'Yes.' She half smiled. 'I think most of the centre was crammed into the rest room that morning – it's where the television is.' Even though it was only a half-smile, it lifted her face, making it pretty for a moment.
Had she known Dr Goring at all? he asked her. No.
Had she met him, even briefly, had she spoken to him at all? No.
'D'you think it's true, what Jessie said about him?'
'That he was closing Tamar to help his son-in-law, you mean? I've no way of knowing.'
'Don't you have an opinion?'
'How could I? As I told you, I didn't know him or anything about him.'
This was a little disingenuous, Tom thought, given her relationship with Medlar.
'Did you agree with what Jessie was trying to do here?'
'Keep the centre open, you mean? Of course I did – she was trying to save our jobs.' Her voice and speech were precise, unaccented, uninflected.
Had she been at the meeting Jessie called the day before the TV interview, the Thursday? Could she remember who was there?
Yes, and yes: her list was identical with Jessie's.
'Where were you at lunch time that day?'
"The Thursday, you mean?' She paused. She always seemed to answer one question with another, he thought, presumably giving herself room to think. 'At lunch, I imagine,' she said.
'Where d'you go for lunch?'
'Sometimes to the canteen, sometimes I buy a roll and have it in the staff room.'
'Which was it that day?' His questions were all in the same soft voice, but following immediately from each other to keep up the pressure.
'The staff room, I think.'
'Did you go to Jessie's office at all?'
'I… don't think so, no.'
'You see, Jessie thinks that someone photocopied all her notes while she was out, and gave them to Dr Goring.'
'Well, it wasn't me,' she said flatly.
'Who d'you think it was?'
'I've no idea.'
'Perhaps Jessie imagined it.'
'Perhaps she did. I've no way of knowing.'
'The next day, when you stayed here late with Dr Medlar, what time did you leave?'
'I…' The change of direction flustered her slightly… 'at just before eight.'
'How did you know it was just before eight?'
She looked away, swallowed, then looked back at him.
'Because he said we should leave five minutes apart and I looked at the clock on the wall as I left.'
'You were there in his office a long time – I make it nearly three hours.'
'We had a lot to talk about.'
'How long have you been seeing him?'
'Since it began, you mean? We haven't actually seen that much of each other. About three months, I suppose.'
'Have you ever met his wife?'
Her eyes snapped back to his. 'Are you trying to make me feel ashamed or something? Dirty?' Her voice was as quiet as his, but steel sharp. 'I'm not proud of what's happened, but I won't accept any moralising from you, Mr Jones.'
'You're not under any obligation to answer.' Nor was she, but he hoped she would – it wasn't prurience on his part, he wanted, needed to understand the forces governing their triangle.
'Yes, I have met her,' she said at last, 'but not since it started.'
'Did you like her?'
'Yes…'
'How did it start?'
Her tongue touched her lips. 'We were at a conference together. It surprised us both, we were neither of us planning it.'
'How did Dr Medlar feel about Dr Goring?'
'How d'you mean?' She knew perfectly well.
'Did he like him?'
'I don't think he did, no.'
'He hated him, then?'
'Oh no, it wasn't as strong as that.'
'Why didn't he like him?'
'They'd worked together in the past. They just didn't get on with each other.'
'Did Dr Goring know about your relationship with Dr Medlar?'
'I – I'm sure he didn't… How could he have done?'
How indeed?
'When you left Dr Medlar on Friday, did you see anyone else?'
'No.'
'Not even the orderly?'
'I went out through reception especially to avoid the orderly.'
'Did you hear anything?'
She shook her head. 'No.'
'So what did you do then?'
She'd walked over to the car-park and driven home. No, she hadn't gone out much over the weekend, because she was on call; and no, Dr Medlar hadn't contacted her at all. Yes, she'd been called in on Sunday at around 4 p.m. to do a cross match.
'How long were you here?'
