Will Power

by Judith Cutler

  Furtive was replaced by hostile. ‘You’ll be aware of the proper procedure. Your solicitor will approach the court with a request, which we will respond to.’

  She sighed, a hot, tired, late-afternoon sigh. ‘Is that really necessary, Doctor? We’re talking a murder inquiry here. It’s a matter of eliminating people from our enquiries.’

  He put his fingers together in a steeple of smug self-satisfaction and shook his well-groomed head.

  ‘Did you know the couple well?’ She tried not to grit her teeth; he was, after all, within his rights.

  ‘They’ve been patients at this practice – let me see …’ He tapped his computer. ‘Oh, some fifteen years now. They became nominally my patients when Dr Morgan left us. Murder?’ he asked, at long last.

  If she offered him a titbit would it help thaw him? ‘Murder. A blow to the head. It’s possible she disturbed a burglar.’

  ‘So why do you want Mr Duncton’s records?’

  ‘It’s possible she didn’t.’ She turned on her dimpled smile. ‘So you can see why I need to look at his medical history.’

  ‘No, I can’t. Patient confidentiality, Miss – er. We have to respect patient confidentiality.’

  ‘Well, your patient’s currently dosed to the eyeballs, staring at the ceiling and weeping silently. And another one is on a mortuary slab.’ She winced at her melodrama, but pressed on. ‘It would help us, Doctor Smallwood, to check Mrs Duncton’s file too.’

  ‘I can’t see why.’

  Neither, at the moment, could Kate, but she wasn’t going to be outdone for cussedness. ‘Procedure,’ she said briefly. And, come to think of it, there was just a chance that Mrs Duncton had mentioned any possible oddities in her husband’s behaviour. Yes. Where had her brain been? ‘So if I might take it? I’ll receipt it appropriately, of course.’

  The car was baking. It was a pity about the open sun-roof. With precise, almost scientific accuracy, a bird had splodged prolifically right in the centre of the driving-seat.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Kate had been pleased that she had her own car to take her back to her part of the city. Rod was getting altogether too intense for her comfort. He seemed sublimely unaware of not just how deeply he’d hurt her before but also of the pressure any resumption of the relationship might put on her. Even if Graham weren’t in the frame, she wasn’t sure she wanted Rod again. And between him and Graham, there was no choice.

  Was there?

  Not certainly, if Graham had been free. Not, perhaps, if he could have spared her even a little more of his life than he did at the moment. On impulse, she pulled over to page her answerphone. Nothing.

  No, professional women didn’t cry just because their boyfriends didn’t ring them, especially professional women about to talk to potential witnesses. Right. Back into the traffic, which was so heavy she parked without hesitation on Mrs Hamilton’s drive.

  Edward barked when she pressed the bell. Then he stopped abruptly, and she fancied she could hear his feet scuttering off. Nothing else. She rang again. This time Edward barked with increasing urgency. Soon he was barking right by the letter flap. She peered through. He barked, and then made a little scurry away. When she did nothing, he did it again, and again. Suddenly, she felt sick. He was trying to tell her something. There was only one thing to do, wasn’t there?

  ‘Kate: I am sure we are wrong to do this,’ Max Cornfield said, watching her pumping the old lady’s chest. ‘She wouldn’t want—’

  ‘Just shut the fuck up and go and see if there’s any sign of that bloody paramedic!’

  Mrs Hamilton lay in the shade of Mrs Barr’s Leylandii hedge, a cup of still warm tea beside her. There was a pulse, now, just about, but Kate knew she needed hospital treatment immediately if she were to have any chance. Now she paused for breath, however, she wondered if Max were right – that Mrs Hamilton wouldn’t want to be pulled back to live the life of an invalid. Or worse.

  Or maybe better, of course. It’d surely take more than one seizure or heart attack or whatever to lay this woman low.

  She was glad, all the same, to be relieved of any further part in the proceedings. Max, running, brought the paramedics into the garden. Edward came back with him, whimpering and trying to lick the old lady’s face, only to be elbowed aside.

  Max took his collar. ‘Come on, old boy. Come with Max and help me pack mother’s case. Come on.’

  Off they went. Kate didn’t argue. Nor was she surprised when he returned a couple of minutes later with an overnight bag, a polythene bag containing bottles and bubble packs of pills, and an address book.

