Winding Up the Serpent (17 page)

After about an hour she had seen enough. He saw her to the door.

‘Call again,' he said.

‘Unfortunately I'm not terribly fond of cheap Far Eastern imports,' she said. ‘But I do like antiques.' She glanced around. ‘I don't seem to have spotted many.'

He scowled. ‘They aren't so easy to get hold of these days,' he muttered and she stared at him.

‘But you let Marilyn Smith have some.'

He kicked the step. ‘She paid me a good price.'

‘Prove it,' she said. ‘I'm not sure I believe you. By the way, Mr Machin ...' she added, ‘fond of dogs, are you?'

He stared at her. ‘Now what are you on about?'

‘Just asking,' Joanna said coolly.

He frowned. ‘One thing I've learned in my dealings with your lot,' he said. ‘You never “just ask” anything.'

‘Exactly.'

On the way back to the station she decided it was time to call again at the doctor's surgery and was met this time by an empty waiting room and the red-haired receptionist about to pull the shutter down. She didn't look in the least bit pleased to see Joanna. ‘He's just finished,' she said. ‘He's had a long day. I hope you haven't got a lot of questions.'

‘Just one or two.'

The receptionist spoke on the telephone then turned back to her. ‘He'll be with you in a moment.'

Joanna picked up a magazine and leafed through it, feeling the familiar nervous prickling associated with the smell of disinfectant and methylated spirits. It had been a long time since she had sat, nervously waiting, in a doctor's surgery, for the results of a test, worry gnawing away her stomach. She needn't have worried – it had been negative and that had been the last time she had visited her own doctor. ‘Worry,' the doctor had said, ‘can cause the same symptom.' She had not known whether to laugh or cry and in the end she had got drunk – alone. That had been two years ago.

‘Damn this whole bloody case,' she muttered. Why didn't crime ever take her to a glamorous hotel for some show-biz, film-star luxury? Instead she was here, staring at walls that warned of HIV and advised her to check her tetanus status, reading two-year-old magazines.

She looked up and saw the doctor. He didn't look pleased to see her either and he gave her a quick, embarrassed glance. She joined him in the reception area just as he was shutting the door of the safe.

‘Prescription pads,' he explained, ‘plus some of the more sensitive sets of notes.'

She wondered whose were the ‘sensitive' notes.

Jonah would be cross. She had opened the garage and found a large screwdriver with a yellow plastic handle. Then she had climbed the stairs, hearing Stevie's naughty giggling getting louder with each step She had pushed the screwdriver hard in and the door had splintered and cracked. Then she was afraid – afraid to go in and afraid of what she might find. So she sat on the top step, holding the screwdriver tightly in her fist.

‘Stevie ...' she whispered, ‘... Stevie.'

He turned to Joanna and gave her a tired smile. With a shock she realized he looked ten years older. Was it the death of his nurse? The extra work? The strain? She hardly thought so. It was something else.

‘What can I do for you, Inspector?'

‘I wanted to go over Marilyn's last day here,' she said. ‘Was she excited about something that day, happy, pleased – different in any way?'

The doctor thought, blinked and frowned. ‘No, I don't think so,' he said. ‘She seemed the same as ever.'

Joanna turned to Sally. ‘Did you notice anything on that particular day? Did anything unusual happen? A telephone call? A letter?'

The receptionist looked away. ‘Not really,' she said, busying herself filing notes.

The doctor looked at her. ‘Why?' he asked. ‘What's turned up?'

But Joanna found herself reluctant to discuss the case with either of them. There was something conspiratorial – guilty even – between the pair. She looked from one to the other.

‘Nothing. I wanted really to tell you we still haven't found the cause of death. It's possible we might drop the case.' Did she imagine that look of relief, or was she seeing spectres where there were none?

‘Of course,' she added, ‘we might find something out from the forensic lab in Birmingham.'

It was not her imagination. The wary look was back again.

The doctor looked strained. ‘She has to have died from natural causes,' he said. ‘Why involve the Birmingham lab?'

‘We requested some of the internal organs be sent there for analysis,' she said formally, and wondered why he looked so upset. The next minute she felt sorry for him. He looked pale and so tired – ready to drop – and he had known the dead woman for a number of years; they had been colleagues – and once friends.

