The Visitor (#3 - The Craig Modern Thriller Series) (6 page)

When the Sister spoke it was in an affected middle-class accent, and her greeting was as cold as she appeared. She showed them to a small office with few niceties, setting off to fetch Nurse Walker, with a look that told them exactly what she thought of her.

Two minutes later Beth Walker hurtled into the room. She looked in her late twenties but she must have been years older, and she was absolutely tiny. She wore blue scrubs and yellow Crocs, decorated with flowers and peace symbols. She resembled a slim Telly-Tubby and Craig liked her immediately.

Annette didn’t know what she’d expected the midwife to look like, but it definitely wasn’t this. Someone rosy cheeked and plump probably, remembering midwives she’d known during her training. But then that was in a rural hospital, and this
was
St Marys.

The young woman’s hair was jet-black and straight. Shoulder length on one side and shaved short on the other, its ends tipped with a purple-blue that exactly matched her eyes. She had three silver studs set high on her visible ear and another one in her lip. And her inner wrist held a Zen symbol tattoo. The whole impression was youthful and lively. Just how lively became apparent in the force of her next words.

“I knew this was going to happen. I knew it. I told everyone. I knew it was only a matter of time after the others. But no-one listens. Especially not to me. Why do people have to bloody die, to make you lot pay attention?”

The words came screaming out of her in a strong Derry accent. Craig watched her quietly, letting her vent. Even Annette was six inches taller than her, so he nodded the others to sit or prop themselves against any free surface in the small, windowed office. Then he spoke in a soothing voice.

“Why don’t you tell us about it, Ms Walker?”

“What’s the point? No one listens. We’ve killed her. She’s not the first and she won’t be the last.”

Liam was watching her intently and Craig caught his look, knowing that he was desperate to ask a question. He shook his head gently, motioning to let her story come out, as she talked on in a stream of consciousness.

She’d started working in the Unit five years before. Everyone else had been there forever, so they all knew each other, and she knew they thought she was an oddball.

“They all think I’m a whacko, but I don’t care. I worked in Australia for years and I’m keen on natural child birth.”

She and Nigel Murdock were at daggers drawn. “It’s no secret, everybody knows. He hates me because I’ve said he does far too many Caesareans. But he does. They aren’t necessary and he just does them for his own convenience. It’s lazy medicine.”

It was also no secret that she was gay, and that seemed to cause Murdock even more problems. He was used to his Hugh Grant charm easing his way around women. But he’d hit a brick wall with Beth, and he knew it. He’d made openly anti-gay remarks, but she hadn’t reported him.

“It wouldn’t have got me anywhere. He went to school with the old C.E.O, Moore.”

Liam whistled softly. Health seemed far less P.C. than the police. He’d have been sacked for the things Murdock had said! He felt unexpectedly bad for her - the sensitivity training was obviously working.

Her voice wavered for a moment, and she seemed so near tears that Craig wanted to reach out a hand in comfort. But he had to stay detached. This was a murder investigation and she could be a suspect. She wouldn’t be the first brilliant liar that he’d encountered.

The thought made him sad somehow, but she had known all three women. She’d also been on the ward last night and discovered Evie’s body. He stood up politely, making ready to leave.

“That’s all for now Ms Walker. Thank you for your time. Would you make yourself available for interview tomorrow afternoon, please?”

Her face dropped suddenly. “But what are you doing about it? You can’t just leave it and waltz off. This place is getting away with murder. Or does there have to be another death before you eejits pay any attention?”

She yelled the last comment so loudly that Laurie Johns heard and she bombed down the ward towards them. Annette quickly grabbed Beth’s elbow and wheeled her round, out of the office and off the ward for a coffee, anywhere.

“Phew...she’s a wee fireball. What a temper, boss. Just as well she’s only a munchkin.” Craig smiled broadly. Liam’s quaint terminology always lightened the mood.

Just as Laurie Johns entered the office Liam’s mobile rang. He disappeared to answer it, not missing her disapproving glare.

