‘But Eleanor,’ protested Louisa, determined not to give up, ‘surely, if she’s carrying Max’s child, she is our responsibility. By no stretch of the imagination could she be called the Inspector’s.’ She gave Thanet a shy smile. ‘I think it was very caring of him to bring her to us.’ She ignored Eleanor’s snort at the word ‘caring’. ‘It would have been only too easy for him just to put her on the train back to London and wash his hands of her.’
If she was as close to Max as she claims, she’s bound to know he comes from a fairly well-off family,’ said Hartley. ‘When she found out he was dead I bet she asked you for our address, didn’t she?’ he said to Thanet.
Thanet shook his head. ‘She didn’t ask a single question about Max’s family. She was so distraught after such a shock that I think she was incapable of thinking rationally at all.’
‘What did you think of her, Inspector?’ said Louisa. ‘Did she strike you as being the calculating type?’
‘Not in the least.’
Eleanor Jeopard gave a derisory snort. ‘A pretty girl can pull the wool over most men’s eyes,’ she said. ‘Especially if she has a sob story to tell. She could have slept with dozens of men, for all we know, and the child could have been fathered by any one of them.’
Louisa Burke stood up, in an unconscious need, perhaps, to repudiate her usual subservience to her sister and underline the importance of what she was about to say. ‘Have you thought what will happen, Eleanor, if we refuse to help her or have anything to do with her? With no money, what will she do? Where will she go?’
‘Back on the streets, perhaps, where she probably belongs.’
How callous can you get? thought Thanet.
Louisa Burke was equally shocked. ‘I can’t believe you really said that, Eleanor. You’d actually be prepared to let that happen? When she might be carrying Max’s child? Your grandchild, as the Inspector so rightly points out?’
Hartley intervened. ‘We could pay her air fare back to Brazil.’
‘And then what?’ said his aunt. ‘From what we hear, she has no resources there. And,’ she added, turning back to her sister, ‘can you really tell me that you are prepared to let her disappear into the blue? That even if her story is genuine and this is Max’s baby, you’re willing to lose touch with her permanently?’
This had struck home. Eleanor Jeopard’s lips tightened and for the first time since Thanet had told her that Rosinha was pregnant a hint of doubt appeared in her eyes.
‘Would it not be sensible,’ he said, ‘to play safe? As I said, when the child is born it will be a simple matter to establish whether or not Max is the father.’
She was weakening, he could tell. She was blinking rapidly and her mouth was working, her hands plucking restlessly at the mohair rug which covered her knees.
He pressed home his advantage. ‘Can you risk,’ he said gently, ‘never knowing for certain?’
SIXTEEN
‘That was what clinched it,’ said Thanet. ‘She knew that if she let Rosinha walk away now without even seeing her, she might lose contact with her completely and she would never know for sure if it was Max’s baby. She couldn’t bear the prospect of that.’
He and Lineham were driving back to Sturrenden. Mrs Jeopard had reluctantly volunteered to take Rosinha in, for the moment at least, making it clear that this was only a temporary arrangement while the situation was considered and enquiries into Rosinha’s background were made, and Hartley was going to drive the girl back to London to collect her suitcase from the hotel.
Lineham grinned. ‘I’d love to have seen the old bat’s face when you told her.’
‘I just hope we’ve done the right thing.’
‘Stop worrying, sir! As I said before, at least the girl will now have a roof over her head.’
‘But for how long, Mike? I did make it clear to Mrs Jeopard that I was pretty certain Rosinha wouldn’t be allowed to stay here permanently. You’d better ring Croydon to find out what the position is. We don’t want to be accused of encouraging illegal immigrants!’
‘What time did you say your appointment is, with the chiropractor?’
‘Five o’clock.’ Thanet glanced at the dashboard clock. It was twenty to five. ‘I should just make it.’
But he hadn’t allowed for late-afternoon traffic. They should have gone out to the Jeopard house in separate cars, he realised, then he could have gone straight to the clinic. He didn’t feel he could ask Lineham to hang about waiting for him while he kept the appointment and by the time they’d got back to Headquarters and Thanet had picked up his car it was already five past. He arrived at reception twenty minutes late.
