‘She seems to be doing OK, considering.’ I recalled Rita’s straightforward manner and her dignified air of resignation as she left our offices. ‘She’s given us her side of things, of course. But it would help to get another perspective.’
‘I can’t tell you much,’ she said. ‘Mr Leonard’s the one you want to talk to,’ said Ellen. ‘But he’s the consultant in charge, so he’s a very busy man.’
‘We plan on talking to him, too,’ I said. I nodded towards Plum to make a note of that name.
Ellen looked from one of us to the other. ‘So, what is it you want to know?’
‘For a start, why did you call her “poor Rita”?’ I asked.
‘Well, nobody wants to get suspended, do they?’
Suspended? I had to stop myself from repeating the word out loud. I wondered if Andrea knew, or was this the matter about to hit the fan that Rita had mentioned? But she hadn’t seemed worried by that, instead she’d been almost defiant.
‘Why?’ I asked.
‘I don’t exactly know. Babies were dying who shouldn’t have died — something to do with their medication. But I’m sure it can’t have been Rita.’
Shit. This was far worse than I could have imagined. ‘Has someone said that it was?’
‘Well, not as such, but the day after the last . . . incident, Rita didn’t turn up for work and we were told she wouldn’t be in for a while.’ She looked doubtful. ‘You start to put two and two together, don’t you?’
‘Do you think Rita’s capable of that, causing the death of a patient?’
‘No! That’s what I’m saying. Not intentionally.’
‘You mean it could have been an accident? That Rita might have made a mistake?’
‘Maybe. This job, it can be relentless. And there’s fewer of us to do it. Since we got restructured, quite a few people didn’t like it, so they left. They haven’t been replaced with permanent staff. The trust buys in agency staff to try and fill the gaps but the temporary pay and conditions are pretty crap, so they don’t stay. By the time they get used to how we do things, they’ve gone and there’s someone else in their place. And they don’t take on the same level of responsibility, so that gets left to the rest of us. I mean, Mr Leonard helps out when he can but, as I said, he’s a very busy man.’
‘And what about Rita?’ If we could demonstrate that she was under undue pressure, we might have a chance.
‘Well now that Delores has gone, she’s the only senior nurse on the unit, so she has to do a lot of cover. She used to say she didn’t mind, on account of her daughter being grown up and all that, but you’ve got to have a life, haven’t you? It was starting to get her down.’
‘Was it? What makes you think that?’
‘She’s been a bit distant, like she’s got a lot on her mind. I wondered if she’d started seeing someone. Except . . .’
‘What?’
‘She seemed kind of sad about it. I heard about what her ex was like and I was hoping it’s not the same thing again.’
‘Do Rita and Mr Leonard get on?’
Ellen’s eyes flicked anxiously towards the CCTV camera that was monitoring our every move. ‘They used to. When I first started here, it was a really good atmosphere. We were a much bigger team, and we looked out for each other. There was a lot of banter and leg-pulling that went on. It can be a tough job sometimes, especially like today when you lose a patient. Because it’s happening more than usual, it makes everyone tense. Sometimes you need to be able to let go a bit and have a laugh. Rita and Mr Leonard, they used to be the worst. Same sense of humour.’
‘But not anymore.’
‘I suppose because she’s the senior nurse, Mr Leonard is on Rita’s back more than the rest of us. It’s stupid things, really. If he can’t find the notes on a patient he’s looking for, or hasn’t got the right equipment to hand, he can be a bit sharp. I mean, technically Rita’s the next in line, of course, so she’s the one who cops for it. But she just gets on with the job and never complains.’
‘Mr Leonard sounds quite a difficult man to work with,’ I said. In my limited experience, medical consultants could have egos the size of Canada and behave accordingly. Should it come to that, this could all be evidence for Rita’s defence.
But, disappointingly, Campbell responded with an emphatic shake of the head. ‘Oh no. Most of the time he’s great — a really nice down to earth guy. And he’s brilliant with the families. He’s just . . . he has a lot of responsibilities.’
‘When do you think things between him and Rita started to go wrong?’
