by ML Rose
"This is a police investigation, Miss Lawson. We do not know exactly how Dr Vaughan died. However, we have to pursue every channel of enquiry. Did he have any enemies in the hospital?"
"Well, enemies might be too strong a word. But he was a senior consultant, and he held his post for a long time. He also had a thriving private practice, as you might be aware."
Arla nodded.
"Which meant, some people, you know…" Ms Lawson's voice trailed off. "Well, they resented his success."
"Professional jealousy? Or something more serious?"
Miss Lawson held up both hands. "No, no. Just professional jealousy, nothing else. You have it in every department, everywhere in the world." Her eyebrows rose. "I daresay your department is no exception."
Arla nodded. "I suppose so. Could you please tell me who, apart from you, he had regular contact with in the hospital?"
"Well, they would be my consultant colleagues, and the nurses. There are three other consultants in this department. I think they are all in today."
“I would like to meet all of them, if possible."
Harry asked, "Of your consultant colleagues, was there anyone who didn't get on with Dr Vaughan?"
Miss Lawson flexed her jaws, then ran the tip of tongue across her upper lip. She cleared her throat and looked uncomfortable. Both Arla and Harry waited.
"Look, it's not my job to provoke anything…
Harry said, "Everything you tell us is confidential. You won't get into any trouble; we can assure you." Arla nodded her agreement.
Miss Lawson scratched the back of her neck with a long maroon nail. Arla wondered if the nails were fake. How could a surgeon operate with long nails?
"Stephen was here for the best part of two decades. There's a lot of talk he didn't let junior consultants rise up the rank. In fact, before my arrival, other doctors said he didn't allow consultant posts to be formed."
"How so?"
"Well, in any hospital, when it's time for workforce planning, the management ask for our advice. Stephen was the senior consultant, so management listen to him. Long story short, Stephen ruled the roost for as long as he could. Things changed when I arrived, but that's only because he retired. I was his replacement."
Arla pressed her lips together. "So is it fair to say that other consultants didn't like him?"
CHAPTER 18
Ms Lawson sighed. "Look, I've been here for three years now. I'm just telling you my side of the story. Stephen was always okay with me."
Very gently, Arla asked, "From our preliminary enquiries, it would seem Dr Vaughan had a reputation as a ladies’ man. Would you say that was true?"
Ms Lawson's face flushed. Then her nostrils flared as her eyes hardened. "What are you trying to say Inspector?"
Arla raised a hand to placate her. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to cause any offence. I just want to shed some light on Dr Vaughan's character, that's all."
Ms Lawson appeared slightly mollified. "If he was like that, I didn’t see much of it. But he was very competitive, even in his honorary role. Guess he became more mellow with age. He didn't see me as a threat to his private practice. It was a big source of his earnings, as it is for most NHS consultants."
Harry cleared his throat. "To return to my previous question. Were there any colleagues in particular that he clashed with?"
Ms Lawson sighed. "John Churchill. He’s quite a bit younger than Stephen, but they didn't get on. John blamed Stephen for hugging all the operative lists. As a result, John didn't get the experience he needed as a junior consultant. He also couldn't build up his private practice either. He blamed Stephen for not allowing the private hospitals to give him a clinic."
"Is that true?"
Miss Lawson shrugged and spread her hands. "I don't know. John has two sons in a private school, and a big mortgage. He needed the money, and he said Stephen didn't allow him to flourish."
"Because he was the competition?"
Ms Lawson nodded. "This is a wealthy part of London, as you know. Lots of opportunity for private practice. From what I've heard, Stephen didn't want anyone else to trample on his turf."
Arla wrote down private practice in her diary and circled it. Then she put an arrow on it and linked John Churchill's name.
"Who are the other two consultants?" Harry asked.
“Dean Maxwell and Sharmila Tagore. Sharmila has just come back from maternity leave, and is working part-time. I think she’s around; I'll have to bleep both her and John."
"If you wouldn't mind," Harry said.
