Deadly Diagnosis Read online

  ‘I popped my head in. She’s catching up on lab results. Said she was bogged down,’ Cathy said.

  It had been a difficult few months for the practice, following the death of another doctor. It had been at the hands of one of their trusted team too and only because of Cathy’s quick wit that the perpetrator was outed. It had been dreadful. Upsetting for everyone concerned and hard to steady the ship afterwards. The practice was unquestionably short on staff now. Linda, although less experienced and having returned only relatively recently to work following the birth of her second child, had stepped up to the mark. This had surprised both James and Cathy, as they had dismissed the girl as being somewhat of a dreamer and lacking in self-confidence, something that often seemed to lead to miscommunication with her patients. Cathy had struggled to warm to the younger GP but since the recent upheaval, they had become better acquainted. It was as well Linda had stuck around and accepted their offer of a salaried post. It meant that James and Cathy could relax for now.

  ‘Anyway,’ Cathy said, now coming across the room with her tea, and sitting opposite. She reached for the pile of prescriptions and patted her trousers. James shook his head and handed her his pen. Like most doctors who were required to sign a mountain of letters and prescriptions, Cathy had developed an initial, and a scrawl. She glanced up and smiled at her partner who watched on.

  ‘Are you reading them?’ he asked, and she laughed, then studying each paper, in turn, more carefully.

  ‘Yes,’ she said. ‘Unusual one the other morning. Breast cancer. Very late presentation though,’ she said. ‘Quite sad really. Old lady. She’s not been into me before. Not keen on treatment. Agreed to go to the breast clinic but that was it. Said she won’t have surgery or chemo if they offer.’

  ‘What was her name?’ Dr Longmuir asked.

  ‘Elizabeth Scott. Very much a do-gooder. Wanted me to help with some fundraising for the charity shop in the town. Very active still and all-there,’ Cathy said, tapping her temple. ‘It’s funny, she wasn’t as worried about the cancer as she was about drumming up donations. Strange though, I felt she was sizing me up, in a way. Testing me, almost to see if I’d do. I can’t really explain it.’

  ‘Scott,’ James considered. ‘Oh, yes, I do know who you mean. Betty Scott, of course. Used to be the matron up at Fernibanks.’

  ‘Fernibanks? You mean the old psychiatric hospital?’

  ‘Yes. And I thought she was long gone.’ He chuckled. ‘Must have been a tough job keeping a lid on some of them up at Fernibanks. She’ll have been a tartar in her day no doubt.’

  Cathy smiled and continued to scrawl her name but her hand grew tired and she paused to sip her tea. ‘Are you going to help?’ she asked, indicating the still-high pile of prescriptions.

  ‘You’ve got my pen!’ James remonstrated. ‘So, what was the verdict then anyway?’ he asked.

  ‘What, the breast cancer? She had a backache. Maybe bony mets? It’ll be past curative, I’d say.’

  ‘No, about the fundraising. Are you going to go and do your bit for the community and help the nice charity shop ladies? Surely you’ve nothing better to do?’

  Cathy snorted and threw the pen back at her partner. ‘Your turn,’ she said. ‘As it happens, after negotiating Christmas with my parents, I’ve got a fifteen-year medical school reunion coming up in the new year. Goodness knows I’m a bit out of practice at this socialising nonsense though. I still need to get something to wear. Did you ever bother with the things? There’s always one person in the year who takes it upon themselves to organise. I can’t say I’m that keen.’

  James nodded. ‘Oh yes. The good old medic reunion. Fifteen years, eh? Oh, to be young again. I’ve kept up with a few. An old psychiatry pal, a surgeon who I used to golf with many years ago before wives and children took over. If our group have another one, it’ll be less to see how classmates are, as much as to see who’s still alive!’

  Cathy smiled.

  ‘It wouldn’t do you any harm going to it though,’ James continued. ‘Get out and about a bit again, Cathy. It’s been a rough year for you, I know, but time to start living again. Perhaps though, the charity shop’s not such a great place to start. When I think about it, these places can be a hotbed for gossip. Middle-aged women who start work filled with altruism, and end up quite the opposite. Back-stabbing and poison. No, give that a miss. That’s my advice.’

