The Visitor (#3 - The Craig Modern Thriller Series) (9 page)

A frosty P.A. showed him into an oak-panelled office with Chief Executive marked on the door. A middle-aged man was sitting behind a modern plywood desk. It seemed incongruous in the room’s wood-lined grandeur. The overall impression was the inherited oddment décor of a first home. The C.E.O. stood up urgently to shake Craig’s hand, while the woman grudgingly took orders for tea, her lack of charm echoing Nicky’s earlier description.

Charles McAllister was tall and nearly as round as his wide chair could hold. He had a florid complexion that probably owed a lot to outdoor pursuits...or alcohol. Craig thought that his clear eyes ruled out the booze, and he’d already noticed the golf-bag leaning against the wall. Shandon Park was handy then. He revised his earlier thoughts about the unions.

McAllister spoke quickly in a strong Northern English accent that Craig immediately recognised as Manchester. Shades of the Gallagher brothers. It was deep and thick, and without the cool intonation he was used to, from London and the south-east.

“Well Mr Craig, what can I do to help you? I’m sorry we’re not meeting under better circumstances. It’s a very sad business - mothers and babies touch us all.”

“Yes it is, Mr McAllister.”

“Charles.”

“Charles.” Craig didn’t offer his name in return and McAllister quickly spotted the distinction, immediately on-guard.

“Before I outline the situation, I’ll need your assurance that our conversation doesn’t leave this room.”

“Of course, whatever you say. But what are we talking about? And why are the police even involved? Isn’t this straightforward medical negligence?”

“I’m sorry, but we believe it may be more than that. We’re at the early stages of the investigation, but we’re treating Mrs Murray-Hill’s death as suspicious.” He paused, watching the man’s face carefully as each snippet of information sank in. “And we believe it may not be the first.”

McAllister’s’ politeness slipped rapidly and his round face flushed bright red. “What in God’s name do you mean, man? You’re not talking about murder?”

Craig sat quietly, leaving the abrupt words hanging. He was never rude, just selectively polite. Or totally silent. McAllister filled the quiet with scores of agitated words while Craig listened. People often had whole conversations with themselves in front of him.

“Now look, Chief Inspector, I know that Nigel Murdock’s practice has been queried for being ropey, and he’s sky-high on my list for early retirement. But murder?”

“Why do you mention Mr Murdock?”

“Well, he was her consultant, wasn’t he? And they’re responsible for the patients.”

McAllister’s slight emphasis on ‘they’ was unmistakable, and Craig could see the buck about to be passed. McAllister’s voice dropped suddenly, almost to a whisper, as he searched around for invisible listeners. Craig had seen it before. At the first sign of the police everyone thought they were in a TV series.

“Now, let’s be very frank, Inspector. When I was brought in last August, it was initially in an interim role, now permanent. I was parachuted in to deal with major
concerns about the last Chief Exec, Robert Moore. One of Stormont’s biggest worries was the death and sickness rates of patients, for some consultants in particular. And Murdock was very high on their list.”

He inhaled before restarting, tapping the table for emphasis. Craig noticed a pale line on his finger where his wedding ring used to be. Divorced or having problems? He shrugged to himself. High earners paid penalties that had nothing to do with Her Majesty’s Revenue.

“The medical training here is good, but there’s been a lack of organisation in some places. And some people have really ‘played themselves’. Swinging the lead and what have you. They got away with murder, if you’ll excuse the pun.”

His voice grew more determined and Craig could see the leader emerging. “But that’s all over now, mark my words. I was an engineer before I went into management, and avoiding risk has always been high on my list. Our accountability’s in line with the rest of the UK now. Any old boy’s network sheltering ropey practice has long gone.

That was a big part of my remit when they brought me in, and Moore and Murdock seem to have had a little network all of their own. There were rumours they were too chummy with the old head pathologist Davis as well. Lots of sick jokes about ‘burying their mistakes’ - you know the sort of thing. Anyway, rest assured any irregularities on this case will be dealt with. We’ve a hot-to-trot new Medical Director and he won’t stand for any crap. So if it’s Murdock’s negligence that you’re on to, then we’re already there.”

