The eleventh grave, p.19
The Eleventh Grave, page 19
‘That’s her, right?’ Mark murmured, slowing his pace.
‘Yes, Marion’s her name,’ said West. ‘She’s worked for a local chemical sales company since finishing her degree, and said she’s planning to move back into the area now that she’s paid off her uni debts.’
‘Where does she live at the moment?’
‘Thatcham – she commutes here every day.’
The young woman looked up at the sound of their footsteps, frowned, then her shoulders sagged and she tucked the phone away. ‘You must be the detectives, right?’
West smiled. ‘Thanks for seeing us at short notice. I’m DC Jan West, this is DS Mark Turpin. Did you want to talk here, or…?’
‘Not really.’ Marion glanced over her shoulder. ‘I thought it might be quieter by now, but…’
‘We could go for a walk,’ said Mark. ‘The castle gardens are open, and probably not too busy at the moment. Sound good?’
Marion nodded. ‘Let’s go. I’ve got forty-five minutes until my next meeting and my car’s parked over there anyway.’
She set off, her shoulders slightly hunched as Mark and West followed. She was clearly unwilling to talk on the way, and instead waited until they were through the castle’s public entrance and following a meandering path alongside a budding shrubbery.
Pausing beside a wooden bench, she stopped and turned, her arms crossed. ‘Okay, what did you want to ask me that we couldn’t deal with over the phone?’
‘Tell us about your mother’s reluctance to sell the airfield site,’ said Mark.
Marion rolled her eyes. ‘Honestly, I think that place was the single thing that caused friction in our relationship with Mum – I’m including Ellie in that, because she’d suggested to Mum early last year that she sell the place. She hadn’t even visited it for nearly eighteen months.’
‘Why did she keep the land?’
‘I don’t know,’ Marion sighed. She sank onto the wooden bench and gazed at the lush green turf that lined the opposite side of the path before it abutted the castle’s thick stone wall. ‘For years, she told us it was because it had always been in the family – she was proud of its history, and she used to tell us stories about some of the aircraft that flew from there during the war. When we were little, she used to take us there for picnics and things and we’d muck about in the old buildings.’ She frowned. ‘That all changed about six years ago.’
‘Why?’
‘Apparently, she’d received some advice that said the buildings were dangerous, and she said we weren’t to go to the site anymore. Not without her, anyway.’
‘Did you go back there with her?’
‘No. The first time I went back was when Barry Windlesham approached us via our solicitor with an offer to buy the land in January. Ellie and I met with a surveyor who helped us understand how much the place was worth, and we had a wander around with him then. Barry bought the land soon after, so I haven’t been back since.’
Mark waited while West updated her notes, then turned his attention back to Marion. ‘How did news of the sale go down with the villagers?’
She wrinkled her nose, then shaded her eyes as she peered at him. ‘Some of them weren’t impressed. I suppose they were used to it being abandoned, and were worried what Barry was going to do to the place. There were one or two threats––’
‘Threats?’ West’s eyebrows shot up. ‘From who?’
‘Not sure.’ Marion shrugged. ‘Ellie’s car got scratched with a key or something when we were clearing out Mum’s house, and someone put a note through the door saying we should reconsider – although it was a bit more pointed than that, and given I was living there for a couple of weeks on my own while we sold the furniture I was worried for a while, but nothing came of it. I suppose once the wheels got rolling on the sale, whoever it was doing that realised it was out of our control. We’d kept the whole thing quiet until the last minute anyway. I think we anticipated some sort of stink about the sale, but I think if it had dragged out, things might’ve taken a turn for the worse.’
‘What makes you say that?’ said Mark. ‘Did the threats increase?’
‘Not exactly.’ Marion shivered. ‘I just got the impression in the last few days that I was being watched all the time. When I was at the house, I mean. I couldn’t wait to leave.’
‘You mentioned on the phone to me that your mother worked as an anaesthetist,’ said West. ‘When did she retire?’
