The Watchful Eye (18 page)

Vanda bowed her head in acceptance. But a moment later she was fighting again. ‘And now,’ she said with a touch of spirit, ‘they won’t even let me bury her. The coroner says we can’t have a funeral until another specialist has looked at her. What good’s that? How many bloody specialists does my dead little baby have to see?’

Her small hands were gripping the side of the chair. ‘It’s like they won’t let my baby rest until they’ve got me for something.’ Two more tears followed the others down her cheek. Her complexion, never florid, was now parchment white.

It suddenly struck Daniel that Bobby was contributing nothing to this consultation. In fact, he was mystified why she had come at all when she was so abnormally silent. He looked directly at her, inviting a comment. She met his gaze unblinking but still said nothing. Her plump face was almost deliberately impassive. Controlled. Her silence bordered on being embarrassing.

She could have defended her daughter, protested her innocence, said how ridiculous the entire question was, but instead she continued to look at Daniel as though she would like to have said something.

What, he wondered, did Bobby Millin know?

He eyed her thoughtfully while he made soothing noises to her daughter, that it was routine, that investigations did not necessarily mean suspicion of guilt, that all would probably be explained satisfactorily. Bobby kept her gaze on him without flinching.

A few hundred yards outside Eccleston, just a little outside the town, on the left-hand side of the Stafford road, is a small, old-fashioned petrol station connected with a workshop, called Claremont Garage. It was there that Brian Anderton pulled up. The owner greeted Anderton cordially. ‘Morning, constable. What can I do for you?’ He serviced the police cars and was on good terms with PC Anderton and his colleagues.

Brian indicated the petrol can in his hand. ‘Fill it up, will you?’

The garage owner squirted a gallon of petrol in, making conversation. ‘Waging a bit of war, are you?’

‘Sorry?’

‘Molotov cocktails? Hah hah.’

Brian grimaced. The joke wasn’t funny. He handed the garage owner a five-pound note and told him to put the change in the Air Ambulance collecting box, which stood on his counter. He had a deep superstition about the Air Ambulance, that if he always put spare change in the collecting box he would never have to use it. His face was grim as he climbed back into the police car. It would be sent out for someone though, one of these days. Not that it would do any good. It would be too late for
Doctor
Daniel Gregory by the time either the ordinary ambulance or the Air Ambulance got to him.

His mouth bent into a smile.

Anderton stowed the can of petrol upright in the boot of the car. He intended to plan this assault with military precision, choosing the time, the place, the date, with care. He was not going to rush this. For, like a child waiting for Christmas, a large part of the pleasure would be in the anticipation.

He drove home.

It annoyed him that when he opened the front door Claudine greeted him with a look of apprehension. She should, he thought, look pleased to see him. Very pleased. So he addressed her sarcastically. ‘I’m home, darling. Now isn’t that nice?’

She shrank back. She actually
shrank
. Recoiled as though he was a spitting cobra.

This inflamed him.

But he managed to suppress it. For now.

‘Is my tea ready?’

She smiled at him.

False wife,
he thought.
I know your game
.

He buried it, his jealousy and the white heat of his anger. His time would come. That he knew and maybe the false
Claudine would burn alongside her lover. Like a person with a bad habit, a nail-biter or a smoker, his fingers itched to click the lighter. He felt it in his pocket, smiling to himself at the memory of the petrol can safely stowed in the back of the police car.

Ready, he thought.

All was ready.

He just needed to find the right time.

Daniel had finally given in and prescribed Vanda some antidepressants, feeling the usual sense of defeat as he printed off the prescription. Antidepressants were a failure on his part. To have spent half an hour listening to her problems and giving her some simple, practical advice would have helped her so much more. Tablets were simply a panacea for her hurt and an apology from him. He had watched her take the prescription reluctantly, as though, like him, she knew how inadequate they would prove to be. As he’d met her eyes he’d wondered. What was she? Grieving mother? Callous murderess? Or both?

‘Come back next week,’ he’d said. ‘Book a double appointment. We’ll talk some more.’ He’d tried the cheery bit. ‘Maybe they’ll have realised that Anna-Louise died from natural causes and you can have a funeral.’ Vanda had managed a watery smile and left, followed closely by her mother.

