by L M Krier
Jezza gave one of her characteristic snorts of scorn.
'From what I've seen of some of them, even signing their name would be a challenge. And bear in mind I'm in one of the better homes, with some genuinely nice and caring people. But honestly, the level of writing in the day book, where staff note things, is pretty shocking. I'm sure some of them would never dream of questioning anything someone official-looking asked them to sign, even if they're not supposed to sign anything.'
'Glad you mentioned Cottage Row,' Ted said, looking directly at her. 'What do we know about the potential victim there, the one Angela may be targeting? I don't even know her name,' he added, looking pointedly at the white board. 'Have we checked into her background? Looked for any links between her and the victims?'
More blank looks and some shuffling in seats. Jezza got up, went to the white board and picked up the marker pen.
'Sorry, my fault, I should have filled it in,' she said, much to the surprise of some of the team. 'Lucy Lee, eighty-two, has dementia and failing eyesight. Widowed, no surviving children, just a grandson who works in London and only visits her once every Preston Guild. Well, maybe a bit more often than every twenty years, but not much.
'She's a nice old dear, no trouble, most of the carers genuinely seem to like her. Most of the time she just sits in her chair not far from the door. She keeps trying to stab any shafts of sunlight she sees with the end of her walking stick. Because her eyes are so bad, goodness knows what she thinks they are.'
Ted thought he detected a slight note of affection in her voice as she spoke, which rather surprised him.
'So would a carer just sign a document without looking at it carefully, based on what you've learned so far?' Ted asked her.
'With respect, boss,' a phrase which Ted disliked as much as the Ice Queen did, 'you should try a shift in a care home some time. I'm only there to keep an eye on Lucy, but I occasionally lend a hand in passing the tea round, that sort of thing. Most of the carers are so busy they've no time for anything. Not all of them have English as a first language, and those who do are not all very articulate.
'I would say it would be the easiest thing in the world for anyone who looked like a solicitor or someone official to get a passing carer to add a signature to a document, without giving it so much as a second glance.'
'And there's been no sign at all of Angela at Cottage Row recently? Any theories as to why not?' Ted asked.
Jezza headed back to her seat and sat down, her arms as usual folded defiantly across her slouching body.
'Maybe she's just gone on holiday? People do, even murderers, and it is that time of year,' she suggested, with a shrug.
Ted nodded. 'Fair point. Well, I think we have nothing to lose by keeping you in there a bit longer, to see if she shows. She might just have gone to ground because of the publicity, but at least if she has, there should be no more deaths for the time being.
'Right, Mike, there's plenty more we can be getting on with for now. Let's see if we can have a definite suspect by the end of the week. If we do, the drinks are on me after work on Friday. And don't forget to cross-check everything with the hospital. It's easy to overlook that that was the scene of crime for Jane Applegate, not the home she was in.
'So let's have this Mandy Griffiths in again. Mike, you and Maurice see what you can get out of her. If you think there's enough to go on, we'll get a warrant, give her place a turning over, see what that throws up. And whoever does that, make sure they have a look in the garden, if there is one, for any signs of poisonous plants. Get print-outs from Steve, so you know what you're looking for.'
'If anyone's rummaging round looking for aconite, they need to be gloved up. There have been a couple of recent poisonings in the news, thought to be accidental, just from handling their leaves,' Jezza threw in.
'Thank you. Good point. I hope you'll manage to join us for drinks this time, Jezza?'
'Can't,' she said bluntly. 'Painting my toe nails.'
Ted was disappointed that she showed no inclination to want to join in with the social side of being part of a team. He understood and respected when his officers wanted to keep their private lives to themselves, as he often did. But he found the occasional get-together was a great exercise in team-building. He wished he could get Jezza to see that and to participate.
He nodded to Mike to follow him to his office when he had finished.
'I know this is all very tenuous, Mike, but at least it's something. Get the rest of the team on to the other stuff while you and Maurice have a crack at Griffiths. I'll just be glad I can tell the Super we're bringing someone in for further questioning. It looks so much better than me constantly scratching my head and admitting I haven't a clue.'
