‘
Really?’ I heard him say. ‘That
is
good news … yes … thanks.’
‘
Well?’ I said as he came back into the kitchen.
‘
Eureka!’ he said softly, grinning.
‘
Well,
what
?’
‘
Insulin. At least four times the amount needed to kill her.’
‘
Did they say what type?’
‘
They haven’t done that yet. But it’s the evidence that you were right all along, Jo.’
*
He dropped me a little way outside the hospital gate. The first person I saw when I arrived at the ward was Emma.
‘
Hello, Jo,’ she said. ‘I’d have thought you’d seen enough of this place during the week.’
‘
I’m getting some figures together for Mr Jones.’
‘
Oh. Couldn’t that have waited until Monday?’
‘
Apparently, he needs them for Monday. Everything OK here?’
‘
Fine. Viv’s in the clean area. Oh — Mr Phillips died last night.’
‘
I see. Not entirely unexpected, although I had hoped …’
‘
Yes.’
It
was rather ironic. Mr Phillips, of the wandering hands had, against the odds, improved and been moved to Coronary Care. Then he’d relapsed and returned to us, and now he was dead. I shivered. From the moment he’d first come in, I’d not thought his chances good …
I
started on the rota. Although it was a long, boring job, the fact that I’d now been vindicated somehow made it less painful. Debbie Hillard came in and asked me what I was doing. Helping Mr Jones to collect figures, I replied.
‘
Oh, he’s still around, is he?’ she said darkly. ‘I’ve got a bone to pick with him. Where is he?’
‘
Not here yet. He said he’d look in sometime during the morning.’
She
grunted and stalked out.
A
little while later, Viv came in.
‘
Ain’tcha got no ‘ome to go to?’
I
told her I was helping Mr Jones with his figures.
‘
Oh, him. Well, so long as he’s not helping you with yours.’
She
peered over my shoulder. ‘What you doing, then?’
I
thought quickly. ‘Oh, he wants to know whether the time sheets correlate with the rotas, for some reason.’
‘
Nosey bugger, in’t he?’
‘
Yes, he is, rather.’
She
went out.
When
I’d finished that, I found the Duty Room logbook and began making a timetable from it of the doctors and paramedics. This wasn’t quite so painful, since there weren’t anything like so many of them.
Tom
managed to time his entrance shortly before I’d finished.
‘
Did you find what you were looking for?’ I asked in an undertone, still curious to know what it was.
‘
Thank you, yes. How about you?’
‘
Nearly there.’
He
waited while I finished, then I ceremoniously handed the sheets over to him and he left. Debbie glared after him but didn’t attempt any bone-picking. I hung around a little longer, then phoned for a taxi.
He
’d already started setting up his chart on the table in the living-room when I got home.
‘
Wouldn’t it be easier if you got a computer to work that out for you?’ I asked.
‘
Mm? Oh yes, certainly.’ He sat up. ‘As a matter of fact, there is one. It’s called HOLMES.’
‘
As in Sherlock?’
‘
That’s right.’ He grinned. ‘Actually, it’s an acronym. Home Office Large Major Inquiry System.’
‘
Why not use that?’
‘
It would take too long to set up — it’s a main frame system and we’d have to go to Birmingham.’ He sighed. ‘Although looking at this lot, it might come to that.’
‘
I wonder there isn’t a micro version.’
‘
I’ve wondered that, too. Probably because no micro computer would be big enough to handle the software. It’s vast.’
He
returned to his chart, so I took the opportunity to do some housework and washing.
We
took a short break an hour or so later for some lunch, then he went back to it.
An
hour after that, he threw down his pencil. ‘Well, I’ve narrowed it down to ten people so far as availability goes.’
I
looked up from the book I’d been reading. ‘Who are they?’
He
read them out. ‘Mary Tamworth. Stephen Wall. Sophie Marsh. Vivien Aldridge. Josephine Farewell —’
‘
Oh, thank you very much!’
‘
It’s what HOLMES would have come up with. Emma Riley. Susan King. James Croxall. Helen Armitage. And Paul Ridware.’
‘
Well, none of them exactly leap out at you, do they?’ I observed. ‘It sounds to me as though you will have to ask HOLMES. Surely eight deaths counts as both large and major.’
‘
I suppose so.’ He looked round. ‘Where did the patient record printouts go?’
‘
Over here.’ I handed them to him. ‘Fancy a coffee?’
He
gave a grunt which I took to be affirmative.
I
’d just brought the coffee out when the phone went. It was my mother, wondering why they hadn’t seen me for over a week. I explained that I’d been busy and would come as soon as I could.
‘
Why not come over for tea this afternoon, dear?’ she asked.
‘
I can’t, I’m sorry —’
‘
There’s something odd here,’ Tom said.
‘
Have you got someone with you, dear?’
‘
Yes, I have.’
‘
Well, bring him too. We don’t mind.’
‘
He’s here on business,’ I said quickly. Mum would like nothing more than to see me married off.
‘
I think this is it,’ Tom said, the excitement mounting in his voice.
