A car pulled up outside the cottage. ‘Finally!’ Hattie said and stood with her hands on her hips as Harry hauled himself out of the driver’s side. ‘By heck, you could have changed your clothes.’
Harry, still dressed at Butch Cassidy, locked his vehicle. Looking up and down the lane to make sure that no one had seen his post party ensemble, the cowboy opened the gate and sauntered down the path.
‘The western get-up does it for Janine, then?’
‘Piss off, Hattie, it’s all I had,’ Harry said, ‘and you’re the last person I was hoping to see today.’
‘Well, it makes no odds to me, cowboy or constable, come on in.’
‘Sergeant,’ Harry snapped and followed Hattie into her kitchen.
‘Get yourself settled, I’m sure you need a bacon butty before we get cracking.’ Hattie busied herself and in minutes placed a steaming mug of tea and a plate of doorstop wedges of soft doughy bread and tasty crisp bacon on the table. ‘Get your laughing gear round this and I’ll get started.’
As Harry ate, Hattie told him everything that she’d learnt from Grace and added her own conclusions.
‘I haven’t enough to begin an investigation,’ Harry said as he wiped his plate with a crust of bread, mopping up fat from the bacon.
‘Of course you have, there was no official manager at the home last evening, that’s surely illegal for a start.’
‘Well, yes, that may be true; I saw Nancy at the fair and if she hadn’t arranged anyone of equal status to cover for her at Marland Manor, she might have committed a breach of trust; I’d need to check the regulations.’
‘You could get in touch with the Care Quality Commission, they would instigate an urgent inspection, if you request it, and they’d check the duty rota.’
‘Yes, thank you, I do know how to do my job.’
‘Don’t forget to also tell them that you’re concerned about the management of medicines and you suspect that Jim Leighton-Scott’s death might be suspicious.
Were the police notified of his death?’
‘I’d have to check.’
‘You need to have a look at the bank accounts of any resident who has died, too.’
‘And you’d like me to exhume every corpse that has come out of the manor in the last few years.’
‘It may come to that.’
Harry pushed his chair back and, wiping the grease from his mouth with a napkin, he nodded. ‘Alright, I’ll get to the station and start making a few enquiries, put the wheels in motion.’ He stood up. ‘But first, I need to get out of this daft outfit and have a shower.’ His cowboy boots clicked against the stone tiles in the kitchen as he headed to the door. ‘I need to apologise to Janine too; we were supposed to be having the day together.’
‘Oh, she’ll understand, she’s a nurse.’ Hattie took his plate and put it in the sink. ‘Let me know what happens,’ she called out.
As Hattie watched Harry head off down the path, she decided that she would pay Grace a home visit. Perhaps she could persuade the woman to talk to the police about Nancy.
She turned back to the kitchen and saw that there was still a slice of bread and a couple of rashers of bacon. ‘Better not waste it,’ Hattie said, ‘never go to work on an empty tummy.’ And, looking forward to the next instalment from the manor, she settled down to her breakfast.
JOHN HARGREAVES WAS on the golf course when his mobile rang. He was about to hit a seven iron off the tee of the sixteenth hole and the shrill noise made him jump. As his club connected with the ball, it sent it flying at an angle into dense undergrowth.
‘Hell!’ he said. Apologising to the other members of his golfing party, he grabbed his trolley with his spare hand and headed off to find his ball. ‘Who is this?’ he barked into the phone.
The caller asked if they were speaking to Mr Hargreaves and once confirmed, went on, ‘This is Grantley Eddison, a Care Quality Commission Inspector for Cumbria.’
John immediately stopped pacing across the lush green fairway. What the hell were CQC doing calling him late on a Sunday afternoon? The only time they operated out of normal working hours was when there was a major problem. His mind raced. Which of his homes was in trouble?
‘How can I help you, Mr Eddison?’ John asked.
‘A matter of some concern has been raised at a property in Marland. Can you confirm that you are the
Nominated Individual for Marland Manor care home?’
