Chapter 12

As he left the bank and set off for the hospital in the car, Paget thought about what he had learned. Not everyone had been as forthcoming as Ginny Holbrook or Terry Ling, but he had sensed an uneasy reticence in the other female members of the staff. Understandable of course, if what Ginny had told him was true. Rachel Fairmont had been the most discreet, but then, she was Gresham’s secretary, and no doubt she, too, wished to keep her job.

But he cautioned himself against accepting blindly Ginny Holbrook’s word regarding Gresham’s behaviour. The girl was young and impressionable, and it was possible that she had allowed her imagination to run away with her.

In Terry Ling’s case, frustration had been the trigger for his candour. Indeed, if Ling was as clever as Harry Beecham had indicated, he had good cause to be resentful about Beth Smallwood’s elevation to a position beyond her capabilities. Ling had made an oblique reference to Gresham preferring a woman in the job, but had backed away from explaining that when Paget had pressed him.

The late afternoon traffic was beginning to build as Paget turned into Edge Hill Road. Sunlight, pale but welcome, glinted on the river far below, perhaps heralding an end to a cold and dreary spring. He certainly hoped so. He was tired of the rain.

His thoughts returned to something that had been puzzling him since early afternoon. When he had spoken to Gresham in his office on Tuesday morning, the manager had told him that Beth Smallwood had telephoned Rachel Fairmont at home the night before to say she wouldn’t be in the following day. Yet Rachel had said she hadn’t had a chance to pass the information on to Gresham because he had come in late that morning, and had gone straight into his office.

So how had Gresham known? Had Rachel lied? Had she in fact been in contact with her boss? Or had Gresham learned of the call in some other way? And if so, how?

He turned left at the next corner, then swung across the road and entered the hospital grounds. He parked the car at the far end of the car park quite deliberately in order to enjoy the sun as he walked back to the entrance. Wisps of steam rose from the damp earth of the flower beds, and the air was soft and warm.

He took the lift to the fourth floor where he was directed to Lenny Smallwood’s room at the far end of the corridor. The door was open and a uniformed WPC sat on a wooden chair just inside. She rose hurriedly to her feet as Paget entered.

‘Afternoon, Constable,’ said Paget affably. ‘Liscombe, isn’t it?’

‘Yes, sir. Afternoon, sir.’

‘How’s the patient?’

‘Still out of it. He’s not been down long, sir, but one of the nurses was telling me that he’s not quite as badly hurt as they first thought, so it might be possible to talk to him when he does come round.’

‘Have you spoken to his doctor?’

The corners of Ann Liscombe’s mouth turned down. ‘I’m afraid he’s not all that communicative,’ she said carefully. ‘Seems to think it’s none of my business.’

Paget frowned. ‘Does he understand how important it is that we talk to Smallwood?’

‘Oh, I think he understands all right,’ the girl said. ‘It’s just that he’s not, well, very forthcoming, if you know what I mean, sir. I think it might be different if a man asked him.’

Paget’s eyes grew cold. ‘I see,’ he said. ‘Where can I find him?’

‘I believe I heard him being called to Lansing ward a few minutes ago,’ she said. ‘That’s down on three.’

‘Thank you, Liscombe. And his name?’

‘Trotter, sir.’

‘Thanks. I’ll get back to you.’

Paget took the stairs down to three and walked along the corridor to Lansing ward. Dr Trotter, he was told, was with a patient, but he would be out in a few minutes if Paget cared to wait.

Paget thanked the nurse and wandered over to a window overlooking Royal Park. It extended to the north of the hospital grounds and was bounded by a sweeping curve of the river. Dense clumps of willow, ash and sycamore ran down to the river’s edge, while giant oaks stood guard above the paths that wound their way across the sloping parkland.

It struck him that in all the time he’d been in Broadminster he’d never once walked in the park. Nor had he found time to walk the hills and valleys that beckoned so invitingly. He and Jill used to enjoy walking, and when they were first married they would often go out on weekends and walk for miles.

But then the job … Paget sighed. They hadn’t been out once in the year before Jill died, and now there didn’t seem to be much point in going out alone.

‘Chief Inspector Paget?’

Paget turned and found himself looking down at Dr Trotter. His name tag was pinned to his lapel. The doctor was a small, neat, thin-faced young man with pale blue eyes. His fair hair was brushed straight back, and he had a pencil-thin moustache. ‘You wished to see me, I believe?’

‘Yes. About Leonard Smallwood,’ Paget said. ‘I understand there is a possibility that we may be able to talk to him soon.’

Trotter’s lips compressed into a thin line. ‘I’ve no idea who told you that,’ he said flatly. ‘It’s far too early to say.’ He began to turn away but Paget stopped him.

‘I’m sure you must realize how important it is that we talk to him,’ he said. ‘His mother was killed on Monday night, and we think he may be able to help us with our enquiries.’

A quick frown of annoyance crossed Trotter’s face. ‘That is of no concern to me,’ he said primly. ‘My concern is for my patient. His condition is serious, and I’ll not have him badgered by the police or anyone else. And I must remind you, Chief Inspector, it is my decision.’

Paget was fast losing patience. ‘No one is suggesting it isn’t your decision, Doctor,’ he said thinly, ‘but I repeat: the sooner we can talk to Smallwood, the better. All I’m asking for is your cooperation. I would appreciate it if you would let the constable on duty know when you feel Smallwood can answer a few simple questions?’

Trotter’s moustache quivered. ‘I’m not in the habit of discussing my patients with constables, Chief Inspector,’ he said brusquely. He turned and began to walk away.

