“Oh, you and me both, Cameron,” Irene interrupted eagerly, before Janice could open her mouth. “You and me both! I know exactly what you’re going to ask —why did he keep pestering Jan? I told her at the time—didn’t I, Jan?—I said, this isn’t right, you should report it, but you didn’t, did you? I mean, I know he was having a breakdown, blah blah blah —you’ll know all about that,” she said, with a nod toward Strike, that simultaneously conveyed a compliment and an eagerness to fill him in should he require it, “but ill men are still men, aren’t they?”
“Mrs. Beattie,” repeated Strike, slightly louder, “why do you think Talbot kept interviewing you?”
Irene took the broad hint and allowed Janice to answer, but her self-restraint lasted only until Janice hit her stride, at which point she set up a murmured counterpoint, echoing Janice’s words, adding agreement and emphasis, and giving the general impression that she feared that if she did not make a noise every few seconds, Strike might forget she was there.
“I dunno, in all honesty,” said Janice, still fiddling with her wedding ring. “The first few times ’e saw me it was straightforward questions—”
“At first it was, yeah,” murmured Irene, nodding along.
“—about what I done that day, you know, what I could tell ’im about people coming to see Margot, because I knew a lot of the patients—”
“We got to know them all, working at the practice,” said Irene, nodding.
“—but then, it was like ’e thought I ’ad… well, special powers. I know that sounds bonkers, but I don’t fink—”
“Oho, well, I do,” said Irene, her eyes on Strike.
“—no, I honestly don’t fink ’e was—you know—” Janice seemed embarrassed even to say it, “keen on me. ’E did ask inappropriate things, but I could tell ’e wasn’t right, you know—in the ’ead. It was an ’orrible position to be in, honestly,” Janice said, switching her gaze to Robin. “I didn’t feel like I could tell anyone. ’E was police! I just ’ad to keep sitting there while ’e asked me about me dreams. And after the first few interviews that’s all he wanted to talk about, me past boyfriends and stuff, nothing about Margot or the patients—”
“He was interested in one patient, though, wasn’t—?” began Robin.
“Duckworth!” piped up Irene excitedly.
“Douthwaite,” said Strike.
“Douthwaite, yes, that’s who I meant,” muttered Irene, and to cover a slight embarrassment she helped herself to a biscuit, which meant that for a few moments, at least, Janice was able to talk uninterrupted.
“Yeah, ’e did ask me about Steve,” said Janice, nodding, “’cause ’e lived in my block of flats, down Percival Street.”
“Did you know Douthwaite well?” asked Robin.
“Not really. Ackshly, I never knew ’im at all until ’e got beaten up. I come ’ome late and found a load of people on the landing with ’im. People knew I was a nurse so—there’s me wiv my son Kevin under one arm and shopping in the other hand—but Steve was in a right state, so I ’ad to ’elp. ’E didn’t want the police called, but ’e’d ’ad the sort of beating that can leave you wiv internal injuries. The ovver geezer ’ad used a bat. Jealous ’usband—”
“Who had completely the wrong end of the stick, didn’t he?” interrupted Irene. “Because Douthwaite was queer!” she said, with a shout of laughter. “He was only friends with the wife, but this jealous idiot thinks—”
“Well, I don’t know if Steve was queer—” began Janice, but there was no stopping Irene.
“—man—woman—two and two makes five! My Eddie was exactly the same—Jan, bear me out, what was Eddie like?” she said, tapping Janice’s arm again. “Exactly the same, wasn’t he? I remember once, I said, ‘Eddie, you think if I so much look at a man—he can be queer, he can be Welsh—’ But after you told me, Jan, I thought, yeah, that Duckworth—Douth-thing —is a bit camp. When he came in the surgery afterward, I could see it. Good-looking, but a bit soft.”
“But I don’t know wevver ’e was queer, Irene, I didn’t know ’im well enough to—”
“He kept coming back to see you,” Irene chided her. “You told me he did. Kept coming back to your place for tea and sympathy and telling you all his problems.”
“It were only a couple of times,” said Janice. “We’d chat, passing on the stairs, and one time ’e ’elped me with my shopping and come in for a cup of tea.”
“But he asked you—” prompted Irene.
“I’m getting to that, dear,” said Janice, with what Strike thought was remarkable patience. “’E was getting ’eadaches,” she told Strike and Robin, “an’ I told ’im ’e needed to go and see a doctor for ’eadaches, I couldn’t diagnose ’im. I mean, I felt a bit sorry for ’im, but I didn’t want to get in the ’abit of ’olding out-of-hours clinics in me flat. I ’ad Kevin to look after.”
“So you think Douthwaite’s visits to Margot were because of his health?” asked Robin. “Not because he had a romantic interest in—?”
“He did send her chocolates one time,” said Irene, “but if you ask me, it was more like she was an agony aunt.”
“Well, ’e ’ad these ’ead pains and ’e was def’nitely nervous. Depressed, maybe,” said Janice. “Everyone ’ad blamed him for what happened to that poor girl ’oo killed ’erself, but I don’t know… and some of me ovver neighbors told me there were young men coming in and out of his flat—”
“There you are,” said Irene triumphantly. “Queer!”
“Might not’ve been that,” said Janice. “Coulda just been ’is mates, or drugs, or stuff falling off the back of a lorry… One fing I do know, ’cause people talked, locally: the ’usband of that girl who killed ’erself was knockin’
