Crossing the Line (Kerry Wilkinson) (36 page)

The manager’s face darkened. ‘Beverley? What can she be involved with? She’s one of our

longest-serving staff members.’

‘I’m not saying she’s involved in anything. I can’t give you details – but anyone I mention could be

a victim, remember. All I’m asking is what you know about her. You shouldn’t read anything else into

it.’

He nodded, apparently understanding. ‘She’s been here longer than me. She has a terrific bedside

manner, very popular with the patients and other staff members.’

‘Has she ever been in any sort of trouble?’

‘Not at all. As far as I know she’s happily married – no problems away from here and certainly no

issues with her work. I think they inherited some money – she certainly doesn’t come to work for the

pay.’

If the manager thought she was living in wedded bliss, then that ruled him out of being connected to

the crimes.

Jessica ran through the names of the people they had linked to the other three victims – two patients

and another worker – but the manager shook his head to all of them. She also asked about Beverley’s

friend, Paula, who worked there but he didn’t have a bad word to say about any of them.

The manager led her back to the office, assuring her he’d wait outside but adding he was

uncomfortable about them being there for too much longer. Jessica was too – it felt like they were

invading the privacy of people when they were at their most vulnerable. Izzy hadn’t found anything

either – Beverley’s record was spotless, the only items in her file were a pay history and letters of

commendation. Izzy had gone through the names of every male who worked there but there was never

going to be a note that said ‘potential to attack other people in public’. The attacker could be a

husband, brother, uncle, son or any other male friend related to any of the list of people working there too. If they were to continue the six-degrees train of thought, they really had very little to go on.

Reluctantly, the manager agreed to let them interview Paula informally in his office – although he

insisted they had to leave afterwards.

Beverley’s friend was a timid woman in her forties, dressed smartly in her nurse’s uniform. She

was understandably anxious about why the police wanted to talk to her, twisting her watch in a full

circle around her wrist over and over as she answered questions.

She seemed shocked that the police knew about Beverley’s husband’s affairs – even more so by the

fact she was being asked about it. She insisted it was only ever something a small group of nurses

talked about on their lunch, where they’d take a break from looking after terminally ill patients to

complain about the state of their own lives. Substitute ‘terminally ill patients’ for ‘shits and criminals’

and you had the exact description of what everyone who worked for the police did in their canteen

every dinner time.

Jessica apologised to Paula for using up her time and let her return to work. When they were alone

in the office, she turned to Izzy. ‘This hasn’t worked out how we hoped, has it?’

‘What was it like on your tour?’

‘Awful. I was at my mother’s residential home last night and that felt like a proper community of

people doing their best to enjoy their lives. Everywhere you look here, there are all these wonderful

nurses doing their absolute best, trying to make sure the patients are as comfortable as they can

possibly be. In one way, it’s the most morbid place I’ve ever been but in another it’s inspiring to see

that the people working here actually care so much. I couldn’t do it.’

Jessica stared out of the window towards the gardens. The sky was blue, the grass green and lush

and the sun was finally making an appearance. Through the glass, it felt positively warm. Summer

was finally here, if only for a day. ‘Did you find anything at all on the computer?’

Izzy shook her head. ‘We can ask to print out the names of people who work here, even the patients,

and then we’d have to go away and check everyone related to anyone here. But what could we do

about friends? Or friends of friends? If Beverley told Paula and a couple of the other nurses that her

husband was having an affair, they could have told anyone. It’s the same with the other three – Luke

Callaghan’s wife’s next-door neighbour’s father was a patient here. How tenuous is that? He could

have told anyone what he’d heard about Debbie. They could have told anyone else. Somehow,

someone heard all four stories and acted.’

‘It’s more than that too – someone knew Humphrey was going to be at ParkFest.’

‘Did his wife know?’

‘Shite, I forgot to ask when I was at their house. I was put off by the yapping dog.’