'Two, two and a half hours. Maybe longer.'
'Rather a long time for a cross match.'
Her eyes flicked up for a moment, questioning how he knew. 'It was a particularly difficult one. The patient had antibodies and I had to repeat everything.'
Tom's antennae twitched. Something wasn't quite right here…
'Did you see anyone else while you were here?'
'Other than the lab orderly, no. But I was in my lab most of the time, so I wouldn't have done.'
'Which lab orderly was it?'
'Craig. Craig Scratchley.'
'Was he aware that you were taking longer than usual?'
'It wouldn't have been any of his business how long I was taking. Besides – ' again the half-smile, although not quite so convincing – 'Craig isn't a very aware person.'
'But you'd been called in urgently and you were taking a long time – wasn't the ward screaming for the blood?'
'They don't scream, they niggle. First the sister phones, then the staff nurse, then perhaps the doctor…'
'Were they niggling at you?'
'Yes.'
'When you left, did Craig see you leave?'
'Yes, I told him when I was going.'
'What was he doing at the time?'
'What he usually does – watching television in the Issue Room.'
He'd have to see Craig, he thought. Meanwhile, there wasn't much else he could usefully ask her at the moment, so he thanked her and told her she could go. Then he rang Dominic and asked whether Verity was back yet. Dominic said he'd check and send her along if she was.
While he was waiting, Tom compared Maria's answers with Medlar's, and also those she'd given Bennett. They were all in accord, other than the discrepancy over the time she'd been in on Sunday – according to Bennett, it had been well over three hours. Whichever, it was a long time for a cross match. He'd check with Holly -
There was a cursory knock, the door flung open and a tall, elegant woman with long honey-coloured hair pushed her way in.
'You wanted to see me.'
He half rose. 'Miss Blane?'
'Ms Blane.' The skin over her high cheekbones was flushed, heightening her beauty. 'Friend of Ms Pengellis.'
'Have a seat.'
'I prefer to stand.'
'OK.' He sat down himself.
She moved closer, stood over him. 'I've just been to see Jessie – Ms Pengellis. She's very upset. She says you were asking questions about our love life. Perhaps this'll satisfy your curiosity.' She dropped something on the desk in front of him. It bounced, quivered a moment before settling. It was a large latex phallus, off-white, glistening, truly revolting in its detail.
Tom looked up at her. 'Is this for me? To keep?'
She was disconcerted, but only for an instant. 'Sure. You might find it comes in useful.'
'Thank you.' He picked it up, admired it for a moment, then dropped it into the out-tray. 'Now I need to ask you some questions.'
Her mouth tightened, her eyes flared and he knew he was almost certainly wasting his time. He leaned back in his chair to look up at her more easily.
'I'm here primarily because of the allegations Jessie made about Dr Goring on TV. Are they true, d'you think?'
'Ms Pengellis says so and that's good enough fo
r me.'
'She also says that Dr Goring had some sort of spy here, who photocopied all her notes and gave them to him.'
'She's probably right.'
'Who do you think it was?'
She hesitated. 'I don't see the relevance.'
'As her friend, wouldn't you like to know?'
She stared back without replying, expressionless.
'You must have given it some thought.'
'I have.'
'And?'
'It's none of your business,' she said.
She knows, he thought. She knows who it was, or at least, she thinks she does. 'It might help clarify things.'
'I can't see how.'
'That Friday evening, Friday the seventh, you asked Jessie back to your house at about five o clock and she stayed there all night?'
'Are you asking me or telling me?'
'Asking.'
'Then yes.'
'Did either of you leave the house at any time?'
'No.'
'So who do you think killed Dr Goring?'
'Isn't that the job of the police? I've already been through all this with them.'
'I'm asking you.'
'Then I don't know.'
'It might help Jessie if you had some idea.'
No answer.
'Don't you want to help Jessie?'
