Kitabı oku: «The Consultant's Italian Knight», sayfa 2

CHAPTER TWO

‘HE’S’ back,’ Terri said.

‘That’s nice,’ Kate murmured vaguely, more intent on inserting the final suture into the badly cut hand of the young woman sitting in front of her than on what the sister had just said. ‘OK,’ she continued, straightening up, ‘I think that should do it.’

‘Will my hand be scarred?’ the young woman asked. ‘Not that it matters, of course, but…’

‘I’m afraid you’re going to be left with a couple of faint white lines once those cuts heal,’ Kate admitted, ‘but, considering what you fell on, it could have been a lot worse. A few centimetres higher, and you would have cut an artery.’

‘That’ll teach me to pay proper attention when I’m carrying bottles of wine out to a barbecue,’ the young woman said with feeling, and Kate chuckled.

‘Get some brawny man to do it for you in future. They like looking macho.’

The young woman laughed. ‘I’ll remember that. Do you want me to come back to get the stitches out?’ she added, and Kate shook her head.

‘Your own GP can remove them for you, but don’t forget to call in at the hospital pharmacy before you leave to collect some painkillers. Once the anaesthetic wears off, I’m afraid your hand is going to feel as though somebody’s been inserting red hot needles into it.’

The woman rolled her eyes. ‘I’m definitely going to get some brawny man to carry the wine in future,’ she declared but, the minute she had gone, Terri cleared her throat discreetly.

‘I said, your friend’s back.’

‘What friend?’ Kate asked, rotating her neck wearily, then pulling off her bloodstained surgical gloves and binning them.

‘Mario Volante.’

He was back? But she still hadn’t remembered the fourth name that Duncan Hamilton had given her on Saturday night, and Mario Volante must know she wasn’t likely to remember it two days later. Plus, she’d had a long afternoon. A very long afternoon.

Not to mention the fact that you never wanted to see him again, a little voice whispered at the back of her head.

Too darned right, I don’t, she thought. He’s too unsettling, too aggravating, too everything.

‘Tell him I’m sorry, but I don’t have time to talk to him right now,’ she declared. ‘If he’d like to phone—’

‘He said you’d say that,’ Terri interrupted, ‘so he also said to tell you…’ The sister’s eyes danced. ‘That the strip search offer was still on.’

‘Oh, did he,’ Kate said grimly. ‘Well, we’ll see about that. Where is he?’

‘The waiting room.’

But he wasn’t. When Kate marched out of the treatment room, fully intending to give Mario Volante a very large piece of her mind, he was walking down the corridor towards her looking every bit as scruffy and unkempt as he had on Saturday night.

‘Don’t you own a suit?’ she demanded. ‘Or at the very least something that doesn’t make you look like the people you’re supposed to be arresting?’

‘Well, hello, and it’s nice to see you again, too,’ he said, a maddening

smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. ‘Are you always this cranky?’

‘Only when people seem determined to waste my time,’ she replied irritably. ‘Look, much as I want to help, you already know everything I do, so why don’t you just run along and do some really important police work like arresting some little old ladies for jaywalking?’

‘I’m back because I need your signature on a transcript.’

‘Oh.’ Suddenly she felt stupid and, if there was one thing she hated, it was feeling stupid. ‘Of course I’ll sign—’

‘Plus, I have some photographs I want you to look at,’ he interrupted. ‘They’re of people you might have noticed hanging around the waiting room the night Hamilton died, or perhaps since then. ’

She gazed up at him, hardly able to believe her ears. ‘Inspector Volante—’

‘It’s Mario. ’‘Whatever,’ she said dismissively. ‘Do you honestly think I have time to run out into the waiting room and stare at who’s sitting there?’

‘You might recognise somebody.’

‘I won’t.’

‘You might.’

‘I won’t,’ she insisted, and he sighed.

‘Dr Kennedy, I’ve had a long day, and I really want to get back to my office before midnight, so we can do this the easy way, or…?’

