by Rob Ashman
‘We will come on to the stocktake in a minute, Kevin. Let’s stick with the dockets for a moment.’
‘But the results of the stocktake are critical here Detective,’ Cheryl Paignton intervened. ‘My client has explained to me how the process works and it would seem that any discrepancy would have been detected, and from the hospital records, all stock is accounted for. If he had stolen Suprane it would have shown up. My client has denied the accusation that he stole from the hospital and the stock control system verifies that to be true. It would appear that the most likely explanation is an administrative error on the part of the supplier. I do not see why this is being handled in such a heavy-handed manner. This is obviously an internal matter for the hospital to resolve with the supplier.’
‘Thank you but I would rather hear from Kevin,’ said Kray stepping into the discussion.
‘I am merely representing my client. He is finding this extremely stressful and has difficulties clearly articulating his thoughts.’
Kray glared at her and leaned forward placing her elbows on the table. ‘Do I have to remind you, Ms Paignton, that this is a triple homicide investigation and your client may be heavily implicated? That is why it is absolutely not an internal matter for the hospital to resolve. Your client does understand that, doesn’t he?’
‘My client is cooperating with your inquiries, Inspector and I fail to see how you can seriously accuse my client of stealing Suprane when the checks and balances which monitor and control stock levels are clearly all in order.’
‘Firstly, it’s Detective Inspector, and secondly, I agree with you the stock checks are in balance. But they only take into account the quantity of stock that has been physically checked into the store. Kevin knows that. He amended the paperwork to read fifty-one boxes when in actual fact fifty-two were delivered. He stole one box of Suprane and covered his tracks. Now the documentation shows that fifty-one boxes were delivered to the hospital and the same number were checked into store. When it comes to the end of month stock take, they are only looking for fifty-one boxes. The checks and balances do not include tying the delivery paperwork back to the original purchase order which does not match to the invoice. They simply take fifty-one boxes into stock and that’s all they check against.’
‘Are you suggesting the stock control system in the hospital is flawed, Detective Inspector?’
‘No, I’m not suggesting it, I’m telling you it is.’
‘But that is preposterous!’ Cheryl Paignton was either hell-bent on defending her client come what may or hadn’t grasped what she had just been told.
‘No, no, no,’ Chamberlain butted in. ‘The stock take is fine. I can’t have taken it or it would show up at the end of the month.’
‘The stock control procedures do not look at the full picture and you know that, Kevin,’ said Kray.
‘Know what? What do I know?’ Chamberlain was struggling to make sense of things. ‘The physical stock check balances, so I can’t have taken it.’
‘Kevin the way in which the stock take is carried out is incomplete and you know that. You know that if you take Suprane from the order and amend the paperwork then the stock will still balance at the end of the month.’
‘But the stocktake says everything is okay, so I can’t have stolen it.’
‘What did you do with the Suprane, Kevin?’ asked Kray.
‘The stocktake is fine. I didn’t take it.’
‘Can we take a break?’ Cheryl Paignton butted in. The penny had finally dropped.
Tavener declared the interview adjourned, gathered up the paperwork that was strewn over the desk and switched off the tape. Kray got up from the table and stomped out, followed by Tavener. They huddled together a little way down the corridor.
‘He took the Suprane, I’m convinced of it,’ Kray said.
‘I was watching him when you were describing the holes in the stocktake regime and he didn’t understand.’
‘I know and that’s where he got careless.’
‘I’m not sure Roz, he doesn’t strike me as someone smart enough to work a way around the system.’
‘How do you mean?’
‘I’m not saying Chamberlain is stupid but he’s not exactly a candidate for Mastermind. Can you honestly see him figuring this out for himself? I reckon he’s stealing to order. Someone else is pulling the strings.’
‘You think there is a second person involved? Someone who saw the holes in the system and is telling him what to take?’
‘It’s possible. Chamberlain is obviously not the man who killed Madeline or Lucy but I’m sure the Suprane he took got into the hands of the killer.’
The door to the interview room opened and Cheryl Paignton stuck her head out.
‘We are ready when you are?’
Kray smiled and held up her hand. ‘She’s getting right on my tits,’ she said through gritted teeth.
‘Before we go back in, how did you know the stock control process was wrong?’ Tavener asked.
‘It’s tenuous. It only makes sense to me,’ Kray continued walking.
‘No Roz, I want to know. How did you work it out?’
‘It was something Jackson said when he was talking bollocks about Aristotle.’
Tavener shook his head. ‘What?’
‘He said the whole is greater than the sum of the parts.’
‘I still don’t get it.’
‘Okay, in our case the whole should be greater than the sum of the parts, in other words, greater than the sum of the deliveries. Because Chamberlain is skimming product off the top before it makes its way into the stock control system. In other words, the whole of the stock should be greater than the sum of the amended deliveries.’ Kray looked at the blank expressions on Tavener’s face as her words came tumbling out. ‘See, I told you it would only make sense to me.’
‘Not sure it makes sense at all. And you say Jackson was talking …’
Kray shot him one of her death stares.