  4

  The bin bags were piled high that morning, as often they were on a Monday. Holly, slight of ankle and not uneasy on the eye, side-stepped two of them. But scooping up another bag in quite an unexpectedly wilful manner, she shouldered her way in, passing the darkened mannequins, their torsos wreathed in ill-chosen mismatches. She grimaced at her co-worker Carol, who scurried back to retrieve the rest.

  Having deposited the bags in the back room, Carol returned to the front desk and sighed dramatically. ‘Monday morning blues. I’ve been thinking all weekend about the fundraising ideas and I’m still no further forward. I wonder if anyone else has had any luck coming up with anything.’

  Holly nodded but didn’t answer.

  ‘Betty’s late in today,’ Carol said, studying the diary. ‘Doctor’s appointment, I think. I hope nothing serious.’

  Holly raised her eyebrows, and walked through to the back, removing her denim jacket and replacing it with one of the shop’s navy tabards.

  ‘We’ll need to get on with the decorations today. That can be your job.’ Carol followed her through.

  Holly began to unpack one of the bags.

  ‘Neil and Alex should be in soon,’ Carol went on. ‘It’s a full-house once Betty comes back. As we’re all in, I was going to pin people down about the Christmas meal. Have you thought about it yet?’

  Holly momentarily looked skyward. ‘I have,’ she said. Her voice was surprisingly low and melodic. ‘I think I said already that it was going to be tricky.’

  ‘I know but it’s not as if it’s an evening. Just low-key. I checked the menu and it’s only four pounds a starter. It’ll be nice. A Christmas treat.’

  Holly shook her head and continued to sort. She lifted a grey jumper from a heap of clothes on the floor and began to hang it up.

  ‘Bobbling on it,’ Carol said absentmindedly and darting forward, pointed to the chest of the garment and an infinitesimally uneven pile on the fabric.

  Holly held it up, and smiled at an unvoiced joke, before tossing the offending article into the bag for recycling.

  ‘Not the rag bag. The shop at Forkieth will take it. Anything substandard but reasonable goes to them. Put it in the green bag.’

  Holly ignored her demands and continued to pick through the clothes. A tap at the front door signalled the arrival of another volunteer. Thankfully, Carol disappeared.

  Holly had been working in the shop for six months now, having arrived in Glainkirk with little idea of what she was doing there. After the death of her father, and something of a breakdown in communication at home, she had settled herself in rented accommodation, at least for the short term. Families were complicated, and none more so than her own. It would be her first Christmas alone. Her mother had been texting her these past few days, begging her to return, even just for the day itself. Holly sighed. No, none of it was straightforward. But she was forced to put her melancholy thoughts aside as Tricia, a fellow volunteer, joined her. The two women sorted clothes in silence. Through the shop, Holly could hear Carol talking to a couple of early customers. The other volunteers appeared throughout the morning. Each popping their head around the door to say hello. The day began to creak into action.

  At ten, Carol called for Neil to put the kettle on, and fluttering through, she lined up the mugs, all chipped donations now allotted to each of them.

  The shop was quiet, as often it was following the morning surge. The co-workers gathered as usual and collected their steaming mugs. Carol took Betty her tea and a biscuit from the tin. The old woman had returned from her doctor’s appointment n
ot long before and had been stirring up trouble already. She had poked her head around the door and scolded Tricia for hanging two dresses the wrong way. ‘Goodness Tricia. How long is it that you’ve been working here and you still can’t get it right?’ she had sneered, rolling her eyes. Tricia had blushed an ugly shade of crimson and hastily exited the room. Holly had heard her complaining to Carol about how unfair it all was, and really, she didn’t need to continue working there when it was only voluntarily. Why should she, she whined, when she knew she’d have to put up with bullying daily? By coffee time though, things had settled and the workers pacified. Betty wouldn’t join them for a break, which was just as well. She never did. Instead, she stayed ever-vigilant by the till. It was pointless really, but none of them argued.