The Ice Queen did seem encouraged by the news, though she certainly was not turning cartwheels, with still no signs of a charge.
'And where are you up to with the local reporter?' she asked. 'Have you heard anything further from him?'
'Ah,' Ted said, which she knew by now was his shorthand for having done nothing.
She made a tutting sound. 'Too much 'ah' and not enough action, Inspector,' she said, in her usual acerbic tone. 'Why not tell him you're interviewing a suspect?'
'But I can't give him any more detail yet, so is there any point?'
'Of course there's a point!' she said firmly. 'You have to show him you meant what you said about a new spirit of cooperation. He will find out anyway that you're questioning someone, as he always seems to. At least if you tell him first he may see that as a sign you're sticking to your side of the bargain. And he may just offer something in return.'
Ted went back to his office to phone Pocket Billiards. He felt as if he were bargaining for his soul with the devil.
'Alastair!' he said, as brightly as he could manage, in greeting. 'Look, I can't give you any detail at all yet but I just wanted to give you the heads up that we have started questioning a possible suspect.'
The journalist immediately launched into a barrage of questions, which Ted cut short.
'Sorry, you know the rules. That is absolutely all I can tell you for now. I just wanted you to be the first to know, in good faith, to show I'm keeping my side of the bargain. So I wondered if you had anything for me in exchange?'
'There was one woman I remember, as it goes,' the oily voice mused. 'I know grief does strange things to people but I had the feeling she'd probably always been as mad as a box of frogs. I talked to her a bit but she didn't want to be named, didn't want to be quoted, even anonymously, so I haven't got much for you to go on.'
'Can you at least tell me where and when this happened?' Ted asked.
'It was at the hospital. I was there on another lead entirely and I just happened on this woman, ranting like a mad thing in the corridor. The staff were trying to whisk her away somewhere quiet. It seemed her husband had just died on a trolley, waiting for a bed, and she was not a happy bunny.'
Ted winced at his crassness but asked, 'Any idea at all of when it was? Or anything else you can remember?'
'I honestly can't remember, Ted,' he said, making Ted cringe even more at the familiarity. 'I would have said maybe six, seven months ago. If I remember anything else, I will let you know. As I know you're going to let me know as soon as you have anything I can publish.'
'Count on it, Alastair. We'll talk soon,' Ted said and rang off, feeling slightly tainted.
Further questioning of Mandy Griffiths did not reveal anything to take the enquiry further forward in respect of the deaths. There had been no need for a search warrant, in the end. Once it had come out in questioning that her real name was not Mandy Griffiths and she did not actually hold any of the care qualifications she claimed to, she started being cooperative.
She was happy for officers to look through her small ground-floor flat and the attached garden which went with it. She claimed to have no knowledge of the foxglove plants growing there. But as Virgil, who searched the property, said, there were a lot of them
in the neighbouring gardens, too. It seemed to bear out her explanation that they must have self-seeded there.
It was not quite the result Ted had been hoping for before the weekend, but it was something, at least. They still had to check all the paperwork recovered in the search of the house for a financial motive, but at the moment, the woman remained no more than a possible suspect.
Ted decided the team all deserved a drink at the end of the shift regardless and once again told Jezza she was welcome to join them. Once again, she declined the offer.
It did the team good to get together over a pint, or in Ted's case, a Gunner, in The Grapes. There were not many people in early in the evening but Ted knew from experience that it would liven up somewhat, later on a Friday night.
They were all sitting round a table with a clear line of sight to the door, some on bench seats, Maurice perched at the end on a low stool. As a young woman walked into the bar on her own, the others grinned as Maurice almost fell off his stool through craning to look at her.
She had shoulder length black hair. Smoky eye-liner brought out the sultry tones of her eyes. She was wearing the shortest pair of tailored shorts imaginable, below an exquisitely cut jacket, both in black. Her creamy camisole was as fine and insubstantial as a cobweb and left nothing to the imagination. Her legs looked impossibly long in strappy sandals, with the highest heels Ted could ever remember seeing anyone walk on successfully.
