Confessions Read online

  Wondering about Larry’s relationship with his own mother, Nat eyed him; this case had certainly hit a chord, but he was still in mid-speech.

  ‘But for now dear George is not saying much. Even in the four walls of his cell, the poor man doesn’t want to be disloyal. It will take careful handling to bring out the full story. Which brings me to my third point.’ He started pacing again. ‘How did she die? Strangulation, you may say, but we don’t know that yet. George said that she “fell to the floor”. Was this before or after he had his hands around her throat? Causation, young lady. Did those hands cause her death?’

  Causation. So, that’s what Joshim had been mumbling about on Saturday night.

  ‘So, you’re saying–’

  ‘I’m not saying anything, dear girl. But it’s something we must investigate. What exactly did she die of?’

  ‘Asphyxiation?’ she tried, unsure if it was a rhetorical question.

  ‘It may well be,’ Larry said, patting her shoulder. ‘But one must keep everything sharp. I think a nice forty-year-old tawny is calling.’

  Nat sat at the desk when he’d gone. There was a sour aroma of alcohol in the air. Perhaps the smell was imbedded in Larry’s clothes, but if that was how sharp his mind was by the afternoon, God only knew how whetted it was when he woke every morning.

  She took a bite of her cold butty. She had been fooled by the colour. The bacon was accompanied by sweet onion relish mixed with beetroot, delicious all the same. Putting her feet on the table, she ruminated on the information Larry had given, but she was interrupted mid-flow by her mobile. It was Max. She was tempted to ignore it, but he’d become a good friend. Wes had left a large hole in her life; she didn’t want another.

  ‘Yup,’ she said.

  ‘You called me.’ Then after a moment. ‘What are you eating?’

  ‘Bacon and beetroot.’ She sighed. It had to be humour; it was the only way to cope. ‘I had to brave the cold to buy it, whereas I hear a handmaiden brings in your lunch and feeds you from a silver spoon.’

  He laughed. ‘Well, who’d turn it down?’

  It was true, very true. Nat put down the floury bread. ‘So, I was thinking about you and your girlfriend’s… well, manipulation.’ She nodded to herself. Yes, the woman sounded far too much like the Cling-on.

  ‘God, don’t,’ Max replied. ‘I’m trying not to think about her. I’ll have to delete my call history before I go home.’ He paused. ‘Not all of it, but some. All of it would look dodgy, wouldn’t it? That would look suspicious and she’d harangue me for hours.’

  ‘Just leave her.’

  ‘She’ll use her ammo.’

  ‘Bluff it out.’

  ‘I can’t take the risk.’

  ‘Then there’s only one option. From what you’ve said, she’s threatening revenge porn. I don’t want to teach my grandmother to suck eggs, whatever the hell that actually means, but it’s illegal to share sexually explicit images without the owner’s consent.’ Squinting, she tried to remember the wording of the statute. ‘It’s something like, “Non-consensual sharing of any explicit film depicted in a sexual way…” or, and I imagine this is the crux, “with their private parts exposed…” It’s a potential two-year prison sentence, Max. Put that in her pipe and invite her to smoke it.’

  20

  Money Talks

  Although Nat had already done her research, the posed portrait on the waiting room wall named Doctor Peter Woodcock as the senior partner of the modern Worsley practice. It also stated he was a Justice of the Peace.

  The receptionist took her through to his surgery. Smart and regular-featured with neat grey hair, he stood when she entered and held out his hand. From his patterned Pringle jumper, the golfing celebrity photographs adorning one wall and the selection of putting irons lined up against the other, Nat guessed he mainly dealt with the upper echelons of Worsley society. Not that she judged him too much; he seemed a very thoughtful, if guarded, man.

  After inviting her to sit, he tapped his lips with steepled hands. ‘I have agreed to speak to you because I’ve been asked to by…’ He cleared his throat. ‘Brian and Shirley aren’t just patients, they are friends and have been for many years.’ He paused for several moments. ‘However, I have to be circumspect. How do they put it in American legal dramas? I wouldn’t want to incriminate myself.’ He flushed slightly. ‘Not that I have anything to hide, but…’

  Nat sensed he wanted to help, but was struggling. Perhaps he’d seen a solicitor who’d told him to keep quiet. Or maybe he’d learned caution from his voluntary work as a magistrate.