Jessica called Beverley’s mobile, only to be told she was leaving for work shortly.

‘Just quickly,’ Jessica said. ‘We spoke yesterday and you said your husband wasn’t as clever as he

thought with covering things up – but you never said for sure how you knew he was having an affair.’

‘I found a ticket for some festival thing in the drawer next to his bed while I was tidying up. I

thought at first he might invite me but the day was getting closer and he hadn’t said anything, so I

assumed he was off with one of his fancy women.’

‘Who did you tell?’

‘No one really.’

‘There must be someone?’

From the rustling in the background, it sound like Beverley was getting dressed. ‘Just Paula and a

couple of the girls from work – like I told you yesterday.’

‘When did you tell them?’

‘I’m not sure.’

‘It might be important.’

Beverley sighed. ‘You know he’s home, don’t you? He got back yesterday evening and has barely

said a word. It’s like I don’t exist.’ Jessica apologised but asked again if she could try to think of

which day it was that she’d spoken to her friends. With another sigh, the answer finally came. ‘I was

off Tuesday and Wednesday last week, so it would have been Monday lunchtime.’

Jessica thanked the woman and hung up, turning to Izzy. ‘She only mentioned the tickets to someone

else on Monday – so there are five days between that and the park attack. That narrows it slightly. We

can start by looking into her friends and the people they know and work backwards from there.’

Jessica was ready to leave but she could see in Izzy’s face that the constable had thought of

something. ‘What?’

‘What were all the patients like when you were on the tour?’

‘I don’t know – ill.’

‘There’s different levels though, aren’t there? Some people wouldn’t be able to walk. Other people

can have things like cancer and appear almost healthy until the end. I met a friend of one of my

cousins who had leukaemia. They were wearing a hat and I didn’t even know they were ill until

someone told me. You have good days and bad days. Plus remember what we thought with that first

attack at Piccadilly – why would you be so blatant in public?’

Jessica suddenly got it too, finishing the thought. ‘If you’re dying anyway and have nothing to lose,

it doesn’t matter if you get caught.’

38

The problem was that by spending all their time looking into the hospice’s staff, Jessica and Izzy had

tested the manager’s patience to the point that he ordered them to leave. Without a warrant, he wasn’t

giving them access to confidential patient records. Jessica didn’t blame him. He’d already gone a

little too far out of his way for them as it was.

He led them to the front door and said that if they did get a warrant, he hoped they respected his

patients’ privacy and dignity. It was a nice way of telling them to get stuffed.

Jessica called Cole and talked him through their theory. He said he’d see what he could do about a

warrant for the patient records but pointed out that on a day where they had television cameras

camped at the front of the station, the press office in meltdown, and a senior Met officer starting an

investigation into the entirety of Greater Manchester Police, raiding a hospice wasn’t going to be too

high on his agenda. Jessica didn’t even get time to point out that a raid wasn’t necessary, the records

could simply be handed over, before the line went dead.

There was nothing for it but to walk back to Jessica’s house, get changed, and then drive to work,

hoping whoever the Met had sent up to investigate them didn’t want a word with her.

The hospice’s driveway zigzagged along the lawn up a slope to the exit. Jessica and Izzy followed

it slowly, enjoying the morning sunshine and delaying their return to Longsight. As they reached the

top, Izzy nodded towards a lone figure sitting on a bench, staring over the low wall towards the green

on the opposite side of the road. It was a last resort but Jessica and Izzy sat on either side of the man.

He was in his sixties or seventies, wearing suit trousers and a thick cotton shirt under a tweed jacket

with a matching cap, walking stick hooked over the top of the seat.

‘Hello,’ Jessica said.

‘Lovely morning, innit?’ the man replied, still staring across the road.

‘Are you a patient here?’

The man chuckled slightly. ‘“Patient” is the right word. They told me I had a month to live three

months ago. Funny thing the old ticker, innit?’ He patted his heart as if to emphasise the point. ‘Poor

daughter keeps coming around every Sunday – there’s only so many times you can say your

goodbyes.’

