Chameleon (24 page)

'He took his own life,' said Jamieson softly.

Claire Richardson's eyes blazed. 'Oh no he didn't!' she hissed. 'Nothing on earth will ever make me believe that.'

'Then what?'

'He was murdered.'

Jamieson was a little taken aback at the matter of fact way that Claire Richardson had made the assertion. She seemed absolutely certain. 'But why?' he asked quietly.

'I don't know why damn it!' replied Claire Richardson delving into her handbag to find a handkerchief and quickly dabbing at her eyes. 'Why do you want to know all this?'

Jamieson pondered for a moment over how much he should tell her then he said, 'I think your husband found out something about the infection business. I think he knew something very important, something he never got round to telling anyone. I feel sure he was going to tell me on the night he died but I got there too late.'

New life came to Claire Richardson's eyes. 'A motive for John's murder? Someone killed him to stop him telling you something?' she said.

'Maybe,' agreed Jamieson.

'If you can prove that I will be forever in your debt,' said Claire Richardson.

'Then I will need your help. I have to find out what it was that your husband found out.'

'But I don't know,' said Claire Richardson raising her hands in a gesture of hopelessness.

'Think! Anything he said at the time when he became withdrawn might be important. Anything he wrote down. You said he spent a long time in his study. Maybe he left papers lying around?'

'I don't think so,' said Claire Richardson thoughtfully. 'But there was one thing...'

'Yes?'

'The night it all started he was pacing up and down in the study. I heard him repeat several times, 'No blisters. There were no blisters.'

Jamieson looked blank and Claire Richardson shrugged. She said, 'I know. It doesn't make much sense but that's what he said.'

'No blisters? No blisters on what? On whom?'

Claire shook her head.

'Think about it,' said Jamieson. 'And have a think about anything else John might have said. If you do come up with anything give me a call.'

'I will,' said Claire. She shook hands with Jamieson and they parted.

Jamieson had started to tell Sue about his meeting with Claire Richardson when the phone rang. It was Clive Evans.

'A second woman has died of the Staphylococcus infection but the others are beginning to respond to Loromycin treatment.' said Evans.

'Good,' said Jamieson. 'How's Moira Lippman's sister in law?'

'She was the second woman I'm afraid.'

'Damnation.'

'I thought you should know as soon as possible and I couldn't find you in the hospital.'

'I was having lunch with Claire Richardson.'

'Really. How is she?'

'Bearing up is the phrase I think.'

'I didn't know that you knew her,' said Evans.

'I didn't but I wanted to talk to her about her husband. I think John Richardson knew something about the infections that he didn't tell anyone. I hoped he might have mentioned something to his wife.'

'And had he?'

'No.'

'Pity. What sort of thing did you have in mind?' asked Evans.

'It's a bit difficult to say but when I had the Pseudomonas analysed at Sci-Med and they told me that it was resistant to all these drugs in its own right I was very surprised. John Richardson wasn't. It was almost as if that was the result he expected.'

'Strange,' said Evans.

'I suppose he never said anything to you about it?'

''Afraid not.'

Jamieson put down the phone and told Sue about the second death in Gynaecology.

'Surely the unit will have to close now?' said Sue.

Jamieson started to pace up and down. He said, 'In theory there is no need. There has been an outbreak of Staphylococcal infection. The cause has been identified. Two women have died but we now have the infection under control and there is every chance that the others will get better under Loromycin treatment. Tragic but one of these things that happen from time to time.'

'But more often in the Kerr Memorial than in any other hospital,' said Sue.

Jamieson nodded silently.

'What can you do about it?' asked Sue quietly.

'Nothing. All I have to go on is the suspicion that some head case is deliberately contaminating dressings and instruments. It's not the sort of thing you start saying without any kind of evidence to back it up.'

'On the other hand women have been dying.' said Sue. 'Three the first time and now another two.'

'You didn't have to point that out,' said Jamieson.

'I'm sorry,' said Sue. 'I didn't mean to ...'

'No, I'm the one who is sorry,' said Jamieson coming over to her and taking her in his arms. 'This place is getting to me. I loathe it. I hate every stone of it, every evil inch.'

