The Darkest Goodbye (William Lorimer) (26 page)

Kirsty stared at the man who apparently had no conception of what he had just said.

‘But he did come to serious harm, sir,’ she murmured. ‘In fact, from what we can see it looks as if Mr Clark may have been murdered.’

Dunwoodie shifted uncomfortably in his chair. ‘This doesn’t have to get out, Detective Constable? The newspapers, I mean…?’

‘We wouldn’t give any information to the press unless it was to further our investigation, sir,’ Kirsty answered truthfully. Though what decision Lorimer came to about letting the press office run with this story was anyone’s guess.

‘You called us as soon as Mr Clark was found,’ Kirsty continued. ‘Who was it who was first on the scene?’

‘Our only male nurse, chap called Joshua Ngebe. Lovely man. Qualified as a psychiatric nurse before specialising in palliative care,’ Dunwoodie murmured. ‘Do you want to see him?’

‘We will want to speak to him, yes,’ Kirsty agreed. ‘But perhaps you could tell me a little more about the emails on Mr Clark’s laptop.’

‘Ah, it was Nurse Ngebe who found them,’ Dunwoodie declared. ‘He and Clark used to play chess on that laptop of his. The email just popped up, seemingly. Don’t know how that works,’ he mused, glaring at the computer on his own desk as though it were some sort of alien device. ‘Prefer to stick to paper and pens myself,’ he added with a nod.

Joshua Ngebe was one of the handsomest men Kirsty had ever seen. He stood tall and straight, a grace about his carriage that was in keeping with the large gentle eyes and warm handshake.

‘Detective Constable Wilson, I hope I can be of help,’ he began, his accent revealing an educated man from somewhere that Kirsty guessed as Oxford or Cambridge.

‘I hope so too,’ she told him. ‘Tell me, what brought you to Rose Park? I’m guessing you’re much too highly qualified for this sort of work.’

‘Ah, the discerning detective.’ Ngebe laughed. ‘Yes, you are quite correct. I was to have completed my medical degree when I was unfortunately stricken with multiple sclerosis. It can be a progressive disease,’ he explained. ‘But I’ve been one of the lucky ones.’ He shrugged. ‘There are times when my legs give way,’ he tapped his trouser leg. ‘And then I need crutches for a while and time off to rest.’

‘So you gave up on medicine?’

‘Not exactly.’ Ngebe’s dark eyes looked into Kirsty’s. ‘I did go back. Took a sideways path into psychiatry then trained as a nurse. This sort of work suits me.’ He shrugged again.

‘Because you can empathise with the patients.’

Ngebe grinned, showing perfect white teeth. ‘Something like that. My wife is a GP,’ he said. ‘So we have a nice lifestyle and she makes sure I don’t overdo things.’ He chuckled.

‘Now, getting back to Mr Clark,’ Kirsty continued. ‘Mr Dunwoodie tells me that it was you who found these emails about Quiet Release.’

Ngebe’s face became suddenly serious. ‘The police notified us about this organisation only recently,’ he said. ‘We were to be vigilant and let them know if anything came to our nursing home from these people.’

‘And when did you see the first email?’

Ngebe frowned. ‘Must have been two days ago,’ he admitted. ‘It wasn’t sent to him directly, you see. Somehow he’d been copied in to it. I asked him about it and he just laughed. Said it was some crank organisation trying to target poor souls who wanted to end it all.’ The nurse sighed. ‘“Not for me just yet.” These were his exact words,’ Ngebe said softly, his mouth closing in a grim line. ‘He made a joke of it. Said his nearest and dearest would trash anything like that.’

‘But there was another one,’ Kirsty insisted.

Ngebe nodded. ‘Last night, just after we’d completed a game of chess,’ he said. ‘Popped up on the screen. Message asking about “freedom from pain”, of all things. Edward was never in any pain,’ he told Kirsty. ‘Unless you could count the number of times I’d beaten him at chess,’ he added with a sad smile.

‘So you ignored the messages?’

‘On the contrary. I logged them for Mr Dunwoodie. I assumed he would notify the authorities.’

Kirsty tried to keep her expression as neutral as possible but the dark-skinned psychiatric nurse gave her a knowing smile.

‘He didn’t, did he?’

She bit back a reply, knowing that to discuss any point of the case was out of order.

‘Thank you, Mr Ngebe,’ she said, holding out her hand and receiving the man’s warm grasp. ‘I think Mr Clark must have enjoyed having you as his nurse.’

‘Well, he certainly did last night,’ Ngebe replied softly.

‘Oh?’

Ngebe’s smile widened a little as he let go of Kirsty’s hand. ‘He was delighted to beat me at chess for once.’

