Unnatural Wastage (10 page)

‘Ah yes, Peggy Thompson,' said Seaton. ‘Yes, we've heard about what happened to poor Ms Tremaine of course – terrible business!' He assumed a suitably serious expression to match his tone, and quickly added, ‘but I hardly think you expect to find her murderer here?'

‘We have to follow up every lead, no matter how apparently irrelevant,' Sukey explained. ‘Perhaps you didn't know that Ms Tremaine and Mr Donaldson became acquainted during their visits here?'

Seaton nodded. ‘Oh yes, we were aware of that.'

‘After his mother's funeral, Ms Tremaine got in touch with Mr Donaldson. She had read the report of the inquest into his mother's death, during which he claimed that had the nursing staff been more attentive she might not have died. During their conversation she mentioned an exchange she had overheard between two members of your nursing staff – an exchange that on reflection she thought might be significant.'

Seaton frowned and raised his eyebrows. ‘What conversation was that, and how did she come to overhear it?'

‘She mentioned two names – Sally Carter and Barbara Melrose,' said Vicky. ‘Were they on duty at the time Mrs Donaldson died?'

‘I'll check.' Seaton spent two or three minutes consulting his computer before saying, ‘Yes. They were both on duty that day. They are two very experienced and conscientious nurses and they have both worked here for several years.'

‘We're not here to examine their credentials,' Sukey assured him. ‘We just want to ask them a few questions, so if you would kindly—'

‘Yes, yes, all right.' Seaton stood up, walked round the desk and opened the door. He led them along a short corridor and showed them into a small, windowless room lit by a skylight. ‘If you'll wait here I'll go and find them,' he said and went out, leaving the door open. A few moments later he returned escorting two young women in neat blue uniforms. ‘Here they are,' he said, with an air of an uncle presenting two favourite nieces. ‘These ladies are detectives,' he informed them after introducing each of them by name, ‘But don't worry – they don't bite!' He gave each an encouraging pat on the arm and withdrew, saying over his shoulder to Sukey and Vicky, ‘Do pop into the office before you leave – my wife would like to meet you.'

The moment the door closed behind him, Sally Carter said, ‘This is about Fenella Tremaine's murder, isn't it?'

‘Suppose you let us ask the questions,' said Sukey. For some reason she had found Brian Seaton's manner intensely irritating and she spoke in a sharper tone than usual. ‘We want you both to cast your minds back a couple of months to the death of Mrs Donaldson, a former resident here. We understand that you were both on duty the day she died.'

‘That's right,' said Barbara Melrose. ‘We had to attend the inquest; the coroner was very kind and he seemed satisfied that we did everything we could for her.'

‘It appears that the old lady's son doesn't think so, and we are informed that you were overheard later saying something that suggested otherwise. To be precise –' she referred to her notes – ‘our information is that one of you said, “Her time was up anyway,” to which the other replied, “That's why I didn't say anything.” Would either of you care to comment on those remarks?'

Two pairs of eyes widened, two jaws dropped and hands were clapped to two mouths. For a few seconds the nurses struggled to control themselves, failed, and exploded into giggles. ‘Perhaps you'd like to share the joke?' Vicky suggested.

‘Oh dear, do we have to? It's really very embarrassing – and we might lose our jobs if it gets back to him,' said Sally.

‘Of course, he might give us a bonus if we promise not to tell Carla,' Barbara tittered.

‘If it turns out that you're withholding vital information you stand to lose more than your jobs,' Sukey snapped, at which the women hastily straightened their faces. ‘What you have just said appears, on the face of it, to go some way to refute Mr Donaldson's claim to have found evidence of negligence. However, it is possible it opens a rather different can of worms. And you are right; we are also looking into the murder of Fenella Tremaine. So it might be in your interests to come clean. When you said you might lose your jobs if it gets back to him, do we take it you were talking about your employer, Mr Seaton?' The two women exchanged glances and then nodded.

‘You reckon he plays away?' asked Vicky. Again they nodded. ‘And the one whose time was up anyway – would that by any chance be Fenella Tremaine?'

