‘You could try the Press Office.’ He gave me the number. It was busy.
Instead, I called Agnes to find out the latest. Lily had not been very well when she’d visited. She’d had a high temperature that they were concerned about and they suspected an infection. She was asleep all the time that Agnes was there. Agnes was worried. ‘At our age these sort of things can be so much harder to shake off.’
‘I am sorry. Any news from Charles?’
‘Yes. He’s spoken to Mr Simcock again. There’s no reason to suspect there’s any connection between the operation and the infection. Apparently just being in hospital increases the risk. He said they’ll be concentrating on trying to fight that off using antibiotics. But even if she gets over all this she’s never going to be well. You know, the scan showed substantial changes in her brain.’ I could hear the desolation in her voice. She cleared her throat. ‘There’s very little they can do now. All we can expect is a steady decline.’
‘Will she go back to Kingsfield?’
‘I’m not sure. Charles got the impression they were thinking of one of the nursing homes where they specialise in caring for patients with Alzheimer’s. I’ve been thinking about it a lot. I suppose I’ve got the proof I wanted about Lily’s condition: they’ve definite physical evidence of what’s wrong. Now I need to accept it. It’s not going to go away. I just hope she can shake off this infection.’
‘Do you want to see her tonight? I could give you a lift.’
‘You don’t sound very well,’ she said doubtfully.
‘No, I’m all right. Just this cold. I’ll come about six.’
‘Thank you. Oh, by the way, it doesn’t seem so important any more but did you hear anything more about the tablets?’
‘No. I’ve asked my friend to chivvy the lab along. She’s doing me a favour so I can’t really push her any more than I have done. I’m also trying to find out if there’s any connection between Goulden and Simcock but I’ve not got anything yet. I’m waiting to hear.’
I did hear. Just after I got back from school, Harry rang. ‘Hi! I’ve left a message on your answerphone too,’ he began.
‘Any luck?’ I didn’t expect anything.
‘Bingo!’
‘What?’ I was astonished.
‘You got a fax yet?’
‘No.’
‘A pen?’
‘Yes, Harry, I have a pen. Poised. Go on.’
‘OK. Simcock and Montgomery are both directors of Malden Medical Supplies.’
My scalp prickled.
‘They’re a company based in Cheshire, Northwich, and they supply anything and everything – rubber gloves, gas cylinders, disposable sheets, bandages, the lot. They deal with nursing homes, hospitals, that sort of thing. It’s a lucrative little concern, accounts for the last year on record show a turnover of two million and very healthy profits.’
‘Hang on, let me get this all down.’ I scribbled furiously. ‘Right.’
‘That was up fifty per cent on the previous year. They came in just at the right time, when all the privatisation was kicking in and the fact that the clients can get all their stuff from the same supplier probably gave them the edge over the competition.’
‘So, they’ll be making quite a bit from it?’ I said.
‘Oh, yeah. Depends how much they’re ploughing back in but they’re doing very nicely thank you.’
‘Nothing illegal?’
‘Well, the law’s very woolly around some of this, but everything I’ve told you so far is public knowledge somewhere or other. Difference is it’d take you weeks going via other agencies, hard copies. Using the computer makes it that much quicker…’
‘Harry! I didn’t mean you. I meant them – anything fishy about their operation?’
‘Oh, no. Nothing glaring anyway.’
‘And Goulden’s not a director?’
‘Ah-ha! No. But listen to this. There’s a Mrs A. L. Goulden, BPharm, MRPharmS who’s actually Managing Director.’
‘His wife.’
‘There’s more – her Malden name was Montgomery, Angela Leonie Montgomery, sister to Douglas Vernon Montgomery.’
‘Yes!’ The connections were there. They all had some involvement in Malden Medical Supplies, and Montgomery and Goulden were brothers-in-law.
‘Anything else you want? Creditworthiness, mortgage details, hire purchase agreements?’
‘Spare me.’
‘Seriously, Sal, you ought to think about getting a system. The amount of stuff you’d have there at your fingertips.’
