‘Do they know that you’re not going into parliament?’
He smiled. ‘Probably not, but let’s keep it between ourselves for now, eh, Mick?’
‘Yes, sir.’ I really couldn’t get the hang of calling him Matt.
* * *
‘So how’s your day at high altitude been?’ Sonia asked, that evening. ‘Are you sure you’re OK to mix with mere mortals again?’
‘I’m just a glorified chauffeur, to be honest,’ I said.
‘But what’s he like?’
‘The way everyone kow-tows to him, you’d think he was royalty.’
‘He’s political royalty,’ said Sonia.
‘I suppose so, but in point of fact, he seems like a genuinely nice guy. I’ve yet to glimpse another side to him. He treats me as if we were colleagues.’
‘Well, that can’t be bad. Is he as handsome as he looks on TV?’
‘That’s kind of hard for me to judge, but yes, I guess he is,’ I admitted. ‘And he’s got charisma all right, bucketloads of it.’
Chapter Thirty-nine
‘Why is our office junior spending her time filling in Freedom of Information paperwork?’ Jake wanted to know. I had just come back from lunch and, clearly, in my absence he’d been grilling Plum.
‘Because Rita Todd was concerned about the children who were dying on the recovery ward, and that’s the only way we can discover how many we’re talking about.’
‘I don’t understand,’ Jake said. ‘Rita Todd was a woman, who might have — and I can’t stress the uncertainty enough here — might have hired us to defend her on a disciplinary case. Sadly, Mrs Todd is no more, and therefore neither is her case. As far as we’re concerned, it’s closed.’
‘Rita’s daughter is convinced that her death was neither suicide nor an accident,’ I countered.
‘To be blunt, that’s her problem and she needs to address that with the police,’ said Jake. ‘I know you feel bad about it, but it no longer concerns us. Harsh, I know, but true.’
‘Thing is, I think Andrea might be right. I think there might be more to this than meets the eye.’
‘Based on what?’
‘Based on the fact that it appears Rita was planning to blow the whistle on some dubious practices within the hospital. I think there could be people who would have wanted to stop her from doing that.’
Jake looked at me as if I’d just announced that Martians were invading the town. I couldn’t really blame him.
‘Like who? Oh yes,’ he continued, answering his own question. ‘This would be one of the renowned NHS Hit Squads that go around “taking out” anyone who doesn’t agree with their policies.’ He was staring at me. ‘Have you been overdoing the ju-jus? First off, where did you come up with that particular paranoid conspiracy theory? And second — if we indulge your fantasy for just a moment — how could you possibly hope to verify it?’
‘To start with,’ I said, more defensively than I’d intended, ‘by looking more closely into what was happening to Rita Todd at work, as we would have done if she was still alive.’
‘If she had wanted us to,’ Jake reminded me.
Ignoring him, I told him what Delores had said. ‘Trouble is, without direct access to any medical records, we’ve no way of knowing who was right or wrong.’
‘Or,’ Jake pointed out. ‘It could simply be the case that Rita Todd was getting too attached to her patients. I’m sure that’s not uncommon.’
‘Administering overdoses could be construed as euthanasia, which as far as I’m aware is still illegal in this country.’
‘But if it’s to alleviate suffering? That’s exactly where it gets tricky. There are guidelines for these things.’
‘Which are subject to interpretation,’ I reminded him.
‘So this is why we’re applying to FOI,’ Jake concluded.
‘You’d think the mortality figures would be readily available, but according to Delores, Rita came up against a brick wall. I thought I’d see if we encountered the same problem. Delores told us that one of the families at the centre of all this was the Dawson family. Couldn’t we at least try talking to them?’
‘What would that achieve?’
‘It might help establish just how much trouble Rita was causing for the hospital, and how much someone might have wanted her silenced.’
‘By driving her to suicide, you mean,’ Jake said.
