But Jo couldn’t manage that and they decided to leave it until Marcus came down on Friday.
*
Fraser went to Helen’s in the evening. The moodiness of the morning had gone; she was bright, chatty and good company.
Why? Fraser wondered. The wine? She’d had quite a bit. Or was it just part of the artificiality of their relationship? He’d thought she’d bring up the break in, or Ranjid’s behaviour, but to his surprise, she didn’t.
She said suddenly, “Fraser, is it true, that you’re thinking of specialising in Care of Older People?”
He laughed in disbelief. “Who told you that?”
“Philip. Why, wasn’t I supposed to know?”
“It’s not that, it’s just the way things get around here. I mentioned it to Edwina, and I suppose she must have told him. I only said it to her as a passing thought.”
“So it’s not true, then?”
“Ah, I don’t know, Helen … I do find it interesting, much more than I thought I would, but I still don’t really know what I want to do.”
She said quietly, “I think you’d be very good at it.”
“Why?” he asked, curious.
She drank some more wine before replying. “Because you’re compassionate with the patients, but clear sighted at the same time, not sentimental.”
“How d’you mean?”
“You care about them – ghastly word – but you haven’t let that blind you to the fact that it’s sometimes kinder to let them go.”
“I thought most people accepted that.”
“Oh, you’d be surprised – we’ve had locums before who’ve insisted on the patient’s right to life no matter what. Never mind how much they’re suffering, never mind what the relatives think. The right to pain and indignity … ” she tailed off.
“I didn’t realise you felt so strongly,” he said, looking at her.
She shrugged, refilled her glass and drank. “You can’t not feel strongly,” she said more calmly. “Can you imagine suffering, but at the same time being utterly powerless, without meaning, totally in the control of others? Sorry – forgot, you probably can, can’t you?” She stared across the table at him, her eyes huge in the candlelight. “Wasn’t there ever a time Fraser, when you thought about ending Frances’ life?”
He stared at her, astonished … “No,” he said.
“Sorry, perhaps I shouldn’t have asked,” she said, and turned easily to lighter things.
Driving back, he asked himself whether her attitude made her a suspect … probably not, he thought; her attitude wasn’t so different from his – except for the suffering without meaning part of it, Frances’ life had never been without meaning …
That was what really surprised him - the fact she could ask such a question of him.
*
The next day at lunchtime he was again going over to his flat for something and again saw Ranjid and Helen driving off together. He looked over at his own car, then noticed a taxi disgorging a couple of passengers at the main entrance, and on impulse, ran over to it.
“Could you follow that car, please?” he said, pointing to Ranjid’s Mazda as it disappeared down the hill.
The driver looked back at him incredulously. “You want me to follow that car?”
“Yes … “
The driver continued staring at him.
“My girlfriend’s in it,” he added, realising he had to say more, “With someone else.” He shrugged helplessly, pathetically.
Grumbling, the driver started the meter and set off. Fortunately, Ranjid wasn’t a fast driver and they caught up quite quickly.
“OK, so I’m following him, so now what?” the driver said.
“Well, carry on. Not too close, though.”
With a sigh, the driver complied. They were never like this on the telly, Fraser thought … it was already evident they were going to Helen’s house and five minutes later, Ranjid drew up in her drive.
The taxi driver pulled up fifty yards short as Helen found her key and unlocked the house. Ranjid followed her inside and the door shut.
“You gonna stay and watch?” the driver enquired.
“I’d like to give it five minutes,” Fraser replied levelly.
“Well, you can do it on your own, then.”
Fraser thought quickly – he wouldn’t get another taxi easily from here and he didn’t fancy walking back, so much as he hated giving in –
“No, back to the hospital, please.”
They drove in silence.
As Fraser paid him, the driver looked at him with complete contempt. Fraser suddenly realised he didn’t care – which, he supposed, must be a good thing in a secret agent.
Back in his flat, he made some coffee and thought about it.
It could have an innocent explanation …
He smiled grimly as another thought struck him – innocent or not, he’d only too gladly hand Helen over to Ranjid …
Walking back from the social club in the dark that evening, having won the game for them again, he’d just reached the trees when two figures materialised in front of him …
He knew instantly what it meant and ran, not realising there was a third until a well-placed foot sent him sprawling onto the playing field. He tried to get up but a sandbag to the back of his head nose-dived him into the grass again.
Then two of them grabbed his arms and hauled him upright. He wasn’t knocked out, only dazed.
The other one closed in. “So, here’s the guy who won’t take a hint,” he said, staring him in the eyes, so Fraser was quite unready for the fist that sank deep into his guts … he heaved, retched, tried to double over …
“Hold him.” The leader grabbed his hair, yanked his head back and looked him in the eyes again. “You’re not wanted here, see. Got that?”
Fraser, knowing he was about to be punched in exactly the same place again, lashed out with a foot and caught his ankle …
The man let out a yell, then – “Hold him up,” he snarled and went for him, windmilling with both fists … Fraser clenched his stomach muscles, tried to hunch over and most of it landed round his head and shoulders –
“Hey -!”
They looked round – the darts team had emerged from the club –
“It’s Jock,” one of them said and they started running.
