Death Before Time

by Andrew Puckett

  “I find it very difficult to accept.”

  “Let’s see what Tom says.”

  “Oh, I’m sure he’ll agree with you,” he said pointedly. “Have you phoned him?”

  “I told him the outline,” she admitted.

  He grunted and they didn’t say any more until they got there.

  Tom ushered them in. Jo went over the events of the morning again while Tom listened carefully.

  “Tell me again why you’re so sure,” he said.

  “The way she set it up and then her outright hostility towards me. There’s no doubt in my mind but that she knows I gave those injections. And there’s only one way she could know – Lily Stokes should have died, she was expecting her to die and the fact that she didn’t must be due to interference – my interference. I’m the only one who could have done it.”

  “Fraser?”

  “I can’t agree. Helen’s comments about Jo, what Jo’s told me about Helen’s attitude to her all indicate that she doesn’t like her. That’s the reason for the hostility. It’s just that – hostility.”

  “Her dislike is based on suspicion,” said Jo. “She’s never really accepted that someone like me would drop a grade for the privilege of working there.”

  “Do you like her, Jo?” Fraser asked.

  “You know I don’t, Fraser,” she replied.

  “Why not?” Tom asked.

  “Because she doesn’t like me … all right,” she said before either of them could protest – “Because I think she’s cold, self-centred and egotistical.”

  “What do you base that on?” – Tom again.

  “Intuition,” said Fraser with the suspicion of a sneer.

  Tom said mildly, “I have a healthy respect for intuition.” He turned back to Jo. “Can you back it up with reason?”

  “It’s rather personal,” Jo said after a pause. She took a cigarette out and lit it. “I find her attitude to patients, to people in general, cold and impersonal. Oh, I know a nurse has to be to an extent but I can feel no warmth in her towards the patients, or to anyone really – other than Fraser.” She drew on the cigarette. “And … only someone utterly self-centred would press an affair the way she has with a man as recently bereaved as Fraser. Sorry, Fraser,” she added.

  Fraser said, “Doesn’t that make my point? They dislike each other and that’s why Jo is predisposed against her.”

  “I could say the opposite,” Jo said. “The fact that you’ve been sleeping with her predisposes you towards her.”

  “I can assure you that it doesn’t,” Fraser spat.

  “That’s enough” Tom said sharply, making it clear he meant both of them. After a pause, he went on, “I have to take what Jo says seriously, although I accept there’s no proof. When are you seeing her again?” he asked Fraser.

  “Tonight.”

  “Supposing, just for the sake of argument, that Jo’s right … Helen has no reason for suspecting you, does she?”

  “No,” he said slowly, “Unless she saw Jo’s handbag that time in my room … “

  “How would she know it was mine?” Jo demanded.

  “I don’t know, unless she saw you come in – ”

  “How could she have – “

  “All right, all right,” said Tom. He took out a cheroot and tapped it thoughtfully against the pack before lighting it. “We’ve got to get this sorted. You, Fraser, are going to have to say something about Jo and Mrs Stokes to test her reaction.”

  “Then she’d certainly bloody suspect me,” Fraser exploded.

  “Depends how you put it. It’s a serious business, accusing a nurse of tampering with a patient – surely you’d have heard about it on the grapevine?”

  Fraser took a breath. “I don’t like it,” he said.

  “I understand that,” Tom said, “But for the moment, the way we are, we’re stuck.”

  Fraser said nothing.

  Jo said, “I’m not giving any more unauthorised injections. Next time, I’ll be caught.”

  Fraser pressed his lips together. “You’re ganging up on me,” he said.

  Tom said, “If she’s innocent, as you say she is, then she won’t notice anything and there’s no harm done.”

  “And if she isn’t?”

  “Then she may show it. If she does, there’s still no reason for her to suspect you of anything. It depends on how you put it. I’ll help you with that.”

  Fraser capitulated.

  *

  The day went slowly. Jo tried to sleep and Fraser fought his way through the clinic.