I’m so sorry. I do apologise. The traffic . . .’
The receptionist was middle-aged, with a round, pleasant face, wispy brown hair put up in a precarious bun and layers of flowing garments of ethnic design. She gave him a reassuring smile, revealing a set of perfectly even over-large false teeth. ‘Don’t worry,’ she said. ‘Miss Carmel has only just finished with her previous patient and you are the last for today.’
Janet Carmel was brisk and businesslike in tracksuit and training shoes. She was in her late thirties, tall and slim with straight fair hair caught back in a pony-tail and very direct blue eyes. Knowing that her profession abounded in unqualified practitioners, Thanet had taken care before making the appointment to check that she was a registered chiropractor. She had, he discovered, taken a full-time four-year course at a College of Chiropractic.
Medical history noted, he found himself stripped to his underpants, gowned and lying on his back on an examining couch which she cranked up to an appropriate height for the treatment. He had rarely felt so vulnerable. What was coming next? What, exactly, did chiropractors do?
‘I think I’ve changed my mind about this,’ he said with a nervous laugh.
She recognised that he wasn’t entirely joking and gave a reassuring smile. ‘Don’t worry,’ she said. ‘It’ll be all right, I promise.’
Believe her, Thanet told himself. She is qualified, after all.
‘Now,’ she said. ‘I want you to extend your right arm up into the air and clench your fist. I am going to say “Hold”, and try to push it down. I want you to resist the pressure if you can. Do you understand?’
‘I think so.’
‘Right, then.’ Miss Carmel grasped his clenched fist in her left hand, inserted her right hand under Thanet’s back, and simultaneously pressed her fingers against one of his vertebrae and pushed against his extended arm. ‘Hold.’
Thanet successfully resisted the pressure and his arm remained in a vertical position.
‘Good,’ she said. ‘Again.’ Pressing her fingers against a different vertebra she repeated the process. He again resisted the pressure against his right arm. What on earth was this telling her? he wondered. Over and over again she went through the same motions. ‘Hold . . . Hold . . . Hold.’
Thanet was beginning to think that this was a completely pointless exercise when suddenly, when she said ‘Hold’, his right arm seemed to lose all power of resistance and she pushed it down with ease.
‘Ah,’ she said, and repeated the same pressure, the same movement, this time pushing his arm down with only one finger.
‘Why did it do that?’ He was astounded. His mind was telling his arm to remain vertical, his body was refusing to obey.
‘Because your brain knows that there is something wrong in that area. This is where your major problem is. It’s as I suspected, when you told me about the original injury to your back, heaving that lawnmower into the boot of your car.’
‘So what’s wrong, exactly?’
It’s your sacroiliac joint, the big joint at the base of your spine. It’s been strained and it’s unstable. Over the years the instability has increased and because it’s a major weight-bearing joint your body has had to compensate, thus putting strain on other joints. This is why your back pain has been so general.’
‘So can anything be done to
put it right?’
‘I can certainly put it back in position. The problem is going to be getting it to stay there in the long term. As this is a long-standing injury the ligaments holding it in position have become stretched and slack so they can’t hold the joint together. Your body is now used to the instability; it’s been programmed to accept it, so to speak. One of the difficulties is going to be in reprogramming your brain to a different assessment of the situation.’
‘That doesn’t sound very optimistic.’
‘I wouldn’t say that. I can’t promise anything, but I think there’s a good chance it could be treated successfully. It would take time, though. You can’t eliminate twenty years of damage in a matter of weeks.’
‘So what sort of timescale are we talking about?’
‘It’s really impossible to tell. What I would propose is that we begin with a course of four weekly treatments, then reassess the situation. By then I should have a good idea of whether or not it’s going to work.’
‘But you think there’s a chance that it might.’
‘A good chance, yes.’
‘Then I’ll try it. After all those years of backache any chance is worth taking!’
