by Anita Waller
‘Pharmaceuticals.’
‘Oh.’
‘You know him?’ PC Dave Irwin joined in the conversation.
‘I don’t even know of him, let alone know him. My husband is in the pharmaceutical industry; it just seemed strange that this poor dead man is in it too. Or was in it.’
‘Is your husband here?’
‘He’s on his way.’ As she spoke she heard the front door open. ‘Leon? Is that you? We’re in the kitchen.’
Leon walked through the house and bent to kiss his wife before acknowledging the police presence.
He switched on the kettle. ‘Are you all okay for a drink?’
They held up their mugs, indicating they had drinks, but they suspended questions until he was also sitting at the table.
‘Leon, that poor man was called Anthony Jackson. Did you know him?’ Kat asked.
As curveballs go, it was a good one. Leon swallowed, thought about lying, then decided against it. ‘Of Jackson Pharmaceuticals?’
‘Yes, sir. Did you recognise him at the time?’
‘He didn’t have a face,’ Leon said, unable to hide the sarcasm.
‘No, of course he didn’t. I do apologise. Did you know the lady?’
‘I don’t think so. Does she have a name?’
‘According to her driving licence, she’s called Bethan Walters.’
‘And has she survived?’ Kat interrupted, trying to stop an obvious shiver. ‘I’d like to go and see her if that’s okay.’
Hannah Granger went to answer. ‘I don’t think–’
‘In my official capacity, of course,’ Kat said firmly.
‘Official capacity?’
‘I’m Deacon at St Lawrence’s, here in Eyam. I found her, she was in my parish, and I’d like to go and visit her.’
‘We’ll see that you are able to do that, Mrs… Ms… Rowe.’
‘Reverend.’ Kat smiled sweetly. ‘It’s Reverend Katerina Rowe when I’m on official business.’
Hannah made a note in her book. ‘As soon as I find out where she is, I’ll ring you. I know she was taken to the Northern General, but it depends on her injuries where she is now.’
Kat nodded. ‘Thank you for that. I’ll make sure I wear my clerical collar when I visit her, so that it’s clear who I am, to your officers.’
Kat sat out in the garden and let her mind roam. They lived in a particularly quiet part of the village; no traffic noise, no close neighbours, and no sounds of children’s voices raised as they played.
She knew beyond any doubt that she had to see Bethan Walters. She didn’t know her, but she felt she was meant to have some sort of connection with her.
She smiled, inwardly laughing at herself. She had no beliefs when it came to anything a bit odd, she generally put everything down to coincidence. Maybe there would be answers if she talked to Ms Walters.
Kat lifted the arms on the sun lounger and let it go to a more comfortable position. The little stream that ran along the bottom of the garden was soporific, and she could feel her eyes closing.
She slept.
Leon watched her from the bedroom window, musing on just how lucky he had been to find her, at exactly the right point in his life. He had met her on a Tuesday, and by Thursday had been in love.
His life had revolved even then around drugs, money laundering, control of his men. And his women. He knew he would lose Kat if she ever discovered even the slightest thing about his illegal activities; he had told her he had a string of pharmacies, his legitimate life, but nothing of his imperfect world. And now something felt threatening.
He hadn’t known Anthony Jackson well; there had been talk of him stepping up a league, but their paths rarely crossed. As if by mutual consent, they knew their own boundaries, although there had been a couple of incursions by Jackson onto Rowe territory, a couple of conversations in which development plans had been mentioned.
So why had Jackson died in the back alley leading to the rear of a Rowe Pharmacy? What had brought him there? Maybe the question should be who had brought him there? Leon had given no instructions, so it was somebody outside of his own circle of colleagues.
He and Kat had both made their statements, she denying any knowledge of either of the victims, he admitting to knowing Jackson, but only because he was in the same line of business. The police seemed to have been happy with that, but if Kat persisted in this ridiculous notion of checking on the woman, would she open some can of worms he didn’t want opening?
He showered, changed into shorts and a T-shirt, then went downstairs to join his wife. She was awake.