  ‘I don’t know how the police operate,’ she replied. ‘But I’m talking to you on behalf of my client, Brian Selby. Anything to help me understand his daughter’s condition can only help him.’

  He nodded and leaned forward. ‘Then I’ll be frank. I was and I still am the whole family’s general practitioner. As I say, we are friends too. But I have a responsibility to this practice, my patients and my partners. If there was any suggestion that I knew about what Brian, or indeed Shirley, had in mind, that I conspired or colluded in any way…’

  Nat met his gaze. ‘I understand. And of course it was you who quite properly reported it to the police.’

  He looked at her steadily with intelligent, clear eyes. ‘Indeed.’ He took a breath. ‘I was asked by Melanie herself many times if there was anything I could do to relieve her suffering. I did all that I could, which was to prescribe levels of morphine in accordance with guidelines. I carefully documented everything in the medical records together with the clinical reasons for it.’

  Nat nodded. Yes, morphine; that’s what Melanie’s dad had told her and Robbie at the police station. Still on remand, Brian had been transferred to HMP Risley in Warrington, so Nat had visited him this morning en route. If it were at all possible, he’d been even more reticent than the last time. Though Nat had emphasised she was on his side and that everything he said was protected by solicitor–client confidentiality, all he’d been prepared to say was: ‘My girl was suffering. She wanted to die; she asked me to help her and I did. If that’s a crime, so be it. Shirley should go home; Lucy needs her. That’s all there is to it.’

  ‘Lucy is Melanie’s younger sister?’ she’d asked him.

  He’d nodded briskly. ‘A daughter needs her mother at a time like this.’

  Nat came back to the GP’s face. He wasn’t telling it, but the tension in his jaw told a tale. He was worried; more than just worried. What had Brian said? That Melanie had stockpiled the morphine? This upstanding member of the community would have to appear in the coroner’s court; his name might be mentioned in the tabloid press; even worse he could get into trouble with the police and his own profession by allowing an overdose to happen. How did the prescribing and management of drugs work? Was the pain relief left at the house for the patient to use when needed, or did the rules require administration by a medic? The latter, surely? But even then, Harold Shipman had demonstrated that was no bar to prevent abuse. She considered asking the good doctor, but didn’t want him to clamp up. Today’s visit was to extract as much information as she could about Melanie’s illness. To fill in the gaps Brian wasn’t supplying.

  She took a breath. ‘What did Melanie mean by “relieve her suffering”? Are you saying that as a euphemism? And if you are, what did she say exactly?’

  ‘Melanie told me many times that she wanted to die. This was also made clear to her family and friends.’

  ‘Do her medical records reflect this?’

  ‘Of course. There’s a “do not resuscitate” notice clearly stated at the front of her notes. But at no time did she express the desire to shorten or take her own life. If this had been the case I would have swiftly switched morphine capsules to patches or even a syringe driver. I had no concerns; indeed Melanie and I had a good rapport. At times she told me she had less pain, so the dosage was reduced–’

  ‘And at others?’

  ‘If it became worse
, she told me that too.’

  ‘And you would up the dosage?’

  ‘Yes.’ He cleared his throat. ‘It isn’t uncommon for prescribing to go up and down. It’s part and parcel of pain management.’

  Nat nodded. So, Melanie had been on oral medication; not injections as she’d supposed. ‘The friends you mention. Can you name any of them?’

  He looked at his surgery door as though it might give him an answer. ‘No, I’m afraid not. Of course Lucy would know but the poor…’

  His voice trailed off, so Nat waited. Lucy was Brian’s younger daughter, the ‘lovely teenager’ Jack had mentioned meeting a while back. Nat didn’t know a great deal about her yet, but her heart certainly went out to her. ‘Would you be happy giving me her mobile number? Her address?’

  Doctor Woodcock brought his focus back to Nat. ‘She’s staying with us, actually. But I would want to ask her first. She might want me there…’

  ‘Of course,’ Nat replied. Would a young woman actually want her older doctor there? A boyfriend, a husband, a friend, perhaps?