“Hold him,” the leader said again … he stepped back and took a measured kick at Fraser’s balls but Fraser saw it coming and managed to twist slightly so that his thigh took some of the blow, but it was bad enough and he let out a screech … they dropped him and ran for it and he sank to the ground clutching his groin …
He was dimly aware of their footsteps as they ran, then the darts team clustered around.
“You all right, Jock?”
“D’you need a doctor?”
“Ah am a feckin’ doctor,” he managed between his teeth. He took a deep breath and blew it out slowly … Stimulate endorphins and ease the pain – least, that’s the theory “Be all right in a minute …” He took another deep breath.
“D’you want the police?”
No … “Don’t think that’ll do much good now.”
“’Oo were they?”
Fraser shook his head.
“Bring him inside and I’ll give him some brandy - ” The barman had joined them.
They eased him up and helped him walk to the bar; the barman produced a shot that was at least a triple and Fraser gratefully took a pull.
“Ahh …” He said, then tossed back the rest.
“Better?”
“Yeah. Thanks.”
“What happened?”
He told them, leaving out the warning they’d given him.
“Muggers, I suppose,” said the team’s spokesman, who was called Ron. “Did they take anything?”
Fraser shook his head again.
The barman was looking at him curiously. “Sounds more like bully boys to me … you been getting up anyone’s nose lately?”
<
br /> “I don’t even live round here, I’m a locum. You probably stopped them before they could take anything.”
They pushed it around a bit more, then Ron and one of the others said they’d walk with Fraser back to his flat. At the stairs, he thanked them, sincerely.
“I owe you, gents.”
“Forget it,” said Ron.
“No, don’t forget it,” said the other. “We want you in the team.”
Fraser laughed, then winced. “See you,” he said.
In his room, he took some paracetamol, then gingerly stripped off and stepped into the shower. The hot water flowed over his body, soothing his aches. Back in his room, he pulled on his boxers and bundled up his dirty clothes. Found his whisky and poured – it was only then he thought to ring Tom.
“I’m coming up,” Tom said.
“No, wait … “ But he’d already rung off.
He slowly drank the whisky. Tom was with him ten minutes later. He made Fraser describe the men and what they’d said.
“You’re sure about that? Here’s the guy who won’t take a hint … nothing about leaving Helen St John alone?”
“No. There’s something else about her, though … “ He told Tom how he’d followed her and Ranjid.
“D’you think they’re … ?” Tom left the sentence unfinished.
“Tonkin’?” Fraser shrugged. “No idea. What d’you think?”
“How should I know?” Then, “I wonder what her game is …”
“At this exact moment in time, Tom, I don’t give a - a tonk.”
Tom smiled. “All right. Get some sleep and we’ll talk about it tomorrow,” he said, and left.
Fraser made himself drink some water, switched off the light and manoeuvred himself into bed, trying not to pull his stomach muscles.
His head swirled, but for a long time, sleep wouldn’t come. The pain nagged at him – his belly, his balls, even the back of his head. He lay there, thanking God, or providence, that the leader hadn’t got his second punch in.
Chapter 16
Friday morning: he could hardly move and the livid red bruise on his belly stabbed as he squirmed out of bed. His head didn’t feel much better, though whether from the sandbag or the booze, he couldn’t be sure. He took more paracetamol, had another hot shower, then a strong coffee and off to work.
By the time he got there, the aches had eased a bit and his body was more or less responding to his brain so long as he didn’t move too quickly.
He was on his way from his office to the wards to check the “at risk” patients on his list when he saw two familiar figures at the reception desk – Nigel Fleming and Patricia Matlock MP. The latter looked up and saw him, and her eyes gleamed in recognition.
“Dr Callan, isn’t it? Fraser?”
He stopped as she came over to him.
“That’s right, er - ” he hesitated, unsure whether to call her Miss or Mrs or Ms …
“Patricia Matlock,” she enunciated clearly. “We met at Patrick’s party.”
“Aye, I’m sorry, I do remember. I was surprised you should remember me.”
“Oh, you caused quite a stir,” she said.
“I did?”
“Oh yes. That nice Dr Singh was rushing round quite foaming at the mouth after you decamped with his girlfriend.”
“I hadn’t realised it was as bad as that.”
“Oh yes,” she repeated. “He even accused Patrick of being in league with you. Most embarrassing.” She didn’t look in the least embarrassed. “But I dare say it all ended up happily ever after?”
“That would depend on your point of view.”
She gave a silvery laugh. “I dare say it would.“ Her smile faded like a light on a dimmer switch. “I trust you haven’t also forgotten what I said about muddy waters.”
“The blues singer, you mean?”
This time her smile was more of a grimace. “No Fraser, not the blues singer.”
Fleming came over. “Oh hello, it’s Dr Callan, isn’t it?”
“That’s right,” he said again. “How’re you, Mr Fleming?”
“Well, thank you. You too, I hope?” He didn’t give a tonk, either.
As Fraser nevertheless assured him he was, Philip came out. He looked tired and strained. He nodded to Fraser and asked the others through.
