It was when the leasing agent called to arrange a time to show a prospective tenant around the apartment that Jess knew she wasn’t ready to leave. Leaving meant relinquishing her life with Andrew. Despite knowing more about him and despite how her feelings had changed, she couldn’t let go of what they’d had together. Not yet. Not until she had something and somewhere to go to. She needed to work out what she was going to do before she left the place where she had been happy for such a short time.
When she called Ross to ask him how she could extend the lease, he suggested she take a small stipend from the insurance pay out, enough to fund her through the next three months. Hopefully by then, he said, she would know if the Medical Council was going to reinstate her practising certificate. Initially she’d been reluctant to take the money, which should have gone to creditors, but thinking through her position she tucked her conscience into a corner and accepted his offer — as a loan. She planned to pay it back once she was working again. Ross reassured her there was no hurry.
If it wasn’t for DS Parker continuing to hound her, life would have been tolerable. But the woman wouldn’t back off, seemingly determined to keep her in legal limbo. Jess hated the word closure. It was so over-used, so trite, but it was what she needed if she was to move on to use another over-used phrase.
Parker had been poking her nose into places she didn’t belong, dredging up Marguerite’s old work colleagues, old neighbours, interviewing the Prof, talking to the Medical Council and calling on contacts in Australia to dredge up information about Bryan. It wouldn’t have been so bad if she kept her progress, such as it was, to herself, but Parker was a sharer. She insisted on calling Jess at regular intervals to inform her of any new information even after Jess had specifically requested that all communication go through Ross. Jess never knew what would land in her Inbox from one moment to the next. The uncertainty and unpredictability kept her in a constant state of low-level anxiety. Just as Parker no doubted hoped it would.
It was the end of April, and Parker had still not found any evidence to either discredit the death certificate or a link from Jess to Bryan, yet she continued to insinuate to anyone who would listen that it was only a matter of time before she did. When Jess found out Parker’s repeated calls to the Medical Council had unsettled them to such an extent that her first hearing before the disciplinary tribunal had been postponed for three months, she was furious. The woman was intolerable.
‘What can I do Ross? She’s making my life a misery.’
‘Find the surgeon who signed that certificate. Get it verified. That’s one thing out of the way. The private detective could do some digging about Bryan for you. Give her irrefutable evidence then legally she has to leave you alone.’
Jess went back to the apartment and started her search. Phone calls to the hospital in Fiji put her in touch with the surgeon’s receptionist who informed her politely that she had already told the detective he was on an island setting up a new clinic. He had extended his stay by three months, and no, there was no Internet. When Jess expressed surprise that there was no way of contacting him, his receptionist, Mrs Santu expressed surprise she would think that. Because, of course, there was a way to contact him. Fiji was a developed country not a backwater. The receptionist went on to say how surprised she was that the detective had ended her call so abruptly without asking about other means of contact.
‘It was as if, she didn’t want to know,’ Mrs Santu said warming to the conversation. ‘This is the number of his sat phone.’ She reeled it off and Jess wrote it down. ‘As I told Simon, he’s contactable in the early evenings after ward rounds are over for the day.’
‘Simon?’ Jess asked. ‘That isn’t the same Simon who is the manager at the resort.’
‘The very same,’ Mrs Santu said her delight at being able to impart this information audible in her merry tone. ‘They’re old friends. I thought you knew. Your husband, Simon and Mr McDonald. They lived together in Vietnam, ten years ago. They called themselves the Three Musketeers. You know what young men are like at that age.’
Jess said she did know what they were like. Mrs Santu laughed and asked if there was anything more she could do for her.
‘No, nothing more. You’ve been a great help. Thank you.’
Jess ended the call with Walter Scott’s words, ringing in her mind. Oh what a tangled web we weave, when first we practice to deceive. Exactly whose web was being woven, that was the problem. Parker’s? Andrew’s? Henry’s? Whose ever it was, she was sick of it. Everywhere she turned there was another complication, another twist. She wanted to return to the simplicity of medicine and be done with these people.
In the meantime, knowing she could neutralise Parker on one count was enough. Tempting though it was to immediately phone Simon and confront him, she needed time to think through what it was she wanted to ask him. The Three Musketeers. Seriously?
It was the beginning of May when Jess returned from her swim to a message from Parker requesting her presence at the station. She needed Jess to verify several documents, and was suggesting they meet at one p.m. the following day.
Jess showered, dressed and made coffee. She ate her breakfast and spent the next two hours checking her crypto positions. The chat group was busy. Inigo had gone long on Ether and people were wondering why. Wait and see was their answer. Inigo liked being mysterious. The discussion which followed was mostly gossip, but it was happy gossip considering Bitcoin had surged thirty per cent in value in recent weeks. Someone speculated the increase in value was because of one trade in April, when an investor traded 500,000 tether for 122 Bitcoin. More orders followed and boosted the price. Nothing unusual, Inigo said. They explained the original trade had occurred in a period of low liquidity and the stimulatory effects had lasted. After so much time studying the market, Jess understood what they were talking about. Whoever Inigo was, she thought, they were right. The group then turned to talk of one whale who’d moved over $212 million Bitcoin, unusual, but what was really amazing, the transaction had cost just $3.93 in fees. Try doing that with fiat currency.