  The rest of them congregated now in the kitchen, leaning against the worktops. Holly found herself beside Neil, cramped up against the boxes of electrical goods that almost certainly wouldn’t sell. Tricia was hovering by the door with Alex. Neil had been messing about with the tabletop that they rested against, and Holly felt it shift and wobble. He kept saying that he was going to bring his tools again in and fix it, but Holly doubted he ever would. She stepped forward and away from the swaying counter, distrusting it as much as the man beside her.

  ‘Anything planned for Christmas?’ he asked her.

  It was just over two weeks until Christmas Day itself. Holly glanced around the kitchen. It was full to bursting with lovingly donated scraps of tinsel and outgrown elf costumes that no one would buy. That morning, after seeing too many bags of clothes, she had finally bowed to Carol’s suggestion and had begun sorting baubles into sandwich-bags according to their colour. It was an utterly meaningless job, but oddly satisfying.

  Holly took a sip of her tea. ‘Usual,’ she answered. ‘What about you, Neil?’

  ‘Family,’ he said with equal nonchalance. ‘It’s not how it once was when they were small. Back when I had the shop on Broad Street, you know where I mean?’

  Holly didn’t know, but she nodded anyway.

  The old man shifted and then propped himself back in position. The table juddered.

  ‘Broad Street,’ he said, shaking his head, clearly appreciating the memory of his heyday. His hair fell in grey, staccato barbs. He had allowed it to grow too long and beneath the haphazard fringe, his blue eyes flashed with pleasure. ‘Some price it was for rent back then, but it was quite a place we had.’ Neil looked at Holly now. ‘Thirty-foot shed out the back,’ he said. ‘Thirty-by-twenty. Two of them, and the shop on two floors. Unbelievable really. You’d never find a place like that now. Nothing affordable anyway.’

  Holly made an appropriate noise and continued to sip her tea, watching the man’s face brighten in recollection.

  ‘Reminds me of a dreadful thing, one Christmas though. The kids were only small back then. You’d be too young to remember,’ he said. He looked instead at Tricia in the doorway. ‘You remember that far back, Tricia? That trouble up at the loonies? All over the papers, it was and talk of the town for months on end.’

  Tricia made an undecided attempt. ‘Not sure if,’ she began, ‘was that when …?’

  Carol had since pushed her way into the small kitchen and stood cradling her mug.

  ‘Betty’s fine. She’s had a custard cream,’ she whispered. ‘Worrying about her cat again.’

  No one answered.

  Neil smoothed the wooden top to the work-surface with his hand. Glancing across, Holly saw that his fingernails were slightly curved over the edge and unusually shiny.

  ‘Long time ago,’ he said. ‘Terrible business it was too. Never heard of a violent death like it before, or since, thank God.’

  Holly looked up. ‘What happened?’

  ‘Would’ve been near enough twenty years ago. No, hang-about, maybe not even as long as that, now I think about it,’ he continued, drawing it out like the player he was. He paused, but this time Holly wasn’t going to bite.

  ‘Went in early that morning,’ he finally said. ‘Snow was like it always seemed to be back then in December. Winters were different. Harsh compared to now.’

  There was a murmur of agreement from the older members of the crowd.

  Neil shook his head. ‘Can’t believe none of you remember it,’ he went on gleefully. ‘Back then, I’d only had the shop a few years. I was new to the business see, and still learning the ropes? Six o’clock, I had gone in, Monday morning. Still dark and bloody freezing. Anyway,’ he said, displaying his yellow tombstones. ‘I had an odd feeling that morning as I went in. Closest I can describe it was like a chill going down my spine. I know you’ll think it was just like I said; because it was so damn cold, but I tell you now, I had a feeling that there was something amiss.’

  Holly glanced at the others, but none of them seemed in a position to argue.

  ‘So, I go to open up as usual. I must have been one of the first folk out and about that morning. First to see it anyway. But goodness knows why no one saw or heard it before. A haze of smoke in the trees over the ledge of the hill. You know where the old loonie place is? Derelict now, half of it, but back then it was a grand, old place. Too big though. They had far too many odd buildings here and there. Must have cost a fortune to heat. Anyway, you know how it is? It’s high enough up, but then the buildings dip behind a hollow, and then there are the trees too.’