‘When the department got reorganised. I think Rita thought that Mr Leonard could have stood up to the hospital management to resist it. I overheard her telling him once that he was betraying his profession and betraying the families.’
‘It wasn’t Mr Leonard’s idea, then? The directive for that came from higher up management?’
She wrinkled her brow. ‘Yes, I mean, nobody seemed to want it, but it just sort of happened.’
At that moment, the door burst open and another young woman put her head in.
‘Ellen, can you come?’ She was breathless, either with haste or anxiety. ‘Things are kicking off out here.’
She was instantly on her feet and moving towards the door. ‘Sorry, got to go.’
‘Is there anything else you think we should know?’ Plum called after her, but she’d gone.
‘Thanks for your time,’ I murmured as the door swung closed behind her.
‘What do you reckon, then?’ Plum asked as we started out on the trek back to the main entrance, negotiating our way out through the warren of corridors.
‘I’m still reeling from finding out that children have died. Rita kept that quiet.’
‘So why didn’t she tell you any of that? Why hold back?’
‘Well the obvious conclusion is that she’s guilty. If she knows she hasn’t got a leg to stand on it would explain why Andrea had to drag her kicking and screaming to us. But I don’t get it. She was so . . . calm. She said she’d deal with it and didn’t need anyone else to fight her battles. We certainly need to speak to her again, and urgently.’
Instead of heading towards the exit, I started back to the department’s reception desk.
‘What are you doing?’ said Plum.
‘Striking while the iron’s hot,’ I said. ‘We might as well see this Mr Leonard while we’re here. It sounds as if he’s in the thick of it. Though none of this will be at all relevant if Rita insists on going it alone. We could just be pissing in the wind.’
We went back to the desk where Shelley was stationed again.
‘We were hoping to speak to Mr Leonard, too,’ said Plum, making it sound like an entitlement. ‘Is he on duty today?’
‘Well, he is,’ Shelley said uncertainly, as if we’d just asked for an audience with God. ‘But I’ll have to see if he’s available. He’s—’
‘—a very busy man,’ Plum finished for her, adding a sardonic smile. ‘I know.’
Shelley disappeared for some time. When she came back, she was apologetic. ‘He’s in a meeting,’ she said. ‘I’m afraid he hasn’t got time to see anyone today.’
Of course he hadn’t.
Chapter Twenty-one
I was at my desk when I became aware of someone standing over me. It was one of the constables from the incident room, assigned to Denny’s case.
‘I was asked to work through PC Sutton’s in-tray and I came across this,’ he said. ‘I’ve tried phoning back, but no luck so far. Does it mean anything to you?’
What he handed me was a phone message slip asking Denny to call the mortuary regarding the fatality last Thursday. I had to think for a minute what that was. Then I remembered. It was the John Doe suicide we’d attended the afternoon of the day before Denny was killed. God, it seemed a lifetime ago.
‘It’s OK,’ I told the constable. ‘You can leave it with me.’
He looked uncertain.
‘Really,
’ I said. ‘I’ll get back to you with whatever I find. Promise.’
I tried phoning the mortuary first, but like my colleague had said, they must have been rushed off their feet, because there wasn’t even space to leave a recorded message.
The mortuary was way down the list of places I wanted to go right then. Apart from anything else, I couldn’t shake the thought that it was where Denny would be. But a trip to the hospital would give me something to do and get me away from the oppressive atmosphere of the station.
Visitor parking at the hospital was always at a premium and I’d turned up at what was probably the busiest time of day. I cruised slowly up and down the rows a couple of times until finally conceding that there were no free spaces, even for anyone there in an official capacity. I drove off-site, into a residential side street, finally finding a gap about a quarter of a mile away. When I got to the basement mortuary, there was no one around. The pathologist and his staff were obviously otherwise engaged, so I picked up a cup of typically unappealing vending machine coffee and took it to the waiting room, where I absently flicked through a couple of tattered magazines put there for the purpose. I’d only ever been here a couple of times and could never quite shake the feeling of slight apprehension, even though outwardly it was just another set of offices and waiting space. I’d been there about twenty minutes, and was thinking of giving up, when I heard the banging of a door and a mortuary assistant — Sammy, if I’d remembered correctly — walked past the open door, saw me and retraced his steps.
