Death Before Time (13 page)
So what were the proportions? He called up and printed out the figures from the computer and tried to work them out for a six-month period.
As taken from the records, deaths from Pneumonia were around 30% of the total, from Cancer 25%, from heart conditions 15%.
He then rang his contacts in Glasgow and Bristol again and asked if they could do the same for their areas. They groaned aloud on hearing his voice, but said they’d try. He was still speaking to one of them when the door opened and Edwina came in.
“I’d better go,” he said into the phone. “Thanks for your help, Gavin - speak to you later.”
Edwina had sat down by the desk with the computer terminal and there was no way she could miss the printouts he’d been working on.
“My, you have been busy,” she said, looking at the screen and the figures he’d written down. “What’s all this in aid of?”
His mind raced - no point in trying to lie, she’d spot it immediately …
“I’m trying to work out roughly the causes of death here over a period of time. Seasonal changes, things like that.”
“Why?” she said sharply. “It’s not still the pneumonia business, is it? You were told to drop that.”
“No, of course not, just the general trends and seasonal changes … “ He could feel himself floundering … “It occurred to me that a comparison with other hospitals might be interesting, even be worth publishing.”
“
Publishing
! Not really within your remit, I’d have thought, Fraser.”
Counter attack … “No, but since being here Edwina, I’ve been wondering about specialising in community medicine, making a career of it.”
“Well … ” She stared back at him, lost for words … “Well, I’m glad we’ve inspired you so much … perhaps we should have a talk about it … ”
“I’d really like that, Edwina,” he said as sincerely as he could.
“Good. We’ll do that.” She took a breath. “Anyway, I only came to say I’m away some of next week - you weren’t thinking of visiting your mother again, were you?”
He said he thought she was stable now.
“Good. I know you can handle the ward round and clinics, but there’s a departmental meeting at the Trust on Monday. There have to be at least two medics from here, so you’ll have to go in my place.”
“Wouldn’t Ranjid be better?” he asked.
“No, as deputy, Ranjid has to stay. Besides,” she added pointedly, “Bearing in mind what you’ve just told me, you should be interested.”
“Yes, I would, now that you mention it … “
After she’d gone, he slumped in his chair and expired a breath.
Bloody sodding typical - in future, he’d have to have a story ready for anything that wasn’t strictly part of the job.
It occurred to him then that Edwina obviously didn’t feel it necessary to follow the rules she’d set down for him concerning closed office doors …
In the evening, he drove down to Tom’s hotel. They went down to the bar and Fraser described the meeting about the intruder.
“Singh’s attitude’s interesting, isn’t it?” Tom said. “Does he really think it was you, or is it just part of his general campaign against you?”
Fraser shrugged. “God knows. I’m just glad the others don’t take him seriously.”
“Sounds to me as though they don’t take the intruder too seriously, either.”
“No. Something else happened, though … “ He told him how Edwina had caught him looking up the causes of death on the computer.
Tom took a mouthful of beer while he thought about it. “Was
her
attitude reasonable?” he said at last, “Or could there be another motive?”
It was Fraser’s turn to think. “Well, she’s generally pissed off with me at the moment,” he said, “What with the time I’ve had off and the previous pneumonia business, so in her mind, it could have been reasonable.”
“All right,” Tom nodded, “But try not to let her catch you like that again.”
Fraser felt himself bristling, but all he said was, “OK.“
“Did you get anything useful on the death certificates?”
Fraser told him what he’d found and how he’d rung his contacts for figures to compare it with.
“It’s a good idea,” Tom said, “But did you think to ask them to check how
their
areas record pneumonia deaths? They might be doing the same as you and recording them as cancer.”
“Ah, shit,” Fraser groaned.
“Well, it’s only just occurred to me. Can you ask them tomorrow?”
Maybe it
had
only just occurred to Tom, Fraser thought as he drove back to his flat, but Tom hadn’t had all day to think about it. He could already imagine the reactions of Gavin and Peter when he did ask them ...
He was right, they swore at him keen and hard when he rang them the next morning, using almost exactly the same words, although in different accents. Then they resignedly said they’d try.
Jo, meanwhile, had decided it was time she started earning her baksheesh and accompanied the two SRN’s on the drug round.
It was as Fraser had said: one nurse read from the list while the other dispensed the drugs and signed the patient’s drug chart. The drug trolley itself was kept locked, as was the drug cabinet when not in use and there was only one set of keys, usually held by the senior nurse on duty.
Next, she waited until Jackie had gone to lunch, then went to the office and asked the clerk where the notes of patients who had recently died were kept.
“Cabinet in the corner, third drawer down. But we only keep them a month, they go to Medical Records after that.”
Jo thanked her, then extracted the files of the six patients on Fraser’s list who’d died of pneumonia. She found the drug chart for each one and noted which nurse had given the patients their antibiotics in the final few days.
