“I take your point.” Tom looked at his watch, then keyed a number into his mobile. “Jo, are you still in your room …? Good, stay there until we come and get you.”
Fraser caught the squawk of protest from the other end.
“Please Jo, just do as I say for once. We’ll be with you inside fifteen minutes.” He cut the connection. “Give me that card, Fraser – the taxi one.”
Fraser handed it to him. “I need a taxi, very urgently please, County Hotel … ”
It arrived a minute after they got down to the lobby.
“Nurses’ Home, Royal Infirmary please. An extra tenner if you do it in five minutes,” he added.
The driver didn’t waste any time talking.
In the back, Tom said quietly to Fraser, “It’s still best if you’re not seen with her – wait for me while I take her in.”
They didn’t say any more until they saw Jo waiting at the doorway.
“Community Hospital,” Tom said as soon as she got in. “Why didn’t you wait inside?” he asked her.
“Because I’m late – this had better be good, Tom.”
“I’ll tell you when we get there. Keep your head down, Fraser.”
The taxi came to a stop again and Jo and Tom half walked, half ran to the entrance. Tom reappeared a few minutes later.
“Where are you going?” he said to Fraser, who was getting out of the taxi.
“Back to my flat.”
“We’ve still got some talking to do.”
Fraser shrugged. “OK, we’ll do it there.”
“Sure, so long as you don’t mind my cheroots.”
Fraser did mind, but felt it was preferable to another trip downtown. Tom paid off the taxi.
“You did it in six,” he said, handing the driver a ten-pound note, “But I’m feeling generous.”
*
“The question is,“ he said when they were in Fraser’s flat, “Is she doing it on her own?”
“I wouldn’t have thought so,” Fraser said slowly. “If it is being done by somehow infecting them with pneumococci, I think she’d need help.”
“From a medic?”
Fraser nodded. “Almost certainly. Which means either Ranjid or Edwina.”
“Why not Armitage? He’s the boss, and he was the one who employed her, wasn’t he, because they’d worked together before?”
“But he’s worked with Edwina before as well, that’s why he employed her.”
“That doesn’t exactly absolve him, does it?”
“No, I just don’t think – although ... “
“Yes?”
“He is worried about something … “ He told him what Philip had been saying after the meeting, and also what George Woodvine had said today.
“D’you know what it is he’s worried about? Armitage, I mean … “
Fraser shook his head. “Although I did wonder if he’d begun to suspect what’s going on … “
“Mm. Well, I think it puts all three of them in the frame.” He looked up. “So which of them would you go for?”
“I don’t know … maybe this is the connection between Helen and Ranjid - and yet …”
“Yes?”
“And yet there’s the fact that both times I’ve been beaten up, it’s been just after Edwina’s found out about my snooping – the second time after she actually caught me at it ... ”
“Couldn’t you say the same for Ranjid? He found out quickly enough the first time.”
“But how would he have known about the second time? Unless Edwina told him, I suppose … then there’s the way she’s pumped me about my attitude to hopeless cases … and her detachment … “
“Yeah, you’ve mentioned that before – what exactly d’you mean by it?”
Fraser closed his eyes a moment - the whisky and stress were beginning to get to him …
“Her utter self-containment – she ignores the things that don’t concern her, seems unaware of them, and yet focuses like a flash when something does bother her … you never know where you are with her … “
“So your intuition’s telling you it’s her?” Tom said with the hint of a smirk.
Fraser gave him a sour look. “And yet it’s Ranjid that Helen’s got the relationship with,” he said. “And this isn’t the first time he’s been involved in the ill treatment of patients, is it?”
Tom’s face screwed up in thought … “Could be any of them, couldn’t it? You see, unlike you, I’m not inclined to absolve Armitage ... And yet it could just as equally be Tate - she and Helen’d have known each other if they’d both worked with Armitage before … “ He looked up – “And where, I wonder, does the ubiquitous Carrie Tucker fit in?”
“God, I’d forgotten her,” said Fraser. “The thing is, when Helen wanted to know how I’d heard about Jo, I told her that Carrie had told me …”
“So if she is involved, Helen would’ve known you were lying.”
“Especially if she finds that door unlocked …”
*
“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” Jo said as she ran into the sisters’ office at ten past midnight.
“I was about to ring you,” Sarah said reprovingly.
“I’ll make it up to you.” Jo took a breath. “Anything I should know about?”
“It’s touch and go whether Mrs Castle’ll last the night.”
“Have her family been told?”
The nearest was a daughter in London, Sarah said,“She’s going to try and get here tomorrow morning.”
Jo nodded. “Does she need anything? Mrs Castle?”
“I shouldn’t think so, she’s on a diamorphine syringe driver.” Sarah paused. “I’ll be off, then.”
“Sure. I’m sorry, Sarah.”
“It’s all right.”
Jo quickly checked all the patients, then went back to the office and sat down. She hated being late, although she appreciated why Tom and Fraser had done it. She wondered what had changed Fraser’s mind about Helen … well, doubtless she’d find out.
She realised she was hating this job already and asked herself why … it wasn’t the danger, such as it was, or even the graveyard shifts, although she didn’t care for those either – it was the overall oppressiveness of the place …
She pondered this.