  Holly watched as Carol nodded impatiently. ‘We know what you’re talking about Neil. I wish you’d finish your story.’

  Neil tutted. ‘I suppose you would say that, after all,’ he said. ‘Anyway, I gave up on the shop, realising that something was wrong. I locked it up again, as I recall, and made my way up the hill through the drifting snow to take a look. Wish I hadn’t if truth be told. What a mess! Only the one part, but dreadful. Totally burnt out and blackened, and the smoke rising. God knows how it didn’t spread or catch onto another part, but there was only the one small building affected. There were inpatients, you see? Nurses and doctors stayed on-site too. No idea how no one alerted the fire brigade sooner, but I suppose it was one of the outer buildings, see? It was the one used for giving the folk electric shocks, so they say. Far away from the rest, so they never heard their screams.’

  Carol shook her head. ‘Don’t be so sensational, Neil.’

  ‘Was anyone injured?’ Holly asked, her heart beating very fast.

  Neil puffed himself up. ‘One,’ he said.

  They all waited, and Holly wondered if she was the only one holding her breath.

  ‘A man. Dead. Turned out he was one of the doctors. A psychiatrist. I forget his name. Not much missed by all accounts. All over the news, it was. Big inquiry too, but they never found out what happened that night, or why he was up there in the electric shock room. There was talk that he had been carrying on with one of the student nurses, but nothing came of that. Had a nasty reputation. Charred to a cinder, his body, and crushed under all the rubble. Dreadful mess it was, and stank for days after. The whole town was heavy with it.’

  ‘So, you got the police?’ Holly asked.

  Neil grinned. ‘I hurtled down that hill like nobody’s business. Must’ve caught myself on some of the timber first though, and burnt my hand dreadful. Months afterwards I was still in pain with it and had to go and see that quack we had at the time, Doctor Fairweather. Think he was struck off,’ he said, lifting the sleeve to his shirt and displaying a faded patch of skin. ‘We had no phone back then and I had to jog down the high street to the police station. Rapped my knuckles raw hammering on their door until I got them up and out. Then they came, following me back up the road, and I showed them.’ He broke off at this point and added to the act by mopping his brow with a folded handkerchief that he produced from his trouser-pocket.

  They all waited, their tea growing cold, and the biscuits; long-forgotten.

  ‘Things were different back then. No fingerprints, no video footage, or CCTV nonsense. Given up as a tragic accident it was. Dreadful thing really. Things chan
ged up at that place after. I think they shut much of it and it became half-derelict.’

  ‘So, they never found out why he was up there – the psychiatrist, I mean?’ asked Holly. ‘You said he’d been carrying on with one of the nurses? Do you mean an affair or something? Wouldn’t she have been the first person to ask? Presumably, if there had been a liaison that night, she might have seen something?’

  Neil laughed. ‘Like I said, I don’t know the ins and outs. They interviewed all sorts of folk. Don’t suppose the doctor should have been up there at all, and maybe it was hushed up. You know how these medics like to close ranks?’ Neil leaned back in satisfaction. ‘So, what do you think of that?’ he asked.

  ‘It doesn’t make any sense at all to me.’ Holly said. Her hands had gone quite cold despite the lukewarm mug that she still clutched.

  Neil seemed indifferent. ‘Told you it was a good story,’ he said.

  The time for discussion had passed though, and the other volunteers were beginning to move away. Carol had already collected Tricia’s half-drunk mug of tea and was placing it by the sink.

  ‘You said there were other people actually on-site that night,’ Holly persisted, refusing to move and forcing Carol to sidle past her.

  ‘What, the patients?’ Neil asked, picking up a string of tangled Christmas lights.

  ‘Yes. But the other doctors and nurses. They could hardly leave a building burning all night and not call for help.’

  ‘I told you. He’d been up to some mischief probably and they didn’t want to get involved. Hushed up, you see? Probably a bad egg and deserved what he got.’

  Holly left him to it. For the rest of that morning, she felt sick, and for once it wasn’t because of the putrid bags of donations handed in.