‘Constable Fraser?’ he queried, as unsure as me, though he’d remembered my relationship with Denny and followed up with what had become the routine commiserations.
‘How can we help you?’ he asked.
I explained the mystery message, omitting the main reason why I’d come along in person.
He grimaced. ‘I’m sorry, you’ve had a wasted journey,’ he said. ‘I only called to let PC Sutton know that there would be a delay on the post-mortem. We had a couple of unexpected deaths ourselves the night before, on Ward Nine.’ He saw my blank face. ‘Geriatrics. It set us back a bit. And now . . . your partner . . .’
Of course. Denny would have been fast-tracked. I wondered what he’d have thought of that.
‘Tell you what, though—’ Sammy brightened at the prospect of offering up something. ‘We’ve got the clothes and stuff bagged up for your suicide. You could take those?’
‘Any ID?’ I asked hopefully, when he returned. There wasn’t, but the personal effects would help for verification when an anxious friend or relative fetched up at Fulford Road to report a missing person. Sammy also tracked down a facial photograph, which he’d slipped into an envelope.
‘Not a pretty sight.’
‘Thanks,’ I said.
‘No probs,’ said Sammy. ‘And don’t worry. We’ll look after him.’ I wasn’t sure if he meant Denny or our suicide, but, having seen the mortuary team in action before, I had no doubts that both would be afforded the same level of respect.
Even so, I didn’t like to think of Denny subjected to the indignity of a post-mortem, and it occurred to me that if I’d been a bit more insistent about going after Archer, he wouldn’t have to be. I climbed the stairs to the ground floor, working hard to dispel the unwelcome images that had come into my head, so didn’t hear my name called across the atrium until it was bellowed at close range. Looking up, I was puzzled to see the owner of the voice — a striking young woman whom Sonia would have described as ‘alternative’. Then I noticed the distinctive gait of her companion, Stefan Greaves.
‘Everything all right?’ I asked, as we came face to face.
He replied with a thumbs up. ‘Clean bill of health, near enough,’ he said.
‘That’s great.’ I was pleased for him. ‘Look, I’m sorry I haven’t got back to you yet, but there’s a lot going on.’
‘No problem. It was hardly the crime of the century.’ He was more reasonable than I had a right to expect. He gave me a curious look. ‘You look like shit,’ he observed. ‘Has something happened?’
I forced a smile. ‘Yeah, you could say that.’ I rubbed a hand over my shaven head. ‘You heard about the officer stabbed to death off Vesey Street?’
He nodded. ‘It’s been all over the news.’
‘It was my partner, Denny. You remember the other guy who came to talk to you in the hospital?’
I missed what he said in reply. I mean, it sounded like ‘Saint Peter’, but that seemed unlikely. The next bit I did get.
‘I didn’t know that,’ he said. ‘Were you there when it happened?’
‘Right beside him.’ Something nudged me in the stomach. ‘It’s on a loop in my head. I mean, it was dark, so I couldn’t see clearly, but I could hear him. First this moaning noise, but then it was just this awful rattling sound in time with his breathing. Every time I close my eyes it comes back to me.’ I realised suddenly what I was saying. ‘Sorry, that must be like a flashback to what you went through.’
A shake of the head. ‘It’s fine. They said on the news that the guy who attacked him had mental health problems.’
‘Mainly a not so friendly relationship with alcohol,’ I told him. ‘But yeah, he’s a few spanners short of a full toolkit.’
‘Has he been picked up yet?’
‘Not as far as I know. They’ve taken me off it, of course.’
The girl standing beside Greaves appeared to be scowling at me, though it could have been simply her natural expression. Her jaw worked hard on a piece of gum.
‘This is Plum, my assistant,’ Greaves said. ‘Plum, PC Fraser, my police liaison officer.’
‘Hi,’ she said, but it took some effort, so I didn’t like to ask about the name.
