Death Before Time (12 page)
“Tom?” said Marcus.
“It’s a problem.” Tom thought for a moment. “If - when - it happens,” he said, “Could you, Jo, give them some antibiotic we knew was OK without anyone knowing?”
“I won’t know that until I’ve seen the set-up. Then, maybe, so long as they were on my patch.”
“And if they weren’t?”
“Then I’d have no business going anywhere near them.” She continued quickly - “But if I was caught giving unauthorised drugs to
anyone
, I could be struck off. I want a written guarantee that that won’t happen, Marcus.”
“You can both have that,” Marcus said.
“Fraser, could you do it?” Tom said.
“Aye, so long as they were on Edwina’s list. But there’s still the other problem – if they got better, won’t the person responsible wonder why?”
“Couldn’t we use that to our advantage?” - Jo.
“How?” - Marcus.
She leaned forward. “Say we have a patient, Mrs Smith – she gets pneumonia and is put on ampicillin. Either I do the drugs round myself and make sure she gets the real thing, or I give her some on the side later – extra ampicillin won’t hurt her – “
“But how will
you
know you’re giving her the real thing?”
“I’ll break open a new pack, then keep some back and have it tested. Then, when she
doesn’t
die, the person who gave them the dummy might give themselves away.”
“It’s worth a try,” said Tom. “What d’you think Fraser?”
He nodded. “It’s probably the best we can do. But if we’re going to do that, Jo and I have got to be able to meet and talk, in my room, if necessary.”
“You can’t afford to be seen together,” said Tom. “You’ll have to use the hotel room.”
“There might not be time for that ... ”
They eventually agreed that if one of them found a case, they would immediately phone the other’s mobile.
“Which means mobiles on at all times,” Marcus said, looking from one to the other.
“What if they’re not allowed?” – Jo.
“Leave it on and say you forgot.” – Tom.
After a pause, Marcus continued, “There’s one more thing before we go to lunch - death certificates. Fraser, what actually goes on the victims’ for cause of death?”
Fraser shrugged. “Pneumonia, I suppose.”
“But you don’t know for a fact?”
He shook his head.
“What I’m getting at is that you could argue that they wouldn’t have got pneumonia if they hadn’t had cancer in the first place. So what’s put on them - pneumonia or cancer? Can you find out? It does strike me there’s scope for hiding dodgy deaths there.”
They went for lunch in the same place. Jo said she had to leave early again and this time, Fraser went with her.
It was a fine day and even the stately Plane trees seemed to be enjoying the sun. The breeze rustled in their leaves and caught Jo’s chestnut hair as she walked. Fraser had a job keeping up with her.
For something to say, he asked her how long it took her to get home.
“An hour and a half,“ she said, “So long as I catch the next train - ” she looked at her watch, “There isn’t another direct one today.”
“When is it?”
“Half an hour.”
“Ach, that’s loads of time.”
She smiled unwillingly. “I have a phobia about missing trains.”
They walked on in silence for a few moments, then he said, “Are you worried about Monday?”
“A bit, although I just want to get on with it now. Don’t you?”
“Yeah. I just hope I’m right about it.”
She looked at him curiously. “Are you really worried about that?”
He gave her a lop sided grin. “I’m worried about what Marcus’d say if I was wrong. Wouldn’t you be? Especially after Friday’s cock up.”
“I wouldn’t worry too much about
that
if I were you – I assure you Tom’s done worse things.” She paused. “As for the other, Marcus would never have agreed to set this up if he wasn’t convinced. Here’s the station.”
They bought tickets from the machine. Fraser said, “I’ll see you to your train.”
“We’re on different lines, aren’t we? You want Paddington, that’s Bakerloo.”
They stood awkwardly for a moment, then he thrust out his hand. “I’ll probably see you Monday, then. From afar, that is.”
She grinned at him as she took it, then waved as she vanished down the escalator.
The police called an hour after he got home.
“Dr Callan?” Two of them, Sergeant Griffiths and Constable Davey of the Wiltshire police. “Can we come in, please sir?”
He took them to the living room. Offer them tea? No, he wouldn’t have done normally, not until he’d known what they wanted. They sat down and Davey pulled a notebook from his pocket.
“I believe you work as a locum staff grade at Wansborough Community Hospital, Dr Callan?”
“Aye, I do. Why?”
“Could you tell us where you were at nine o clock last night please sir?”
“At my mother in law’s at Horfield - why d’you want to know this?”
Davey looked at Griffiths, who nodded.
“An intruder got into the hospital last night, sir. We understand you were there yourself at eight o clock.”
“An intruder?”
Don’t
overdo
it
… “When?”
“About nine.”
“What for? Drugs?”
“Not so far as we know, sir. It was the director’s – “ He consulted the notebook again – “Dr Armitage’s office that was broken into.”
