The History Suite (#9 - The Craig Modern Thriller Series) (7 page)

John nodded, not seeing his point. Craig tried again.

“Don’t you worry they’ll bump into each other?”

John frowned, puzzled. “They meet every day.”

Craig’s voice rose and Ken’s joined in. “Do they know about each other?”

“In what way?”

“That you dated them both?”

John’s frown froze like quick-setting concrete and his eyes filled with an expression that said ‘Oh crap’.

Craig nodded slowly.

“Tell Natalie before someone else does, that’s my advice. She’ll be fine about it.”

As soon as he said it he knew it was a lie – an optimistic one but a lie nonetheless. Natalie Winter née Ingrams was many wonderful things: kind, talented, funny, but tolerant definitely wasn’t on the list. To say that she was a little fiery was like saying a Phaal curry was a little hot.

John started babbling. “She won’t be fine, she’ll kill me! This is Natalie we’re talking about, not Mother Teresa! She told me about everyone she’d ever dated before we married and I did the same, but I completely forgot about Miranda, and now they’re working on the same ward!” He gave Craig a pleading look. “I’m a dead man, Marc. Help me, you know about women.”

Craig shook his head and laughed. “Oh no, you don’t. You’re on your own on this one, mate. But I’d advise you to tell her fast. It’s bound to be mentioned now that she’s married, even if it’s only as a joke.”

Craig could see John approaching a full-scale meltdown so he focused him quickly back on the case.

“What else do you know about Tim Taylor that might help us? Any history of violence towards women? Any dirt in any other way?”

John didn’t answer, just stared into space imagining Natalie’s coming storm. Craig repeated the question louder and banged his hand on the desk. John roused himself.

“Yes… Tim Taylor. Strange man. He was years ahead of me at Queen’s but reputations get around. He was obsessed with old age.”

“Isn’t that good for a geriatrician?”

“Yes and no. Taylor’s obsessed with finding ways to slow the ageing process, not helping the aged. Sometimes the two coincide and people say he’s great, other times I think if he could practice vivisection and steal his patients’ body parts to keep himself young then he would.”

Ken gawped at him. “Literally steal them?”

John pondered for a moment. “Well… obviously he couldn’t get away with that, but his obsession with staying young
is
extreme. Miranda’s twenty years younger than him but I bet he’s already thinking of replacing her, now that she’s turned thirty.” He had a sudden thought and turned back to Craig. “You mentioned you thought something might have been going on between him and Eleanor Rudd.”

“Yes. He reacted too strongly when her name was mentioned. Why?”

“Because Rudd was twenty-five. Perhaps Taylor was interviewing her for the job of wife number two.”

“Or maybe he was seeing her in parallel. Either way it’s interesting.” Something else occurred to him. “Do you think his research suite was set up for that purpose? For Taylor to find ways to stay young?”

John nodded. “Probably, although he’d have to have drafted a solid research proposal to get the funding. Don’t get me wrong, Taylor’s a clever doctor, he just doesn’t care about much except himself.”

Craig rose and headed for the door. “Thanks, John. Let Davy have Eleanor Rudd’s tox-screen when it’s through please.”

As they made to leave John shot them a pleading look. “So you’re just going to leave me to deal with Natalie alone?”

Craig grinned as he walked out. “One of the joys of married life.”

***

High Street Station. 2 p.m.

Annette hadn’t worked with Carmen often so she was interested in finding out more about her. She’d joined them in July on a secondment from Vice and impressed Craig enough for him to make her permanent. Liam said that she was lippy, but Liam’s view of the world wasn’t always hers, so she was prepared to give the younger woman the benefit of the doubt.

She studied the constable across the staff-room, listening to Jack Harris’ jokes with half an ear. Carmen was pretty. Actually she was very pretty, although she did her best to hide it with baggy clothes and frumpy heels. Annette had no criticism of the technique; it was hard for a woman to get on in a male dominated world, never mind one who was so cute. Hiding your looks was a well-worn ploy to deter advances and be accepted as one of the boys. She’d done it herself for years, although in her case she’d never had much cuteness to hide.