‘Did any of you ever see Marilyn swallow any capsules?' she asked, ‘red and yellow ones. Did she ever mention any medication she was prescribed?'

‘I should ask Dr Bose,' he said.

‘We have.' Joanna paused. ‘He wasn't prescribing her anything. Tell me, Doctor, did Marilyn have access to drugs here in the surgery?'

‘Of course.' He sounded impatient. ‘Inspector, she was my nurse. She had access to absolutely anything she wanted.' He ran his fingers through his hair. ‘I had to trust her.' He frowned. ‘Red and yellow capsules sound like an antibiotic,' he said. ‘Hold on. I'll look it up.'

A minute or so later, he said, ‘There's a penicillin preparation in a red and yellow capsule.'

‘Was she taking penicillin?' Joanna asked innocently.

Doctor and receptionist shook their heads. ‘Not that we know of. I never saw her take pills.'

Joanna stood up to leave. ‘We'll keep you informed.' She hesitated. ‘Dr Wilson, would you mind if I spoke to your wife?'

He wheeled round. ‘What on earth has all this business got to do with Pam? I told you. My wife isn't well. She's a vulnerable woman. News like this will upset her.'

‘You mean she doesn't know about Marilyn's death?' said Joanna in disbelief. ‘You haven't told her?'

Jonah Wilson shook his head. ‘Why should she know?' he asked. ‘It doesn't affect her.'

She was taken aback by his manner and by the receptionist's vigorous nodding. They were protecting Pamella Wilson as though she were a child. Why shield her from the news? Would it upset her so very much?

‘But they were friends,' she said. ‘Good friends. Best friends.'

The doctor looked at her curiously, and said quickly, ‘She can't help you. They trained together in the same hospital. They were friends then but since Pamella and I were married ...'

‘But they were still friends after you were married.' She paused. ‘Do you mean it was after your wife's illness?'

The doctor nodded. ‘She knows nothing. I promise you, Inspector.' He was pleading. ‘My wife is a sick woman – very sick. I don't want her upset.'

‘Dr Wilson,' Joanna said gently. ‘I don't want your wife upset either. But I must speak to her. I honestly believe she might be able to help.'

‘The damned tart...' Jonah Wilson finally lost his self- control. ‘Pamella ...' He covered his face with his hands. ‘She doesn't know a thing about it.'

‘About what?'

‘About anything.'

‘I'm sorry,' she said, ‘but I must insist. I only need to confirm the times you were out on Monday night and ask her a few questions about Marilyn.'

‘She hadn't even seen her for years.'

‘They might have talked on the phone.'

‘Pamella would have told me,' he said. ‘She hides nothing from me.'

‘I'll deal with her sensitively,' Joanna said, but the doctor gave a dry laugh.

‘Sensitively,' he echoed. ‘The police?'

Joanna swallowed her pride and her anger. It was a large mouthful ...

Jonah suddenly met her eyes. ‘It was years ago that she knew Marilyn. They hadn't seen each other for a long time. She won't miss Marilyn, you know. If you need to know about my night visits you can ask the receptionists here.' He was panicking. ‘All night visits are filled in on the notes – times as well.'

‘Just a minute,' she said. ‘Do you mean you come here, pick up the notes and then visit the patient?'

He shook his head. ‘We fill in the night visit pad then stick it in the notes.'

Joanna nodded. ‘I see,' she said. ‘Tunes as well?'

‘We have to,' he said reluctantly. ‘It makes a difference how much we're paid – night visit rate.'

She fixed her gaze on the doctor. ‘You should have told me your wife and Marilyn were friends,' she said.

‘I wanted to keep her out of it.'

‘But it was through your wife that Marilyn came to work here.'

He nodded. ‘Look,' he said. ‘If you must see Pam I'd rather it was when I'm with her.'

‘When?'

He picked up his coat. ‘I'm on my way home,' he said diffidently. ‘Does now suit?'

The house was the first surprise, a modest 1930s semi with a tiny garden and peeling paintwork. Pamella Wilson was the second.

Even as Jonah turned his key in the door he called out to her to warn her he was not alone. ‘I'm home, darling, and somebody's with me. Don't be alarmed ... Pam, it's a policewoman ... Don't worry ...'

