Death by Indulgence Page 20

  ‘Why are you still wearing those surgical gloves?’

  ‘Fingerprints. Idiot. You don’t want anyone to know I was here do you?’

  ‘How come you thought of that?’

  ‘I didn’t - until we got to the station and I had to use the Oyster card. What do I do with his phone? It could be traced. Pass my clutch bag I’ll put that in with my shoes.’ Ella sat on an upholstered chair and forced her bare feet into the leather boots.

  Marcus shrugged. ‘You’re the one with the brain, get rid of the phone on your way back. Launch it from a train window. I don’t know. I’ve enough on my plate. My wife is very unwell. I’ve called an ambulance so you have to leave right now.’

  ‘These boots are a bit on the tight side, but I’ll cope. Can I have a drink of water? I’m really thirsty. Please.’

  With every second that ticked by on the antique gilded French clock on the mantelpiece, the risk was increasing for Marcus. The ambulance would arrive, sirens blaring, and the neighbourhood would twitch their curtains to witness the events unfold. Ella must not be seen in the vicinity.

  ‘Be quick.’ He ran to the kitchen and by the time he returned with a tumbler full of tap water she was waiting by the front door. He saw her as she finished primping her hair in the mirror and then, using a tissue from a box on the hall table, dabbed at the smeared makeup that had found its way under her eyes.

  She drank in gulps, both blue-gloved hands holding the glass as Marcus pulled a wad of notes from his jacket. ‘Here. Money. Now go quietly. I’ll sort the clothes.’ He watched in despair from the open door as she ran across the frozen lawn to avoid the dreadful scrunch of her feet on the gravel drive. A conspicuous pattern of footprints could be identified in his front garden, two sets with toes aimed towards the house and a smaller set making a return trip. They left a different shape in the frosted grass and there would be no way of disguising the fact that a woman had left the house. Marcus could only pray that no one would be interested enough to take note.

  Dawn was not due to break for another forty minutes, but the streets were a great deal busier than when they had arrived. Marcus could hear the sounds of his neighbours’ cars being started, warmed or defrosted before leaving for work. In the distance the wailing of an ambulance could be heard increasingly loudly as it approached.

  39

  The Search

  Wednesday 31st January

  ‘Mallory Fitzwilliam, I’m here to see my sister Ella. We rang yesterday.’

  Lorna smiled encouragingly at Mal who brushed his palms together impatiently waiting for a voice on the intercom to acknowledge his reply. ‘I’m glad you’re here. I have no bleedin’ idea what to expect,’ he said.

  ‘I’m not sure I’ll be much help. I haven’t been in one of these places for a while and, to be frank, I’ve no clue what we’re in for either.’ Lorna pulled at her gloves in anticipation that she and Mal would be entering the unit shortly. She began unwrapping her scarf as a buzzing noise and a metallic click heralded their permission to proceed. Mal pulled the door towards him and allowed Lorna to step through the entrance where she was met by a further door. She tried the second door, only pausing to read the sign once she found it to be firmly locked.

  ‘Oh, I see. We have to wait for the first door to close before the second is released.’ Sure enough, as the outer door clunked shut the mechanism on the internal door sounded. Once within the unit they approached a reception hatch. A glass-fronted office held a number of staff, none of whom seemed interested enough in the visitors to pay them much attention until Mal tapped on the window.

  ‘Have patience. Be with you in a minute. Sign in.’ The accent was unusual and the wave of the hand was from an indifferent West Indian man wearing a black tunic and trousers, name badge obscured by his greying dreadlocks. Without getting up from his seat, he directed them to an open visitors’ book with a nod. Mal scowled. ‘Any chance of something to write with?’

  Lorna looked about her. The place was stark and institutional. Noticeboards held the obligatory information about how to contact the Patient Advocacy Liaison Service, what the visiting hours were, who the nurse in charge was that day and who had won the employee of the month award for December. Despite the personal touches of patient artwork on the walls of the otherwise utilitarian corridors, the place had no soul. Lorna shuddered. She heard Mal’s voice take on an edge of frustration and offence. ‘If you want us to write in your bleedin’ book, then maybe you should leave a pen with it, mate.’

  ‘Sorry mate, no can do, in this place a pen is a risk.’