Oh yeah, and the amount of time it’d take me to access it. ‘I can’t even afford a fax at the moment, Harry.’
‘Tax deductible.’
‘I don’t pay enough blinking tax to deduct it. Besides, it’s money up front which I can’t manage.’
‘Or credit.’
‘I wouldn’t dare.’
‘Shame. Plenty of your lot are in there already, you know.’
‘Yeah, well, lucky I got you, isn’t it?’
‘Why keep a dog and bark yourself?’
I laughed. ‘Something like that. Besides, you’re an expert.
You’ll let me know if it gets too much?’
‘Go on. But promise me…’
‘What?’
‘If there’s a story…’
‘I thought you’d given up on the journalism.’
‘Oh, I still need a nice juicy scandal now and again. One that I write up instead of seeing it mangled by the other hacks.’
‘You’ll be the first to know. But don’t hold your breath.’
So there were plenty of legitimate reasons for Goulden and Simcock to meet at the hospital, a word about business if not a conscientious visit from the GP concerned about his elderly patient.
But I wasn’t thinking about legitimate reasons. I was more interested in the other sort.
By quarter to six I was regretting my offer to take Agnes to the hospital but I didn’t want to let her down at the last minute. Ray still wasn’t in from work so I resorted to going up and asking Sheila if she’d keep an eye on the children till he got back. She was happy to. I braced myself for another tantrum from Maddie but she didn’t turn a hair when I explained what was happening. I was the only one who was uncomfortable with the situation because I felt I was imposing on Sheila.
On our journey to the Infirmary I told Agnes about the business and family links between the three doctors. ‘Mr Simcock is on the board of directors there and Mrs Goulden is the Managing Director so that could be one reason why we saw Dr Goulden at the hospital – he’s got business connections with Simcock.’
Silence. ‘Agnes?’
‘Let me get this right. Mr Simcock is on the board of the company?’
‘Yes.’
‘And Dr Montgomery?’
‘Yes. And what’s more, Mrs Goulden, who works there, is actually the sister of Dr Montgomery too. It’s very incestuous.’
‘I don’t like it,’ she said sharply.
‘It stinks,’ I agreed, ‘and there are too many coincidences flying around. All these people have been involved in Lily’s treatment – is that just because it’s a specialised area? Is it just nepotism, the old boy network, or is there something else going on?’ I was speculating aloud.
Agnes shook her head.
‘You’d think one well-paid job would satisfy,’ she remarked, ‘with all this unemployment.’
‘It might be greedy but it’s not illegal,’ I pointed out. ‘Besides, they’re directors of the business – they employ people to work there.’
‘And money makes money. Always has done. What about them?’ She pointed towards a cluster of youths who were gathered outside a local off-licence. ‘Nothing, no hope. Even in the thirties there was hope, the belief that things could change. Now…all this talk about moral standards and the fabric of society. A return to Victorian values. Huh,’ she snorted, ‘Victorian values were savage, smothered in hypocrisy.’
I was fazed at her outburst and I’d no idea what had set her off. I said nothing. We arrived at the hospital.
The curtains were still drawn round Lily’s bed and no sooner had we sat down at her bedside than a junior doctor arrived. She introduced herself and explained that they were using intravenous antibiotics to try to fight the infection that had raised Lily’s temperature. The saline drip was to prevent dehydration.
‘Has she been awake?’ asked Agnes.
‘She’s been sleeping. That’s no bad thing, rest can help a great deal.’
‘Is she going to be all right?’
The doctor didn’t give her a straight answer, she probably couldn’t. ‘If we can get her over the infection there’s no reason why she shouldn’t make a complete recovery from the haematoma.’ She left.
Agnes slid her hand under Lily’s. The face on the pillow was peaceful enough but her breath was harsh and ragged, painful to listen to.
‘I’ll wait in the lounge for a bit,’ I offered. ‘Don’t want to give her this cold on top of everything else.’
Half an hour later I returned. I was ready to go. The heat on the ward was making me sweat, my head had started pounding and I was beginning to feel unsteady, slightly dizzy.
