‘The hospital.’
‘Shouldn’t we call the police?’
‘After an accident like this it is usual to call the hospital first. They may be able to do something.’
‘Something you couldn’t do?’
‘I don’t understand you, Mrs Pargeter.’ The dull eyes flickered a cold look at her.
‘Well, look, you’re a doctor. Either she’s dead… or there’s something that can be done for her. If there’s something that can be done, it would stand more chance of succeeding if you did it here — now.’
He moved closer to her and lowered his voice. ‘I don’t think you quite realize what is at stake here, Mrs Pargeter. Brotherton Hall is a substantial business, and one whose reputation could be seriously affected by something like this. I can assure you we are not going to let an accident caused by one of the staff abusing her position here jeopardize the company’s future.’
‘So you think it’d be simpler to have Lindy Galton registered “Dead on Arrival” at the hospital, rather than having the police in here inspecting the scene where she actually died?’
‘Exactly, Mrs Pargeter. You show a very acute understanding of the situation.’
‘And is that what happened with Jenny Hargreaves?’ she asked coolly.
‘I don’t know who you’re talking about.’ The response was immediate. The name prompted no flicker of recognition.
‘She was a girl-’
‘All I do know,’ Dr Potter steamrollered over her, ‘is that a lot of people have a lot of investment riding on Brotherton Hall; and that anyone who threatened the success of this enterprise would… would be very unwise.’
This limp second thought about how to finish the sentence was more chilling than if he had actually spelt out the threat.
Chapter Eighteen
Mrs Pargeter was lost in thought as she walked slowly up to her room. So lost that she didn’t see Kim Thurrock until her friend was right alongside her in the ill-lit corridor. (The corridors at Brotherton Hall were all lit in a manner which the interior designer had described as ‘discreetly modern’, but which came across as old- fashioned murky.)
‘Three ounces less tonight!’ Kim announced in triumph.
‘Oh, great. Well done,’ Mrs Pargeter responded absently.
‘Three ounces! Even the girl who was monitoring my weighing said congratulations.’
Oh dear, she’ll be out on her ear tomorrow, thought Mrs Pargeter. Commendation of a guest’s progress at Brotherton Hall was as heinous a staff crime as a scowl in Disneyland.
‘And, what’s more, I actually got the address of this plastic surgeon in Harley Street.’
‘Oh, for heaven’s sake, love. You’re not still thinking of that, are you?’
‘It’s worth just investigating the possibilities,’ Kim pleaded. ‘I mean, the first consultation with this Mr Littlejohn is totally free.’
‘But any other dealings with him are no doubt totally expensive.’
‘Well…’ Kim Thurrock was still childlike in her enthusiasm. ‘It can’t do any harm just to find out a bit more…’
‘So long as you promise me you won’t start anything before Thicko comes out — I mean, is back with you.’
‘There’s no danger of that. He’ll be home in a couple of weeks. But it would be nice,’ Kim added wistfully, ‘if I’d had my first consultation by then…’
‘So that Thicko can see what’s on offer? You show him Mr Littlejohn’s brochure of available bums and get him to choose the one he’d like to see on you — is that it?’
‘No, of course not,’ said Kim, in a way that meant exactly the opposite.
‘Well, look, don’t you rush into anything, love. Give Thicko time to readjust to you as you are before you go changing yourself — eh?’
‘Yes, of course, Melita.’ Kim gave a little giggle of excitement. ‘Ooh, I can’t believe he’ll be back home so soon.’
‘He will be. And you’ll have a wonderful time,’ said Mrs Pargeter, fondly remembering many comparable reunions with the late Mr Pargeter.
Her mood was more sombre as she sat in her bedroom and thought about Lindy Galton’s murder.
Because there was no other word she would use to describe it. Dr Potter’s ready acceptance of the ‘accident’ explanation had been dictated by concern for the Brotherton Hall business empire — or possibly even darker motives.
But it had not been an accident. Lindy Galton was far too familiar with the workings of the Dead Sea Mud Baths to make the mistake of over-filling one.
Anyway, in spite of what Dr Potter had said about the girl taking advantage of the facilities for her own benefit, Mrs Pargeter knew that Lindy Galton would never voluntarily have gone into the bath, because of her allergic reaction to the mud it contained.
Which meant that someone must have pushed her in. Or, more probably, hit her over the head first and then pushed her in.
What sickened Mrs Pargeter about the murder was the thought that she could have been responsible for it. Obviously not responsible for killing Lindy Galton, but for the fact that she had been killed.
Mrs Pargeter had asked for information about Jenny Hargreaves and Lindy had fixed to meet her by the Dead Sea Mud Baths that evening. It was horribly possible that the girl had been murdered to prevent that meeting from taking place.
Their fixing of the tryst could easily have been overheard. Mrs Pargeter concentrated, trying to visualize the morning’s scene.
Stan the Stapler had certainly been present, on his ladder, clearing the obstruction in the mud tank.
And there had been three other people, one in the bath, one drying under the sunlamp, and the third scrubbing off in the shower. They were all potential witnesses, but in each case, so complete had been their covering of mud, Mrs Pargeter could not even specify the suspect’s gender.
The telephone’s ringing broke in on her gloomy thoughts.
‘Hello?’
‘Mrs Pargeter, it’s Truffler.’
‘Have you checked the hospitals?’
He dismally confirmed that he had.
‘And?’
‘And — nothing, I’m afraid.’
‘What — you mean Jenny Hargreaves’ body wasn’t taken to any of them?’
‘No. And, if I may anticipate your next question, no body of a young girl who had died of anorexia has been taken to any of them for the past two years.’
‘Oh,’ said Mrs Pargeter, as new thoughts started to swirl in her head. ‘Oh.’
‘Is there anything else I can do?’ he asked. ‘Any further investigation?’
‘Yes,’ she replied slowly. ‘Could you get back on to the hospitals — tomorrow morning it’d better be — and find out if any of them has taken delivery of another girl’s body?’
‘Another anorexia victim?’
‘No. This one died of asphyxiation. And her name was Lindy Galton.’
‘Right you are. I’ll let you know as soon as I’ve got anything.’
Mrs Pargeter sat in her room for a long time that night, lost in thought. But it wasn’t the kind of thought she enjoyed being lost in.
