Winding Up the Serpent (6 page)

‘Do you mind if we ask you some questions?'

The two women looked apprehensive.

‘When did you last see Marilyn Smith?'

The redhead answered. ‘Yesterday. She came to work as normal. She left about ...' She glanced at the other woman. ‘What time was it, Maureen?'

‘Just after five.'

Mike watched them both like a hawk, hungry for clues. Joanna sensed his impatience.

‘What's your name, love?' he said.

‘Maureen.' She warmed to the male charms of the tall policeman.

‘Did she seem normal?'

She nodded, pale now and shocked. ‘Yes. Exactly the same as usual.' She hesitated. ‘How did she die?' she whispered.

‘Did she have any health problems, Maureen?' Mike was turning on the charm full force.

Maureen shook her head. ‘No. She always seemed all right.'

‘I never even heard her complain of a headache,' the redhead butted in.

‘What time was she due at work?'

‘Half past eight this morning. She was never late. She took her work very seriously.'

‘Did she have a boyfriend?'

Maureen shook her head. ‘Not that I know of.' She looked at her colleague. ‘I never heard her talk about one. Did you, Sall? At least ...'

The redhead shook her head. ‘Just Ben.' She giggled and the two of them flushed and exchanged some private joke.

‘The dog?' Mike asked the question and they nodded vigorously.

‘Devoted to him, she was.'

‘He went everywhere with her.'

‘Except work.'

‘She shut him in a compound all day then took him out when she went home. Sometimes the neighbours used to call ... say he was making a noise.'

‘Like a burglar alarm, he was. Fierce dog.'

‘I wouldn't have crossed him.'

Joanna frowned. ‘Had she been depressed lately, trouble sleeping ... Anything like that?'

The women shook their heads. ‘Bouncy as ever. In fact ...' Sally leaned forward like a conspirator, ‘She seemed extra pleased with herself lately. Chuffed. As if something was going to happen.'

‘What did you think it was?' Mike asked.

‘She sort of hinted it was something to do with a married man ... someone with loads of money.' Sally's features sharpened. ‘I've never known anyone love money so much.'

‘Did she ever have time off for sickness?'

Again they shook their heads.

‘Do you know who her next of kin was?'

Maureen paused. ‘I know her mum was dead. That's how she got the money to buy the house in Silk Street. Left her a fair bit. But as for the rest of the family ...'

Joanna listened. ‘Father?' she ventured.

‘No, he died years ago.' She looked at Joanna. ‘I never heard her talk about brothers and sisters either. In fact ... I don't think she had any family. Otherwise she wouldn't have got left all that money – would she?'

And with that question the interview seemed at an end, except for the last important fact.

‘Which of you telephoned the police?'

‘I did.' It was the redhead who spoke.

‘Why?' It seemed an important point now. Why telephone the police when someone failed to turn up for work?

‘A telephone call came to the surgery ...'

‘She'd rung a few times,' Maureen said helpfully, ‘asking for Sister Smith. Then she said there was something wrong with the dog.'

‘And who was it?'

‘We think it was the next door neighbour. She's a bit strange,' Sally said apologetically. ‘She's been weird ever since her husband disappeared. Her and Marilyn have had words on a few occasions.'

‘What happened to her husband?' Mike asked innocently.

The two women looked at each other. ‘He just went,'

Maureen said. ‘According to Marilyn, one day he simply wasn't there.'

‘People don't just disappear.'

‘He did,' Maureen said stoutly. ‘I'm telling you. One day he was there. The next day he'd gone.'

Joanna sighed. There was nothing here, she thought. No real clue to the nurse's death.

‘Is it possible to speak to the doctor?' she asked.

Joanna instinctively liked Jonah Wilson. Fortyish with greying, untidy hair worn slightly long, touching the collar. A rough tweed jacket with sagging pockets leaking a stethoscope. His tie was not quite central and the end was frayed as were his shirt collar and both cuffs, and his trousers were baggy at the knees and lacked a crease. And as definitely as she knew she liked him she knew that Mike, standing stiffly at the door, did not.

‘Good morning, Dr Wilson,' she said, sitting in the patient's chair on the other side of the desk.

He looked up and she caught an unexpected warmth in his smile.

