Sisters of Mercy (24 page)
‘
But she was still talking about the voice of God to us, wasn’t she, Tom?’
‘
But did it mean anything by then?’ Tom said.
‘
It sounded as though it did, to me.’
‘
Well, I’ll tell you something else,’ Anslow continued. He paused a moment to gather his thoughts. ‘When I was interviewing her last night, I really did feel, more than I ever have before, that I was getting answers from two completely different people.’ He sighed. ‘Or maybe I was just tired. Anyway, it’s for the trick cyclists to sort out now.’
Just
as we left, he said, ‘Oh, Sister, I think these are yours.’ He was holding out the keys I’d lost. ‘We found them in her pocket.’
*
I saw Tom off on the afternoon train. He gave me one of those kisses somehow so filled with possibility that I almost tried persuading him to stay. But it wouldn’t have been fair on him. Or his wife. That’s what I told myself, anyway.
The
next day, I went back to work.
Immediately
after the ward rounds, Mr Chorley called me to his office. He told me how sorry he was and that I was to come to him if I had any problems. He then ordered me to take a week off and I felt a lump grow in my throat at his kindness.
When
I got back to my own office, Miss Whittington was there waiting for me. She apologized for not believing me earlier. She sounded as though she’d been kicked from above.
Some
of the others, like Mary, were obviously dying to ask me all about it, but had just enough sensitivity not to. It would come later, I was sure.
Stephen
caught me alone as I was on the point of leaving. ‘Jo, I can’t tell you how sorry I am; I can’t find the words to apologize sufficiently …’
There
was more in the same vein, then he astounded me by saying: ‘I’d really like to make it up to you, Jo. Let me take you out for dinner. Tomorrow, perhaps?’
And
the amazing thing was that he honestly seemed to think it was that easy. Words tumbled round my head, like:
Where
were
you
when
I
needed
you
? …
Fair
-
weather
friend
…
Go
back
to
Jill
and
Debbie
, but what actually came out was: ‘Stephen, go and stick it up your arse.’ Followed by: ‘And if you think there’s a double meaning there, you’re right.’
He
didn’t redden or look away, just smiled faintly for a moment, then turned and left.
I
spent the next couple of days with my parents, playing down what had happened and trying to put their minds at rest.
Tom
phoned me on Wednesday to say that he was coming up the next day to collect his car; also to attend the magistrates’ court where Susan was due to appear, in case there were any more developments Anslow could tell him about.
I
decided to go with him, partly out of morbid curiosity, I suppose, but mostly because I wanted to see him again.
It
was cold and windy, no autumnal mellowness that day. Anslow couldn’t tell us any more, other than that their case was virtually complete, and that Sutton had been well and truly warned off.
The
court appearance was an anticlimax. We were inside (with Sutton, who’d attached himself to us) when she was brought to the building in a police van. We could hear the relatives of some of the dead patients shouting abuse at her as she arrived. When she appeared in the court, she looked no different from the way she’d always looked. I don’t know what I’d expected.
She
said ‘Yes’ twice — once to confirm her name and again to say she understood the charges. Then it was over.
We
were outside by the time she was brought back to the van. I was expecting her to have a blanket or something over her head, but she didn’t. More abuse was shouted. A ring of police surrounded her.
The
wind was gusting more than ever, plucking at her hair and coat — no, they were
bullet
holes, followed immediately by the reports of the gunshots …
As the echoes died away, there was a moment of absolute silence and stillness, then, like a film starting up again, people began to move …
Police
running in the direction of the shots …
Tom
turning to Sutton and saying, ‘You bloody fool …’ Then me, pushing my way through the crowd — ‘Excuse me, please, I’m a nurse …’
She
was lying on her back, the blood flowing from beneath her. I felt for her pulse, and to my amazement, there was one, although very weak. I made pads from the lining of my jacket and manoeuvred them underneath her back where I thought the exit wounds would be, moving her as little as possible. Then I covered her with coats from the bystanders …
Her
face remained completely still. The crowd around me gobbled like a turkey farm.
Then,
the wail of the ambulance and the crowd parting to let the paramedics through. I offered to go with them, but they said it wasn’t necessary. Tom joined me as they drove away.
‘
Is she still alive?’
‘
Yes, but I wouldn’t give much for her chances. Have they caught them?’
‘
They’ve arrested Sutton.’
‘
But why? It couldn’t have been him, he was with us the whole time.’
‘
They think he hired whoever did it.’
‘
And then came here to watch? How revolting.’
‘
He said he hadn’t, just before Anslow arrested him.’
‘
Did you believe him?’
He
shook his head slightly. ‘I don’t think so. No.’ He looked up. ‘I asked Anslow if I could sit in, but he said no.’
I
smiled wryly and told him how my offer of help had been spurned too.
He
said, ‘There was something else I wanted to talk to you about. Is there anywhere we can go?’
‘
Only my place.’
