First Blood

by Claire Rayner

  ‘Hmm,’ George said and nodded. ‘I take your point. So when and where can we talk?’

  ‘In twenty minutes or thereabouts, like I said. I should get away easy enough. There’s no big push on, on account there’s not a lot we can look at at present.’

  ‘There will be now,’ she said. ‘I’ve found out how it was done.’

  He lit up. ‘Ye have? That’s grand news. Tell me.’

  ‘Like you said, not here, not now. Where shall we –’

  ‘There’s an Indian restaurant away down the other side of Watney Street market – they call it The Eastern Raj; very clever, seeing where it is an’ all that – I’ll meet you there as soon as I can.’

  And George, thinking of Toby knocking on her door in the doctors’ residence in the next half-hour, agreed.

  ‘I suppose there’s no chance one of the other people from the station’ll come in and see us and tell Hathaway we’ve been talking? It makes no difference to me, but it might to you.’

  ‘You’re right, it would. But there’s no chance. They never come in here.’ He made a small grimace. ‘They never eat, to tell you the truth. They go to The Green Man all the time and have their lunches and suppers in a glass.’

  ‘But you don’t mind a drink,’ George said, looking at the lager beside his plate. ‘So why –’

  ‘Ah, first things first! I canna be spending all my time hanging around pubs. Me, I’d sooner have a place where you eat and can get a drink than a place where you drink and can sometimes get a sandwich.’

  ‘Oh, but it’s good to be with a Scot again,’ she cried impulsively. ‘I hadn’t realized I missed Inverness so much.’

  He looked pleased and flustered and then leaned back as the waiter appeared with a plate of onion bhajis. ‘Well, I’m no’ from Inverness, but still …’

  ‘Eat those quickly. I’m dying to hear what you’ve got for me,’ she said, needing to relieve his embarrassment. ‘I can see why you wanted to eat first, but all the same it’s driving me mad.’

  ‘I’m no’ fair to keep you waiting, then,’ he said with his mouth full. ‘Here, you look at that. If you’re sure you don’t want some of these?’

  ‘I’m sure,’ she said eagerly and reached for the paper he’d pulled out of his breast pocket.

  She smoothed it out and read it fast and then again more slowly as he chewed cheerfully and watched with happy anticipation. She looked up at him, her forehead creased.

  ‘I don’t understand. How did you think to look for this? And you’re sure it’s the same person?’

  He grinned and wiped his mouth with a flourish of his table napkin. ‘I’d like to be able to tell you it was my own brilliant idea, but it wasn’t. I sent the request through to the computer operator at my friend’s nick, over in Wimbledon. I thought it’d be a bit, shall we say, more discreet. We tap into the same database, you understand, but there’s less chance of anyone wondering why such information is being looked for. My friend Peter never asks questions any more than I do when he asks me for favours like this.’

  ‘You’re a resourceful pair,’ she said.

  ‘We are that. We’re ambitious, do you see? This way we help each other. And he passed it down to his clerk and it was he who got it arse about face, if you’ll excuse the expression.’

  ‘Indeed I will. But you checked the proper way round as well?’

  ‘Of course! What do you take me for? As soon as he sent the first printout I called Peter and asked him what had happened. He checked and came back and told me that the clerk had assumed it was written Army style, surname first. I hadn’t specified, do you see.’

  ‘I can see how it happened.’ She looked again at the piece of paper and then read it aloud. ‘Mitchell, J. Formby. I suppose Formby could be a first name here in Britain. It’s common at home, of course, for people to have an extra surname. They take their mother’s.’

  ‘And don’t forget there was also the J. – John. He just uses that as an initial both ways. And why not? Aren’t there lots of names that could serve either way? My own, for a start. There are plenty of people surnamed Michael. And I dare say your name might confuse some.’

  She grinned. ‘It does even when it’s the right way round. They expect an old man. What they get is me.’

  ‘I can see it would surprise a few. So there you are! Your man has a nasty record and a fancy way of dealing with it.’