‘I didn't expect a woman when they said Detective Inspector.' He took off his glasses and laid them on the desk. ‘I understand you have some questions to ask about Marilyn. Do you know how she died?'

Joanna drew in a deep breath. ‘We're treating her death as suspicious,' she said, ‘but I can tell you there was no sign of violence. And there was no sign of a break-in.'

The doctor smiled. ‘No burglar would be such a fool as to try and get to Marilyn past Ben,' he said with a touch of humour. ‘Devoted to her, the dog was. Protected her as though he were a paid bodyguard.'

Joanna nodded. ‘What was Marilyn like?' she asked casually.

‘Quite a good nurse,' he said. ‘Energetic.'

‘Honest?'

He closed his eyes. ‘If I had thought she was not honest,' he said wearily, ‘I would have given her the sack. She was a paid employee, Inspector. I can tell you about her professional competence. But I can't tell you much else. Ask Maureen,' he said, ‘or Sally. They'll know more.'

‘Family?' Mike ventured from the doorway.

‘I couldn't tell you,' he said, then touched his mouth. ‘I seem to remember her having some time off. Mother's funeral?'

‘When was this, sir?'

‘I really don't know,' the doctor said. ‘Three ... four years ago.'

‘Could it have been five?'

He smiled vaguely. ‘It could have been. I'm afraid I'm not very good with dates. Ask the receptionists,' he said apologetically.

‘We have.' Mike's abruptness bordered on rudeness. The doctor seemed not to notice.

Joanna smiled encouragingly. ‘Did you ever meet up outside work?'

The doctor shook his head. ‘My wife and I lead exceptionally quiet lives,' he said quietly. ‘My wife ... She isn't terribly well.'

‘I see.'

‘And where were you last night, Dr Wilson?' Mike again, firing questions from the doorway.

‘I was on call.'

‘And were you called out ...?' Mike drew out his notebook, ‘between eleven and twelve?'

‘I believe I was,' he said after a moment's thought. ‘I had to travel out across the moors. Onecote,' he explained. ‘Case of suspected meningitis.'

‘And was it?' It was Joanna who spoke this time.

He smiled and ran his fingers through his hair. ‘No,' he said.

She felt Mike looking at her and leaned forward. ‘What was she like?' she asked again.

A veil seemed to drop over the doctor's face. ‘You've already asked me. Marilyn was good at her job,' he said abruptly. ‘Kind ... compassionate.'

Joanna's mind was drawn back to the obscene figure on the bed. The two did not match up. She glanced at Mike.

‘She seemed to have a comfortable standard of living,' she said, ‘for a nurse.'

The doctor shifted uncomfortably. ‘I believe she owned a nice home,' he said. ‘I was never inside it. I gave her a lift there once.' He nodded. ‘It looked very pleasant.'

Again Joanna met Mike's sceptical glance. ‘How do you think she afforded it, Doctor?'

‘I have absolutely no idea.' Doctor Wilson picked up his glasses, fiddled with them, slipped them on. His hands were shaking.

‘No idea?' Mike's tone was truculent.

The doctor lost his composure. ‘I believe her mother died,' he said irritably. ‘She inherited some money. Damn it ...' He looked at both of them. ‘I don't pry into my staffs financial affairs.'

‘How much did you pay her?'

‘Fifteen – sixteen thousand a year. I don't know the exact figure.'

‘Who would?'

‘My accountant.'

‘Did she have an alternative source of income, Doctor?'

‘I really don't know ...' He glanced at his watch.

‘Did you fancy her?'

Joanna gave Mike a warning glance.

‘No ... No ... Of course not.' Jonah Wilson looked helplessly at Joanna. ‘She was my nurse. We had very little to do with each other ... We never saw each other out of work. We weren't friends or anything. We were colleagues.'

He was on the defensive. Joanna watched him carefully. There was distinct discomfort here. But it failed to hang together. She simply couldn't connect the figure lying spreadeagled across the bed with this softly spoken intellectual. If they were not exactly chalk and cheese they represented at least the difference between a cheap, sensational paperback and an encyclopaedia. She watched the doctor and was puzzled.

He seemed to read her thoughts. ‘I'm sorry,' he said. ‘It's an awful shock. Yesterday she was here – working normally. I just can't believe she's dead. I'm sorry.'