They waited while Maureen called switchboard, and spoke to them briefly. She appeared to get hold of John Churchill, and had a brief conversation with him. He agreed to come to her office.
A few moments later there was a knock on the door. A tall, slim man walked in, wearing half sleeve surgical blues. His arms were muscled and strong. His blue eyes moved from Harry to Arla, then to Maureen. He was in his mid to late 40s, Arla decided. Maureen introduced them, and then gave John the news. A frown rippled across the calm expression on John's face.
"Found dead? In his own home?" His eyebrows lowered.
Arla studied him carefully. He stood very still, and his neck muscles remained relaxed. When someone was lying, they went to great lengths for the correct facial expression, but they ignored the neck muscles. To the trained eye, the neck muscles always contracted when one was lying.
"Yes, unfortunately." Arla sympathised. She showed John her warrant card, and so did Harry.
"But how? He did his morning list here a couple of weeks ago, right?"
"We cannot comment on that at the moment. But is it okay we ask you a few questions, as you were his colleague?"
John stared at her for a few seconds, then glanced at Maureen. She said, "I've spoken to them already. It's okay, John."
John looked worried. He pressed his lips together, and his fingers drummed against his thigh. "Well, I'm just about to start a clinic…"
"This won't take long," Harry interrupted. "This is a police investigation, and we only want five minutes of your time."
John's eyes were wide as he glanced from Harry to Arla. Then he appeared to make his mind up. He rocked back on his heels and reached for the door. "Would it be easier to talk in my office?"
"Yes, it would, thank you," Arla said.
She thanked Maureen, and followed John out into the corridor. John was shorter than Harry, but not by much. Arla observed his gait from behind, and as she stared at his back, a little niggle of doubt formed in the back of her mind.
The way he walked seemed familiar, for some reason. Then it flashed up on her mind with sudden, vicious clarity. She had spent a long time observing the hooded attacker on CCTV. The man who had climbed up the back wall and seemingly abducted Dr Vaughan in his own car. The way he moved around the car park. John Churchill’s gait was very similar.
Her eyes narrowed. Surely it was a coincidence? It had to be. After all, there could be any number of men whose movements would be similar to the man she had just seen on CCTV.
John opened the door of an office that was exactly the same as Maureen's. It had his name and title in gold letters on the door. They sat down at the table, opposite John.
In contrast to Maureen's office, John's workspace was neatly organised. There wasn't a single paper on the desktop. There was a laptop to the left, to pens in a holder, and a writing pad just next to the laptop. Arla glanced at the walls, and one photo arrested her gaze. It was of a man rock climbing. It was a personal photo, not a poster. She asked, "is that you?"
John looked at the photo, and then back to her. He was hesitating, and Arla could feel the little voice of suspicion louder in her mind now. Eventually, John nodded. "Yes," he's he said shortly. Then he looked away and leaned back in his chair, signalling the end of the conversation.
Arla persisted. "How long have you been rock climbing for?" She knew the person who had climbed up the back wall of Dr Vaughan's parking lot had to be an expert, or
at least have some experience of climbing.
Harry picked up on the tension. He rose and went to the wall, scrutinising the photo. It had John's name on it, and the date and location.
"Brecon Beacons, summer 2018," Harry read. "Free climbing, correct?" He pointed to the photo as he turned to face John. "You must be good."
Arla noticed John's breathing rate had picked up. In silence he stared at Harry for a few seconds. His voice was calm when he spoke, but it only served to betray the turmoil in his mind. "Yes, you could say that."
Arla smiled to herself. Modesty was evidently not one of his virtues. "How often do you climb now?"
John frowned, and let out a soft sigh. He was exasperated. But he was holding it in. "Every now and then. Is there a point to these questions, Inspector? I really have a lot of work to do."
"Where were you last night between 6:30 and 10 PM?"
"I was at home.”
“With your family?”
He hesitated again. “Well, I was in my home office which is in the garden. But yes, in the family home.”
“Can anyone confirm that?”
He shrugged. “My wife can, I’m sure.”