  ‘Give over.’

  ‘No. Not kidding. They can be used to self-harm or as a handy little weapon,’ the man said. He handed Mal a biro, then carefully placed it back in his breast pocket once the details had been filled in on the requisite page.

  ‘A few rules for you, as this is your first visit, keep your belongings with you, and don’t give money out to patients.’ He eyed the large suitcase that Mal had dragged through the entrance doors and placed by his feet. ‘If you have items to give to a patient whether it’s food, drinks, bathroom products… anything, then check with a member of staff first. Cigarettes have to be handed in, and especially lighters. No using mobiles either. Enjoy your visit.’ The disinterested man turned away and headed to the opposite end of the office to open up a filing cabinet.

  Mal glanced across to where Lorna was standing, his eyebrows raised. Aiming his next enquiry towards the back of the man in a black uniform, he coughed. ‘Excuse me for interrupting your busy schedule, squire, but could you give us a clue where we have to go. Where is my… er… my sister, Ella Fitzwilliam?’

  There was a sigh as the drawer to the metal cabinet was rolled shut. Without acknowledging Mal, the man took a couple of shuffling steps to a door, opened it and shouted. ‘Fran. Visitors for Ella. They can use room four.’

  ‘Righto,’ came the reply from a young woman who appeared to be in her early twenties. She was dressed in a similar uniform but instead of black she wore a grey tunic top and her dark hair was tied in a neat twirled bun. With a disarming smile she approached Lorna and Mal and led them down a long corridor, pausing to unlock each set of double doors with a fob. ‘I’m Fran. I’m a student nurse. If you need anything, please ask.’

  Mal was quick to take up the offer. ‘Your receptionist, is he always so rude?’

  ‘Attlee? He’s a staff nurse, not a receptionist. He’s okay. He’s a bit snowed under with paperwork from the morning’s ward-round I expect.’

  Lorna grinned at Mal’s expression on hearing this news. ‘Blimey, I thought nurses were good with people. My mistake,’ he said, shaking his head in disbelief. ‘A staff nurse you say. Well, fancy that.’

  ‘We all get a bit grumpy when we’re stressed, don’t we?’ Lorna added, trying to defuse the tension. She could see how awkward the observations had been for the student nurse who had diplomatically tried not to agree with Mal’s opinion of Attlee the staff nurse.

  ‘How is Ella doing?’ Lorna asked.

  ‘I can’t tell you much, because of confidentiality, but she’s better than she was. She’s a bit down.’

  ‘Understandable,’ Mal chimed in. ‘It’s hardly a laugh a minute round here, is it, luv?’

  Fran unlocked and opened the door to a side room where four matching orange chairs were sited at a low coffee table. ‘I’ll fetch her. Can I take that suitcase? One of the staff nurses will have to go through it and make an inventory before we can let your sister have her belongings. She’ll be so relieved to have her own clothes to wear though. She came to us with nothing. Literally nothing.’

  The minutes passed slowly in the silence of the square room until eventually Lorna heard the soft tones of Fran as she encouraged her charge to meet with the waiting visitors. ‘He seems lovely…’

  When the door opened, Mal stood and Lorna held her breath as his face transformed from a welcoming brotherly grin to one of hurt and anger as he looked from Ella to F
ran.

  ‘What have you lot done to her?’ He reached out and took Ella into his arms and held her against his chest as she sobbed. She wore a pair of baggy, unflattering grey tracksuit bottoms and an equally shapeless beige T-shirt with a faded logo on the front.

  Lorna began to wish she hadn’t joined Mal in the room. Ella Fitzwilliam looked markedly different to the last time she had laid eyes on her. At Buxham’s she had been a picture of health, a vibrant, curvaceous, glossy-haired beauty who had exuded happiness and fun. Lorna had been struck by her capacity to engage so many guests in conversation, manage the waitresses and flirt with the men. She had remarked to Konrad about the sheer energy that flowed from her.

  In the psychiatric unit at Flemenswick four weeks later, weeping, was a shell of that person. It was as if her personality had been sucked away. Ella wore her hair dragged into a tangled ponytail, her face somehow bloated but at the same time ashen and haunted.

  Pulling herself from Mal’s protective embrace, Ella eyed Lorna with suspicion. ‘What’s going on?’ she asked, glancing up at Mal.