“Was anything taken?”
Not so far as they could make out, no … “Sister Stokes says you were there at just after eight – is that so?”
“It is,” he agreed.
Had he noticed anything suspicious, anyone hanging around?
He thought about it, then shook his head. “Sorry, but no, I didn’t.”
“What time did you leave the hospital?”
“Just after Sister Stokes saw me. Say five past or thereabouts.”
“Where did you go then?”
Back to his flat, he told them, where he’d picked up a few things and then driven to his mother in law’s.
What time had he arrived there?
“Oh, a bit before nine …”
“And she’d confirm that, would she, sir?”
“Of course she would – “ he looked from one to the other of them – “Are you trying to suggest
I
did it?”
“No sir, we’re not,” Griffiths said blandly, “At this stage, we’re just eliminating people from our enquiries. Could I have your mother in law’s address, please?”
Davey noted it down. They got to their feet and Griffiths handed him a card. “If you do remember anything else, sir … “
“I’ll tell you straight away.”
As soon as they’d gone, he phoned Tom’s mobile. “Should I warn Mary?”
“Has she got a mobile?”
“I don’t know.”
“Then don’t, not if it means using a land line. I think you should ring Armitage, though ... maybe Helen as well. Let me know what they say.”
He called Philip at home.
“No, nothing was either stolen or broken,” Philip told him. “Look, if you don’t mind Fraser, we’ll talk about it on Monday.”
He rang off. He sensed, although he didn’t know why, that Philip had someone with him.
He called Helen, but there was no answer, so he left a message.
“D’you think she’s with him?” Tom asked when he phoned him back.
“I’ve no idea.”
“What
is
their relationship? I know you’ve said they’re close, but
how
close?”
“Close, but platonic,” Fraser said after a pause.
“How d’you know that?” Tom persisted.
“Close because of the way they’re completely at ease with each other. Platonic because if she was two timing me with anyone, it’d be Ranjid.”
“Mm. All right,” Tom said, still dubious.
*
Fraser had intended going to see Philip first thing on Monday, but Philip pre-empted him by calling a meeting of all the medics and heads of departments.
He told them briefly what had happened. “We might never have known about it at all,” he said, “If it wasn’t for the fact that Ranjid had to go in with the on call bleep.”
Ranjid, who’d been staring at Fraser since he’d come in, said,
“What I’d like to know is what Dr Callan was doing here at eight o clock.” He turned back to Fraser. “You weren’t on call, were you?”
“You know perfectly well I wasn’t, Ranjid. As I told the police, I stayed to do some work in the library, then looked in on a patient before going home.”
“What patient?”
Fraser explained about Mrs Perkins and her infection. “I’ve not had much experience with C diff, so I was worried about her.”
“What were you doing in the library that was so important?”
“Ranjid, I think that’s enough,” Philip said sharply.
“I was looking up C diff if you must know,” Fraser said, staring straight back at him. “And I have to say I’m getting’ a wee tad tired of your attitude, Ranjid.” His anger was quite unfeigned.
“My room was broken - “ Ranjid began furiously, but Philip cut him off –
“I said that’s enough, both of you.” He let the silence hang a moment before continuing: “Ranjid thinks his office was broken into as well, despite the fact that, unlike mine, it was locked. I’ll obviously have to follow suit in future,” he added. He looked round:
“Does anyone else think their office was broken into? Edwina? Helen? Janet?” This last was Janet Towers, who was in charge of admin.
They all shook their heads.
“All right. The police think it was probably an opportunist looking for anything he could lay his hands on, and I see no reason to disagree with them. What it means for us is that we’re going to have to upgrade our security … “
They discussed this for half an hour, then broke up.
Fraser, aware that Ranjid was still watching him, caught up with Helen.
“See you tonight?” he said.
“Sorry, I can’t,” she said. “Wednesday?”
He nodded. “OK.”
Ranjid joined them. “You’ve cut your hand Fraser,” he said.
“Yes.” He held it up. “Rose bush in my garden.”
Ranjid nodded. “I thought somehow it might be a rose bush,” he said, and moved on.
*
Jo, who was starting that morning, probably wouldn’t have known there’d been an intruder if she hadn’t already known, so low key was the general reaction.
She spent the first hour sorting out administrative details, then was left with Jackie Lee, one of the senior sisters.
It was over ten years since Jo had nursed any older patients, or geriatrics, as she’d known them then, and if Wansborough Community Hospital was anything to go by, things had changed. She knew that most of the old ex-workhouse hospitals had gone now, but even ten years before, geriatric hospitals had tended to be in old buildings for which no one could think of a better use.
Jackie Lee was a cheerful black woman of about 40 with a comfortable figure and hair sprinkled with grey. She told Jo in passing about the intruder.
“Has it ever happened before?” Jo asked.
