The Mistake I Made (21 page)

‘What were Wayne’s plans for the weekend?’ she asked.

‘I don’t think he said.’

‘So you told him about your plans?’

‘I guess I must have. Look,’ I said, trying to slow this down before she had me blurting out something I’d regret, not wanting to divulge the real nature of my business at Wayne’s house on Saturday, ‘I can’t really remember. Me and Wayne, we’re not what you’d call close. He’s my boss. I exchange pleasantries, I keep things neutral. I don’t pry into his life, he doesn’t pry into mine.’

DS Aspinall smiled. ‘I understand.’

She flicked over a page in her notebook and requested I bear with her for a moment as she jotted down a couple of things.

It was one of those awkward silences that I had the tendency to fill with chit-chat. I stayed quiet, rearranging a few items on the desk. I removed the back of the hole punch and tapped it twice, the small white paper discs fluttering into the waste-paper basket.

I looked up and saw she was still writing.

DS Quigley had his hands inside his pockets and was rocking back and forth from his heels to the balls of his feet. His shoes made a soft squelching noise that he seemed to be unaware of. He turned and glanced around the reception area.

‘What kinds of things do you get in here?’ he asked me.

‘You mean what kinds of problems do we treat?’

He nodded.

‘Backs and necks mostly.’

He raised his eyebrows, indicating that was not what he expected me to say.

‘Since early man decided to stand upright, to go vertical, he has experienced problems with the spine,’ I explained.

‘I thought it would be knees,’ he said, flexing his, and wincing as he did so. I could hear the crepitus, the grating of bone on bone as he straightened up. (Incidentally, the more flirtatious male would ask if we saw a lot of groin strains.)

‘We do see a quite a few knee problems,’ I went on, ‘but mostly it’s backs and necks … then knees, shoulders and feet. Along with a few sporting injuries.’

DS Quigley nodded meditatively.

‘What’s Mr Geddes’ role here?’ DS Aspinall asked, her note-taking finished for the time being.

‘Practice manager.’

‘Is he well liked?’

I widened my eyes involuntarily and laughed a little. ‘No comment.’

DS Aspinall smiled in response, then waited to see if I would add anything further.

‘Is Wayne in some kind of trouble?’ I asked carefully.

‘We just need to find him,’ she replied.

‘Have you checked his house?’

‘We’re going there next. This was on our way, so it made sense to stop here first. We’ve been told he has made no contact with work since Friday. Is that correct?’

‘As far as I know, but, like I said, I’m not really the one to ask. Gary, who’ll be in around eight forty-five, may be able to help you. He’s the one who called head office and reported Wayne absent from work.’

She kept her gaze on me and, out of nowhere, it dawned on me how I knew her. She was a few years below me at school, and since then I’d seen her around from time to time. She’d lost weight, though, or else changed her appearance. There was definitely something different about her. I just couldn’t put my finger on it.

After a moment she asked, ‘Does Mr Geddes have any family living nearby?’

‘His father’s dead and his mum is in a home.’

‘Any siblings?’

‘Not that he’s mentioned.’

‘Okay, thank you,’ she said. ‘I think that’s all we need for now. We might pop back later, if we need further information.’

I tried to mask my relief that the interrogation was over by doing something I would
never
do – commenting on her posture.

‘Do you suffer from neck problems, Detective?’

‘Why do you ask?’

‘Just in the way you’re moving. You seem as though you might have some stiffness at around C5/6 level.’

I refrained from saying she had what we unflatteringly called a pokey-chin posture. Often stiffness in the lower neck and upper thoracic region of the spine causes people to thrust their chins forward. This has the effect of limiting their rotation – when they try to turn their head to the side, they elevate their shoulder at the same time. Think Paula Abdul, robot-like, turning to admonish Simon Cowell in the early days of
American Idol
.

‘I had a breast reduction,’ DS Aspinall said simply. ‘I’ve been left with stiffness in my upper back from the years of constant—’ She stopped mid-sentence. She let me fill in the blanks.

Her partner, DS Quigley, looked to the floor.