‘Do you mind if I ask what’s wrong with you?’

The man coughed slightly, more of a tickle than a heave. ‘Heart disease. Bastards even took away

my fags – as if it’s going to do me any harm now. You don’t have one on you, do you?’

He turned from Jessica to Izzy, hand out expectantly.

‘Sorry, I don’t smoke.’

‘Good for you – it’s a filthy habit. A filthy, wonderful, brilliant, beautiful, soothing habit. And those bastards have nicked my fags.’

Jessica spotted the corner of Izzy’s mouth twitching into a smile. ‘What’s your name?’ Jessica

asked.

‘Donald. Pleased to meet you. Be even more pleased if you could get some fags, like.’ He grinned,

showing off his yellow teeth, and then shook their hands as they gave him their names. After another

cough, he smiled even wider. ‘Jessica and Isobel. This is the first time I’ve had a woman either side

of me since April ’74. Christ, that would’ve been a way to go.’

‘Do you mind if I ask you a few questions?’ Jessica asked, suppressing a smile.

‘You stay on the bench and you can ask anything you like. Don’t get too close, like, my heart’s not

up to much and a girl like you gets the old pulse racing.’

He patted Jessica on the leg and she didn’t even mind. Being chatted up by a terminally ill

pensioner was likely going to be the highlight of her professional week.

‘Do you know much about one of the nurses – Beverley Marsh?’

‘Aye, she’s the one who nicked my fags.’

‘But what about her in general when she’s not confiscating cigarettes? Is she nice around the

hospice, does she look after you and everyone else?’

Donald nodded. ‘Aye, everyone likes her. She puts an arm around you and listens to you moan

about stuff.’

‘What about a nurse called Paula – she’s one of Beverley’s friends.’

‘Aye, she’s all right too. They all are.’

‘Were there any patients with whom either of them was particularly friendly?’

Donald puffed out loudly. ‘I’m not sure – memory’s a bit hazy, like. All those names, old guy like

me can easily get confused. Nothing like a fag to refresh the mind, is there . . . ?’

Jessica leant backwards, peering behind Donald’s back towards Izzy.

‘Don’t look at me,’ the constable said innocently.

As Jessica crossed the road to the newsagent, she couldn’t escape the feeling that this was a new

low – buying cigarettes for someone dying of heart disease living in a hospice. She had to double-

check the extortionate price three times before finally buying a box of ten, picking up a book of

matches just in case, and then walking back to the bench. When she arrived, Donald had a hand on

Izzy’s leg and she was giggling like a pre-pubescent schoolgirl being felt up by her first boyfriend.

‘Am I interrupting something?’ Jessica asked with a raised eyebrow.

Donald held his hand out. ‘I was just telling your girl here about what we used to get up to back in

the day.’

Izzy was trying to hide a smile but Jessica felt charmed by Donald too. If he only had a few weeks

left and he wanted to chat up younger women then good luck to him.

Donald starting patting his fingers into his palm, wanting the packet, but Jessica slid a single

cigarette out and placed it in his hand, along with the matches. ‘Just the one?’ he protested.

‘Get talking and I’ll see what I can do. I’m already facing an ethics hearing if this ever gets out.’

Donald took a deep lungful of the smoke, held it and then breathed it out, closing his eyes in

satisfaction. ‘Two girls and a cigarette, this really is like April ’74 all over again.’

‘All right, Prince Charming, get on with it.’

Another drag and Donald finally began speaking. ‘Max Winward’s your man – bit younger than me.

He’s got cancer and came here a few months back. He’s been clinging on like me – all of the staff

loved him. Good bloke – they’ve been letting him go home for odd days before he comes back

because they’re not sure what’s going on with him. Some days you’d never know he had a problem,

others it’s like he’s already in the coffin. He went home for good on Friday – decided he’d had