Cherringham--Snowblind (9 page)

Jack thought about Shirley Woods. Maybe she was letting things slide to punch up her case against the Home, force a good settlement? Was she one of the bad guys in this after all?

“Thing is, Mr. Brennan,” said Leacock, “this is all very bad for business.”

“Right. Guessing also that it’s not so good for the residents, you never thought of that?”

“No, no, you’re absolutely right; that’s terrible of me to put it like that. But at heart — if the business is doing well, the staff are happy and so are the residents. It ‘cascades’ — that’s the word.”

“Okay. Now, why did you think I could help?”

“Obviously I need to know what’s going on in that place. I don’t want people suffering. I need somebody inside who can find the bad apples. Weed them out. Someone who can tell me what to do — because right now I’m at a loss …”

Does this guy actually want … sympathy?
Jack thought.

He sat back in the deep sofa.

This wasn’t what he’d expected. Was Leacock sincere? If so then the mess at Broadmead was just that. Not some kind of conspiracy, cover-up, exploitation.

Just a screw-up, understaffed, bad security, unlocked doors. Bad business, run by people who’d taken their eye of the ball.

And poor old Archy had died because nobody was really in charge.

Jack stood up.

“I’m not for hire, Mr. Leacock. And you don’t need a detective. What you need is a manager.”

“But don’t you see — the way this is structured, I can’t just
hire
a manager, that has to be done by the Broadmead board—”

Jack didn’t want to hear more about the complicated
architecture
of Richard Leacock’s world that somehow prevented him from accepting or understanding responsibility.

“Thanks for the coffee, I’ll make my own way out,” said Jack. “No need for the butler.”

Jack watched Leacock stand as if to shake hands, but Jack just turned and went out into the hallway. The butler was waiting anyway with his hat and coat and the front door already open.

Jack left without a word, and stepped out into the snow-covered drive towards his car.

He took a deep breath and looked around.

The sun had come out and the perfect white vista of English countryside looked pure and clean.

Felt good after all that … garbage inside.

His whole life as a cop hinged on the good moments when he could in some small way right a wrong, find a killer, bring a felon to justice.

But cases like this — where people died because of sloppy thinking, laziness, weakness, moral cowardice?

Cases like this angered him, making him want to bring down whatever system — and whatever people — were responsible.

His phone rang — he saw it was Sarah. He put it to his ear.

“Hi Sarah.”

“Hi Jack — can you talk?”

“Sure.”

“Couple of things.”

“Go ahead.”

“Alan rang — says the post mortem on Archy came up as expected. Hypothermia and heart failure.”

“Figures.”

“And Ellie rang me from the Ploughman’s — said they found an old bag of clothes where Reg was hiding in their car park. She thinks maybe it was his; can you drop by if you’re passing and pick it up? Could be something.”

Strange,
Jack thought.
What could an old bag of clothes have to do with any of this …?

Still — worth a look.

“Sure, will do.”

“You okay, Jack?”

“Yeah, I’m okay. Didn’t come up with anything here. Unless you can factor in nobody really running the place.”

“Oh. So where are we?”

“We’re at a dead end, Sarah. For now. No crime. Nothing to investigate. Nada.”

“Really?” said Sarah. “I still think there’s something wrong up at the home, Jack.”

“Maybe. Maybe not. Maybe it’s time for us to move on. Hey — there’s still snow, take the kids tobogganing again, have some fun. Let the — Quality … what is it called?”

“Quality Care Commission.”

“Right. Maybe they know how to do
their
job.”

“So let it go, hmm?”

“Think so.”

“Sure. Maybe see you at the weekend if it clears, yeah?”

“Be great. Come on over to the Goose, have some supper.”

“Right. Bye Jack.”

“See you …”

Jack put his phone away and climbed into the little Sprite. His breath misted the windshield and he wiped it with his gloved hand.

Come on spring,
he thought as he started the engine and drove away down the elegant drive.

Sarah tried to focus on work. If Jack thought that there was nothing they could do, no crime committed, he was probably right.

