Episode 9 - The cocktail

Gary remembered Daphne telling him that another young woman had been missing for about a year. He knew of no report that Bertie Browne would surely have made if an employee simply disappeared with no explanation given. Although chasing missing persons was not the job of the homicide department, he would have known if Bertie had made a fuss.

Mentioning the missing receptionist now would be a good way of starting an interview with Maureen, Gary decided. If she were forthcoming about the colleague, it might persuade her to come clean on any event or activity at the Gazette office, and that could lead to her telling him and Greg what had happened to her.

***

“I’d like to visit Maureen Bishop,” said Gary, showing his identity card on arrival at the hospital. Greg had organized a single room for Maureen with the ward sister, so Gary was rewarded with an appreciative smile when he produced his identity badge. Greg was relieved that Gary was not leaving him to grapple with the case on his own, though being head of homicide it was officially his case. A superintendent normally oversaw what was happening and left it to his juniors to get to grips with the evidence while guiding them discretely. But Greg knew that the case was special because of Dorothy’s initial involvement, so he left Gary to do the talking.

The young woman looked washed out. She did not seem to have recovered from her ordeal, whatever it might have entailed.

“I can’t talk now. I’m ill,” she said when Gary told her who he was.

“I can see that,” said Gary, “but I must ask you about the colleague who went missing a year ago, Miss Bishop.”

“Has Daphne been gossiping?”

“She mentioned someone leaving without giving notice.”

“I know who she meant,” said Maureen. “Reenie isn’t missing. She just went away with a friend. We got a postcard from Italy. Didn’t Daphne tell you that?”

“No. We didn’t discuss Reenie, Miss Bishop.”

“You can call me Maureen. Everyone else does.”

“OK Maureen. What was the colleague’s real name and who did she go to Italy with?”

“We called her Reenie but it’s really Irene. She went to Italy with her Italian boyfriend.” Maureen hesitated before adding “Well, I think he was Italian.”

“Why do you only think that, Maureen?”

“He worked at that Italian place.”

“Romano’s?”

“That’s right.”

“People from abroad do work there,” said Gary. “What was his name?”

“I don’t remember, but it was not English.”

Gary thought a visit to Romano’s bistro should be next. Had Irene’s friend also just left without handing in his notice? Had they gone away together? Had they come back? If so, did he know where they were?

“What’s Irene’s surname?”

“Smith. Irene Smith.”

“So you got a postcard a week later from Irene Smith and never heard from her again. Is that right?”

“Yes. I thought she was my friend. Some friend!”

“It upset you that your friend left without telling you, didn’t it, Maureen?”

“Yes, though Irene had some strange ideas in those days.”

“Such as?”

“She wanted to get into the films. I thought that was silly, but now I know better.”

“Do you think she went to Italy to get into films?”

“I don’t know.”

“Let’s talk about the man you went to Mr Fish’s house with,” said Gary.

“Olaf was Mr Fish’s assistant – a sort of private secretary. He was quite new when Irene went away. I think she fancied him, but he always fancied me.”

“Not Daphne?”

“Not his type,” said Maureen.

“So you knew about Mr Fish’s house, didn’t you?” said Gary.

“I knew he was quite rich. He was very kind to me.”

“Did he gove you mmoney, Maureen?”

“He helped me out.”

Gary would have liked to ask her to describe Olaf’s type, but since Maureen had said he fancied her, he thought better of it.

“Did anyone else  pay you, Maureen?”

“Olaf didn’t pay me. There was nothing to pay for, but he sometimes helped me out.”

“What did he pay you for?”

Maureen became belligerent quite suddenly, as if she was starting to get suspicious of the questioning.

“I told you. Olaf didn’t pay me. He helped me out.”

Did Maureen really believe what she was saying?

“I expect he gave you some pound notes for helping out at the Gazette,” said Greg, now wondering what sort of a woman Maureen was. She was making it very arduous for Gary to extract any information that was of use, but mentioning Irene was possibly going in the right direction.

