Winding Up the Serpent (20 page)

‘You've cobbled her up a bit crudely.'

‘I'm not Harley Street,' he said. ‘This woman is never going to sue and, what's more, Jo, she'll never complain again. These incisions would never have healed, however skilfully I'd drawn them together.'

Joanna swallowed. ‘I think I'm going to be sick,' she said.

Matthew was unsympathetic. ‘Then go out.'

She looked helplessly at him, then suddenly vomited into the basin. ‘I'll never get used to PMs,' she complained when she had finished, and washed her face in cold water. ‘The stink of disinfectant.' She looked up. ‘I think it's that that makes me feel so sick. Can't they put a different perfume –'

‘I've found it,' Matthew said quietly, ‘classic medical school hiding place: between the toes, syringe inserted towards the ball of the foot.' He straightened up. ‘Clever,' he said. ‘Very clever.' He moved the magnifying glass closer to Marilyn's right foot, adjusted the light to beam down on a tiny puncture wound, still crusted with a pinprick of blood, between the second and third toe. Now they concentrated on it, the ball of the foot was slightly swollen.

‘Clever,' he muttered again, ‘very very clever.' He crossed the room and brought back a camera with tripod, adjusted the lens. Then he looked at Joanna. ‘Would you mind holding the toes apart?' he asked. ‘And just drape this green towel behind it – it makes a good backcloth,' he explained.

She stood there while he clicked the shutter, conflicts of emotion moving across her face like stormy weather across the sky. She had been right all the time. It had been murder. Thoughts tumbled through her mind.

‘Matthew,' she said softly. ‘Medical knowledge? Access to drugs, someone who had read the article? Someone who could get hold of a syringe?'

‘It wouldn't be that difficult.'

‘There was no syringe found in the room,' she said. ‘And Marilyn didn't inject her own feet.'

She met Matthew's serious gaze. ‘It was murder,' she said quietly. ‘She was murdered.'

He nodded. ‘That's right.'

She watched as Matthew fished a scalpel from a drawer and cut tissue from around the puncture wound. ‘If I'm right,' he said, dropping it into a specimen pot, ‘this will be saturated with human insulin. I'll have to ring the coroner's office.'

She sat down in the corner of the room and drew out her notebook. The field was narrowed ... Evelyn ... Did this let her off the hook?

Jonah Wilson ... She sat and pondered the quietly spoken doctor. Somehow she did not see him leading Marilyn on, suggesting an aphrodisiac, quietly sneaking in and murdering her. But he did fit the bill. A married man. Daily contact with his nurse, and she had been obsessed with him. And yet ... She shook her head. No, he was not the killer.

Paul Haddon ...? She looked at Matthew. ‘How much medical knowledge does an undertaker have?'

He shrugged his shoulders. ‘Difficult to say. The basics ...' He met her eyes. ‘Paul is an old friend of mine,' he said slowly.

‘The whole bloody suspect list seem to be “old friends” of yours, Matthew,' she said sarcastically.

He flushed. ‘Perhaps I should have told you. I was at medical school with Paul and Jonah, although Paul left after the first year.'

She waited.

‘He was thrown out,' he said.

She stared at him.

‘All rumours,' he said uncomfortably. ‘Something happened one day in the dissection room.'

‘What?'

‘Oh, God ...' Matthew ran his fingers through his hair. ‘I don't know,' he said. ‘Not for sure.'

‘What?' she demanded.

‘Someone said ...' He dragged the words out. ‘He'd been masturbating in there.'

She felt sick. ‘And you said nothing when he set up as an undertaker?'

Matthew was silent.

‘By God, Matthew,' she said. ‘Your loyalty to your friends is touching.' She paused to think for a while. ‘So Paul Haddon has peculiar habits with the dead,' she said, ‘as well as having the basics of medical knowledge. Is that right?'

He looked miserable. ‘Lots of people know about insulin.'

‘But not many people have access to insulin,' she pointed out. ‘And how many would have read the article?'

‘They wouldn't have to have read it,' he objected.

‘No, but it's a sort of manual of how to kill someone and get away with it. Matthew, it even gave the dosage.'

He shrugged his shoulders. ‘Look, Jo,' he said awkwardly. ‘Please. Don't expect me to start pointing fingers. I've told you how. It's as much as I know – honestly. I don't know who.'

