'I can tell you who Deacey is; he's Derek Simmers, the consultant.
It's his nickname, you see. He rarely goes by his Christian name; since his schooldays that's what all his friends have called him.'
'Then we'd better talk to him again, Brian,' said Pringle, emphatically.
'Two could be coincidence, three looks like conspiracy. I think we should try to have this guy suspended while we check back through his time at the hospital.'
'Just hold on there,' Mcllhenney exploded. 'This man's in charge of my wife's treatment. She has confidence in him, and she's making good progress; take him out of it and God knows what could happen.'
'If he's killing people,' the gruff superintendent countered, 'he needs to be taken out.'
'Killing them! He's doing his fucking best to save their lives, you fucking idiot!' Neil was on his feet, looming over Pringle. The divisional CID head was a formidable man in his own right, but wisely he stayed glued to his seat and looked across the desk in an appeal for help.
'Easy, sergeant, easy,' said Skinner, gently. He stood and took his assistant by the arm, pulling him gently towards the door. 'Come on, let's you and I step into the corridor for a bit.' Mcllhenney was still shaking with rage and tension, but he nodded and followed him outside.
'Just calm down now; get a hold of yourself,' said the DCC, when they were alone. 'Superintendent Pringle doesn't exactly wear jackboots, but he's old school nonetheless. You know that. Christ, you should; you're a younger version of him. If you weren't so involved in this personally, you'd probably have agreed with him.'
Mcllhenney leaned back against the wall, his eyes closed, breathing slowly to steady himself. 'Maybe before, boss,' he said hoarsely, 'but not now. Not now.' As he finished speaking, his voice cracked, his chin dropped on to his chest, and he started to sob, helplessly. As Skinner looked at him, he thought that it was one of the most shocking things he had ever seen, and one of the saddest.
'Neil, let's go along to your office.' He took the burly, thickset man by the elbow and led him the short distance along the corridor to his small room. 'Just sit in here by yourself, for as long as you need.'
'I'm sorry, boss, for losing it,' the sergeant whispered, beginning to recover himself. 'It's just so fucking hard to handle, that's all.'
'I know, pal. I know. Listen, don't worry about what Clan said back there. That's not going to happen. We're going to have to look into this, you know that, but it'll be done very carefully, and no one will rush into anything. I promise you that. You just stay here for a bit, now.'
Mcllhenney nodded. 'Yes, sir. Give my apologies to Mr Pringle, will you.'
'Like hell I will,' the DCC retorted. 'He was being a fucking idiot.'
He closed the door on his assistant and returned to his own office.
He looked at Pringle as he resumed his seat beside the window. 'Brain first, mouth second, Clan.'
'Aye, sir, I'm sorry, I wasnae thinking at all.'
'Okay, let me do some of that for you. Brian, when you saw Nolan Weston, you mentioned the name Deacey, didn't you?'
'Yes, sir, we did. He didn't react at all.' He pursed his lips for a second, then added, slowly. 'And they're pretty close colleagues, so-'
'Exactly: the name must have meant something to him. Before you do anything else, I want you to re-interview him, and find out what he can tell you about Deacey Simmers.' He glanced at Pringle again, with a faint smile. 'But gently, Clan, okay?'
'Don't worry, sir,' the superintendent replied. 'I'll kiss his you know what, if I have to.' He paused.
'Going on from what Brian was saying, there's another thing someone didn't say that might be significant. When the boy Steele and I interviewed Simmers, up at the hospital, he never once asked us what we were on about. A detective superintendent and a sergeant turn up to ask him about the death of one of his patients, yet he didn't ask us why. In the light of everything, boss, does that no' strike you as odd?'
Skinner frowned. 'I wish I could say no, for Olive and Neil's sakes, but I have to agree with you; it certainly does.'
84
'Of course I know who Deacey is, Superintendent Mackie. When you asked for this meeting at my home rather than in my office at the Western, I guessed that you'd worked it out too.'
Nolan Weston smiled softly across the conservatory at the two detectives. The last of autumn had gone from the garden outside, save for a few wet, brown leaves which clung on to the skeletal branches of the trees.
'So why didn't you save us the trouble of finding out?' asked Pringle. He was about to add, 'After all, this is a fucking murder inquiry!' until, just in time he remembered his promise to Skinner.
The surgeon's expression changed in an instant to one of contrition.
How controlled he is, thought Mackie. How much tougher than Simmers.
'I can only say I'm sorry about that. I'm afraid that at the time I decided that the tragedy ofGaynor's death had touched enough of us, and that I would keep it away from Deacey's door.'
'Did it occur to you that Mr Simmers might be that "third arrow" your wife mentioned?' the younger detective asked.
'Not for a moment, or I doubt if I'd have brought it up. We go back a long way, Deacey, Gaynor and I. We were at university together, a typical triumvirate of friends. Gay and I got engaged when we graduated, and married shortly afterwards; Deacey went off to England to do his internship, then he did some post-grad study in an oncology centre in Canada.
'We didn't have any contact, apart from Christmas cards, until he was appointed a consultant at the Western General.'
'Were you surprised by the idea that your former wife and Mr Simmers might be having a relationship?'
'You still haven't shown me that they were, superintendent. If that was the case then yes, I'd be mildly surprised. Yes, they were great friends as students, but their relationship was always on that level.
Deacey and I weren't rivals for her hand, or anything like that.
'However I suppose they might have been having an affair; if they were it'd have been entirely their own business, since they were both single. But if you were to ask me, I'd say that it was more likely that Deacey would be someone she'd turn to in time of need.'
'To help her end her life?' Pringle asked, in a voice which was for him, surprisingly soft.
Professor Weston frowned and rubbed the top of his bald head, anxiously. 'No, no, no: that wasn't what I was implying at all. Deacey Simmers is a very special man; he's a great friend in time of crisis. He is also a very gifted physician. She may well have gone to him for a second opinion, before deciding on her course of action.'
'Wouldn't he have needed your case notes if she had done that?'
'If Gay had described the situation as I explained it to her, and considering that I was involved, he wouldn't have needed them. There was no alternative prognosis.'
'In your opinion,' asked Mackie, 'once Mrs Weston had decided on her course of action, as you put it, might Mr Simmers have been so good a friend that he decided to help her through with it?'
Nolan Weston looked him in the eye. 'Ever heard of the Hippocratic Oath, superintendent?'
'Yes, but that's not an answer.'
'It's the only one I could possibly give you. I can only examine my own conscience, no one else's. I've already told you what I believe I would have done if she had come to me.'
'When we saw Raymond at your house, he denied any knowledge of the name Deacey. Was he lying to us?'
'No. I doubt if they've ever met.' He frowned at Mackie. 'Look, go easy on my son, gentlemen, please. He told me about his interview with you, about the cannabis and the sedatives which he took from my personal supply. I hold myself responsible for that to an extent. While Avril's been pregnant I've been taking them to help me sleep. I mentioned that to Ray, and he did something very stupid as a result. I assure you that will not happen again.'