Death Before Time (7 page)

*

“ … Just in time, I hit the ground just after the plane did. I was a POW for a year.”

Fraser looked at the ordinary, insignificant little man, thought about the thousands of other ordinary little men who’d had to do extraordinary things.

“Was it bad?” he asked. “The POW camp?”

“Not really, ‘cept there was never enough food. We sat tight and in the end we were released by the Ruskis of all people.”

He looked up at Fraser. “I meant to go and see your Grannie, tell her what happened, but time went by and after a while, I couldn’t. I was too ashamed.”

“Why, for God’s sake?”

“’Cos I didn’t save his life after he’d saved mine. ‘Cos I ran away instead of helping him.”

“Harold …” Fraser found himself calling him by his given name without thinking about it … “He was dead. There was nothing you could have done for him.”

“But I didn’t know that at the time, did I? I just ran.”

“If you’d hung round thinkin’ about it, you’d have been dead yourself.”

“Maybe.” He gave a twisted smile. “But I’ll be dead soon anyway. All comes down to dust in the end, dunnit?”

Fraser said, “What was he like, Harold? Would you tell me about him? I don’t know much, you see …”

*

It was as though his life had grown another dimension; all he’d known about his grandfather was that he’d been in the RAF and won a medal, and before that had been a dockie. Now, he knew why he’d won it, whose life he’d saved – suddenly, he’d acquired some history.

“He had to fight to get out of the docks,” Harold told him. “Reserved occupation, y’see, and they didn’t want to lose him.”

They’d met when they’d been assigned to the same crew and one of those strange friendships between a big man and a small man began.

“He was larger than life, always fooling around, and yet you had the feeling it was all a bit of a front …he was always on about his wife and kids, especially when he’d had a few … kept a photo of them in his wallet …

“I know he didn’t want to go back to the docks after the war. We had all kinds of plans – we were going to go to Australia and start an engineering firm, or a car sales business in the smoke, or a sheep farm in the north …

“That was the thing about the war, once you’d done a job like we had as aircrew and been respected for it, there was no way you were going back to forelock pulling.”

*

This had been Harold’s problem when he’d eventually de-mobbed and gone back to the brewery where he’d worked before. They
had
expected him to go back to forelock pulling, and when he argued the point, he was sacked.

He’d gone to Australia, intending to settle there; become a rep, got engaged, got jilted, came home again. He soon found another job and within a year, he was married and settled down.

“It was a mistake,” he said. “The rebound.”

He and Janet had one child, a daughter they called Christine. The birth was difficult, and afterwards, so was sex, for Janet.

“She’d never liked it much anyway, an’ being a rep, I could get it elsewhere. So I did.”

It was Christine who’d held the marriage together. Then, when she was seventeen, she’d become pregnant. She’d wanted to have the baby, but they’d persuaded her to have an abortion on medical grounds.

“Another mistake - she became impossible after that and left home. We didn’t try to stop her and she vanished.”

And vanished completely, so far as Harold was concerned. He knew Janet was still in touch with her, because she told him Christine was married and had a son. He and Janet had divorced, and when she’d later died, he hadn’t been able to tell Christine about the funeral because he’d had no idea where she was. He’d never heard from her since.

“That’s why I want this radiotherapy, Fraser. I hired a private dick when I knew I’d got cancer, to find her an’ beg her to come an’ see me before I died. He’s traced her to America and says he’ll find her soon.”

He looked up. “I haven’t been a good man, Fraser. I’ve been a rotten husband and father. But I want to see her and my grandson before I die; I want to tell her I’m sorry. That’s why I need a couple more months. Thing is Fraser, am I going to get them?”

Fraser cleared his throat. “Aye, I think so, given a bit of luck, and you’re due that, Harold. You’re starting the radiotherapy tomorrow, aren’t you?”

A nod.

“Well, Dr Armitage wouldn’t have okayed it if he didn’t think it would work.” He paused. “There’s also the will to live. If you want to enough, you can do it.”

“I do want to Fraser. Thanks.”

After a pause, Fraser said, “Have you told Dr Armitage or Dr Tate about your daughter?”

“No,” he said, “And I don’t want to. It’s no one else’s business. I only told you because of Jamie.”