She pressed her lips together. ‘I've always thought it funny,' she said slowly, ‘how many of the wrong people use that word – honestly.'

She sat still, watching Matthew cleaning up with the mortuary attendant, and filling in the forms.

She glanced at her watch. It was ten o'clock.

He crossed the floor towards her. ‘Come on, Jo,' he said. ‘You look done in. I'll buy you a drink.'

But she shook her head. ‘Go home, Matthew. Go home to your wife and daughter.'

And she walked out and left him.

‘Sit down, Piercy.'

Superintendent Arthur Colclough looked quite friendly this morning in spite of the working weekend. His face grew even brighter when she related the results of last night's forage in the mortuary.

‘Clever,' he said softly. ‘Bloody killers. They're getting smarter every day.'

She watched him warily.

‘Think you can handle it?'

She nodded. ‘I'll get back to you, Sir, if we're getting nowhere.'

His eyes gleamed. ‘Following a number of leads?'

‘Yes.'

He stood up then. ‘Well, Piercy. Mustn't keep you from your work, must I?'

‘Mike…' She called him into her office. ‘Sit down,' she said, and she filled him in with the results of last night's investigation.

‘So you were right,' he said. ‘Murder.' Then he voiced the thought that had kept her awake all night. ‘I suppose it must have been Jonah Wilson.'

She looked unhappily at him. ‘He's top of the list,' she said.

Mike frowned. ‘There's no one else on the list, is there?

I can't really imagine Evelyn Shiers doing it.'

‘One thing,' she said. ‘Haddon did the first year at medical school, then he left.' She shrugged her shoulders and was conscious she had said nothing about Matthew's connection with the dead woman.

‘See if you can get in touch with the dean of the medical school,' she said. ‘Get some details about Haddon.'

‘And what about the overcoat?'

‘Let's have a look.'

The coat had been a good one – Burberry, grey gaberdine. Now it was a rotted rag. It smelled musty, earthy. Joanna picked it up and searched in one pocket. Empty. She tried the other one and pulled out a latch key. She glanced at Mike. ‘Did it fit Mrs Shiers' door?'

Mike mumbled his reply. ‘Missed that somehow.'

She handed it to him. ‘Go back,' she said. ‘Better try it. And, Mike,' she added. ‘Ask Mrs Shiers if she's ever done any nursing.'

Mike looked meaningfully at her. ‘Well done. You stuck at it. Good for you. I suppose I can be glad I didn't bet more than ten pounds on it.'

She smiled then. ‘I'm a cautious better, Mike,' she said. ‘It hasn't cost you much.' She waited a minute, then stood up and stared out of the window. ‘And I promise you it gives me no feeling of satisfaction. She was a bitch of a woman.' A tight feeling of anger suddenly touched her as she felt again the hot embarrassment of the night in the hotel. ‘If it was Dr Wilson,' she said quietly, ‘he was a better person than she.'

She paused again. Then, ‘Mike... Undertakers use syringes for embalming, don't they?'

‘So do drug addicts,' he said. ‘Oh, hell. I nearly forgot. Talking about drug addicts, someone rang for you.'

‘Who?'

He glanced at the message pad on the desk, by the telephone. ‘Patty,' he said. ‘Patty Brownlow.'

She looked blankly at him.

‘Said she worked at the antique shop. Said she had some information.'

‘Is Grenville Machin still under surveillance?'

‘Yes.'

‘Have you a number?'

He supplied it and she dialled but there was no reply. She put the phone down. ‘Let's go and talk to Dr Wilson, shall we?'

Joanna glanced around the waiting room, at the rows of the old, the sick, the decrepit, the depressed ... all of whom depended on the doctor. And she was conscious of their curious gaze on the two police. Her thoughts reeled. How could one man shoulder such a burden and then go home to a sick wife? And in cold blood murder a woman who believed he was about to make love to her? It didn't fit.

She frowned at Mike. ‘We're making a mistake,' she whispered. ‘This isn't right. It can't be him.'

Mike cracked his knuckles loudly. The sound was like a pistol shot and several of the patients looked up sharply. He leaned towards her and whispered, ‘Don't doubt yourself, ma'am. Let's just interview him. Softly softly.'

The buzzer sounded. Another patient stood up, hung his number on a board, shuffled through the door towards the surgery.

Joanna looked at Mike. A baby was crying. ‘Have you ever arrested a doctor?'