As I slipped behind Agnes and touched her shoulder, Lily woke. She stared at Agnes, then blinked slowly.
‘Lily. Lily, it’s Agnes. You’ve not been well, you’re in the MRI.’ Lily blinked. I wondered how much she could see without her glasses on.
‘Olive,’ it was a hoarse whisper, ‘my Olive.’
‘Oh, Lily.’ Agnes stroked her hand.
Lily closed her eyes again and soon the noisy, dragging breath returned. Persistent but irregular. Gently Agnes released her friend’s hand.
‘Olive was her daughter,’ she said. ‘She died a week after her third birthday. Milk sickness, TB.’
She stood up. We made our way slowly and in silence past the bright murals down the long corridor to the exit.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
‘MAN CHARGED IN ACHEBE SLAYING. HUSBAND RELEASED,’ brayed the evening paper. Front-page news. Complete with one of the shots I’d taken of the man I’d seen at the hotel with Tina Achebe.
I sank into the chair, my coat still on, and scanned the text. He was named as Bill Sherwin, forty-two, a local businessman. There was nothing about why he might have murdered Tina, though much was made of the fact that they were both married. A police spokesman was quoted as saying forensic reports were still being prepared. No further details could be released at present. The paper rehashed details of Tina’s death, included quotes from neighbours and family about their response to both Jimmy’s release and Sherwin’s arrest, and showed a photo of the terraced house complete with police tape across the gate.
The police were also eager to hear from anyone who had been in that area of Levenshulme that day, who might have seen anything, perhaps without realising it, that could help build up a picture of the events that morning. It was clear that Bill Sherwin had not confessed to the killing and that they were still building the case against him.
I felt a wave of relief that Jimmy was innocent, and by implication that the murder of Tina Achebe had not been the result of my revelations. Unless…a fresh grub of guilty worry hatched as I wondered whether Sherwin had killed Tina because of the chain of events I’d set in motion: I told Jimmy, Jimmy confronted Tina, Tina told Sherwin..
Oh stop it, I admonished myself. Jimmy was free. And what horror had he been through these past days? Losing Tina, brutally murdered – that was enough to destroy anyone. But then to be accused of that murder, to be suspected, held, questioned. The rage he must have felt, the agony of it.
I made myself a strong hot toddy – whisky, water, lemon and honey – and watched the television news, waiting for the regional slot that followed. There was a report on Jimmy’s release with a brief film clip of him getting into an unmarked car, and shots of the house in Levenshulme and of Manchester Crown Court.
I retreated to bed. I looked in on the children on the way up. We don’t expect to outlive our children but Tina Achebe had died before her time. And Lily Palmer, she had lost her three-year-old daughter. How had she borne it? Had it been any more bearable back in the days when so many children died in infancy? I didn’t think so, although perhaps the rituals were there then, the means to acknowledge and mark the deaths of young ones. A child had died in Maddie’s class the previous year, a road accident. The whole neighbourhood had reeled with the shock. He had older brothers at the school too. They’d held a special assembly for him, Maddie had been full of it. I hadn’t known the family, I hadn’t felt I had any right to speak with the mother, not even to offer condolences. I’d bought a bunch of flowers instead and left them in the pile of cellophane bundles by the lamppost beside the road where the accident had happened.
I pulled the covers over Tom and picked up the bath towels from the floor. Once in my own bed I lost myself in the Louisiana swamplands with James Lee Burke as I sipped the pungent brew. The dog down the road was barking loud enough to waken the dead. I fantasised half a dozen ways to silence it and lulled myself to sleep.
I couldn’t put off a supermarket trip any longer. We were out of all the basics. After the school run I drove round there and stocked up. No matter how frugally I intended to shop I always ended up with items that weren’t on the list. I had once tried going to one of the new super-cheap outlets but there were so many things they didn’t sell that I’d had to do another shop the following day and spent just as much in the long run.
With the cupboards and fridge full I felt a small glow of satisfaction and as I’d used my credit card to pay I didn’t need to worry about the bill until next month.
