Go Not Gently (17 page)

The weather had warmed up again and there were even patches of fresh blue sky here and there. I didn’t particularly welcome the change; my temperature was all over the place, sweaty one minute, chilled the next. To my teary eyes the bright sky was painful to look at. My cold was now in full spate, swallowing no longer hurt but breathing was difficult. I was in a diving bell, sound echoed and distorted and all the colours were too vivid. With pockets stuffed full of hankies I walked Maddie and Tom to school. I wondered about another day in bed but it seemed excessive for a cold, lousy though I felt. I compromised, telling myself I’d see how I was by lunchtime.

At the office I opened my heap of junk mail. I was exhorted to borrow money, install a new security system, send away for a free gift (matching towels or handy holdall), order two pizzas for the price of one and have my carpets cleaned half-price. I binned the lot. Even resisting the temptation to use the scratch card that would reveal whether I’d won £10, £50 or £10,000. Fat chance.

There were no messages on my answerphone. I jotted down notes on the Lily Palmer case and recorded visits I’d made, entering time and mileage on separate sheets. I sat and pondered for a while, letting the coincidences and questions nibble away at me.

The small basement window was filthy. It occurred to me that I could probably double the amount of light in the place if I cleaned it and took down the broken blind. All the Dobsons were out but I knew they wouldn’t mind if I borrowed a bit of window cleaner and a cloth. They had a cupboard under the sink with cleaning stuff in. I found what I wanted and proceeded back downstairs. I stood on my chair and pulled at the roller blind, the whole thing came away easily. I dropped it on the floor, gave the spiders time to run for cover, then squirted the glass. The grime came off in satisfying swathes but the outside needed doing too.

I went upstairs and outside, knelt down by the window and stretched across the gap to swipe away the webs strewn with debris, fragments of curled leaf, scraps of paper and seeds. I wiped the dust and rain marks from the pane. By then I was running with sweat and trembling with exhaustion.

I put the cleaning stuff back, washed my hands and sat down to rest. I was hungry. Feed a cold and starve a fever. I felt as though I’d got both but there was no contest, appetite won out. I couldn’t taste the sandwich I made myself back home but it stopped the growling in my belly. I napped on the sofa for an hour and felt human once more.

I called Sergeant Bell again. She was still busy. I wasn’t content to leave yet another message. I asked whether I could speak to Inspector Crawshaw. He was busy. I could leave a message.

‘Is there anyone who can give me some information?’

‘Concerning?’

‘Jimmy Achebe. Is he still in custody? Have any charges been brought?’

‘You could try the Press Office.’ He gave me the number. It was busy.

Instead, I called Agnes to find out the latest. Lily had not been very well when she’d visited. She’d had a high temperature that they were concerned about and they suspected an infection. She was asleep all the time that Agnes was there. Agnes was worried.  ‘At our age these sort of things can be so much harder to shake off.’

‘I am sorry. Any news from Charles?’

‘Yes. He’s spoken to Mr Simcock again. There’s no reason to suspect there’s any connection between the operation and the infection. Apparently just being in hospital increases the risk. He said they’ll be concentrating on trying to fight that off using antibiotics. But even if she gets over all this she’s never going to be well. You know, the scan showed substantial changes in her brain.’ I could hear the desolation in her voice. She cleared her throat. ‘There’s very little they can do now. All we can expect is a steady decline.’

‘Will she go back to Kingsfield?’

‘I’m not sure. Charles got the impression they were thinking of one of the nursing homes where they specialise in caring for patients with Alzheimer’s. I’ve been thinking about it a lot. I suppose I’ve got the proof I wanted about Lily’s condition: they’ve definite physical evidence of what’s wrong. Now I need to accept it. It’s not going to go away. I just hope she can shake off this infection.’

‘Do you want to see her tonight? I could give you a lift.’

‘You don’t sound very well,’ she said doubtfully.

‘No, I’m all right. Just this cold. I’ll come about six.’

‘Thank you. Oh, by the way, it doesn’t seem so important any more but did you hear anything more about the tablets?’