‘Isn’t it lovely,’ she said. ‘The sound of that water, just perfect.’
‘It’s beautiful. Are you going out tonight, or do I get you all to myself?’
She laughed. ‘Young Wives group, but I’ll be back for half past eight. Then I’m all yours.’
‘Good. It’s been a rotten day. And how are you? Fully sober now?’
‘I’m fine. A murder tends to do that, wipes out the alcohol.’
‘I have a meeting tomorrow in London.’ He broached the subject with caution. ‘Would you like to go with me?’
‘I can’t. I have a meeting tomorrow as well. Nothing as glamorous as London, mine’s in Nottingham. Are you staying overnight?’
‘I think so. If it finishes early I’ll head home, but if it’s late I’ll stay. I’ll let you know when I ring you.’
She nodded. ‘Don’t worry about me, I’ll be fine. I’ve to be in Nottingham for about half past nine, ready for a ten o’clock meeting, but hopefully it will all be over for midday. Ring any time after that.’
He kissed her. ‘Okay. Now, are we eating before you go to Young Wives, or after?’
‘I’m not hungry. Seeing Mr Jackson…’
‘I know. I don’t know what to say to help you. It was bad.’
‘I’ll maybe have a sandwich when I come back in.’
‘Then I’ll wait for you, do something for us. Then bed.’
‘Oh, yes please.’ She smiled.
‘Hussy,’ he responded. ‘I meant we’ve both got an early start tomorrow, so needed an early bedtime. Mind you, your idea was better than mine…’
‘Kiss me.’ She held out her arms.
He willingly obliged.
Kat left home an hour later than her husband. She rang the hospital first to see how Bethan Walters was, and this time got a grudging, ‘She had a comfortable night.’ She wondered if Beth herself would have echoed that.
Driving to Nottingham gave her time to reflect on the happenings of the previous day and she wondered what on earth had been so bad that one person had died, and the other one was critically injured.
She switched off the windscreen wipers as the rain seemed to have stopped, although she hoped her action wasn’t temporary. Sunshine had been promised, and she was damned if she was going to settle for a murky grey day.
By the time she reached the hotel where the meeting was to take place, the sun had come out, and she was deeply regretting not bringing her sunglasses.
Throughout the entirety of the meeting, she struggled to follow what the speakers were saying. Sometimes her own small church seemed far distant from the bigger churches and cathedrals in the area, and she found many discussions to be irrelevant. Half way in, she decided she wasn’t going straight home, she was going to the Northern General. She would brave the intricacies of Sheffield city centre, its ring road, and multiple incomprehensible roundabouts, and go find Bethan Walters.
The journey was as bad as she had feared, and when she finally reached the hospital, she had to drive around for half an hour trying to find a parking spot. By the time she reached the critical care ward, she was ready to deck anyone who said one word wrong to her.
There was a young officer sitting on a chair outside the room. He stood as she approached. ‘Can I have your name please?’
‘Reverend Katerina Rowe.’ She touched her clerical collar for extra emphasis, ready for a
n argument.
‘Thank you, ma’am,’ he said, and held the door open for her.
She felt quite deflated.
Bethan Walters was connected to several drips, her eyes closed, and a tube to help her breathing feeding like a snake down her throat. Her face was bruised quite spectacularly, but Kat rejoiced. It meant she had survived thus far.
Kat waited patiently; Bethan was having her blood pressure and temperature checked. The nurse finished and smiled at Kat.
‘Prayers will help,’ she said, and moved the blood pressure machine out of the way, allowing Kat to sit on a chair by the bed.
Beth had a bandage around her head, indicative of trauma to some degree, and scratches and dark blue bruising to her face. With the blood cleaned off, Kat could see how pretty the young woman was.
It was an automatic reaction to ask God for his help; Beth clearly needed it. Kat sat for two hours, holding Beth’s hand, occasionally talking to her, telling her she was the woman who had found her, and her name was Kat. There was no response, and Kat knew she would be back every day until there was some recognition.