Fraser seriously thought about telling Philip or Edwina, or even Helen, but decided in the end to respect Harold’s wishes.

He realised anyway as he brooded over his pint that evening that he didn’t want to tell Helen anything that might seem to increase the intimacy between them. He knew he wanted to finish the affair, regretted now ever having started it.

Why? Was it guilt so soon after Frances?

Aye, and it was getting worse, but that wasn’t all there was to it. After her initial coolness, he’d been surprised how quickly Helen had changed towards him …

He found her cloying, claustrophobic even – the girlie way she spoke to him sometimes, the way she made too much of things, pressurised him … every time he went to her house, she tried to make him to stay the night, which was something he simply couldn’t do.

And then there was the sex itself; she oozed sexuality and couldn’t get him into bed fast enough, and yet it always seemed to be so … perfunctory, over so quickly.

He’d already started drawing away from her and now decided he’d break it to her before the weekend. Then, the next day, his brother Rob phoned him from Glasgow and told him their mother had broken her leg and was in hospital.

“When did this happen?”

“Couple of days ago. Thought you’d want to know.”

“Aye, I would that. How is she?”

“She’s no’ in pain now they’ve set the leg.”

“Give her my love and …” He hesitated … “Tell her I’ll be up to see her.”

“Aye,” Rob said sceptically, “I’ll believe that when I see it.”

“Just tell her – OK?”

Fraser couldn’t really blame him for his attitude. He’d grown apart from his brothers from the moment he’d started doing better at school and was now almost estranged from them.

Edwina gave him the rest of the week off and he drove straight up to Glasgow. Part of him, he realised, was glad of the excuse to put off speaking to Helen.

The surprise and pleasure on his mother’s face when she saw him brought a lump to his throat. Rob and his other brother Eddie were there too. They solemnly shook him by the hand and Fraser began to think that maybe his family weren’t so bad after all.

On Saturday night, the three of them went out and he told them about Harold and their grandfather.

He’d driven back to Bristol on Sunday to check on his house, then returned to Wansborough on Monday to discover that Harold had died early that morning of pneumonia ...

Chapter 9

Fraser looked from Tom back to Marcus as he finished his story.

“It hit me when I was standing there looking at his body,” he said. “He shouldn’t have died. None of them should.”

“People do though,” said Tom. “All the time.”

“Not this many - ” He took some sheets from his briefcase and handed them to Marcus.

“That’s the death rate in Wansborough over the last year, and those are comparable death rates in ten other community hospitals across the country. The death rate in Wansborough is significantly higher – look ... ”

Marcus put on his glasses and cast his eyes down the figures, then handed the sheets to Tom, “Is it statistically significant?”

Tom studied them a moment before producing a calculator and tapping at the keys. “For these figures, yes,” he said at last, “Although ten isn’t anything like a large enough sample – “

“It was hard enough getting
that
many,” Fraser protested.

“And I’m not sure that you’ve used the best method,” Tom continued, “But yes, these figures do look significant.”

Marcus turned back to Fraser. “D’you have anything else?”

He shook his head. “Like I said, it was hard enough getting that much.”

“You told us earlier that you don’t know who’s doing this – “ Tom again – “Can’t you narrow it down a bit? I mean, it’s got to be someone with patient contact, hasn’t it?”

“Sure, but that still leaves you with seven doctors and at least three dozen nurses and health care assistants.”

“What about the method being used?” said Marcus. “The ones you saw died of pneumonia – is it possible to give it to someone artificially?”

“I can’t see how …”

“You’ve told us about Dr Singh and his obvious dislike of you – what about him?”

“He’d be at the top of my list,” Fraser agreed.

“Of course, his dislike of you could just as easily be down to your relationship with Sister St John,” Tom observed.

“It could.”

“You told us earlier you were intending to finish that,” Marcus said, “Have you actually done so yet?”

“No. Why?”

“No reason, just wondering whether it had any effect on anything … “ He moved on – “You’ve done very well to put these figures together in so short a time, but before we take it any further, we must check them out for ourselves. Can you come back here on Monday morning?”

“You can do it that quickly?”

“We’ve got access to all that kind of information here on computer,” said Tom.

“And contrary to popular opinion,” Marcus said, “Civil servants do occasionally work over the weekend.”