In a beautifully modulated, slightly husky voice, she ordered a glass of white wine as she carefully eased herself up onto a tall bar stool, crossing her legs so that her shorts rode up even higher. Then she placed what was clearly an expensive designer bag on the floor at the foot of her stool.
Ted chuckled. 'Put your tongue away, Maurice,' he said. 'It's getting embarrassing.'
'Yes, but, bloody hell, boss, you would, wouldn't you?' he replied, then grinned and said, 'Well no, you wouldn't, but most blokes would.'
Ted smiled indulgently. For all his total lack of political correctness, Maurice had a heart of gold. He may not have been the brightest copper in the division but he was without doubt one of the kindest men he had ever met, who would do anything for anyone.
Well, I would,' Virgil admitted. 'But first I'd snatch that handbag she's got. The missus has been after me to buy her one of those for ages, but on a copper's wages? No chance!'
The woman was taking absolutely no notice of them, which was just as well. With the exception of Ted, the rest of the team were all gazing at her in unconcealed admiration. The fact that young Steve was going visibly pink in the face as he looked made Ted wonder what his thoughts were.
Ted got no more sense out of any of them until the woman finished her drink, slid elegantly from the stool, picked up her bag and headed towards the door. She made a small detour, taking her nearer to their table, and bent down, her mouth close to Maurice's ear. Her voice was quiet, but they could all hear what she said.
'You can pay me the tenner you owe me on Monday, Maurice, bonny lad,' Jezza said, before she sashayed her way out of the pub.
Chapter Thirty
When Ted saw the venue for Willow and Rupert's wedding, he was relieved that Trev had insisted on taking him clothes shopping. The stunning long, low country house hotel was surrounded by beautifully manicured lawns and rose gardens, with a large lake, fed by a stream tumbling down a small waterfall, as the focal point.
Ted's old Renault was put to shame by the expensive collection of cars pulling up to deposit the beautiful people from Cheshire's Golden Triangle. It was not just the scent of expensive perfume in the air. The smell of money, both old and new, was almost tangible.
Trev would be in his element in such company, Ted knew. With his background, his charm and his good looks, he would fit in perfectly. Ted would feel like a spare part, trailing in his wake. But he was fond of both Willow and Rupert and wanted to be there for their special day. He was just praying that there would be no phone call from work to spoil it for him
The wedding was at eleven and the reception would follow on, in a different part of the hotel. Ted and Trev arrived in good time to take their seats in the magnificent reception room which was to host the marriage ceremony. They were greeted by an usher in morning dress who handed them the order of service and asked if they were friends of the bride or groom.
'Both,' Trev laughed, 'but Willow longest, so perhaps we'd better sit on that side.'
They were shown to seats on the left-hand side, about halfway down. Ted took the aisle seat and Trev gave him a reproachful look.
'I hope that doesn't mean you're poised for a quick getaway?'
Ted looked apologetic. 'I do, too, but you know I will have to go if I get a call. Fingers crossed, eh?'
The room was simply but beautifully decorated with white floral arrangements. They could see Rupert sitting in the front row on the right, glancing anxiously from time to time towards the doorway.
Before long, they heard the strains of Pachelbel's Canon and all eyes turned to watch Willow start to float her way up the aisle on the arm of a tall and distinguished-looking man, her father, Ted presumed. Both Willow and Rupert were professional models and she looked sensational in a simple creation of ivory silk and lace, with a posy of wild flowers.
As she walked, she stopped from time to time to smile at special guests. When she got to where Trev and Ted were standing, she beamed in evident delight and gave Ted's arm a small squeeze in passing.
Just as the ceremony began, Ted felt the muted phone in his pocket vibrate. He mouthed 'Sorry,' to Trev as he slipped as quietly as he could out of the room. The screen showed him it was Sal calling. He accepted the call, said a very quiet, 'Hang on,' then waited until he got outside to speak.