Harry said, "Do you mind if we come to your house to get a statement from your wife?" He glanced at Arla, who nodded approvingly.
Again, John hesitated. He tried to mask it by acting nonchalant, and shrugging. His fingers drummed on the desk and he crossed his legs. His right foot tapped on the floor. The knot of suspicion in Arla's mind was hardening. John couldn't wait to get out of here.
"Could we please have your phone number and email?" Arla asked. John gave Arla an irritated glance, then read out his number from memory.
"How was your relationship with Stephen Vaughan?"
"We were colleagues. He worked here for longer than I had."
"How long have you worked here for?"
"I started in 2014, so almost 7 years now."
"Did you see Dr Vaughan on a regular basis?"
"It's Mr Vaughan actually. Surgeons are not known by the prefix of doctor." John smiled placidly, knowing his slightly arrogant remark would annoy Arla. It did. She glared at him for a few seconds before continuing.
"Can you please answer the question?"
"He was honorary, as you must know. Which meant he only came here two mornings a week. I'm busy those mornings doing my list. In the afternoons I have my clinics, which are full. So no, after he retired, I didn't see a great deal of him."
"Did you ever visit his house? Did you know his family?"
John shook his head. Then he looked at his phone, and rose. "You have my contact details, feel free to get in touch. But I have patients waiting in the clinic. I really must go. I'm sure you understand."
Arla didn't want to stop a doctor from doing his work. She stepped aside. "Do you mind if we speak to your wife today?"
They were out on the corridor, and John was locking his door. Slowly, he turned round. "No, I don't. Goodbye, Inspector." He glanced at Harry, then turned and left.
Arla watched him go. His lopsided gait again ignited memories of the man she had seen on CCTV. A shiver skittered down her spine. Could this doctor really be the person in the parking lot last night?
CHAPTER 19
It was 7.30 in the morning, and Arla was at her desk. She had picked up a skinny cappuccino from the canteen and a cheese twist, which would be her indulgence for the day.
Now that she was a working mother, she didn't get much time to exercise. And she had to put in full time hours, because with Harry, she was saving up money for a deposit to buy a house in the future. She had no doubts that it would be incredibly difficult on their salaries. Between them, they had a more than decent income, but after bills and tax, what they got in hand wasn't a great deal.
Arla knew she would have to sacrifice her holidays, which she resented bitterly. But she also needed to think about Nicole's future, and hopefully, in the not-too-distant future there would be another addition to the family.
Arla sipped the scalding coffee, and smiled to herself. A sibling for Nicole would be fantastic, and it gave her a warm, fuzzy feeling inside. Harry wanted a boy, and she thought it would be nice. However, she knew that Harry wouldn't say no to two little girls either. He absolutely doted on Nicole. She looked like him, and judging by the amount of daddy's little girl T-shirts Nicole wore, and the gifts he bought her, there was no doubt Nicole would grow up spoilt by her father.
The only cloud in that horizon was Harry’s ongoing reluctance to getting married. He had a couple of male friends who were going through bitter divorce battles. Harry had some inheritance from his parents, and half of the house in Battersea, where Rita lived currently. In comparison, Arla had nothing. She knew Harry wanted to protect what was his, and she wouldn’t say no to signing a pre-nuptial. To her mind, that removed any worries Harry had about his assets. She hoped he didn’t have any other issues about getting married.
Arla sighed, putting her brooding aside. She reached for the folder that Rob had left on her desk. He had performed a small miracle and managed to serve a warrant to the phone company, and got hold of Dr Vaughan's call log.
Arla looked through the last two weeks’ worth of calls, circling the ones that appeared more than once. She opened up her laptop and looked at Dr Vaughan's website. There was a photo of the doctor, wearing a suit. He was 65 years old, but he was lean and fit for his age.
With his tanned face, and hair, he looked younger. She read through his CV once again, making sure she wasn't missing anything. His phone number and email, along with the numbers of his secretaries were on the website. On an impulse, Arla rang his phone. It went to voice message immediately. Which meant the phone had either run out of battery, or it had been turned off.