It was the fact that everything was so clean and well-ordered on the surface, but underneath all the good manners and platitudes, she could sense something … not evil exactly, but corrupt – a worse corruption than any of the illnesses the patients had.
She sighed. Tom had admitted that although they were all agreed now that Helen was involved, they knew nothing else. Not how, where, when, why, not even whether anyone else was involved.
She looked in on Mrs Castle, then, on impulse, on Lily Stokes. She was sleeping peacefully. How had Saint Helen infected her? (She agreed with Tom about that). Some sort of atomiser to spray a suspension of pneumococci up her nose?
But if that was it, she was bound to be seen doing it sooner or later, as Jo had discovered to her cost ... unless it was done as part of something every day … innocent.
She glanced around, looking at the equipment.
The oxygen mask, could that be infected in some way? She picked it up, turned it over… couldn’t see how, especially as it was used after infection had set in, not before …
An idea pricked at the periphery of her mind; she trembled slightly with the effort of holding on to it, then walked quickly out to the courtyard and lit a cigarette to try and develop it … it flickered and caught alight …
Ye-es …
It wasn’t the complete answer, no, but it might be part of it.
Proving it would be the problem …
For a second, the flicker became a flash – Health and Safety Jo, how could you forget that? She stubbed the fag and went back to the office.
Chapter 24
Wednesday. Fraser woke with a snap – the alarm had gone off an hour ago, but he’d muted it and closed his eyes again,
just for a couple of minutes ...
He jumped out of bed. He was tired, his head ached and the room smelled of Tom’s cheroots. And it was a quarter past nine.
He groaned: he’d have given anything for a shower ...
He swallowed some Paracetamol, splashed water over face and under pits and dragged on some clothes. Cleaned his teeth and ran out of the flat.
“Good of you to drop by,” Edwina murmured as he arrived.
“I’m sorry, Edwina, I – “
“Let’s get started, shall we?”
The ward round, followed by the morning clinic. Fraser watched her throughout – her professionalism was beyond doubt, but was there also a coldness, a callousness even?
“Symptomatic treatment only, I think …”
“Just make him comfortable and let the family know …”
“I think it would be cruel to attempt to treat this condition …”
Jo drove him down to Tom’s hotel at lunchtime. She’d brought a large shopping bag with her. He asked what was in it and she said wait till they got there.
Tom had laid on some sandwiches, half of which Fraser ganneted within five minutes of his arrival.
“Well, has your subconscious come up with anything while you were asleep?” Tom asked him.
He swallowed. “If it did, the whisky killed it. How about you?”
“Something, maybe.” He drew a breath. “Let’s assume they’ve got a virulent culture of the bug, never mind how for the moment – they’ve got to put it into some sort of spray and get it into the victim’s lungs, right?”
Fraser gulped some coffee. “However they’re doing it, they’d be seen eventually, like Jo was.” The Paracetamol hadn’t helped much and his head felt like suet.
Tom leant forward. “But what if it was a part of something that happens anyway? Something that’s done routinely to patients, maybe even something they do themselves. They use inhalants, don’t they?”
“Yeah, but that’s after they get pneumonia, not before.”
“There must be some things they have before.” He turned to Jo, who’d been silent until now. “Any ideas, Jo?”
“Yes, as a matter of fact.”
They looked at her.
“Glandosalve.”
“But that’s not an inhalant,” Fraser said after a pause. “It’s just a saliva replacement for a dry mouth.”
“I know, but it’s used before patients get ill, isn’t it? And if you spray a suspension of bacteria into your mouth, you’re going to inhale some of them, aren’t you?”
Fraser half lifted a foot to kick himself … of course you are …
“And what could be easier than swapping a Glandosalve dispenser without being noticed?” Jo added, driving the nail home.
“What do you think Fraser?” Tom asked.
“It’s certainly a possibility …” An’ you were wonderin’ why they were so free an’ easy wi’ the stuff … “But exactly how we go about proving it, I don’t know.”
“We need to get hold of one,” Tom said. “One that’s been used by a victim, obviously …”
“That’s goin’ to be difficult,” said Fraser, “Since you can bet your life they’ll have stopped operations again for the moment.”
“What happens to them when they’re used up?”
“Into a sharps bin and off to the incinerator, like everything else. The last one would have been Mrs Stokes, and that’ll have gone by …”
A horrible suspicion occurred to him as Jo said,
“Well, maybe I can help you there.” She opened the shopping bag and took out a sharps bin, wrapped in clear polythene.
“From Mrs Stokes?” Tom asked in wonderment.
She nodded. “I used it to get rid of the injection materials and wheeled it over to the side of the ward. It was still there.”
“Jo, you’re a wonder – I’ll get it up to the forensic lab this afternoon.”
“But do we know the Glandosalve dispenser’s in there?” Fraser asked. “You didn’t open it, did you?”
“Not on your life. I shone a torch through the hole though, and counted at least three of them.”
Tom put an arm round her and kissed her. Fraser told himself not to sulk.
“Well, I’m glad I didn’t find it,” he said.