Paget’s anger boiled to the surface and spilled over. His hand shot out and grabbed the little man by the shoulder and spun him round. ‘Now you listen to me,’ he began, but stopped dead when a voice behind him said: ‘Is there a problem here?’

It seemed to Paget as if every nerve-end in his body had suddenly gone cold. He thought his ears were playing tricks on him. It couldn’t be. It wasn’t possible. But even as he turned, he knew it was.

The woman who faced him was almost as tall as he was. Slim, dark hair, dark eyes in an oval face; finely chiselled features – perhaps a little fuller in the face than he remembered. She stood there with her hands thrust into the pockets of her white coat, eyes cool; quizzical; challenging.

He felt like a schoolboy caught smoking behind the bicycle shed as he removed his hand from Trotter’s shoulder.

‘Andr – Dr McMillan,’ he said. ‘How nice to see you again.’ Even as he spoke the words, he thought how utterly banal they sounded. ‘I had no idea you were back.’

‘Chief Inspector,’ said Andrea McMillan neutrally as she turned to Trotter. ‘Is there a problem, Doctor?’ she asked again.

Trotter brushed angrily at his shoulder as if Paget’s hand were still there. ‘The chief inspector seems to think he knows more about the condition of my patient than I do,’ he said spitefully. He lifted his chin. ‘He can’t wait, it seems, to interrogate a boy who is still unconscious.’

Andrea McMillan turned her gaze on Paget. Her face held no expression. ‘Is this true, Chief Inspector? We are talking, I assume, about the boy under police guard?’

So formal. So cold!

‘We are,’ he said stiffly. ‘Leonard Smallwood. I would like to talk to him as soon as possible. I am well aware that his condition is serious, and I have no wish to challenge Dr Trotter’s authority, but I would like him to agree to let the constable on duty know as soon as he thinks Smallwood is fit enough to answer a few questions.’

Andrea turned a questioning eye on Trotter, who shrugged. ‘I have no objection to that request,’ he said, ‘and if it had been phrased in that way in the first place, then…’

‘Good. Then we can consider it settled,’ said Andrea. ‘I shan’t detain you further, Doctor. I know you’re busy.’

Trotter flashed a spiteful glance at Paget, then turned and walked away.

Paget searched for words. There had been no words left to say when they’d parted months before, and now it seemed that nothing had changed.

‘I’m afraid you took me by surprise,’ he confessed. ‘I had no idea that you were back. You’re looking well. The country life must have agreed with you.’

When she had made her decision to return to Broadminster, Andrea had known that there would come a day when she would come face to face with Neil Paget, and she had believed herself prepared for that moment. But this was not the way she had imagined their first encounter. Down there on the farm, working with Kate Ferris, she had come to terms with the fact that Neil had only been doing his job to the best of his ability. It was she who had lied to him. Not that she’d had any choice, but she could hardly blame him for his suspicions when every shred of evidence he had pointed to her. Yet, illogical as it might be, she did blame him for not trusting her. Perhaps if he hadn’t been quite so much the policeman …

And now she’d come round the corner to find him manhandling one of the doctors, his face dark, his manner threatening. Not that Trotter was any prize, but still …

‘Yes, I think it did,’ she said. She began to move away. Seeing him again had stirred emotions she had thought were safely locked away, and all she could think of was that she must get away. She needed time. She was not ready for this.

‘And Sarah? How is she?’ He fell in step beside her.

‘Sarah’s fine. Just fine, thank you.’ The door to one of the work stations was open, and she walked purposefully toward it, seeking an escape. ‘I’m sorry, Neil,’ she said abruptly, ‘but I am rather busy, so unless there is anything else…?’

The hope that they might talk died within him. It was obvious by her tone, by her very manner, that Andrea wished him to be gone. ‘No, I don’t think there is, Andrea,’ he said quietly. ‘But it is nice to see you back here again.’

Andrea closed the door behind her and leaned against it. She could hear a drumming in her ears and realized she was listening to her own heart. How could she have cut him off like that? What must he think? If only … But it was too late, now.

Paget walked slowly down the corridor, his thoughts in turmoil. Andrea’s abrupt departure had taken him as much by surprise as her unexpected appearance. Not that he could blame her. He must have looked every inch the bullying policeman as she came round the corner, no doubt confirming what she already thought of him. If only she could have heard that weasel, Trotter, a few seconds earlier …

But she hadn’t, had she? Savagely, he punched the button for the lift.

But why had Andrea returned to work here at this very hospital where they had first met? He’d have thought that this would be the last place she would have chosen. But one thing was quite certain, he thought ruefully as he made his way out of the hospital: Andrea had not come back because of him! She’d made that absolutely clear by literally shutting the door in his face.

And that, he thought dispassionately, tells me exactly where I stand.

Yet he replayed the scene in the hospital corridor over and over again in his head as he made his way back to Charter Lane. If only he had said this; if only it hadn’t been Trotter, perhaps …

He sighed heavily and pushed the turbulent thoughts firmly to the back of his mind, forcing himself to concentrate on his driving. Late afternoon traffic was beginning to build, and children on their way home from school clogged the narrow streets. It was like this every school day, but today it irritated him. And it did nothing to improve his temper when he arrived at headquarters to find his parking space occupied.

Annoyed, he drove round the back, and was only slightly mollified when he spotted a young WPC getting into her car. He pulled to one side to allow her room to back out, then fumed impatiently while she adjusted her seat belt, checked her lipstick in the mirror, then lit a cigarette before starting her car. She smiled disarmingly as she passed – and it was only then that he remembered he’d told Liscombe he’d get back to her.