“Oh no! I was glad to pass on the names of my friends if I knew they wanted to get into films. My friends gave me something for helping them. Olaf put the money he gave me into my post-office savings account so that I could use it as I needed it.”

It would be easy to trace those payments, thought Gary. Maureen seemed to have a little business of her own going on if friends gave her money for providing what she told them as connections to the film industry. Gary concluded that Maureen was clearly on the make and would have thought that going to Fish’s house would somehow be productive.

“Why did my colleagues find you Fish’s house on the Oxford Road yesterday?” Gary said. “What were you doing there?”

“Visiting.”

“Do you want whatever happened to you to happen again, Maureen?”

“No, but what happened?”

“Don’t you know?”

“No.”

“I could ask Ivan. That’s the barman. He and Olaf are friends.”

“I don’t want you to ask anybody anything, Maureen.”

“Ivan is not in films and Olaf is my good friend.”

“Only a good friend?”

“We never what’s it, if that’s what you mean,” said Maureen. “We didn’t date properly.”

“Wasn’t going to the house with Olaf already a date?”

“Sort of. He wanted to check on everything. He organizes the film auditions, but he knew I didn’t want to do one, although I’d like to be a star one day,” said Maureen, now starry-eyed in total contradiction to what she had just said. “We had a couple of drinks then he went to see to something and I got to know Ivan a bit better. He’s nice, too. But then I came over all funny. I don’t remember what happened after that, but someone must have put me to bed.”

“How do you mean, funny?”

“Sleepy and dizzy. I could not keep my eyes open.”

“What had you drunk?”

“Only rum and coke,” said Maureen. “I always drink that and it doesn’t normally do that to me. Ivan is a good barman. He knows how to mix a cocktail so he might have put more alcohol in to cure my migraine.”

“So you had a headache, did you?”

“Yes. But Olaf said his cocktails were good for headaches.”

Gary wondered if young women suspended reality when an attractive guy took an apparent interest in them. He pursued the topic of cocktails.

“There must have been something in it, Maureen.”

“What?”

“Something to make you feel funny and sleepy.”

Maureen was shocked.

“Who would do that and why would I need to sleep at eight o’clock in the evening?”

Gary doubted Maureen’s ability to think straight in any circumstances. Why did Bertie Browne keep her on as receptionist? Surely he must have noticed her shortcomings.

“That would be on Wednesday,” said Gary. “Do you know what you did between drinking the rum and coke and being found by my colleagues?”

“No, but I was wearing different things to my normal clothes.”

Gary and Greg exchanged glances. Maureen was either extremely dumb or extremely gullible. She had presumably been rendered unconscious and treated in a comatose state to sexual abuse. Chris had mentioned the transparency of her expensive and impractical undergarments.

“Were you examined properly here, Maureen?”

“What do you mean by that?”

There was no going back now.

“Examined for signs of sexual contact or abuse while you were asleep, Maureen. Bruising and even internal injuries.”

“That’s horrible,” said Maureen.

“But possible. Do you have pains …below the belt?” said Gary, now seriously lost for a way to question the woman tactfully. A policewoman would know how to handle the situation.

Maureen nodded.

“Have you told anyone about the pains?”

“No. I thought … but…”

Tears rolled down Maureen’s cheeks as she realized that she had been framed. She had heard one or two similar stories, but never believed them.

Gary and Greg exchanged whispers about the observation skills of the ward sister. She was cool and officious. Maureen would be in awe of her and not complain. Since the nurse came in at that moment, Gary decided to question her.

“Have you attended to Miss Bishop properly?” he said.

“What do you mean?” said the ward sister in a snappy voice.

“She has pain in the lower part of her body. She has probably been assaulted and needs medical attention,” said Gary.

“She never said anything. I thought she had taken too many ecstasy pills on alcohol and had to sober up.”