They trooped back in and took their seats. Tavener hit the button and the sound of the machine buzzing filled the room again. He went through the introductory routine once more.
‘What did you do with the Suprane, Kevin?’ Kray began from where she had left off.
‘My client now understands how the stocktake can be in balance when items could have been removed at the time of the delivery.’ Cheryl Paignton ignored the question. ‘He also understands the gravity of the situation—’
‘That’s great, now what did you do with the Suprane, Kevin?’ Kray interrupted.
‘If you would allow me to finish, Detective Inspector.’
‘Who did you give it to, Kevin?’
‘Detective Inspector!’ Cheryl Paignton was losing her rag. ‘My client now has a far better understanding of the situation he finds himself in—’
‘Who, Kevin, who did you pass the Suprane on to?’
‘This is intolerable—’
‘Who, Kevin, who did you give it to?’
‘I am terminating this—’
‘Harry Aldridge. I gave the stuff to Harry Aldridge.’
41
Kray was itching to leave. When she should be out chasing bad guys, she was cooped up in an expensive office chatting to a shrink. Jackson had made seeing a shrink a condition of her return to work. Forty-five minutes, once a week, each session scheduled into her diary for the next three months – it was like sticking hot needles in her eyeballs.
The room was comfortable and dimly lit. Dr Gilbert sat in a winged arm chair while Roz slouched on the couch. This was her fifth session.
‘I saw him,’ said Roz.
‘When was this?’ asked Gilbert.
‘The other night. I woke at around 3am to drink some water and when I dropped back off to sleep he was there.’
‘Was it good?’
‘Yes, it was good.’
‘What was he doing?’
‘He was in our kitchen, dressed in his favourite apron preparing di
nner.’
‘Was he happy?’
‘Yeah we were both happy. I was smiling, he was smiling. He was scoring the fat of a duck breast and drinking beer.’
‘Did he like to drink beer?’
‘Always. If he was cooking at home he always had a knife in one hand and a beer in the other. I was drinking beer too.’
‘Did you speak?’
‘Not much, I just watched as he prepared food. He was talking, I could see his lips moving but I couldn’t make out what he was saying.’
‘How did it feel?’
‘It felt like summer. We were warm and the sun spilled through the window splashing sunlight across the worktops. The BBQ was on and he was putting the finishing touches to a salad or something. He had that rolling chopping action going on, the one that shreds the vegetables really thin.’
‘That sounds good, but how did you feel?’
‘I felt hungry. Like I hadn’t eaten for a week. I was starving.’
‘Did you eat, Roz?’
‘No I never did. He kept chopping and washing food the whole time, cutting vegetables and marinating meat. He was chatting and I was listening, but I couldn’t hear what he was saying. We just smiled at each other and drank beer.’
‘How did he look?’
‘He was tanned and relaxed, like this was all he had to do - cut vegetables and prepare meat.’
‘You said you didn’t talk much, can you recall anything you said?
‘Yeah there was something.’
‘What did he say, Roz?’
‘Every now and again he would look at me and say, ‘We can have dinner whenever you’re ready, Roz. I have all the time in the world to cook dinner. When you’re ready, Roz, when you’re ready.’
‘And what do you think he meant by that?’
‘I’m not sure. I think he meant when I was ready we could have dinner together.’
‘And how do you think that would happen, Roz?’
‘We would have dinner together when I die.’
‘Long term goals are important, Roz but it would be more productive if you focussed on something more positive.’
‘Maybe not, there are times when I think having dinner with him soon would be good.’
I killed my mother when I was fourteen years of age. I didn’t mean to kill her, it just happened that way. However, I did watch her die while sitting on the top step of the cellar. Her body lay in a crumpled heap on the concrete floor below. Her head crooked over to the side at a weird angle.
It was during one of her fits of rage when she stripped me naked and ordered me into the cellar. But on this occasion she was in such a frenzy she forgot to lock the door. I can recall waiting for the sound of the bolt to be drawn across. I held my breath while I waited, but it never came.
I could hear her screaming upstairs and smashing crockery. Then it subsided and all was quiet. I sneaked up the stairs and nudged open the door. It creaked in protest like it was signalling my escape. I stood in the cloakroom listening to the noises outside – all was quiet. I cracked open the second door leading to the hallway and the light burned the backs of my eyes. I slid my slender frame through the gap and closed it behind me, she was nowhere to be seen. I could hear her moving around upstairs and the toilet flushing. This had never happened before; my heart was racing with anticipation and excitement. If she caught me I would be in deep trouble. The metallic sound of the pinking shears opening and closing grated in my head. I was frozen to the spot.
What was I going to do next? I had unexpectedly gained my freedom but had no idea what to do with it. Suddenly I heard her thumping around on the landing and the bedroom door clicking shut. She was on her way down. I panicked. My first reaction was to hurry back to the security of the cellar, but that damned door would give me away with its creaking hinges.
Fuck, fuck, fuck. She’s coming. What the hell am I going to do?
