‘Dr Beresford?’ She felt a stab of disappointment. ‘Sergeant Mason here.’
‘Hello, Sergeant,’ she said briskly. ‘How may I help you?’
‘We have rather an unusual case, Doctor, which we’d like you to take a look at if you will.’
‘Of course.’ She tried to sound matter-of-fact and efficient but her heart had started hammering again at the thought of going to the station—with the murder investigations that were going on there was a very good chance that Nick would be there. ‘Can you give me any details over the phone, in case the patient is registered here and I’m able to bring any records with me?’
‘I doubt she’s registered anywhere,’ Harry Mason replied. ‘It’s a woman called Maisie Trott, she’s homeless. I’m sure you must have seen her around the town,’ he went on. ‘Sometimes she sits in the precinct, sometimes she sits down near the canal. She’s always surrounded by plastic carrier bags bulging with rags. Every so often she causes a disturbance, knowing full well she will be brought in here and will have a meal and a night in the cells. Anyway, the disturbance happened this morning but I’m a bit concerned about Maisie. She simply isn’t her usual self.’
‘Can you describe any symptoms?’ asked Rachel, making notes on a pad.
‘She’s very lethargic,’ Harry said. ‘She’s also slurring her words and her movements are very uncoordinated. She just isn’t herself.’
‘OK. I’ll come down and have a look at her,’ said Rachel. ‘I should be with you in twenty minutes or so.’
Moments later she leaned across the reception desk. ‘Danielle,’ she said, ‘I have a police call out. I’m not sure how long I’ll be but I should be back for afternoon surgery.’
She hurried out to her car then took a moment before switching on the engine, resting her hands on the steering-wheel in an attempt to calm herself. This heightened sense of excitement whenever there was any chance of seeing Nick really would have to stop. She knew that it was utterly ridiculous and quite pathetic. Here she was, a grown woman, a professional, a doctor, and she was behaving in exactly the same way as she had when she and Nick had been in their teens. It was crazy—they had both moved on in the intervening years, built their careers. Nick had even married and was a father, for heaven’s sake. No doubt he’d be horrified if he knew how she was feeling and, besides, she had Jeremy, didn’t she? Lukewarm as that particular relationship had become, Jeremy was still to all intents and purposes very much on the scene.
Taking a deep breath, she started the car. She really would have to get to grips with this situation and get herself firmly under control again.
But just supposing—the thought, unbidden, crept into her mind as she drove out of the car park into the golden-leafed avenue—Nick also had been affected at seeing her again? He was divorced, supposedly a free agent these days unless there was something he hadn’t told her, so what would she do if he were to ask her out?
She should refuse him, she knew that. He had been wholly unsuitable in the past and there was no reason to suppose that he was any different now in spite of his status in the force. There had always been an element of the dangerous about Nick Kowalski, the sort of danger that prompted parents to lock up their daughters, and Rachel doubted that sort of thing ever changed.
But just supposing she ignored all that and agreed to go out with him again. What then? What sort of footing would their relationship be on? Would he expect to carry on where they had left off all those years ago? Rachel squirmed in her seat as images of hot summer nights full of passion slipped into her mind. He couldn’t expect that, surely? And she wouldn’t want that again, would she?
Not under any circumstances, she told herself firmly as she drove through the town.
She was greeted in the reception area of police headquarters by Harry Mason who, without further ado, conducted her to a cell where Maisie Trott was sitting on the single bed, surrounded by her bags and possessions. She looked to Rachel to be somewhere between sixty-five and seventy, with wild, unkempt, matted grey hair, a florid complexion, which suggested possible abuse of alcohol, and bowed legs, which might or might not have been due to childhood rickets. There had been no records for Maisie at the medical centre but before they reached the cell Harry had explained to Rachel that in the past, with the exception of the odd night in the cells, which usually coincided with an onset of colder weather, Maisie had refused all offers of help from Social Services but grudgingly accepted small gestures from the Salvation Army.