Joanna smiled. ‘That's all right, Doctor,' she said sweetly. ‘Sudden death isn't pleasant, is it? But as soon as we have the results of the post-mortem we can probably drop the whole investigation.'

‘Investigation?' He looked up.

‘It's routine, Doctor,' Joanna said smoothly. ‘I'm sure you understand – cases of sudden death.'

‘Well, what did she die of?'

‘We don't know – yet.' This time Mike's voice sounded almost threatening.

The doctor shot him a look. ‘I have patients to see,' he said. ‘Is there anything else?'

Joanna shook her head. ‘No.' She stood up to leave, shook the doctor's hand. ‘Thank you for your help, Dr Wilson.'

He gave her a shy smile. ‘If it's any help, Inspector,' he said, ‘I don't think she was the type to commit suicide and she was simply never ill.' He hesitated. ‘But then it can be difficult to tell. As far as causes of death are concerned nature has a way of making the medical profession look foolish. Death doesn't always leave its calling card the week before. I think you'll find it was her heart.' He paused. ‘Or a brain haemorrhage.'

‘I expect so,' Joanna said soothingly.

She was almost through the door when the doctor added, ‘Who will be performing the PM?'

She stopped in her tracks. ‘I don't know,' she said. ‘Probably the pathologist.'

Jonah Wilson nodded. ‘I expect it'll be Mat Levin,' he said.

They let themselves out.

The following morning found Paul Haddon happily tending the body of Harry Twemlow. There was plenty to do, cleaning and washing, some embalming. He carefully drew up a syringe of formalin and injected it. The funeral was set for Friday. He hummed as he worked. The relatives had expressed a wish to view the body – always a challenge to an undertaker. But he was equal to the task. Stage make-up, sparingly applied, the hair combed, the face shaved. Decent clothing.

Then there was the inside of the coffin to be seen to. Silk, red or blue. Sometimes he chose. Sometimes the relatives expressed a preference. And plenty of flowers, soft organ music. He glanced around the chapel of rest. Lovely, he thought.

The post-mortem was set for ten o'clock that morning. Joanna made her way to the Pathology Department of the local hospital and parked her car next to the maroon BMW.

She sat for a moment, swamped by memories ... Matthew, grinning, jingling the keys. ‘Guess what I've just bought ...' Pleased with his purchase, he had taken her out for a joy ride, accelerating noisily up the M6 – until a police car had flashed them across to the hard shoulder. She remembered DS Mike Korpanski's shocked eyes as he recognized her ... By the fire in his stare she had known explanations would be futile. And every time she saw Mike Korpanski watching her she saw the same angry light.

‘Joanna! Joanna!'

Startled, she roused herself. Matthew was rapping on the window, grinning. For a moment she stared, confused, memories mingling with the present, then she pressed the electric button and the glass slid down.

‘Jo,' he said, ‘what are you doing here? Surely you haven't come to see me?'

He bent in at the car window, his hand resting on the roof as she studied him. He was completely unchanged, the old, familiar Matthew, honey-coloured hair, broad shoulders, green eyes, tanned face with his frank, open expression, ready grin trying to suppress the gladness he felt in seeing her. She studied him and noted that today he was dressed typically casually, open-necked shirt, loose cotton trousers.

‘I believe you have a PM booked for ten,' she said.

‘The dead nurse?' He looked surprised. ‘You're involved in that?'

‘I'm heading the investigation,' she said with a hint of self-consciousness. ‘Besides ...' She smiled at him. ‘I wanted to make sure you were doing your job properly.'

He touched her shoulder briefly. ‘Jo,' he said warmly, ‘I can't tell you how good it is to see you again. I've missed you.'

He opened the door and she stepped out. She was as tall as he was, and came level with his eyes. He stared at her, then smiled.

‘It's no use you teasing me,' he said softly. ‘I know darn well you're already feeling queasy at the thought of the craniotomy. Mind you, Jo,' his hand brushed her cheek and for a short moment her frown line was ironed out, ‘you look bloody marvellous.'

She stood very still, tempted to snatch his hand back, hold it longer, harder against her cheek. ‘So do you, Mat.' For a moment they stared at one another, oblivious to all around them, their only emotion joy in each other's company.