I pottered through the afternoon. Ray had done a load of washing. I transferred it to the dryer. I tidied and cleaned the lounge, hoovered round. My cold was getting better but was still bad enough to slow me down. My energy was low. I sat in the kitchen with a cuppa. I really ought to think about winding up the case for Agnes. It all seemed to be petering out.
The phone rang.
‘Sal? Moira. Where the hell did you get those tablets?’
‘I told you, from a client. This GP, Goulden, had prescribed them for the woman in the rest home, the one we thought might have acute confusion. Her friend found them in her things. Is there something the matter?’
‘Should think she did have bloody confusion.’
‘Why?’
‘For a start they’re four times the marked dosage. Each tab’s got a hundred milligrams of thioridazine in. She’d be getting two hundred milligrams a day, not fifty. Were they giving her anything else?’
I thought back to the conversation at Dr Goulden’s surgery. ‘She got nitrazepam at night sometimes – to help her sleep.’
Moira snorted. ‘Classic. Adverse reaction. She’s getting massive doses of thioridazine – that’s enough in itself to make her disoriented and confused, induce panic attacks, breathing difficulties alternating with drowsiness – then they’re topping her up with nitrazepam. That’s making her even worse. She’ll be staggering around, peeing the bed, maybe even hallucinating, showing signs of psychosis. Enough to make anyone demented.’
They give me poison, that’s what Lily had said. They want my soul.
‘He said he’d look again at the dosage, Dr Goulden, when we talked to him. He said sometimes it took a while to get the balance right.’
‘Sal, all they needed to do was stop the medication and the symptoms would have stopped. It’s one of the first things that should be considered in cases like this but some GPs are that bloody cocksure. What’s he called? Goulden?’
‘Yes.’
‘Don’t know him. Where’s he based?’
‘Didsbury.’
‘The poor bloody woman probably hasn’t got Alzheimer’s at all.’
‘No, she has. They’ve just done a scan at the MRI and she’s got the lesions apparently.’
‘Well, I don
’t know where this Goulden chap had the script prepared but it must be some Mickey Mouse setup. Four times the stated dosage. I ask you.’
‘Which chemist does it say on the label?’ I couldn’t remember.
‘I haven’t got them here,’ she snapped. ‘They’re still with the lab. They’ll be notifying the police as a matter of course.’
‘The police?’
‘Christ, yes. This sort of slipshod practice just isn’t on. These are powerful drugs being dished out by some incompetent pharmacist who shouldn’t be allowed to make up lucky bags, let alone medicines. I’ve left my name as a contact seeing as I sent the sample in but I’d better check with you I’ve got the facts right.’
We went over dates and times, names and places until Moira was clear about the sequence of events that had led to me leaving the tablets with her.
It was ironic really. If the scan that Mr Simcock had done hadn’t shown advanced organic changes to Lily’s brain then Agnes’ early suspicions that her decline was too rapid and could be due to some external factors could have been spot on. The high dosage and the combination of drugs would be enough to make anyone demented, Moira had said. Take her off the medication and the symptoms will go. It seemed terribly unfair that Lily actually had Alzheimer’s. I needed to tell Agnes about Moira’s news, although given the outlook for Lily and her current illness I thought there’d be cold comfort in the knowledge that there had been something amiss with the thioridazine tablets.
Something else niggled too. Goulden’s reaction to the tablets going missing. Was it simply over-zealous housekeeping or had he realised there was something wrong with them? Maybe he’d simply never got round to reducing the dosage as he’d promised us, and was covering his tracks. Or perhaps he’d realised there’d been some big cock-up at the chemists and didn’t want anyone to know. Why? No skin off his nose, surely. If he wanted to protect his own reputation as a doctor it’d be in his interest to have the chemist struck off for such negligence.
I wondered what Mrs Knight, the matron’s, part in all this was. She who lied about the retrieval of the bottle. What had prompted that? Had Goulden confided in her? I checked the clock. Ray was collecting Maddie and Tom, Friday afternoon being an early finish, in the time-honoured tradition of the building trade. If I set off now I could probably catch Mrs Knight before she left for home.
Go Not Gently Page 13