  ‘She showed me where everything was,’ he said quietly. ‘These are the numbers to phone, Kate. Can I go with her?’ he asked one of the paramedics. ‘Until her family come, that is. This is her regular medication, by the way.’ He handed it over. ‘Is there time for me to go and lock up my house?’

  ‘So long as it isn’t Fort Knox.’

  He went back the way they’d come in – over ladders he’d propped either side of the fence – and was waiting in the road by the time they’d carried the old lady through.

  ‘Let me just set her burglar alarm and lock the door,’ he said. ‘I’ll have to leave Edward in the garden, then he’ll come and stay with me till … till everything’s sorted out.’

  No, a man like this couldn’t have smashed a Ruskin vase over Mrs Duncton’s skull, could he?

  But it would be a long time – if ever – before Mrs Hamilton could provide him with an alibi. Or deny him one, of course. Meanwhile, she’d better follow the ambulance to Selly Oak Hospital, this time, where she sat in the car park, working through the list of phone numbers Max had provided.

  She’d almost finished – Mrs Hamilton’s relatives were widely spread, and all seemed grateful that Max Cornfield was on the scene – when there was an incoming call.

  ‘Kate?’ Graham asked cautiously, as if they might be overheard.

  ‘Yes!’ He’d hear the delight in her voice.

  ‘It looks as if I may have a free hour or two. Can I come round?’

  ‘Oh, Graham.’ She explained.

  ‘Can’t you leave everything to this Cornfield guy? It’s been so long, Kate.’

  The pleading in his voice was almost irresistible. ‘I’ll go and see what’s happening. I’ll ring you back.’

  She sprinted to A&E. Cornfield was sitting knees together, hands in lap. His eyes lowered, he might have been praying. Perhaps he was. It took him valuable seconds to register Kate’s presence.

  ‘Her grandson’s on his way from Worcester,’ she said. ‘And a nephew from Leicester. But they can’t be here till seven-thirty, eight.’

  ‘I’ll wait here for them,’ he said. ‘They’re good boys, Giles and Martin. They’ve got copies of her living will. For my own sake,’ he smiled ruefully, ‘I’m glad you resuscitated her. She’s a good neighbour. But she may not thank you.’

  ‘Will she live to thank me – or otherwise?’

  He shrugged sadly. ‘They won’t say either way. But if she lives, she’ll need more support than she’s been getting. And Edward will certainly need a home for a while. So it looks as if I can kiss my travelling goodbye.’

  ‘Travelling?’ she repeated sharply.

  ‘For the last forty odd years I’ve been nowhere. Seen no paintings, heard no music, basked only in the sun that chose to shine in the garden. There is a lot of world out there, Kate, and I want to see as much of it as I can before I too need resuscitating!’

  She sat down and looked him straight in the eye. ‘You do realise you mustn’t attempt to go anywhere until both Mrs Duncton’s murder and the will business have been cleared up. Anywhere.’

  ‘But tomorrow I’m supposed to go to Cheltenham.’

  ‘Yes. Thursday’s your day for travelling.’

  ‘You’d be surprised how lackadaisical letting agents can be – failing to inspect roofs and woodwork, for instance …’ He tailed off, as if aware that he was talk
ing for talking’s sake. He smiled ruefully at Kate. ‘I’m sure the irony that I maintain properties in distant cities to the highest of standards while living in a house on the verge of rack and ruin will not have escaped you. I used to pretend to Mrs Barr that her rents were much lower than they were so I could pay for repairs. And she had so much in the bank a little harmless deception is something I can sleep with.’

  She nodded. It all made eminent sense. ‘But you mustn’t go anywhere without letting me know.’ She gave him as many phone numbers as she could think of: Fraud, the incident room, her mobile.

  ‘And failure to phone you would result in?’

  ‘Probably your arrest.’

  ‘I see. You are taking this seriously.’

  ‘We always take murder seriously. And you’re one of several people involved in the inquiry.’

  ‘I see.’ He bit his lip.

  Now what? She couldn’t just leave him waiting here. She was the one in charge, for God’s sake. But Graham wanted her, and she wanted Graham. The only chance they’d had to be together and this must crop up. It wasn’t as if she could do anything. It wasn’t as if Mrs Hamilton would have wanted her around, even if she’d recognised her. But she couldn’t, try as she might, allow herself to leave the old lady with only a possible killer for company.