That explained Dunwoodie’s manner, Kirsty thought, heading out of the main door in time to see Murdoch flick a cigarette across the flowerbeds. The man should have alerted the police as soon as Clark’s nurse had logged that email. Probably thought it was the work of a crank or a time waster. Or maybe he wasn’t as au fait with sending emails as that smart new laptop on his desk suggested.

‘Sir.’

Murdoch turned around at the sound of Kirsty’s voice.

‘Pathologist finished yet?’

‘No, sir. But I think there’s something you ought to know,’ she said.

Murdoch listened as Kirsty related the two separate conversations.

‘Good work, Wilson. Stupid idiot, though.’ He jerked his head back towards the nursing home. ‘He’ll have that man’s death on his conscience for a good time to come, I reckon.’ He raised his head at the sound of a vehicle pulling up outside. ‘Oh, looks like we’ve got company,’ he stated as they caught sight of the van bringing the scene of crime officers. ‘Hope they tape right across this entrance,’ he added as an elderly woman paused to let her small dog urinate against the stone gatepost. ‘Need to keep out all the nosy parkers,’ he added loudly, making the woman sniff indignantly and haul the dog away on its lead.

T
he door opening at the back of the room made several people turn to look. A young man stood there, his hands full of newspapers.

‘Jimmy.’ Lorimer paused to address the press officer. ‘Thanks for bringing these down.’

From the worried expression on Jimmy Nichol’s face, each of the officers staring at the young press officer walking towards the detective superintendent could see that the man did not relish sharing the latest news with the assembled officers. Most of his colleagues had already seen the main papers online but there were still a few curious glances directed Jimmy Nichol’s way. And Lorimer was examining each and every face in turn, hoping for answers to the question he hated to ask.

‘Sir,’ Jimmy said, handing the rolled-up papers to Lorimer.

Without exception the case had made front-page news.

POLICE
PROBE
INTO
PATIENT
DEATHS
was the
Gazette
’s take on the lead article, while others proclaimed
WHO
IS
DOCTOR
DEATH
?
and
POLICE
SEARCH
FOR
DEATH
SQUAD
.

Lorimer’s face grew darker with each headline.

Then, looking once more at the officers standing before him, he lifted up the newspapers in both hands so that they could be seen.

The whole room fell silent.

‘Who was responsible for this?’ Lorimer asked in a voice brimming with anger.

Kirsty looked around her as if to read some guilt on one of their faces but saw that all of her fellow officers were doing exactly the same.

‘Someone in this team was responsible for leaking information to the national press,’ Lorimer continued, his voice low but full of menace.

There was an unnatural hush in the room then Jimmy Nichol cleared his throat and nodded to Lorimer.

‘I’ve already been on to all their news desks, sir. The call they got was anonymous.’ He shrugged as if to say
nobody’s done it for the money
. ‘Could it have been someone connected to the men you’ve arrested?’ he asked doubtfully, obviously keen to find an explanation other than an internal leak.

‘What do you think, Jimmy? I take it you’ve read the entire pieces with your usual care?’

Jimmy Nichol flushed. ‘Yes, sir. They all came in after midnight.’ He paused then turned to the men and women opposite, some standing, others lounging against the wall or a nearby desk. ‘It’s detailed information that these press boys have been given.’ He looked back at Lorimer with an expression of apology. ‘I suppose it can only have come from inside, sir. References to the victims could have come from outsiders but there is just too much in the way of procedural detail for it to have come from anywhere else.’

Lorimer felt his heart pounding as he clenched then unclenched his fists. Making a scene would do nobody any good, perhaps alienating more of his team. But at that moment he wished he had the person who had leaked this news right in front of him.

A swift glance showed only troubled faces, their collective dismay tuning with his own. Yet one dissembler amongst them was clever enough to hide their true feelings.

‘You know who you are and why you have done this thing.’ Lorimer spoke quietly. ‘And when I find out who it was then I assure you that there will be no place for you in Police Scotland.’

With a nod to the press officer, Lorimer turned and walked away, the young man scuttling in his wake.

‘Why?’ Lorimer slammed his fist on to his desk, making the young man jump. He had read each of the front pages and the inside columns too, several of the papers having editorial comments about end-of-life legislation.

‘Who would do something like this?’ he asked Jimmy, shaking his head as if bewildered by the bombshell that had struck his investigation.

Jimmy shrugged his shoulders. ‘Well, no money changed hands. As far as we know,’ he added, his tone laden with cynicism.

‘You think there’s been a fat brown envelope passed to one of my officers?’

Jimmy began to shrug again but the gesture became more of a squirm under the detective superintendent’s steely blue gaze.