“Not to my knowledge.” Then: “I’ve always thought the security a bit lax. They’ll have to do somethin’ now.” She spoke with a slight Caribbean lilt. “Anyway, let’s get started, shall we?”
She showed Jo round.
“Yes, we do,” she said in answer to Jo’s observation that they used a lot of Health Care Assistants rather than qualified nurses. “Most of the nursing here is routine. Also - “ she lowered her voice - “we’re on a very tight budget.”
Much of the basic nursing
was
routine, but Jo was pleasantly surprised by the standards of the HCA’s. The patients were turned regularly to prevent bedsores, their bodily needs were attended to more or less when required (and there were one or two very difficult patients) and an effort was made to see that all those who were able to ate at least some of the food that was brought to them.
“What on earth made you want to work with the wrinklies instead of ITU?” Jackie asked over a companionable cigarette in the courtyard (“If they
do
ban it even out here, I shall bloody well go out on the street if I want one,” she’d said mutinously when Jo raised the question).
Jo explained about her fiancé and also about being enthused by Philip Armitage’s article.
“Have you met him yet?” Jackie asked.
Jo shook her head.
“You will tomorrow on Ranjid Singh’s ward round. He’s a sweetie – Philip, that is.”
“What about the rest?”
Jackie made a face. “The usual mix.” She lowered her voice again – “Singh’s screwy, Edwina Tate floats around on a cloud and Saint Helen – well, you’ve met her, haven’t you?”
Jo laughed. “Does everyone call her that?”
“Not to her face. Oh, she’s all right, jus’ takes everythin’ too seriously, especially herself.”
“What about the staff grades and housemen?”
“None of them are really nasty – although you need to watch Becca Lake, she can be a cow. We’ve got a locum staff grade who’s quite tasty, although rumour has it that he’s got a thing going with Saint Helen.”
“I’d have thought, from what you said, that she’d have taken herself too seriously for that.”
“
None
of us here take ourselves too seriously for that,” Jackie intoned.
They cackled briefly before stubbing their fags and going back in, where Jackie went over a few more things with her before turning her loose.
It was, Jo thought, the opposite end of the spectrum from ITU. It was nursing in a lower key: no monitors, no jump leads for restarting stalled hearts, no adrenalin churning emergencies - and yet the time didn’t drag, far from it, because not only were there less nurses, but less staff per patient, so she was on the move throughout the day.
When she came off duty at four, she drove to the hotel where Tom had booked a room and reported that she hadn’t got much to report.
Tom said, “Better not tell Fraser what Sister Jackie said about him.”
“Why not?”
“Don’t want him getting ideas above his station, do we?”
Jo smiled, said, “There’s not much likelihood of that. I don’t think he’s a happy man.”
“No, I suppose not,” said Tom after a pause.
They had early dinner together in the hotel.
“In the unlikely event of anyone seeing us,” Tom said, “I’m your fiancé.”
She decided not to tell him about Fraser’s comment.
They chatted comfortably and Jo found herself thinking:
He’s
still
the
sexiest
man
I
know
,
but
if
he
were
to
make
a
pass
at
me
now
,
I’d
turn
him
down
… but something told her he was never going to do that again.
*
Ranjid Singh’s ward round the next morning: Jackie introduced her to both him and Philip, who gravely shook her hand. When she mentioned the article of his she’d read, he smiled rather self-consciously.
“Thank you,” he said. Then, ironically: “Well, I suppose your presence here would indicate that it’s done
some
good.”
She instinctively liked him and was impressed by the professionalism of the team as they moved from bed to bed. She watched carefully, but every patient, she thought, was recommended treatment appropriate to their condition.
She did spot one she thought fitted Tom’s “at risk” category: Shirley Norman, aged 71, admitted with acute phase MS. She’d lost a lot of body movement and found it difficult even to speak clearly, but Jo could see the glint of intelligence behind her eyes. She’d been prescribed Methyl Prednisolone, but it didn’t seem to be helping as much as it had. Singh opted to leave the treatment as it was for a while longer in the hope of improvement.
*
After he’d finished the morning clinic, Fraser closed the door of his office and started searching the computer for the information Marcus wanted. First, he called up Mary Bailey’s record –
Cause
of
death
:
Cancer
.
No
mention
of
pneumonia
. Well, well…
He found some of the others.
Harold
Carter
–
Cause
of
death
:
Cancer
.
John
Bickenhall
–
Cause
of
death
:
Pulmonary
embolus
.
Alice Steel, however, who’d had MS, was down as dying from pneumonia, as was Mavis Perrins. The trend seemed to be that where the patient had had a known killing disease, like Cancer or Heart Disease, this was put down as the cause of death, not pneumonia. But if they’d had a chronic condition, such as MS, Parkinson’s or Alzheimer’s, pneumonia was entered.