  He was about to leave when he saw George Woodvine come out of Philip’s room. George looked up, caught sight of him and came quickly over.

  “Fraser,” he said quietly, “Can I have a word?”

  “Sure,” said Fraser. He led him to his office.

  “I’m not quite sure how to put this,” George began after they’d sat down. There was none of his usual mimicry, Fraser noticed, “… Is Philip worried about something, d’you know?”

  How to play this? “… It had crossed my mind,” he said carefully.

  George nodded. “Mine too. I thought so at the meeting last week, and even more now. In fact, I’m rather worried myself … d’you have any idea of what might be wrong?”

  “No, I’m afraid I don’t. Have you tried Ranjid or Edwina?”

  George gave a half chuckle. “Ranjid’s absorbed in his own troubles and Edwina wouldn’t notice till it bit her.” He sighed. “There’s something the matter and I feel a certain responsibility … would Helen have any idea, d’you think?”

  Is he hinting that I should ask her … ?

  “Well, she knows he’s got problems, but not, I think, what they are. Have you tried asking him?”

  Another smile. “Yes – just now as a matter of fact. He denied, it, quite convincingly … but somehow, I remain unconvinced.”

  His clear grey eyes looked into Fraser’s and Fraser had a sudden, strong urge to confide in him – no. Tom would kill him.

  “I’m sorry I can’t be any help,” he said.

  George nodded again. “It was a long shot, but thanks anyway.”

  He got to his feet and so did Fraser. At the door, he said, “If you do hear anything, or think of anything … “

  “I’ll let you know.”

  George thanked him again and left.

  Fraser walked slowly back to his flat, thinking about what Philip had said to him after the meeting … The thing is not to allow yourself to be corrupted beyond that extent …

  But what extent? Had he realised what was going on? Was he party to it … ?

  He showered and hung around in his flat before going to Helen’s house at eight. He made himself eat, left saying anything about Lily until they’d finished and she’d topped up their wine glasses.

  He took a sip, then looked up. “I know what I was meaning to ask you,” he said. “I heard something odd today – is it true one of the nurses was caught injecting a patient with something they shouldn’t?” Clumsy, clumsy…

  “Who told you that?”

  “Oh … the one called Carrie.”

  “Carrie Tucker,” Helen said. “I wonder how she found out …”

  “Then it’s true?”

  “Not the way you put it, no. It was your friend, Staff Nurse Farewell.”

  “What friend?”

  She said, “You’d know which one if you saw her, the new one with the big brown eyes and the fuck me smile.”

  Chance’d be a fine thing … “Oh, the one who’s engaged?”

  “That’s the one ... ” She gave him a fairly straightforward account.

  “Well, it sounds as though it’s her word against the patient’s,” Fraser said when she’s finished.

  “And I’d normally take her’s,” Helen said. “It’s just that there were needle marks on Mrs Stokes’ arms.”

  “Well, I suppose she’s having blood samples, as well as injections?”

  “Pretty much every
day, but there were a lot that looked recent.”

  “Did you try asking her – Mrs Stokes?”

  Helen nodded. “She couldn’t remember.”

  “Was she ill or anything afterwards?” Fraser asked.

  “She was ill anyway - “

  The phone went and she got up to answer it. Fraser heard her groan, then say, “All right, I’ll be there in a few minutes.”

  “Problems?” he said as she came back in.

  “I’ve got to go in. They’ve lost the key to the controlled drugs cabinet and I’ve got the only one spare.”

  “D’you want me to come with you?”

  “No, you stay. I’ll be fifteen minutes, if that.”

  A moment later, the front door slammed. He took another mouthful of wine, went over in his mind what she’d said … it was all perfectly plausible and natural, except for that comment about Jo’s smile …

  A thought occurred to him - this was the first, and very likely the last, time he’d be alone in her house, and now that he had Tom’s keys, he could open the locked door … he jumped up and almost ran to the stairs.