The doctor arrived, and despite Kat’s questions, could tell her very little. They had operated on her head because she had a blood clot, and now it was a matter of waiting. They were sedating her, but when they stopped doing that it could be some time before she came out of the coma. Her injuries were severe, but she was in the best place.
Kat thanked him, and just before five, left to go home. She stood in the doorway and stared back at the still figure in the bed. ‘Sleep tight, Beth,’ Kat whispered. ‘And God bless.’
She said goodnight to the constable, who said it would be someone different on the following day, so she needed her white collar again. She laughed. ‘Thank you, I’ll try to remember it.’
Leon rang as she was driving home, grumbling about the pharmaceutical business in general, and he was thinking of going into building a theme park because it would be much more fun.
She laughed. ‘I’m sure it would. You’re just pissed off because you can’t get home tonight, and it’s probably been a boring meeting.’
‘It was about three new drugs that are coming out, all aimed at diabetes. They seem to be pretty powerful too, if the patter is anything to go by.’
‘You’ll be glad they’re on the market if you ever get diabetes. Some drugs are good drugs, you know.’
‘I know,’ he grumbled. ‘I just didn’t think it would take all day. I thought we could…’
‘We did, last night.’
‘We can’t do it two nights running? What are you saying, woman? Am I rationed?’
She giggled. ‘You’ll never know, will you. You’re not coming home.’
She heard someone call his name, and he said he had to go. He was sharing a taxi to his hotel.
‘Speak to you tomorrow. Love you,’ she said, and disconnected.
It was only then that she realised she hadn’t told him she had been to see Beth. Kat shrugged; maybe it was for the best.
It was quiet in the house. Katerina didn’t bother sitting out in the garden; the promised sunshine hadn’t warmed things up much, so she settled on the sofa with a book. She loved crime books that were solved by forensic evidence, and tonight she had decided Patricia Cornwell was the author to be reading.
Leon rang Katerina to say goodnight, sounding ever so slightly tipsy, and made her promise to double check the doors and windows were all secure before going to bed.
‘I’m not afraid of being on my own,’ she laughed. ‘It’s never bothered me. Now go to bed, and make sure your own door’s locked. See you tomorrow, sweetheart.’
She switched on the late-night news, and caught the beginning of the local section. Leon’s shop was clearly visible as the camera panned along the front of it, and then down the alleyway.
The presenter was asking for information, saying the police believed a taxi using false plates had brought the couple to the alleyway, before shooting the man. He then went on to say that the man lived in Eyam, although the woman’s address was being withheld pending notification to next of kin.
Lived in Eyam? Katerina knew shock must be written on her face, and she closed her mouth with a snap.
This was only a small village, and she didn’t know anyone by that name. She pulled her laptop towards her and entered “Anthony Jackson”. She found very little; nothing to do with an inadequate search engine, a broken-down Internet, Google not understanding what she was asking, it was simply that Kat didn’t do technology.
She could type her sermons, save them, and print them. Anything beyond that would never happen.
It was frustrating, but she would have to wait for Leon’s return, and ask him to show her, once again, how to make it work for her.
She closed it down – she knew how to do that – and carried it back to the bookshelf. One day, she promised herself, as she did at least three times a week, one day I will take a computer course. I’ll get a certificate that will prove I’m not as thick as I appear to be.
If computers could smile, her laptop would have done so.
She set the house alarm and went to bed.
5
Kat was at the hospital by ten. She settled by the side of the still-comatose Beth. The nurse confirmed that Beth was holding her own, no better but no worse, and they were hopeful.
Just after eleven, an elderly lady was escorted into the room. She took one look at Kat with her white collar clearly visible, and her face drained of colour.
‘Oh my god,’ she said. ‘Mouse, is she…?’ She staggered as she tried to rush to Beth’s bedside.
The nurse accompanying her reassured her. ‘No, Mrs Lester. This lady is the one who found your granddaughter. This is Reverend Rowe.’
