Emily Bowman was sitting in the same chair. She was still waiting for the ambulance. It gets later every day, she thought. Goodness knows what time it turned up yesterday. The visitors looked at her. They thought she had been dozing, unaware of her obsessive attention turned on the street. Once she had been a large, powerfully built woman. Now she seemed all bone, hard and fleshless, with knotted knuckles resting on a bony lap.
‘Emily, dear,’ Annie said again. ‘I don’t believe you’ve had any dinner. Let me open a tin of soup while you talk to the detective.’
Emily shook her head. Why didn’t the ambulance come? The only time she had to relax was in the afternoon and evening when it was all over for the day. And yesterday, even that had been spoiled…
‘I’d like some tea,’ she said, suddenly grateful that Annie Ramsay was there. The policeman, tall and healthy, frightened her. Perhaps she should never have admitted to having seen Dorothea Cassidy the day before. As it was there were secrets between her and Dorothea which could never be told. She remembered the last conversation between them and closed her eyes with pain and guilt. She turned sharply to the policeman.
‘Would you like a cup of tea, Sergeant?’
Hunter nodded uncomfortably. ‘That would be very nice,’ he said.
The room was hot. Usually he teased old ladies, flirted with them, made them believe that they were young and attractive again. He realised immediately that Emily Bowman would not be taken in. He resented Ramsay for having sent him there. He should be out looking for real villains. It was inconceivable that this old lady could be capable of murder.
To hide his discomfort he sat on a hard-backed chair close to the table and took out his notebook. ‘I understand that you saw Mrs Cassidy yesterday afternoon. What time was that?’
‘At about half past one,’ Emily said.
‘Were you expecting her?’
‘No.’ Emily paused. ‘ No, but I wasn’t surprised to see her. She had taken to calling in if she was in the neighbourhood.’ And that was true enough, she thought.
‘So it was just a routine visit?’
‘No,’ Emily said. ‘Not exactly. When she arrived I was still waiting for the ambulance, just as I am now. Dorothea offered to take me into the hospital for treatment. I have to go every day.’ Then she added, as if she did not want to make too much of it, ‘At least every week day.’
Annie Ramsay had been listening to the conversation through the open kitchen door.
‘I didn’t know that,’ she shouted above the hissing of the kettle. ‘I didn’t know Dorothea took you in to the General.’
‘No,’ Emily said. ‘Well. You don’t know everything.’
‘It was kind of her, mind, to drive you all that way.’
The patronising note in Annie’s voice stung Emily to reply.
‘Not particularly,’ she said. ‘There was someone she had to see at the hospital anyway. I wasn’t putting her out.’
‘How did Mrs Cassidy seem?’ Hunter asked, interrupting the conversation between the women.
‘Well enough,’ Emily said, then feeling that was not quite enough: ‘Maybe a bit quiet. Perhaps she was concerned about the person she had to visit at the General. Families were always a worry, she said. Perhaps she was lucky never to have had children.’
‘What did she mean by that?’
‘I don’t know,’ Emily said firmly. ‘I didn’t like to pry.’
‘Did she mention her meeting at the hospital when she brought you home?’
‘No,’ Emily said. ‘ She didn’t stay. She saw me to my flat then went away. She’s a busy woman.’
‘What time was that?’
‘Half past three.’ She was surprised that she lied so fluently, and quickly turned back to the window to hide her astonishment.
Annie Ramsay came in from the kitchen, carrying a tray with cups and saucers and a tin of biscuits. She set the tray on the table and handed a cup to her friend. The tea was stronger than Emily liked but she took it gratefully and sipped at it.
‘I’ve got an idea,’ Annie said, excited, not content just to watch the interview but wanting to push the action along. ‘Why doesn’t Sergeant Hunter take you in to the General, dear? Then you can get your treatment without having to wait for the ambulance and you can show him where Mrs Cassidy went. The warden can phone the hospital to cancel the ambulance for you.’ She paused, then whispered, ‘Perhaps he’ll be able to discover a clue.’
Then hopefully, because unlike Hunter she found the bustle and drama in hospitals attractive and because she had always been curious about where Emily Bowman went every day, ‘I could come with you. Keep you company while you’re waiting. It would make a nice change for you.’
She turned to Hunter, her eyes gleaming. ‘There, Sergeant, don’t you think that’s a good idea? My nephew would be proud of me.’
Hunter felt that he had been trapped but saw little way out of it. Ramsay would expect him to make inquiries at the hospital if Dorothea Cassidy had planned to meet a mysterious stranger there. Yet, it seemed from what Emily had told him that the arrangement had hardly been definite. Dorothea had taken the opportunity to go to the hospital because Mrs Bowman needed a lift. Would she have gone otherwise? It was impossible to tell, but Hunter thought he could work on the theory that Dorothea had known that the person she wanted to see would be in the hospital anyway. Who could it be? A patient? A member of staff? Or another voluntary worker?
Without waiting for Hunter’s reply to her suggestion Annie was already helping Emily into her cardigan. Emily stood up stiffly and steadied herself by holding on to the back of her chair.
‘Would that be convenient, Sergeant?’ she said. She felt stronger. She had been frightened into weakness by a stupid nightmare. There was nothing now to be afraid of. She even felt more optimistic about going for the treatment. The whole thing was over so much more quickly travelling by car than in the ambulance. She was almost looking forward to the smooth ride through the dry countryside. If she could go by car every day, perhaps she would feel differently about everything. She should have thought of that before. She felt a sudden stab of self-pity. No, she thought. Someone else should have realised. All those people at church who come here to offer help and support. Why didn’t one of them see how much easier it would be for me to go by car and offer me a lift? They’re all soft words and no action.
Annie went with Emily in the lift while Hunter ran down the stairs. He said it was so he could get the car, have it waiting right outside the door for them but both women sensed his revulsion, knew that he could not bear to be in an enclosed space with age and frailty. When the lift doors opened he was there to meet them. He even offered his arm to Emily to help her out, though he was grateful when she refused to take it.
At the front door of the building Emily Bowman paused and looked around her. ‘Where’s Clive?’ she demanded. ‘He should be here, picking up the rubbish in the garden. I haven’t seen him since this morning.’
‘I don’t know,’ Annie said soothingly. ‘He’s probably just wandered off. You know what lads are like.’
But Clive’s absence seemed to disturb Emily. ‘ He should be here,’ she repeated, and in the car she fidgeted, taking no pleasure in the trip into town.
Chapter Eight
In the mornings the waiting room of the radiotherapy centre was packed with people squashed two to a chair, leaning against the walls, sometimes sitting on the floor. Now, at midday, it was quieter, only half full and the people seemed unbothered about the wait. The door was propped open to let in the sunshine and some younger patients sat on the narrow strip of grass outside the building, their skirts hitched around their thighs to expose their legs to the sun. The women were planning a trip to Otterbridge fair. The last night was always the best, they said laughing. The rides were more expensive but the atmosphere was great. Behind a tea counter two elderly WRVS helpers stood and chatted lazily. Emily took her appointment card from her handbag and placed it face-down on the receptionist’s desk. A nurse would come eventually to take the cards and patients would be called to the treatment room in order of arrival.