by Hylton Smith
Prentice had hardly thawed out and was discussing the absence of an earring with Jones and Martha, when Cartwright rang. “It’s a preliminary observation, but I thought you’d want to know right away. The dental records look like a match. Give me another half an hour to get another one of my staff to do an independent check, but I don’t think he’ll disagree. Of course we still have to proceed with DNA tests. It’s looking like we have Edward Mitchell here.”
This was a body blow to Jones in particular. Prentice reminded him of his own insistence that all speculation and hunches become facts or eliminations at some time. “Stick with it Jonesy, we now have another fact and an elimination. It’s not Mitchell. So, what do we do with that information?”
Martha spoke up. “Somebody wanted us to believe it was Edward Mitchell. If this gets out, and it will, that person will presumably alter their approach. What it doesn’t change is that the guy we do want is pushing Olivia towards a precipice. So, it isn’t Mitchell, we move on. We still haven’t nailed the assailant, the package and parcel sender, who then hand-delivered the first demand to Olivia, her confession to something she didn’t do. Furthermore, he confirmed the motive was to punish her. I would rate that threat as a fact.” She looked directly at Jones. “Well?”
“You’re right Martha, everything comes back to what happened at that hospital, whether it was twelve years ago or last week. Listen boss, I asked for the case file for Mitchell’s suicide and you said we should wait for the exhumation to be out of the way. We’ve done that, so let’s learn more about his death, because he’s still tied into the motive. I want to do it now, can you make the call?”
“Yeah, let’s do it before Olivia hits the front pages with Gladstone as bait.”
*
Ian Gladstone was philosophical about his fortuitous escape from the media because of his house being burned down. It gave him breathing space. He copied his list of phone contacts into his diary and dumped the handset. He purchased a cheap unregistered replacement and selected only the people he wanted to converse with, adding them to the new phone. One of those was Philip Morrison. He refused the first call. Gladstone sent a text to alert him of the despatched journalistic torpedo which was homing in on Morrison. He eventually called back. “What do you expect me to say?”
“The problem, Philip, is that when mud sticks it can be washed off, but the stain is still there. I can’t help you again. Your position twelve years ago was to bring the entire reputation of the hospital into disrepute. I neutralised as much paperwork and computer documents as it was prudent so to do. However, I am now officially retired, this newspaper revelation being my last act in office. You need to know that I could never get Olivia to surrender her statements from her theatre staff who were witnesses to everything. She still has them. I’ve been given the unfortunate task of informing you that unless you endorse my revelation, these documents will reappear. I imagine you get what I’m driving at?”
“Mmm, so now that you’ve gone quietly you’re ensuring that I’m next in line. She wants total revenge.”
“That much is obvious, however, if you read between the lines, she’s left a hole for you to wriggle through. If you publicly accept that the anaesthetic failure was the probable cause of the seizure, and Olivia was not culpable for James Mitchell’s death, she will reciprocate insofar as we were dealing with an inexact science, one which cannot prove the anaesthetic failure was down to human error. This can be compared in some ways to an air crash investigation. Pilot error is difficult to prove if a mechanical deficiency precedes the accident.”
“So how does this help me?”
“It would discourage me from crucifying you, by stating something in my follow up press release. That being my revised opinion that it was your disregard for Olivia’s advice on the placement of the anaesthetic feed which led to the chain of events culminating in James Mitchell’s death. This is also, unfortunately for you, recorded in the pre-op notes she was able to keep from me. It’s fresh evidence Philip, which you tried to suppress. Who do you think the medical council are going to believe? So, it is either make your peace with no further promotion, or go down with the career ship. What do I write in my next role as a columnist?”
“You bastard.”
“Not worthy of you Philip, it was your insistence on a compensatory payment for your transfer, and that sum you inherited can still be proven. I believe it is called extortion or blackmail. The board was under duress as a result of your threat to tarnish your colleagues and the hospital. They acted upon this, and other findings related to an imprecise analysis of the available evidence. Now it has come to light that, not only did you have evidence which would have given us more precision to judge the cause of death, you actually destroyed it. Or you thought you had. The board erred in its duty, but you falsified their decision criteria. One is a mistake, the other is a criminal offence. You have basically engineered a promotion for ending a boy’s life. If you decide to rock this boat, you must consider a further consequence. It won’t be merely prosecution for culpable negligence. It will also include perversion of the course of justice, most likely leading to a sentence of incarceration. I don’t think I need to speak to you again, you grubby little shit. I’ll edit my piece to the appropriate option. If you don’t endorse today’s release immediately, and you will be asked to, that’s already been arranged, I’m afraid you will end up in prison. I do hope it won’t be one of those awful places in which some of the inmates would take a rather dim view of co-habiting with a child killer. It’s really a no-brainer.”
*
Jones picked up the Mitchell suicide notes personally. He tore into them, and stepped on a ‘bombshell’ within minutes. Nobody had thought of mentioning the existence of a suicide note. The case was six years old and there must be someone who worked it still in the force, and they should have made a connection with the very high profile disappearance of the surgeon’s son. The content of the note was shouting it from the rooftops. He jumped back to the present and rushed from records to catch Prentice. ‘Boss, you need to see this.”
