Sisters of Mercy Page 7

  ‘But what can a blood sample tell us? There should be a complete PM …’

  ‘In ideal circumstances, yes. But if she was murdered, it has to be by drugs. You were there when she died, weren’t you?’

  I nodded reluctantly.

  ‘So whatever it was that killed her should still be in her bloodstream.’

  He looked at me steadily. He was right.

  I needed that cigarette badly now. I lit it and blew smoke. ‘How would we get in?’

  ‘I have keys that would do it.’

  ‘I don’t even know whether you can get blood from a corpse,’ I said wildly. Not true, I remembered.

  ‘D’you think I like it any more than you?’ he snarled. ‘It’s for your sake, dammit!’

  Looking at him, I could see that he really was as unhappy as me about it.

  ‘All right!’ I snapped. ‘I think it may be possible,’ I went on slowly. ‘I seem to remember that blood doesn’t clot in a body, it just sinks.’

  ‘D’you know where the mortuary is?’

  I nodded.

  ‘Have you ever been inside?’

  ‘Yes — years ago.’

  ‘What’s the security like?’

  ‘Er — it’s kept locked, obviously. And there’s an intercom.’

  ‘It’s not manned at night?’

  ‘I don’t think so. I’m almost certain it isn’t.’

  ‘Intruder alarms?’

  ‘Er — I don’t know.’

  He swallowed. ‘Well, we’ll find out, won’t we?’

  *

  An hour later. I’d dressed in my uniform and we went in my car — we’d be less conspicuous, he said. He drove.

  I went into ITU to collect the necessary equipment. There was no one in the Duty Room. I opened a cupboard, found a syringe, needles.

  ‘Jo?’

  I turned.

  ‘Oh, hello, Teresa.’ Surely she would notice the unnecessary uniform, hear the tremor in my voice. ‘Just checking we’ve got some stuff I need tomorrow for a demonstration. Everything all right?’

  ‘Fine. How about you? I heard you had a pretty grim time.’

  ‘Yes. Fine now, thanks.’

  I took the stuff into my office and waited till she was busy before thrusting it into my handbag. Fiddled around a bit more before going.

  ‘Bye, Teresa.’

  ‘Night, Jo.’

  ‘Got everything?’ asked Jones as I got back into the car.

  I nodded. ‘Yes.’

  ‘You were a long time.’

  ‘Ran into someone. Do we take the car?’ St Chad’s was an old hospital and covered a large area.

  ‘No, we’ll leave it here and walk.’

  Our footsteps were unnaturally loud. No one was about, but I felt painfully conspicuous — what possible legitimate reason could we have for being here? We were approaching the boiler house …

  ‘It’s the next building along,’ I said quietly.

  ‘We’ll go past it and round the back,’ he said.

  There was a light outside the front. We walked past, then, without looking round, turned into the shadows on the far side. It was like walking into blindness.

  He took out a pencil torch and flashed it — I bumped into him to avoid a drain.

  We turned into the passage at the back. Found the door. He shone the light around it.

  ‘No sign of an alarm neutralizer,’ he murmured, handing me the torch. ‘You’ll have to hold this for me.’

  He brought out a bunch of keys. I shone the pencil beam on to the lock. He inserted one of them; tried moving it about before withdrawing it.

  I’d just begun to think we weren’t going to do it when the fourth key turned. He pushed the door a little way and listened before pushing it open. He put the keys away and took the torch from me. We went in and he shut the door. The faint, nutty smell of formaldehyde clamped on to my nostrils.

  He said, ‘Where’s the front door?’

  ‘Straight up there.’ I pointed.

  Our shoes clacked on the tiled floor; echoed on the tiled walls. Past the marble slabs of the post-mortem theatre; past the humming units of the refrigerated body store.

  He shone his torch on to the front door, found a bolt and pushed it across.

  ‘Now,’ he said. ‘Let’s find her, shall we?’ His own voice held a slight tremor, I noticed.

  He led the way back to the body store.

  ‘Shall we put the lights on?’ I asked.

  ‘No. Might get somebody wondering.’