They looked at him enquiringly.
“Bein’ kissed by Tom.”
“Jealous?” Tom enquired.
Fraser shook his head.
Tom continued, “Well, there’s not much more we can do now till we get a result from it.”
“Then what?” asked Fraser.
“Depends on the result - if it shows us how the killings are done, we go to the police, by which I don’t mean we stroll down to the nearest nick, we do it through Marcus.” He looked at Fraser - “When are you seeing Helen again?”
“Tomorrow evening.”
“Not much fun for you I daresay, but you’d better go through with it. We don’t want to spook her.”
Fraser nodded shortly. “What about Jo, making sure she’s not attacked?”
“I’ll go back to the nurses’ home with her, check over her car and escort her while she’s on night duty.”
“There’s a limit to how long we can go on like this,” Jo said.
“Well, I’m hoping that once we hear from the lab, we’ll be able to start feeling collars.”
“What if we’re not?” Fraser said.
“What if you’re hit by a meteorite on the way back? Talking of which, shouldn’t you be going?”
Fraser looked at his watch, said, “Oh Christ!” and leapt for the door.
He recovered his car easily enough, but it was ordained that there should be a traffic jam in the town centre and he was twenty minutes late.
“Dr Tate’s been looking for you,” her secretary informed him. “She’s doing the afternoon clinic now.”
“Could you tell her I’m here as soon as she’s finished with the patient she’s with?”
Five minutes later, he went in. She regarded him without expression. “You can take over now,” she said. “But I want to see you as soon as you’ve finished.”
The clinic lasted about an hour and then he went to her office.
“Shut the door and sit down,” she said. Then: “What has got into you, Fraser? You’re treating this place like some sort of convenience, you come and go as you please, you’re late twice today and if I hadn’t been here, God knows what would have happened. Have you got some sort of personal problem?”
“Yes,” he said.
“Well?”
“I – I need some money, urgently,” he improvised. “It’s keeping me awake at night and this afternoon, I was with the bank manager.”
“Can you tell me why you need this money?”
“It’s for my mother.”
Her expression told him he’d used this once too often … she knew he was lying, she knew that he knew, and he had a sudden conviction that it was her behind everything …
She said, “You cannot allow family problems to affect your medical responsibilities. I hope you succeed in solving your problems, whatever they may be, but this cannot happen again. If it does, you’re out. Is that clear?”
“Yes.”
It was hard for him not to burst into maniacal laughter – he was late because he was trying to arrange her downfall, and she was disciplining him for it …
“Good. You may now resume your duties.”
The door clicked behind him and he leaned against the wall for a moment –
“Problems?”
He turned to see Helen, who’d just come out of her own room. He motioned her a little way down the corridor.
“I was late back from lunch and Edwina’s just given me a bollockin’ for it.” He grinned at her. “I can’t stop, I’ll see you tomorrow evening if not before.”
That evening, he played darts, but his heart wasn’t in it and he left as early as he could. He felt utterly drained and fell into bed,
but not to sleep. Images chased through his mind: Was he right about Edwina? What was he going to say to Helen tomorrow? If Edwina was in it, she and Helen must have compared notes … what if the sharp’s bin showed nothing?
After an hour, he gave up and took a sleeping pill, something he avoided if possible. When at last he slept, it was to dream of Frances.
“It’s all right,” she said to him. “I’m better now – really.” And that was all.
He awoke, wept briefly, then went back to sleep again. And in the morning, he felt completely refreshed.
The day passed. He didn’t dare go to Tom at lunchtime, but phoned him. Tom told him that the sharps bin had arrived at the lab yesterday, but there was no news yet.
He’d dreaded seeing Helen all day, but when he went round in the evening, her greeting was no different from usual. She didn’t say anything about the picture gallery door. He took her for a drive, some whim making him take the road to the Wansdyke. He stopped at the crest of the escarpment.
The sun, almost red, was balanced like a ball on the rim of the distant hills. The coarse grass of the scarp below seemed to pulsate with green, but lower down, it became dull and down still further, where the scarp met the plain, it was a dull misty blue.
“It’s beautiful,” she said.
The red sun lit her face – half nature, half sculpture. She’s beautiful, he thought, and a killer … why? Does she know that I know?
She caught him looking at her and smiled sadly.
They went to a pub where, incredibly, he found no difficulty in chatting with her. She simply liked being with him, he realised, and because of that, he found no difficulty in being with her. She knows, he thought, she knows everything …
When he dropped her off, she didn’t ask him inside. She kissed the side of his mouth, said, “Love you, Fraser,” and was gone.
*
Friday. Tom phoned him in the morning.
“We’ll come to you, is one o’clock OK?”
“You’ve got some news?”
“Some. I’ll tell you then.”
He and Jo were waiting in Tom’s car behind the block. They followed him upstairs and into the flat.
“Well, what is it?” he demanded.
Jo sat in the armchair as Tom began to speak.
“One of the three Glandosalve dispensers in the sharps bin had a small plastic attachment fitted round the jet, so that when it was operated, some of the contents were sucked out by the Bunsen effect – you know what I mean by that?”
Death Before Time Page 18