“I don’t want to teach you your job, Nurse, but when we have left can you please get a gynaecologist to examine Miss Bishop. I want a report on my desk by six this evening. Is that clear?”

Gary could be very officious, so the ward sister was obliged to pocket his business card. She was now the underling and was cowering.

“I’ll do that,” she said.

“Promise?”

“Of course.”

“And now, give us another five minutes to finish our questioning.”

“Yes.”

The ward sister exited the room backwards.

***

“What was all that about?” said Maureen.

“It’s important for you to be examined, Maureen. You could have caught something or become pregnant without even knowing what happened to you during Wednesday night,” said Greg.

“I’m frightened.”

“That’s why it’s important that you tell us what the connection is between the Gazette office and the house on Oxford Road.”

“I promised not to tell because they don’t want everyone trying to get into films.”

“Just drop a few hints, Maureen. That isn’t telling,” said Greg.

Maureen was obviously unsure, but Greg had made a deep impression on her while she judged Gary to be more difficult to fool.

“I can tell you that they are going to make a blockbuster near here, like ‘Independence Day’,” she said.

“Who are they?” Greg asked.

“The film directors, of course. They are looking for unknown stars of the future.”

In Middlethumpton, thought Gary. In this dead-end of a place that doesn’t even boast a multiplex cinema. He thanked Maureen for her cooperation and left.

Greg stayed on until Mia arrived. Gary and Greg hoped  she could get the young woman to add more details to her tale of woe. Greg would brief Mia. Gary proceeded to Roman’s restaurant.

***

“I wasn’t expecting you,” said Romano, who was in his own eyes and in Gary’s a kindly father figure. The only cloud in the sky was Gloria, Cleo’s mother, who had latched on to Romano and his restaurant and was – as she put it – at last having a life.

“I’m on duty,” said Gary. “I’ll come straight to the point.”

“What is it?” said Romano. “Gloria will be back soon. What has she done?”

“Nothing she doesn~t want to, Roman, bit this time it’s about a guy who left his job in the kitchen about a year ago.

“Are you talking about Giuseppe Nero?” said Romano.

“I think I must be. He had a girlfriend named Irene.”

“Reenie. A nice girl.”

“That’s her,” said Gary.

“Giuseppe’s mother went ill and he took Reenie with him to look after her.”

“So you knew he was going?”

“Yes.”

“Did you expect him back, Romano?”

“Yes, but he didn’t come, Gary. I was sad about that.”

“Did you hear from him again?”

“No, but they told me in the kitchen that he was back. That’s all I know.”

“You’ve been a great help,” said Gary.

“Giuseppe can come back if you find him. He was a good pizza chef.”

“I’ll let you know how I get on.”

“Don’t you want to eat something?” Romano said as Gary got up to leave.

“No time,” said Gary, but Gloria arrived back at that moment and almost forced him to stay and eat the cannelloni left over from the previous evening.

“No, Gloria. You can’t give Gary old food,” said Romano.

“Yes you can, Gloria. I’m in a big hurry,” said Gary. “Not too hot.”

Half an hour later Gary was able to prise himself away, taking a whole deep tray of pasta to warm up at home.

“Say hello to my grandchildren,” said Gloria.

“How about saying hello to them yourself, Gloria? That’s what grandmothers normally do.”

Gary left Gloria smarting from that remark. She’s a grandmother in hell, he decided.

***

Mia eventually prised herself from a drugs case at HQ, leaving Len to deal with the guy they’d picked up. After Greg’s short explanation of the situation, Mia took over. She would see what other information she could get from Maureen and keep him up to date.

“No rota this time,” said Greg.

“Are you sure?”

“No, but Gary is.”

At six p.m. Mia left the hospital. Maureen had not been talkative and had not added anything to what Mia already knew.

At eight, Ivan managed to get past hospital security and paid Maureen a visit.  Since it was shift change-over time, the nursing staff was too busy getting in or out to notice that Ivan got into Maureen’s room.

She was delighted to see him and even more delighted that he had brought her a whole flask of the rum and coke cocktail she loved.