'But you are not going to give up. You are going to see it through and then we'll go home to our lovely cottage in Kent and we'll go back to being the people we were.'

'What a lovely thought,' murmured Jamieson, his cheek against Sue's hair.

The telephone rang and startled both of them. It was Claire Richardson. 'You did say I should phone you if I thought of anything that might be useful?'

'Of course.'

'I've been having another look through the things in John's study and I've come across something that John never mentioned at all to me.'

'Really?'

'It's a card with the name of a hospital on it and a telephone number.'

'A hospital,' Jamieson repeated feeling deflated.

'Yes. Apparently John was in contact with this hospital the day before he died. I've never heard of it and he certainly didn't say anything about it to me. Do you think it might have some relevance?'

'At this point we can't afford to dismiss anything Mrs Richardson.'

'Call me Claire.'

'Very well, Claire. Which hospital was it?'

'Costello Court Hospital. It's in a place called Willow Norton and that's in Norfolk. Do you want the phone number?'

Jamieson said that he did and wrote it down. 'I'll check it out Claire. Many thanks.'

'You will let me know if it's anything important?'

'Of course.'

'Sounds like an old folks' home,' said Sue as Jamieson started to dial the number. She waited patiently while Jamieson made enquiries. 'Well?' she asked as she saw him put down the phone and walk slowly over to the window.

'It's not a home for the old,' said Jamieson. 'It's a mental hospital.'

'Costello Court, a mental hospital,' repeated Sue.

'They don't have a laboratory service there so Richardson's call wasn't anything to do with the job.'

'So why would he be calling a mental hospital?'

'Maybe he had a friend or colleague who worked there?'

'If that was true his wife would have known about it. They told each other everything.'

Jamieson thought for a moment then said, 'Everyone said the strain was getting to him. Maybe he was going to have himself admitted for a rest before he had a real breakdown.'

'And then decided to kill himself instead?' said Sue.

Jamieson acknowledged the incongruity. 'Claire Richardson doesn't believe that her husband did kill himself,' said Jamieson.

'It would be difficult for her to do that under any circumstances,' said Sue. 'She was his wife. Suicide is always seen as a betrayal by the people who love you most.'

'I wonder what she would think about the idea of her husband having himself admitted as a patient at Costello Court.'

'Ask her,' said Sue.

'Tomorrow,' said Jamieson.

ELEVEN

'A psychiatric hospital!' exclaimed Claire Richardson when Jamieson told her on the telephone. 'Why on earth would John contact a psychiatric hospital?'

'That's what we have to find out,' said Jamieson. 'You are sure that your husband never mentioned it, even in passing?'

'Positive.'

'Claire, your husband was under a lot of strain. It did occur to me that he might have considered admitting himself to such a hospital just for a bit of a rest?' Jamieson could feel the tension that he had created as he waited for Claire Richardson to reply. He sensed that she wanted to shout down the idea but had stopped herself, probably admitting silently that her husband had been under severe stress. In the end, she settled for, 'Without telling me? Never.'

'Then there must have been another reason for his call,' said Richardson diplomatically. Perhaps nothing to do with this affair at all.'

'There must have been.'

Jamieson said that he would keep Claire informed of any new developments and put the phone down. He let out a long sigh and said to Sue, 'Not the brightest thing to have suggested to Claire Richardson.'

'She's very protective about her husband. You can't expect her to be anything else.'

'I suppose not but maybe she's right. Maybe Richardson did have another reason for contacting Costello Court.'

'Like what?'

Jamieson thought for a moment then said, 'Maybe he remembered a similar outbreak of infection at another hospital in the past and rang up to compare notes?'

'So you think this mental hospital has a Gynaecology Unit?' asked Sue.

There had been no trace of sarcasm in Sue's voice but Jamieson saw the slight smile playing at the corner of her mouth when he looked at her. 'You spotted the flaw in the argument?' he smiled. He tapped his pen against his teeth and then had an idea. He said, 'Maybe Richardson was checking up on a patient?' There was a moment's silence before he looked at Sue and added, 'Or someone who had been a patient!'

