‘And you’ve felt alright ever since?’
‘I’ve been fine,’ the doctor replied. ‘But it’s exceedingly kind of you to ask.’
Harry turned to Jim and said, ‘You were up at the crime scene, am I right, PCSO Metcalf?’
‘I was,’ Jim said.
‘And I understand that the pathologist gave you a good overview of what she found?’
‘Yes, she did, actually,’ Jim said, sitting up straight now.
‘Did she say anything about the intruder? The person who clobbered the doctor, here, before getting to work on poor old Jack Iveson?’
Jim turned thoughtful for just long enough, which made Harry smile inside, because the lad had obviously caught on to what it was they were doing. ‘She did,’ he said at last. ‘Told me that you were hit with a log. Is that right?’
The doctor nodded and Jim looked back at Harry.
‘To be honest, I was expecting worse,’ Jim said. ‘The pathologist said she would expect whoever had been hit by the log to be in a pretty bad way. Bruises, perhaps even a fractured skull.’
‘I must’ve been lucky, then,’ the doctor said. ‘I’m fine, I really am. Now, is there anything else?’
‘Can you remember how you were hit?’ Harry asked.
‘Pardon?’
‘You know, when whoever it was smashed you over the head with a chunk of tree? Was it hard? Did it crash into and feel like your neck was going to snap? Did it knock you across the floor? What?’
The doctor’s face shifted from bemusement to irritation to forced thoughtfulness. ‘It, well, it was hard enough to knock me out,’ he said.
‘Exactly!’ Harry said, raising a finger. ‘So it must have come in very hard indeed, the kind of attack that would take you off your feet for sure, and send you sprawling. Right?’
‘Yes, right,’ the doctor agreed. ‘That’s what happened. I mean, I don’t really remember, because I was knocked out by it, but that seems to make sense, doesn’t it?’
‘You tell me, doctor,’ Harry said. ‘Does it make sense that being thwacked over the head with a massive log left you with nothing but a wound small enough for a plaster no bigger than a stick of gum?’
The doctor shrugged. ‘That’s medicine for you,’ he said. ‘It’s not an exact science. Is there anything else?’
Harry leaned back and folded his hands together on his lap. ‘Yes, there is, actually,’ he said. ‘And I thought, seeing as you had been on the receiving end of that nasty bit of the old violence there, that it was only right that you were told.’
‘Told what?’
Harry pulled out his phone, flicked through his contacts, and punched in a call. ‘Jenny? Yeah, it’s Grimm. Could you do me a favour, please? Would you and Liz mind just bringing our guest down to the surgery? Yes, that’s what I said. Just park up outside if you will. That would be great.’
‘We caught him,’ Harry said, slipping his phone away and looking back at the doctor. ‘The person responsible, I mean. Well, I say caught, what I actually mean is that he just turned up out of the blue and handed himself in! Gave a full confession. Quite surprised me, if I’m honest. Doesn’t usually happen.’
‘A confession?’ the doctor asked. ‘Someone’s admitted to the murders? Who? Why?’
‘You see,’ Harry said, ignoring the doctor’s questions, and leaning forward, ‘a confession is a very serious thing. An admission of guilt isn’t something most people are up to providing. Well, not the kind who have gone to the length of planning that we’ve seen this week, anyway. Wouldn’t you agree, PCSO Metcalf?’
Jim gave a firm nod and said, ‘Actually, most suspects are usually found close to the scene and pretty quickly, too. But then most murders are spur of the moment things, acts of passion, the heat of the moment. That’s right, isn’t it, Boss?’
Harry nodded in agreement. ‘And this isn’t that, is it?’ he said.
‘No,’ Jim replied. ‘It isn’t. Not by a long shot.’
‘And you think they did it, do you?’ the doctor asked. ‘This person who’s confessed. You think that they’re really guilty?’
‘We’ve no reason to suspect otherwise,’ Harry said. ‘Though obviously we need to cross reference a lot of things, look at the evidence in detail, check the confession. There’s a lot to do. A great deal to do in fact, isn’t there, PCSO Metcalf?’
‘Oh yes,’ said Jim. ‘A lot.’
‘For a start,’ Harry said, ‘we need to be absolutely sure that the suspect is actually capable of the murders. Physically, I mean. Motive is one thing, for sure, but I think you’ll agree, if you remember what happened to poor old John Capstick, well, there was a lot of effort involved, wasn’t there? Moving him can’t have been easy. You’d need to be strong to do that, wouldn’t you?’
Harry stared at the doctor, eyes narrowed, jaw clenched.
‘Well, I don’t want to keep you from it,’ the doctor said. ‘I really do appreciate you stopping by.’
‘And that’s where the problem is, you see,’ Harry continued, talking over the doctor now. ‘The suspect, he’s eighty-one years old! And I’m not convinced. What do you think, PCSO Metcalf?’
‘I can’t see it, myself,’ Jim said, shaking his head. ‘But, you know, a confession is a confession. Got to be taken seriously.’
‘Indeed it has,’ Harry nodded. ‘Interrogation. Hours and hours in those horrible little cells. And they can be royally cold, too. I once heard that someone went to use the toilet and it was so cold that their arse froze to the pan. Imagine that!’
‘Not a place I’d want to be,’ Jim said. ‘Not at all.’
Harry rose to his feet, Jim beside him doing the same. ‘Anyway, Doctor, thanks for your help,’ he said, and held out his left hand towards the doctor. ‘It was very much appreciated.’
‘It’s not a problem,’ Doctor Smith smiled, reaching out with his left hand as well to shake Harry’s. ‘Not a problem at all, I’m sure.’
‘Well, that’s good to hear,’ Harry said
