‘Sad case. The baby had died in a car accident. Death certificate, after post-mortem.’ She shuffled through the few forms in the file. ‘All here, the paperwork … Cause of death, sub-dural haematoma – a nasty bang on the head. Here’s the Coroner’s “E” certificate, releasing the body for disposal.’ She read. ‘Cremated.’
‘No trace of family?’
‘It seems her mother was in the hospital, in a coma. Inquest adjourned. No other traceable relatives, all the usual enquiries were made.’
‘But the body was disposed of even though the mother was still alive in the hospital?’
‘In a coma, young man,’ she insisted in schoolma’amly fashion. ‘And not expected to live, according to the doctor’s report. Little point in waiting.’
‘Even so, it seems a little hasty, to dispose of the body only a couple of weeks after death.’
‘Just what the forin lady suggested. So I took the trouble of enquiring from the Coroner himself. There’s no mystery. Our mortuary facilities were simply overflowing with …’ – she hesitated in search of a more delicate word – ‘unfortunates. It’s quite common for them to be stacked two to a tray, and sometimes even that’s not enough. We really do need expanded facilities but, you know, the cuts …’
Cuts, the last resort of the bureaucrat, the eternal explanation for inadequacy. The same cuts that had produced the new A&E wing at the hospital, the indoor sports complex with Olympic-size swimming pool, and an additional primary school. But no new fridge facilities at the mortuary. The dead have no votes, he reflected.
‘So on rare occasions the Coroner, most reluctantly, is forced to issue his “E” simply to make room, you see. Unless the police have questions or suspect foul play, which was not the case in this instance.’
‘That’s …’ – he wanted to say convenient – ‘understandable. And that’s what you told the other lady?’
‘Would have done. But she never called back, and that after I’d gone to the trouble of contacting the Coroner himself. Not very good for social services, is it? You wonder at times why they can’t find local people to do these jobs, don’t you, Mr Blackheart? Maybe it’s the cuts again. Although you would have thought they could find room for such a tiny baby,’ she added wistfully.
‘You have to sweep out the mortuary very often?’ His tone was deliberately casual which he knew she would find offensive.
‘Very rarely. And I certainly wouldn’t put it like that.’
‘So you haven’t had to get rid of a large number of bodies?’
‘Absolutely not. Very few, in fact.’ She was defensive. ‘This was a most exceptional circumstance.’
‘An unusual case, you’d say?’
‘Yes, a most unusual case. Unique. Pity, really.’
‘A great pity.’
He found mother and child seated on the plastic chairs in the corner of the hospital’s main reception area, as though trying to separate themselves from the rest of the world as it bustled past. Izzy seemed deflated, grown smaller since he had dropped her off.
‘You OK?’
‘Fine. Fully fit,’ she replied without enthusiasm, her hair in uncharacteristic disarray from lying on the examination couch. She looked her age. The skin around the eyes had a slight waxiness. For the first time he noticed the face appeared drawn, and it wasn’t just the hospital lighting.
‘They say I can go home.’ She made it sound like a sentence.
‘But you’re not going.’
‘I need … I need something more. There’s still no reason, no motive for all this. I feel … Frankly, I feel ripped apart.’
He sat beside her, placing an arm around her shoulder. ‘Come on. What’s wrong?’
‘Hell, I don’t know. Because my hair’s messed up, my clothes make me look ridiculous, the doctor all but convinced me there couldn’t have been a mistake – how many more reasons do you want?’ She paused. ‘Because every time I close my eyes I see Benjy standing in front of that lorry. And because no matter how hard I try I can’t remember what Bella looks like. And because …’ For a moment she thought she might tell him that her hormones were conducting civil war inside her, that this was the first time since her coma and they were taking their revenge for all the months of oestrogenal regimentation which the accident had brought to an end, but men were so damned juvenile about such things.
