Death Before Time

by Andrew Puckett

  *

  Fraser dropped the hood of the car when he picked up Helen, then drove up into the downs. After its slow start, Spring was in full sap now; the hedgerows pulsed green where they weren’t laden with the white of May blossom and the young corn in the fields waved gently in the breeze. They found a pub in one of the villages that served beer straight from the wood and drank it under an apple tree in the garden. It should have been idyllic, but Fraser had work on his mind.

  “Listen to those birds,” Helen said. “They take life as it comes, maybe we should try and learn from them.” Her coolness of the day before had quite gone.

  “They don’t live long, though, do they?” Fraser said.

  “All right miseryguts, tell me what ails thee.”

  When he didn’t reply, she said, “Sorry, patronising.” After a pause: “You said there was something else besides your mother?”

  “Yes,” he said … he took a breath, then told her about Harold and his grandfather.

  “It was like discovering a part of my family I knew nothing about, so when he died so suddenly,” he said, watching her, “Well, it gave me a bit of a knock – “ God, that sounds unnatural … he ploughed on - “Especially since it happened just before he could be reconciled with his daughter.”

  “That is really sad.” The low sun caught her face as she spoke, shadowing its bone structure. “But at least she realises now what she meant to him.”

  “It would have been better if he could’ve told her himself.”

  “Yes, it would,” she said. “I’m afraid it’s another of life’s if onlys.” She looked up at him. “You must have seen plenty of them before.”

  He forced a smile. “Meaning that doctors shouldn’t become too involved with their patients?”

  “Oh, I think that would have been hard in this case with the family connection - but yes, I suppose I do mean that.” Her eyes loomed large. “I wonder if your own history makes you more vulnerable.”

  “Maybe,” he said, not wanting to go there … he thought quickly - Bring up the fact that he died of pneumonia? No, not yet …

  He tried turning the conversation to her own family, but she no more wanted to talk about that than he did about Frances, so they ended up chatting companionably enough about not very much while the light faded around them, then drove back to Wansborough through the gloaming.

  “D’you want to come in?” she said softly.

  As he undressed her, he found himself marvelling anew at the freshness of her skin, the firmness of her body.

  That was the strange thing, he thought as he drove away afterwards, he still found her sexy, which was why he was able to perform (there was no other word for it) and he still rather liked her, but the two simply didn’t connect in the way that makes a relationship. Why not, he wondered? She didn’t seem to notice anything. As usual, she’d asked him to stay and he’d made the usual excuses.

  *

  Walking down Whitehall with its massive buildings and rows of stately Plane on Thursday morning, Jo felt the strangest sense of déjà vu. How long was it – five years? To think she’d sworn never to come back …

  The sight of Tom made her heart skip a little, but not quite so much as before, she noticed.

  “How are Holly and Hal?” she asked him.

  “They’re well, thank you,” he replied politely, only the faintest smile betraying his own feelings.

  They went over Fraser’s story again, only in more detail, then showed her the statistical data.

  “This might as well be quantum physics so far as I’m concerned,” Jo said. “The point is, you’re both sure that someone’s killing off these patients?”

  “Yes,” Tom said. “Statistics don’t lie when they’re used properly. People are dying when they shouldn’t be and it’s got to be either gross incompetence or murder.”

  “Shades of Latchvale?” she said, “Another nutter?”

  “We don’t know.”

  “Whichever,” said Marcus, “The only way we can prove it is to catch them actually doing it. A nurse and a doctor would seem the best combination for that.”

  “Do they have any sister vacancies at the moment?” Jo asked.

  “No. There’s a senior staff nurse vacancy, though.”

  “Then why am I moving? I’d need a pretty good reason to go down from sister to staff nurse.”

  “We thought about that – your fiancé has just got a job in Wansborough and you’re going to move with him.”

  “Must be a pretty good job.”