He grinned. ‘Drunk driving,' he said.

They sat in silence for a few minutes. Then the surgery door opened. Jonah Wilson was walking towards them. She stared. He had changed almost beyond recognition.

He smiled at her with world-weary eyes, bloodshot through lack of sleep. ‘Inspector,' he said with some relief. ‘I think I'm glad to see you.'

‘We won't keep you long, Dr Wilson,' she said. ‘I know you have a lot of patients to see. Just a few questions.'

She waited until they were sitting in his consulting room before speaking. ‘Marilyn was murdered,' she said bluntly, and waited for his reaction.

He looked bleakly at her, his shoulders bent, his body sagging. ‘I thought she probably was,' he said.

As she watched him Joanna was struck by a thought. If he and Matthew had been in medical school together they must be around the same age. Jonah looked years older.

‘Do you know why she was murdered?' he asked carefully.

She nodded. ‘We believe she blackmailed people,' she said. ‘We know large sums of money were paid into a building society account. Far more than she was earning here in the surgery.'

The doctor breathed out hard. ‘Do you know who?' he said. ‘Who she was blackmailing?'

‘Several people,' Joanna said, then took a deep breath. ‘She was blackmailing you, wasn't she, Doctor?'

She knew from his face. This was what he had been dreading. He swallowed hard. ‘Yes,' he whispered.

Mike stepped forward. ‘Would you like to tell us what she was blackmailing you about? Get it off your chest?'

Jonah's eyes dropped and he glanced evasively around the surgery. ‘It was a professional thing,' he said. ‘A mistake with a patient.'

Joanna glanced at Mike. He gave a very slight shake of his head. They both knew Jonah Wilson was not telling the truth ... at least, not the whole truth.

‘The patient died,' he said.

She waited. ‘We'll want details, Doctor.'

Jonah nodded. ‘Of course.'

‘How did she find out about the mistake?' Mike asked casually.

‘She spotted something in the notes.'

‘Dr Wilson.' Mike's voice was hard and threatening. The doctor seemed to shrink. His eyes pleaded with Mike.

‘It was you, wasn't it, who she was waiting for that night?'

Jonah Wilson jumped up. ‘No!' he said. ‘No. It wasn't me. I swear it.'

The worst thing was Joanna believed him. ‘And that's all you can tell us?'

Jonah nodded.

She tried a different tack. ‘What can you tell me about Paul Haddon?'

The doctor visibly dropped his guard. ‘He's the undertaker,' he said.

‘We know that.' Mike's voice was hostile.

‘He's good at his job.'

‘He came in to see Marilyn frequently.'

‘I didn't know that.'

‘Was there anything between them?'

This time the doctor was certain. ‘No,' he said. ‘No. I'm sure of it. There wasn't.' He paused. ‘In fact, I don't think they liked each other very much.'

‘What made you think that?'

‘I don't know ... I don't know.'

There was a long silence, then Jonah Wilson asked timidly, ‘How... how did she die?'

Joanna looked at him. He was shaking. ‘We think she probably died of an insulin overdose. We're waiting for some results from the lab.'

The doctor looked up. ‘But...' he began.

‘Deliberately administered.' Mike's voice was much harder than hers. She saw the doctor turn back to her as something like terror moved in his eyes.

‘God – no,' he said. ‘No.' Then he shuddered. ‘How horrible.'

‘You keep insulin here, in the surgery?'

Joanna could hear the accusation in Mike's voice.

‘Yes. I think you would find most doctors keep a supply of insulin. It's used quite commonly for diabetic comas.'

‘Where do you keep it?'

‘Some in the fridge. A few phials in my bag.' He looked from one to the other, then dropped his head in his hands. ‘This is a nightmare,' he muttered.

‘Is there anything else you want to say, Doctor?' Mike spoke very quietly. ‘Perhaps down at the police station?'

Jonah Wilson stared at him. ‘No,' he said. ‘Please. Who would look after Pamella?'

Joanna started. For a moment she had forgotten about Pamella, and now she suddenly knew Pamella was important.

The doctor blew out a quick breath of air as though he could not hold it any longer. ‘Lots of people might have wanted to murder a nurse,' he said, ‘if she was using information about her patients to extract money from them. It would be extortion,' he said. ‘Surely that would be a reason for wanting to kill her.'