Ivan made a hasty exit without being seen by anyone except an older woman in the corridar. She was probably a cleaner, Ivan decided, smiled at her, and wasted no more tome on her.

***

Ivan had mixed a delicious cocktail. Maureen drank all of it.

This time the dose was fatal.1

***

By five the ward sister in charge of Maureen Bishop had organized a gynaecologist who had confirmed that Maureen had been raped and hurt quite badly. She would be x-rayed next morning and treatment started. She was to be given painkillers.

Maureen had been understandably perturbed at the gynaecologist’s diagnosis and he had been shocked by the story she told him. She wasn’t sure about the pain-killers since someone had told her that they were bad for the skin, but swallowed them anyway – all of them.

The ward sister had informed the Superintendent of the gynaecologist’s medical report on Maurin, supervised supper and written her ward report before going off duty when the night nurse appeared at about seven thirty. There was nothing much to do, so the night nurse first took a break. Her boyfriend had accompanied her to the hospital and was waiting for her. Their meeting would be clandestine, on a hospital garden bench and steamy, but that did not bother either of them.

At about eight thirty the night nurse returned reluctantly to her job, but only looked in on her patients. Some were still in their recreational corner playing cards, one or two were watching TV, and Maureen was asleep.

At ten, the night nurse decided to go round and make sure all the patients were tucked up for the night. Maureen was still in the same position as she had been at eight thirty. Her reading light was on, so the nurse went up to the bed to switch it off her reading light, leaving only the dim nightlight that stayed on until morning.

It was the first time the nurse had encountered a dead patient at night. She wasn’t very brave at the best of times. Her reaction was to scream for help, so she screamed.

It did not take many minutes for a crowd of patients to gather round Maureen’s bed and they refused to go away until something else happened, though they could not have said what.

The had pressed the alarm-button and sent the curious observers away. A few minutes later, paramedics and the A&E doctor on duty arrived and Maureen’s exitus was confirmed. It was decided to send the dead woman to the pathology lab at HQ since there was no pathologist on duty at the hospital and she had died under suspicious circumstances. A phone-call to Chris Winter confirmed that he would be there to receive the corpse. Chris was given the identity of the dead woman. He phoned Greg, and Greg phoned Gary.

“We should have installed a rota,” he said.

“Dead?”

“As a doornail. She’ll be in Chris’s path lab by now,” said Greg. “They could not deal with her at the hospital.”

“They can’t be bothered with unexpected deaths on a Friday night, Chris. Weekend. Understaffed. And neither can I at this moment if the truth be known. I’ll phone Chris and listen to what he has to say. No point in losing a night’s sleep. See you in the morning.”

“Do you want me to go there?” Chris asked.

“We need anything Maureen had on her night table or in her cupbpord.”

“I’ll instruct the staff to put it all in a box for collection,” said Greg.

I’m pretty sure I know who was responsible,” said Gary.

“How can you possibly know?”

“What Maureen said about that barman at Fish’s house might be the clue. She raved about his marvellous cocktails. She was also sure he was keen on her. We’ll need to find out if anyone saw him at the hospital.”

“We should pull him in, just in case,” said Greg.

“Leave him in a sense of false security for a few hours. He won’t go anywhere if he doesn’t think he is a suspect.”

“If the barman was stuck on Maureen, why would he killer her?”

“Even assuming Maureen was not making that up. his first loyalty would be to Ronnie Fish and he would not want to have Maureen spoiling a good setup. We can safely assume that Ivan could have any female he chose in that house and he was most certainly sent to the hospital by Olaf, with whom Maureen telephoned from her hospital bed.”

“You don’t know that either, Gary.”

“We can check that with her phone provider, but I’m pretty sure that’s what she did. Apart from which, paramedics took her from the house. They must have know she was going to the hospital and probably told anyone who asked.”

“We can find them to confirm that,” said Greg.

“Are you volunteering?”