Sue saw exactly what Jamieson was getting at. 'Like Thelwell!' she exclaimed.

'Exactly!' replied Jamieson excitedly and looking for the piece of paper with the phone number on it. 'If Thelwell has a history of mental instability then it's something we should know about.'

'Can you just call and ask the hospital?' asked Sue doubtfully.

'No, I'm not even going to try,' said Jamieson. 'They wouldn't tell me. I'm going to call Macmillan at Sci-Med and ask him to find out for me.'

Jamieson phoned and made his request. Macmillan was not available but Miss Roberts took the message and assured him that the information would be relayed to him as soon as they had obtained it.

'Now what?' asked Sue.

'I have to go out this evening,' said Jamieson.

'Where to?'

'It's Thelwell's choir practice night.

It started to rain as Jamieson sat in his car at the end of the street where Thelwell lived. Every thirty seconds or so he had to activate the screen wipers to clear it. He checked his watch for the umpteenth time and saw that it was eleven minutes past seven. At fourteen minutes past, Thelwell, shoulders hunched inside a dark raincoat with the collar up, stepped out on to the pavement and closed the garden gate behind him. A few moments later the dark green Volvo moved off towards town.

At first Jamieson thought that Thelwell really did intend going to a choir practice when he found the car in front following a route that would take him to St Serf's church. He was relieved when the Volvo passed straight by and continued on towards the city. There was anxious moment for Jamieson when Thelwell went through an amber light while he himself, travelling some one hundred metres behind had to stop and wait for the lights to change. He caught up however at the next junction. Thelwell was at the head of the queue with a Metro and a Ford Escort behind him. The Escort driver stalled as the lights changed and Jamieson cursed under his breath as he saw Thelwell start to pull well ahead. They were moving into busy traffic. It would be all too easy to lose him in this part of town. The Escort finally moved off, engine over-revving as its driver covered his embarrassment.

A service bus made to move out from the kerb as Jamieson tried to make up lost ground. Unwilling to concede right of way, he held his line and slapped his hand on the horn praying that the bus driver would back down. He did but not until he had given Jamieson a heart stopping moment. He snatched a quick glance in the rear view mirror and saw the bus driver make a rude gesture. 'You too,' he muttered, still desperately trying to see round the traffic in front and fearing that he might have lost touch with Thelwell.

The road ahead straightened out and Jamieson's heart sank as he failed to see the Volvo anywhere up ahead. He was rapidly approaching a 'Y' junction and he had no idea which arm to take. If he chose right it would take him round the back of the station and on towards the main shopping centre. If he forked left it would take him down through the red light district ... The decision was made. He veered left and hoped for a bit of luck. He got it as he cleared a roundabout and momentarily got a clear view of the road ahead for he was in time to see a green Volvo turn left at the foot of the hill. It might not be Thelwell, he cautioned himself but on the other hand, it just might.

Jamieson slowed and turned left where he thought the Volvo had left the main road. He could not be sure because, in this area, there was an opening every twenty-five metres or so leading off into the warren of run down tenement buildings that lay behind the main thoroughfare. There was no sign of Thelwell's car as he moved slowly along a narrow lane, looking to both sides and checking in the mirror to see that he wasn't holding up traffic behind him. There were a number of bars and restaurants in the lane and many had advertising boards out on the pavement. People were constantly stepping off the pavement to walk round them.

A drunk staggered out from a Greek Restaurant, his exit being assisted by a swarthy man wearing a dinner jacket who emerged behind him gesturing angrily. Jamieson had to brake to avoid the drunk who stumbled out in front of him but he was travelling so slowly that there was no danger of hitting the man. The drunk regarded him with expressionless eyes and then veered to return to the gutter.

Two whores looked at Jamieson's car as he slowed to a halt at an intersection. One smiled, the other put her hand on her hip. They were standing together at the corner of the street. Jamieson assumed that working in pairs was their safety measure. He wondered how effective that would be but recognised that business would probably go on as usual whatever the risk. Paid holidays and sick leave were alien to the oldest profession.