‘Yes, that’s correct.’
‘And the registered manager is Miss Nancy Hildegarde Clifford?’
Hildegarde? John’s eyes widened; where the hell had Nancy got that name from? ‘Yes, I can confirm that too.’
‘I would be grateful if you would meet me at the premises as soon as possible.’
‘Well, I’m rather busy at the moment.’ John looked back at the members of his four-ball, who were walking behind him.
‘I would strongly advise you to do as I ask.’
‘Very well, I’m on my way.’
‘Thank you,’ Grantley Eddison said and ended the call.
‘Sorry, chaps, something urgent has come up,’ John said, abandoning his out-of-bounds ball and hurrying back to the golfers. ‘There’s a bit of bother at one of the homes and I’m needed.’
The players were disgruntled that their game had been disturbed but John had far bigger issues to worry about and as he sped across the course towards the club house, he wondered what the hell the stupid bitch, Nancy, had done. Please God, don’t let him be told that she hadn’t arranged cover for herself and Marland Manor was under-staffed, when she went on her booze-fuelled binge the evening before? Had she gone on duty in a drunken state? Was that why CQC had been called in on a Sunday?
John reached the car park and hurled his golf bag into the boot of his car. He changed out of his spiked shoes and, as he slid his feet into a pair of soft leather loafers, he told himself to keep calm. Nancy may have had too much to drink but she was a responsible adult and good at her job. Whatever had happened could be easily explained. As he sped away from the golf club, he was grateful that Venetia was away, yet again, visiting friends. At least he wouldn’t have to explain to his nagging wife why he was going to be late getting home.
HARRY SAT in the manager’s office at Marland Manor and, as he sipped from a glass of water, he stared thoughtfully out of the window. Dressed in full uniform, which had unnerved some of the staff when he’d arrived, Harry had been busy all afternoon.
Following his call to Grantley Eddison, Harry had sat in on the CQC Inspection Team Leader’s interview with Nancy. Nancy, who appeared as high as a kite and fidgeted constantly, had been unable to deny that she’d left the vulnerable adults at Marland Manor without a manager on duty, the previous evening. Logs had been checked and it was a stupid mistake.
But that incident alone wasn’t what was troubling Harry. The lack of cover wasn’t the real reason that the team from CQC had grouped so quickly and arrived at the home. Harry had spoken to Grantley, “off the record”, and expressed grave concern. He told him that he’d had a tip-off from an unnamed member of staff that Nancy was administering injections unnecessarily and Harry prayed that the contents of her vials weren’t as deadly as he feared. He also told Grantley that the same “tip-off” had suggested that residents’ bank accounts should be monitored for missing funds. Harry had put his neck on the line with such limited, unsupported information but, like Hattie, he felt sure that something wasn’t right about the administration of the home.
Now, as Grantley and his team pored through the files in Nancy’s office and conducted an audit, Harry waited for any information that would help him build a case that he could take to his superior officer, for further investigation and permissions to do so.
Grantley, who sat behind Nancy’s desk, was in consultation with a thin, pale-faced woman. Both had files stacked before them.
Harry watched the CQC staff and wondered how they felt about being summoned to a nursing home on their
day off. ‘Have you anything that you can tell me?’ Harry asked, as he stood up and paced across the room.
‘We’re checking the information that has been entered into all the logs and I’ll collate the data and report to you in due course, when we’ve had time to analyse what we find. It could take some time.’ Grantley was a large man, with a wide girth and he looked uncomfortable in the confines of Nancy’s office chair. ‘When John Hargreaves arrives, we’ll ask him to suspend Ms Clifford. A member of the night staff, who wishes to remain anonymous, has told me that Ms Clifford attempted to go on duty in an inebriated state, but this could be hearsay. For the time being though, he must appoint a registered manager from one of his other homes, who meets the criteria to supervise the running of this business.’ Grantley took a handkerchief out of the pocket of his shirt and wiped his perspiring brow before continuing. ‘If Mr Hargreaves is unable to do so and if we find that regulations have been broken and the safeguarding of the residents has been put at risk, then I shall have no alternative but to close Marland Manor immediately.’