She stared up into his resolute face. That he was not going to take no for an answer was plain, and if she kept on refusing he’d probably make good on his threat to take her down to the police station and that would be an even bigger waste of her time.

‘OK, let’s get this over with!’ she exclaimed. ‘Give me the transcript to sign and then I’ll look at your damned photographs.’

He glanced over his shoulder. ‘Not here. It’s too open, too exposed, and somebody might overhear us.’

‘I’m not getting into a cupboard with you again,’ she said quickly, and his blue eyes glinted.

‘Spoilsport.’

She gritted her teeth. ‘Inspector Volante—’

‘It’s Mario, remember?’

‘OK, Mario,’ she said. ‘Look, I’m having a bad day…’ Bad day, bad week, bad year. ‘…and I really don’t have time for this.’

‘Time for what?’ he said, all faux innocence, and she let out a huff of frustration.

He was winding her up again, she knew he was, and she didn’t know who she was angrier with—herself, or him. Why couldn’t she effectively silence this infuriating man? She’d never had any trouble in the past. She’d always been able to inflict a crushing snub or a biting retort on anyone who dared suggest she was anything but a doctor first, and a woman second. Why was she so apparently incapable of making that clear now?

Because she didn’t want to completely shut him up, she realised as she gazed at him and saw the glint of laughter in his deep blue eyes. Because when he wasn’t infuriating her, it was fun to spar with him, and she had to stop thinking it was fun or she was going to be in big trouble.

‘My office is down that corridor,’ she said frostily. ‘We’ll use that.’

‘Terrific,’ he said, and strode off without even waiting for her to lead the way.

Rude, she thought as she followed him. He was rude as well as being opinionated and arrogant, but no way was she going to allow him to continually get the better of her. It was time somebody brought him down to size. Well past time.

‘I can give you half an hour, tops, because I have an admin meeting at six o’clock,’ she said when they reached her office. ‘If you need longer I’ll come down to your office on my day off.’

‘Fair enough.’ He pulled a chair over to her desk, extracted a notebook from his jacket pocket, and flipped it open. ‘OK, before I give you the transcript I need to confirm your personal details against those we have on file.’

‘You have a file on me?’ she said faintly, and he smiled without warmth.

‘We have a file on everybody, Dr Kennedy. Your full name is Kate Elizabeth Kennedy. You’ll be thirty-five on the 2nd of next month, your address is 33 Union Grove, and you’re married to John Elliot.’

‘No.’

A frown pleated his forehead. ‘No, to what?’

‘Your information is wrong on two counts,’ she replied. ‘My address is 33A Union Grove. The house is split into two, and I have the ground floor flat.’

‘And the second error?’

‘I…I’m not married any more,’ she said, trying to sound offhand, casual, but failing miserably. ‘My divorce came through on Saturday.’

‘I’m sorry,’ he declared, and there was genuine sympathy in his face. ‘It’s tough when a marriage ends acrimoniously.’

Hurt struggled with honesty within her, and honesty won.

‘It wasn’t an acrimonious divorce,’ she said with an effort. ‘He didn’t leave me for somebody else. He has somebody else now, but that wasn’t why he left. He left because…because he just didn’t love me any more.’

Probably because he hardly ever saw me, she thought miserably, and when we did meet we seemed to have run out of things to say. Unless it was to hurl angry, hurtful words at one another.

‘He was stupid.’

‘I—W-what?’ she stammered.

‘Kate, you’re bright, funny, attractive.’ He shrugged. ‘What else did he want?’

‘He didn’t…I didn’t…I mean…’ To her annoyance she could feel herself blushing. Pull yourself together, Kate. OK, so this attractive—very attractive—man has said you’re bright, and funny, and attractive, but that’s no reason for you to completely fall apart. ‘I…umm…Thank you.’

‘Don’t mention it,’ he said.