  “It is,” said Tom. He glanced down at the sheet of paper in front of him. “He’s just become – er - Management Systems Analyst with Shroeder Research.” He looked up again. “Worth fifty K, that is.”

  She stared at him. “Did you just make that up?”

  “Certainly not!” said Tom indignantly. “I used Job Genesis. Look.” He handed the sheet over.

  She saw three columns of words:

  ManagementSystemsAnalyst

  PolicyCapabilityCo-ordinator

  ConceptualStrategySpecialistetc.

  “You just pick one out of each column,” said Tom, “and Lo! The modern young professional to suit your needs.”

  “You cynical bastard – is this your idea?”

  “I wish … no, I’m afraid it was my boss here.”

  Marcus shrugged and managed to look both embarrassed and smug at the same time. “I’ve always enjoyed playing with words,” he said.

  Jo handed it back. “Does Schroeder Research exist?”

  “Certainly,” said Tom, “And yes, in the unlikely event of someone phoning and asking for Douggie Pratt, they’d – “

  “You haven’t?”

  “No,” Tom grinned, “We thought you might prefer to choose the name of your fiancé … anyway, they’d be told he was unavailable at the moment and asked if they’d like to leave a message.”

  Jo gave him a look, then turned back to Marcus. “I take it I’m going as myself?”

  “I think so, better to avoid false names and references and so on. Keep as near to the truth as you can.”

  “Then there might be another problem – have you checked whether there are any other sister vacancies in Wansborough?”

  “Tom?”

  Tom went to the computer terminal and tapped for a few moments. “There is actually, in ENT.”

  “So why am I going for a senior staff nurse post in the Community Hospital instead of a sister in ENT?”

  “Are they likely to ask you that?” said Marcus.

  “They might well, so I ought to have an answer ready.”

  “I take your point.” He sighed. “I was going to suggest you give them a ring now, but we’d better get this sorted out first.” He thought for a moment, then said, “I wonder if Fraser could help us …”

  Chapter 11

  The next day, Friday, Fraser drove home and on Saturday, caught an early train up to London. The others were already there and Marcus introduced him to Jo.

  He’d noticed her as soon as he’d come in, his eyes drawn to the elfin face and long chestnut hair. She stood up and held out her hand. As he took it, he realised that she wasn’t quite so young as she’d seemed at first - something in her clear hazel eyes said they’d seen a lot. He put her at a tactful twenty-nine.

  “Do call me Jo.” Her voice was the essence of middle England, he thought – low, musical, well-spoken without being plummy. She was wearing jeans and a dark green top with a white T-shirt underneath.

  “Fraser,” he said.

  Marcus found him a seat and poured him some coffee. “I’m sorry I had to ring you at work yesterday,” he said, “But we had to get Jo’s interview organised as soon as possible.”

  “Not a problem”, Fraser assured him, then turned back to Jo. “I’ve brought you some articles by Philip Armitage - you can say they impressed you so much it made you want to work in the field.”

  “Thanks,” she said as he handed them over.

 
“Did you manage to fix an interview?”

  “Monday, with Sister St John, although in theory it’s a look-around rather than an interview.”

  “I’d be surprised if she didn’t offer you a job on the spot.”

  “Can she do that? What about employment regulations?”

  Fraser shrugged. “Well, they’ve advertised and not had any takers, so why not?”

  “Talking of Sister St John, Fraser,” Marcus interposed smoothly, “Have you re-established your relationship with her?”

  He had, he said shortly.

  “Good. Any other developments?”

  “Aye, there’s been another death I’m not happy about.” He told them about Mary Bailey.

  “Pneumonia again,” said Tom, speaking for the first time. “Are there any of these suspicious deaths that haven’t been pneumonia?”

  “Not that I’ve noticed,” he said cautiously. “Doesn’t mean there aren’t any, though.”

  “But it does bring us back to the question of whether someone’s deliberately infecting them.”

  “As I said before, it’s very unlikely.”