Annette had no illusions about her looks. She was what her father had called ‘homely’ and some unkind ex-boyfriends had called plain; a glance in the mirror had confirmed their views. She hadn’t minded; she was pleasant and friendly looking and it had suited her jobs, first as a nurse and then as a cop. She’d been married for twenty years and barely paid attention to her appearance for most of them, except on her wedding anniversary and Valentine’s Day, when Pete expected her to morph into his fantasy. She’d been too busy with the house, career and children to do more than put a comb through her short brown hair, but everything had changed in the past year.

Now she was a woman with a hair style, a woman who casually mentioned Stewart at Bespoke Hair as if she’d known him all her life, and understood the intricacies of straighteners and mousse. First she’d wanted to look pretty for herself and then for a special man. She allowed herself a moment to think about him and then turned her thoughts back to Carmen.

Carmen could be beautiful yet she was deliberately trying not to be, and for some reason Annette didn’t think it was entirely down to the job. There was something about the girl’s stance that was defensive and something in her blue eyes that said she’d been badly hurt. She made a note to find out more then tuned back into Jack’s words.

“So Liam fell backwards as the drainpipe bent in half…”

Annette didn’t want to show that she hadn’t been listening so she laughed and let Carmen take the lead.

“The nurses’ home!”

Jack nodded. “Aye. Liam had his eye on a pretty young nurse at the time and she lived on the fifth floor.” He shook his head. “He never did get that date.” He stared wistfully out the window. “Boy, what I wouldn’t give to be eighteen again, knowing what I know now.”

They were surprised by Carmen’s next words. “If I was, I would do everything differently.”

Her tone was sad, matching the look in her eyes. Annette seized the opening.

“Like what, Carmen?”

With a shake of red curls the opening closed and Carmen returned to work mode.

“What time are we starting the interview?”

Just then the door opened and the familiar face of Constable Sandi Masters appeared. “That’s your two o’clock just arrived, Ma’am.”

Jack winced and corrected her in a martyred voice.

“Try not to make us sound like a hairdressers, Constable. Let’s maintain some pretence of officialdom.”

Sandi stifled a giggle and Annette and Carmen headed for interview room one, leaving Jack to usher Hannah Donard through. When Carmen was safely ensconced in the viewing room with Jack, Annette gazed across the table at the young nurse, trying to imagine how she would have felt meeting a detective when she’d been one. Nervous, that was for sure, and intimidated by the austere surroundings.

Annette barely noticed the décor of police stations nowadays but she remembered what a shock their unvarnished starkness had been to her ten years before, after working on bright hospital wards. The interview rooms with their grey floors and plain white walls, without pictures or colourful curtains to break the bleakness and only a two-way mirror on one wall to break the tedium. And the noises of a police station… she’d been amazed at how different they’d been to the subdued murmurs and sounds of a ward. The echoing sounds of tannoys and radios, punctuated by the bang of a viewing slat slamming across, and the worst noise of all, the clanging shut of cell doors imprisoning their occupants for the night. Even now, if she listened, she found them hard to hear; a decade ago she’d found them as frightening as hell.

As the thoughts ran through her mind she considered the young woman in front of her. Nurse Hannah Donard, a witness, not a suspect; the difference marked by the tray of tea and biscuits at her elbow and the absence of handcuffs. She was an unusual looking girl of twenty-four; striking in the way that the French called Jolie-laide. Her face was raw-boned and olive-skinned, with deep-set green eyes that darted around the room. Annette pictured her in uniform and imagined it neat, with pens lined up in her pocket and keys firmly attached to her waist.

Hannah stared back at the woman staring at her and then at the mirror across the room, wondering if someone was behind it watching, like they did on TV cop shows. She touched her face nervously and Annette smiled, as if it was a signal for them to start. Her calm voice broke the silence making Donard jump.

