“Well, it’s a very busy day for us. Visitors. Most of them come on the weekends, you see, and Sunday morning’s the most pop u lar time, especially as it’s—”
“Mother’s Day. Yes, I see,” said Annie. “Is there
“What is it exactly you want to know?”
“I told you. It’s about a patient, a possible patient.”
“Name?”
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“That’s one thing we’re trying to find out.”
“Well, I don’t—”
“Fiona,” Annie cut in. “This is really important. Will you please page someone who knows what they’re doing?”
“You don’t have to take—”
“Please!”
Fiona held Annie’s gaze for just a moment. Annie felt her head throb.
Fiona sniffed and picked up the phone. Annie heard her page someone called Grace Chaplin over the PA system. In a few moments, a woman of about the same age as Annie, looking elegant and handsome in a crisp white uniform, came striding in a no- nonsense way along a corridor, clipboard under her arm. She stepped over to Fiona and asked what the problem was. Fiona looked nervously toward Annie, who proffered her warrant card. “Is there somewhere we can talk, Ms. Chaplin?”
“Grace, please,” the woman said. “By the way, I’m director of Patient Care Services.”
“Sort of like a matron?” Annie said.
Grace Chaplin gave her a tiny smile. “Sort of like that,” she said.
“And the conference room is over here, if you would just follow me.
It should be free.”
Annie looked at Tommy Naylor and raised her eyebrows as Grace Chaplin turned and led them toward a set of double doors. “Have a nose-around, Tommy,” she said. “I’ll deal with this. Chat up some of the nurses. Patients, too, if you can. Use your charm. See if you can find anything out.”
“Am I after anything in particu lar?”
“No. Just have a wander-around and try to develop a feel for the place. See how people react to you. Make a note of anyone who strikes you as useful—or obstructive. You know the drill.”
“Right, ma’am,” said Naylor, heading off across the tiled hall.
The conference room had a large round table on which sat a jug of water and a tray of glasses. Grace Chaplin didn’t offer, but as soon as Annie had sat down, she reached for a glass and filled it. The more water she could get into her system the better.
“You look a bit under the weather, Inspector,” said Grace. “Is everything all right?”
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“I’m fine,” said Annie. “Touch of f lu, maybe.”
“Ah, I see. What is it I can help you with?”
Annie explained a little about the body in the wheelchair, and Grace’s expression became more serious as she spoke. “In the end,”
Annie said, “this place seemed a natural one to start asking questions.
Any idea who it might be?”
“I’m afraid I don’t,” said Grace. “But if you don’t mind staying here a moment, I might be able to find out for you.”
“Thank you.”
Annie topped up her water. Through the large window, she could see Grace go back to the reception desk and talk to Fiona, who seemed f lustered. Eventually, Fiona picked up a large ledger from her desk and handed it to Grace, who looked at the open page and returned to the conference room carrying the book.
“This should help,” she said, placing it on the table. “It’s a log of all patient comings and goings. Anyone who leaves the building with a friend or relative has to be signed out.”
“And is anyone?” asked Annie.
“Only one. Usually we have far more out on a Sunday morning, but today the weather has been so unsettled, hail one minute, sleet and gale-force wind the next, that most visitors either didn’t stay out long or decided simply to stay in with their loved ones. We’ve orga nized a special Mother’s Day lunch, and most people will be staying indoors for that.”
“And the one who’s signed out?”
Grace slid the book around so Annie could read the single entry:
“karen drew, taken out at 9:30 a.m.” No return time filled in. And next to her name was an unintelligible signature, the first part of which might just, at a stretch of the imagination, have been Mary.