‘Well, here’s your chance to find out,’ Harry said and nodded towards the window, where John Hargreaves was hurrying up the steps. He was accompanied by a serious looking man, dressed in smart clothes.
John burst into the room.
‘Mr Eddison,’ he said and held out his hand. ‘John Hargreaves; I’m sorry that you’ve been called out on a Sunday afternoon.’
‘Yes, well,’ Grantley replied. He studied John’s monogrammed golf shirt and immaculate slacks and, ignoring the man’s hand, replied, ‘It will be later than that when we finish for the day and my staff and I have been here for several hours already.’
‘Then I must organise some refreshments for you. I’ve taken the precaution of bringing a relief manager with me - this is Josh Anderton from one of my other homes.’
Josh Anderton stepped forward and held out a file.
‘Josh has all the necessary qualifications to stand in, if you’d like to check them?’ John nodded towards the file and Grantley began to read. ‘I understand that Miss Clifford isn’t well, and I will ensure that she takes a leave of absence to recover, which will allow us to assess her capacity to continue as manager.’
Grantley closed the file. Satisfied that the manager would be a suitable replacement, he said, ‘If Josh is prepared to begin work immediately, Marland Manor can continue to function while further investigations take place.’
‘Splendid,’ John said. ‘I’ll speak to the kitchen, you must be hungry.’
Harry watched John leave the room. The cunning sod, he thought, I don’t trust him. But Harry still had work to do back at the station and, taking leave of Grantly and his team, he left the manor.
John sped up the stairs and, without knocking, or waiting to be invited, hurried into Nancy’s apartment. As he went into the hallway, he stopped to glance at his reflection in an ornate mirror that hung above a walnut console table. ‘Take it easy,’ he whispered, and, straightening the collar of his shirt, turned and walked calmly into the sitting room.
Nancy sat on the edge of a Chesterfield sofa, her hands in her lap. She looked up when she saw John.
God, she looks a mess! John thought as he stared at the forlorn figure. He wondered what on earth he’d ever seen in her, for Nancy seemed to have aged two decades in the last twenty-four hours. He went to her side and sat down. Reaching out his arms he pulled Nancy into his embrace and spoke softly in her ear. ‘There, there, my darling, everything is fine, I’m here now and you have nothing to worry about.’
‘Oh, John,’ Nancy cried, ‘I thought that you’d be angry with me.’ She snivelled into his sleeve.
‘How could I be angry with you, my love.’ John kissed the top of her head, and flinched at the coarseness of her hair, covered in two-day-old lacquer. ‘You’ve been working too hard and are under a lot of stress. I’m going to suggest that you take a holiday, until this all settles down.’
‘But I could lose my job.’
‘No, I’ll make sure that you just get a warning; you have an exemplary record and we’ll emphasise that
you’ve been under a lot of strain recently.’
‘CQC could ensure that I never work again.’
‘It won’t come to that, this is a minor slip-up and together, we’ll overcome it.’ He stroked her arm and thought how veiny the skin was.
‘Oh, my dear, I thought that you’d leave me.’ Nancy started sobbing again.
‘I’ll never do that, I love you.’ John bit hard on the inside of his lip. He had to keep her on his side. The paperwork for the loan arrangement would be ready to be signed this week and it had been quick and easy to raise money on her unmortgaged properties. Nancy’s bank had approved the loan for investment with hardly a question. He also needed to make sure that she stayed in her well-paid job; that income too was as good as a bank guarantee.
There mustn’t be any scandal!
As John continued to comfort Nancy, his thoughts raced. The silly woman could have completely scuppered all his plans and now he had to move quickly to transfer her funds to his account and start the renovation work on his properties. He was tempted to take her money and bugger off, but John knew that in a few months’ time, if things progressed his way, he would be jetting off with a considerable sum to fritter away in his later years, away from all this. His new life beckoned and he was determined that nothing would stand in his way.