‘I really couldn’t say, sir. But we both know it happens,’ Jimmy replied. ‘It could be something else, though.’

‘Yes?’

‘Some disaffected person who doesn’t want the investigation to come to a satisfactory conclusion.’

‘What are you getting at, Jimmy?’

The young man leaned forwards, his clasped hands moving up and down as though to make a point. ‘It’s my job to know what the papers say, sir, and there’s been a plethora of articles about euthanasia over the past months. Bound to be, given the proposed legislation here in Scotland,’ he continued. ‘What if…’ he cocked his head to one side thoughtfully, ‘… someone on the team is all for it. Euthanasia, I mean. What if they’ve seen a loved one suffer and think that this Quiet Release lot are actually doing society a favour?’

Lorimer sat very still, gazing at the young man’s earnest expression. It was an idea too awful to contemplate that one of his officers had deliberately wrecked the process of a major investigation like this. And yet there was something in Jimmy Nichol’s words that made sense. He tried to conceal his thoughts from the young man staring at him intently. For there was one officer whose name immediately sprang to mind.

When Kirsty Wilson entered the room, Lorimer was standing once again with his face to the window but this time he turned and motioned her into a chair opposite his own, the desk between them signalling the formality of the occasion.

‘I need to know about Len Murdoch,’ Lorimer began with a sigh. ‘Anything you have picked up from being with him, anything that might indicate whether he had money worries?’ he enquired, then frowned to himself as Kirsty pursed her lips. This was hardly fair, bringing the girl in to grill her about the man who had been her mentor. But then whoever had leaked the information to the press had behaved in a despicable, underhand way and he had to be sure that Kirsty was not hiding anything from him.

‘He’s known to like a flutter on the horses,’ Kirsty began. ‘In fact he seemed to be picking up his winnings when we were en route to the Rose Park Nursing Home.’

‘Did he do that often? Make a detour to the bookies?’

‘No, sir. Just the once as far as I know. But he did make quite a lot of calls on his mobile out of earshot. But then…’ Kirsty tailed off. ‘I think he was in contact with the hospital a good bit before Mrs Murdoch died. You’d need to see his phone to check,’ she continued, then put a hand over her mouth.

‘It’s all right, DC Wilson,’ Lorimer said tiredly. ‘That is not out of order to suggest something like that. Hopefully we won’t have to go that far. If DS Murdoch
has
given information to the newspapers perhaps he might feel aggrieved enough to pack in his career anyway.’

‘He doesn’t have that long to go till retirement?’

Lorimer shook his head. ‘Started not long after your dad,’ he told her. ‘He only has a few more months of service remaining. But he’ll forfeit an awful lot if he is dismissed from the police at this stage of his career.’

‘Do you think it was him?’ Kirsty asked in hushed tones.

‘I have absolutely no evidence to suggest that,’ Lorimer told her. ‘It could be anyone who feels strongly about this whole debate,’ he sighed. ‘Doesn’t have to be someone with a relative who has gone through a bad time. Could simply be someone with a deeply held conviction.’

‘But that’s awful!’ Kirsty exclaimed. ‘How can anyone condone what these people are doing to innocent victims?’

‘Easy to ask when you’re young and healthy like you,’ Lorimer smiled faintly. ‘But older officers who’ve seen the worst that humans can do to each other might well have a different take on how to end a person’s life.’

Kirsty had passed the canteen lady before she realised.

‘Hey, wee yin, no stopping tae get a cake from auld Sadie?’

‘Sorry, I was miles away,’ Kirsty apologised, rattling her jacket pocket for the change she had left there just for this very occasion.

‘What’ll it be today, hen? Something to sweeten you up? Looks like someone’s stole yer scone.’ Sadie chuckled, but her eyes were full of concern despite the joke as it was obvious that something was troubling the young woman.

‘Yes, please. A scone,’ Kirsty replied vaguely, not picking up on the Glasgow expression for looking down in the dumps.

‘His nibs been giving you a hard time, that what it is?’ Sadie asked shrewdly, cocking her permed head towards Lorimer’s office door.

‘No, no, just very busy,’ Kirsty replied with a forced smile. It would not do to gossip with wee Sadie Dunlop, she thought. Surely Sadie wouldn’t have… no, Kirsty dismissed the idea as soon as it had drifted into her mind. Sadie knew better than that. She was well used to the ways of the police and everybody knew what respect she had for Lorimer.

As Kirsty descended the stairs to her own department she knew that Lorimer had also asked her to see him for a different reason, one that had not been voiced. She would have to keep a close watch on DS Len Murdoch, see if anything untoward happened that might give a clue as to whether the detective sergeant had indeed been the one responsible for today’s newspaper headlines.