By
the time we got to his car, reaction had set in and neither of us spoke on the way back. When we arrived, I said, ‘I’m sorry, but I must have a coffee. D’you want one?’
‘
Please.’
‘
What was it you wanted to talk to me about?’ I asked when I’d made it.
‘
It’s probably not important.’ He took a mouthful. ‘The thing is, I’ve never been happy about the numbers of atheists and agnostics that suddenly descended on your ITU.’
I
shrugged. ‘We just happened to have a lot of them in that period.’
‘
If you hadn’t, you probably wouldn’t have noticed the killings.’
‘
Why not?’ I wasn’t really concentrating.
‘
Because they wouldn’t have been killed.’
‘
Oh. I hadn’t thought of that.’
‘
Well, while I was back in London, I contacted three local ITUs and asked them how many non-believers they had.’ He smiled. ‘They made the same observation as I: that patients coming into an ITU, and their relatives, tend to rediscover their religious faith, not lose it. Anyway, the rate came out as one in nineteen, near enough. In your case, the rate over that period was one in seven.’
‘
Is that so very different?’ I asked.
‘
It certainly is. It means your ITU had nearly three times as many as the others I’ve looked at, and that’s statistically significant. In other words, it didn’t happen by chance.’
‘
Tom, what are you saying?’
‘
I’m not really sure.’ He hesitated. ‘Anslow suggested that Susan has a split personality. Could one part of her have changed the patient records for the other part of her to find? That was another reason I came up here, to find out whether that could have happened.’
I
thought about it. ‘But as a phlebotomist, she didn’t have a password.’
‘
We already know she was using someone else’s password to look at the files.’
I
drank the rest of my coffee.
‘
It all depends on whether you’re right about the number of unbelievers,’ I said. ‘I’m not convinced you are.’
‘
Well, there’s one way to find out.’
‘
How?’
‘
By going back to ITU and checking how many non-believing patients you had outside the period Susan was killing them.’
We
picked at some lunch before going back at half-past one, when I hoped there wouldn’t be so many people about.
The
first person we saw was Mary.
‘
Jo! What are you doing here? Aren’t you on leave?’
‘
Just something I had to sort out.’
‘
You know Susan’s in theatre?’
I
nodded. ‘Yes.’
‘
Were you there? Did you see it happen?’
‘
Yes.’ I briefly told her about it. ‘Are we expecting her here?’
‘
Yes. One of the side rooms has been prepared.’
‘
OK. I’ll be staying for a little while, so let me know when she arrives, please.’
Tom
and I went into my office, where it didn’t take us long to work out that our usual rate of ‘non-believers’ was one in twenty-one.
‘
It could still be a fluke, a coincidence,’ I said.
‘
It isn’t, Jo, and you know it. And there’s a way we can prove it.’
‘
How?’
‘
By asking the relatives.’
‘
Oh, no.’ I shook my head. ‘No. That would be a completely unjustifiable intrusion.’
‘
Why?’
‘
Because you can’t —’
There
was a tap on the door. Mary.
‘
She’s come out of theatre, and Inspector Anslow is here,’ she said. We could see him behind her.
‘
How is she?’
‘
Alive. That’s all I know.’
‘
Thanks, Mary. Inspector,’ I called, ‘would you like to come in?’
His
large presence seemed to make the office even smaller.
‘
She’s still alive, then. What’re the chances, Sister?’
‘
I won’t know that until I’ve spoken to one of the doctors. I’ll do that once she’s here.’
He
nodded, then said feelingly, ‘I hope to God she does survive.’
Tom
said, ‘Did you get anywhere with Sutton?’
‘
Nah,’ he said in disgust. ‘He got his solicitor in, denied all knowledge and we couldn’t prove otherwise, so we had to let him go. We’re still holding his minder, though.’
‘
Polo? You don’t think it was him? He’s a knifeman, not a gunman.’
‘
You’re probably right,’ said Anslow gloomily. ‘But he could have been the intermediary, so maybe we can break him.’
Tom
looked doubtful about that, and I could understand why.
‘
So you still think Sutton was behind it?’
Anslow
snorted. ‘Who else could it be?’
‘
Have you found out where the gunman was yet?’
‘
An empty office about a hundred yards away. Forensic are still working on it.’
‘
Cartridge cases?’
He
nodded. ‘Three. From a treble-two bolt action.’
‘
Three … so he missed with one of the shots?’
‘
Looks like it.’ He obviously didn’t want to say any more about it.
Tom
said after a pause, ‘Remember your idea that she had a split personality?’
‘
Well?’
‘
Has any more been said about that?’
‘
A psychiatrist has been to see her, but I haven’t heard anything. Why?’
Tom
told him about the patient records. ‘We’re wondering whether one part of her altered them for the other to find.’
‘
Hmm, interesting. I’ll ask and let you know.’
As
soon as he’d gone, Tom phoned Sutton.
‘
Can we come round and see you?’ he asked without preamble.