Mrs Wilson emerged from behind the living room door, peeping round like a shy child, small and thin with huge dark eyes and a screwed-up face, as though she was about to ask a question. She looked vulnerable, frightened. She was so pathetic a figure, Joanna felt nothing but pity.

Pamella Wilson held out a large yellow screwdriver. ‘I'm sorry,' she said to Jonah. ‘I'm so sorry.'

He took the screwdriver from her very gently. ‘Oh, Pam,' he said. ‘Don't go in there any more.'

Two large tears rolled down her face. ‘I just wanted to see him, Jonah,' she said. ‘I thought he would be there.'

He turned helplessly to Joanna. ‘Let me talk to her alone for five minutes,' he said. ‘Let me tell her about Marilyn in my own way, please – explain ...'

Joanna was moved. It was almost as though his wife was a patient and he was telling her she had a few months left to live. She waited in the hall. The heavy-booted approach would never work here. Here was a woman who would crumble faced with interrogation. But she had also been the only woman Joanna had met who had even claimed to be a friend of the dead nurse.

Jonah opened the door and peered out. ‘I don't have to ask you – be sensitive, Inspector. My wife is not well.'

Pamella was sitting hunched in an upright chair, facing the window and rocking slightly.

‘Mrs Wilson,' she said softly and pulled up a twin chair to face her.

‘Died in her sleep,' Pamella murmured, looking at Joanna. ‘Jonah told me Marilyn died in her sleep' She looked towards Joanna with weary eyes. ‘Sometimes I wish I could die in my sleep too. My baby died in its sleep,' she said. ‘Did you know?' She stopped suddenly. ‘He was a beautiful baby. Everybody loved him. Everybody loved my Stevie.'

Joanna did not know what to say. She could not remember feeling so inadequate. God, was her first panicking thought. I can get no help from this woman. She cannot know anything. I've made another mess. Annoyed this poor, busy doctor – and his ruined wife.

Pamella spoke again. ‘Marilyn and I were friends,' she said. ‘Did you know we were friends?'

‘Yes,' Joanna said cautiously. ‘That's why I'm here.' She watched Pamella very carefully. ‘When did you last see Marilyn, Mrs Wilson?'

A shaft of cunning struck the woman's face. ‘I don't think I can remember ...' She paused. ‘No – I'm quite sure I can't remember.' She tugged at Joanna's sleeve.

Somewhere nearby a vodaphone rang. Jonah pulled it out of his pocket. ‘On call,' he explained. ‘I'll take it in the kitchen.' He looked anxiously at his wife. ‘Will you be all right?'

She nodded and Jonah left, his wife following him with her dark, sad eyes. ‘We didn't like her,' she said. ‘She wasn't very nice.' It took Joanna a second or two to realize it was Marilyn she was referring to.

‘Really?' she asked. ‘In what way?'

Pamella Wilson leaned forwards. ‘He should have given her the sack, got rid of her when she first started,' she whispered. ‘We thought she would be a help to us.' She shook her head. ‘But she wasn't. She damned us. She was trouble –'

Joanna interrupted. ‘In what way was she trouble, Mrs Wilson?'

Pamella began to rock again in the chair, rhythmically to and fro. ‘She mocked us,' she said. ‘Mocked us.' And then that cunning look was back. ‘She wanted to take my Jonah away from me, you know.'

Joanna did not know what to say.

Pamella nodded. ‘She did,' she said. ‘She wanted my Jonah. What she didn't know was that she couldn't have him. Jonah would never have left me. Never. Do you understand, Mrs Pretty Policewoman?'

Joanna did understand – only too well. You could not take a man from his wife. Yes ... she knew.

‘Jonah always was soft and very kind to her,' Pamella continued. ‘And it made her think she had a chance.' She smiled and hugged her knees. ‘But she didn't.' There was a look of complete triumph on the woman's face.

Joanna stared. It was an ugly look.

Pamella's skirt was brown, loose and very saggy, her sweater bottle green, covered in splinters of wood. She wore no make-up, was pale and lined and she looked ill. Her feet, in loose dark slippers, were knotted around the legs of the chair. How could the doctor work with sick patients all day and come home to this?

Jonah Wilson wandered back into the room and kissed his wife.

‘I have to go now,' he said, then looked directly at Joanna. ‘You have finished, haven't you?'