  For the first time she noticed how Cornfield was trembling. She laid her hand on his. ‘Let me get you a coffee. You look as if you need one.’

  He nodded. ‘I’ve known her so long. Such a lady, Kate, such a lady. She’s been unwell for so long, but refused to let go.’

  She got the coffee and then buttonholed one of the staff. No reason why she shouldn’t assert a little authority, in the form of her police ID, to find how things were going. And then felt horribly like Maeve Duncton, prodding people already overtaxed and under-resourced. And – in the case of the doctor, Karen Cammish, a houseman according to her badge, who crawled over to see her – overtired to the nth degree.

  The prognosis – both short and long term – was hardly encouraging. Mrs Hamilton was old and frail – tell her something new! – and either shock or exertion could tip the balance of a very weak heart.

  ‘Shock? You mean someone making her jump?’

  Cammish shrugged. ‘Could be anything. It could just stop of its own accord. That’s what happens when you’re eighty-six.’ She turned to go.

  ‘I’m asking a very serious question, here. Could someone deliberately have tried to scare her to death?’

  ‘D’you mean did someone try to kill her?’

  ‘Exactly that.’

  Cammish’s eyes opened wide, perhaps for the first time that day. ‘That’s a very serious allegation.’

  ‘Not an allegation. A question.’

  The young woman shifted uneasily. Kate felt guilty about putting her on the spot, but didn’t drop her gaze.

  ‘I think you should ask the cardiologist,’ Cammish said at last.

  ‘And where is he or she?’

  ‘Left about an hour ago. Look, I’ve got patients to see to.’

  ‘Of course you have. And I’ll talk to the cardiologist. Thanks.’

  Another little job for the following day. She pestered the reception staff again till she got the consultant’s name and his probable arrival time, and now – now she could step outside again and reach for her mobile. It was a perfect evening for lovers, wasn’t it, the air still and warm, ideal for sitting in the garden lingering over a post-coital glass of wine. And she was going to have to tell Graham that she had to stay where she was until she could run Max home.

  At least he understood, said he did anyway, even if he didn’t sound convinced. And he’d even promised to call back every half-hour as long as the coast was clear – he couldn’t risk Kate calling when his wife had returned. But she’d sensed a hint of resentment that she didn’t put him first. Well, that was no doubt what his wife had done all these years: accommodated shift work, watched dinners ruined by sudden overtime, sewed extra stripes on his shirts. And weren’t mistresses supposed to be even more accommodating?

  Not that she was a mistress, she told herself crossly. They were lovers, equals in this relationship. Weren’t they?

  It was time to get back to Max. He’d drunk the coffee, and disposed of the cup, and was now sitting exactly as he was before. As she sat down, he managed a bleak smile.

  ‘All these ladies,’ he said. ‘Mrs Barr and Maeve dead, and now Mrs Hamilton lying here helpless. Are you not afraid to sit down beside me, Miss Power, lest something dreadful happens to you?’

  Dave Allen said something similar when she phoned him from outside Mrs Hamilton’s house to report on her evening’s activities and to suggest she postponed interviewing other potential witnesses till the following morning.

  ‘Kiss of death material, this guy. Watch yourself, young Kate. Until you’ve got those witnesses, at least!’

  Hating herself, knowing there’d be nothing, she checked for messages. No, nothing from Graham. Nothing for it but to turn for home. She felt so dismal that she didn’t even stop off at the chippie for her favourite chicken tikka in a naan. A whisky, that was what she wanted. A whisky and a sandwich, and maybe not even the sandwich.

  She’d just finished the first glass, and the second sat beside her elbow, encouraging her through the paperwork, when the front doorbell rang.

  My God, it couldn’t be, could it? Not Graham! Please God, let it be Graham.

  She flew to answer it.

  Chapter Eighteen

  ‘You were expecting your man, weren’t you?’ Zenia asked, standing in the dusk on Kate’s doorstep. ‘Poor Kate, the way your face fell when you saw it was only me.’

  Kate made no attempt to deny it. ‘Come along in. I’ve just broached the whisky bottle.’

  ‘Oh, no, not spirits, thanks. They’re fine in punch but not on their own. No way.’ Zenia headed into the living room and sat down in a way that belied her next words. ‘Now, I won’t keep you. I can see you’re busy. But my cousin’s having this party and—’

  ‘We’re talking your cousin Rafe – the gorgeous one?’