Kat stood and led the older woman to the chair. ‘Please – sit down. There’s been no change since I arrived about an hour ago. I’ve just been sitting and talking to her. I don’t know whether she can hear or not, but they always say keep talking to people in a coma, so that’s what we can do.’
Doris Lester reached across the bed and grasped Beth’s hand. ‘Oh, Mouse, sweetheart. What has he done to you?’ She lifted her head to look at Kat. ‘I’ve only just found out. I’ve been at my sister’s house for a couple of days but had to come home early this morning for a doctor’s appointment. There was a police car outside waiting for me.’
Kat reached across and held her hand. ‘I’m so sorry, Mrs Lester. I’ve been praying…’
‘Will she live?’
‘They keep telling me she’s holding her own, whatever that might mean. She’s sedated, so won’t be waking up until they can reduce what they’re giving her. But I’ll leave you with her. I’d like to keep dropping by if that’s okay.’
‘Of course.’ Doris stared at her granddaughter. ‘Look at her lovely face.’
‘The bruises and scratches will heal,’ Kat said gently. ‘Here’s my card. Ring me if you need me. Any time. You called her Mouse…?’
‘She was tiny when she was born, about six weeks early. She looked like a little mouse, and we all took to calling her Mouse. It’s stuck within the family, all her life. I call her Bethan when I tell her off.’
‘That’s lovely,’ Kat smiled. ‘You must love her very much.’
The elderly lady nodded, took the card, slipped it into her bag, and turned back to the bed. ‘More than life itself,’ she said. ‘More than life itself.’
Kat slipped out and headed to her car. She drove slowly, deep in thought. It wouldn’t be quite so easy once Leon was back home, and she knew her continued interest in Beth Walters would cause dissent between the two of them, but she had to continue to visit the desperately ill woman.
And it wasn’t about it being part of her job, it wasn’t about her being the one to be the first to help Beth, it wasn’t about praying for her; it was a compulsion born of heaven knows what. She had to be there for her, and nobody was going to stop that.
Later that evening,
she spoke at length with Leon. She told him about her hospital visits, about the unconscious woman’s grandmother, she even told him about driving around and around the hospital grounds, desperately searching for a parking space.
He listened to it all, then sighed. ‘You worry me, Katerina Rowe. Do you know this woman, this Bethan Walters?’
‘Beth. Mouse.’
‘Okay, Beth. Mouse? What’s that about, and why have you taken it upon yourself to champion her?’
‘She’s badly injured, Leon. But I’m convinced she’ll get better. And Mouse is what her family calls her. It’s kind of nice, shows she’s loved. I think Beth and Anthony must have been in that taxi they’ve caught on CCTV, thinking they were being driven to his house. Do you know where he lives?’
‘What do you mean?’
‘He lives in Eyam. According to the news, anyway. I don’t know where, so he’s not a churchgoer. You told the police you knew him. So do you know where his house is?’
‘No idea. I don’t really know him. I just know he’s got a bit of a reputation for some not quite legal deals, and they’re only rumours. I’ve never been in his company socially, he’s kind of the opposition, if you like.’
‘I tried to look him up on my laptop.’
‘And?’ He grinned as if he knew what was coming.
‘I think I broke the Internet.’
‘You can’t break the Internet.’
‘It didn’t tell me anything. I assumed I’d broken something. I must learn this, Leon. I can’t be so monumentally stupid.’
This time he laughed aloud. ‘You’re not stupid, look at the exams and qualifications you have, the degree you have. You’re more than capable of cracking this. You just don’t have the confidence to believe you can do it. You must listen to me. You cannot break anything. Well, you could if you threw the laptop out the window in temper, but there’ll be no need for that. Come on, let’s have a look. See if we can find where he lives. Lived.’
She opened the laptop, and he told her to type in Jackson’s name. Leon then took her through several avenues that would lead her to the information she needed and revealed that Anthony Jackson had lived at the opposite end of Eyam to their own place, in a house situated in the middle of a field with an Eyam postal address, but nearer to the tiny hamlet of Bretton.