With two of the patients, the same signature, C. Tucker, appeared throughout. With two of the others, C. Tucker had given some of the ampicillin doses, but not all, and with the last two, she didn’t figure at all. There was no discernible pattern with any other signature.
Two out of six – four, if you counted the times C. Tucker had administered just some of the antibiotic. She looked through them again …
In two of the six cases, the first dose of ampicillin had been given intravenously; in the others, it was all in tablet form, but C. Tucker had given both the injected doses.
Significant?
She said to the clerk, “D’you know off hand where I could find nurse –er – C. Tucker?”
“Oh, that’s Carrie Tucker, she’s on late shift this week.”
“Oh, right. I’ll catch her some other time.”
She quickly scanned the notes again to see if there was anything else, but there wasn’t, so she returned the folders, thanked the clerk and left.
Did it amount to a pattern? She’d have to talk to Fraser about it.
An hour later, she saw him in the main corridor. She was holding a set of patient’s notes, so she went over to him.
“Excuse me … Dr Callan?”
He turned. “Hello - you’re new here, aren’t you?”
“Yes, I started this week. Staff Nurse Jo Farewell.”
“How can I help, Jo?”
She pointed out something in the notes, said in an undertone, “I need to see you.”
“This evening?”
“If possible.”
“Can you find my flat?”
“I think so.”
“Come round at six. I’ll be waiting by the outer door. If you see anyone you recognise, keep walking.”
“All right. Thanks,” she said more loudly. She turned to go, then something made her glance up - Saint Helen had just come out of her office and was stood there staring at them.
*
“Well, she certainly didn’t waste any time sorting out the eligible male,” Helen said to Fraser in her room a few minutes later.
“Ach, don’t be daft,” he said, genuinely irritated. “She was asking me about the drug dose of one of the patients.”
“Why you?”
“It’s one of my patients. Besides, she’s married.”
“What makes you think that?”
“The ring on the third finger of her left hand.”
“She’s engaged, actually, although trust you to look – “
She broke off, closed her eyes and compressed her lips for a moment ... “I’m sorry Fraser,” she said, “I’m sorry, I’m just a bit stressed at the moment.”
“Sure.” He squeezed her shoulders, acutely aware that a truly affectionate lover would do more.
She said, “I know it’s short notice, but can you come round tomorrow instead of tonight?”
“No, I’m sorry, but I can’t.”
“Pressing social engagement?”
“Not exactly … as a matter of fact, I’m playing in a darts match.”
“A
darts
match?”
He explained how he’d been enrolled into the darts team. “I did promise, so I can’t really let them down. I’m sorry.”
“Oh, that’s all right - if a darts match is really more important than me, then OK, fine.”
“Can you not manage tonight?”
“Oh, I expect so. Assume I can unless I let you know otherwise.”
He kissed her cheek, squeezed her shoulder again and then left, feeling foolish, inadequate, self-conscious, wishing the whole ghastly charade was over. Wondered how much longer he could keep it up.
Later, when he got back to his room, he phoned Jo.
“It’s Fraser,” he said. “Helen saw us talking – “
“I know.”
“Well, she cross-examined me about it afterwards, so I think, to be on the safe side, you’d better not come.”
“Why? D’you think she might be watching or something?”
“I know it sounds daft, but I don’t want to take any chances. Can you tell me what it’s about now?”
“I’ll try,” she said, and told him what she’d found out about Carrie Tucker.
“I know her,” he said “She was the one I spoke to on the drug round.”
“What’s she like?”
“Big, pushy lassie, red hair – we do need to talk about this, don’t we? How about tomorrow lunch time?”
But Jo couldn’t manage that and they decided to leave it until Marcus came down on Friday.
*
Fraser went to Helen’s in the evening. The moodiness of the morning had gone; she was bright, chatty and good company.
Why
? Fraser wondered. The wine? She’d had quite a bit. Or was it just part of the artificiality of their relationship? He’d thought she’d bring up the break in, or Ranjid’s behaviour, but to his surprise, she didn’t.
She said suddenly, “Fraser, is it true, that you’re thinking of specialising in Care of Older People?”
He laughed in disbelief. “Who told you that?”
“Philip. Why, wasn’t I supposed to know?”
“It’s not that, it’s just the way things get around here. I mentioned it to Edwina, and I suppose she must have told him. I only said it to her as a passing thought.”
“So it’s not true, then?”
“Ah, I don’t know, Helen … I
do
find it interesting, much more than I thought I would, but I still don’t really know what I want to do.”
She said quietly, “I think you’d be very good at it.”
“Why?” he asked, curious.
She drank some more wine before replying. “Because you’re compassionate with the patients, but clear sighted at the same time, not sentimental.”
“How d’you mean?”