Fraser thought for a moment. “They’re expecting me back Monday morning,” he said.

“You told them you were seeing your mother, didn’t you, so why don’t you do that? I’m sure she’ll be pleased to see you. Go by train from here, phone them from Glasgow, tell them there’s a problem and that you’ll be back Monday afternoon - that’ll give you time to see us first. We’ll pay all your travel, of course,” he added.

*

“Well, what do you think?” Marcus asked Tom after Fraser had gone.

“If his figures check out, and my gut instinct is they will, we should look into it.”

“I agree. The question is,” Marcus continued after a pause, “How are we going to do it? I can’t see an easy way of shoehorning you in there.”

“We’re going to have to use Haggis, aren’t we?”

“What if he won’t play? He might not – especially when I tell him it means carrying on with his girlfriend.”

Tom thought for a moment. “He did say he was hard up ... ”

Marcus grinned. “It might work,” he said. “He wouldn’t be able to do it on his own, though.”

“No,” Tom said. Then, “There is always Jo … “

“Yes, there is, isn’t there … but is she going to even speak to us after last time?"

“Use your charm on her – it’s always worked before. Besides,” Tom continued reflectively, “I wouldn’t be surprised if she was a bit short of the readies, too”.

*

Fraser’s mother was pleased to see him. As it happened, she was about to be discharged, so he was able to make sure she had the right nursing care and everything she needed in her flat. He rang Edwina who said he could come back Monday afternoon, although something in her tone warned him not to expect any more favours from her.

On Sunday, he went back to Bristol, having decided to take Marcus at his word about train fares. He went through his post, slept in his own bed on Sunday night and caught another train up to London on Monday morning.

“Well,” said Marcus when he’d sat down, “We’ve repeated your exercise on a larger sample. So far as we’re concerned, Wansborough Community Hospital has an unacceptably high death rate and we want to look into it.”

“Good,” Fraser said softly.

“We’re going to need some help from you.”

“Sure. Although since I’m going to have to go on working there, I’d prefer my colleagues didn’t know.”

Marcus said carefully, “For what we have in mind, it’s absolutely essential your colleagues don’t know.”

“How d’you mean?”

Marcus said, “How did you think we were going to go about this?”

Fraser shrugged. “By interviewing everyone concerned, I suppose, gathering all the information you can - it’s what you did in Bristol, isn’t it?”

“Yes, but we were dealing there with a
fait
accompli
. Here, we’re looking at something far more nebulous. We may be sure in our own minds that a crime is being committed, but we have no proof. If we interviewed everyone, then I imagine the killing would stop – for a time, maybe even for good – but we probably wouldn’t be able to catch the – er – malefactor. We might strongly suspect someone, but we’d have no proof.”

There was a short silence.

“So what are you going to do?” Fraser asked.

“What we’ve done in the past is to infiltrate someone who can watch from within, so to speak. It’s usually been Tom, although I can’t see any opening for him here. Sometimes we’ve had to enlist inside help.”

Fraser laughed uneasily. “If you’re thinking about me, forget it.”

Marcus looked at him. “How would you go about it if it were your problem? I’d be interested to hear.”

“I’ve no idea.”

Marcus didn’t say anything, just kept looking at him, and after a moment Fraser went on: “If you questioned all the staff, surely someone would have noticed something suspicious. If you then compared what everyone said, you’d be able to work it out ... ”

“But suppose nobody
has
noticed anything – and believe me, that’s quite possible – then all we’ll have achieved is to alert the killer.”

Fraser didn’t reply to this and Marcus went on, “Could you give me an example of the sort of suspicious something you had in mind?”

“Well … the same person always around when someone dies, someone doing something to a patient they shouldn’t be …”

“Who better than a doctor for that?”

“But I’m no’ suitable for this kind of thing.”

“You didn’t do so badly last year, I seem to recall,” Tom murmured.

“Aye, but that was because I
had
to, because of Frances … “

“All we want for the moment,” said Marcus, “Is someone who’ll keep their eyes and ears open. You’d be remunerated, of course,” he added.