She couldn’t help herself. She felt the tear creeping down her cheek; normally she would have fought it, summoned up her professional self-respect to obliterate any possibility of them branding her as weak, of giving men the excuse to categorize her as another faint-willed woman. But Daniel was different. He had a manner about him that was entirely non-judgemental, uncritical, that encouraged others to express themselves freely and without inhibition – that suggested he had been there, too. With him she had begun to find her emotions once more; she’d smiled, even remembered how to laugh, and now felt the freedom to shed tears. Her head fell on his shoulder as though dragged down by an intolerable weight. Without wanting to, she noticed how firm and unfleshy he was beneath the shapeless stitching of his jacket, how unlike any other man she had known for a long time, unlike Joe had ever been. She found it a confusing thought, with her child at her feet – a child who refused to be left out.
‘Mumee, Mumee,’ Benjamin exclaimed.
‘Yes, dear?’
‘Danny huggling you. Danny nice.’
‘Yes. He is, isn’t he,’ she mumbled, her face buried in his shoulder.
‘You’re a beautiful lady, Isadora Dean,’ he whispered into her hair, ‘but you can’t sit round all day falling into the arms of strange men who bear nothing but lecherous intent. At least, not while you’ve got a job to be getting on with.’
Her head stayed down. He decided to try a different tack.
‘Interesting news, Izzy. The disposal of the baby’s body was completely in order, all the legal requirements taken care of, all their little forms present and correct. But what wasn’t correct was the rush with which it was handled. It’s almost unheard of to dispose of an unclaimed body so quickly.’
‘You’re not going to tell me that the Coroner is Paul Devereux’s brother-in-law, are you?’
‘Not as far as I know, but somebody is panicking.’
‘You have the evidence?’
‘That’s the point, Izzy. All the evidence is being removed. The baby’s body. They are trying to get rid of you. And they succeeded in getting rid of Katti.’
Izzy froze. Her head lifted, eyes red.
‘Katti did begin making the enquiries she promised you, but before she was able to find the answers she disappeared. Or rather, was removed. After leaving the Coroner’s I called up the social services.’ He smiled an artful smile. ‘I have inside influence. A young lady. Former close companion. Blonde, no brains, just my type.’ He was goading her.
‘We were discussing Katti.’
‘You told me she promised on Wednesday afternoon to start making enquiries. She did. Coroner’s Office acknowledged as much. And by Monday morning she was out of the country.’
He watched as will-power alone dried the tears and forced the sparkle back into her remarkable emerald eyes. She ran a hand through her hair; it sprang back into order, back on parade. With reluctance, Daniel removed his arm from around her before continuing.
‘They discovered something wrong with her work permit. Technically it made her an illegal immigrant, so they gave her a choice. Leave the country voluntarily for a couple of months while the problem was sorted out, or be deported and never allowed back in again.’
‘But why have they been giving me the runaround? Why hush it up?’
‘Be embarrassing for an official agency to be seen employing illegal immigrants.’
‘The Establishment closing ranks.’
‘Someone’s running scared, Izzy. Someone with a hell of a lot of influence.’
‘Paul Devereux.’ Her voice was soft, no more than a whisper. She picked up Benjy and wrapped him pro
tectively in her arms, ‘Once you start a cover-up, that cover-up in turn has to be covered up, and so on. He covers up for his daughter, then he has to cover up for himself. It never stops, Daniel. And if the baby who died wasn’t Bella, who was she? And how did she die? Someone out there must be pretty desperate. I’m already in their sights, Benjy too. You’ll be next on the list.’
‘Too late. They fired me this morning.’
‘You’re not serious,’ she blurted.
He was.
‘No worries,’ he smiled. ‘The Wessex Chronicle was never going to be more than a minor stepping stone on the way, so now I’ve been able to jump it considerably faster than I thought.’
‘You sure?’
‘Think of it this way. You want me, you got me. Exclusive and full time.’
He wanted her, suddenly she knew it without any doubt. It caused her alarm, confused her, invigorated her. There was no room in her life for complications, her emotions were still too raw to be exposed and, anyway, he was almost ten years younger. And he was exactly what she needed to restore her sense of self.