‘Well, all right,’ I conceded. It wasn’t what I’d meant, but it was the only realistic possibility. ‘Whatever it was, there’s something going on here that smells off.’ I considered Delores’s words. ‘And someone ought to be held to account.’
‘Oh, for God’s sake.’ Jake sighed. ‘All right, then.’
‘After all,’ I added. ‘It’s not as if we’re overwhelmed with other work.’
Jake winced. ‘That’s below the belt.’
‘About the Dawsons . . .’ I continued. ‘It’ll be a delicate one. Can you do it?’
He shook his head with exasperation. ‘Dog with a bone,’ was all he said.
* * *
I hadn’t been in there since the night I was attacked, but on my way home I called in at Davey’s newsagents.
‘I heard what happened to you,’ Davey said, gazing at my fast-fading bruises. ‘That’s what they did? I can’t believe it round here. Have they caught the men who did it?’ He seemed a little nervous.
‘Not yet,’ I said. ‘But I appreciate your help. The police said that you picked out a couple of faces.’
He was quick to respond. ‘They were just people I’ve seen hanging round the shop. That’s all,’ he said.
‘Well, thanks anyway.’ I paid for my items and left.
Chapter Forty
Superintendent Bowers’ obsession with discretion seemed to have paid off and on the whole, no one seemed to have got wind of Westfield’s presence in Charnford. The few passers-by we encountered paid scant attention to the chauffeur-driven car as it deposited its passenger outside the community centre on Thursday morning. Our secret was apparently safe.
For someone who wanted ‘thinking time’, Westfield was surprisingly chatty. We had barely pulled away from the kerb afterwards when he asked, ‘Do you have children, Mick?’
‘Not yet,’ I said, intrigued.
‘But you’re planning them, you and your wife?’
I nodded to confirm.
‘Well, good luck to you,’ said Westfield. ‘It was one of the things that Amelie and I didn’t get around to. We’d talked about it, in an abstract sort of way, but once she’d had her diagnosis, she was worried about the risks. And by then it was too late. She had some of her eggs frozen, but what would be the sense of raising her children without her?’
I sensed he’d said more than he’d intended and there followed an awkward silence. ‘I read about all that of course, sir, I mean, your wife’s illness. I’m very sorry.’ Our eyes met in the rear-view mirror. ‘Nobody should have to go through all that.’
‘Thanks, Mick. I appreciate it. You want my advice, if you want to start a family, don’t hang about, just get on and do it.’
‘I’ll keep that in mind, sir,’ I said, pulling into the hospital.
‘Jesus . . .’
It took me a moment to realise that Westfield wasn’t still talking to me, but then I saw what he had. We’d reached our destination a few minutes ahead of schedule, for which I was quite proud. But despite his request that the visits should be low key, a welcoming committee of hospital bigwigs was already assembled, lined up outside like in a costume drama, when the new master or mistress of the house arrives for the first time. I wasn’t sure what to do once I’d let Westfield out of the car, so I stood by and watched for a moment. He behaved as if he was flattered, but I sensed that underneath he was fuming. As he began to make his way down the line, offering a handshake and a few words, a woman at the far end became increasingly agitated, hopping from foot to foot with anticipation — clearly a fan. When Westfield got to
her, he seemed to recoil in surprise, but then took her outstretched hand as she leaned in and kissed him on the cheek, which surely went way beyond protocol. Simpering didn’t begin to describe it. Westfield, ever the diplomat, handled it smoothly, with a hand on her forearm and a step back, his smile unwavering.
As was becoming the pattern, the visit ran over and I sat outside with the engine running, trying not to obstruct the emergency vehicles that were still trying to do their job. Eventually my fare appeared, still surrounded by hospital staff and deep in conversation with the woman from the line-up. As they parted company, Westfield managed to put enough distance between them for an arm’s length handshake, before ducking in through the passenger door I held open for him.
Heeding the superintendent’s instructions, I started the car and eased out back onto the main road without passing comment. But Westfield’s blue eyes were staring steadily into the rear-view mirror, and met mine each time I used it. He let out a heavy sigh.