‘Right, then. Turn on to your right side, please.’
Apprehensively, Thanet allowed his position to be adjusted to her satisfaction, trying not to tense up in anticipation of what was coming. Relax, he told himself. Relax.
‘Try to relax,’ she said. Then grasping his left shoulder firmly with one hand, his right hip with the other, she performed a rocking, twisting movement which culminated in a final jerk. There was a cracking sensation at the base of his spine and it was over.
‘On your back again now, please,’ she said calmly.
Gingerly, Thanet turned over. His spine was still intact, it seemed.
Reverting to her diagnostic procedure she went through the same process as before. This time, to his further astonishment, when she pressed the place where his arm had formerly shown no resistance it remained firmly in the air.
‘Ah, that’s better,’ she said, with satisfaction.
The treatment continued. At one point, to his surprise she donned rubber gloves and putting her fingers into his mouth did some uncomfortable pressure movements inside, for cranial adjustment, she told him. Finally she inserted two large wedges under his buttocks, one on each side. These, she told him, were pelvic blocks and they realigned the sacroiliac joint and stabilised it. This process would also inform his brain that this was how things should really be in that region. When he left he was to take a ten-minute walk before getting into his car, to give both brain and body time to adjust to the new situation.
Thanet walked out of the consulting room feeling dazed. He couldn’t believe that someone had at last told him what, specifically, was wrong with him. Conscientiously taking his brief walk he was aware of a new ease of movement and absence of pain in his lower back. He had been warned that this might not last; after each of the first few treatments the joint would probably slip out of alignment again quite quickly. But for the first time in twenty years something constructive had actually been done to tackle what he had come to believe was an intractable problem and he felt a cautious optimism. Was it really possible that some permanent improvement could be achieved? He had arrived a sceptic and left a convert. He couldn’t wait to tell Joan all about it.
He arrived home before she did and started preparations for supper. She was surprised to see him. ‘I didn’t expect you yet!’
I came straight home after my appointment.’
‘So how did you get on?’ She took another look at his face and her eyebrows went up.
He held up his hands in a gesture of surrender and laughed. ‘All right, I admit it. You were right and I was wrong!’
‘Really? You mean, she actually managed to do something constructive?’
‘It was amazing!’
They sat down at the kitchen table while Thanet described the experience in detail. Joan listened with complete attention, her mobile face as responsive as always. When he had finished, she said, ‘Well, I’m delighted, of course, darling. Absolutely delighted. But please, don’t get too excited about it. She did say she couldn’t guarantee any long-term improvement.’
‘I know. But what she did, it’s made so much difference! The fascinating thing is that I wasn’t expecting it to. Just the opposite, in fact, as you know. Which makes it all the more convincing, don’t you see?’
‘Yes, of course I do.’ She got up, came around the table and kissed him. ‘All the same, let’s not get carried away. Let’s just wait and see, shall we? I just don’t want you to be disappointed if it doesn’t work.’
‘Talk about role reversal!’ said Thanet. ‘Usually I’m the one advising caution!’
His mood of euphoria lasted overnight and next morning he was up earlier than usual, delighted to find that the ever-present discomfort in his back was still considerably diminished. He felt as though he were firing on all four cylinders instead of the usual three and for once was at his desk before Lineham.
The sergeant’s eyebrows went up when he saw him. ‘You’re looking very pleased with yourself today!’
‘It’s the chiropractor. She was amazing!’
‘Really? That’s great!’ Lineham had seen at first hand how Thanet had suffered over the years and his pleasure was genuine. ‘You think she really might be able to help you?’
‘She says she’s willing to try, and thinks there’s a good chance she can. I’ll tell you all about it over a pint, later, Mike. I’ve been trying to catch up on the reports I didn’t write last night. Have a look through what’s come in, will you?’
For a while both men concentrated on their work. Finally Thanet sat back and said, ‘Well I think that’s it. So what’s new?’
‘Well, I’m afraid I haven’t found anyone to translate Rosinha’s letter yet. Does it matter, now we’ve seen her?’