  Lorna looked at him and tried to give an imperceptible shake of her head as a warning not to divulge the true reason for her presence. Before Mal had a chance to fabricate a plausible response, Ella’s eyes widened in recognition. ‘Mrs Neale? Why have you come here?’ The voice was weak and laboured.

  With no choice left other than to tell the truth, Lorna began her explanation. ‘Please don’t worry. I’m trying to help. You see, we - my husband and I - are friends with Harry Drysdale and we’re trying to find out what happened to him.’

  The lengthy pause was disconcerting, as was Ella’s reaction.

  She smiled but only with her mouth. ‘I wasn’t expecting you.’

  ‘Sorry?’

  ‘They didn’t tell me you were coming too. They just said they’d found my brother, and he was going to visit. I don’t know you. I want to speak to him on my own.’

  It had been a serious error of judgement. Lorna was cross with herself for being inconsiderate, for making the quest for answers about Harry take precedence over that of Ella’s wellbeing.

  ‘You’re right. I’ll wait somewhere else. I do apologise for intruding. It was very rude of me.’ She picked up her handbag, scarf and gloves and headed for the door. In the corridor outside the room, sitting on a chair, was Fran. She gave an understanding nod before directing Lorna to a dining area. ‘Cup of coffee? It’s not Starbucks, but it’s warm and wet.’

  ‘No, thanks. Fran? Can you tell me anything about how Ella was when she was first admitted here? Was she depressed? How did she get here?’

  Fran gave a sympathetic response. ‘I appreciate how frustrating this is, but I can’t tell you anything.’

  ‘Please. It’s really important.’

  Fran shook her head. ‘Sorry. You understand my position.’ She then tilted her head in the direction of a table in the corner where two women were quietly playing a game of cards. One was an elderly lady in a floral dress and heavy cardigan, the other was most likely Chinese in ethnicity, Lorna guessed, younger and dressed in jeans and a hoodie. Both concentrated on the laying of the next card before moving the ones held in their hands, rearranging them until satisfied with the order.

  ‘Please feel free to chat to Cheryl and Ling, they don’t have many visitors, and they really enjoy a conversation.’ Fran winked at Lorna and gave a cheeky grin. ‘I can’t help what they say, now can I?’

  40

  How Ella lost her job

  The passengers on the train shied away from her. She was only talking. Why they reacted like that was a mystery and she was becoming increasingly irritated by their sullen expressions and inability to respond to her.

  ‘Did you do anything wildly exciting last night?’ she asked three people in turn. ‘Well? Did you?’ Finally, she backed a bespectacled man into the nearest carriage doorway. Reprimanding him for his churlish attempts to ignore her, she almost missed the name of the station. ‘Is this Lensham?’

  ‘Yes. Yes, it is.’

  ‘Don’t look so bloody petrified. I’m merely making a straightforward enquiry.’ She squared her shoulders to the commuters squashed into the stale, airless carriage. ‘Mesdames et Messieurs, you are all excessively ill-mannered. Adieu ignorami. Au revoir.’

  Her annoyance was overflowing as she strutted along the platform and headed to the turnstile with a dozen or so other passengers who were about to commence a day at work in Lensham. She held them up as she fumbled for her ticket. ‘It was in my possession when I alighted the train. Un moment s’il vous plaît.’

  A guard called her to one side. ‘Please let the other passengers through, madam.’

  ‘Mademoiselle, if you don’t mind.’

  He eyed her with doubt. ‘Do you have a ticket?’

  ‘Yes. I do possess a ticket, Herr Oberstgruppenfuhrer.’ Ella proudly brandished her ticket in his face. She had discovered it that very second inside the pocket of the fake fur coat she was wearing. She clicked her heels, gave a Nazi salute and goose-stepped past the astounded man.

  ‘Pissed, by the looks of things,’ she heard him remark to the stunned group of onlookers who had stood by to witness the exchange. ‘That is one of the most brazen walks of shame… what a sight.’

  The disparaging words faded away as she marched through the glass doors, coat flaps flying, head tossed back, leather handbag swinging by her side.

  Lights were on in the Old Station Café, the windows were fogged up, and, catching a waft of coffee and fried bacon aromas, Ella had a sudden urge to step inside.