‘Hello, Maisie.’ Rachel crouched in front of the woman, aware as she did so of an almost overpowering smell that emanated from her unwashed person and many layers of clothing. Her face appeared curiously lopsided and the skin around her mouth seemed stretched into an almost permanent inane smile, but that was where it ended, for her eyes were vacant and devoid of any emotion. She appeared not to have seen Rachel, or, if she had, chose to ignore her. Carefully, with the assistance of a WPC who helped to remove some of Maisie’s clothing, Rachel managed to carry out an examination, checking pulse, blood pressure and blood sugar and sounding Maisie’s heart and lungs.
When she had finished she left the WPC to help Maisie to replace her clothing and went to report to Harry.
‘What’s wrong with her?’ asked Harry, looking up from the desk.
‘I’m pretty certain she’s suffered a mild stroke,’ Rachel replied. ‘I’d like her transferred to hospital for assessment, so could you send for an ambulance, please?’
‘She’ll hate that,’ said Harry, picking up the phone.
‘There’s no way she’s going to be able to carry on as she has, sleeping rough and living on the streets,’ said Rachel. ‘Do we know anything else about her? For instance, does she have any family?’
‘Does who have any family?’ said an all-too-familiar voice behind her, and as Rachel turned her head she found Nick at her elbow. He looked tired but impossibly handsome in a black leather jacket, roll-neck shirt and moleskin trousers. She swallowed and looked away. ‘Maisie Trott,’ she said quickly in reply to his question.
‘Poor old Maisie—what’s she done now?’ asked Nick.
‘She hasn’t really done anything,’ Harry replied. ‘She was picked up in the precinct and at first we just thought it was the usual—you know, Maisie causing a rumpus in order to get a night in the cells—but she didn’t seem too good when she came in so I called the doc here.’
‘I think she’s suffered a stroke,’ Rachel went on. ‘We’re transferring her to hospital. I was just asking if you know anything about Maisie’s family.’
‘We don’t know much about her at all,’ said Harry. ‘There’s always a lot of speculation about someone like Maisie, but it’s sometimes difficult to sort out fact from rumour.’
‘I understood she came from a wealthy family who paid her to stay away,’ said Nick. ‘But, like you say, that could simply be part of the myth. She’ll hate hospital, won’t she, Harry?’
‘That’s what I was saying to the doctor,’ Harry replied. ‘But this time I don’t think she’ll have a lot of choice.’
‘She’ll certainly have to go somewhere where she can be looked after,’ said Rachel. Then, as Harry began talking to someone at Ambulance Control, she turned to Nick again. ‘How is the investigation going?’ she asked.
‘If you’re finished here,’ he said, his steady gaze meeting hers, ‘why don’t you come along to the incident room and see for yourself?’
‘All right.’ Trying to ignore the fact that yet again her heart was beating faster than it usually did, she raised one hand to Harry then followed Nick out of Reception and down a long corridor to the rear of the building.
The incident room was abuzz with activity, with at least a dozen police personnel either answering phones or seated at computer screens feeding in information. A huge board had been set up at one end of the room and was covered with information, which appeared to include autopsy photographs of the dead girl and a large-scale map of the area co
vered with coloured pins.
‘We’ve had an overwhelming response from the public,’ said Nick as he stood beside Rachel and surveyed the room. ‘All that information, of course, has to be sifted through and collated and any possible leads followed up.’ He paused as DI Terry Payne stood up from behind a desk and crossed the room to join them.
‘Terry?’ he said expectantly.
‘Guv, Doc.’ Terry acknowledged Nick and Rachel, then shook his head. ‘No,’ he went on, ‘nothing with that one. The guy was in London at the time and there are plenty to vouch for him.’
‘Right, Terry. Carry on.’ Nick drew a deep breath. ‘Come to my office,’ he said briefly to Rachel. ‘It’s a bit quieter in there. Unless...’ He paused. ‘Are you in much of a hurry to get back?’
Rachel glanced at her watch. ‘I have to be back for afternoon surgery at two but I’m OK till then.’
‘In that case,’ said Nick decisively, ‘I’ll send out for coffee and sandwiches if you’d care to join me for lunch. It’s not exactly the Ritz but I’m afraid it’s the best we can do.’