‘Ah,’ I said, unfazed now that we were back on my turf, ‘it can be such a cruel condition. Sometimes the upward-facing dog stretch can help. If you lift your head backwards as well, as you do it. Do you know the stretch?’

‘I do. I’ll try it,’ she said.

She closed her notepad and made like she was ready to leave.

Casting around the reception area one last time to make certain nothing had slipped her attention, she thanked me for my time and handed me a card with her details on it, should Wayne get in touch.

She walked a few steps from the desk and, just as I thought I was rid of them, she stopped and turned, frowning as though grappling with a puzzling thought.

‘Did Mr Geddes ever mention any missing money?’ she asked.

24

‘MONEY?’ I REPEATED
.

‘Yes,’ said DS Aspinall, ‘money.’

DS Quigley, who had already exited the clinic, now doubled back, lingering in the passage a few feet behind his partner. His face remained passive, open, and I realized instantly this was a well-practised set piece between the two of them.

Lure the victim with their affable, friendly demeanour before going in for the kill when the victim was off guard.

‘I don’t think Wayne mentioned anything,’ I murmured.

‘Try casting your mind back to last week,’ encouraged DS Aspinall. ‘Did he question you about any irregularities in the accounts?’

Just then, the front door of the clinic opened and Magdalena appeared, carrying a scale model of the spine, complete with all the major nerves, and a prolapsed disc at L5 level. I had been hunting for it yesterday when I couldn’t get through to a patient the idea that something pressing on a nerve in his back could give him pain in the front of his shin. He was convinced he had a fracture, even though the X-ray said otherwise.

Magdalena gave a token smile to the two detectives, and said, ‘
Guten Morgen
,’ which was what she did when she didn’t want to engage in conversation. She disappeared into her treatment room, whereupon she switched on Classic FM, loud enough to be heard through the closed door.

DS Aspinall gestured towards Magdalena’s room. ‘She works here as well?’

‘Yes.’

‘German?’

‘Austrian.’

‘We’ll need to interview you all at some point,’ she said.

I told her that would be fine and then waited for her to say she was leaving, again.

‘You were thinking back to last week?’ she prompted, phrasing it as a question.

‘Oh yes,’ I replied, as though I’d clean forgotten, and made a show of lifting my eyes to the ceiling, pretending to recall the events of the previous few days.

Eventually, I shook my head, saying, ‘No. I’m really sorry, but I can’t remember Wayne mentioning any irregularities. He tended to keep the accounting stuff to himself. He had a way of making out like it was above our heads. If you know what I mean.’

‘Sure,’ she said. ‘I get it.’

I got the sense the interview was now over, so I moved out from behind the desk, mumbling something about getting ready for the next patient.

DS Aspinall watched me carefully before thanking me again for my time.

‘See you later,’ she said.

I forced a smile. ‘Yes, later then.’

I listened until I heard both car doors bang shut, then I ran to my treatment room and pushed aside the Venetian blind. They were in a Ford something or other. I couldn’t make out what. But it was a new, black saloon –the type of non-descript, top-of-the-range model the medical reps arrived in.

DS Aspinall was driving. She reversed fast. Recklessly, actually. And then sped off out of the clinic entrance.

I was shaking.

Where
was
Wayne?

If he
had
reported me, why wasn’t he here? Something was very wrong with this whole situation.

I needed some air.

I went outside to the car park and sat on the bench. Above me, a buzzard circled, gaining height. I watched as two jackdaws made an assault, dive-bombing the bird, screeching their warnings, until it changed its course away from what must have been their nest.

The clinic door opened behind me.

‘What was that about?’ Magdalena asked, referring to our two early-morning visitors.

‘The police. They’re looking for Wayne.’

‘Why they look for him when we have many missing children?’

‘What missing children?’ I asked her.

‘I don’t know,’ she said defensively, ‘but there will be some. For sure.’

I didn’t pursue it. Conversations with Magdalena often ended with her walking off, oddly wounded, as if you’d made a direct attack on her. I couldn’t fathom if things were lost in translation or this was simply how she was.

The patients felt it, too. They’d exit her treatment room wearing befuddled looks of shame, either because they somehow felt they had offended Magdalena, or else because they’d complained she’d hurt them physically … which offended Magdalena.