'Don't you dare speak to me about helping Jessie,' she blazed. Then, without warning, she put her hands under the front of the desk and heaved… It came up, toppling Tom backwards in his chair, then fell on top of him. His arms took some of the force, but he still let out a yell as it crashed into his ribs and the trays and pens and desk tidy scattered on the floor around him. She turned and walked out, slamming the door behind her.
He got his hands under the edge and pushed upwards, trying to lift the weight from his ribs. It went up about a foot, but he couldn't wriggle free because his legs were trapped by the chair. He was about to put his dignity to one side and call for help when the door opened and Medlar hurried in, followed by his secretary.
He didn't waste time asking questions. 'Take the other side, Judy,' he said, and together they lifted the desk back into position.
'Are you all right, Mr Jones?' He helped him to his feet.
'Not entirely sure,' Tom gasped.
'Sit down a minute.' He picked up the chair. 'Ye gods! What's that?' He was gazing down at the phallus.
'Present from Miss Blane,' Tom managed.
'Did she do this?' He gestured round at the mess and Tom nodded.
'But why?'
'Don't think she liked the questions I asked.'
'Well, neither did I for that matter, but… You may as well get back, Judy,' he said to the secretary. 'I'll see to Mr Jones.'
Judy walked out, suppressing a smile.
'Did it fall on your chest?' he asked Tom, who nodded again.
'Any pains?'
'A bit.'
'Better let me take a look. Sit down…'
Tom took off his jacket, undid his shirt and winced as Medlar prodded his rib cage.
'Well, I don't think anything’s broken,' he said at last, 'but you'd better have an X-ray to be on the safe side. Can you walk?'
'Yeah…'
Medlar picked up the phone and directory from the floor, looked up a number and keyed it in.
'They'll see you now,' he told Tom as he put the phone down. 'But I want you to come and tell me what happened here when they've finished with you so that I can get to the bottom of it. And I think we'll get rid of this.' He picked up the phallus with a paper towel and dropped it into the bin.
Chapter Sixteen
Medlar summoned Verity as soon as he got back to his office.
'I've just sent Mr Jones down to X-ray,' he told her. 'He may have cracked a rib. That's assault and I'd be within my rights to ask for your dismissal.'
'I'm sorry, Dr Medlar,' she said.
'Whatever possessed you?'
She told him that Tom had upset Jessie enough with his questioning to make her cry. 'And then he had the – the temerity to tell me, me – to help her.' She shrugged helplessly. 'I'd tipped the desk over before I knew what I was doing. I didn't realise it would hurt him like that.'
He returned her gaze in silence a moment, then said, 'Well, I know what he's like, so I can sympathise – to an extent. But if he makes a formal complaint, I'll have to do something about it. I think the best thing might be for you to apologise to him before he can – '
'No,' she said flatly.
'I beg your pardon?'
'I'm sorry, George, but there's no way I'm apologising to him.' She stared back at him, daring him to make the next move. She held the scourge and he knew it.
His eyes dropped. 'I'll tell him I've admonished you and hope he's satisfied with that,' he said at last.
Nearly an hour had passed by the time X-ray finished with Tom and he got back to his office. Someone had been in and cleared up the mess. His wallet, which he hadn't realised had been missing, was lying on the desk.
He went round to the director's office.
'Sit down, please,' Medlar said, and it was the 'please' more than anything that told Tom he was angry. 'Nothing broken, then?'
'No. Thank you.'
'Good.' Medlar paused before continuing. 'I've spoken to Verity and heard her version of events. She told me that you reduced Jessie to tears with your aggressive and intimate personal questions, which is why she presented you with the – er – trophy and pushed the desk over.' He regarded Tom without favour. 'I have to say that I have some sympathy with her.'
'I'm afraid that such questions are sometimes unavoidable,' Tom said, looking steadily back at him.
'Really? I'd be interested to hear why in this case.'
