Stuart Pawson - Deadly Friends

"How often did you see him?" I asked.

"Just once a week, when he came in on a Wednesday ' "Did you speak to him?"

"He'd stop here for a moment and ask me how I was that's all."

"I get the impression that he was a bit of a charmer' "Yes, he was, if you like that sort of thing."

"A ladies' man?"

"Yes, I'd say so."

"You're an attractive woman," I stated. "Did he ever approach you?

Chat you up? Invite you out?" I gave myself a small pat on the back for slipping the compliment in and making it sound like a professional observation She looked uncomfortable and might even have blushed under the make-up.

"N-No," she stuttered, meaning yes.

"You don't seem sure."

"Well, it doesn't seem right, talking about the dead when they can't defend themselves."

"The doctor was murdered, Mrs. Henderson," I reminded her. "It's my job to defend him, by tracking down his killer. If you know something that isn't in your previous statement you'd better tell me right now."

She sighed and said: "Right."

I was standing at her desk and there was no handy chair for me to pull closer. "Come and sit over here," I said, and walked across to a small sofa.

She sat down next to me and crossed her legs. Her tights were the same shade as the pancake mix on her face. "That's better," I said. "Now what do you want to tell me?"

"About four years ago," she began. "Clive Mr. Jordan invited me out.

I'd left my husband about three years earlier and was still off men. He was very persistent but I kept saying no. Then he stopped asking me."

"Right," I said. "Right. Thank you. He must have been very disappointed."

"There's more."

"Oh. Go on, then."

"As I said earlier, two of us work full-time on reception. This week I'm covering from eight a.m. to four p.m. My opposite number is called Josephine Farrier. She comes on at three and stays until ten. Josie Mrs. Farrier was having an affair with Clive."

"Are you sure?"

"She told me herself. He must have approached her after I turned him down. Last summer she poured her heart out to me said she loved him, wanted to leave Eric, her husband, and the two children. Unfortunately for her, that was the last thing on Clive's mind. It was all a bit pathetic real Marj Proops stuff. It had been going on for years, she said, after work. When she was on early she was supposed to be at a pottery class, would you believe?"

"It happens," I said. "People in love do desperate things. Do you think her husband Eric knew?"

"I don't know. I told her not to be so stupid. Men only wanted one thing, I told her, and Clive was no different to the rest of them."

For a moment I felt… invisible. "You weren't very sympathetic," I said.

"It wasn't sympathy she needed, it was a good shaking."

"Right. Did you tell her that she'd been the doc's second choice, after you?"

"No. I couldn't be so cruel."

"And she never mentioned that her husband knew?"

"No, but do you think it's possible to keep something like that secret?"

"I don't know," I replied, untruthfully. I'd discovered the answer the hard way, a long time ago. I didn't have a highlighter pen, so I underlined Mrs. Josephine Farrier's name on my printout. She had some questions to answer.

I interviewed the ward sister, two enrolled nurses and the finance manager without coming to any conclusions, other than agreeing with Nigel's statement about them all being good-looking. I couldn't help contrasting the accommodation every bed in a private room, wallpaper on the walls, no hospital smell with Heckley General where my father spent his final days. As a visitor, I'd definitely prefer to come here. As a patient, I wasn't so sure.

Hunger's clammy tentacles, clutching at my innards, drove me away. I had hoped to last out until Mrs. Farrier came to work, at three o'clock, but I'd hardly eaten for twenty-four hours. As I strolled into the foyer for the last time, after seeing one of the nurses, Mrs.

Henderson looked up from a keyboard and smiled expectantly, awaiting the next name on my list.

"I think that's it for today," I said. "I need to be in the station, shortly."

"Will you be coming back, Mr. Priest?" she asked.

"Yes, I think I'll have to, but thanks for your help today."

"You're welcome."

I turned to leave, then stopped, hand to head as if deep in thought.

"There was one final question I'd like to ask you," I said, turning back to her.

"Yes?"

"Now, what was it?" I tapped my cheek with a fingertip. "Ah, yes," I said. "I remember. You said you were off men, Mrs. Henderson. I was wondering: are you still off them?"

"Yes," she said, but her smile was so broad her make-up did well to contain it. A little flirting can go a long way.

I called in a cafe in the town centre that did steak and kidney pies you could trust, with apple pie and custard to follow. Maggie came in a few minutes after I arrived back at the station. She'd been to see Herbert Mathews, who sent his regards, and to consult the court histories at Burnley. We now had a clear picture of Buxton's career as a serial rapist allegedly but nothing that helped much. All it did was harden our resolve to nail him.

I let Sparky finish the interviews at the clinic. "I'll tell you what," he said when he returned.

"What?"

"We're mixing with a higher class of woman on this enquiry."

"You mean Mrs. Farrier was a good-looker?"

"And the other one. All of them, in fact."

I said: "Maybe it's us. Perhaps we're growing old, beginning to see women in a new light."

"If it is, then yip pity-di-doo. Let's have more of it."

"What else did you discover?"

"She admitted that they were lovers, right to the end. On the night in question she was out with her husband at a choral festival at the local church. Lots of people there that they knew. I've got some names, one of which is Dr. Barraclough. He sold them the tickets."

"Check them out just the same," I said. "Let's not have another Ged Skinner."

"Right. So what do you reckon?" Sparky asked.

"I reckon," I told him, 'that so far we've caught more red herrings than a Russian trawler. Do you know what we need?"

"Er, no. What do we need?"

"A chart. That's what we need. When in doubt, draw a chart. And there's nothing like one for impressing the top brass when they start asking questions." I pulled the flip-board easel from the corner and turned over to a clean page.

"Why not do it on the computer," Sparky suggested.

"Because I wouldn't know where to start," I confessed. "Would you?"

"Er, no."

"I've only just mastered the flip-board. And besides, this way I get to use coloured pens. Let's start with the doctor."

I wrote his name at the top of the sheet, drew a black square around it to signify deceased and put the date, December 23.

"Supplying drugs to Ged Skinner," Sparky suggested.

I wrote the exact words and drew a little box. "That's his alibi box.

Number one means he claims to have one, two means we've checked it, three, it's foolproof. Two, would you say?"

"Yeah. Two."

"Next?"

"The registrar. And his wife."

I wrote them in and put 'sexual' along the connecting line to suggest possible motives. "Alibis?"

"Only one."

"We haven't spoken to her yet, have we?"

"No."

"We'd better put that right, soon as pos."

"Noted."

"But presumably she was at the same dinner party?"

"That's right. She did the cooking."

"Unless they had a take away I suggested, 'and while she was waiting in the shop for eight portions of spare ribs, Peking duck and sweet and sour dogs' bollocks to be prepared she nipped out to the doctor's and bumped him off."

"Brilliant, Holmes," Sparky said. "Let's bring her in."

"Maybe not. Who's next?"