So there had been no opportunity for him to speak privately with Bobby Millin. It was a shame. He was sure that she could shed some light on the death of her granddaughter.

As Daniel thought about it he became convinced that Bobby Millin held the key to what had happened to Anna-Louise. So a visit to the nursing home was called for. Daniel normally visited on a Thursday, straight after morning surgery, spending about an hour shaking hands with the old ladies (and the two gentlemen), speaking to the staff, issuing prescriptions and changing medication. There was rarely any serious illness to worry about. Occasionally chest pain or pneumonia, but The Elms was one of the better nursing homes. They had their crises but they looked after their patients, nursed them through illnesses serious enough to have caused death in their assortment of frail octogenarians. Yet somehow, however sick the patients appeared, they invariably pulled through. The nurses were skilled and dedicated and when death inevitably removed one of their patients the place was soon filled from a long waiting list.

Once or twice the elderly inmates had had sudden illnesses but in the elderly this was only to be expected.

So three days after the consultation with Vanda he was ringing the bell to The Elms and waiting to be admitted. Before this system of locking the door had been introduced, there had
been a tragedy. Four years ago, on a dusky November evening, a male patient who was profoundly deaf had wandered outside. Somehow, unchallenged, he had drifted towards the High Street and then out onto the B5026, the winding road west towards Loggerheads, walking up the middle of the road, oblivious to an approaching car. The unfortunate motorist, turning the corner, had slammed on his brakes when the tall shape loomed in front of him but it had been too late. Humphrey Bladon had died instantly.

Since then The Elms had kept all entrances and exits locked.

Daniel was in luck. It was Bobby Millin who met him. Obviously today she was the one assigned to accompany him on this morning’s round. The Sister must be off for the day.

Daniel was restrained. He didn’t even mention Vanda or Anna-Louise until he had inspected four residents of the home, each one with a multitude of problems and a stew pot of pathology. Heart disease, depression, arthritis, thyroid deficiency, obstructive airways disease. The list was endless. He listened, spoke, prescribed, sympathised. Three quarters of an hour later he’d finished.

‘Bobby,’ he said uncertainly as they walked back along the corridor. She turned incurious but perceptive eyes on him.

‘Doctor?’

‘About Anna-Louise.’

Her eyes flickered.

He pressed on. ‘Did you ever see Vanda harm her?’ He felt he must ameliorate the implied accusation of the question. ‘I’m not suggesting
deliberately
, but in temper or under stress. It can be difficult for a single mother, you understand?’

Her eyes widened but she didn’t speak straight away. Instead
she began rubbing her fingertips together. ‘Umm.’

‘It’s all right,’ he said. ‘I shan’t take it any further but…’ He purposely left the sentence hanging in the air.

Bobby nodded very slowly. ‘She did,’ she said hesitantly. ‘I did see her once or twice. She fed her salt. I know that too much salt can be harmful to a small child. I told her to stop it, but she said it was good for her. Another time I saw her pulling at Anna-Louise’s leg until she cried. The worst thing was that she used Anna-Louise’s crying to say what a difficult child she was, trying to make me sympathetic towards her.’ Bobby Millin’s eyes met his. ‘I didn’t blame her, Doctor. It was only a little tug. To be honest I felt sorry for Vanda, that she felt she needed to play this silly game. Perhaps to justify her own shortcomings, maybe? I saw her giving her rum in her bottle but she said it was to help Anna-Louise sleep better. I knew she was doing wrong things, Doctor, but I just thought she was young and a bit misguided.’

Daniel felt a thud of recognition because he instinctively recognised her words as the truth. ‘You didn’t say anything?’

‘I did to her,’ Bobby said. ‘I did. I told her what she was doing was wrong. She simply looked blankly at me. Doctor…’ She touched his arm. ‘I honestly don’t think Vanda knew what she was doing. I don’t.’ There was real distress in her face. ‘I can’t believe…’ she began. ‘I can’t. She
couldn’t
have smothered Anna-Louise. She just
couldn’t
have done it. Surely?’ Doubt was creeping into her voice as she spoke. Then her shoulders drooped. ‘I should have done something more, shouldn’t I?’