I fled into the kitchen and hunkered down behind a cupboard next to the bin. The wood and wallpaper felt cold against my exposed skin as I pressed myself tight into the corner. I heard her slippered feet on the hard wood floor in the hallway. She shuffled into the lounge and switched on the TV.
Shit, what am I doing?
I needed to get back to the cellar but my route took me past the living room door. What if she saw me? What if she met me in all my nakedness on my way under the stairs? And then there was that fucking door with its squealing hinges waiting to give me away…
I heard the lounge door swish across the carpet and her footsteps on the wood, they were getting further away. She must be going back upstairs. This was my chance. I sneaked a glance around the unit to see her walking away from me towards the front door. Maybe she was going out? No, not in her slippers, she would never leave the house in her slippers. Then she turned and I ducked away. I heard her open the door to the cloakroom under the stairs and then the house was filled with the most terrifying scream. It curdled my blood and numbed my senses.
‘What the fuck are you doing?’ my mother shrieked. The door to the cellar was ajar. I could feel the warm trickle of urine against my leg as fear consumed me.
‘Where are you, boy?’ she yelled yanking the door open and staring down into the blackness. ‘Answer me you little shit. Answer me!’ I could hear her banging around in the cloakroom and then the kitchen door burst open against its hinges.
Fuck!
‘You little shit!’ she yelled. Drawers were being yanked open and banged shut along with the sound of cutlery clanking together. Then the noise that I dreaded most – metal shearing against metal. She had found the pinking shears.
‘Where are you, boy?’ she cried as she snapped the blades together. I felt more piss drip onto my feet as I crouched behind the unit, shaking. ‘I have something for you.’
She left the kitchen and went back to the cloakroom. I could hear the echoed tones of her voice as she yelled down the stairs into the darkness.
‘Get ready boy, cos I’m gonna fucking cut it off this time. I’ll make you a proper girl yet.’
I broke cover and ran through the kitchen to the hallway. I could see my mother stood in the doorway staring down into the cellar with the shears in her hand. In that split second I thought about running out into the street, showing the world what an evil bitch my mother really was, showing the whole world what they steadfastly chose to ignore.
The thought only remained in my head for an instant before another thought took hold. A much better option.
I veered to the right into the cloakroom and shoved her in the back. I think she must have heard me coming because her head turned to the side, but it was too late.
My mother tumbled through the doorway. Her right hand grasped at thin air, reaching for the handrail to arrest her fall. But there was no handrail. She toppled sideways from the top step and landed with a bone crunching splat on the floor below. I stared into the vacant space which, milliseconds before, had contained my mother, but was now nothing more than a gaping black hole.
I sat on the top step staring down to the floor below and listened. Nothing. The grey outline of her body stood out against the dark concrete.
I sat like that for two hours watching her die. Occasionally she regained consciousness enough to croak and moan but she soon slipped back under and the peaceful silence wrapped around me once more. At one point I thought I saw her looking up at me, mouthing something I couldn’t hear.
The back of my hand grazed along the plaster, keeping tight to the wall, as I descended into the darkness. I flicked on the light and found the pinking shears that had been tossed against the back wall. I knelt beside her. She was all twisted and limp, her eyes were open. I put my ear to her chest – everything was still. There was a smear of matted blood on the side of her head. She looked happy.
I made my way back upstairs, replaced the shears in the drawer and retreated into the living room to watch TV while eating breakfast cereal from the box. The phone lay beside me. After several episodes of
my favourite TV show, I pulled on some clothes and dialled 999. The paramedics arrived quickly. Then the police turned up and the questions started.
The coroner reached a verdict of accidental death and I gave a stunning performance as the grieving son. The court put me into foster care until a suitable guardian could be found, which was a joke. Whoever fucking decided my uncle Greg was suitable for anything wants shooting. For the next four years I fended largely for myself at the family home while he pissed the allowance money up against the wall.
I never did get around to fitting that handrail to the stairs leading down to the cellar. Even now, when my left hand touches the cool plaster as I descend into the darkness, it is a glorious reminder of my freedom. And when the house is deathly quiet I can still hear her moaning in the cellar. It makes me smile.
42
Kray marched into the interview room, which seemed even smaller with the lanky frames of Tavener and Aldridge shoe-horned in behind the desk. She was late, courtesy of the shrink.
‘Am I being arrested?’ Aldridge asked.
‘No, we have a couple of questions we want to ask you in relation to the theft of Suprane from the hospital,’ Kray replied taking a seat opposite him.
‘Not that again, don’t you people have better things to do?’
‘As it stands at the moment, Harry, this is precisely what we need to do. You can have a solicitor present if you wish but you are not under caution.’
‘Get on with it.’
‘Firstly, when we arrived at your home we found you packing a bag into your car. It looked like you were about to take a little trip, Harry. Where were you going?’
‘What does that have to do with anything?’
‘I checked with the hospital and you have not booked leave for today but you appeared to be going away somewhere in a hurry.’
‘I’m employed by the Home Office not the hospital. I have a stressful job and occasionally I like to take off to the countryside and leave it all behind me.’
‘Without letting your employer know you’re going? They must be very accommodating.’