‘Last year.’
‘Forgive me for being rude,’ said West, ‘but how old was your mother when she retired?’
‘Fifty-two. She had the airfield of course, and some good investments that Dad put into place before he passed away when I was eighteen – he had lung cancer – so she said taking early retirement suited her,’ said Marion. ‘Mind you, Ellie and I were surprised.’
‘Why?’ said Mark.
‘Because she’d never mentioned it up until the week it happened. One minute she was working all hours and I barely saw her when I was home from university, and the next she had stopped.’
‘What did she get up to after she retired?’ said West. ‘Did she have any interests or social groups she belonged to?’
Marion looked baffled. ‘Come to think of it, she didn’t do anything when she first retired. I mean, I’d have thought most people in her financial position would’ve taken a holiday or something, travelled the world or done a cruise, but… no, she didn’t. Whenever I asked what she was doing or how she was spending her free time, she simply changed the subject. I figured she was just embarrassed that she’d gone from having a busy career to nothing in the space of a short time and that it’d take a little while for her to adjust.’
‘And did she? Adjust, I mean,’ said Mark.
‘No, not as far as I’m aware. I mean, she was an incredibly clever woman so Ellie and I couldn’t understand why she didn’t put up a fight about the early retirement – or look for consulting work elsewhere. I mean, she could’ve written a book with all the knowledge she’d gained over the years, but even that idea didn’t interest her.’
‘Where did she work before she retired?’
‘Her last role was at that private hospital the other side of Didcot, the one––’
‘I know it,’ said West, closing her notebook and turning to Mark. ‘Sarge, I have an idea.’
‘So do I,’ he said, handing over a business card to Marion. ‘Thanks for your time. That’s my direct number. If you think of anything else about the airfield, could you let me know?’
‘Okay.’ She waited until they were a few paces away before calling after them. ‘My mother was a good person, detective. She saved a lot of lives.’
CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE
Mark’s first impression of the private hospital where Sofia Cartney-Bowler had worked was that it was either doing a brisk trade, or had several generous benefactors.
Maybe both.
Located a few miles north of Ravenswood airfield, it had once been a Georgian manor house, with sandstone columns each side of the enormous oak front door framed by a decorative fan of glass above it that was etched with leaves.
The old stable buildings on each side of the main house looked as if they had been converted into offices and outpatient clinics, and the gardens were enclosed within privet hedges that shielded the clientele from prying eyes while they relaxed with visitors or convalesced in quiet groups.
The front door was open, and as Mark hurried through it after West, he saw that the original entrance hall had been converted into a welcoming reception area for patients and their family members. There was an elongated staircase that swept upwards from the chequered floor tiles on the left of the hall and led to an open landing, and Mark could see several works of art on the panelled wall beyond the balustrade and guessed that – unlike the bucolic prints that lined the walls of many hospitals – these were, in fact, original.
A man was working at a computer behind the reception desk and peered over it, his eyes curious. ‘Can I help you? Visiting hours have nearly finished until this evening.’
Mark flashed his warrant card. ‘We’d like a word with James Rasper please.’
The man’s eyebrows shot upwards. ‘I’m sorry, but as our CEO Dr Rasper is a very busy man – he’s chairing a meeting with our trustees in the morning and is currently preparing for that. You can’t just turn up expecting to speak with him. That’s just not possible.’
West leaned on the counter and glared at him. ‘We can speak to him here, or take him back to the police station. Up to you.’
The man swallowed before he pointed at a sofa that had been placed on the far side of the hall, and reached for his phone. ‘Take a seat. I’ll have to see what I can do.’
‘Thanks.’
She winked at Mark and led the way over to the sofa, both of them choosing to remain standing rather than take up the receptionist’s offer.
After ten minutes, Mark had read through all the glossy brochures about the private hospital and was about to march back to the reception desk when footsteps at the top of the stairs caught his attention.