  He fiddled with the torch and the light strengthened. ‘Shine it up there,’ I said, pointing to the stainless steel refrigerator doors. ‘The names should be there.’

  There were four doors in a row, four names on each …

  Underhill, Finch, Prescott, Williams …

  Next door.

  Lynch, Newman, Sutton.

  He reached up and pulled the handle … it clicked and the door swung open.

  The cadavers were stacked, each on a metal tray, each wrapped in a sheet, the head towards us. She was the third one down; approximately thigh height.

  ‘These just slide out, don’t they?’ he said.

  ‘Yes, but they’re not —’

  Before I could stop him, he’d grasped the handle at the front of the tray and pulled it out … and the tray and body fell on to the floor with an orchestral crash . . .

  I gazed at him, appalled. ‘How could you … ?’ was all I could find to say to him.

  He was on his knees, lifting and straightening the body back on the tray.

  ‘Check that it’s her first,’ he said.

  ‘But we can’t … oh no …’

  ‘Do it!’

  He’d pulled out a penknife and cut the cord tying the sheet. It fell away to reveal the blonde hair and still, slack face of Mrs Sutton. Through everything, I observed that rigor mortis had passed off.

  ‘We’ll be caught,’ I said. ‘Someone must have heard us.’

  ‘Not necessarily. And even if they did, we’ve got at least five minutes. The arm?’

  I nodded vacantly.

  ‘Get your equipment out.’

  I knelt, opened my bag, took out the syringe and stripped the plastic covering away into my pocket. Found and fitted a needle. The tiles were cold on my knees.

  He’d pulled the calico shroud up her arm. I felt in the cubital fossa for a vein … couldn’t find one … of course not — no blood pressure …

  I swallowed, inserted the needle into the cold flesh, pulled on the plunger … nothing. Pushed the needle deeper, tried again, felt sick. Still nothing.

  ‘I — I can’t.’

  ‘Keep trying,’ he said urgently.

  ‘Hold the bloody torch still then, will you!’

  Think. Where would it be?

  I pulled the needle out and tried again, a little to one side.

  Nothing.

  Deeper, and my fingers felt the faintest pop as the needle found a vein …

  Drew on the plunger, and about a mil of fluid trickled into the syringe … stopped.

  ‘We need more than that,’ he said. ‘Five mil.’

  ‘I know!’

  I reached up the arm as far as the coarse material of the shroud, squeezed, my fingers sinking into the cold flesh; repeated it, lower down. Pulled the plunger again … and again, there was a trickle of fluid.

  ‘We still need more,’ he said urgently.

  At that moment, we heard the wail of a siren, close, inside the hospital …

  Our eyes met …

  ‘Ambulance?’ he said.

  ‘Too close — they go the other way.’

  We were on our feet.

  ‘What about …?’ I looked down at Mrs Sutton.

  ‘No time. Get that syringe away.’

  It was in my hand. I thrust it, needle still in place, into my bag. He flicked the sleeve of the shroud back, shone the torch around, picked up the lid of the needle container … the siren grew nearer, we ran �
��

  He opened the back door, held it for me, pulled it shut as we heard the police car pull up at the front.

  ‘Which way?’ he whispered.

  ‘I don’t know.’

  I ran from the building on to the grass towards the back of the boiler house, hoping I wouldn’t trip; heard him behind me … then our feet hit the tarmac … I reached the corner, turned …

  He grabbed my arm.

  ‘Slow down. Don’t attract attention. Which way’s the car?’

  ‘Round here.’

  There was enough light to find our way along behind the boiler house and back to the road.

  ‘It’s over there. We’ll have to cross over.’

  ‘Let’s do it now.’

  He put his arm round me as we stepped into the light. The revolving blue from the police car made a grimace of his smile. His eyes flicked back up the road.

  ‘What’s happening?’ I asked, through my own false smile.

  ‘Police car. Can’t see any police. They must be inside, or round the back.’

  We came to a covered way. He left his arm round me.

  ‘Down here,’ I said, and we turned. Passed a couple of nurses who were laughing at something. Turned again and a moment later, found my car.