Fraser blinked, he hadn’t thought of that …

Marcus continued carelessly, “We thought £2000 a week with a guaranteed minimum of £10,000. I seem to remember you saying you were having difficulty with your mortgage – well, that might help, especially tax-free.” Pause. “Just for keeping your eyes open.”

Fraser laughed weakly. “I think we both know there’d be more to it than that. The person responsible, the – er – malefactor, might take unkindly to being spied on.”

“Indeed they might, should they become aware of it. Our aim is to ensure they don’t. Tom can help you there.”

“I’m only one person, I couldn’t cover everything.”

“We’ve got some back-up in mind.”

“What kind of back-up?”

“We’ll go into that if you agree.”

“I’ll … need to think about it,” Fraser said at last.

“You can have till tomorrow morning, we must know by then.”

*

He thought about it on the train.

The money would come in handy, and it might not mean much more than keeping his eyes open – then he remembered something … Marcus asking him if he’d finished with Helen …

They
wanted
him
to
go
on
seeing
her
.

You
canny
bastard
,
Marcus
, he thought,
Seduce
me
with
the
money
,
then
give
me
the
bad
news
after
I’ve
agreed
…

No. Absolutely not. He’d done his bit, it was up to them to do the rest.

He got back to the hospital at three and went to find Edwina. She was in her room.

“Ah, Fraser,” she said coolly, “Come in and shut the door, please. Mother better now?”

“Yes, she is, thanks Edwina.”

“I’m very glad to hear it,” she said. Then, after a pause: “We’ve cut you a lot of slack in this Fraser, and enough is enough. Is that understood?”

“Perfectly,” he said. There was no point in arguing, let alone telling her she was mixing her clichés.

“Good,” she said. Then: “We’ve got a Mrs Ferrers waiting to see you. She’s come about her father, Mr Carter who died last week. She was completely hysterical earlier, but we managed to calm her down. You had more to do with him than anyone, so perhaps you could talk to her.”

Fraser slunk off, smarting … sure, she was within her rights to cuss him off, but what was it about her that gritted every joint in his body?

Mrs Ferrrers was in a side room, red-eyed and looking every one of her forty-something years. She got to her feet as he introduced himself and took his hand. Hers was damp and limp.

She said, “They told me you spoke with him a lot before he died.” Her voice was an irritating mix of London and New York.

“That’s right,” Fraser said. She was overweight and wearing too much makeup and jewellery. “I came to know him quite well before he died, Mrs Ferrers. I liked him a lot.”

“I have his letter here, the one the PI gave me – “ She pulled it out of her handbag – “It’s so sweet, if only he’d contacted me earlier.”

Thinking:
you
could
have
contacted
him
… Fraser said carefully, “He wasn’t sure what kind of reception he’d get, which is why he didn’t try until he was ill.”

As though she could read his thoughts, she said, “Pride’s a stupid thing, isn’t it? I blamed him for everything that went wrong in my life without giving him any credit for the things that went right.”

“All he wanted to do was make his peace with you ... ”

He told her everything Harold had said to him and her mascara ran as she began crying again, but he felt that the tears were cathartic this time. She said she wanted to stay on to organise his funeral and asked him if he’d come.

It was nearly four by the time he got back to Edwina and told her what had happened.

“He didn’t say anything to me about a daughter,” she said, looking at him. “I wonder why he told you.”

Fraser explained about his relationship with Harold. “He made me promise not to tell anyone else about it.”

“I see,” she said after a pause. She seemed about to say something else, then gave a wry smile instead. “Pride is,” she said, “Indeed, a stupid thing.”

Maybe it is, Fraser thought later over his pint in the social club, but it hadn’t been pride that had killed Harold before he could see his daughter and grandson.

He thought about Alice Steel and Olive Spencer and the others who might have had their reasons for wanting another two or three months of life. He thought about the last months with Frances.

The idea of carrying on with Helen made him squirm, but if that’s what it took …

He phoned Marcus in the morning and told him he’d do it.

“Good,” Marcus said. “Can you come up here on Saturday to sort all the details out?”

“Sure.”

“Oh, and meanwhile, don’t finish your relationship with Sister St John.”

Fraser smiled grimly to himself. “Why not?” he asked innocently.

“Partly because she’s already been very useful in giving you all the gossip and muck raking, but also, of course, because she might be involved.”