“Ms Donard, my name is Detective Inspector McElroy. Thank you for coming to speak to us. I’d like to ask you some questions if that’s all right? It won’t take long.”

Hannah Donard nodded mutely and Annette indicated the tape machine.

“Would you mind if we recorded the session? It will stop us having to repeat the questions at another time.”

Again the nurse nodded and Annette began to wonder if she could speak. A second later she did, in a surprisingly throaty voice.

“I just want to help; Ellie was my friend.”

The words were followed by a soft swallow that Annette recognised as a herald for tears if she wasn’t quick. She smiled and turned on the tape, adding a loud buzz to the cacophony that belonged to the police.

“Please say your name and address.”

“Hannah Donard. 9255, Lisburn Park.”

“Also present is D.I. Annette McElroy from Docklands C.C.U. Murder Squad. Now, Ms Donard, could you recount the events of the ninth of October for me, please.”

Donard swallowed hard. “I came on duty at the E.M.U. in St Mary’s Hospital at nine o’clock in the morning, for an eight hour shift on Newman, the acute ward. I’ve worked there for eight months.”

Annette cut in gently. “If you could just recount what happened between nine and twelve p.m. that day, please.”

Donard nodded quickly. “Yes, of course. Sorry.” She paused and then restarted. “I was on the ward with Sister Norton and Nurse Hobbert, Caroline Hobbert. We were just doing the usual things; the morning drug round and breakfast, then Sister accompanied the ward round while I worked in the office till about half-past ten.”

Annette interrupted, smiling at the familiar ritual of a hospital day. “What was Nurse Hobbert doing during that time?”

“She was helping Hazel in Reilly Suite, the E.M.U.’s long-stay research ward. Hazel is Sister Hazel Gormley; she runs Reilly Suite for the Prof. It’s a separate part of the unit but sometimes we help each other out.”

Annette smiled again, remembering how often she’d been sent to help in other wards. Sometimes she missed nursing for the routine and camaraderie, but mostly because she’d got to help people all day.

“I see. Please continue.”

As Donard spoke Annette topped up their tea and moved the plate of biscuits closer to the girl. Jack smiled at Carmen in the viewing room.

“She’s good, isn’t she? Different to the Super and D.C.I. Cullen; a softer approach, even with the crims.”

Carmen nodded in the darkness, longing to be in the interview room in charge. Someday.

Hannah Donard sipped gratefully at her tea and then spoke again. “About ten-forty Sister Norton asked me to check the towels on Newman and replace any that needed it with fresh ones. They’re kept in the linen room between Newman and Reilly wards.”

Annette cut in. “The linen room serves both parts of the unit?”

“Yes. Everything’s kept in there: towels, bed linen, spare dressing gowns; even some white coats. Professor Taylor still likes the doctors on E.M.U. to wear them.”

Even though they’d been outlawed for hygiene reasons seven years before.

“Reilly’s residents prefer their own bed-linen, but there are spares in the linen room, just in case.”

Annette nodded, making a note to visit the long-stay suite. She smiled the girl on.

“At eleven o’clock I was going to the linen room and Caro was leaving the unit for her coffee break.”

“How do you know it was eleven?”

Donard made a face. “Because I was supposed to be going for elevenses too, down in the canteen, but Sister insisted that I got the towels first.”

“Fine. Carry on.”

Annette reached for her cup, frowning at the biscuits as if their presence was an affront. She’d lost nine kilos since July and she wasn’t going to let some seductress of a Jammy Dodger ruin it now.

“I was standing by the linen room door, just about to go in, when Caro left for her coffee. That’s when I noticed the trolley.”

Annette set down her cup without taking a sip. “What made you notice it? Surely there are trollies all over the ward.”

Donard shook her head excitedly and Carmen leaned forward in the viewing room, pressing her nose against the two-way glass.