He looked up to see a man in his early sixties descending, buttoning his jacket and wearing a harried expression. The man cast his gaze around the hall, seemed relieved nobody else was in sight apart from the receptionist who stared at them with ill-disguised interest, and hurried over.
‘Detectives, I’m James Rasper. I believe you’ve already been informed how busy I am today. A phone call would’ve been much better for me.’
‘But not for us,’ said Mark, holding out his warrant card. ‘And not in the circumstances. We need to talk to you about Sofia Cartney-Bowler.’
Rasper stiffened. ‘She hasn’t worked for us for over a year.’
‘We’re aware of that. We’re interested in finding out why she retired early from a role she was clearly committed to.’ Mark looked around at the ornate surroundings and spread his hands expansively. ‘Especially from such an exclusive place as this.’
‘Come with me,’ said Rasper, glancing over his shoulder. ‘We can talk in one of the consulting rooms.’
Mark nodded to the clearly disappointed receptionist as they followed the CEO out of the hallway and along a corridor to a room that had a vaulted ceiling and bespoke bookshelves. There was a mahogany table over in one corner and four chairs, and Rasper pulled out one for West.
‘This used to be the library when this was still a manor house,’ he said. ‘We use this and the old dining room next door for consulting rooms.’
Mark waited until the doctor was sitting in a chair opposite West. ‘How long have you worked here?’
‘About fifteen years.’ Rasper’s chest expanded. ‘I started as one of their leading cardio specialists, rather than carrying out surgery. I’ve been CEO for the past four years.’
‘Was Mrs Cartney-Bowler here when you started?’
‘No, Sofia came on board about twelve years ago. She’d previously worked at a large private hospital in London but said she wanted a quieter life for her daughters. They were nearly teenagers back then, and I think she was worried about the sort of crowd they’d started hanging around with and wanted to move them out of the city.’
‘Did you interview her?’
‘I was one of a panel of three who interviewed her for the role, yes.’
‘What were your impressions of Sofia over the years?’
‘She was a very capable anaesthetist, and extremely good at calming nervous patients.’ Rasper drummed his fingers on the table, his gaze moving to a spot over Mark’s right shoulder as he spoke. ‘She was dependable, and often helped train new members of staff, as well as sitting on different committees over the years that helped shape what the hospital is today.’
‘When did it all go wrong?’ said Mark.
The finger drumming stopped, and Rasper’s Adam’s apple bobbed in his throat. ‘Pardon?’
‘Something went wrong here, didn’t it?’ Mark repeated. ‘Someone of Sofia’s calibre doesn’t suddenly decide they want to retire. Not when they have no interests outside of work. So, what happened?’
‘I-I…’
‘Must’ve been pretty bad,’ said West, relaxing in her seat while Rasper squirmed. ‘But also managed internally by the trustees, because we haven’t found anything in the news reports from last year.’
‘If it was that bad, the General Medical Council would’ve carried out an investigation,’ Mark added. ‘Unless it wasn’t reported to them. Unless it was covered up.’
‘Look here,’ said Rasper. He clasped his hands on the table and cleared his throat. ‘Yes, it’s true that we had to ask Sofia to take early retirement afterwards. But it was an accident, I can assure you.’
‘Can you?’ Mark pulled out one of the chairs from under the table, dragged it closer to Rasper and sat. ‘What happened?’
‘Please bear in mind that she was one of our top staff members. Very professional. Dependable, great with patients––’
‘What happened?’ Mark repeated.
‘It was the last operation of the day, one that she and the operating team had carried out many times before… They had had a long day because of a complicated hysterectomy that had been scheduled for the afternoon… Anyway, a problem arose during the final surgery, and – for whatever reason – maybe she was tired, Sofia… God, it pains me to say this. From what we can gather, while the patient and his donor were anaesthetised and the surgery was underway, she… she adjusted the dosage, and the patient’s donor died.’
‘She killed him with an overdose, you mean?’