“You care about them – ghastly word – but you haven’t let that blind you to the fact that it’s sometimes kinder to let them go.”
“I thought most people accepted that.”
“Oh, you’d be surprised – we’ve had locums before who’ve insisted on the patient’s right to life no matter what. Never mind how much they’re suffering, never mind what the relatives think. The right to pain and indignity … ” she tailed off.
“I didn’t realise you felt so strongly,” he said, looking at her.
She shrugged, refilled her glass and drank. “You can’t
not
feel strongly,” she said more calmly. “Can you imagine suffering, but at the same time being utterly powerless, without meaning, totally in the control of others? Sorry – forgot, you probably
can
, can’t you?” She stared across the table at him, her eyes huge in the candlelight. “Wasn’t there ever a time Fraser, when you thought about ending Frances’ life?”
He stared at her, astonished … “No,” he said.
“Sorry, perhaps I shouldn’t have asked,” she said, and turned easily to lighter things.
Driving back, he asked himself whether her attitude made her a suspect … probably not, he thought; her attitude wasn’t so different from his – except for the
suffering
without
meaning
part of it, Frances’ life had
never
been without meaning …
That was what really surprised him - the fact she could ask such a question of him.
*
The next day at lunchtime he was again going over to his flat for something and again saw Ranjid and Helen driving off together. He looked over at his own car, then noticed a taxi disgorging a couple of passengers at the main entrance, and on impulse, ran over to it.
“Could you follow that car, please?” he said, pointing to Ranjid’s Mazda as it disappeared down the hill.
The driver looked back at him incredulously. “You want me to follow that car?”
“Yes … “
The driver continued staring at him.
“My girlfriend’s in it,” he added, realising he had to say more, “With someone else.” He shrugged helplessly, pathetically.
Grumbling, the driver started the meter and set off. Fortunately, Ranjid wasn’t a fast driver and they caught up quite quickly.
“OK, so I’m following him, so now what?” the driver said.
“Well, carry on. Not too close, though.”
With a sigh, the driver complied. They were never like this on the telly, Fraser thought … it was already evident they were going to Helen’s house and five minutes later, Ranjid drew up in her drive.
The taxi driver pulled up fifty yards short as Helen found her key and unlocked the house. Ranjid followed her inside and the door shut.
“You gonna stay and watch?” the driver enquired.
“I’d like to give it five minutes,” Fraser replied levelly.
“Well, you can do it on your own, then.”
Fraser thought quickly – he wouldn’t get another taxi easily from here and he didn’t fancy walking back, so much as he hated giving in –
“No, back to the hospital, please.”
They drove in silence.
As Fraser paid him, the driver looked at him with complete contempt. Fraser suddenly realised he didn’t care – which, he supposed, must be a good thing in a secret agent.
Back in his flat, he made some coffee and thought about it.
It
could
have an innocent explanation …
He smiled grimly as another thought struck him – innocent or not, he’d only too gladly hand Helen over to Ranjid …
Walking back from the social club in the dark that evening, having won the game for them again, he’d just reached the trees when two figures materialised in front of him …
He knew instantly what it meant and ran, not realising there was a third until a well-placed foot sent him sprawling onto the playing field. He tried to get up but a sandbag to the back of his head nose-dived him into the grass again.
Then two of them grabbed his arms and hauled him upright. He wasn’t knocked out, only dazed.
The other one closed in. “So, here’s the guy who won’t take a hint,” he said, staring him in the eyes, so Fraser was quite unready for the fist that sank deep into his guts … he heaved, retched, tried to double over …
“Hold him.” The leader grabbed his hair, yanked his head back and looked him in the eyes again. “You’re not wanted here, see. Got that?”
Fraser, knowing he was about to be punched in exactly the same place again, lashed out with a foot and caught his ankle …
The man let out a yell, then – “Hold him up,” he snarled and went for him, windmilling with both fists … Fraser clenched his stomach muscles, tried to hunch over and most of it landed round his head and shoulders –
“
Hey
-!”
They looked round – the darts team had emerged from the club –
“It’s Jock,” one of them said and they started running.
“Hold him,” the leader said again … he stepped back and took a measured kick at Fraser’s balls but Fraser saw it coming and managed to twist slightly so that his thigh took some of the blow, but it was bad enough and he let out a screech … they dropped him and ran for it and he sank to the ground clutching his groin …
He was dimly aware of their footsteps as they ran, then the darts team clustered around.
“You all right, Jock?”
“D’you need a doctor?”
“Ah
am
a feckin’ doctor,” he managed between his teeth. He took a deep breath and blew it out slowly …
Stimulate
endorphins
and
ease
the
pain
–
least
,
that’s
the
theory
“Be all right in a minute …” He took another deep breath.
“D’you want the police?”
No
… “Don’t think that’ll do much good now.”
“’Oo were they?”
Fraser shook his head.
