Sisters of Mercy (25 page)

There
was an angry crackle from the other end.

‘
No,’ Tom said. ‘We just want to talk to you. It’s important.’

He
arranged for us to go round in half an hour and rang off.

I
said, ‘What makes you think I want to go with you?’

‘
Don’t you?’

In
fact, I did, and after making sure everything was running smoothly, we went.

The
other minder, the white one, let us in, then frisked us before admitting us to the living-room. Sutton stood up as we came in.

‘
Well, what d’you want?’

It
struck me again how much he’d aged.

‘
Can we sit down?’ said Tom.

Sutton
shrugged and we sat. After a moment, Tom said,
‘
Was
it you, Len?’

‘
No.’

‘
Who was it, then?’

‘
No idea.’

‘
All right. Any idea which hitman they’d use?’

He
reflected for a moment. ‘There’re three in the West Midlands I know of. Weren’t any of them, though.’

‘
How d’you know that?’

He
snorted. ‘She’s still alive, ain’t she?’

‘
So why did you go along today?’

This
time, he took longer before answering.

‘
I thought about what you said, about how she’d suffer more alive in prison than dead. The emptiness of revenge. That’s why I didn’t do it.’

‘
But —’

‘
Oh, I’ll not be sorry if she dies, but I didn’t do it.’ His eyes turned away. ‘But I had to see her for myself. I’ll go to the trial too, if she survives.’

After
a moment, Tom heaved a sigh and stood up. ‘Thanks for your time, Len. They’ll have to let Polo out soon. They’ve got nothing on him.’

As
soon as we were in the car, I said, ‘Did you believe him?’

‘
Yes. I’d begun to wonder anyway.’

‘
Why?’

‘
Sutton would have hired the best, and I don’t think the best would have used a treble-two. They certainly wouldn’t have missed with one of the shots, and, as Sutton said, she wouldn’t still be alive.’

‘
But who else could it have been? One of the relatives?’

‘
Possibly.’ He paused, thinking. ‘Let’s go back and check the religions of those patients.’

I
told him how much I didn’t like it, but then he said he’d do it himself, so I capitulated.

It
wasn’t quite as bad as I’d feared. I managed to contact relatives of four of the original seven, only one of whom showed any resentment.

Three
of the dead patients had been Church of England, one of them a regular churchgoer, and the other a Methodist. In no case would they, or their relatives, have described them as atheist or agnostic, or even as none.

‘
So the records were altered,’ said Tom, stating the obvious. ‘But by whom? Do you have a computer department here?’

‘
Yes.’

‘
Well, they should have a record of the password used to make the alterations.’

He
phoned them and we both went round. Once his authority had been established, they checked their own records. The religion had been altered on all seven patients, and in each case, the password was the same: MET 253. Mary Elizabeth Tamworth.

*

‘I still can’t believe it,’ I said. We were on our way back to ITU.

‘
Why not?’

‘
What possible motive could she have?’

‘
Let’s ask her, shall we?’

She
was on the ward. I phoned through and asked her to come to my office.

An
anomaly had arisen, I said to her, that needed checking out, and told her about the altered records, but not their significance.

‘
Well, I didn’t do it,’ she said, and I would have sworn the surprise on her face was genuine. ‘Why should I have?’

‘
Can you prove that?’ Tom asked.

‘
Yes, I think I can. Let me see those dates again.’ The red spots of anger had appeared on her cheeks.

Tom
handed them over.

‘
I thought so. This date, September the twenty-seventh. I

had
a day’s leave and spent it in Birmingham.’

‘
Any witnesses?’

‘
Yes. D’you want their names?’

Tom
checked it out after she’d gone and it was true.

‘
So we’re back to the same question,’ he said. ‘Did Susan alter the records, or was it someone else?’

It
was something we’d never be able to ask her because she died that night without regaining consciousness.

22

The
next morning, as soon as we heard the news, Tom made two phone calls — a short one to Anslow, and a longer one to his boss in London. When he finished, he came into the kitchen where I was percolating some coffee.

‘
Want some?’ I asked.

‘
Thanks. Anslow’s spoken to the shrink who interviewed Susan. He thinks it’s extremely unlikely she would have altered any patient notes herself.’

‘
So who did?’

‘
That remains to be seen. I’ve arranged for us to visit the British Transplant Headquarters in London this afternoon, so —’

‘
I wish you’d asked before arranging these things for me,’ I said snappishly.

‘
I thought you’d want to come.’

I
realized that I did. Maybe detection is like a drug, or — more likely perhaps — having been there at the beginning, I wanted to see it through to the end.

‘
I just wish you’d ask first,’ I said rather lamely.

He
grinned. ‘Sorry, force of habit. Jo, I’d
like
you to come. Your impressions would be very useful. I ask the questions, and you watch the reactions.’

‘
Whose reactions?’ I asked, despite myself.

‘
I hope, the people who allocated the organs from your patients.’

We
went in his car.