He stopped talking and took a long breath, satisfied that he’d defended himself against Craig’s anticipated assault. Craig considered him coolly.

“That’s excellent, Mr McAllister. But, and without pre-empting the outcome of our enquiries, we also have major concerns about a number of other cases. They were brought to our attention by Dr John Winter. Do you know Dr Winter?”

“I know
of
him, new Director of Path. He has a reputation for a very low shit tolerance.”

“Indeed he has - and he’s right.”

McAllister caught the look in Craig’s eyes and pushed his chair back, as if to escape what he was hearing. He was about to enter every Chief Executive’s worst nightmare and he knew it.

“Dr Winter has brought two other cases to our attention which show striking similarities to today’s. So we have more than enough concern to launch an enquiry. I really hope that we’ll have your support. Investigations in hospitals always cause public anxiety and that’s the last thing we want. Will we have your full co-operation, Charles?”

Craig’s voice had hardened incrementally as he spoke. Now he was staring coolly at McAllister, weighing him up. The C.E.O.’s face reddened in panic at the mention of more cases.

“Of course, of course. Absolutely. But tell me about the other cases you mention. When did they occur? Was it before
I arrived?”

His voice rose hopefully and Craig saw the Kevlar vest coming out. McAllister’s face said he was about to distance himself from any blame. Terry Harrison obviously wasn’t the only one made of Teflon.

“Which wards were they on? Are any other consultants implicated?” Then he added, hopefully. “What were the dates? I was in England on and off until November.”

Craig sighed inwardly at his self-protection. But he knew McAllister would be no use covering his ass, so he decided to cut him some slack. Without naming names, he laid out all the facts. Yes, the cases had all occurred since he’d arrived, since January in fact. And they were all on the Maternity Unit. No, the patients weren’t under anyone but Nigel Murdock. And, although another consultant had given an opinion on Evie’s diabetes, they hadn’t consulted on the first two cases, so they were low on the suspect list at the moment. Although that could always change.

Craig casually slipped in a question about McAllister’s own whereabouts on Monday evening, making a mental note that he’d been at home with his wife. Not divorced yet then. They’d be interviewing them both on the alibi.

The rest of the meeting was spent formulating a plan to tie down the risks. Maternity would be closed immediately, with services diverted to Bangor. They might have to suspend some staff members in the future, but not just yet. For now, all maternity staff would be on leave, pending investigation.

Craig knew that the press would come knocking once they sniffed a story, so when the P.R. manager joined them, they hammered out a press release to Ralph Jameson at The Telegram. He was the most responsible journalist Craig knew. Well, he could be trusted not to terrify people at least. The last thing they needed was ‘Police Penalise Pregnant Women.’ as tomorrow’s headline. Craig sighed, knowing that no matter what they did, Ray Mercer at The Chronicle would write it anyway. The alliteration was already making his teeth hurt.

At 6.40 he finally stood up to leave. “Right, I’ll run this past the superintendent before we give it to Jameson. We’ll secure the Unit tonight with uniforms, and the staff can just deal with any emergencies that come in. Leave the statement with me. And no-one
here speaks to the press please. I’m the S.I.O. so all queries come through me.”

“What does S.I.O. stand for? The Board will want all
the details.” McAllister sighed heavily, exhausted by just thinking about the questions heading his way.

“Sorry, we use too many acronyms. Senior Investigating Officer.”

“Yes - we have lots of those as well. Unfortunately everyone in the public sector suffers from A.R.S.E.”

“What!” Craig stared incredulously at the professional man in front of him. He couldn’t have heard him correctly.

“A.R.S.E.: Acronym Rich Service Environments. We work in them.”