  “Why?”

  He thought for a moment. “Apart from the problem of getting a suitable culture of the bacteria, it would be very difficult to administer. You’d have to make an aerosol and somehow get the patient to inhale it. Sooner or later, you’d be seen doing it.”

  “Mm,” Tom said. “It’s just that I’m finding the pneumonia coincidence a bit hard to swallow … could they be using it as a mask for killing them some other way?”

  “How d’you mean?”

  “Well, waiting until someone gets pneumonia, then killing them by whatever method they’re using.”

  “I’ll need to think about that … “

  Marcus suggested they had a look at some of these other methods. “How would you go about it, Jo?”

  “Drugs, I suppose. An overdose of insulin, as we know, mimics heart failure pretty closely.”

  “But as we also know, it shows up on PM.”

  “What about potassium chloride?” said Tom

  “Same problem,” said Marcus, “Shows up on PM.”

  “But are they going to bother with PM’s on these people? Do they, Fraser?”

  He hadn’t heard of any, he said.

  “But they could,” said Marcus. “If our killer’s doing this on a regular basis, they’ll be using something that can’t be detected.”

  “What about diamorphine?” said Tom. “I know it’s detectable, but so what? A lot of these patients are on diamorphine anyway.”

  “The fact that it’s an overdose would be detectable,” said Fraser.

  “Yeah, but how d’you define an overdose? The doctor who administered it could say, Sure, I was doing it to suppress the terrible pain the patient was in. No one’s going to argue with that.”

  “Didn’t help Shipman in the end,” said Jo. “Couldn’t we check one of these dead people for drugs?”

  “How?”, Marcus wanted to know.

  “Blood sample?”

  “Difficult,” said Fraser. “Getting it from a corpse isn’t much easier than the proverbial stone.”

  “Yeah, we know,” Jo murmured, exchanging a glance with Tom and Fraser felt, not for the first time, the past history between them.

  “How important is it?” he asked.

  “Well, it might just give us the answer,” said Marcus, “And even if it didn’t, it’d probably eliminate some of the possibilities.”

  “Pretty important, then,” Fraser said. “I’ll see what I can do with the next one.” He grimaced. “Assuming there is a next one.”

  “Oh, I think we can safely assume that,” Tom said softly.

  There was a silence as they ran out of homicidal inspiration, then Tom looked up at Fraser – “This latest death you’ve told us about, Mary Bailey, would you say she was typical of them?”

  “Very much so”, he told them – “over 70, not long to live and with what some would say was a debatable quality of life”.

  “What exactly d’you mean by that?” Jo asked.

  “Terminal, but neither vegetative nor in acute discomfort.”

  “What I’m getting at,” said Tom impatiently, “Is d’you think you could predict the likeliest victims in advance, make a list of them?”

  Yes, Fraser thought he might be able to manage that ...

  “Then once Jo starts, you and she could concentrate on watching those.”

  Jo, who’d been looking pensive, said suddenly, “Fraser, these pneumonia cases, you said they were all treated with ampicillin?”

  “Aye, it’s the standard treatment.”

  “But what if they’re not? Being treated with ampicillin, I mean - what if they’re being given bogus antibiotic?”

  There was another silence, then Marcus said, “Would that be possible, Fraser?”

  He thought about it and nodded. “And it might explain one or two things … D’you want me to look into it?”

  “Don’t make it too obvious,” Tom said, “In fact, it might be better to wait until Jo’s there.”

  They decided that Fraser would find out how the drug administration system worked generally, then Jo would look at it for loopholes.

  Jo asked where she was going to be living.

  “Nurses’ home?” Marcus suggested. “We want you near the hospital.”

  “Wouldn’t I be living with my fiancé?”

  “Not if he hadn’t moved yet. Let’s say he’s not due to start till the end of next month. Working out his notice.”

  “So where do Fraser and I meet to talk? We’re not supposed to know each other so we don’t want to be seen together, do we?”