‘Sounds fine to me.’ Rachel spoke casually with a deliberate attempt at nonchalance, which belied her inner turmoil, a turmoil that told her that, in spite of her earlier resolve to the contrary, she would have been happy to join Nick for lunch wherever the venue and whatever the circumstances.
CHAPTER FIVE
‘WAS that line of enquiry a dead end?’ asked Rachel as she sat down on the chair that Nick indicated.
He nodded. ‘Yes, it was Kaylee’s previous boyfriend.’
‘The one she’d just finished with?’
‘That’s the one.’ Nick replied. ‘Obviously we wanted to question him but, as you heard Terry say, he was in London at the time and it sounds like he has a strong alibi.’
‘Do you have any other strong suspects?’ asked Rachel. ‘What about the members of Kaylee’s family?’
‘Well, her mother’s boyfriend has a good alibi—he was in the local pub for the entire evening that Kaylee went missing, together with her mother and a whole bunch of locals who can vouch for them. When they left the pub they went home, watched television for a while then went to bed.’
‘So when did they report Kaylee missing?’ asked Rachel.
‘Apparently, Donna woke up at three-thirty and went to the bathroom—it was then that she realised that Kaylee hadn’t come home. She rang a friend of Kaylee’s who told her that Kaylee had left the club early—before midnight, in fact. It was then that Donna reported her daughter missing.’
‘And you don’t have any other leads?’
Nick ran one hand over his head in a futile gesture and suddenly Rachel felt sorry for him, with the intense pressure he was under. ‘Not really,’ he admitted. ‘I know we said we’ve had a good response from the public but I’m afraid most of it is pure speculation. However, there may be just one nugget of truth there so it all has to be examined, every lead has to be followed up.’
‘Was it usual for Kaylee to leave the club before her friends?’ asked Rachel thoughtfully.
‘Apparently not,’ Nick replied. ‘Most of her friends hadn’t even realised she’d gone, except for the one who actually saw her go just before midnight. Needless to say, we’ve questioned the girl thoroughly. She’s pretty distraught but she did manage to tell us that she’d seen Kaylee on the club dance floor earlier in the evening, dancing with a guy she—the girl—didn’t know. The only thing she was really able to remember about him was that he wasn’t wearing a shirt and that he wore a red bandana around his head.’
‘So no doubt you’re wanting to speak to the man in the red bandana,’ said Rachel, looking up as a young constable arrived with coffee and sandwiches.
‘Quite,’ Nick replied briefly. Taking the tray from the constable, he thanked him then set it down on the desk between them. ‘We’ve studied CCTV footage of that night at the club with Kaylee’s friend but we weren’t able to identify either Kaylee or the red bandana man. No one else at the club that night has any recollection of him.’
‘Is there a drug problem at the club?’ asked Rachel.
‘Unfortunately, yes.’ Nick scowled into his coffee, as if having to admit to a drug problem on his patch was in some way a reflection on the efficiency of his force. ‘We have an ongoing investigation but, yes, there are dealers supplying ecstasy and other drugs to local kids.’
‘How Westhampstead has changed,’ said Rachel, peeling the Cellophane from a packet of sandwiches. ‘There was nothing like that when we were kids.’ She paused and looked up when Nick remained silent. ‘Was there?’ she said.
He shrugged. ‘Probably in certain areas but not anywhere where nicely brought-up young ladies went.’
‘Do you think this particular case has anything to do with drugs?’ asked Rachel, ignoring his reference to what he had always seen as her privileged upbringing.
Nick shook his head. ‘No, actually, I don’t. Kaylee wasn’t a known drug user. According to her friends she’d tried ecstasy once but it made her feel so ill she never touched anything again, and there was no evidence of drugs in her body from the pathologist’s report. Red bandana man may have been a pusher, he may have been Kaylee’s killer, he may have been both, but until we find him we can only speculate.’
‘Do you have any theories of your own—even if they are unsubstantiated?’ asked Rachel thoughtfully as she took a mouthful of coffee that, somewhat surprisingly, really was very good.
Nick shrugged, ‘For what it’s worth, I think Kaylee may have simply been in the wrong place at the wrong time. The killer was on the prowl, maybe saw her in the club, or as she left the club alone, and followed her. According to the pathologist she put up a real fight.’
