‘I meet people in particular circumstances. Maybe your brother would have, or develop, the skills for a particular job. They seemed to like him at Pringle’s Furniture, wouldn’t you say?’
Jeb leaned his forearms on the table and scoffed. ‘Pringle’s? Wow, that place. Oh, I’m sure. Twenty-three years old and still on minimum wage? Yeah, I bet he was employee of the month. He took two weeks to make a chest of drawers, for God’s sake. Big whoop. Old man Pringle sold those for a fortune – saw the gullible hordes coming all the way up the highway.’ He squeezed his hands together. ‘Ooh, handmade, crafted, built to last: bullshit. What a huckster, and what a con.’
Dana noticed that Jeb remembered Nathan’s exact age when it suited him. She wrote something he couldn’t comprehend, in Pitman, then ticked it off, as if it were something he was bound to say. ‘That sounds more like admiration, Mr Whittler.’
‘Well, now, I admire the business model in some ways. Big profit margin, that’s true. But he was using Nate, ripping him off.’
‘And big brother was out to protect him, right?’
Jeb sat back suddenly. A sneering grin came across his face. ‘You don’t have any siblings, do you, Detective? Yeah? No? Thought not. I can tell. You don’t get the connection – you don’t comprehend it. You think brothers are school buddies that live in the same house. You don’t get it. Brothers is different. Brothers is special.’ He put his palms flat on the table again and his eyes fell into shadow. ‘I want to see little Nate now, Detective.’
His counter was predictable: try to strike a personal nerve. She’d seen it coming. ‘Are you denying the allegations I’ve just put to you?’
‘Allegations? They’re a bunch of laughable dreams. Nate probably read a book or ate some funny mushrooms. Overactive imagination. I don’t know, you tell me.’
He tried a hollow laugh but it came out like a cough. He was rattled, she thought. Rattled, because he did all those things. She wasn’t one for making rapid assumptions of guilt but her gut instinct had never been stronger.
Jeb felt compelled to continue. ‘What would make a grown man come up with childish crap like that? Yes, Detective, I categorically deny every idiotic claim you’ve just made. Clear enough for you?’
‘Crystal, thank you.’
Dana could hear him attempt to control his breathing. While she was convinced Nathan’s accusations were true, there seemed scant chance of proving it unless Jeb was going to crumble. The parents’ bodies would be decomposed; there would be no witnesses except Nathan. Forensics were a long shot.
‘I’ll see my brother now, then.’
She put her hand on her belt, lightly touching the spray canister. ‘That isn’t possible at the moment, Mr Whittler. If I get an opportunity, I’ll mention that you’re here.’
‘You’ll mention? What the hell does that mean?’
‘Exactly what it says, Mr Whittler. I’m very precise with my language: it’s a blessing and a curse.’ She paused. ‘As you pointed out earlier, your brother is an adult and can make his own decisions. I’ve had to tell him that his parents are dead; he’d been unaware of that fact. I think he has quite enough to deal with at present.’
It got to him. She could see it. Jeb ran his hand across his scalp and looked away to the mirror.
‘You had to… what? He didn’t know?’ Jeb shook his head. ‘Where the hell’s he been? It was in the city newspapers, not just local. He must’ve been a long way away when it happened.’
Dana didn’t answer. Yes, she thought, he kinda was.
Jeb spluttered on. ‘Well, that’s… that’s exactly why he needs his brother. Time like this. News like this.’
‘What he needs is medical attention, which he’s receiving for some minor cuts. He needs some time alone to think, and then he needs to speak to me again.’
She stood up and gathered her files. ‘When I think he’s up to dealing with you, and if he agrees, you’ll be able to see him. You’re welcome to wait in the reception area if you wish.’
Jeb sat back again and extended his legs under the table. He was now off balance: all the aggression and bluster had won him nothing. ‘I bet you love this, huh? Love acting like you own people.’
She walked to the door, watching his shadow rather than him, and took hold of the handle.
‘Hmmm. As your brother has stated himself, I have his best interests at heart.’
She opened the door and nodded at the corner of the room. ‘Don’t forget to pick up your litter before you go, Mr Whittler. You can wait in reception or leave the station. Up to you. Good afternoon.’
Chapter 32
Earlville Mercy was a regional institution. Started way-back-when by some nuns, it had gradually morphed into a secular spine for the area. Other public bodies were mistrusted, abused or ignored; but Earlville was proud to have the area’s public hospital. Old or young, rich or poor, postcode irrelevant – Earlville Mercy took them alclass="underline" one of the few levellers uniting the region.
The original building had been a cottage hospital, but that elegant sandstone edifice was now the visitor reception and held several rooms of communications equipment. Above the main doorway the carving told of mercy for all. The words floated serenely between a unicorn and a dragon, as if to signify that such an outcome was pure fantasy. It was a facade, in every sense.
Beyond the main wing, units and wards had been added as temporary capacity that everyone knew would become permanent. Like much of the region, any part built before the Second World War was subtle, balanced and showed local craftsmanship in stone and plaster. Anything constructed after the war was timber or clinker-brick: thrown up by the cheapest-bid supplier, to the lowest cost.
Rainer had tracked down the incident mentioned by Dan Mathers.
From the original report, he’d uncovered that Natalie Brewer was the woman who’d skulked around the Whittler farm just after it was sold. It was no doubt routine back then, but with the benefit of hindsight, her presence at that place and that time now seemed significant. At the very least, she apparently knew the Jeb Whittler of old and Dana was looking for potential validation of the insulin story.
Natalie was a nurse who’d flipped mainly between pre-natal, diabetes and renal clinics around the state over the past twenty years. A call to the state’s nursing board showed Natalie’s return to Earlville two years ago, after over a decade in the city. Rainer was noticing that the town had a strange pull on its former residents, despite its lack of beauty or whimsical charm. The tug was deeper and more heartfelt than simply low property prices: they slid back to Earlville in later life as though the rest of the world were too much to bear, and they’d take familiarity over absolutely anything else.
They found a table in a corner of the canteen area, which Rainer was surprised to find appeared to be closing down for the night. Five o’clock on a Friday afternoon. In another corner three doctors laughed raucously at their own jokes, desperately stealing glimpses at the one nurse at their table to see who was impressing.
Natalie had recently downshifted from ER to the Stoma unit. Now she was in her forties, Emergency was too much hassle. Because of what it did, it was at the forefront of hospital politics. The peak times were chaotic, challenging and, despite the trauma, it was fun. But the quieter moments – when adrenaline junkies had too much time and too little that was urgent enough – became the setting for petty squabbles. Arguments about shifts, about perceived slights, about who was screwing who; she found the rumour and innuendo both exhausting and pathetic. So she’d switched to running Stoma – more regular hours, a smaller team; patients who were grateful and, by and large, stoically courteous. Something about a physical opening in the body that shouldn’t be there – and the equipment around it – made people humble and accepting. Hard for patients to be on their high horse, when they needed someone to show them how to empty a colostomy bag.