  ‘You drive,’ he said, handing me the keys.

  ‘Why?’

  ‘It’ll look better.’

  My trembling hands unlocked the car and we got in. I put my bag on the back seat and started the engine. Switched on the lights, turned and made for the entrance …

  A policeman in a fluorescent jacket stepped out and flagged us down. I stopped, wound down the window. His eyes took in my uniform.

  ‘Good evening. We’ve had a report of an intruder. Do you have any identification, please?’

  ‘Will this do?’ I unpinned my identity badge and handed it to him.

  ‘Sister Farewell.’ He looked up. ‘Is this your car?’

  ‘Yes, it is.’

  ‘Could you repeat the registration number, please?’

  I did so.

  ‘And your name, sir?’ He shone the torch past me on to Jones.

  ‘Tom Jones.’ He took out his driving licence and held it out. ‘I’m a — a friend of Miss Farewell’s.’

  The policeman smiled. ‘Thank you, sir.’ He shone his torch into the back — my heart stopped when I remembered my bag, but he said, ‘I don’t think we need trouble you any more. Good night.’

  ‘Night,’ said Jones.

  10

  Neither of us spoke until we were out of sight of the police, then I said through my teeth, ‘Don’t ever do anything like that to me again.’

  ‘I’m sorry. I thought it pulled out like a drawer. I didn’t realize it would do that.’

  We pulled up at the lights. I said, ‘What if we left something behind?’

  ‘We didn’t.’

  ‘How d’you know? What about fingerprints?’

  ‘D’you really think they’re going to fingerprint the entire hospital?’

  ‘They’re going to have to do something.’

  ‘Why are they? Think about it. No damage was done and a full-scale investigation would only upset the relatives. They’ll say very little and do very little.’

  The lights changed and I pulled away.

  ‘It was horrible,’ I said.

  ‘I didn’t exactly enjoy it myself.’

  ‘I want a bath as soon as I get back.’

  We didn’t say any more until we arrived. I locked the car.

  He was waiting for me at the front door. Inside, he said, ‘Why don’t you put the sample in the fridge, then you can have your bath?’

  I transferred it from the syringe into the bottle. There were barely two mils.

  ‘Will it be enough?’ I asked.

  He shrugged, his face pale. ‘Pack it, and I’ll get it on to Red Star tomorrow.’

  I did so and put the package in the fridge, then poured myself a strong whisky and lit a cigarette. He’d already helped himself and had a cheroot going.

  I swallowed the whisky, but the uncleanness seemed to be clinging to my fingers.

  ‘Why don’t you have your bath?’ he said.

  ‘You know the worst of it?’ I burst out. ‘It was treating her like that. It was disrespect, a violation. She’s still a person; still entitled to respect.’

  ‘Yes. But don’t you think we also owe it to her to find her killer? Isn’t that respect?’ He swallowed his own drink. ‘I think I’ll have a bath myself after you.’

  I went up and put all my clothes in the dirty washing before climbing into the hot water.

  The alarm woke me at seven the next morning. Amazingly, I’d slept without much trouble, but the whisky might have had something to do with that. I lay in bed for a few minutes, trying to sort things out in my mind before getting up and going to the bathroom.

  Actually, I didn’t feel too bad. The worst of the unclean feeling had gone, and the mirror told me the swellings on my face had almost gone, too. I had a quick wash, put on my uniform and went downstairs.

  Jones, who’d elected to sleep on the sofa, seemed to be still asleep, but his eyes flicked open as I went past him. ‘Sleep all right?’ I asked.

  ‘Fine, thanks. You?’

  ‘Not bad, considering.’

  He waited until I’d gone into the kitchen, then went up to the bathroom himself.

  I got myself some cereal and coffee. He came down after about fifteen minutes in a dark suit and tie.

  ‘You’re looking very spruce, Mr Jones,’ I told him.

  ‘All part of the image of the minor government official,’ he informed me gravely. ‘And it’s Tom. At least, white there’s no one else about,’ he added.

  I grinned. ‘And I’m Jo. D’you want any breakfast?’

  ‘Cereal’ll be fine, thanks.’

