Novello said lightly, 'I suppose we're all inclined to take care of our well-to-do relatives.'
'Indeed. And if that had been a motive, I could have understood it. But Agnes had a few hundred in the bank, no more. I know because when she had her second stroke and came in here, she was on full grant from the start.'
'Sorry, what does that mean?'
'Put simply, the more you've got saved up, the larger your personal contribution to our fees. But if your savings are under what was a fairly modest limit ten years back, then Social Services pick up the tab. The limit's gone up quite a lot since then, with a lot of well-heeled people complaining it was a tax on thrift.'
'And the authorities check up on this?'
'Oh, yes. They require sight of bank statements and so on for a couple of years before admission just to make sure there hasn't been some recent large movement of funds in anticipation of care need.'
'Which bank?' Novello surprised herself and the matron by asking. But she looked it up and said, 'The Mid- Yorkshire Savings.' As Novello made a note, she mused, 'So Agnes had nothing or very little when she came here. Of course, that doesn't necessarily mean she had nothing when she went to live with Winifred.'
She saw instantly that she had made a bad move. Billie Saltair's lips puckered like she was sucking a lemon and she said, 'Let's get one thing straight, Detective Constable. Winnie Fleck can be a pain in the arse, and I know she'd stoop a hell of a long way, bad back and all, to pick up a penny, but she's as honest as the day is long. Sure, if old Agnes did have a fortune, Winifred would expect her share of it as her due when the old lady died. But she wouldn't screw it out of her, no way.'
'Sorry,' said Novello meekly, but was saved from further apology by the arrival of a young nurse with short red hair and an anxious expression.
'Sally, this is Shirley Novello,' said the matron, obviously judging that any mention of the police would only increase the girl's tension. 'We were just talking about Agnes. Miss Novello thinks she might know the visitor she had last week and as you're the only one who actually met him, I'd like you to tell her whatever you can remember. It's okay. There's nothing wrong.'
She smiled reassuringly and the girl relaxed slightly and began talking, 'Well, he just came in and when I spoke to him and he said he was Agnes's grandson, I got quite excited 'cos I knew Agnes didn't get many visits so I just took him straight along to her room, we usually bring her down to the dayroom after eleven but she hadn't been feeling too clever so it seemed best to let her lie on and see how she felt after lunch…'
The nurse spoke in a flash flood of words which a linguist might have been content to observe from the bank till it died away of its own accord. Billie Saltair, however, bravely plunged in with 'Okay, Sally, we get the picture. Miss Novello?'
'He told you he was Agnes's grandson?' said Novello.
'Oh, yes, that's why I took him straight up, he said, 'Hello, I believe you've got my grandmother Mrs. Agnes Lightfoot living here,' and I said, yes-'
'Did he tell you his name?' said Novello, following the matron's example.
'No, but when I took him in and said, Agnes, I've got a visitor for you, it's your grandson, she said, 'Benny, Benny, is that you? I knew you'd come someday, I always knew,' and then he took her hand and sat down by the bed and I left them together 'cos I didn't want to intrude…'
'You did okay, Sally,' said Novello, smiling. 'You were quite right. They needed to be alone. So, her grandson after all these years. How did he look? Not a short, fat chap, was he?'
'Oh, no, he was quite tall and very thin, even his face, sort of long and narrow, and brown, with the sun I mean, well, I know everyone's quite brown just now what with all this heat wave, but his face was sort of leathery like he was used to being out in the sun all of the time which isn't surprising because they get this kind of weather all the time in Australia-'
'Hold on,' said Novello. 'Why do you say Australia?'
'Because of the way he talked-he had this accent, you know, sort of cockney but different, like the way they speak in Australian movies and Neighbors on the telly.'
'And his clothes?'
'Blue-and-white checked shirt, short sleeves, dark blue cotton slacks, black moccasins,' said Sally with a precision almost shocking by comparison with her customary loquaciousness.
'Age?' said Novello hoping to stay tuned to this new wavelength.
'Thirties maybe. Hard to say with that leathery, sunburnt look.'
'How long did he stay?'
'Well, I don't know exactly, there was a bit of a crisis with Eddie, that's Mr. Tibbett, having a fall, and we had to get him into bed and then call out the doctor just to make sure he hadn't done himself any real harm and next time I looked in on Agnes, he'd gone, her grandson I mean-'
Clearly clothes and looks were her special subject.
'You didn't happen to notice how he got here?' said Novello. 'Car? Taxi? Bike?'
'Sorry,' said the girl. 'He was in the hallway when I saw him, I didn't see if there was a car or anything…'
This time she tailed off of her own accord, sounding distressed.
'Hey,' said Novello brightly. 'It doesn't matter. You've been a real help. It's not that important. Old Agnes's grandson! I bet she's talked about nothing else since his visit.'
'Not really,' said Sally. 'She doesn't say a lot. It's hard for her, finding the words, you see. I asked her about him, you know, just making conversation. But all she said was, 'I knew he'd come, he's a good lad, whatever they say.' And when I tried to ask a few questions, she just closed her eyes, so I didn't say anything else. I thought she probably wanted to keep the memory to herself. It could be all she's got.'
Novello smiled and said, 'No. She's got good nurses and friends like you, Sally, and that's a lot. Thank you. You've been really helpful.'
The girl flushed, glanced at the matron, who nodded dismissal, then left the room at a lope.
'You handle people well,' said Saltair.
'Thanks. And sorry again for treading on your toes about Winifred.'
'But you'll still check?'
'If I told you one of your patients didn't have a heart condition, would you simply put in on his record?'
'Certainly not. But Winifred isn't one of your patients. I mean, she's got nothing to do with this other business, has she?'
'Not that I can see,' said Novello. 'Not, in fact, that I can see very much at all.'
'So Sally hasn't helped?'
'In one way, of course she has. But sometimes more information just means more confusion.'
'I know the feeling. Like symptoms. They don't always help diagnose the right disease.'
Novello reached out her hand.
'Anyway, thanks for your help. Look, I don't see any point to me bothering Agnes now. Or at any time, from the sound of it. But there may be others who think differently. I'll need to discuss all this with my superiors. They may want to talk to her.'
'They'll need to talk to me first,' said Billie Saltair with an anticipatory smile. 'No one tells me what to do at the Wark.'
'Not even your boss?'
'My boss?' said Saltair sounding surprised.
'The owner. The consultant who made you the offer you couldn't refuse.'
'Oh, you mean my husband?' She laughed at Novello's expression. 'I should have said. That was the offer I couldn't refuse. He's retired now.' She grinned rather wickedly. 'I've told him there's a bed waiting for him here the first sign he gives of senility, like trying to interfere with the way I run things. I think he half believes me.'
And so do I, thought Novello as she headed out into the savage brightness of that moorland sun.
And so do I!
Wield yawned.
Sergeant Clark, not normally an imaginative man, somehow found himself thinking of a visit to Wookey Hole he'd made on holiday years back.
'You were saying, Nobby?'