‘Did Wayne ever talk to you about the accounts, Magdalena?’ I asked.

She shook her head. ‘He always talk about his stupid fish.’

‘Did he ever ask you about some missing money?’

Her eyes widened.

‘He did not,’ she said, with a look of
Tell me more
.

I stood up. ‘No, me neither,’ I said absently, and I headed back indoors.

Trying to keep occupied and not let my thoughts run amok, I put together an invoice to send along to Scott’s office. This time I billed them for a lifting-and-handling course.

I billed Scott’s firm for the full £1,500. And then I emailed the attachment in the hope I’d get paid soon, rather than printing out a copy and sending it through the post.

Gary arrived, and I told him about the police. He wanted a blow-by-blow account of their questions. When I’d finished he said, ‘Sounds like they’re investigating a fraud. Do you think he’s cleared off with all the takings?’

‘Unlikely,’ I said quickly. ‘Besides, what takings? Most of our transactions are electronic, so the money’s in the bank.’

Gary shrugged. ‘Remember that guy from the golf club, the secretary, who’d been skimming money off the membership fees?’

‘Vaguely.’

‘He’d been at it for years. He got away with over sixty thousand before anyone noticed.’

‘Whatever happened to him?’

Gary made a spooky action, wiggling his fingers. ‘Nobody knows,’ he said dramatically. ‘But they did find his car near the ferry port at Stranraer. So either he threw himself in the sea, or else he got over to Northern Ireland unseen.’

I looked at Gary, and all at once
I
was filled with the urge to flee.

Was it possible?

I had money in the bank. George wanted to leave. In fact, only that morning, he’d asked once again if we could move to another place. Winston would be gutted not to see his son, but then, he hadn’t been thinking about that when he was out screwing other women, had he? I could go today. I could pack up right now, before DS Aspinall and her colleague had the chance to return and question me further. A new start. Where would I go? George and I had up-to-date passports, we could drive south and just keep on driving until we found somewhere we liked. Live by the beach in Aquitaine. Go across the border into Spain and live for cheap in Galicia.

‘Roz?’

I could hear Gary’s voice, as if from far away.

‘Roz!’

‘What?’

Gary was regarding me like I’d lost my mind. ‘Your patient is here,’ he said, pointing to Sue Mitchinson, who was sitting, twisted, on one side of her bottom, a pained expression on her face.

‘What’ve you done to yourself, Sue?’ I asked, regaining my lucidity.

‘Had a fight with the Hoover,’ she said. ‘On the stairs.’

She followed me into the treatment room, mumbling, ‘Am I glad to see you!’ whereupon I closed the door, shelving all thoughts of escaping for the time being, telling her I’d have her sorted out as fast as I could.

As it was, the police didn’t return that day, and so my rehearsed responses went to waste for the time being. In fact, nothing at all happened, aside from huge speculation from Gary and Magdalena as to Wayne’s whereabouts and the quantity of money he may have taken with him.

Curiously, I was able to discuss this as though it were real. As though I, too, believed Wayne to be responsible. Terrible, really. But I didn’t have a lot of choice. Getting anxious, I tried Wayne’s mobile every few hours, but it was always the same. No answer.

Thursday evening rolled around before I knew it, and after all the unease, worrying about what exactly Wayne was playing at, it was nice to have something else to think about. I’d texted my address to Nadine’s brother after receiving his call, and he was to pick me up at seven. With no clue as to what he had planned, I dressed middle of the road, in a summer skirt, sleeveless shirt and sandals. I didn’t bother with any make-up, save for a little gloss on my lips, as my skin had a reasonable colour and, as I think I may have mentioned previously, I’m kind of crap at applying it.

Vince had taken George at five. He’d called, telling me not to bother feeding him. They would pick up fish and chips en route. ‘What did I do right to deserve such a great brother-in-law?’ I asked him. To which he replied
I
was actually doing
him
a favour. Petra was in a monumental sulk, the likes of which could go on for weeks, and he was pleased to get out of the house.

‘What’s it about this time?’ I asked.

‘Ah, the million-dollar question. It’s one of those where I have to guess – sorry, where I
should already
know –without her having to tell me.’