‘Everything all right, sir?’ I asked.
‘Wonderful,’ he frowned. ‘This reception I’m going to tomorrow night, it’s going to be a nightmare . . .’
‘The lady at the hospital?’
‘Was it that obvious?’
‘She was all over you like a rash.’
‘My past life catching up with me. I have no objection, you understand, but I’d prefer it not to be so inevitable. You wouldn’t happen to have any friends who’d be prepared to act as a human shield, do you?’
I hadn’t expected that. ‘No, sir, I—’
‘I’m kidding, Mick,’ he said. ‘Actually, no, I’m not. You don’t know anyone that I could take along with me to enable me to keep a distance, do you? Someone whose company I might enjoy for the evening and perhaps into the night, but who would be discreet? No, sorry, you’re a family man. Forget I even asked.’
We drove in silence for several minutes, then, unbidden, Keeley came into my head.
‘As a matter of fact, sir, I might know someone.’ He looked at me, curious. ‘She’s someone I know from a case I’ve been working on. A professional, if you get my meaning.’
‘Is she respectable?’
‘She’s very classy, sir.’
‘Discreet? I’m sure I don’t need to point out what a risk it would be. You can imagine what the press would make of it. Are you and she . . . ?’
‘Oh no, sir, but I’ve met her several times and had absolutely no idea what she did until she told me.’
‘If your situation was different, would you go out with her?’
‘Like a shot, sir.’
‘Well then, she sounds perfect. Give her a call, will you? I think I should meet her beforehand too, perhaps tonight at my hotel if possible, at about ten?’
‘I’ll see what I can do, sir.’
Chapter Forty-one
Jake hadn’t needed any kind of direction in talking to the Dawsons. He knew what I wanted to find out, though we were both sceptical of uncovering anything of significance. He went armed with a Dictaphone and I played it back later, the digital recording as crystal clear as if I’d been there in the room with them.
‘I realise this was only a matter of months ago. Do you mind talking about it?’ Jake asked.
A male voice responded — Alex Dawson. ‘As long as you don’t mind talking to me. My wife isn’t here at the moment, she’s taken George to one of his numerous medical appointments. I’m sorry, could you just tell me again what your interest is?’
‘My firm was due to be representing Rita Todd at a disciplinary hearing. Your case was one of those named in the allegations. Since then, of course, she has passed away, but there are one or two loose ends we need to tie up.’
‘Did you say passed away? Rita? That must have been sudden. Was she ill?’
There was a slight pause while Jake chose the right words. ‘It’s not yet clear if it was an accident or suicide.’
‘Oh my God, that’s terrible. Rita was such a lovely woman, so kind.’
There followed a long pause, while Jake let him take in that information. Dawson spoke again. ‘And a disciplinary hearing? Was that because of us? I don’t understand — Rita was fantastic.’
Jake was tactful. ‘There were some allegations of er . . . discrepancies. Rita had been suspended pending a hearing. I understand Rita nursed your child,’ he continued, moving things along. ‘Would you be able to tell me about what happened to you? I realise this it’s a difficult time to look back on.’
‘Actually, it helps to talk about it,’ said Dawson. ‘To acknowledge the difficulties George had when he was first born. Have you got children?’
‘No, I haven’t.’
‘Well it was all a bit of shock, really. It was our first pregnancy and it was all going along nicely, then at twenty weeks, Jenny had a bleed. They took her into hospital to try and keep the baby in there for longer, but then at twenty-four weeks he was delivered, obviously much too small and very ill. He looked like a scarlet frog. Then on top of that, we found out that he had a rare metabolic condition. He was taken into NICU and that was when we met Rita for the first time. We were in shock, but she was wonderful. She always explained everything they were doing and why. The consultant, Mr Leonard, was good, but he didn’t really have a lot of time to talk to us.’
Tell me about it, I thought.