  It was spying, prying even …

  But if he didn’t, he’d always wonder.

  He tried the door. Locked. Pulled out the keys, selected one and tried it – too big. The next one fit the hole, but wouldn’t turn.

  Feeling foolish, he tried a third and with a loud click, the lock sprang.

  How long had she been gone? Five minutes, more …? He had another five at the outside, he thought, easing the door open.

  It was dim and slightly musty. He fumbled for the light switch – and found himself in a picture gallery.

  He realised immediately that the paintings must be her mother’s, and this was confirmed by the large framed photo standing on the cabinet at the far end of the room – a semi profile of a woman with the same high cheekbones and sultry mouth, although the discontentment in the downturned lips was even more marked.

  He looked at the first picture. It was of a beach, like the one in the sitting room, with the same combination of muted colours and intense draughtsmanship, but his eyes were drawn to the cloud formation above it that swirled, Van Gogh like, and resolved into faces that leered down, mocking the figure that stood alone before the waves. Fraser looked closely – there was no doubt, it was the same girl, only now, she was pregnant.

  He swallowed and moved on to a beautifully executed study of Edward Munch’s The Scream, in the same muted colours as the beach … what made it so much worse than the original was the pram with a baby in it laughing at the woman’s torment. He moved on to the same woman, in convict’s clothing with a ball and chain attached to her leg, only the ball was the same laughing baby …

  A grave, the freshly dug earth surrounded by wrought iron railings that became spearheads, while from the earth sprouted obscenely green brambles that became barbed wire as it twisted round and around the railings –

  A door banged below –

  “You won’t believe it but they’d found the bloody thing … Fraser?”

  He moved to the door, flicked off the light, eased it shut –

  “Fraser, where are you?”

  “I’m up here …” Lock it - no, not enough time to find the right key …

  “Oh. Well, they’d found the bloody thing by the time I’d got there,” she said as he came down the stairs. “Well, no harm done, I suppose. Why don’t you bring the wine into the sitting room?”

  “Sure.”

  So Jo was right all the time, he thought as he collected the wine … he didn’t know how he knew, only that he did.

  What the hell was he going to do? He took the wine to the living room.

  “Are you all right,” she asked, looking at him.

  “My guts again,” he said. “I’m OK now.”

  “Probably all the canteen food you eat.” She grinned. “Now, if you were to move in with me …”

  “I’d be too far from the darts team,” he said, making himself grin back at her, thinking: If I go now and she finds the unlocked door … but how the hell was he going to re-lock it …?

  “Aren’t you going to pour me some wine?”

  “Sure.” If I stay awhile, maybe I’ll get a chance …

  He filled the glasses, sat beside her.

  “You are a bit pale,” she said.

  “I daresay I’ll recover.” He drank some wine. “It seems crazy not to keep a spare key on the ward. What would happen if you were away?”

  “Philip’s got one, and if the worst came to the worst, admin have a master somewhere. It is ridiculous, but Health and Safety insisted after an incident last year … you are recovering, aren’t you?”

  He was nibbling her ear, running the tip of his tongue down her cheek … he didn’t think he’d be able to rise to it although he knew he had to try… She smoothed his face, unbuttoned his shirt and slid her hand in … It’s no good, he thought, I can’t … then, unbidden, an image of Frances slid into his mind and he felt himself harden.

  “Let’s go upstairs,” he said.

  For once, the fact that she came quickly was a blessing. Afterwards, he lay beside her, willing her to sleep.

  In the darkness, she said, “Do you like me, Fraser?”

  “Course I do,” he said. Then: “I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t.”

  She held his arm, touched his shoulder with her forehead. “I’m glad you’re here, Fraser.”

  “I’m glad you’re glad.”

  He lay there, willing himself to be still although his nerves crawled …

  After a while, he could bear it no longer. He kissed her cheek and slid out of bed. Quickly dressed. He knew she wasn’t asleep, although she didn’t say anything. He left, not daring to try and lock the unlocked door.