‘So what’s next in my life, Miss Dean?’
‘Next, Danny Blackheart, is to get you as quickly as possible to Accident & Emergency.’
A&E was modern, well equipped and beplaqued as befitted a facility opened less than a year before by a minor scion of Royalty, and, on this occasion at least, quiet. No more than a split thumb from a nearby building site and a mild concussion from the local school sports field. The duty sister, on being told of Izzy’s history, welcomed them with warmth and a cup of tea, while Benjy quickly became distracted in a wrestling match with a sizeable stuffed panda.
‘Take me through what would have happened to me and my children that night.’
‘You would have been brought here by ambulance, we would have been expecting you. So no waiting around here in the reception area with the grazed knees and sprained wrists, straight through for examination. Either in one of the cubicles or in the emergency room.’
‘Which one in my case?’
‘Depends. If there were no obvious signs of serious physical damage, no heart failure or the like, probably in one of the cubicles here.’ She indicated a row of compartments, separated from the reception area by no more than a curtain.
‘And my children?’
‘Little Benjy was unharmed, you say? Well, probably we would have kept him out of the way, occupied him with toys in the waiting room like he is now. In the case of your baby, she would have been examined immediately, along with you. Look, if it’s important, I think one of my nurses was on nights then, might remember much more than I can tell you. Would you like to talk with her?’
And so Nurse Ali Duffin was introduced, a slender, composed young woman with eyes which cared and were shaped like almonds and a figure which many male patients had expressed themselves happy to die for. And who knew Daniel.
‘Hello, stranger.’ She offered a wary smile. ‘What brings you back into my life?’
Izzy sensed caution – genuine warmth, no hostility, but a guarded, almost professional approach to an old friend. There was a strong atmosphere of past pleasures and pains. Izzy suspected scar tissue.
Daniel offered both his hands, fleetingly accepted, and expressed his delight but offered no kiss. Definite scar tissue. ‘Ali and I were once very good friends,’ he explained to Izzy. ‘Way back. In London.’
‘Three and a half years,’ Ali added. ‘But who’s counting?’
‘I fouled things up.’
‘How are you, Danny? Fully recovered?’ She stepped back to run an approving eye over him, peeling layers of clothing off the body, admiring, reminiscing.
‘I’m fine. My only problem is that I never found a chance to thank you properly. I had no idea you were bumping around in the same town. Why?’
‘Got tired of London. Tired of living in debt and dirt. Watching too many of my friends jump in at the deep end and never come up. You know how it is, Danny.’
He turned to Izzy. ‘Ali helped me during a long illness a few years ago; she’ll always be very special to me.’
‘OK, enough Blackheart charm. I’ve seen it all before, remember?’ But the face had grown relaxed, the smile broader. She ushered them into the sister’s office.
‘I remember that night you came in rather well,’ Ali explained to Izzy. ‘It was hellish busy, there was not only your accident and the normal wear and tear of a Saturday night but also a cardiac arrest and some trouble with several Weekend Willies – drunken fans from a local football derby.’
‘So it was pretty confused?’
‘Very. Mind you, on a Saturday night it always is.’
‘Humour me, Ali,’ Daniel interjected. ‘Perhaps confused enough for the identities of two patients to be switched?’
She first looked startled at the question, then shook her head firmly. ‘No. We put on identity tags as soon as we start looking at patients. No chance of a mistake.’
‘But couldn’t someone deliberately switch the tags?’
‘Not really. The patient would have to be unconscious or delirious—’
‘Or babies,’ Izzy whispered.
‘And no one was going to go round cutting off ID tags and replacing them on that night of all nights. Not with policemen everywhere.’
‘Police?’
‘Place was swarming with them, what with your accident, the football match … There was even a burglar with a broken leg. That’s one of the reasons I remember the night so well, our local constables can be as much trouble as the patients.’
‘In what way?’