‘Are you here about . . . ?’ asked Greaves. He didn’t have to say Denny’s name.
I shook my head. ‘Another one I couldn’t do much about, unfortunately,’ I said, nodding towards the stairwell I’d just ascended.
‘That’s tough.’
‘Aye, it’s the incident I got called to from your flat, and the last one Denny and I attended, so it would be good to find out what happened. No ID yet, but I’m working on it.’
‘Good luck with that,’ said Greaves.
I lifted a hand to bid them goodbye. ‘I’ll be seeing you, then.’ But as I made to move off, Greaves seemed to freeze.
‘What’s that?’ he asked, looking at one of the evidence bags in my hand.
‘Effects of the deceased.’ For the first time, I looked properly at the two bags. One contained what looked like nondescript high street store clothing, the other a couple of personal items. ‘Not much to show for a life.’
He swallowed. ‘It’s just, I’ve seen one of those very recently.’ He was pointing at a fine silver chain, which had a tiny cross attached. ‘Shortly before I got my head kicked in.’
‘Your attackers?’ My heart did a little leap, but he shook his head.
‘No, before that. A client we’ve been trying — unsuccessfully so far — to get hold of over the weekend.’
‘Who is he?’
‘It’s a “she”,’ said Plum. ‘Rita Todd. Works here, funnily enough.’
‘Ah, well this one’s a . . .’ I was about to say ‘man’ but then realised that we hadn’t had confirmation on that. Could it possibly be? Then I remembered I was also carrying the manila envelope. ‘I’ve got a picture here,’ I said. ‘It won’t be a pretty sight.’
I was right about that. It was a gruesome image, the face grey and distended from prolonged time spent in the water. But it wasn’t disgust he recoiled in. It was recognition.
‘I’m sorry. Suicide’s looking pretty definite,’ I said.
‘Suicide? Shit.’ They exchanged a look.
‘Is there any reason to think she might have come to harm that way?’ I asked.
‘No. I don’t know.’ Greaves looked bewildered. ‘I just had one brief conversation with her.’
I was still trying to get m
y head round the possibility. ‘Take another look, if you can,’ I said. ‘You really think it could be her?’
‘How did she . . . ? I mean, what were the circumstances?’ asked Greaves. ‘Can you say?’
‘There’s not much more to tell. She was found by a couple of river authority guys, down near Mill Lane on Thursday afternoon. It’s what I got called to when I left your flat. Nothing yet suggests anything other than suicide. I understand it’s not uncommon around here — a couple or so every six months. Was Rita Todd in that kind of state?’
Another look passed between them, but it was Greaves who spoke again. ‘I don’t know. Her daughter had persuaded her to come to us because of trouble at work, but Rita implied that it was an overreaction. She seemed . . . fine. Together.’
‘We did just find out that she might have been suspended, though,’ Plum reminded him.
‘Yeah, that’s something she forgot to share with me.’ I could see him replaying the conversation with Rita Todd in his head, struggling to recall any clues.
There was an easy way of determining this one way or the other.
‘Look, I have no right to ask this, but how would you feel about doing a preliminary identification?’ I asked him. ‘It would save putting the family through any unnecessary pain and . . .’ But he’d already agreed. ‘She has got family then?’ I confirmed.
‘Just the daughter — Andrea — as far as we know.’
‘Well,’ I said. ‘No time like the present.’ They came with me back to the mortuary, where Plum waited outside.
‘Have you ever done this before?’ I asked Greaves before we went in.
‘Once,’ he said. ‘My mother.’
That wouldn’t have been a happy memory, but this wasn’t the time to ask about that. I was still trying to get to grips with the potential coincidence of all this.
‘She’d spent some considerable time in the river,’ I warned him. ‘So, like in the photo, she’s really not looking her best.’
The attendant lifted the sheet and Greaves’ reaction was instantaneous, leaving no room for doubt.
‘It’s her,’ he confirmed, flinching a little. ‘Rita Todd. And it’s definitely suicide?’
The Truth About Murder Page 11