‘No. I’ve asked my friend to chivvy the lab along. She’s doing me a favour so I can’t really push her any more than I have done. I’m also trying to find out if there’s any connection between Goulden and Simcock but I’ve not got anything yet. I’m waiting to hear.’

I did hear. Just after I got back from school, Harry rang.  ‘Hi! I’ve left a message on your answerphone too,’ he began.

‘Any luck?’ I didn’t expect anything.

‘Bingo!’

‘What?’ I was astonished.

‘You got a fax yet?’

‘No.’

‘A pen?’

‘Yes, Harry, I have a pen. Poised. Go on.’

‘OK. Simcock and Montgomery are both directors of Malden Medical Supplies.’

My scalp prickled.

‘They’re a company based in Cheshire, Northwich, and they supply anything and everything – rubber gloves, gas cylinders, disposable sheets, bandages, the lot. They deal with nursing homes, hospitals, that sort of thing. It’s a lucrative little concern, accounts for the last year on record show a turnover of two million and very healthy profits.’

‘Hang on, let me get this all down.’ I scribbled furiously. ‘Right.’

‘That was up fifty per cent on the previous year. They came in just at the right time, when all the privatisation was kicking in and the fact that the clients can get all their stuff from the same supplier probably gave them the edge over the competition.’

‘So, they’ll be making quite a bit from it?’ I said.

‘Oh, yeah. Depends how much they’re ploughing back in but they’re doing very nicely thank you.’

‘Nothing illegal?’

‘Well, the law’s very woolly around some of this, but everything I’ve told you so far is public knowledge somewhere or other. Difference is it’d take you weeks going via other agencies, hard copies. Using the computer makes it that much quicker…’

‘Harry! I didn’t mean you. I meant them – anything fishy about their operation?’

‘Oh, no. Nothing glaring anyway.’

‘And Goulden’s not a director?’

‘Ah-ha! No. But listen to this. There’s a Mrs A. L. Goulden, BPharm, MRPharmS who’s actually Managing Director.’

‘His wife.’

‘There’s more – her Malden name was Montgomery, Angela Leonie Montgomery, sister to Douglas Vernon Montgomery.’

‘Yes!’ The connections were there. They all had some involvement in Malden Medical Supplies, and Montgomery and Goulden were brothers-in-law.

‘Anything else you want? Creditworthiness, mortgage details, hire purchase agreements?’

‘Spare me.’

‘Seriously, Sal, you ought to think about getting a system.   The amount of stuff you’d have there at your fingertips.’

Oh yeah, and the amount of time it’d take me to access it. ‘I can’t even afford a fax at the moment, Harry.’

‘Tax deductible.’

‘I don’t pay enough blinking tax to deduct it. Besides, it’s money up front which I can’t manage.’

‘Or credit.’

‘I wouldn’t dare.’

‘Shame. Plenty of your lot are in there already, you know.’

‘Yeah, well, lucky I got you, isn’t it?’

‘Why keep a dog and bark yourself?’

I laughed. ‘Something like that. Besides, you’re an expert.

You’ll let me know if it gets too much?’

‘Go on. But promise me…’

‘What?’

‘If there’s a story…’

‘I thought you’d given up on the journalism.’

‘Oh, I still need a nice juicy scandal now and again. One that I write up instead of seeing it mangled by the other hacks.’

‘You’ll be the first to know. But don’t hold your breath.’

So there were plenty of legitimate reasons for Goulden and Simcock to meet at the hospital, a word about business if not a conscientious visit from the GP concerned about his elderly patient.

But I wasn’t thinking about legitimate reasons. I was more interested in the other sort.

By quarter to six I was regretting my offer to take Agnes to the hospital but I didn’t want to let her down at the last minute. Ray still wasn’t in from work so I resorted to going up and asking Sheila if she’d keep an eye on the children till he got back. She was happy to. I braced myself for another tantrum from Maddie but she didn’t turn a hair when I explained what was happening. I was the only one who was uncomfortable with the situation because I felt I was imposing on Sheila.