Dio, but he shouldn’t have either, he realised, as he saw a blush creep across her cheeks. OK, so she was bright, and funny and attractive, and he did think her husband was an idiot, but what the hell was he doing here? He never paid women compliments unless he was making a play for them, and he had no intention of making a play for Kate Kennedy. In fact, he’d been more than a little relieved to discover when he got back to his office on Saturday night that she was married which meant she was strictly off limits as far as he was concerned.

She still is, he told himself, as her large grey eyes met his then skittered away quickly. Divorced—separated—single—it made no difference. No way was he ever going to get involved with this woman. OK, so maybe she possessed the kind of lush, full breasts guaranteed to send a man’s blood rushing to his head, and a pair of hips that simply cried out to be touched, but she was trouble. He didn’t know how she possibly could be, but he could feel it, sense it.

‘What can you tell me about Terri Campbell?’ he said brusquely.

‘What’s that got to do with anything?’ she asked in confusion, and saw his eyebrows snap down. ‘OK—All right—for some reason best known only to yourself you want to know about Terri,’ she continued quickly. ‘She’s worked at the General for more than twenty years, has been a sister in A and E for the past ten years, is married to Frank, and has two children—Neil and Lissa.’

‘Has she any money or family worries?’

Kate blinked. Quite what he was trying to get at here was beyond her, but she had no intention of telling him anything about Terri’s problems with her son, Neil. That was the sister’s private business.

‘None as far as I know,’ she said.

‘You’re sure?’

‘Don’t you trust anybody?’ she exclaimed, and his lips curled as he wrote something down in his notebook.

‘God perhaps, but everyone else I regard as a suspect.’

‘Wow, but with that sort of attitude you must have a real fun social life,’ she said without thinking, then winced as she waited for him to explode, but to her amazement his mouth twitched into a reluctant smile.

‘You’re right, I don’t,’ he murmured. ‘What can you tell me about Paul Simpson, your specialist registrar?’

‘Paul?’ she echoed, desperately trying to marshal her thoughts, and not think about why a man with looks like Mario Volante should have a lousy social life. ‘Not a lot, really. He’s worked in the department for almost a year. He’s bright, efficient, and very organised.’

‘And you don’t like him,’ he said shrewdly.

She didn’t, and it had nothing to do with Paul’s capabilities. He was bright and efficient, but she also had the distinct impression that he didn’t like working for a woman. It wasn’t because of anything he’d said—he was far too astute to leave himself open to an accusation of sexual bias—but there had been the occasional look, the odd throwaway comment, that had more than ruffled her.

‘I can’t like everybody,’ she declared, suddenly realising Mario was expecting her to reply, ‘and as long as he continues to work efficiently I’ll have no complaints. ’

‘Colin Watson?’

She shook her head. ‘I don’t know him well enough to comment. He just qualified last month, and this is his first week with us.’

‘Ah.’ He smiled. ‘The dreaded August intake. Never be ill or have an accident in August because that’s when all the still-wet-behind-the-ears newly qualified doctors are let loose on the wards.’

‘Exactly.’ She could not help but laugh. ‘And before you ask me about the nursing staff,’ she continued, seeing him glance down at his notebook. ‘As far as I’m concerned, they’re all terrific, and if you want personal details about them you’ll have to ask Terri. The only other member of staff I know well is our porter, Bill, who’s worked in the department for twelve years, and is an absolute gem.’

Mario closed his notebook, and extracted a sheet of paper from his pocket.

‘This should be an exact transcript of what you told me on Saturday night. Could you read through it, then sign it if you agree that it’s accurate?’

She took the piece of paper from him, scanned it quickly, then reached for her pen.

‘What about the photographs you wanted me to look at?’ she said, scrawling her signature across the bottom of the page.

From his other pocket he pulled out a plastic envelope but before he could shake its contents out onto her desk, they both heard a distant thud.

Kate half rose to her feet, then slowly sat down again. If anything major had happened in the treatment room, Terri, or somebody else, would come for her. She knew that. She was fully aware of that, but the thud had sounded as though something or someone had fallen over. Maybe she ought to check it out, but Paul was on duty, and despite the fact that she didn’t like him, he wasn’t an idiot. Having said which…

‘Your department isn’t going to collapse simply because you’ve taken a half hour break,’ Mario declared, watching her, and she flushed.