‘We reckon so,' said Barbara. ‘We could see they fancied each other. He used to make a point of coming into the lounge when she was visiting Peggy Thompson and you could tell by the looks they gave each other and the way they exchanged whispers. They would have realized none of the old dears would notice anything and it probably didn't occur to either of them that we might be keeping an eye on them.'

‘You've both been here a considerable time – had he had other affairs?'

Sally shrugged. ‘Who can say?'

‘Has he tried it on with either of you?'

‘No, we reckon he's too smart for that.'

‘Do you think his wife knows – or suspects?'

‘It's none of our business,' said Barbara. ‘Look, is that all you want to ask us? It's nearly time to make the mid-morning rounds.'

‘Yes, that's all for now, and we can assure Mr Donaldson that you have given a completely satisfactory explanation of the conversation that Ms Tremaine overheard,' said Vicky.

‘And you won't say anything about . . . you know?'

‘There's no need for us to take formal statements from you at the moment,' said Sukey.

D
S Rathbone had barely completed the formalities prior to resuming the previous day's interview with Marcus Ellerman when he was called away to take the call from Sukey, reporting on the visit she and Vicky had paid to Kate Springfield. When he returned to the interview room Penny could see immediately that he had learned something significant. He resumed his seat and reset the tape recorder. He leaned forward with his chin jutting out and his eyes narrowed in a manner plainly calculated to intimidate.

‘All right, Doctor Ellerman, let's recap shall we?' he began. ‘First, although you were aware, from an overheard conversation, that the knife in Fenella Tremaine's back had a distinctively carved handle, you were evasive when questioned about some souvenir items that you and your wife brought back from your overseas travels, even when knives with decorative handles were specifically mentioned. Second, when shown a photograph of the actual knife used to kill Fenella, you stated – having given the picture only a cursory glance – that you had never seen one like it. And third –' with each new point Rathbone jabbed the table with a forefinger – ‘when pressed to look more closely at the photograph and answer the question again you refused to do so without first consulting your solicitor. Are we agreed so far?' Ellerman nodded. ‘Please answer aloud for the tape.'

‘Yes.'

‘Fine. So now, having consulted your solicitor, you decide to admit not only to recognizing the knife but actually owning one of identical design, which you immediately offer to produce. Would you care to explain why, if you were so confident of being able to show us your own knife, you didn't say so in the first place?'

Ellerman cast a pleading glance at Jason Pollard, who gave an encouraging nod. ‘I admit it was stupid of me,' he said lamely, ‘but . . . I suppose I panicked. I'd already lied about it or, as you say, been evasive, and like I said, I thought you might suspect I had a second knife, but I swear I bought only one and I had no idea it had gone. Surely, it's obvious it was stolen by the killer. Wilkins is the only person other than personal friends who've been in my flat recently, so surely he's the one you should be questioning, not me. For God's sake, Sergeant!' He raised his hands, palms upwards, as if in supplication. ‘If I was planning to murder Fenella, which I emphatically deny, do you think I'd have been stupid enough to stab her virtually on my doorstep and with my own knife?'

‘You'd be surprised at the stupid things even people with a lot of letters after their names do in the heat of the moment,' said Rathbone. He leaned back in his chair and said in a casual tone, ‘By the way, Doctor Ellerman, where were you between nine thirty and midnight last Friday?'

Ellerman appeared taken aback at the sudden change of direction. He glanced at Pollard, who indicated with a nod that he should answer. ‘Let's see, what was I doing last Friday?' He thought for a moment before saying, ‘Ah yes, I was at home, catching up with some work. We'd had rather a busy day at the office and I brought some accounts back with me to check.'

‘What time did you arrive home?'

‘I don't remember the exact time . . . probably shortly after seven o'clock.'

‘So from then on you were at home on your own all the evening?'

‘That's right.'

‘You didn't go out at all? To get something to eat or drink, for example?'

‘I took something from the freezer, heated it in the microwave and ate it sitting at my desk.'

‘Did you have any visitors?'

‘No.'

‘Did you receive any phone calls?'

‘Not that I remember.'