Craig laughed, making a note to tell Liam. He would love it. Or maybe not - his language was bad enough already.

They shook hands, and Craig left for the rush-hour drive back to Belfast. And another hour’s work before he met John.

***

The mousey-haired bouncer nodded Katy into Ten Square’s bar with a smile. It was a bright spring evening outside, but the warm walls and wooden floors gave the bar a cosy autumn feel. She felt soothed immediately. The wine-bar was heaving with suited workers from the nearby banks and offices, and she couldn’t see Natalie anywhere. Until a small hand waved frantically through the crooked elbow of a man at the bar.

Natalie’s smiling face and dark hair popped into view and Katy laughed. It didn’t matter that she was only five-foot tall, she always managed to get served somehow. Katy would have been standing there for hours. Natalie indicated a small table, where her coat was already draped across the chair. “I thought I’d get the drinks in. White wine spritzer OK?”

A small bottle appeared for Katy with the straw already in the neck. Natalie hefted a larger bottle of Sauvignon Blanc onto the table, falling heavily into her seat.

“God I’m wrecked. What a day. Owens was being a real get. He had me in theatre holding-up a leg for three hours! I thought my arm would fall off. But I wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of admitting it.”

She grinned and waited for Katy to laugh as she always did, but was greeted with complete silence. Katy was staring at the table, lost in thought. After a minute she realised Natalie had stopped speaking, and smiled apologetically.

“I’m sorry Nat, but I’ve had a shocking day. I warned you I wouldn’t be much fun tonight.”

“What happened?”

Natalie stared in horrified sympathy as Katy told her, springing immediately to her friend’s defence.

“It’s not your fault that she died, Katy, I’m sure it was something completely unrelated. Do you want me to come to the station with you tomorrow? I’m not scared of the police.” Her fiery voice took on a wistful tone. “I know lots of people who work with them…”

Katy missed the nuance, deep in her own misery.

“Would you, Nat? That would be brilliant. To be honest I’m terrified. I’ve never been interviewed by the police, apart from giving expert testimony.”

Natalie gave her a hug and nodded. Although she was a year younger, and tiny, she wasn’t afraid of anyone. She called a spade a JCB and didn’t care what people thought.

“Don’t you worry, I’ll ask Rowan to cover my theatre list and go with you. I won’t let
them bully you. I’ll punch them in the knees if they even try!”

Katy managed a weak laugh but their drinks went untouched, as the horrors of medical negligence haunted both their thoughts. Finally they gave up on the wine, retreating to Katy’s flat with a rented romantic comedy. It was Natalie’s choice, although she wept all the way through it.

Katy didn’t see the screen at all.

Chapter Eight

The Visitor was growing tired of the charade. It was a challenge to hide in plain sight. But in a few days the father would seek vengeance for Evie, and the guilty would be exposed. Then the police would arrest them all. Just a few more days until it was finally over.

Wednesday. 12pm.

“God, that was rough. But at least the Judge let the knife stay in.”

Craig was running a finger under his collar like a strangling man. He finally gave up, ripping off his tie and opening his top button. Annette rarely saw him rattled, but murderers getting off topped his list of mood-altering events.

“They haven’t won yet, sir. The trial’s just started.”

“But did you see Mrs Warwick’s face when they tried to throw the knife out? I wish she wouldn’t come to court, Annette. It’s killing her hearing the details.”

“I tried to stop her, but she wouldn’t listen. Look sir, you know they’ll try every trick in the book to acquit. But we have it tight enough. You’ll see.”

“Aye boss, sure the whole justice system sucks and we all know it. It’s always on the side of the scrotes. In the good old days her Da would’ve just got a gun and done the job himself.” Craig knew that he should say something disapproving, but he didn’t have the energy or the inclination.

Just then Liam tensed. Roger Doyle and his black-suited posse of barristers had walked up behind Craig before he could warn him. Doyle was pontificating loudly to his juniors and his affected drawl made Liam want to deck him.