  She shook her head. ‘I still don’t see how he got away with it. I mean, when he applied for this job at Old East, he must have known it wasn’t enough just to turn his name round. They’d have found out he had a record, surely?’

  Michael shrugged. ‘Why not risk it? He strikes me as a man who takes risks, for all you say. He tells you this whole tale about being a sex offender and risks you going to check it out and finding it’s not true.’

  ‘Maybe he didn’t think I’d be able to check.’

  ‘Not him. He thought of it, but he gambled. I dare say if you went back now and told him you’d looked in the records and there was no sex offence nor any suspended sentence listed anywhere against him, he’d have another tale to tell you. The one thing he didn’t think was likely was that you’d realize he’d simply turned his name around to hide a much more important offence.’

  ‘More important? Than rape?’

  ‘More important to him, seeing the sort of job he has. And it worked, didn’t it? I dare say the hospital took up references, made searches for past misdeeds, and found nothing under Formby, M.J. If they’d looked under Mitchell, J. Formby, of course –’

  ‘They’d have seen he’d been convicted of embezzlement. Yes, I suppose it would be more embarrassing to him to have that known.’ She frowned suddenly. ‘He really has to be a bastard, you know. To pick on that poor woman to wrap his lies around, and to think that pleading a sex crime would make me be kinder to him. Jesus! What a man!’

  ‘Well, there it is then. Yon John Formby Mitchell is a known embezzler who’s worked in major businesses before, and he’s doing it again. Working, I mean, in a position where he could commit the same crime as he did last time. So, now’ – he leaned back in his seat again as the waiter brought their main courses – ‘now, maybe you’ll tell me why you wanted to know. I mean, what was it about him that put you on to the possibility that he might be bad news?’

  She was silent until the waiter had gone and then said carefully, ‘Michael, I think we may have a problem, you and I.’

  ‘How’s that?’

  ‘With your Guv’nor. The thing is, I think I now know who killed Oxford. Or perhaps did. I can’t see any link between the two yet, but it has to be. There can’t be two villains in the same place at the same time. It’d be stretching credulity too far.’

  ‘You’re saying that this Mitchell fella did for Oxford?’

  ‘It seems possible, doesn’t it? Let me explain: there’s more. He’s been behind a series of hospital thefts, I’m certain of it. The system is simple. Terribly simple. He arranges thefts of expensive equipment, right? Then he draws cheques from various funds over which he has some control to replace said equipment. He has the invoices made out to some spurious company or other, I imagine, and then replacement goods are duly delivered. Only they’re not replacements. They’re the original stolen property. Mitchell walks away with the price of the goods for very little effort. He has to pay something to the people he hires to act as his delivery men – and thieves – but the profits have to be high. Those microscopes he stole from us and then replaced cost around twenty thousand pounds apiece. And there were three of them.’

  Michael pursed his lips. ‘Hey, hey! That means he made a round – well, it couldna be less than fifty thousand, allowing for any expenses he had to pay to these other people.’

  ‘And that was just one such theft. There’s been a rash of them. ECG machines – I don’t know what they cost, but I dare say it’s expensive enough, and then there were some electronic inflation infusion pumps and I do know they can cost up
to seven thousand each. I had to look up something and they were in the same catalogue and I was amazed they were so pricey. And I think half a dozen of those walked.’

  ‘He’s made a grand sum of money, then?’

  They sat and stared at each other for some time, leaving their lamb korma cooling in front of them, and then he said abruptly, ‘We’ll have to tell the Guv’nor, of course.’

  ‘Of course. And he’ll find out you helped me –’

  ‘– and I’ll be for the high jump.’ He stared at her lugubriously and then said something in a low voice which made her quirk her head in enquiry.

  ‘Never mind. I was swearing in the Gaelic. We’ll have to think about how we get out of this, will we not?’

  ‘I’ll think of something,’ she said and was silent again for a long time. Suddenly she brightened. ‘I think it’s time I met your friend Peter.’

  ‘Eh?’