The note raised multiple alarm bells.
‘Angela,
I’ve become a desperate man, I can’t turn back the clock. I can’t undo the errors of the past. I deserve no pity. My obsession with poor James’ death and its cause rotted my ability to see things as they were. I saw them as I wanted them to be. You appreciated my dedication to the boy, even though he wasn’t my biological son. He was still my adopted little fella. I couldn’t split hairs when his life was in the balance. I can’t go on without him. God knows I’ve tried. Forgive me, I have failed him yet I must join him. Edward.’
Chapter 34
Prentice immediately called Olivia. “You need to come to my office again. There’s been a new development and it affects how you need to react to the next contact from Mitchell, because it isn’t him. Mitchell was in the coffin, as he was supposed to be, now he’s in the lab. Anyway, can you come right away?”
“But I thought you…”
“Yes I thought, but this is fact, Edward Mitchell has been dead for six years. We have to come up with a contingency plan and we can’t do that without you.”
“I’m on my way.”
The three not so wise detectives began to throw ideas around, stimulated by Prentice. “We’ve been led to the conclusion that Edward Mitchell was carrying out a crusade for six years, then he faked his own death, finally continuing the crusade from beyond the grave. It’s quite sophisticated in a way, and thinking back, Angela Mitchell was overly keen to dig him up on the pretext that it would be closure for her, one way or another. I’ve created a potential minefield by encouraging Olivia to clear her name with respect to the unfortunate death of Edward’s son, only to find that it wasn’t his son at all. Angela has known this all along. It’s too late to pull the plug, the journalists have done their bit. Gladstone, and now this Philip Morrison have joined the chorus. What will our mystery man make of this?”
> Jones was still upbeat about the situation. “Well, for a start, he’s got us where he wants us with respect to knowing Edward is innocent. The only joker in the pack for him is that Olivia was also innocent twelve years ago. He is being asked to shift his sights to Gladstone and Morrison. Everything hinges on his perception of the veracity of the admission of a cover-up. I wouldn’t like to be in either Gladstone’s shoes or Morrison’s if he buys the belated truth. It sounds as if you want to speak to Angela again boss, but I would leave that for now. If we try too hard to back up this newspaper story our man will get jumpy, it isn’t our place to take sides in a medical inquisition.”
Martha detoured to something else. “I’d rather do something than second guess this guy. Can I have your notes on where you got up to with the package delivery man, the internal mail system in the hospital? DI Jones?”
“Be my guest Martha, good idea.”
*
Roulette
Odds or even, black or red. In the end the gambler always loses? So many factors are beyond the retention capability of even a complex organ such as the human brain. “We have to pull out George, it’s gone too far.”
“Not the way I see it. I’m going to speak with her, it’s the only way.”
“That’s what I’m trying to tell you, speak to her and then we pull out.”
“It’s an unforeseen glitch, that’s all. It doesn’t change the plan, other than a late adjustment. The main objective of the entire campaign is about to fall into our lap. Some deserving sod is going down for what happened to James. It’s just a question of which one. We thought that re-opening the case would be the trickier challenge, it’s been gifted to us. We just have to determine which of these bastards is lying. It must be beyond any doubt, not just reasonable doubt. Get the kid ready.”
*
The enforced earlier than early retirement of Gladstone, and his revelations, pitchforked the hospital board to act. They needed to nominate his successor now. They’d already agreed to appoint some eminently qualified candidate from the Midlands, but the national coverage of the sleazy situation persuaded him to pull out. Olivia got the call, which lasted less than thirty seconds. “I like what I’m doing, no thanks.” The resulting speculation began to flow through the arteries and capillaries of every department. Gladstone himself moved hotels and evaded all attempts to contact him. Morrison was asked to attend a preliminary inquiry into his failure to declare the full picture when he was offered the London job. George was following the posts on social media, and he detected a groundswell of opinion which pushed for a full investigation, the case to be re-opened. It seemed as if the public wanted more than just an apology from Gladstone and Morrison, there was disgust at the implied attempt to let bygones be adorned with sincere regret, and nothing more. George was moved by this and it cemented his instinctive move to contact Olivia. He rang the Hamsterley Mill number. She’d had call redirect installed by the police. The mobile vibrated while she listened to Prentice enumerating the options for police involvement. “Hello.”
When she heard him speak she mouthed the words ‘It’s him’ silently.
“Can you explain Gladstone’s newfound altruism?”
“No, I can’t, but someone must have discovered a pressure point which I could not all those years ago. I really could have done without this happening right now, the timing is cruel. Is this call to tell me you aren’t going to allow me to hear Kieron’s voice, as you said on the reverse of the picture you left with me?”
“No, I’m considering an alternative. I’ll meet you again, but properly. You’ll receive a meeting point location from me and then have only a few minutes to get there. When I’m satisfied you haven’t been followed by anyone, I’ll give you further instructions. Bring with you anything which may help you to convince me that this revelation isn’t just journalistic sensationalism. You have one chance at this, so keep the plods out of it. If I see or hear what I need to, you will hear from your son. Have your mobile on all of the time, no redirect, understood?”