“No problem, Gary. They have rotas and keep records.”

Gary and Greg agreed that it would be pointless trying to interview patients at dead of night so they would meet at seven and talk to the night nurse before she went off duty and then to patients fresh as a daisy waiting for breakfast.

“Instinct tells me we should get there now, Gary.”

“If you think you should, go ahead, Greg. Otherwise I’ll be at the hospital at seven.”

“I’ll talk to that night nurse. It can’t do any harm.”

“You’re right on that, but what about Josie?”

“She’s moved out, Gary. Good thing too. Found a fellow with a bigger car and bettercash flow.”

“I’m glad about that, Greg. See you in the morning.”

It was well after eleven when Gary finally flopped down on the sofa. Cleo had been listening in.

“So what now?” she said. “Don’t you think you should get the hospital?”

“It’s Greg’s case, or I want it to be. Coffee, please, my love, and half an hour watching the logs burn.”

***

Watching logs burn in a cottage fireplace is soporific, Gary mused.

***

Cleo was puzzled about Maureen’s death. It must be murder. Someone was desperate to get her out of the way and security at that hospital left much to be desired, as previous cases of attempted and successful murders had demonstrated. Cleo was sure that Maureen was killed to stop her talking. Why was the other woman killed in Daphne’s flat where she was inevitably going to be found? Being killed in that flat meant that she was in the flat for reasons best known to herself and probably without Daphne’s knowledge, though that point had not been cleared up. The corpses were adding up and Cleo was sure the deaths were all connected.

***

“Two down, two to go,” she commented as she served double strength espressos. “And what happened to the pasta you phoned about? I don’t remember eating it. I thought later that you were going to get some.”

“It’s still in the car,” said Gary.

“Throw it out, please.”

“It’s vegetarian.”

“I don’t give my kids 2 day old pasta,”  Cleo protested.

“Two days old?

“It was leftovers today so it was cooked yesterday. If we eat it tomorrow it’ll be two days old!”

“Brilliant Cleo. I couln’t have done better myself though any complex sum is beyond my mathematical brain at this moment, my love.”

“Sometimes I think you must be having me on,” said Cleo.

“I probably am,” said Gary. “To be serious for a moment: The missing woman Irene who went to Italy with someone named Nero…”

“Wow. That’s black!”

“… is probably the woman in Daphne’s flat, so that would be one less. She was only identified from a photo and we don’t know for certain if she was mixed up in Fish’s project.”

“Where’s the link?”

“She worked at Bertie’s Gazette, so she may have known more than she should,” said Gary. “She went to Italy with Romano’s pizza chef, whose name was Nero. That can’t just be a coincidence.”

“Not if he can cook,” said Cleo.

“Anyone can make pizza,” said Gary.

“You can teach me tomorrow!” said Cleo.

“Then she went away.”

“Anyway, we might have hit on the real reason for her murder. Something or someone must have scared her enough for her to go to Italy and staying away for a year was not long enough.”

“I suppose Maureen wasn’t scared because she was part of the syndicate,” said Cleo. “But of course, she did not know Irene was murdered in Daphne’s flat.”

“Do we know that?”

“Maureen was not too scared to visit that house and drink the drugged cocktail that got her hospitalized after a night of unknown perils, otherwise she would still be alive,” said Gary “unless she was already on the death list, of course, and her murder went wrong at the house”.

“All the more reason to find the killer he gets at Daphne,” said Cleo.

“Tomorrow,” Gary yawned. “I need my duvet. I can’t take any more in.”

“Our duvet, but it’s just as well you did not join Greg at the hospital if you are so exhausted,” Cleo said as she cleared away the coffee cups.

Gary did not hear that comment. He was asleep. Cleo pulled his shoes off, swivelled him round so that his legs were dangling over the edge of the two-seater sofa, pushed a cushion under his neck and tucked the plaid round him. Then she planted a kiss on his forehead and went to bed. There was no room for two on that inhospitable sofa.