  ‘What size was the cat?’ Saskia asked, as she served a cup of coffee to an elderly gentleman huddled at a table just inside the door.

  ‘Cat?’ Ella asked.

  ‘It must have been a fuckin’ whopper to have dragged you in,’ Saskia said aiming her words at her own feet.

  ‘One can determine from your demeanour that you, my dear Saskia, are not a morning person. How’s your love life? Jolly spiffing? Très bien? Je ne regrette rien …’ Ella reeled off several more stock French phrases and threw herself into a window seat. Saskia advanced with an obvious lack of enthusiasm.

  ‘Non-existent. You know that. I went to see her at the hospital, I know she’s dying, and I know why, I’ve said my goodbyes so I’m expecting you to tell me when she finally carks it. Alright?’

  ‘Don’t look so incredibly forlorn. I’m sure she’ll bounce back. Can I have a hot chocolate with whipped cream on top and a chocolate flake to dip in? Also, I’ll perhaps have—’

  Saskia glared at her, glued to the spot, and tried desperately to interrupt as Ella continued to talk, not registering that a conversation was happening around her. ‘Bounce back? Val’s not going to bounce anywhere, she’s dying, you stupid bint.’

  ‘—some of those pancakes with bacon, but I want them American style with maple syrup. Au contraire… it may be prudent to avoid too much bacon. I can’t decide if I’m going to become a vegetarian today. And then—’

  The beleaguered waitress threw her order pad and pen onto the table in despair. ‘When you’ve made up your soddin’ mind, write it down. I’m too busy to listen to you prattle on and on and on. What the hell is up with you? On the snow? Had a dabble with some spice, did we? You’re acting like a fuckin’ nut job. I’ll get your drink if you promise to turn your volume down.’

  Saskia ambled off in the direction of the kitchen, shooting a perplexed look over her shoulder at Ella who continued to ramble about potential breakfast choices.

  A scruffily dressed gangly man in his early thirties sat in the next booth, hiding himself in the corner as he ate a slice of toast and waited for the rest of his order to arrive. He read a newspaper as it lay open on the Formica table in front of him. Having wiped his buttery fingers down the sleeve of his blue overalls, he intermittently took a sip from a mug without taking his eyes from the page. His slurps alerted Ella to his presence, and she honed in on him. There were half a dozen
other people in the café and none of them dared to be caught staring at Ella. They risked brief glances from hooded eyes.

  The thin man mumbled a brief ‘mornin’ ’ in response to her demands for a reply to her greeting. This wasn’t good enough for Ella.

  ‘I’m on a special mission, you know,’ she barked at him.

  ‘Are you now?’ The man still declined to make eye contact.

  ‘I am standing up for the rights of real women everywhere.’ A barrage of information spilled like a torrent from Ella as she ranted. ‘Over a quarter of all adults in the UK are obese. Did you know that? One million of those can link their obesity to bullying in childhood. I bet you never knew that either?’

  Ella stood on the bench seat and spread her arms out wide. ‘Down with diets, kill the bully!’

  Every customer sat back in his or her seats to gawk in shock. Saskia ran through the swing doors, her face contorted with annoyance. ‘Get down and get out. Go on... piss off. Go home and sober up, you’re a bastard disgrace.’ She pulled at the sleeve of the brown fake fur and Ella stumbled towards her, laughing.

  ‘Steady… the last person that grabbed me like that killed someone.’

  ‘You are talking utter shit. Now fuck right off back to your weird world and don’t come back in here again. Got it?’

  ‘What is your problem, scrawny? Don’t like the fat girls taking control?’

  As Saskia pushed her forcefully from the door of the café and into the street, Ella was laughing loud and hearty. She sang to passers-by, ‘Fat bottomed girls they make the rockin’ world go round…’ and the pavement on her side of the road emptied as pedestrians crossed the road to avoid her. She didn’t mind, it made her progress all the more rapid. People were too slow, and they got in her way.

  Reaching the side road leading to Buxham’s she stopped and leant against a wall. ‘These boots are crippling me.’ She undid the zips and pulled them off one at a time. The frost on the ground restored and refreshed her aching toes and she dashed on towards the gate where she placed her forefinger on to the security pad.