On our journey to the Infirmary I told Agnes about the business and family links between the three doctors.  ‘Mr Simcock is on the board of directors there and Mrs Goulden is the Managing Director so that could be one reason why we saw Dr Goulden at the hospital – he’s got business connections with Simcock.’

Silence. ‘Agnes?’

‘Let me get this right. Mr Simcock is on the board of the company?’

‘Yes.’

‘And Dr Montgomery?’

‘Yes. And what’s more, Mrs Goulden, who works there, is actually the sister of Dr Montgomery too. It’s very incestuous.’

‘I don’t like it,’ she said sharply.

‘It stinks,’ I agreed, ‘and there are too many coincidences flying around. All these people have been involved in Lily’s treatment – is that just because it’s a specialised area? Is it just nepotism, the old boy network, or is there something else going on?’ I was speculating aloud.

Agnes shook her head.

‘You’d think one well-paid job would satisfy,’ she remarked, ‘with all this unemployment.’

‘It might be greedy but it’s not illegal,’ I pointed out. ‘Besides, they’re directors of the business – they employ people to work there.’

‘And money makes money. Always has done. What about them?’ She pointed towards a cluster of youths who were gathered outside a local off-licence. ‘Nothing, no hope. Even in the thirties there was hope, the belief that things could change. Now…all this talk about moral standards and the fabric of society. A return to Victorian values. Huh,’ she snorted, ‘Victorian values were savage, smothered in hypocrisy.’

I was fazed at her outburst and I’d no idea what had set her off. I said nothing. We arrived at the hospital.

The curtains were still drawn round Lily’s bed and no sooner had we sat down at her bedside than a junior doctor arrived. She introduced herself and explained that they were using intravenous antibiotics to try to fight the infection that had raised Lily’s temperature. The saline drip was to prevent dehydration.

‘Has she been awake?’ asked Agnes.

‘She’s been sleeping. That’s no bad thing, rest can help a great deal.’

‘Is she going to be all right?’

The doctor didn’t give her a straight answer, she probably couldn’t. ‘If we can get her over the infection there’s no reason why she shouldn’t make a complete recovery from the haematoma.’  She left.

Agnes slid her hand under Lily’s. The face on the pillow was peaceful enough but her breath was harsh and ragged, painful to listen to.

‘I’ll wait in the lounge for a bit,’ I offered. ‘Don’t want to give her this cold on top of everything else.’

Half an hour later I returned. I was ready to go. The heat on the ward was making me sweat, my head had started pounding and I was beginning to feel unsteady, slightly dizzy.

As I slipped behind Agnes and touched her shoulder, Lily woke. She stared at Agnes, then blinked slowly.

‘Lily. Lily, it’s Agnes. You’ve not been well, you’re in the MRI.’ Lily blinked. I wondered how much she could see without her glasses on.

‘Olive,’ it was a hoarse whisper, ‘my Olive.’

‘Oh, Lily.’ Agnes stroked her hand.

Lily closed her eyes again and soon the noisy, dragging breath returned. Persistent but irregular. Gently Agnes released her friend’s hand.

‘Olive was her daughter,’ she said. ‘She died a week after her third birthday. Milk sickness, TB.’

She stood up. We made our way slowly and in silence past the bright murals down the long corridor to the exit.

‘MAN CHARGED IN ACHEBE SLAYING. HUSBAND RELEASED,’ brayed the evening paper. Front-page news. Complete with one of the shots I’d taken of the man I’d seen at the hotel with Tina Achebe.

I sank into the chair, my coat still on, and scanned the text. He was named as Bill Sherwin, forty-two, a local businessman. There was nothing about why he might have murdered Tina, though much was made of the fact that they were both married. A police spokesman was quoted as saying forensic reports were still being prepared. No further details could be released at present. The paper rehashed details of Tina’s death, included quotes from neighbours and family about their response to both Jimmy’s release and Sherwin’s arrest, and showed a photo of the terraced house complete with police tape across the gate.