‘Anyway, those first few weeks are just a blur now. We lurched along from one day to the next, hardly eating or sleeping. Slowly George began to get stronger, I think he surprised everyone. He did so well that he was taken off the ventilator and transferred out of intensive care. We didn’t see Rita much after that because it was a different staff team on the new ward. In fact, we didn’t see much of anyone consistently after that, there always seemed to be temporary staff. Perhaps that’s why we appreciated Rita so much. Anyway, George had only been there a few days, when some complications arose from his medical condition. Mr Leonard said that he felt George was in distress and that although we might be able to solve the problem in the short-term, it was likely to happen again and that it was probably going to be an ongoing problem that would require further interventions. He asked us to strongly consider whether we wanted to subject George to further invasive treatment that might not have positive outcomes.’
‘How did you feel about that?’
He stopped to think for a minute. ‘I’ve thought about it a lot,’ he said. ‘To be honest, it was rather out of the blue. Just prior to that, we had been given the impression that George was doing well. But suddenly Mr Leonard seemed to be saying that we were just prolonging George’s suffering. It was the one time that we were quite at a loss. We didn’t know what to do for the best.’
‘Did you speak to Rita at that time?’
‘Only because Jen bumped into her by chance. When she told Rita what was happening, she was very concerned.’
‘Did you feel as if you were being put under any pressure to make a decision?’
‘In truth, the way in which it was framed gave us little choice. No one wants their child to suffer. Mr Leonard said that even if George survived, which was by no means certain, the risk of severe disabilities and the need for ongoing treatment would be greater. He asked if we were prepared for that. And frankly? We weren’t. I mean, it’s hard enough these days for a child to cope with all the pressures of modern living without starting already at such a disadvantage.’
‘Indeed,’ I murmured to myself.
‘Well between us we got as far as agreeing to turn off the life support machines,’ Dawson said. ‘It felt like the hardest decision of our lives. But then that evening, we had a call from Rita. She didn’t say it outright but I knew that she was sticking her neck out for us. She gave me Mike and Sara’s phone number.’
‘Mike and Sara?’ Jake queried.
‘They have a little girl, Chantelle, who has the same metabolic condition. Like George, it was touch and go with her when she was first born and there were all kinds of dire predictions, b
ut she’s five now and doing very well. I think Rita wanted us to see another perspective before we made our decision. And she was right. We rang them and spoke to Sara and that was when we decided we wanted the hospital to do everything they could to keep George alive.’
‘What kind of reaction did that get?’ asked Jake.
‘Mr Leonard made it very clear that he thought we were making a mistake. It was only when I made a vague threat about legal action that he backed down.’
‘And what do you think now?’
‘I’ll be honest, it hasn’t been plain sailing. George has had to go back into hospital for further treatment. Sometimes when he’s poorly and I see how anxious my wife is, I genuinely wonder if we did the right thing, but I know that Jenny has never had any doubts. And when George is well, it’s impossible to imagine life without him.’
Jake switched off the Dictaphone. ‘Does that help?’ he asked me.
‘Lucky that the Dawsons are articulate and assertive people,’ I remarked. ‘Otherwise they might not have got what they wanted.’
* * *
Rita had uncovered some dubious practices, and now she was dead. Was she dead because she couldn’t live with what was going on, or because someone wanted to abort her attempt to expose it? If the latter, then it meant that anyone in possession of such information could be under threat.
Plum had also had some limited success with FOI, and she and I were sitting in silence, each trying to make sense of the data, when there was a knock on the office door. We both looked up and were equally surprised when Cate’s head appeared round it.
‘Hello.’
‘Hello,’ I managed to reciprocate.
Cate glanced over at Plum, who was scowling. ‘May I come in?’
‘Of course.’ Getting up, I indicated the chair opposite. ‘Have a seat. Can you give us a minute?’ I said to Plum. The atmosphere in the room had noticeably thickened. Folding her notebook with a slap, Plum got up and without a word, stomped out of the room, closing the door with more vigour than was necessary.
The Truth About Murder Page 22