  ‘Coffee?’

  ‘Please.’

  ‘So how do we plan today, Tom?’ I asked after a few minutes.

  He swallowed a mouthful of cereal.

  ‘You go into work normally; I’ll take the package to the station and probably get in half an hour after you. I’ll introduce myself, then you can start showing me around. Try and introduce me to everyone we come across — without being ridiculous about it. And as you do, try to say what their job is as well as their name — again, without going over the top. After that, we’ll need to discuss the next step. Reasonable so far?’

  ‘Yes,’ I said. ‘There’s a consultant’s ward round at nine. D’you want to see that?’

  ‘Yes, in that it’ll help show me who’s who.’

  ‘All right. I’d better go.’

  I went upstairs, brushed my teeth, put on some warpaint and left.

  There was no sign of any police at the hospital. The whole of the previous evening was beginning to seem surreal, as though it hadn’t happened.

  ‘Hello, stranger,’ said James when I got in. ‘You had fun and games, so I hear.’

  ‘You could call it that,’ I said coldly, irritated by his tone. He meant no harm, but his insensitivity could be irksome sometimes.

  ‘Hello,’ said Emma as I went into the Duty Room. ‘We heard about what happened to you. Are you feeling better now?’

  ‘I wouldn’t have blamed you for having a couple of days off,’ said Viv.

  ‘The call of duty was too strong,’ I said, thinking: You don’t know the tenth of it.

  ‘Did Miss Whittington phone you about Mr Jones, the auditor who dropped in yesterday?’ Viv continued.

  ‘Yes, she did. Which reminds me — I’ll probably need to spend most of the day with him. Could you do the ward round, please, Viv?’

  Her eyes gleamed. ‘Sure.’

  ‘What’s he like?’ I asked mendaciously. ‘Mr Jones?’

  ‘The auditor?’ said James, who’d just come in, obviously unchastened. ‘Not your type at all.’

  ‘I didn’t realize you knew me so —’ I began coolly, but then Stephen came in.

/>   ‘Hello, Jo,’ he said, smiling. ‘Are you feeling better now?’

  ‘Yes, thank you.’ My heart, which had skipped a beat, settled into a faster rhythm.

  ‘Good. Has Viv brought you up to date yet?’

  ‘She was about to.’

  ‘Only, I’m a bit worried about Mr Whitaker …’

  His tone, his whole demeanour, was completely natural — neutral, as though nothing had happened between us, and it was only with an effort I could bring myself to discuss the various patients with him. But I did, and was still doing so when there was an apologetic cough behind us at the door. Tom Jones had arrived.

  ‘Sister Farewell?’ he said.

  It was hard not to grin at him.

  ‘Mr Jones, I presume.’ I held out a hand. ‘Do come in. These good people have been telling me all about you.’

  ‘Oh?’ he said, almost nervously.

  Stephen was staring at him curiously. I said, ‘You obviously met some of them yesterday, but I’ll introduce you anyway. This is Dr Wall, senior registrar …’

  ‘Pleased to meet you,’ he said eagerly, offering a hand.

  He simply wasn’t the same man. He’d somehow turned himself into, well, a minor government official, to use his own words — bland and eager to please almost to the point of obsequiousness.

  ‘Exactly what sort of information is it you’re looking for?’ Stephen was asking him.

  ‘Patient/staff ratios, types of staff, success rates, and perhaps most importantly, how the work of this unit interfaces with the work of other units and departments in this hospital.’

  ‘Why?’ Stephen demanded, then smiled. ‘You’re not planning to close us down, are you?’

  ‘Oh no, nothing like that, I assure you. The government wants to know how hospital departments interface, so as to ascertain whether there are savings that could be made in that area.’

  Masterly, I thought. Believable for its very vapidity.

  ‘I see,’ said Stephen. ‘Well, I hope —’

  ‘Telephone, Dr Wall,’ said James behind him and he excused himself.

  ‘This is Viv Aldridge, nursing sister,’ I said, continuing with the introductions. ‘And James Croxall and Emma Riley, staff nurses.’ He nodded pleasantly to each of them.