‘Yes.’ Rasper looked miserable. ‘For someone of her calibre to make such a fundamental error…’
‘I don’t recall this being raised with us as a formal enquiry,’ said West. ‘Was it reported?’
Rasper’s face flushed crimson. ‘We discussed it with the donor’s family. They’re overseas – he flew in especially for the donor process. They’re rather well-to-do, so rather than have the British media all over the story, they opted for a significant compensation payout instead. And, of course, Sofia’s immediate dismissal.’
‘What sort of operation was it?’ said Mark. ‘You mentioned a living donor.’
‘A kidney transplant. They’re quite popular with our overseas clients.’
‘What happened to the patient who received the donor kidney?’
‘Oh,’ said Rasper, leaning back in his chair with a look of relief. ‘He made a full recovery. He’s back at work in… the country where he resides… and leading a full and healthy life. Of course, he’ll be on medication for the rest of it, but––’
‘At least he can afford it,’ West finished.
‘Who was the surgeon that carried out the operation?’ said Mark.
‘Dale McArthur. He was one of our most esteemed staff members.’
‘Was? Has he retired as well?’
‘No. Sadly, Mr McArthur was killed in a hit and run accident near his home in Aylesbury last September. They still haven’t caught the driver.’
CHAPTER FORTY
The rest of the investigative team were already huddled around the whiteboard when Jan and Turpin walked back into the incident room.
Twenty or so heads turned to watch them while they hurried over and found seats, and as Jan scanned the updating bullet points that Kennedy had scrawled within the past fifteen minutes, she realised there had been some sort of breakthrough.
‘Apologies, guv,’ said Turpin. ‘We got caught in traffic after interviewing the schoolkids who had the video once we’d completed the interview at the private hospital.’
‘Any luck with that?’
‘Yes, they’ve managed to get clear images of Barry Windlesham walking along the track towards the bridge, followed a few moments later by another man, about six foot two and wearing a dark coloured jacket and jeans.’ Turpin pulled out a USB drive from his pocket. ‘It’s a copy of the video the boys took.’
‘Give it here.’ Kennedy took it and plugged it into his laptop, spinning the screen around to face the team before pressing “play”.
There was some shaky camerawork and a lot of laughter as the two teenagers hared around the track and surrounding scrubland that fringed the fields, but then they paused, pulling the bikes over to one side while the phone continued recording.
‘Thanks,’ they heard a voice say, and then Barry Windlesham hurried past, his hands shoved into his jacket pockets and his head down. He glanced over his shoulder a few metres from the boys, then picked up his pace and followed the fork in the track that led to the bridge.
Moments later, a second man passed the boys, ignoring their antics while he hurried in the same direction as Windlesham. At that point, the boys took off once more, heading for the top of the track near the village before turning around to face the river again. Here, they paused for a drink of water from bottles they pulled from their backpacks, all the while debating what to do next while the video continued to record.
Jan thought she heard a muffled crack in the distance, but couldn’t be sure, and the boys didn’t comment on it either.
And then, ambling along as if he had all the time in the world, the man in the jacket and jeans returned, his shoulders hunched as he walked up the track towards the boys.
He said nothing as he passed, although she heard a noncommittal “all right?” from one of them, and then the image shook as the teenagers set off again.
‘Got you.’ Kennedy reached out, rewound the recording, and froze it on the man’s face before looking over his shoulder at them. ‘Anyone recognise him?’
His question was met with muttered responses, none of which were helpful.
‘All right – get this image circulated throughout the division and we’ll see if anyone else does. Anything else? How did you and Jan get on at the private hospital, Mark?’
Jan listened while Turpin updated the team about their conversation with Sofia Cartney-Bowler’s employer.
‘It might be the case that the surgeon who carried out the operation was also murdered,’ he finished, ‘so you might want to bring our counterparts in Aylesbury into the loop, guv. We might be able to share information with them.’