The image of the MP’s face remained with Fraser as he continued on his way … Fleming’s face merely repelled, but hers both repelled and attracted in equal measure - why was that, he wondered?
Well, she was an alpha female, of course - Fleming would merely dominate, but she probably liked to mix her methods where males were concerned …
Rose Parker and Cedric White both had visitors and both looked fine. Rose especially – her visitor was a young man, not much more than a boy. He was talking animatedly, she was smiling broadly.
Fraser went back to his office and looked up the others on the computer. They were all fine as well.
But were they fine because the perpetrator had suspended operations, or because – dread thought - he was wrong about the whole thing?
His headache had come back and he rubbed at his eyes with his fingers.
*
At about the same time, Jo and Jackie were having their fag break in the courtyard. Jackie said suddenly, “Sharon tells me you were going through some of the notes of dead patients yesterday.”
“Yes, I was.” Never say any more than you have to …
“Any particular reason?”
“I was interested in what the most common killers are here. Why, did I do something wrong?”
“No-o … besides, you don’t have to look through the actual notes, we do keep statistics of that sort of thing.”
“I’d be interested to see them - although of course, they don’t give the depth of information that notes do.”
Still looking at her … “Sharon also said you were asking about one of the nurses.”
“Yes, Carrie Tucker, I thought I’d have a word with her. It struck me that you seem to have a lot of pneumonia here and I was going to ask her about those particular patients.” It sounded weak in Jo’s ears as she said it, but Jackie didn’t pick up on it.
Instead, she said defensively, “I don’t think we have any more pneumonia here than anywhere else … it is a common cause of death in older people, you know.”
Press home the advantage … “Yes, but haven’t you ever wondered why, Jackie?”
“Well, there are lots of reasons … decreased lung efficiency, the fact that supine patients can’t clear all the rubbish in them … anyway, all I was going to say was that I’d appreciate your mentioning it to me another time.”
“Of course – and I’m sorry if I’ve offended,” Jo said with a smile.
“Fine, let’s forget it.” Jackie stubbed her fag and they went back in.
Bloody hell, Jo thought as she followed her, Fraser wasn’t kidding about everyone knowing what everyone else did here …
On Singh’s ward round, she noted another “at risk” patient:Lily Stokes, aged 75 with cancer of the thyroid that had metastasised. She probably only had a few months to live, but was neither senile nor vegetative. Singh prescribed Doxamethadone and radiotherapy to ease her symptoms.
When the ward round was over, she checked the others on her list: Shirley Norman in room one and Rose Parker in three.
Shirley was fine, but Rose beckoned her over. “I’m sorry to trouble you, nurse,” she began, her voice little more than a hoarse whisper – she broke off, swallowed … ”Dry mouth, been talking too much … ”
“I’ll get you something for it.”
She shook her head. “Already got one, in there … “ She indicated her cabinet.
Jo found the glandosalve dispenser and handed it to her.
“That’s better,” said Rose when she’d used it. “You know, it makes me feel very uncomfortable, not being able to speak.” She smiled. “Although I can think of more than a few who might have been glad o
f it when I was teaching. Anyway, I only wanted to ask you if you’d put this in the post for me, please.” She held out a letter.
“Of course,” said Jo, taking it. “Where did you teach?”
“In the same primary school in Wansborough all my life.” She smiled again. “That probably sounds a bit sad to you – that’s the expression these days isn’t it? - but some of them do still remember me. They come and see me, you know. That’s why I get so hoarse.”
“What a lovely compliment,” Jo said sincerely.
Rose nodded complacently. “Yes, it is, isn’t it. Makes me feel that my life wasn’t completely wasted.”
“Not if they do that, it wasn’t.”
They chatted for a more few minutes before Jo left, still smiling. She rather liked Rose.
*
“Is it connected with the other attack, the first?” Marcus asked.
They were all in Tom’s hotel room that evening and Fraser had been telling them about the latest offence on his person.
“Got to be,” said Tom, “What with the reference to the guy who won’t take a hint. The first was a warning, the second was meant to seriously hurt.”
“We don’t want a third, then,” said Marcus.
“No, we don’t,” Fraser agreed feelingly – the effects had caught up with him now, he ached all over and pain jabbed behind his eyes.
“I’ve got some ideas that might help you there, Fraser,” Tom said. “We’ll talk about it afterwards. The thing is, who’s behind it?”
“Well, it’s either Ranjid or whoever’s behind the killings.”
“I hope to God it is him,” Tom said, “Because otherwise it means someone’s on to you.”
“Couldn’t it be both?” said Jo.
They looked at her and she continued, “Ranjid could be both behind the killings and jealous of Fraser. Unless Saint Helen’s in it with him.”
“I don’t think so,” said Fraser.
“Why not?”
“I just don’t,” he said irritably.
“Then why is she stringing you along the way she is?” said Tom.
“If anybody’s doing any stringing along at the moment, it’s me,” Fraser said. He told them about Helen’s moods, the way she’d got so upset when he wouldn’t stay the night with her. “She wasn’t putting that on,” he said, “It was real. And you know something? It was worse than the beating.”
Death Before Time Page 12