  Chapter 23

  As soon as he was out of sight of her house, he stopped and rang Tom.

  “It’s Fraser, I need to see you.”

  “I’ll be in my room.”

  Tom let him in fifteen minutes later. “You look as though you need a drink,” he said.

  “Aye, I do that. I’ll get a taxi back.”

  Tom poured them both a whisky.

  Fraser took a mouthful, said, “I did as you asked with Helen tonight and I now agree with Jo – she’s in this somewhere.”

  “What changed your mind?”

  Fraser told him about the picture gallery.

  Tom lit a cheroot. “How does that make her involved?” he asked.

  Fraser stared at him. “Doesn’t it make you think she is?”

  “Sure, but I’d like to hear it from you.”

  Fraser tossed back the whisky and held his glass out for a refill. “You’ll agree with me that Helen’s mother must have been unbalanced?”

  “I’d say she was barking and I haven’t even seen the pictures,” Tom said as he poured.

  “Well, Helen’s inherited it.”

  “And that’s it, like mother like daughter, QED?”

  “All right, all right … “ He drank some more of the whisky while he thought, “…OK, I think we can assume she was never married to the father – I’m thinking of the beach painting.”

  Tom inclined his head.

  “Well, it screwed her up,” he continued, “Made her bitter and twisted and she took it out on the baby, Helen … “

  “How d’you work that out?”

  “She blamed the baby – the Munch study with it laughing at her, then the one with it as a ball and chain – she blamed it for screwing up her life, took it out on it – her, Helen, I mean … “

  Tom nodded thoughtfully. “You could be right,” he said, “This being before uncool unmarried mothers evolved into trendy single parents … I wonder why she didn’t have an abortion … “

  “Maybe it was before the change in the law came in – whatever, I’ll bet she was obsessed with death, of both the child’s and her own. I’d hazard a guess she killed herself in the end.”

  Tom looked at him int
errogatively ...

  “That one of the grave … “ Fraser said, “She was foretelling it, subconsciously perhaps … and there’s another thing – “ He told him about the discrepancy in the ages Helen had said she was when her mother died.

  Tom thought for a moment. “I think you’re right,” he said, “But how does it make Helen a killer? Wouldn’t it tend to make her feel the opposite, that life was precious?”

  “Yeah, but it could just as easily go the other way. Look at the people who abuse children, their own or others – they almost always turn out to have been abused themselves. You’d think it would make them inclined to be the opposite, but it doesn’t, does it?”

  “No,” agreed Tom …

  Fraser took another mouthful of whisky. “She grew up knowing she wasn’t wanted. Oh, no expense spared on schooling, but tha’s not the same thing, is it? So far as her mother was concerned, she was in the way, useless … and in the end, her very existence led to her mother’s suicide.”

  “But what about the grandparents who put up the money? Wouldn’t they have wanted her? Grandparents usually do.“

  “Not these necessarily, not if they were upper crust and it fucked their daughter’s marriage prospects. They’d have been an embarrassment, mother and daughter both … “

  “That’s a bit cynical isn’t it?” Tom said with a smile. “Sure you’re not indulging your inverted snobbery?”

  Fraser unwillingly smiled back. “What I’m trying to say is that after an upbringing like that, where unwanted people are beneath notice – disposable – she’d see nothing wrong in getting rid of those whose lives served no purpose, who were in the way.”

  Tom drew on his cheroot. “I think I follow you,” he said, “Although it’s a hell of a jump. I’ll try it out on one of our tame shrinks tomorrow.”

  “The thing is,” Fraser said slowly, “I’m wondering if it puts Jo in danger ... ” He told him how he’d raised the subject of the illicit injections and Helen’s reaction to it, “The way she told me about it was harmless enough, but that crack about Jo’s Fuck me smile was nasty ... “

  Tom nodded thoughtfully and Fraser continued, “I think she hates her, and if she also regards her as someone in the way … I’m thinking about the attacks on me in the hospital grounds.”