“Well really, Mr Craig. These are pregnant women. They need peace and quiet.”

“I know, and I’m sorry Sister. We’re just leaving. But may I ask you one question?” He knew what her answer would be before he asked. “How do you find working with Mr Murdock?”

Her expression altered at a startling speed, into a teenage girl gazing at a poster of ‘One Direction’.

“Oh, he’s so gifted. Such a wonderful surgeon.”

It told Craig all he needed to know about the ward’s dynamics, and exactly where Beth Walker stood in the pecking order. He nodded to himself.

“Thank you for your help, Sister. Now, Ms Walker is distraught, so I think it would be best if she went home early. I’ll ask one of the female officers to take her now.”

“Well honestly, Mr Craig! That means I’ll have to do her work.”

He left her still-protesting in the office, without either the patience or the inclination to placate her.

The round uniformed shape of Sergeant Joe Rice was standing in the internal corridor, and Craig walked over to him, nodding hello. He nodded back distractedly, staring intently at a freshly stacked tea-trolley, salivating. Craig smiled, knowing that a cupcake would be heading for his stomach in a minute, followed by a mug of tea.

Joe dragged his eyes away from the plates, greeting Craig warmly in a singing Cork accent.

“Hello there, sir. Rum old business this …”

“You could say that.” Craig nodded in the direction of the office. “How are you getting on with the Sister?”

Joe grinned, a thin wide smile that creased his round face into the shape of a rugby ball. When he spoke he elongated his vowels, in the character of his home county. “Ahh…Frosty the Snowman …. Well if I was a baby and saw her, I’d refuse to come out.”

He laughed loudly at his own joke. It was a high wheeze of a laugh that was joined by a guffaw from Liam, returning from taking his call.

“Nice nickname, Joe. Wish I’d thought of it.”

“Here Liam, could a W.P.C. not take over from me? This isn’t a good place for a man.”

“That’ll be why the Dads are hiding in the hall.” They laughed again, and then Craig turned back to business.

“Joe, ask a W.P.C. to take Ms Walker home please. Be subtle, but she’s not
to return before her interview. Can someone keep an eye on Nigel Murdock as well? And we’ll need an officer posted here 24/7. You’re right; female officers are probably best until we decide if we’re closing the Unit.”

“That’s grand. I’ll sort it out.” He stared pointedly through the glass at Laurie Johns. “There’s not a lot of compassion in that one, is there?” It didn’t require any confirmation.

“How many extra people can you let us have, Joe?”

“Well, Jack says they’re fairly quiet at the moment and I’ve two probationers. So that’s about six, for a few days anyway. Plus, me for part of the time, if that helps?”

“That’s brilliant, thanks. Tell Inspector Andrews I’ll get the paperwork to him.”

Joe lifted a handful of cakes and a mug of tea and wandered-off down the ward. Just then Liam’s mobile beeped with a text.

Craig shot him a wry look. “That’s not supposed to be on in here.”

Liam glanced at it, and then knocked it off quickly, pushing a cupcake into his mouth. “Sorry, I forgot. We’re needed boss. That was High Street texting. Tommy’s going buck-daft down there. They want us to see him or let him go. The medical examiner sedated him, but it’s not working.”

“We’ll head over there now. I just need to check something.” Craig walked quickly down the ward into the windowless office that they’d been allocated. Joe was already there, leaning over the screen of an old-fashioned computer.

“Can you work that thing, Joe? I need to check something.”

“Aye, the wee nurse showed me. It came in on the arc but I’ll have a go. What are you looking for?”

“I need the notes for Evie Murray-Hill. And another lady, Linda Bryson – she was here in February.” He read their dates of birth off the paper John had given him earlier, and after a moments’ whirring noise their records came up. Craig scrolled through them quickly until he found what he needed. They’d both had private scans to find out the baby’s sex, and it was on their hospital records, clear as day. Where anyone could have seen it.

“Is there anything to say where they had the scans, Joe?”