The morning over, Jess called Ross to check the private investigator’s report had been received and that Ross was available to go with her to the station, not at one p.m. but at five p.m. On receipt of his confirmation, she emailed Parker and advised her when the meeting would take place.
Parker met them at the front door, wearing the same black jeans, jersey and boots she always wore. She’d had a haircut, which Jess said suited her. Parker shrugged but she seemed pleased with the compliment. Nothing in the interview room had changed other than the temperature which had gone from chilly to freezing. Huddled around the table, Ross and Jess made polite conversation as they waited for the room to warm up. It took five minutes, but finally the temperature had risen sufficiently for them to get on with the business at hand. Parker launched into her usual diatribe about not having the death certificate verified.
‘Before you traverse the same old ground I have something which will help,’ Jess said.
Parker looked up from the papers. ‘You do?’
Ross took out the original death certificate and lay it flat on the table facing the detective.
Jess had already emailed Tim McDonald on his sat phone to make sure he was standing by. Fiji is an hour behind New Zealand, which meant he was at the tail end of his four o’clock ward round, but he agreed to take the call. She dialled the number and after a few rings, he answered.
With the phone on speaker, Ross informed Tim who was in the room and asked him to formally state his full name, qualifications and his position at the hospital at the time of Andrew’s death. That done, he asked Tim to give a quick rundown of where he was and what he was doing now. He described the hospital he was building in the Lau Island group and how it would bring up-to-date services for the first time to a population of ten thousand people scattered over sixty islands north of Fiji, only thirty of which were inhabited.
Parker sniffed as Ross asked the next question. ‘Do you remember treating Andrew Cullinane?’
‘I do,’ Mr McDonald replied. ‘I—'
Ross stopped him. ‘Please just answer the questions as asked Mr McDonald. You operated on Mr Cullinane. He died and you signed his death certificate.’
‘I did.’
‘And you confirm that for DS Parker of the New Zealand Police who is sitting here beside me.’
‘I do. I signed Andrew Cullinane’s death certificate.’
‘Thank you, Mr McDonald. Detective, do you have any questions?’
Parker sniffed, louder this time. ‘It’s DS Parker speaking Mr McDonald, can you restate the cause of death for me please?’
‘From memory, it was either bowel perforation causing sepsis or sepsis resulting from bowel perforation. Either will do.’ With her finger, Parker followed the words on the certificate next to cause of death. His first version was the correct one.
‘Thank you for your time. We’ll let you get back to your patients.’
‘Right then,’ the surgeon said. He was about to say something else, but Jess quickly ended the call. Parker, her lips pressed tightly together, refolded the death certificate and handed it back to Ross.
‘I can provide you with a copy of the conversation if you need it. I recorded it. Two people went on a honeymoon and only one came back — me. I did not kill my husband DS Parker. He died as a result of fatal complications from his pre-existing bowel condition.’
‘Noted and accepted. I’ll inform the coroner’s office,’ Parker replied quietly. ‘There’s still the matter of your stepfather,’ she added clearly unwilling to give up.
Ross took a manilla folder out of his briefcase and put it on the table. ‘This is a legal statement, duly sworn in my presence. It is from a flight attendant on Flight ANZ 102. He states he offloaded Jess’s stepfather in a wheelchair on arrival in Auckland on that date.’ Ross opened the folder, turned it around to face Parker and pointed to a date on the first page. ‘He states he accompanied Mr Randall through immigration and customs, before delivering him into the care of a private nurse. His description of the nurse is here.’ Ross pointed to a paragraph at the bottom of the page. ‘Short, stocky, bald. Unremarkable in other words except,’ Ross paused for dramatic effect. Jess stifled a smile knowing what was coming next. ‘For his prominent eyelashes. A description which does not fit my client, but which does fit—'
‘Murray Chambers,’ Parker said as she sat silently chewing her bottom lip. ‘Why would Murray Chambers be meeting Bryan Randall?’
‘You’ll have to ask him,’ Jess replied.
‘Henry Turner knows him,’ said Parker said with her elbows on the table, hands woven together her thumbs flicking against each other. ‘It’s strange, isn’t it? You, finding this attendant when all my enquiries led to a dead end.’ She looked up at Jess who returned her stare.
‘That’s exactly what we have been thinking detective, in fact, I will be putting our concerns about this investigation to your superiors. In the meantime, I have the attendant’s contact details if you would like to interview him yourself,’ Ross added. ‘That done,’ Ross said as he fastened his briefcase and stood up. ‘I have another appointment.’
‘Of course.’ Parker got up and opened the door to call a constable. She stepped back to let Ross and Jess out of the room. ‘Thank you for your assistance, Mr Martin. It’s so helpful to get these matters cleared up so comprehensively.’ Ross was half-way down the corridor when Parker handed Jess an envelope. ‘For you,’ she said and shut the door.