‘Which was?’ Out of the window Joe saw a young man in a wheelchair being pushed down the path by a carer.
‘Building her confidence and self-esteem. Giving her choices about her treatment and her future.’
‘She went from here into her own place, not back to her parents. Was that her choice?’
‘Yes. By the time she left us, she was eighteen. Officially an adult. We worked with social services locally to find her somewhere suitable.’
Joe was impressed again that the woman could remember the details so clearly. He forgot most of the cases he’d worked as soon as they went to court. ‘Do you know why her relationship with her father had broken down so dramatically? Her parents are looking after Lorna’s son now. Is there something we should know? Any possibility of safeguarding issues?’
Joanne looked up sharply. ‘You’re asking if there’s any possibility that the father abused her as a child?’
Joe nodded.
‘No,’ Joanne said. ‘I didn’t pick up anything of that kind. There was more a coldness from the father, I think. A lack of communication. At least once Lorna had passed early childhood.’
Joe felt frustrated. He’d already gained that information from Jill Falstone. He’d driven all this way and he felt as if he’d come away with nothing to help him explain the young woman’s death. No little gem to carry back to Vera as a gift.
‘I didn’t know she’d had a child,’ Joanne said. ‘She kept in contact with me for a while – the odd text or call – but I’ve not heard from her for a couple of years. Pregnancy could have come as a surprise. Former anorexics often struggle to conceive.’ She paused and professional curiosity seemed to take over. ‘Was she depressed after the birth? That sometimes happens.’
‘I don’t think so. She seemed to be getting on with her life. She saw her mother regularly. I don’t think they were particularly close, but at least they kept in touch.’ Joe paused for a moment. ‘There was a patient called Nat Blackstock here at the same time. Were he and Lorna friends?’
Joanne seemed confused by the question. ‘Yes, close friends. I was Nat’s key worker too. But he can’t have anything to do with Lorna’s murder. He died several years ago.’
‘Do you remember his brother, Paul?’
‘He was an older brother. Very protective.’ She shut her eyes briefly in an attempt to recall the details. ‘He spent a lot of time here. Too much time, I sometimes thought. Nat needed to be allowed to make his own decisions.’
But in the end, Joe thought, Nat decided to die.
‘Would Paul have met Lorna?’
‘I’m sure he did. As I said, she and Nat were very close friends.’
‘Paul went on to marry someone working here,’ Joe said. ‘A drama therapist called Sophie. Do you remember her?’
‘I do! We’ve had a number of artistic residencies over the years. I hadn’t realized the two of them knew each other.’
‘They say that this is where they met.’
There was a silence. Joe looked out over the tarn. Still, he was reluctant to leave without some gem to pass on to Vera. ‘You say that Nat Blackstock’s brother came here often. Did Lorna have any frequent visitors? Apart from her parents?’
‘Her parents didn’t come often. Lorna’s choice, not theirs. A couple of pupils from her school turned up once, driven by their parents. I had the sense they were there out of duty – or guilt – rather than because they really wanted to be. And there was an older man, a relative I presume.’
‘Would you have kept a record of their names?’
She shook her head. ‘This is a hospital, Sergeant, not a prison.’
At last, Joe did get to his feet. ‘Is there anything else you can tell me?’
Joanne considered for a moment. ‘This is about Lorna as a woman, not a patient. She was hugely creative. She painted and she wrote. Stories and poetry as part of occupational therapy, but she kept a diary too. She said that one day she’d turn it into a book. To help other kids on the verge of anorexia.’
Joe made a note about that. He wondered if she’d continued writing the diary and where it was now. The CSIs hadn’t mentioned finding anything like that in Lorna’s house and they’d have been looking.
He was at the door, looking forward to heading east again, and back to proper policing. This was all too close to home. His Jess wasn’t much younger than Lorna had been when she’d started starving herself and Jess was always complaining that she was too fat; she could get faddy with her food too. He’d talk to Sal and make sure she was keeping an eye. He turned back to Joanne. ‘Was Lorna one of the patients who had their care paid for by their health authority?’
Joanne shook her head. ‘We don’t have a partnership agreement with Northumbria. It must have been self-funded.’
‘You would keep a record of that, wouldn’t you?’
‘Of course. It’ll be in the office. Ask Elspeth to help you.’
And the efficient Elspeth, tapping on the computer, found the answer he needed very quickly. ‘Lorna Falstone’s fees were paid by a third party.’ A pause. She’d been working on a laptop and turned it so Joe could see the screen. A pro-forma bill, the name at the top: Crispin Stanhope. ‘Shall I print out the address?’
‘No, thanks,’ Joe said. ‘I already have it.’ His soul was singing. After all, he did have a little something to take back to Vera.
Chapter Twenty
TEN IN THE MORNING, AND VERA was back in Kirkhill, walking the streets, drinking Gloria’s coffee, listening to gossip. The village hall was on the edge of the settlement on the road that led to Brockburn. It was wooden, and looked to Vera like a Scout hut, as if a strong puff of