  ‘Peter. If I were a friend who had asked him to do the searching for me, it wouldn’t involve you at all, would it? And your Guv’nor can huff and puff at me till his ears fall off with the tension – I wouldn’t mind at all. Not at all. In fact, I might quite enjoy it.’

  A slow grin moved across his face. ‘You’re a grand woman, Dr B.’

  ‘You’ve said that before. Now eat your supper, it’s getting cold.’ And she began to eat herself, for suddenly her appetite had returned in a very healthy state.

  Her good temper remained with her until they’d finished their meal with a little bowl of sugared fennel seeds and cardamom-scented coffee and argued amiably over the bill, agreeing in the end each to settle their own. It was important to George that they should do that; the last thing she wanted was to have a young detective constable getting proprietorial over her. Life was complicated enough as it was. But he gave in gracefully in the end, and when they reached the pavement outside the restaurant, shook her hand cheerfully.

  ‘I’ll fix up for you to talk to Peter tomorrow on the Phone,’ Michael promised. ‘I’ll explain it all to him tonight as soon as I get back to my flat – he’s used to late-night calls from me – and then you can go along to the Guv’nor and tell it all to him. Though I have to say I agree with you, I canna see yet how the man’s linked with the Oxford case. But that’s not so important. We’ve got to get him sorted as a thief first, and, Doctor –’ He hesitated and she looked up at him in the metallic light thrown by a sodium street lamp above their heads, at the way his face seemed to shimmer behind the clouds of breath vapour that surrounded him on this cold night, and smiled. He was an endearing lad, she thought. Pity he’s younger than me – and could have slapped herself. Would she never stop noticing men this way? ‘Doctor, I’m grateful to you.’

  ‘Whatever for? It’s I who owe you a debt for digging this out for me.’

  ‘Not a bit of it. I tell you what, you’re a grand woman.’

  ‘Do stop saying that.’

  ‘And if I can do more, I will. If we can think of a decent reason for it, I’ll gladly take you over to the Oxford flat so that we can look at his computer and stuff. You said you wanted to.’

  Excitement leaped in her at the idea, but she had to shake her head. ‘You’re a grand man yourself, Michael, but I don’t see we can do that and keep you out of it. You’ve been marvellous so far; let’s not push our luck. I think I should be able to persuade Hathaway to let me have a look, once I bring this into him.’ Then it was her turn to stop and think. ‘Now I feel guilty about you.’

  ‘No need.’

  ‘Every need. This could have been promotion material if you’d brought it in.’

  ‘Not at all. The idea was yours. I can make the top by my own ideas, never you fear. I don’t need to claim this. Good night to you, Dr B. I’ll not see you back to the hospital. It isn’t far and –’

  ‘– and it would never do for us to be seen together.’

  ‘Exactly. Our CID lads go round in the cars quite often. They don’t come here, for this is a precinct and the cars can’t get in. It’s just the uniformed lads sometimes, so it’s all right here. I’ll make sure Peter phones you tomorrow, then. And I’ll look forward to what happens when you’ve talked to the Guv’nor.’ He chuckled, a rich little sound deep in his throat. ‘I’ll enjoy that.’

  The walk back to the hospital was bitterly cold and she stepped out smartly, her chin tucked into her collar so that her warm breath would not be wasted, and wondered where she’d put the furry ear muffs that she’d brought with her from Buffalo. She’d hidden them away when the fuss about fur started, but right now she’d be prepared to risk the wrath of any passing animal liberationist to be warm. Her ears were stinging with the icy air.

  As she got nearer to the hospital she tried to keep her mind fixed on such matters as her cold ears, the ear muffs, the call tomorrow from the unknown Peter who was to be her ally, and what would happen when she told Gus Hathaway of her discovery. But in spite of all that, it wasn’t possible fully to exclude thoughts of Toby Bellamy. Had he been angry when she hadn’t returned to the residence? She’d not agreed to go out with him, of course. He’d just taken it for granted that she’d be there. Well, she hadn’t been and she hoped, oh how she hoped, that he’d been disappointed and hurt.