“Aye, there. The Private Surgery, wherever that is. Leave it with me and I’ll have a dig around.”

“Thanks.”

Both women had known that they were having girls before delivery, and the information had been easily accessible on the computer. Unless the scan technician’s identity gave them some clues, the suspect pool was back to anyone who worked in the hospital.

Craig re-joined Liam quickly. “Liam - you come with me. I need Annette to stay here with Joe’s team. Ask her to help them with the interviews for the rest of the day. And get Beth Walker on my interview-list for tomorrow. Find the doctor who prescribed Evie’s Insulin as well, please. I’ll need to interview him.”

“Her. Tut tut, boss, such sexism.”

Craig smiled ruefully. “OK, her then. Put her on tomorrow’s list please.”

“There’s another senior doctor, boss. Iain Lewes. But he seems happy enough to see me. I’ll take the builders who’ve been working on-site as well. There’s plenty to go round.”

“Thanks. Now, we’d better get going, before Tommy tears High Street down round him.”

As they headed downstairs Craig pulled out his mobile, and Liam pointed smugly to a ‘No Phones’ sign. He stubbornly dialled anyway - a stairwell seemed a safe bet not to get caught.

“Nicky. Annette’s going to co-ordinate my interviews with you for tomorrow afternoon. Any word on the C.E.O. yet?”

“Sorry, I’m still chasing him, sir.”

“OK. We’re heading over to High Street now, but keep trying for that meeting. Meanwhile, can you arrange for me to meet Evie’s mother this afternoon? Before the C.E.O. please.”

“There’s a step-father too, sir.”

“Fine.”

“He’s a Reverend.”

Craig let out a low whistle. “A far cry from our Tommy then...”

Chapter Six

1.30pm.

If Belfast had been human they’d have diagnosed it with a personality disorder years before. It ricocheted between the “what’re you looking at?” aggression of a sulky teenage boy, and everyone’s favourite mother offering you tea. The problem was you never knew which personality was behind which face.

Katy had lived away for so long that she felt English now. No, not English, a Londoner, and that was very different. Either way, coming back to Northern Ireland was confusing. What were the rules here in 2013?

She’d loved the anonymity of London and was scared of Belfast pushing her back into a mould. Which school did you go to? Who do you know? Tell us right now, so we can be comfortable with you. She fought hard against it, and not always politely. Meanwhile, she had to deal with her new job.

There was a standing joke in medicine that you could guess which branch people would go into just by looking at them. It was a game every final-year student played. The rugby boys went into surgery. The clever faster ones into Cardiac or Neuro. The sheer strength of the hookers making them perfect for Orthopaedics. The nerdy ones went for Psychiatry or the labs. And the mumsy girls married some macho surgeon and disappeared into the G.P. wilderness, leaving hubbie to play away happily in the hospital.

The smart money had been on her doing medicine, but no one had ever seen shy Katy going to London. Yet she had, for thirteen years. She’d been back in Belfast for four months now and checked in with some of her old class-mates. She’d even made a new friend, Natalie Ingrams, a young surgical consultant. They sometimes worked together in the M.P.E., far away from the politics of the main St Marys’ site.

The trust’s main hospital was like a small city off the M2. It was enormous and sprawling, with cafes, shops and intrigue that could rival Holby City’s. There’d even been a bar once, near where she was standing now. But that had gone years before, a victim of political correctness. She remembered going there, sticking close to her friends. The surgeons used it as a hunting ground for each new batch of female students. She smiled, remembering her friend Maeve complaining. “It’s like a fox hunt in here, and we’re Basil Brush.”

They’d had to close it eventually of course. Not P.C. The health service couldn’t afford people ‘practicing under the influence’, and there’d been a lot of them at one time. She wondered if patients were really any safer now.

The Visitor watched her from a distance, wondering why she didn’t see them standing there. But doctors were always too busy with the mundane to focus on what was important. Too busy enjoying themselves to care about patients. That would change soon, when the father made them listen.