“Yes but…”
The line went dead. She was shaking with a strange admixture of fear and excitement. Prentice and the others didn’t like it. Olivia called a halt to their objections. “I’m sorry, but I have to do this as he says. He’s asking for proof, that’s a good sign. I’m grateful for all you’ve done so far, but it isn’t your son. I have to give Kieron utmost priority now, even if it costs my own life. It really is that simple for me. Just stay away and let me do this, I mean it.”
*
She called Tom from the police landline, keeping her mobile free, temporarily blocking every other number. “I’ve had contact from him Tom. I believe we’ve reached a critical point. I assume you’ve read the papers?”
“Absolutely, what do you mean by critical point?”
“First I need to tell you Mitchell is actually dead, the exhumation proved it. This guy, whoever he is, is going to meet me and if I can give him genuine evidence that I wasn’t guilty of any malpractice related to James Mitchell’s death, he will allow Kieron to speak with me.”
“Hold on a minute, are the police involved?”
“No, they wanted to be but I have to do it alone. I have to make him believe that I can be trusted.”
“I should be there Olivia, I’m glad the police won’t cock it up, but you, alone? When is it planned for?”
“It isn’t, I’ll hear when I hear. You also have to trust me Tom. I know the risk. You would do the same.”
“Yeah, I would. Look, for Christ’s sake let me know something as soon as you can, I’m already heading for the shitter. Awesome Olivia, total respect, call me.”
*
Philip Morrison was temporarily suspended pending a deeper inquiry. He was beginning to spiral out of control and rang Gladstone, not expecting him to be incommunicado. In his escalating panic, he made an impulsive decision. He planned to travel to Newcastle and extract the damning written evidence of Olivia’s support staff from the ‘arrogant bitch.’
*
Martha had a weird idea, one which might explain why they couldn’t find the phantom hospital postman. They could be looking in the wrong place. She was going to need Prentice to authorise the new search, with all the obligatory paperwork. The idea had floated past her ears from a conversation between two cleaners, having their daily gripe. Like many discoveries, it was insanely obvious once it was exposed. She had to get back to the office through the late afternoon rush hour.
*
The croupier was shaking the ball in his hands, it was time to send it around the rim of the roulette wheel.
Chapter 35
Olivia was at home when the call came. “Tonight, do you know the old station on the Derwent Walk?”
“Yes.”
“It’s not far from your house, you can easily walk to it. You have twenty-four minutes.”
The station master’s house was part of the redundant railway line which took coal from Newcastle to Consett for steel manufacture, then steel to Newcastle for shipbuilding. It was now a country park, for walkers, bikes and horses. It had no access for other vehicles, and crucially it was unlit. At this time of the evening it was likely to be completely ‘uninhabited.’ The old abandoned platform was in total darkness. Eerie didn’t cover it. With no road noise, the calls of birds and mammals joined together in a bizarre chorus of fear, warnings to heed unseen predators. Olivia tried to shut out these sounds, but the rustling of the wind through trees, all without leaves, added even more trepidation. Her heart rate surged when her mobile ringtone burst into life. “Hello.”
“Head for the viaduct and wait.”
“Which one? There are two.”
“The one back towards your house, not the one in the direction of Rowlands Gill village. You have eleven minutes.”
George continually observed her. As she approached the viaduct, a dark figure emerged like a genie, from a path below the level of the walk itself. She shuddered and strained her eye
s, but could only see the black outline, and two eyelets. He was wearing a balaclava. The voice was his, he flicked on a torch which temporarily blinded her.
“Tell me what you have before I see it. I’ll decide if it’s relevant.”
Olivia mumbled something nervously.
“Speak up.”
“I have my original pre-op notes of the meeting with Philip Morrison, the anaesthetist. We disagreed, but he was responsible for that part of the procedure, the anaesthetic. So, he had the final decision. These notes were never called for during the hearing.”
“Give it to me.” She reluctantly complied. He took a photograph with his phone. “What else?”
“Original statements of the theatre staff which confirm the aforementioned pre-op meeting, but more importantly, the events during the operation. The most crucial being the onset of a seizure suffered by James. Every one of these statements identified the irregular flow of anaesthetic as the immediate precursor to the seizure which ultimately cost the patient’s life.”
“Were they admitted to the hearing?”
“No, because the pre-hearing internal assessment decided it could have been a mere coincidence. All of the people at that assessment other than myself were from the hospital board. I was marginalised. I was told that I should be grateful that I wasn’t being blamed.”
“What did that mean?”
“That I should keep my mouth shut.”
“Give them to me.”
It took a while for the pictures to be taken.
“Stand over to the other side of the viaduct path while I read these documents.”
The minutes ticked by. Olivia was beginning to think he wasn’t convinced, when he said, “Take out your phone.”
She grappled in her pockets and somehow fiddled it out with shaking hands.
“I see it has a webcam, yes?”
“Yes.”
“Ring this number.”
Olivia could hardly control her finger. The call was answered after only one ringtone. Kieron’s face appeared. Olivia sank to her knees.