Her mind wandered back to the crime scene. His phone and laptop were missing. A search of the loft, and the rest of the property didn't reveal anything. But one thing was clear. Dr Vaughan had dinner with someone in his house last night. Which was strange, Arla thought, considering that he had been attacked in the parking lot of his private clinic. Did he drive back to his house with the attacker? That wasn't likely. Why would he sit down and have dinner with his attacker?
Arla's lips pinched together as she thought. The elderly neighbour, Miss Wilson, had clearly seen a woman outside his house last night. But how reliable was her statement? She admitted to not having seen the woman in daylight, and probably wouldn't recognise her. But for the time being, Arla had to assume that a woman did visit Dr Vaughan last night, after he had been attacked in the parking lot.
Arla tapped her pen on her writing pad. It was tantalising to think that John Churchill was the attacker. He was taking out his anger on Dr Vaughan, for denying him access to the private patients, and impeding his career progression.
But a lot of it didn't make sense. Even if John was the man on CCTV, would he actually kill Dr Vaughan?
Dr Vaughan's car left the parking lot at 10 PM, with the hooded man inside the car. It would take them about 20 minutes maximum to drive back to his house. Then they went inside, had dinner. Later, John took him upstairs and killed him?
Nope. Arla shook her head in frustration. Dr Vaughan did struggle, and there was no evidence of a physical fight inside the house. Of course, the evidence could have been cleaned up. But he wouldn’t sit down and have dinner with John before the murder.
The woman who visited last night fitted in much better as a dinner companion. Was she the killer? But it was unlikely that she fought him. Unlikely, but not impossible. Arla didn't know her age, or size. She could be much younger than him, and stronger.
She settled back in her chair, and blew out her cheeks. Her mental calisthenics was getting her nowhere. She needed to identify the woman, and the man on CCTV, but apart from John Churchill, she had no one.
There was a knock on her door and Lisa poked her head in. She came inside, followed by Rosslyn.
Lisa offered Arla a croissant which she declined. The tw
o detective sergeants sat down opposite her and opened up their tablets.
Lisa said, "I got a list of the patients who attended the Grandholme Road clinic in Clapham. Over the last three months, there's one name that pops up almost every week. It's a Baroness Pitt."
Lisa scrolled through the screens of her tablet. "And this month, she used to attend twice a week, both Thursdays and Fridays."
"Do we know anything else about her?"
Lisa said, "Her full name is Sandra Pitt, and she was awarded a knighthood and MBE almost a decade ago. She works in the Foreign and Commonwealth office, Undersecretary to the Foreign Affairs Minister. She’s 64, and close to retirement."
"Obviously, her health matters are confidential. I wonder though, what could be wrong with her that she needed to see Dr Vaughan so frequently?"
"I rang the FCO and got hold of her secretary’s number. She agreed to give me her mobile number when I explained to her what was happening."
Arla asked, "Did you tell her secretary about Dr Vaughan's death?"
Rosslyn looked unsure of herself. "Yes guv. Is that okay? I didn't say anything else about the investigation."
Arla shook her head. "No, that's fine. I'm sure they will keep it under wraps, and not speak to the media. It's not in their interests, after all. Well done for getting her number though. Have you tried to contact Sandra Pitt?"
Rosslyn grinned. "Yes, I left a message, but no call back as yet."
Arla turned to the screen of her laptop and searched for Sandra Pitt MBE. She clicked on images and looked through a few photos of the woman. She was short, with mousy brown hair and although she was well-dressed and dignified in the photos, it dampened Arla's enthusiasm. She was looking for a blonde woman, and her hopes were dashed.
"Okay, she doesn't match the woman the neighbour opposite saw last night. But we should find out why she saw Dr Vaughan so frequently. Any other names on the list?"
"A combination of new patients and follow-ups. Mrs Farquharson was quite thorough. Many of the follow-ups were discharged. It's only Sandra Pitt who features regularly."