  ‘We are. Can I tell him you’ll come?’

  ‘I’ve got a man, Zenia.’

  ‘You’ve got this much of a man.’ Zenia spread index finger and thumb. ‘That much only. You need the whole of a man, Kate.’

  ‘We love each other.’

  ‘So why was I on your doorstep, not him? And why you got the whisky and just the one glass?’ Her accent slipped from slightly Brummie towards distinctly patois. ‘You give my Rafe a chance, girl – he give you a better time all the time.’ She dropped her voice and leaned closer. ‘Tell you what, girl: the little you see of your married man, you could see both him and Rafe: Rafe’d never know the difference. And since when did anyone notice a slice off a cut loaf?’

  ‘I couldn’t … be … unfaithful to him.’

  Zenia exploded with laughter. ‘You mean you can’t fuck with anyone else while you’re waiting for him? Get real, girl, you think he doesn’t fuck his wife?’

  ‘I gather— I don’t think she likes—’

  ‘So he’s just coming to you for a quick poke. God, girl, doesn’t that make you feel a teeny bit like a whore?’

  Kate stood up fiercely. Then she subsided. ‘I love him.’

  ‘And maybe he love you. But I don’t see him here.’ Zenia knelt beside her and hugged her. ‘Oh, Kate: someone have to say these hard things. And seem to me that someone’s me.’

  The early phone call the next morning came not from Dave but from Derek to tell her that there was a letter on her desk with a foreign stamp. So instead of zapping straight across the city to Sutton Coldfield and the incident room, she joined the city centre chaos instead. As soon as she could, she phoned Dave Allen to explain and apologise. If she was expecting a howl of complaint, she didn’t get it.

  ‘I meant what I told you last night,’ he said. ‘Two women dead, a third at death’s door. It’s all beginni
ng to look a bit Harold Shipman, isn’t it? You want to watch yourself.’

  ‘I will, Gaffer. Tell you what, checking this new will stuff back here will take some time. Plus I want to decipher what Mrs Duncton’s GP laughingly calls handwriting. We don’t have Mr D’s file, however.’ She explained.

  ‘Bloody hell. Don’t these people realise we’re trying to find a killer?’

  ‘Apparently not.’

  ‘I’ll get someone on to it. Sounds as if you’re a bit busy.’

  ‘Just a bit. While you’re at it, Gaffer, is there any chance of a bit of uniform support checking house to house round Cornfield’s place? Some of the houses have been divided into offices or consulting rooms. Not to mention someone talking to the cardiologist treating Mrs H.’ She gave his name and clinic hours.

  ‘Your wish is my command,’ he said. ‘What time will you be in?’

  ‘As soon as I’ve chewed my next move over with DI King,’ she said. ‘I’ve an idea, though, Gaffer, that someone may be taking a couple of trips abroad, very soon.’

  ‘And that someone is you, Power,’ Lizzie said, ten minutes later, from her side of an overflowing desk. ‘Look, I’ve told you: we don’t fart around waiting for Foreign Office permission. I draw up a flowery letter on best headed paper asking in the most complicated English I can manage for the esteemed co-operation in the matter of whatever it is. It’s always worked for me. Every time.’

  Kate braced her legs. ‘With due respect, Gaffer, I’d rather go through the proper channels.’

  ‘This is an order, Power. We’re so under-strength I’d welcome that Big Issue seller down there in the squad and they go and bloody pull you out. Oh, it’s a case of what Rod Neville wants, Rod Neville gets. And don’t say I didn’t warn you next time he tries to get his hands in your knickers. Which you’ve certainly got in a twist over this will business.’ Lizzie laughed. ‘Now, you’re on your own as far as Portugal’s concerned, but, as it happens, I’ve got this old mate in Berlin. We had a bit of a fling when I was younger, between you and me. I’ll give him a buzz. Get him to meet you off the plane at Tegel, go with you to interview this Steiner guy and take you back to Tegel. Shouldn’t take you more than a day.’ The laugh became a cackle. ‘Though I wouldn’t blame you if you wanted to take twenty-four hours so long as you didn’t try to swing hotel expenses. If you want to fuck Jo, Kate, fuck him with my blessing, only do it in his flat.’