  Tom said he’d be taking a hotel room they could all use.

  “But what if I need to talk to him urgently?”

  “You’ll have to work out something: Dr Callan, can we discuss this patient a moment, please?”

  Marcus said, “And you’ll both have your mobiles.”

  They tossed the logistics around for a while longer, then Marcus took them out to lunch.

  The restaurant was crowded but he’d reserved a table, so they were served quite quickly. Jo and Marcus had fish while Tom and Fraser had rack of lamb and Fraser found himself wondering why this was exactly what he’d have expected them to choose. His lamb was excellent. Jo asked him about Helen and the other staff she’d be likely to meet and he did his best to give her a balanced view.

  As soon as they’d finished, Jo got up to go, saying she had a train to catch. Fraser would have liked to have gone with her, but Tom had said he wanted him to come back to his office with him, so he couldn’t.

  They left not long afterwards.

  “So d’you think you can work with Jo?” Tom asked him as they walked back along the wide pavement with its rustling Plane trees.

  “Sure. D’you think she can work with me?”

  Tom said softly, “I think you’ll find she can.”

  In his office (which was a lot more basic than Marcus’) Tom rummaged in a drawer and handed him a set of keys, both mortise and yale.

  “Skeleton keys?” he asked in surprise.

  “We call them universal keys. You never know when they’re going to come in handy, so keep them on you.”

  He showed him how to use them and gave him a pencil torch to go with them.

  “Doesn’t Jo get to get the toys as well?” Fraser asked.

  “She’s still got hers from last time. I forgot to ask for them back. Remiss of me.” He showed him out.

  In the train back to Bristol, Fraser wasn’t feeling anything like so confident as he’d tried to make out – it was obvious the others were all used to working together and he felt completely out of his depth … think ten grand, he told himself.

  *

  On the ward round on Monday, he spotted a patient that seemed to fit Tom’s “at risk” category: Rose Parker, 75, who had breast cancer with secondaries. She was a retired teacher and probabl
y only had a few months to live, but the look in her eye suggested she was going to make a fight of it. She’d come in for pain and vomiting control and Edwina had put her on Morphine and Domperidone.

  Jo, meanwhile, had arrived for her interview.

  “Do sit down, Miss Farewell,” Helen said when they got to her office. “Good journey?”

  “Fine, thanks.” Actually, with two changes, it had been a bit of a pain.

  “Would you like some coffee now, or shall we look round first?”

  “I’d love to look round,” said Jo, taking the hint - besides, she’d had coffee on the train.

  Like Fraser two months earlier, she couldn’t help but be impressed by the bright pastel colours, the cleanliness, calmness and efficiency that pervaded the place – surely, nobody could deliberately kill anyone here?

  She asked what she hoped were intelligent questions and made what she hoped were pertinent comments before arriving back at Helen’s office half an hour later.

  “To tell you the truth, Miss Farewell,” Helen said over coffee, “I can’t help being a little surprised that someone with your qualifications and experience should be interested, I’m sure you could’ve found a sister’s post in the area if you’d waited.” She raised her eyebrows quizzically.

  “As a matter of fact,” Jo said easily, “There’s one advertised in your ENT department at the moment.”

  “Exactly. I’d have thought with your forthcoming marriage the extra money would’ve been useful.”

  Jo was ready for this. “I am right in thinking Dr Philip Armitage is the consultant here, aren’t I?”

  “Yes?”

  Jo explained how she’d been thinking about a change of direction and had been very impressed by an article of his in Community Medicine … “ So when I saw your advert after Mark telling me about this new job here, I decided to apply for it.”

  “I see …” Helen continued looking at her for a few more moments, then made up her mind - “In that case, subject to references of course, I’d like to offer you the post.”

  “And I’d like to accept,” Jo said with a smile that was quite genuine. “When d’you want me to start?”

  When could she start? Helen asked.