  ‘She’s just turned seventeen, technically a minor,’ he commented, as though reading her thoughts. ‘A late blessing for Brian and Shirley.’ He pinched the top of his nose and was silent. ‘What else would you like to know?’ he asked eventually, reaching for a tissue.

  Bloody hell. Only seventeen. No wonder Brian wanted Shirley to go back home. ‘Melanie’s illness. Can you tell me more about it?’

  ‘It was diagnosed as chronic fatigue syndrome by the specialist many years ago. You might be aware it’s also known as myalgic encephalomyelitis or ME. The family believe it began when Melanie was given a routine BCG vaccination at school.’ He frowned thoughtfully. ‘I’m very much a proponent of immunisation, and in my view that was purely coincidental, but one can forgive her family for suspecting otherwise. The causes of CFS/ME are varied – from viral infections, such as glandular fever to bacterial infections, such as pneumonia; then there are problems with the immune system and hormone imbalances. Sadly we’ll never know, but over the years Melanie declined to such an extent that she became bedridden, then eventually lost her voice, the power to speak. For her that was the final straw. It was horrendously tragic to witness it.’

  ‘How did she communicate?’ Nat asked, aware of a huge lump in her own throat.

  ‘Written notes, her iPad, her laptop – when she could summon the energy.’ He looked at his watch. ‘I’m sorry but I’m due a patient now. Is there anything else I can help you with?’

  Nat took a breath. Was it appropriate to ask? She had her own view of the matter, but it would be interesting to hear his. ‘You spoke to them both, Brian and Shirley. They came to you to confess. Who do you think did it?’

  His expression stony, he stood and guided Nat to the door. ‘That is something I would prefer not to comment on.’

  Finally back in Heald Green, Nat strode to the office, stepped over the threshold, then stopped in her tracks to fully absorb the comical scene. Would she get away with taking a photograph? Just for a reality check, if not to post on Instagram? She snorted. Yup, this could only happen at Savage Solicitors. Sitting cross-legged and revealing red knickers through her tights, Chantelle was atop the reception counter.

  ‘So…?’ Nat began.

  ‘A mouse,’ Robbie explained with a shrug. ‘So she says.’

  ‘There was a mouse, if not a rat, in his…’ Chantelle motioned quotation marks with her fingers. ‘…office.’ It caused a worrying wobble. ‘I am not coming down until someone catches it.’

  ‘Don’t go in there, then,’ Robbie replied reasonably. ‘And if you insist on using my desk for your break, don’t eat cake like you did this morning.’

  Nat thought about Goldman Law’s office manual with a smile. There would surely be an answer within that tome to deal with this unexpected situation, not to mention the fifty-eight clauses which dealt with health and safety.

  ‘Look I’m sure the mouse is more scared of you than you are of it…’ she began. ‘If it was an actual live and kicking one. Robbie and I found a whole load of stuff in there.’ She laughed at the memory. ‘Seems the boss used to do magic tricks. It wouldn’t be at all surprising if a pretend rodent was part of the act.’

  She was ad-libbing, but it was true, there had been a box stuffed with magician’s paraphernalia, adult-sized. She made a mental note to rib Gavin about it big time. Robbie had stashed it upstairs with his other personal effects. It had felt too invasive to go up there herself, but she did wonder what his living quarters were like. Was his flat as threadbare as the office or had he made it homely with soft furnishings, nice curtains and cushions à la John Lewis Homeware floor? Somehow she doubted it.

  She reached out to Chantelle. ‘Come on, girl, there’s work to be done. I was stuck in blasted traffic, so here’s the tape from today’s meeting with Melanie Selby’s doctor. You won’t believe what the poor woman had to go through before she died. It’s unbelievably tragic.’

  That seemed to do the trick. Taking both her and Robbie’s hands, Chantelle uncrossed her legs and dropped delicately to the floor.

  Robbie followed Nat to her office. ‘What do you think about restorative justice?’ he asked, his stutter making a comeback.

  Surprised, she turned. Had Gavin mentioned it to Robbie? After their park conversation, she’d tried to put herself in her pal’s shoes, but really couldn’t. She had wanted an eye for an eye, the shooter shot, if not hung, drawn and quartered, not so long ago, but now she knew Ruthie would make a full recovery, albeit a slow one, the idea of forgiveness felt different.