‘I know.’

‘It’s just you don’t think anybody else can do the job as well as you can,’ he observed. ‘So which are you—a control freak, or an over-compensator?’

John had asked her that once, too, she remembered with a stab of pain. She’d yelled back at him that nobody ever questioned a man’s dedication to his work, and he had stared back at her for a long, silent moment, and then he’d walked away.

‘Kate?’

Mario’s eyes were fixed on her, curious, thoughtful, and she sat up straighter.

‘I thought you wanted me to look at some photographs?’ she declared.

For a moment she thought he was going to press the subject but, to her relief, he shook the photographs out of their packet onto her desk, then sat back.

‘Take your time. Don’t rush at it, but examine each one carefully.’

She was sorely tempted to tell him she wasn’t an idiot, but didn’t. Instead, she did as he asked, but when she’d reached the last one she shook her head.

‘I’m sorry. Nobody looks even remotely familiar. As I said before—’

‘You don’t run out into the waiting room and stare at the people sitting there,’ he finished for her. ‘Don’t worry about it. It was a long shot anyway, and thanks for trying.’

‘Is that everything?’ she asked.

‘Almost.’ He gathered up the photographs and pocketed them. ‘You might be interested to know we’ve got a full ID on Duncan Hamilton. He was originally from London, and had been doing casual work around Aberdeen for the past ten months. According to his widowed mother, he was a Grade A student who dropped out of university and had never been in trouble before.’

‘Then how in the world did he ever get mixed up in something like this?’ Kate said, and Mario’s face grew grim.

‘As I told you on Saturday, it can happen to anybody. The fixers prey on the weak and the unhappy. People who are in debt, people who think they’ll only have to be a mule or a body-packer once, and then all their worries will be over.’

But it was such a waste of a life, she thought, as she remembered Duncan Hamilton’s face as he’d thrashed and gasped in agony on the trolley. He ought to have had his whole life ahead of him, and now his body was lying, cold and stiff, on a mortuary slab.

And then something else occurred to her.

‘Your department knew Duncan was a body-packer, didn’t they?’ she said slowly. ‘I mean, if somebody collapsed in front of me, my first thought—even though I’m a doctor—wouldn’t be “body-packer”, and yet the security guards at the airport immediately thought that. They were expecting him, weren’t they?’

A glimmer of a smile curved his lips. ‘My department could do with people like you. ’

‘And that is not an answer,’ she pointed out, and he sighed.

‘Yes, we had a tip-off about him. It happens sometimes. Just last week we picked up a girl from Colombia who turned out to have two kilograms of snow stuffed down her bra. ’

‘Snow?’ she repeated, and he nodded.

‘“Snow”, “Charlie”, “coke”, “nose-candy”—cocaine goes by as many names as it does uses. You can snort it, smoke it, inject it, or mix it with heroin. I understand that rubbing it onto somebody’s genitalia and then licking it off is considered very stimulating. Not that I’ve ever tried it myself, of course,’ he added.

‘Right,’ she said, all too aware that a tide of heat was creeping up the back of her neck, and irritated beyond measure that it was.

Good grief, she was a doctor. She’d probably seen more female—and male—genitalia in her time than this man had eaten hot dinners, so what he was saying shouldn’t be making her blush, but it was.

‘Who tipped you off about Duncan?’ she asked, deliberately changing the subject.

‘His fixer.’

‘His fixer?’ she repeated. ‘But, why would the man who recruits the body-packers tip you off about one of his own?’

‘Because the fixer knows we can’t search every passenger who comes off a plane,’ Mario replied, ‘so sometimes he’ll phone us anonymously and give us a name. We arrest that mule or body-packer and somebody else on the plane, somebody who’s carrying perhaps twenty-five times the amount of cocaine of the person we’ve been tipped off about, walks free.’