It would have seemed cruel to have agreed with her but Daniel couldn’t disagree.

Yes, he thought. She should have done something, said something more, involved the authorities. But then – so should I.

And now it was too late.

Bobby Millin was standing, looking at him with an expression of fear in her eyes.

‘What is it?’ he asked, feeling a snatch of fear.

She put her hand on his arm. ‘Doctor,’ she said. ‘She thinks she might be pregnant again.’

Daniel stared at Bobby Millin’s face. ‘Who?’ he asked.

‘That goof…’ Her face showed clear contempt.

Daniel knew exactly who she meant. Guy Malkin. He recalled seeing the two of them together, walking up the High Street, Vanda’s tiny figure trotting alongside Guy Malkin’s gangling shape. Oh, no, he thought. This was the worst scenario. Another child would make things worse. If Vanda had failed to cope with Anna-Louise, what would happen now? More abuse?

Daniel felt disturbed as he left the nursing home. And he felt terribly guilty. He had failed. He should have picked up that something was wrong between mother and child, that they were failing to bond, that the relationship was pathological. He could have prevented it by alerting the authorities. The shame was that Vanda Struel wasn’t a bad person. Confronted with her behaviour she could have changed – at least been given the chance to. It was her mother’s responsibility to speak out, to protect her granddaughter but, ultimately, the fact that the child was dead lay at
his
door. It was his job.

The question now was how to proceed?

He was depressed as he opened his car door.

Bobby Millin watched him through the window. She had picked up on the fact that he felt in some measure responsible. Her lips tightened. Her gaze slid across the desk to a framed photograph. She picked it up. Anna-Louise, nine months old, in a pale pink dress, still needing to be propped up, gazed solemnly back at her. She stared at it until one of the other health care assistants came up, put her arm around her and said, ‘You must be heartbroken.’

Bobby was still crying as she replaced the photograph on the desk.

Although Guy had Vanda now, he still felt he was missing out on something. Vanda was easy game but Claudine – now, she was a challenge. Yes, he had Claudine’s pretty earrings, her underwear. But he wanted
her
. He wanted to touch her, to feel her in the flesh. Not just have her
things
. He wanted
her
to look at him with love.
That
was what he wanted.

And he knew how he was going to get it.

Brian was not pleased to be told he would have to do nights again. ‘Starting on Saturday,’ the sergeant said. ‘Hope you didn’t have anything special planned with that lovely young wife of yours.’

Brian mumbled a reply. He was formulating a plan. He would do his nights but he would also watch the house. Pretend not to be there and he would see. Then he could act.

Daniel heard nothing from Claudine.

The solicitor made Daniel’s day by ringing to say that he had heard from Maud Allen’s niece who said that she was
prepared to settle out of court for £100,000 and he strongly recommended that he accept.

Daniel said he’d think about it. He felt a certain fury that this niece, of whom he had never heard, should suddenly pop out of the woodwork and claim her right. What had
she
ever done for the old woman?

He sat in his surgery, calculating. Applegate Cottage was worth about £400,000. He could get £500,000 for The Yellow House but, thanks to Elaine, he had a £300,000 mortgage on it. That would still give him £200,000 left minus solicitor’s bills and no mortgage. He and Elaine had sorted out all their moneys in final settlement. She earned a good wage as an accountant so he didn’t have to give her any more.

He decided quickly and picked up the phone before he could change his mind. Let the niece have her money. In that, at least, he could have finality.

He instructed the solicitor and sat back. What was he really going to do about Bobby Millin’s confession? Inform the police? The Social Services? He didn’t have her permission. She had trusted him as a doctor and he couldn’t break that trust. Without her statement there would be no evidence. If the pathologist could not be certain that Anna-Louise had been smothered the case could not be proved. He knew where his responsibility lay – to ask Bobby to give her permission to go to the Social Services armed with her information.

But at the back of his mind lurked a further fear.

He had sensed that all was not right; he had done nothing apart from referring her, and the little girl had died. It was possible – but only just – that it had been from natural causes. She had certainly suffered from apnoeic attacks – or so the family had said – and the post-mortem had been inconclusive.