‘I would second that,’ Rachel replied. ‘And the time of death is estimated at about twelve-thirty, which does suggest that she was killed shortly after she left the club.’
‘That’s right. We think the killer then took her body, probably in the boot of a car, down to Millar’s Wharf, carried it along the towpath and dumped it in the undergrowth.’
‘So we are talking about someone strong,’ Rachel mused. ‘That would have been some weight to carry.’
‘True,’ Nick agreed, ‘although it’s only a short distance. The thing is, no one seems to have noticed anything untoward that night—a struggle in the vicinity of the club or any unusual goings-on at Millar’s Wharf.’
‘There must be someone, somewhere who saw something,’ said Rachel firmly.
‘Yes, I know, that’s why we need to go back and reexamine the facts and keep on doing that until we get some sort of breakthrough. The BBC is going to do a reconstruction on their crime programme in the hope that it will jog someone’s memory.’
‘In the meantime, there’s no let-up for you. You look tired, Nick,’ she said, leaning forward slightly and looking into his face.
‘It goes with the territory—I’m used to it.’
‘Even so, there’s no point in going for burn-out—that way you’ll be no use to anyone. Are you not getting any time off at all?’
‘Well, all leave has been cancelled...’
‘I know that,’ she replied, ‘but even you must have a day off eventually. This could go on for weeks.’
‘Hell, I hope not.’ He passed one hand over his head. ‘The superintendent is breathing down my neck as it is...’ He paused then allowed his gaze, which now held a definite glint of amusement, to meet Rachel’s. ‘But, yes, Doctor, you’re right. Even I have to have a break some time. I’ve decided to try to grab a few hours on Saturday afternoon. Lucy wants me to take her to the Michaelmas Fair.’
‘I thought I might go to that,’ said Rachel. ‘I must confess I didn’t realise they still held them.’
‘Perhaps we should go together,’ he said softly.
She looked up quickly, suddenly alarmed by something in the tone of his voice, only to be doubly alarmed by the expression in his dark eyes, the amusement replaced now by som
ething else, something altogether more disturbing. ‘A date, you mean?’ She tried to sound casual but feared she failed miserably, and when he gave a little offhand sort of shrug she hurried on, tripping over her words. ‘I’m not sure that’s such a good idea, Nick.’
‘Really? Why not?’ His gaze still held hers and she felt herself begin to melt.
‘It just isn’t.’ She gave a quick little gesture with her hands.
‘Give me one good reason.’ His voice was low now with a dark, dangerous little edge to it.
‘Well...’ She was flustered and knew her cheeks would have reddened, hating it and knowing he, too, would have noticed. ‘For a start, I’m still in a relationship...’
‘Ah, yes, Jeremy.’ He inhaled deeply. ‘I was forgetting Jeremy.’ There was a definite touch of sarcasm in his voice now and Rachel felt herself rise to the bait.
‘Besides that,’ she went on hotly, ‘I don’t think it would be a good idea because—’
‘Because what?’ he interrupted her, raising his dark eyebrows, a gesture that in itself caused a rapid little thrill to shoot down her spine—a thrill she knew she would do well to ignore. But he was waiting...
‘Because, well, because we’ve been there, Nick,’ she said at last. ‘It didn’t work out then and there’s no reason to suppose it would be any different now.’
There, she’d said it. She half expected him to argue and was surprised—maybe even a little disappointed—when he merely shrugged.
‘OK,’ he said, ‘no date.’
‘Right.’ She stood up and bent down to retrieve her case.
‘But you can hardly call a Saturday afternoon at the Michaelmas Fair a date, can you?’ Nick obviously had no intention of giving up that easily. ‘At least, that wouldn’t figure as a date in my book,’ he went on. ‘And, besides, my daughter will be there and you said yourself you were going anyway.’ The spark of amusement was back in his eyes now, a spark that was every bit as dangerous and as devastating as his scowl.
Rachel took a deep breath. ‘I will no doubt see you there, Nick,’ she said firmly. As she turned towards the door, she added, ‘Thanks for the lunch.’
The Police Doctor's Discovery Page 7