  She studied the paralegal’s flushed face. ‘Restorative justice? I don’t know much about it,’ she replied. ‘But I understand that if both parties want to do it, it can be very rewarding. I’ve read that it can help victims feel empowered and give them a sense of recovering what they’ve lost, but it’s not for everyone; sometimes the anger is too much, I suppose…’

  He looked at the floor and shuffled his feet. ‘Lecture this morning.’

  ‘Of course, I keep forgetting you’re a college boy.’

  It hadn’t been part of Nat’s learning at uni or law school, but conciliation, mediation, restoration and the like were very much part of the legal process these days. She liked them, but knew that other lawyers didn’t. Some older diehards viewed them like their medical counterparts viewed alternative medicine. There were also the legal fee implications. Alternative dispute resolution, if successful, was a very effective cost-saving measure. Not every barrister or solicitor wanted that. What was that joke? Ah yes. Question: What’s the difference between a good lawyer and a bad lawyer? Answer: A bad lawyer can let a case drag out for several years. A good lawyer can make it last even longer.

  ‘What about you?’ she asked Robbie. ‘What do you think from what you learned today?’

  He played with his fringe. ‘Sounds good,’ he said, quickly changing the subject. ‘You wanted to have a chat about Michal Gorski today–?’

  ‘God, yes. How did it go? Tell me everything,’ Nat replied, sitting down.

  What with all the other things rattling around in her head, she’d temporarily forgotten about Borys’s son and the Levenshulme Mafia. If, of course, they and DFL Debt Advisers were one and the same… Though deep in her bones, she was certain.

  Perching opposite, Robbie took a big breath. ‘He brought what documents he could find, basically the warning letters from the car loan and credit card companies–’

  ‘The ones his dad finally opened?’

  ‘Yeah. But he’d downloaded all the debt management documents from the internet, signed them and sent them to a PO box address without keeping a copy. The DFL crooks arranged the direct debit payments which have gone out ever since.’

  ‘What did the credit card people say?’

  ‘That they don’t know anything about any…’ He crinkled his nose, clearly searching for a word. ‘Any… assignment of the debts, or debt management plan. Th
ey say Michal still owes them in full for the loan, penalties, interest and recovery costs. They were just about to go for a judgement, but I explained everything and they said they’d hold off for now.’

  ‘Good work, Robbie. So at the moment we’ve got no documents; we can’t actually prove the name of the debt management company?’ He nodded. ‘Right; you need to do some digging on the internet and Michal needs to find out what he can from his bank.’ She thought for a moment. ‘Though it might be much quicker – and effective – for Michal to just cancel the direct debit. Money talks. I’m sure that will get the bloody worms out of the woodwork.’

  Robbie flushed. ‘I’ve already suggested that to him.’

  Nat grinned. ‘Great minds. No flies on you are there, Robbie.’

  He made for the door, then turned. ‘Say no if you want to…’

  Replaced by a frown, his happy smile from seconds earlier had vanished.

  ‘Okay, go on.’

  He tried to meet her gaze. ‘This restorative conferencing thing. When my mum died…’ He swallowed. ‘The man who crashed into us. Well, back then, he wanted to do something like that. He asked to meet my dad. To say sorry, I suppose, but Dad refused.’ He took a breath. ‘If he still wanted to do it, would you come with me?’

  21

  Here and There

  Until the sudden influx of chatter at eleven, Nat had forgotten it was silver surfer morning. Looking at the huge ‘to read’ pile of letters, she sighed. At least forty envelopes had been fired through the office letterbox this morning. Not just correspondence, but medical reports, CPS disclosure, utility bills, pleadings and court orders. The Magic Circular magazine too. Had Postman Pat been hoarding them? And that was on top of the million emails which were waiting in the firm’s inbox. But at least she’d had a couple of hours reading through files, making calls and staring at Gavin’s diary. Lists being the answer to every admin trauma, she’d compiled another one, prioritising his cases in order of urgent, urgenter and urgentest. God knows how he managed to spin all the plates full time. The help of Larry and Robbie was invaluable, but she still hadn’t got a handle on when they worked and when they didn’t.