‘Shouldn’t think so. No, leave it.’
Lineham consulted his notes. ‘DC Carson says the notepad was still there beside the telephone on the table in the hall at the Sylvesters’ house, so he’s sent it off to forensic with an urgent request for comment.’
‘Good.’
‘It would be terrific if they came up with something, wouldn’t it?’
‘Don’t suppose for a minute that they will. It’s a long shot, but worth trying. What else?’
‘You remember Sylvester told us that Barbara Mallis said she’d inherited money from her father? Well DC Martin says the old man is still alive and kicking and living in a council flat off the Old Kent Road. He’s a retired bus driver. Looks as though we were right, doesn’t it? No one could afford a BMW on a housekeeper’s salary.’
‘I agree. We’ll go and see her again. Though I doubt that we’ll get anywhere. She’s not the type to cave in easily. What does Martin say about Roper?’
‘Ah, well, he’s a different matter. You know we were wondering why he’d stayed so long with the Sylvesters? Apparently he’s paid almost double the going rate. I suppose they feel it’s worth it, to keep someone who really knows how to handle Carey. Also, and this is the point, he has a young sister who has psoriasis very badly – you know, that really extreme form of skin disease – and he’s spending a fortune on trying to find an effective treatment for her. His mother can’t speak too highly of him.’
‘He could still be involved with Mrs Sylvester, though, couldn’t he?’
‘Yes. And if he is, Barbara Mallis would be ideally placed to find out. So if she is blackmailing Mrs Sylvester, that’s probably why.’
‘Maybe.’ Thanet was frowning.
‘What’s the matter, sir?’
‘I don’t know, Mike. Say we’re right. Say that is what’s going on, and Sylvester suspects it. What possible relevance could it have to Jeopard’s murder?’
‘You’ve said yourself, sir, often enough, that you can never tell what relevance a fact might have, in a murde
r case.’
‘True. All the same . . .’
‘Sir! Look at the time!’
Draco was a stickler for punctuality and Thanet had barely one minute to get downstairs to the Superintendent’s office for the morning meeting. He didn’t want to risk incurring Draco’s displeasure again, after yesterday, and he shot out of his chair and down the stairs as fast as he could move. Boon had evidently given up on him and gone in.
Draco’s eyes went to the clock as Thanet entered. ‘Ah, Thanet. We were just about to begin.’
The Superintendent took Tody and Boon briskly through their reports and listened intently to Thanet’s. Then he opened a file on his desk.
Thanet’s heart sank. He knew the signs. What now?
Draco sat back, steepling his fingers. ‘I’ve been thinking about your case, Thanet. This lad Carey, the Sylvesters’ son. He’s a schizophrenic, you say?’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘You’ve interviewed him?’
‘As best I could, sir. It was . . . rather tricky.’
‘In what way?’
‘Well, one second he’d be rational, the next he’d be talking nonsense.’
‘Is he dangerous?’
‘I don’t know, sir.’
Draco gave what Thanet privately thought of as his crocodile smile; danger lurked behind it. ‘Then may I suggest you find out?’ He sat forward, picked up a newspaper cutting from the file in front of him and fixed Thanet with a gimlet-like stare. ‘I’ve been doing some research. This is an article from the Daily Telegraph, a reputable newspaper I think you will agree, whatever the colour of your politics. Admittedly it dates from last year, at the time of that television programme about the Zito case, I expect you remember all the fuss, but all the same the facts it gives are very interesting. If you remember, Zito was killed by a diagnosed schizophrenic who had been released into the community. As a result the National Schizophrenia Fellowship collated some figures. Just listen to this. According to them, in the year following Zito’s death there were seventeen cases of killings by schizophrenics, five of which were carried out by former mental hospital patients who had shown previous violent behaviour. Longer-term research had shown that over the thirty-three months up to the December before the article was written, there had been thirty-eight fatal attacks. Thirty-eight, Thanet! Over one a month!’ Draco tossed the cutting on to his desk. ‘I think the facts speak for themselves.’
Day for Dying Page 17
