She dabbed at her eyes.
‘I’m sorry,’ she said. ‘Sorry, I keep thinking I’m done but I’m not.’
Unprompted she launched into a speech about what a valued member of staff Josh had been, so polite and considerate, excellent with the patients, always ready to help out when they were stuck for cover at weekends. Everybody loved him.
‘It must be hard for you,’ Zigic said, trying to tactfully bring the woman’s reminiscences to a halt now that they had circled back to where she started. ‘We’ll try to keep this brief. We’d like to talk to Portia Collingwood, we believe she’s here today.’
Laura blinked at them. ‘Why would you need to speak to Mrs Collingwood?’
‘We just have some questions for her,’ Zigic said evenly. ‘She is in today?’
‘Let me check,’ she said, her mouth set in a prim line, as she tapped at her keyboard, long pearlescent nails skipping around. ‘She was in this morning, but she works at City Hospital on Wednesday afternoons. You’ll have to speak to them, sorry.’
Ferreira watched her knit her fingers together on the desk, closing herself off from further questions. It was a strange reaction, especially for someone who had been so emotional when they walked in.
‘Did Dr Ainsworth and Mrs Collingwood work together very often?’ she asked.
‘I don’t believe their departments crossed over at all,’ Laura said, inclining her head at an awkward angle. ‘To the best of my knowledge they don’t know one another.’
‘And you’d know that? Working in the HR department.’ Laura didn’t answer, must have heard the insinuation Ferreira was trying to keep out of her tone. ‘That would be part of your remit, yes? Staff relations?’
The tilt of Laura’s head became slightly more painful-looking. ‘I’m afraid I don’t know what you mean.’
Zigic cleared his throat. ‘Have there been any complaints recently about Dr Ainsworth?’
Laura bristled visibly. ‘What kind of complaints?’
‘From patients,’ Zigic said. ‘Anyone who didn’t feel he’d done his job as well as they’d like.’
‘Josh was an excellent doctor and we provide the very highest-quality health care here,’ Laura said, sharply, drawing herself up higher in her seat. ‘We have been rated good in all inspection criteria for the past six years. Our reports are in the public domain if you wish to read them for yourself.’ She pursed her lips, took a moment. ‘I am frankly amazed that you might think Josh brought this on himself somehow.’
Ferreira glanced over at Zigic, meeting his eye and seeing that he thought they were done here.
‘Thank you very much for your help,’ she said, as they both rose from their chairs. ‘We’ll be in touch if there’s anything else.’
Outside in the car, Zigic looked thoughtfully towards the hospital’s glass façade.
‘Is it me or does every woman we speak to about Josh Ainsworth seem to have some degree of a crush on him?’
‘No, it’s absolutely not you,’ Ferreira said. ‘I suppose he must have just been one of those guys.’
‘Nice, you mean?’
She smiled at him. ‘Sure, nice.’
‘Not nice then?’ he asked.
‘Nice guys have long-term girlfriends or very contented wives,’ she told him. ‘Like you do. Men who inspire crushes in every woman who brushes past them are … well, they’re a breed apart and in my experience they generally know it.’
There was a faint trace of a blush underneath his beard and that only made her smile deepen. He really was a sweet little boy trapped in the body of a forty-something Slavic manbear, she thought.
‘What does that mean for our case?’ he asked.
‘It means there are probably a load more women in his phone that we need to be talking to.’
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
The office was in a spasm of activity when they returned. The team working on Adams and Murray’s attempted murder gathered around as Murray briefed them on a new development in their missing suspect George Batty’s whereabouts. Colleen’s blood was up, her movements sharp and jerky as she paced in front of the board, detailing the discovery of a friend of the missing man who had a holiday place in southern France, which they now believed he was heading for.
As Ferreira dumped her lunch on the desk, Murray despatched two DCs to go and bring in the man so she could question him.
At the other end of the open-plan office, their own investigation was proceeding more quietly but Ferreira was pleased to see DC Weller concentrating on the task he’d been given for the day, his screen displaying Josh Ainsworth’s financial records, a pad next to him full of notes.
He was the kind of officer who preferred to be out in the field, she knew, but he needed to get used to this kind of careful, methodical work if he was ever going to become a worthwhile and competent detective. Because that was what underpinned every epic showdown in the interview room, every cat-and-mouse game you played with a suspect: the accumulation of information which you threw at them, one piece after another, until their protestations of innocence broke down in the face of an undeniable reality.
Zigic disappeared into his office, going to chase up Kate Jenkins and the forensics report they were in desperate need of. Despite what he’d promised as they left Long Fleet, she could tell he was still hoping for a more personal, less politically delicate explanation for Ainsworth’s murder, and he was banking on something from forensics to allow him to lead the investigation in that direction.
She understood the pressure he was under, guessed DCS Riggott had already spoken to him about it, even if he’d chosen to keep the discussion to himself for the time being. She wondered what decision she would make in his position, if she would ever be able to play that game, the one which got you to inspector and beyond. Deep down she suspected she wouldn’t.
Ferreira unpeeled the lid of her quinoa salad and began trawling for information on Portia Collingwood as