  He doesn’t matter, she told herself furiously, as she made the last turn that brought her in through the hospital’s main gates, slipping past an emerging ambulance and pressing herself against the wall to let another come in immediately after it. He’s possibly a murderer, according to Gus Hathaway – even though she herself was convinced it was Mitchell Formby, – or rather Formby Mitchell, who was the killer – and he’s certainly a philanderer. As the word came into her mind she relaxed. It was so stuffy and old-fashioned a word and she was being a silly old-fashioned person to create so much. Why should she, after all? Weren’t there as many good fish ready for the tickling as she could possibly need? Michael Urquhart clearly thought highly of her, so why should she care that a worm like Bellamy had treated her badly? Modern women don’t give a damn about men like him, she told herself firmly as at last she reached the walkway that led to the medical residence on the far side of the private wing. They live their own lives their own way and don’t give a damn about male opinions –

  ‘Dr Barnabas! Dr Barnabas!’

  She stopped and turned and peered back into the darkness. Someone was running towards her and panting hard.

  ‘Are you wanting me?’ she called and stood still as the fellow came running up to stand in front of her, gasping for breath.

  ‘Take it easy,’ she said cheerfully, looking at the familiar face of Bittacy, the A & E Head Porter. ‘You’ll give yourself a coronary.’

  ‘Am I glad to find you,’ he panted. ‘I been lookin’ everywhere for you, Dr Barnabas. There’s been a call out for you this past hour and gone. We tried your bleep.’

  She swore under her breath. ‘I forgot to switch it on. Sorry. What is it?’

  ‘Police, doctor. They got a body for you, want you to come to the scene as soon as possible.’

  ‘I’ll get my kit,’ she said and pushed past him to go back to the main hospital and her office in the lab. ‘Where’s the body? Are they sending a car, or –’

  ‘You don’t need no car, Dr Barnabas,’ the porter said, barely able to disguise his excitement. ‘You can walk it. It’s in the Barrie Ward building. The new bit. Fell off the main roof, he did. It’s a real mess.’

  21

  She sent Bittacy to fetch her kit and set off at a run to the Barrie Ward building site, cutting through the underground corridor that led beneath Blue block to the far side of the hospital grounds. It was quiet down there and smelled of dirty laundry and disinfectant and boiled cabbage, and her own hurried footsteps echoed back at her disagreeably from the cable-lined concrete walls, sending a shiver of real fear down her back. Atavistic, she found herself thinking. I’m being primeval. It’s like being afraid of the dark. You’re on your way to see death and you’re on your own, that’s wh
y you’re feeling so apprehensive. It’s silly.

  But when she got there she knew she hadn’t been silly. Part of her had expected and feared to find what was waiting for her.

  She had to climb over piles of bricks and breeze blocks to get to where she could see a few lights and shadows as people milled about and called to each other, and she tore her tights and swore, glad of the distraction; and then picked her way over raw frozen earth to reach the centre of activity beneath the skeleton of a building which stretched overhead into the blackness of the sky, showing pale squares where the spaces between the upright beams yawned into the blank interior.

  ‘Dr Barnabas, is that you?’ someone called. She squinted into the bright light that was thrown her way from a hand-held torch. ‘Glad you’re here. We’ve been waiting for you. This way, doctor.’ The torch wavered, beckoned and then showed the ground at her feet. She followed its beam obediently.

  Someone had set up a tarpaulin hung over a makeshift frame of battening. Behind it there were a couple of storm lanterns which had been set on the ground to throw glaring beams into the sky. The shadows made by the light were hard and dense, and she had to narrow her eyes to see clearly, for the contrast between the blackness and the vivid beams was stark.

  ‘Over here, doctor,’ the voice said and she followed it round the edge of the tarpaulin to look down at the body waiting for her.

  It lay on its front in a pile of assorted rubble and was bent into a clearly impossible posture, with the left leg almost at a right angle to the trunk and the arms crumpled beneath the chest. The head was turned sideways with the face away from her, and she moved round to look at it, though she knew what she would see.