And yet — as she stared at the big screen in front of her, the layout for the Cherringham Children’s Summer Play Scheme in progress — she couldn’t shake the feeling that there
was
something wrong with all of it.

Archy dying in the blizzard, Reg wandering about, Nurse Woods about as defensive as they come.

Could Jack be wrong?

Whatever — now distracted, she certainly wasn’t doing her best work.

The office phone rang, and Grace picked it up with a cheery “hello”.

Sarah kept moving images around: a child smiling in swimming trunks, swings in motion, toddlers on a field attempting to kick a football.

“Right,” Grace said. “Yes, she’s here. And who shall I—?”

Sarah turned. Call obviously for her, someone who did not have her mobile.

“Okay, I can check — please hold a moment.”

Grace hit a button on the desk phone.

“Sarah, someone for you. A woman, bit of an accent. Says she needs to speak to you?”

“Who is it?”

“That’s the thing. She won’t say. Just wants to talk.”

“Hope they don’t want me to refinance my home, or buy a time share. I’ll take it here.”

Sarah hit the blinking button on her own desk phone.

She recognised the voice immediately.

Ania.

And even on the phone, Sarah could feel the nurse’s fear, the voice halting, a near-whisper.

“Sarah — I have things to tell you.”

Just when she and Jack thought it was all over.

This detective thing could be pretty amazing.

“
Yes, Ania — what is it?”

“No. I can’t, not now, not over the phone.”

“Okay,”

She saw Grace looking over, a quizzical look on her face.

“Um. How about we meet at the Ploughman’s, or Huffington’s—”

The “no” came fast.

“It must be someplace where we can be alone.”

Sarah knew that with the snowdrifts outside, a walk in the park wouldn’t be an option.

“You could come to my office, it’s just—”

Another quick no.

“Anybody might
see
. You’re right in the village square.”

And at that moment, Sarah felt some of Ania’s fear. For the woman to be that nervous, that scared … maybe there were things for Sarah to be scared of as well.

So she thought of where they might meet, where they would in all likelihood not be seen.

She only came up with one candidate.

“Ania — how about in the church, a pew at the back? Should be empty this time of day.”

The woman hesitated.

Then: “Yes. I can meet you there. When?”

Sarah looked at Grace. “You okay holding down things here?”

“Sure.”

Back to Ania: “In ten minutes?”

The woman on the other end of the line took a deep breath.

“Yes. I will see you there.”

“Bye,” Sarah said.

She put the phone down and got up from her desk and the now jumbled images of kids in summer.

Summer.

Cannot come soon enough, she thought.

‘Everything okay?” Grace said.

Her assistant had been so great about not asking questions when she and Jack got ‘into’ things. Most people would be dying of curiosity — Grace was just supportive, and waited …

And when it was all over, Sarah would tell her all about it.

“Be gone for a bit. Not too sure how—”

“No worries. You okay, Sarah?”

Interesting.

That thought hadn’t occurred to her, about any possibility of danger.

‘I … think so. Got my phone. Just need to have a chat with someone.”

Grace nodded. “Be careful.”

“Always,” Sarah said.

Though she knew that wasn’t quite true.

Grabbing her parka and wool hat, she hurried out of the office to still-snowy streets outside.

Ania was sitting in the back row of pews, to the right, almost hidden by the font.

A few candles flickered in the racks at the front of the church; sunlight came through the stained-glass windows over the altar. But the rows of pews were dark and shadowy.

And apart from Ania — sitting there, seeing Sarah rush in — the place was empty.

Sarah walked to the right, and Ania slid in to make room for her.

When they spoke, both their voices were low.

Because they were in a church … or more from the fear in Ania’s voice?

“Sarah, thank you for coming. I had to tell you. I just couldn’t—”

The nurse turned away, looked to the front of the church.

Could be … she was someone who believed in the power of church, of a god, of prayer and the holiness of a place such as this?

In which case, this might be even harder for her to do.