‘Or make any calls?'

‘No.'

‘What time did you go to bed?'

‘About midnight, I suppose.' Ellerman appeared both bewildered and uneasy as Rathbone pressed on with his questions. ‘Look, what is this all about?'

‘So we have only your word for it that you were indoors, in your own flat, from approximately seven o'clock until midnight? In other words, you are unable to produce a single witness who can confirm what you have just told us.' Ellerman drew a sharp breath and opened his mouth, but no sound came out. ‘Supposing I were to tell you,' Rathbone continued, ‘that we have a witness who saw you in the recycling area at Sycamore Park at about the time when, according to the forensic pathologist, Fenella Tremaine was murdered with your knife. What do you have to say to that?'

‘I'd say they were lying!' Ellerman's colour flared. He cast a despairing glance at Pollard, who appeared momentarily transfixed, and then half rose with his hands raised. To Penny's alarm he appeared to be about to attack Rathbone, and the uniformed officer keeping guard grabbed his shoulders and pulled him back into his seat. ‘Sergeant,' he said in a hoarse voice, ‘I give you my word that I did not move from my flat on the evening in question. Who is this witness anyway? I demand to know!'

‘Please Doctor Ellerman, calm down!' said Pollard. He turned to Rathbone. ‘I understand that according to medical reports this murder took place some time between nine thirty and midnight. My client has stated quite definitely that he did not leave his flat all evening, so it is obvious that it was some other person your witness saw.'

‘Of course, that's it!' said Ellerman, his earlier anger giving place to relief at what he evidently saw as a reprieve. ‘It must have been Wilkins. I said it was Wilkins, didn't I? He's the man you should be questioning, Sergeant, not me.'

‘How would you describe Frederick Wilkins, Doctor Ellerman?'

Ellerman's frown was almost a scowl. ‘I don't know . . . I've never taken much notice of his appearance, except he always looks scruffy, even when he's off duty.'

‘Would you say he was well built?'

‘Not particularly. On the scrawny side if anything.'

‘About how tall? Medium height? Six feet or over?

‘Oh, for God's sake, how am I supposed to know? Not particularly tall – about average height I suppose.'

‘Not particularly tall, scruffy and on the scrawny side,' Rathbone repeated. ‘That hardly fits in with our witness's description, which was of “a well-built man, quite tall, dressed in light-coloured trousers and a shirt with long sleeves” – not exactly scruffy.'

‘All right, so it might not have been Wilkins your witness saw,' Ellerman conceded with some reluctance. ‘All I'm saying is that it wasn't me. It must have been someone else who fits that description, not necessarily the killer. It still doesn't put Wilkins in the clear, does it?'

‘All right, we'll leave that for the moment. Now let's go back to the knife. There are fingerprints on the handle but it would appear that an attempt – a rather clumsy attempt – was made to wipe them off. When this interview is over an officer will take your prints for comparison.'

‘Of course my prints will be on it – it's my knife! Whoever killed Fenella left them on to incriminate me!'

‘So why would he attempt to wipe them off?'

Ellerman, who by this time appeared thoroughly rattled, passed a shaking hand over his forehead. ‘How should I know? People do stupid things . . . as you yourself reminded me a little while ago,' he added in what seemed to Penny a desperate attempt to regain some kind of initiative.

At this point Pollard intervened. ‘I assure you, Sergeant, that my client will have absolutely no objection to having his fingerprints taken,' he said. ‘However, I must point out that although he admits having been less than frank with you during your earlier enquiries, it is clear that you have nothing but hearsay and circumstantial evidence to connect him with the murder of Fenella Tremaine. Unless you can produce some hard evidence on which to base a charge, I must insist that you release him without further delay.'

‘Wait here while I arrange for an officer to take your prints,' said Rathbone curtly. He left the room briefly. Once outside he called DCI Leach and gave him a report on the interview. On his return he found Ellerman wiping ink from his fingers.

‘All right, you can now prove that I have at some time handled my own knife,' he remarked with a hint of a sneer. ‘I take it I'm free to leave without a stain on my character?'