‘
What
?’
‘
Are you still there, dear?’
‘
Mum, something important’s happened. I’ll phone you back. Love to Dad.’ I slammed down the receiver and went over to him. ‘What is it?’
He
was holding the patient records. ‘D’you realize?’ he began, but before he could get any further, the doorbell rang … ‘Don’t let them in,’ he murmured. I went over and opened the door against the chain.
‘
Hello, Jo.’
‘
Stephen!’
‘
I’m sorry I missed you this morning …’
‘
Pardon?’
‘
I wanted to speak to you, but I missed you this morning, when you were in. I just wanted to make sure you were all right.’
‘
Well, I am, thank you.’
‘
Can I come in for a moment?’
‘
Er — well, it’s rather an awkward time …’ I began, then inspiration struck … ‘I was just on my way to see my parents.’
‘
I won’t keep you long,’ he persisted.
‘
Well, it really is awkward,’ I said firmly. ‘I’ve left the bath running. I’ll ring you.’
‘
All right,’ he said after a pause.
‘
Thanks for calling, anyway,’ I said, and shut the door. And at that moment, I realized he was out of my system — I didn’t want to see him again no matter what he did.
‘
Has he gone?’ Tom asked quietly.
‘
Yes.’
‘
I wonder what he wanted,’ he mused, half to himself.
‘
Guilty conscience, I expect,’ I said. ‘Never mind him, what have you found?’
‘
Mm? Oh yes, the patient records. D’you realize that seven out of the eight victims are marked down under religion as either:
None
,
Agnostic
or
Atheist
?’
Once
again, I felt an acute sense of disappointment. ‘So what? We get quite a few these days who say
None
, at least.’
‘
Three of these are
Atheist
, two each for
Agnostic
and
None
. How often do people going into hospital, especially an ITU, claim they’re atheist?’
‘
It does happen.’
‘
Seven out of eight times? Come on, that can’t be coincidence.’
‘
Then why not eight out of eight? Who is the eighth?’
‘
Mrs Sutton. A gangster’s wife who tried to commit suicide, which is one of the great religious taboos. Jo, how many patients, say out of ten, claim to be any of those things?’
‘
I don’t know —’
‘
Then let’s go in and look.’
‘
No, let me think a minute.’ I shut my eyes, trying to visualize the records. ‘I’d say two or three, although it’s only a guess.’
‘
Out of ten. A bit different from seven out of eight. So which of our ten suspects, sorry, nine, are religious freaks?’
‘
I can only think of two,’ I said slowly, unwillingly.
‘
Well?’
‘
Emma Riley, and Susan King.’
‘
Emma Riley …’ His eyes flickered away from me, back again. ‘Isn’t she that really … attractive one?’
‘
Yes, and she’s more than just attractive, as I’m sure you’ve noticed. She’s also old-fashioned, goes to church, and a bit of a prude.’
‘
Boyfriends?’
‘
I think so. But she doesn’t talk about them.’
‘
Does she … flaunt her religiosity?’
‘
How d’you mean?’
‘
Does she go on about it? Make a thing of it.’
‘
No. She’s just self-contained.’
‘
All right, what about the other one, Susan King? Rather plain, as I remember.’
‘
Yes. She doesn’t flaunt her religiousness either, but I know she belongs to one of those weird sects that think everything’s a sin. She’s always going away on courses and retreats with them.’
‘
Sounds more likely, doesn’t it? And you were sure yourself that it was an individual, a psycho …’
‘
Tom, she’s a phlebotomist. I showed you yesterday how it would be impossible for her to inject anything into a patient.’
‘
Because all blood samples are taken with that vacuum thing?’
‘
That’s right. Vacutainer.’
‘
Can I use your phone?’
‘
Go ahead.’
He
keyed in a number and waited.
‘
Holly? It’s Tom … yes, I’m fine thanks, love. How about you?’
His
wife, obviously. I turned away, feeling a totally unjustified spurt of jealousy. I still listened, though.
‘
Holly, have you ever used vacutainers? … Yes …’ Silence while he listened … ‘I see … Look, suppose you took one of those containers and used a syringe to squirt in some liquid, and then pumped in some air after it?’ Another pause … ‘Ahhh, I thought so … Yes, you’ve been a great help … I’ve got to go now. I’ll ring you later, bye.’
He
looked up at me.
I
said, ‘Explain it again, please.’
‘
You’ve got the double-ended needle screwed into the barrel, right?’
‘
Yes?’
‘
You stick the outside needle into a vein, then press the tube with its vacuum into the barrel, so that the inside needle penetrates the rubber bung of the tube and the vacuum sucks in the blood.’
‘
Oh …’ I said, understanding.
‘
Yes. If you put a pressure into the tube instead of a vacuum, it will inject whatever liquid you may have put into it.’
‘
And it would be easy enough to use a conventional syringe and needle to do that,’ I said slowly. ‘To put insulin into the tube instead of anti-coagulant, and then pressurize it with air.’