged and not quite legible. Do they mean anything to you? Could it be a file number? A patient number?’

  Ross sensed relief again. The question hadn’t troubled them. Prior answered immediately. ‘I’m sorry, no. I have no idea at all what they could mean. Certainly not anything related to Nigel’s work here in the hospital.’

  * * *

  They were walking back to the vehicle when they heard footsteps running behind them. It was Ratna Joshi, the young psychiatrist, light on her feet in black ballet pumps. Her hair was in a long plait down her back and it swung as she ran. They were on a tarmac path leading through the car park, in full sunlight. The heat bounced off the hard surfaces, and in places the asphalt had melted and was sticky underfoot.

  The woman was slightly breathless after the run. ‘There’s something you should know. I didn’t want to say in the meeting. Fiona told us only to answer questions, not to volunteer information.’

  ‘Go on.’ Venn had stopped and turned towards her.

  ‘I saw Nigel on Friday after we had that meeting. It was early evening. I’d finished for the day and I was on my way out. We bumped into each other in the corridor.’

  ‘So, he’d definitely come back to the hospital? There must have been another meeting?’

  ‘Or he’d stayed on all day to see people in different departments. Something routine. He was here quite often.’

  ‘Of course, we’ll check that out. Ms Radley did say that she’d help.’ Venn smiled at her. ‘How did Dr Yeo seem?’

  ‘He was angry,’ Ratna said. ‘Furious. I’d never seen him like that. Nigel was usually a calm presence. He said he wasn’t going to be silenced. The truth had to be told.’

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  THE SANDPIPER WAS CLOSED ALL DAY on Mondays. ‘Our one day of rest,’ George said when Jen called to make an appointment. ‘Yes, we’ll all wait in to speak to you. Come to the house. That’s where we’ll be.’

  The house was whitewashed and, like the cafe bar next door, it faced the sea, only separated from the beach by the narrow road. There was a wrought-iron balcony on the first floor, and that was where Martha was standing when Jen parked outside. She was leaning against the rail, holding a cigarette in one hand, blowing the smoke towards the shore. Martha Mackenzie had been part of Jen’s childhood – the soap she’d acted in for more than thirty years had been required early evening TV viewing – and, despite herself, Jen was aware of the woman’s celebrity. There was a thrill in meeting someone so famous.

  ‘You must be the
detective.’ Martha’s voice was deep and it carried. A woman walking past with a buggy turned to stare. She recognized Martha too and gave an excited little wave. Martha waved back. Graciously. ‘Just a mo and I’ll be down to let you in.’

  The young mother looked at Jen with a touch of envy and walked on.

  Jen had seen Martha before in the bar, a glamorous presence with a small crowd around her, but they’d never been introduced. It seemed Martha recognized her, though. ‘Of course, you’re Wesley’s chum. Poor Wesley. You must be devastated. We all are.’ She reached out and gave Jen a hug, surrounding her with the smell of cigarette and expensive perfume. Jen wondered what Venn would say about an interview beginning with such informality. But then he’d told her to put the family at their ease.

  Eventually, Martha pulled away. ‘Come on through. The others are still finishing breakfast but I was desperate for a ciggie.’

  The kitchen was long and narrow and ended in double glass doors leading onto a patio garden, with terracotta pots and rough stone walls covered with climbing plants. One shelf ran right along the room’s longest wall. It had been painted yellow and held strange trinkets, bits of brightly coloured pottery and glass, shells, tiny carvings that might have been made by Wesley. The doors were open, so the kitchen and the garden seemed like one space. George and Janey sat inside at a light-wood table. There was a jug of coffee, a plate with a remaining single croissant.

  ‘We have a late breakfast on Mondays,’ Martha said. ‘It’s become rather a ritual.’

  Janey looked up and gave a little smile. Jen thought she might be about to say something, but in the end, she continued to stare into her mug. She seemed exhausted, blank. George stood up and held out his hand. ‘Jen,’ he said. ‘How lovely to see a friendly face. I worried they might send a stranger.’