‘Best of luck with it.’
‘I gather from your tone that you’re no more keen than you were when we last discussed it.’
‘You gather correctly.’
‘Ah, well. When it’s a huge success, written up in medical journals around the world, the go-to destination for A-list addicts, and you come begging on your hands and knees to be allowed space within it, I will be prepared to be generous.’
Jude giggled. ‘In the completely impossible event of that scenario arising, I will still probably not accept your generosity.’
‘It’s a good offer.’
‘Appreciated as such. Anyway, to what do I owe the honour of this call?’
‘Oh, I just gather that you’ve seen Tom Kendrick again.’
‘How do you know that?’
‘I had a call from his mother. Trying to persuade me to have another go at treating him. And she said you’d seen him.’
‘I hope she didn’t imply that I’d changed my mind about whether I could help him.’
‘No. To be fair to her, she didn’t.’
‘And did she persuade you that you could do something for him?’
‘I did say I’d go and meet up with him again, see if I could get anywhere.’
‘But, if you couldn’t the first time …’
‘He kind of intrigues me. An unusual case. I think it’s worth having another go.’
‘OK.’
‘I was just interested in why you saw him again … and whether it had anything to do with what I told you about his relationship with the late Bill Shefford.’
Another of those occasions when there was no point in Jude telling anything but the truth. ‘Yes, that was why I saw him.’
‘And?’
‘Do you mean: “And did he immediately confess to having sabotaged the Triumph Tr6 with a view to killing the boss he’d fallen out with?”’
‘I wasn’t expecting quite as much as that. I am interested in what he said, though.’
‘But, Jeremiah, you still wondered whether he might have pointed the finger of suspicion towards anyone else? Am I on the right track?’
He sighed. ‘Not far off. I’m afraid I’m just as caught up in murderous speculation as the rest of Fethering.’
‘OK. I’ll tell you what I found out from Tom but, in return, there’s something I want you to tell me.’
‘Sounds fine. If slightly mysterious.’ A thoughtful silence. Then, ‘All right. You said there was something you wanted to ask me …?’
‘Yes. The first time you talked about your plans for the therapy centre, you mentioned a doctor friend of yours called “Bob Rawley” …’
‘I may well have done. I’ve had a lot of dealings with him over the years. An NHS doctor who really believes in complementary medicine. He’s a great advocate of acupuncture.’
‘And his full name’s “Robert Rawley”?’
‘Yes.’ A chuckle. ‘Fortunately, he can pronounce his Rs. Why are you asking me about him?’
‘Because Robert Rawley is the name of the doctor who signed Bill Shefford’s death certificate.’
‘Oh.’ The news did not seem to be particularly unexpected to Jeremiah. ‘Well, he’s a qualified doctor, living in the area. Is that so surprising?’
‘He’s not one of the doctors in the Fethering Surgery. Most people locally are registered there.’
‘So? Bill Shefford was registered somewhere else.’ Again, he made it sound like it wasn’t a big deal.
‘Jeremiah …’ – Jude pieced her thoughts together slowly – ‘the fact that Dr Rawley signed the death certificate suggests he had been treating Bill Shefford …’
‘Not necessarily.’
‘Well, he must’ve seen Bill within a fortnight of his death. Otherwise, surely there would have had to be a post mortem?’
‘Perhaps.’
‘In fact, I’m quite surprised there doesn’t seem to have been a post mortem.’
‘Do we know there hasn’t been?’
‘Frankie at the garage said there hadn’t been. But I’d have thought, in the case of an accidental death like that …’
‘Pretty straightforward. There’s not much doubt about what killed him.’
‘No.’ Jude was about to tell Jeremiah about the speed with which Billy Shefford had completed the Triumph Tr6’s service and had the vehicle valeted. But something stopped her. ‘Your friend Dr Rawley didn’t mention to you whether he’d been treating Bill Shefford, did he?’
‘No, of course he didn’t. Come on, Jude, you know the code of confidentiality that medical practitioners have about their patients.’
Oh yes, she knew all about that.
FIFTEEN
‘So,’ asked Carole, ‘are you suggesting that Billy Shefford was involved with this Dr Rawley in some kind of cover-up?’
‘I don’t really know what I’m suggesting,’ said Jude. ‘It just seems odd to me. How did Bill Shefford get in touch with Dr Rawley? Because, do you remember, when we were with Frankie in the Crown and Anchor, she said Bill had been seeing the doctor who signed the death certificate? She didn’t mention the name, though.’
‘Yes, I remember.’
‘I mean, you, with your Home Office background, do you know what happens after an accidental death? Does there have to be a police investigation or an inquest?’
‘I don’t think there has to be,’ said Carole judiciously. She wanted to maintain her professional image, but in fact this wasn’t an area in which she had any specialized knowledge. ‘There might be an investigation from the Health and Safety Executive … though Frankie said they’d recently had an inspection from them.’ Finally, she confessed, ‘I really don’t know.’
‘Hm. Well, if there’s anything you can find out while I’m away …’
‘Away?’ Carole echoed, puzzled.
‘I told you, I’m going to Leeds in the morning.’
‘Oh yes, of course,’ said Carole. ‘To your lesbian conference.’
When Carole came downstairs the following morning, the Friday, there was a piece of paper on the High Tor doormat. The message read: ‘DON’T THINK YOU’RE SAFE, YOU BITCH!’
Her first instinct was to ring Jude. Then she remembered her neighbour had already left on her trip up North. It wasn’t worth calling her on the mobile. Carole didn’t want to sound needy.
But she did want to find out who was responsible for this campaign of harassment against her. Though, perhaps surprisingly, her stronger imperative was to find out the truth about Bill Shefford’s death.
So, with her neighbour away, she thought she might do a little investigation on her own. The idea of presenting Jude with new information – or even, dare she hope, a solution – on her return was rather appealing.
Somehow, Jude’s absence increased Carole’s confidence. She started her research online, at the laptop in the spare room, seeking out alternative therapists in the local area. The number of listings surprised her. All kinds of services were offered in Fethering and Fedborough, extending to Worthing and Brighton to the east, Chichester and Portsmouth to the west. She went through them meticulously. Some were individual practitioners, others attached to therapy centres. It took a long time to find the name she was looking for.
Having found it, she was faced by a dilemma. Jude, of course, had a strict code of ethics in medical matters, but Carole was not restricted by such considerations. And, in spite of the level of success she’d seen her neighbour achieve with various clients, her own level of scepticism about the whole healing business remained high. Though she would never have dreamt of lying to anyone in the NHS, she thought alternative therapists were fair game.