Not Venetia, nor Nancy or any other business that he was sick and tired of.
‘Everything will be fine, dearest one.’ He stroked Nancy’s head and, as she whimpered, he softly spoke the words that he knew she wanted to hear. ‘We just have to keep to our plans and soon I’ll be able to divorce Venetia and marry you.’
27
As a new week began and the month of August drew to a close, Hattie was intrigued to find that there were several emails in her inbox. Her advert, which she’d placed in The Lady Magazine, some weeks ago, had begun to generate interest. She trawled through the enquiries and was amused by some of the work that H & H Investigations might get involved in. A lady in Kent wanted someone to break into her estranged husband’s home to find his tax returns and a man in Manchester wanted an investigator to find out where his cat went at night. Hattie politely declined the cutting-edge enquiries, but one request caught her eye and she read on with interest.
Dear Sirs
I AM an eighty-year-old man who is reaching the end of his life and I wish to appoint an investigator to find out if I have any heirs. I’ve never married and have led a colourful life. Successful in business, I have amassed a fortune and a much-treasured possession but have no one to leave this to. A charity will benefit unless an heir can soon be found. I hope that you will be able to take my case.
Sincerely
Ronald G. Montjoy.
‘BLIMEY,’ Hattie spoke out loud, ‘that’s got my name all over it.’ She read the email again and began to type.
Dear Mr Montjoy
Thank you for your most interesting enquiry. I would be delighted to discuss this matter with you. However, due to an existing investigation, I am unable to proceed at the moment, but I expect to have concluded my findings very soon. If you would like to progress, as soon as I am available, I will contact you and arrange an initial meeting to discuss the matter.
Kind regards Harriet Mulberry
H&H Investigations
E: Harriet@H&HInvestigations
T: Hollywood 785675
‘That should do it.’ Hattie smiled and sent her reply to Ronald G. Montjoy.
‘That should do what?’ Alf appeared at the door and stuck his head into Hattie’s office. ‘Have you cracked this case yet?’
‘No, but I think I’m lining up the next one. I’ve just had a very interesting enquiry that could see me chasing heirs.’
Alf came into the room and perched on the edge of Hattie’s desk; Ness sat by his feet and thumped her tail on the floor. ‘Chasing hares?’ A
lf looked puzzled. ‘Tha’l never run that fast.’
‘Heirs!’ Hattie sighed. ‘Someone who is legally entitled to inherit property or possessions.’
‘Well, never mind jumping ahead to the next case, you need to finish what you’re sleuthing now. Joan in the village shop has it all worked out.’ Alf ran his calloused fingers through the soft fur edging Ness’s ears. ‘Gossip is rife over the counter this morning.’
‘Eh?’ Hattie looked up. What was Alf babbling about? Surely the CQC visit to Marland Manor hadn’t hit the rumour wheel so early? How the hell did Joan get to know what was going on before it had actually happened?
‘Our Grace was on duty at the manor and she said that there was a replacement manager with his feet firmly under Nancy’s desk. She told one of the carers who she works with and they called in at the shop earlier. It’s the talk of the village, today.’
Grace hadn’t been at home when Hattie visited her the previous day. She must have gone back to work. But Hattie was well aware of this information. She’d spoken to Harry late the previous evening and he’d updated her, then called earlier that morning to tell her that his boss was willing to take a punt and put an investigation in place to examine Nancy’s banking history. The shit would soon hit the fan if any unexplained payments had been made from residents’ accounts. Harry had added that Nancy, currently driving west on the A55, would be blissfully unaware that any such search was being done.
‘Nancy has gone on holiday.’ Alf picked up a letter opener from a tray on the desk and began to clean his fingernails with the steel tip. ‘She headed off to Wales early this morning.’
Hattie Goes to Hollywood: Shenanigans, fun & intrigue in a new mystery series! Page 23