After a pause, Tom said, 'Jessie's alibi for the time Dr Goring was killed relies heavily on her claim to being a born-again lesbian. My questions were to test that claim.'
'And your conclusion?'
'That I'm not going to say.'
'The police didn't find such questions necessary.'
'I'm not the police.'
'Indeed you're not,' Medlar said pointedly. After another pause, he continued, 'Verity shouldn't have behaved as she did and I've admonished her.'
'Good.'
'But I would ask you to treat my staff with a little more sensitivity in future.'
I wonder if Maria's been chewing his ear… 'I'll do that,' he said, 'in as much as I'm able.'
Medlar looked at him with open dislike. 'Good,' he said.
'Paul,' Dominic said close to his ear and was rewarded with a startled yelp.
'Don't creep up on me like that, Dom.'
'Sorry.' The word was completely devoid of regret. 'His lordship down the corridor wants to see you.'
'What, the boss?'
'No, our very own private dickhead.'
Paul stared back at him. 'Eh?'
'Jones. He from the Department who's asking questions about Goring.'
'What's he want me for?'
'There's only one way you're going to find out.'
Having sent him on his way, Dominic went to look for Verity. He found her at her desk. She pointedly ignored him and continued filling in the form she was working on until it was clear that he was neither going to go away nor come to the point.
'Can I help you in any way?' she asked.
'I've just sent Paul down to Jones.'
Verity grunted. 'They deserve each other.'
'The boss told me about what happened between you and Jones.'
'Really.'
'Did he give you a bollocking?'
'Nothing I can't handle. Besides, I don't see that it's any concern of yours.'
He pulled a chair over to her desk, sat down and said quietly, 'Verity, if ever there was a time to forget past differences, it's now. D'you think I've enjoyed answering Jones's questions, fetching and carrying for him?'
She looked at him thoughtfully. 'No, I don't suppose you have much.'
/>
'Is it true you threw a rubber willie at him?'
'More or less.' She told him what she'd done and why.
Dominic grinned. 'I've been referring to him as Our Very Own Private Dickhead without realising how appropriate it was.' He started laughing, and after a moment, she reluctantly joined in.
'He's a cool bastard though,' she said as they subsided. 'Asked me if he could keep it, then fired a load of questions at me.'
'Present for his wife, I expect. What sort of questions?'
'Oh, what time did Jessie come to my house, could she have slipped out during the night? What about you?'
'How well had I known Goring, was what Jessie said about him on the telly true – how the hell should I know that? Did I think Jessie killed him, and if not, who?'
'I got all that as well.'
Dominic paused, then said, 'He did say one strange thing – apparently Goring told the boss that he had a spy here, who photocopied Jessie's files and gave them to him.' He watched Verity's face as he spoke. 'Jessie told me she suspected it, but I never really believed it. Did she say anything to you?'
'Yes,' Verity said coolly, 'she did, as a matter of fact. Perhaps you should have listened to her more carefully.' And with a thump, their relationship dropped back to its former level.
Tom leaned forward and said softly, 'You can pay a prostitute for more than just her body.'
'She wouldn't lie about a thing like that, would she?' Paul protested, 'Not to the police.'
Possibly not, Tom conceded to himself. He didn't like Paul any more than he had Dominic, although Paul's fundamental self-deceit made it easier to say why.
'She told the police you were with her for an hour, until eight-thirty, and yet you didn't get home until after ten. What were you doing after you left her?'
'I went for a drink.'
'Oh yes, on your own, at the King's Head, where no one can remember seeing you.'
'It was crowded. I felt ashamed if you must know, I wanted to be on my own. Besides, I'd told my wife I was going to a pub.'
'With Adrian Hodges, in fact?'
'Yes.'
'You've told her that before, have you?'
'Yes.'
Tom sighed inwardly; there was no easy way of either proving or disproving where he'd been…
The interview had started easily enough, with Tom asking him how well he'd known Goring.
Chilling Out Page 12