The sense of guilt was always floating around, familiar now, but joined by this further fear. What if Vanda really was pregnant again? If he did not do something a second child might follow the path of its dead sister. But what could he do? He was not allowed to speak. Confidentiality is valued very highly. The doctors’ surgery is as close as a confessional. Break that and you risk people not being open with their medical advisers. Doctors have been struck off the medical register for not respecting the confidentiality clause. But a child’s life was at stake. After tussling with the problem for some minutes Daniel finally did what any doctor would do. For the second time in as many months he dialled the number of the Medical Defence Union.

They, for their part, advised him to ask Bobby Millin’s permission to speak to the police.

Their point was clearly made. Vanda Struel needed help as did her unborn infant.

He rang The Elms to speak to Bobby, only to be told that she had gone home for the afternoon.

He tried her home number but there was no answer and he didn’t have a mobile number.

He had one last resort. He scanned the addresses on his mobile phone and connected with Caroline Letts. They had been in the same year at medical school, briefly been lovers and parted very good friends. She had never married and currently worked as a child psychiatrist in one of the units in the University of North Staffordshire, Stoke-on-Trent.

She was friendly when he spoke.

‘Goodness, Daniel, it’s been ages. How are you?’

He told her he was fine, asked about her, and then steered the conversation round to Vanda Struel. She listened, without
interruption, before giving her opinion. ‘As I see it your problem is, Daniel, proving it. If the pathologist can’t be certain the child was deliberately smothered you have absolutely no chance. The only way it can ever be brought to court is if you rig up surveillance on the mother and child and actually
see
her deliberately harming the child. And that is fraught with difficulties as some of my colleagues have found to their cost. But if the little girl is dead…’

Dully he told her that the mother might be pregnant again. Again Caroline was sympathetic.

‘Should I let her know of my suspicions? Make her aware that I’m not happy about what happened to Anna-Louise?’

‘Absolutely not,’ she said with conviction. ‘That often escalates the incidents. They are more dangerous when they are suspected. The best thing might be to take the grandmother into your confidence and get her to act as your “spy”. Or at least,’ she added, ‘advise the grandmother to supervise and visit her daughter often and not to be afraid to speak to you if she is at all worried. Give her an open understanding, Daniel, take her into your confidence.’

‘I have already,’ he said, ‘to some degree.’

‘Well then – you can but hope that she can protect this second child. And if there are any suspicious illnesses in the new baby it might have to be made a Ward of Court – taken into care and only see the mother under supervision. It’s the only way of protecting vulnerable infants.’

It didn’t help him much. He made a loose arrangement to take Caroline out to dinner, knowing as he put the phone down that it probably wouldn’t ever lead to a definite date.

What was wrong with him, he thought crossly, wanting a woman who was unavailable and rejecting two perfectly
eligible women? He felt irritated with himself and meeting Lucy Satchel in the reception area didn’t do anything to make him feel better. Her smile was very tight and false. ‘Well, Dan,’ she said coolly, ‘so your little slip up with Maud Allen has borne unexpected fruit.’

He didn’t like the acid tone in her voice.

‘Yes, it was unexpected,’ he said. ‘I was absolutely flabbergasted.’

Her eyebrows lifted. ‘Really?’

He was well aware that to have pressed home the point would have appeared like the protestation of a guilty man. But what did she really think he’d done? Driven the old woman to suicide? Surely not. He muttered something non-committal and left it at that but it registered that she didn’t even make an effort to extend her congratulations.

It had been an eventful day. The weather was clear and chilly. Wearily he decided to leave his car at the surgery and walk home. Mistakenly he thought that the walk would do him good.

It was not to be.

Halfway up the High Street he saw Claudine sitting in the passenger seat of their car. Bethan was in the back, waving at him madly. He could have sworn Claudine had seen him too but she carried on staring straight ahead. He rapped on the window and Claudine turned to face him, a look of complete fear making her look like a character out of a horror movie, both her mouth and eyes wide open. He felt a tap on his shoulder and knew who it was before he turned around. ‘Stay away from my wife,
Doctor
Gregory.’