‘Always asking you to assist them with their enquiries. And you know the only enquiries men are interested in.’
Both women looked at Daniel, who responded with a passable impression of choirboy innocence. Except Izzy had never met a choirboy with an earring.
‘They’re incorrigible, Miss Dean. One tried to ask me out even while we were both in the car park trying to deal with the fire alarm. Trouble is, I was dumb enough to accept.’
‘The fire alarm?’ Daniel’s voice all but cracked as the words forced their way out.
‘Yes. One of the drunks activated the fire alarm and so we had to empty the department of non-emergency cases, just for a couple of minutes while we checked. It happened just as you arrived, actually.’
‘So much of A&E would have been left unattended?’
‘Not entirely, and the disturbance lasted only for a couple of minutes. We discovered it was a false alarm even before we’d got all the non-emergencies out.’
Izzy closed her eyes for a moment, imagining the scene, patients wandering, confused, disorganized, the hard-pressed casualty staff doing their best to restore order from the chaos, attention distracted. Perhaps even before they had time to put on ID bracelets. Before Bella had been given an identity.
‘Ali, is it possible in the middle of the fire alarm that a patient could have been left alone, in one of the cubicles, while the nurse or doctor stepped out to discover what the commotion was all about?’
The nurse thought. ‘For seconds, perhaps. Not minutes. The whole thing was over so quickly.’
Both Daniel and Izzy sucked up the information, the possibility that in the confusion there had been a mistake, perhaps even a deliberate mistake. After all, it was far quicker to swap babies than it was ID bracelets. The work of seconds.
‘And do you remember my baby, Ali? What she looked like?’
‘No, I’m sorry, Miss Dean. Babies are the most difficult patients to remember. They all have the same tiny, unformed features which seem to stretch and change every five minutes, and I didn’t deal with your baby personally. As it happens I was dealing with another baby at the time and in all the confusion of that night I’m not sure I can even remember her.’.
The world had stopped.
‘There was another baby here? A baby girl?’ Both Daniel and Izzy seemed to compete to get the question out first.
‘Yes. The mother had dropped her and was terribly anxious the baby might have suffered some damage, but she was perfectly fit. A quick check-up, then we let her go.’
‘No ID bracelet?’
‘No need. She wasn’t admitted.’
‘But she was here during the fire alarm? At the same time as me?’
‘Certainly.’
‘Ali, this is most important. Can you remember the mother’s name?’
‘No, I can’t. And anyway I’m not supposed to give out information about other patients.’
‘Come on, Ali.’ Daniel’s anguish was transparent. ‘This could be more important than anything I’ve ever asked of you. Anything.’
‘You’re serious.’
‘One hundred per cent.’
The nurse looked warily from one to the other, then back again. ‘Well, I don’t suppose names count strictly as medical records. Wait here a moment.’
She returned clutching a large manila envelope, from which she extracted its single sheet of paper.
‘Smith. The name was Smith. Just a surname for the baby, no mother’s name recorded.’
‘You’re kidding,’ Izzy protested. ‘Surely you can do better than that.’
Ali shrugged. ‘It happens. A lot. People not wanting to give their full names to casualty. Anyway, the baby wasn’t admitted, she received no treatment apart from a check-up. And in all that confusion … I’m sorry.’
Izzy and Daniel visibly shrank with disappointment.
‘All I have here is an address.’
‘An address will do very well, thank you.’ Izzy’s hand trembled as she wrote down the details. Bilshay Crescent. ‘One last thing. Can you remember what she looked like?’
‘The baby? No.’
‘The mother.’
Ali wrinkled her face in concentration. ‘Young, I guess.’
‘Thin? Blonde?’
‘Mmm, think so. Why, do you know her?’
Izzy’s body felt consumed by fire, comprehension spilling like acid through her veins. Yes, she knew the mother. And she thought she knew how Bella had disappeared, unidentified, in the midst of the confusion.
How she might have been left with the wrong, dead child.