She looked up and across at me. ‘They’re taking it all,’ she said, ‘everything. Thieving from me. They want my soul, you know. And poison. They give me poison.’
‘Lily…’ I wanted to comfort her but the step I took made her flinch.
‘Go away!’ she cried. ‘Don’t you touch me!’
I swallowed, my throat tight. ‘Bye-bye, Lily. I’ll get the nurse. I’ll try and bring Agnes next time.’
She hid her face in the crook of her arm.
In the dayroom the nurse was just wiping the patient’s face ‘I’ve not forgotten,’ she said cheerily. I waited till she went through to the bedroom.
‘Now, Lily…’
I left her to it.
Preoccupied, I reversed out of the parking space. A loud horn blasted. I slammed my foot on the brake, narrowly missing the Audi behind me. The driver glared at me. I shrugged, though my heart was batting and a sheen of sweat had erupted all over my body. I moved back in and let him go past.
Driving home I let my thoughts clatter against each other, not trying to concentrate on anything in particular.
Nora was Agnes’ sister and she’d been taken into Kingsfield. Was she still there? Didn’t Agnes ever visit? Was guilt the reason for her aversion to going to the hospital? Or had Nora gone long ago? Was it simply memories of bad times that made Kingsfield such a daunting prospect? ‘We don’t talk about Nora,’ Lily had said, ‘terrible business.’ What had she done? Was Lily referring to the stigma of mental illness or was there something else?
Lily herself was in a bad way: fearful and anxious, and muttering all that stuff about poison – common delusion Mrs Knight had said. Like the stealing. ‘They’re taking it all,’ she’d said. Diane thought I should check her will, must ask Agnes about that. What had Charles found out about her assessment? How were they treating her? Would she stay there?
The road was snarled up with traffic heading up Princess Parkway towards the city. Half the cars sported blue and white scarves. Football. City were playing at home. Diane could watch the match from her bedroom window if she’d wanted to. Her neighbours round the corner were less fortunate, the massive new stand the club had bought not only deprived them of any view but cut off their TV reception for most of the year and rendered their homes impossible to sell. The whole street were seeking compensation.
What was I doing? Saturday afternoon in a traffic jam, shaken up by a visit to a stranger with Alzheimer’s. I was here for the money, yes, but the case was becoming absurd. My client was lying to me, and there probably was no case, just an unfortunate set of circumstances.
I felt a surge of anger towards Agnes. I couldn’t do a good job without her co-operation. I didn’t need excuses and half-truths. By the time I reached my office I’d rehearsed what I wanted to say to Agnes. First, I knew her sister, Nora, had been a patient at Kingsfield. If that meant she couldn’t bring herself to visit her friend Lily then so be it. As for me, I was a private investigator not a hospital visitor.
Secondly, as far as I could see Lily was pretty ill and Agnes would have to work with Charles, next of kin and all that, to press for the best available care.
Third and finally, there was little else I could usefully do other than report back on the analysis of the tablets. Once we’d got the results we’d know if there had been any malpractice by Goulden or Homelea. But for the present Agnes needed to concentrate on making Lily’s remaining time as comfortable as possible. The case was practically over.
In the office I intended to jot it all down and work out a provisional bill. It was possible there’d be bad feeling between us and I wanted to make sure Agnes had a report of exactly what work I’d done and my conclusions. Formal and professional in case things got messy.
Best laid plans.
The answerphone was blinking. I realised I’d not taken any messages for a while. I hadn’t been in the office since Wednesday, apart from calling in for the negatives with the police, and I hadn’t been in a position then to attend to the mundane.
I found pen and pad and pressed play.
Click. ‘Sal, it’s Rachel. I’ve lost my diary with your home number in. It is such a drag, I hate losing my diary. So that’s why I’m ringing you at work. It’s nine o’clock now and I should be in the rest of the morning if you can ring me back. It’s about someone I know who’s looking for a place to stay. She’s just started in our office and she’s kipping at her cousin’s in Sale at the moment. I thought of you, don’t know if you’ve got anyone yet. Anyway, give me a ring. Bye.’ Click. Beep.
Click. ‘It’s Jimmy Achebe.’ I felt the hairs lift on the nape of my neck, the skin on my face tighten. ‘I know I still owe you for the job. I haven’t forgotten. Erm…I’ll try and drop it in later this week. Erm…right then. That’s it.’ Click. Beep.’ I pressed pause. My head buzzing with confusion. When had he rung? When had Rachel rung? I was pretty sure I’d cleared my messages on Wednesday. Had the light been blinking when I’d come here with the police on Friday? Tina had been found on Thursday. Surely the last thing a murderer would do would be to ring round settling outstanding bills. Or was that exemplary psychopathic behaviour? No, he must have rung before it all happened. Or maybe the machine had had one of its funny turns and had not shown there were messages waiting on Wednesday.
I pressed play.
Click. ‘Sal, Rachel again. Sorry, something’s just come up and I’ve got to go out It’s what…half-nine nearly and this will probably take me a couple of hours at least so you can try me after twelve, I should be back then. Bye.’ Click. Beep.
Click. Beep. Whirr. Someone who didn’t like leaving messages. Click. Beep. Whirr. And another.
I reset the machine and cleared my desk.
I’d told Jimmy about Tina on Thursday, the twenty-fourth of February. Exactly a week later she’d died. In the time between had Jimmy been wound up to breaking point, his fury and rage growing till it erupted in such terrible violence, or had he planned her death with ice-cold vengeance?
His message seemed utterly trivial now set against the tragedy he was involved in. I didn’t expect I’d ever hear from him again.
I thought back to our last meeting. His hands trembling as he took the photo, the tension in his body, eyes bright with anger. Was there anything I could have said that would have made a difference?
At home I made myself an omelette and ate it while Maddie talked me through her latest set of drawings. I put off ringing Agnes. Tomorrow.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Maddie and I got ready for a trip to the park. There was a nip in the air and the clouds were scudding along at a fair old rate so I gathered up gloves, scarves and hats. Maddie got her bike out. I stuffed crisps and apples into my duffel bag. Digger followed me about, desperate to be included. I don’t often take him out, there’s not a lot of love lost between us and Ray is happy to do all the dog chores, but I’d no excuse for not letting him join our jaunt. First, though, I let him out into the front garden where he could relieve himself shielded from view by thick privet hedges. Since Digger had moved in the front garden had become his toilet area. We never used it for anything else anyway, too gloomy.
We picked our way round dog dirt all the way to the park, me cursing all the thoughtless dog owners and shouting warnings to Maddie. I let Digger off on the football pitch and he chased demons for all he was worth. Tearing here and there, swerving and changing direction. Maddie pedalled along the path ringing her bell.
We progressed slowly round the park, taking in the dilapidated duck pond with its flooded shores and crumpled railings, the children’s play area, the bowling green, the rose garden and the bit we call the wild wood. Here we stopped by a bench and had our picnic, throwing titbits to the squirrels. One was brave enough to take food from our hands. We made it home without an argument.