“Ania — there’s something you couldn’t tell us, back at the home?”

Ania nodded. “No, someone might hear. Even now, I’m not sure.”

Sarah reached out and patted the woman’s hand. Cold. Sarah gave it a small squeeze.

“I only want to help the people in the home, I’m sure you do too,” Sarah said.

Another nod. Ania again glanced at the pulpit, then turned back to Sarah.

“Yes. I know that, I can
feel
that. So, I will trust you … and tell you.”

Another deep breath. And she began.

“It’s Craig.”

Bingo,
thought Sarah

“He knew about me, about my … problem.”

“What problem is that?”

“My status. I’m not here legally, no work permit. I mean, I’m a fully certified nurse, but—”

“You don’t have a permit from the government?”

Ania nodded.

“And Broadmead hired you anyway?”

“You’ve seen that place? They need people and they could get me cheap. That Miss Woods — she knew I would take the job and keep quiet. And I love the work, I love the people …”

And Craig?
Sarah wondered.

“But not everyone you worked with.”

“Him?
Craig
. I know he doesn’t have healthcare certification. But what does Woods care? No one is in charge in that place.”

She looked away again.

Even though they both whispered, it still felt loud in the stillness of the quiet church, where there was not a sound.

“But he found out about me. That I have no permit.”

A singe tear in Ania’s right eye. She dabbed at it with the back of her hand.

This was hard for her.

Ania turned back to Sarah.

“He told me … that if I didn’t just let him do things, that he would tell the authorities about me. That I’d lose my job, be kicked out of the country.”

Another dab.

“It’s okay,” Sarah said, feeling the words to be empty when things were quite clearly
not
okay. “What did he want Ania?”

“When we did the rounds and gave the residents their drugs, he would take some. Sometimes the resident didn’t get all they were supposed to; other times he just made sure that we had more on the trolley than we needed.”

“He needed you to … look the other way?”

A nod. “‘Just be quiet,’” he told me. “Be quiet, and he would stay quiet as well.”

“You let him steal drugs?” Sarah said.

“Yes. He made me, threatened me. You understand, don’t you?”

“Drugs like?”

“Benzodiazepine … ‘benzos,’ he called them. Said he could always sell them. And the pain-killers, the Percocet, hydrocodone.”

Now both eyes welled with tears, Ania’s shame and fear immense in the quiet of the dark church.

Sarah put an arm on the woman’s shoulder, and that was all Ania needed to begin crying full out … shaking as Sarah held her close.

Until: “Ania, that was blackmail. It was Craig who stole the drugs, not you.”

But Sarah also knew that in any investigation, Ania would indeed lose more than her job.

And Sarah didn’t want that to happen.

But now they had the evidence that something criminal was going on in that place. The big question, did it have something to do with Archy’s death?

For now, Sarah didn’t see a connection.

Ania’s sobs had quietened a bit, though she still had to wipe away the tears.

“Look, Ania, I will need to share this with my friend.”

A worried look crossed the nurse’s face, a headshake.

Sarah squeezed Ania’s hand. “You can trust him … like you’ve trusted me. We will need to do something about Craig, and we can try to do it in a way that doesn’t hurt you.”

Though Sarah wasn’t exactly sure how that could be done.

But Ania nodded. “Yes. I will trust you.”

And at that moment, Sarah heard steps behind them, someone clearing their throat.

How long had the person been there?

She turned to see Reverend Hewitt walk in. When he came abreast of the back pew, he turned and nodded to the two of them.

“Everything all right, Sarah … Ania …?”

So he knew the nurse as well.

Sarah forced a smile. “Yes, Reverend. Just talking.”

The vicar nodded, obviously guessing that the two women huddled at the back weren’t “just talking”.

“If there’s anything I can do, do let me know.”

Sarah nodded. Probably someone else they could both trust. But for now:

“Thank you, Reverend.”

And he continued walking to the front of the church.

“I must get back,” Ania said.

“You okay?” Sarah said.

Ania nodded. “I feel better — having told you.”