Chameleon

'That's what we have to find out,' said Jamieson. 'You are sure that your husband never mentioned it, even in passing?'

'Positive.'

'Claire, your husband was under a lot of strain. It did occur to me that he might have considered admitting himself to such a hospital just for a bit of a rest?' Jamieson could feel the tension that he had created as he waited for Claire Richardson to reply. He sensed that she wanted to shout down the idea but had stopped herself, probably admitting silently that her husband had been under severe stress. In the end, she settled for, 'Without telling me? Never.'

'Then there must have been another reason for his call,' said Richardson diplomatically. Perhaps nothing to do with this affair at all.'

'There must have been.'

Jamieson said that he would keep Claire informed of any new developments and put the phone down. He let out a long sigh and said to Sue, 'Not the brightest thing to have suggested to Claire Richardson.'

'She's very protective about her husband. You can't expect her to be anything else.'

'I suppose not but maybe she's right. Maybe Richardson did have another reason for contacting Costello Court.'

'Like what?'

Jamieson thought for a moment then said, 'Maybe he remembered a similar outbreak of infection at another hospital in the past and rang up to compare notes?'

'So you think this mental hospital has a Gynaecology Unit?' asked Sue.

There had been no trace of sarcasm in Sue's voice but Jamieson saw the slight smile playing at the corner of her mouth when he looked at her. 'You spotted the flaw in the argument?' he smiled. He tapped his pen against his teeth and then had an idea. He said, 'Maybe Richardson was checking up on a patient?' There was a moment's silence before he looked at Sue and added, 'Or someone who had been a patient!'

Sue saw exactly what Jamieson was getting at. 'Like Thelwell!' she exclaimed.

'Exactly!' replied Jamieson excitedly and looking for the piece of paper with the phone number on it. 'If Thelwell has a history of mental instability then it's something we should know about.'

'Can you just call and ask the hospital?' asked Sue doubtfully.

'No, I'm not even going to try,' said Jamieson. 'They wouldn't tell me. I'm going to call Macmillan at Sci-Med and ask him to find out for me.'

Jamieson phoned and made his request. Macmillan was not available but Miss Roberts took the message and assured him that the information would be relayed to him as soon as they had obtained it.

'Now what?' asked Sue.

'I have to go out this evening,' said Jamieson.

'Where to?'

'It's Thelwell's choir practice night.

It started to rain as Jamieson sat in his car at the end of the street where Thelwell lived. Every thirty seconds or so he had to activate the screen wipers to clear it. He checked his watch for the umpteenth time and saw that it was eleven minutes past seven. At fourteen minutes past, Thelwell, shoulders hunched inside a dark raincoat with the collar up, stepped out on to the pavement and closed the garden gate behind him. A few moments later the dark green Volvo moved off towards town.

At first Jamieson thought that Thelwell really did intend going to a choir practice when he found the car in front following a route that would take him to St Serf's church. He was relieved when the Volvo passed straight by and continued on towards the city. There was anxious moment for Jamieson when Thelwell went through an amber light while he himself, travelling some one hundred metres behind had to stop and wait for the lights to change. He caught up however at the next junction. Thelwell was at the head of the queue with a Metro and a Ford Escort behind him. The Escort driver stalled as the lights changed and Jamieson cursed under his breath as he saw Thelwell start to pull well ahead. They were moving into busy traffic. It would be all too easy to lose him in this part of town. The Escort finally moved off, engine over-revving as its driver covered his embarrassment.

A service bus made to move out from the kerb as Jamieson tried to make up lost ground. Unwilling to concede right of way, he held his line and slapped his hand on the horn praying that the bus driver would back down. He did but not until he had given Jamieson a heart stopping moment. He snatched a quick glance in the rear view mirror and saw the bus driver make a rude gesture. 'You too,' he muttered, still desperately trying to see round the traffic in front and fearing that he might have lost touch with Thelwell.

The road ahead straightened out and Jamieson's heart sank as he failed to see the Volvo anywhere up ahead. He was rapidly approaching a 'Y' junction and he had no idea which arm to take. If he chose right it would take him round the back of the station and on towards the main shopping centre. If he forked left it would take him down through the red light district… The decision was made. He veered left and hoped for a bit of luck. He got it as he cleared a roundabout and momentarily got a clear view of the road ahead for he was in time to see a green Volvo turn left at the foot of the hill. It might not be Thelwell, he cautioned himself but on the other hand, it just might.

Jamieson slowed and turned left where he thought the Volvo had left the main road. He could not be sure because, in this area, there was an opening every twenty-five metres or so leading off into the warren of run down tenement buildings that lay behind the main thoroughfare. There was no sign of Thelwell's car as he moved slowly along a narrow lane, looking to both sides and checking in the mirror to see that he wasn't holding up traffic behind him. There were a number of bars and restaurants in the lane and many had advertising boards out on the pavement. People were constantly stepping off the pavement to walk round them.

A drunk staggered out from a Greek Restaurant, his exit being assisted by a swarthy man wearing a dinner jacket who emerged behind him gesturing angrily. Jamieson had to brake to avoid the drunk who stumbled out in front of him but he was travelling so slowly that there was no danger of hitting the man. The drunk regarded him with expressionless eyes and then veered to return to the gutter.

Two whores looked at Jamieson's car as he slowed to a halt at an intersection. One smiled, the other put her hand on her hip. They were standing together at the corner of the street. Jamieson assumed that working in pairs was their safety measure. He wondered how effective that would be but recognised that business would probably go on as usual whatever the risk. Paid holidays and sick leave were alien to the oldest profession.

Jamieson turned the corner and looked along both sides of the street. There was still no sign of Thelwell's Volvo. He pulled in to the kerb and paused with the engine still running while he thought what to do next. Live jazz music was coming from a bar some fifty metres down the street. He found the tune familiar but the title eluded him. He ran through a few possibilities in his head before remembering that it was Cherokee.

Jamieson was vaguely aware that his action in stopping had been misinterpreted by a black girl wearing a tight white sweater under an open leather jacket and a black woollen mini skirt. She started to cross the road towards him. Through the open window on the driver's side he could hear her thick thighs rubbing audibly together. He smiled thinly and held up his open palm to signify that she was not the object of his desire and the girl retreated with a sullen shrug. Jamieson felt embarrassed by the incident. He found himself wanting to apologise. He was about to move off again when the passenger door of his car was suddenly pulled open and a male voice said languidly, 'Run out of petrol have we sir?'

The sneer in the voice immediately put Jamieson's back up as had the man's action in opening the car door. Apart from anything else it had startled him. 'No we haven't,' he replied, maintaining the plural for the benefit of the man he knew was about to announce his credentials as a police officer.