It
was a good two-hour journey and at first, we sat in silence. I’d wanted him to come back to my house (and to my bed) the previous evening, but now, perversely, I felt used.

After
a while, I asked him about his wife. He told me her name was Holly. I asked him what she was like.

I
don’t know why I did, unless it was some form of masochism. Oh, I wasn’t in love with him or anything, I would have just liked …

It
was just that after Stephen, he seemed so … well, desirable.

Rebound?

Maybe. I don’t know.

The
British Transplant HQ was in central London and he found his way there easily, even somewhere to park.

Professor
Barnett, the director, was a tall, scholarly man of about sixty with gold-rimmed glasses. He had a pronounced stoop and when he sat, you could see that the top of his head was bald beneath the hair scraped over it.

‘
How can I help you?’ he asked. ‘Your superior, Mr Evans, seemed to think that the matter was of some urgency.’

You
could tell from his tone that he hadn’t liked being pushed to see us, but was too much of a gent to say so directly.

‘
That’s right, Professor,’ Tom said cheerfully, as apparently thick-skinned as ever. ‘Over the last two months or so, several patients have died in suspicious circumstances at St Chad’s hospital in Latchvale — that’s how come Sister Farewell here is involved. A large proportion of them donated their organs and, to complete the investigation, I’ve been given the job of tracing what happened to them.’

‘
I see,’ said the professor, his eyes never leaving Tom’s face. ‘What do you mean, exactly, by
suspicious
circumstances
?’

Tom
glanced at me as though deciding how much to say, although we’d already done so.

‘
It seems that they were murdered, Professor.’

‘
Good heavens! How appalling …’

‘
The perpetrator has been apprehended, but we now need to tie up every loose end in the case.’

‘
I see,’ he said again, thoughtfully. ‘How many patients were — er — murdered?’

‘
We know of thirteen definitely — although there may be more.’

‘
And how many of these …?’

‘
Donated their organs? Of the thirteen, seven that we’re interested in.’

‘
And you want to know where their organs went?’

‘
That’s right. It would also be a help if you could outline for us the way organs are allocated, and after that, perhaps we could meet the people who are actually in charge of allocating them.’

‘
I see,’ the professor said, for the third time. ‘Mr Jones, is there more to this inquiry than you have led me to believe?’

‘
Not so far as I know,’ Tom lied blandly. ‘The culprit was obviously insane — I say was, because she has been killed, apparently by one of the relatives, before she could be fully examined by a psychiatrist. That’s why it’s so important for us to examine every detail concerning the patients she killed.’

‘
Mmm.’ He took a breath. ‘All right. Organ allocation. The name of every patient in the United Kingdom who needs a transplant is entered into our main frame computer, together with all their medical details, including their tissue type. When an organ becomes available, its tissue type is entered and the computer comes up with the best matches for it.

‘
However, it is not necessarily the patient with the best match who receives the organ. If there is another patient with a very good match who has an overriding need for the organ, say, for instance, they have only days or weeks to live without a transplant, then it might go to them.’

Tom
leaned forwards. ‘How is this decided?’

‘
One of our consultant staff here would discuss the matter with the patient’s consultant. In some cases, I become involved. A lot would depend on the patient’s availability, of course.’

‘
Of course.’ Tom hesitated. ‘And now, would it be possible to meet the members of your staff concerned, please?’

‘
If they are available, yes. Do you have a list of the patients’ names?’

Tom
handed it over.

There
was a silence broken only by the tapping of the keys as the professor entered them. He was very good at it, I noticed. At last he said, ‘There are two consultants involved, Doctors Potter and Enfield. You see,’ he looked up, ‘each of the seven patients donated three organs: two kidneys and a liver. For the past year or so, Dr Potter has been allocating livers; Dr Enfield, kidneys. Do you wish to see them both?’

I
could see Tom thinking quickly, then he said, ‘Yes, we would, please. And separately, if you wouldn’t mind.’

‘
Separately? Why?’

‘
I think it would give us a clearer picture of how the particular allocations are made.’

‘
I don’t see how. Mr Jones, are you sure you’ve told me everything? Is one of my staff under any kind of — ?’

‘
Professor,’ Tom interrupted firmly. ‘As I said earlier, this is a loose end which has to be tied up. Eliminated, if you like. For the moment, I think it’s better if we leave it at that.’

The
two men looked at each other for a moment before Barnett said, ‘Very well,’ and I wondered at the clout of Tom’s boss. Medical directors of any sort don’t usually back down that easily.

Tom
continued, ‘I think it might be better if we saw them in a room other than their own offices. And we’ll need the printouts of each of the transplant allocations so that we can study the details first.’

*

Dr Malcolm Potter was a dark, somewhat overweight man with a bushy beard that covered at least half his face. He wore glasses with thick tinted lenses, and his hand felt clammy as I shook it.

‘
Livers tend to be a more tricky prospect transplant-wise than kidneys,’ he explained, ‘from the point of view of allocation as well as the operation itself.’ He went on to tell us about his method of allocating the organs, which was much as Barnett had described.