Sal's voice was full of apology. 'Sir, I'm really sorry to spoil the wedding. I'd have managed without calling if I hadn't been on my own.'
'No Jezza?' Ted asked, feeling himself getting angry at being let down.
'Nothing, boss, she hasn't turned up and there's been no message. I tried her phone but it goes straight to voicemail. It wouldn't matter ordinarily but there's been a serious assault and rape and I've also had a call from the hospital, just now.'
Ted felt his stomach sink into his boots as he asked, 'Another death?'
'Not yet, boss, but it sounds very much like the same thing, and it was on the same ward as last time. The victim's in intensive care and is critical, but still alive. I can't cover both on my own, and I know the sarge is away. Do you want me to call someone in?'
Ted felt like swearing, but did not. He knew Trev would not be best pleased, though he would understand. But Ted himself was sorry he was going to miss the occasion.
'No, I'll come in. Why don't you take the assault case and I'll go to the hospital? Then we can catch up at some point and see how we're both getting on. Just remind me, the last death at the hospital, that was yew leaves, wasn't it? As our killer repeated poisons at Snowdon Lodge, that might possibly be helpful information for the hospital.
'Keep trying Jezza's phone, whenever you get the chance, just on the off-chance you can get hold of her. It would be good to make sure she's all right, apart from anything.'
He ended the call and went back into the reception room. As soon as he slid into his seat, Trev could see from his face that he was going to have to go. Ted put his face close to Trev's ear to speak.
'I'm sorry. Jezza hasn't turned in and there are two cases that need dealing with. Please can you apologise to Willow and Rupert for me? If it's remotely possible, I'll get back here somehow later on. If not, can you get a taxi home?'
Trev smiled resignedly and said quietly, 'Go, Mr Policeman. At least Willow knows that you came. And she saw you in your nice new suit.'
Ted headed straight for the hospital, feeling overdressed but not wanting to take the time to go home and change. There was always an outside chance he could get back to the hotel for the last part of the reception.
He went straight to the same ward
as before. He wondered if he might spot Oliver Burdon there once more, but there was no sign of him. He made a mental note to talk to him again. He was the sort who noticed things. He might just have seen something which was significant, without realising that it was.
He did not see anyone he recognised on the ward, and it looked as busy as the last time he had been there. He managed to catch the attention of a passing nurse to show his warrant card and ask who was in charge. She promised to send the duty ward manager in his direction, but said that it might take a while.
Eventually, a man in a blue tunic appeared, walking towards Ted.
'Sorry to keep you waiting,' he said. 'I'm Senior Charge Nurse Chris Ferguson. How can I help you, Inspector …?'
'Detective Inspector Darling,' Ted told him, showing his card again. 'I believe you've had someone on this ward taken suddenly ill, with similar symptoms to a patient who died here recently, a Mrs Applegate?'
'That's right, a Mr John McAlpine. He's seventy-eight, he's in a home but he was admitted with a serious UTI,' the nurse explained. 'Same old, same old. They don't give the old folks enough to drink, they get dehydrated and get infections. Poor old boy's been quite poorly but he was on the mend, doing really well. Then he suddenly started with violent vomiting and a very irregular heartbeat.'
'How's he doing, and where is he now?' Ted asked.
'We managed to get him stable and he's gone up to ICU. He's a really tough old boy, we're hoping he might pull through. Can you tell us anything which might help identify what's caused this? I know my colleague told me after the last one that you were treating it as a suspected poisoning.'
'We are investigating a series of sudden deaths involving elderly care home residents,' Ted told him guardedly. 'A number of different poisons appear to be involved, but most contain cardiac glycocides, if that helps. The last victim here was poisoned by taxus baccata, yew tree. The leaves to be precise. I'd rather this information stayed confidential, on a need to know basis, at this point in the enquiry, though.'
The man nodded and went to a telephone at the ward's main desk.
