Blood on the Marsh (DI Susan Holden 3)

Holden’s face swivelled to face him. There was no smile on her lips now. ‘Who was it who found Mrs Wright dead?’

Ania Gorski entered the staff room with her eyes on the ground. Holden and Fox had commandeered it for the remainder of their visit, and had had time to drink a slow cup of tea as they waited for her arrival. She was on nights, and hadn’t been due in for another hour, but the joy of mobile phones means you can contact people at the most inconvenient times. Ania Gorski had picked up on the second ring and agreed to come straight in. She was Polish with a kind, rather than a pretty face, Fox reckoned. She had mousey brown hair that hung just short of her shoulders, and a slightly plump figure that he found rather appealing, but she glanced up only briefly at Holden when she introduced herself, and not at all at him.

‘It’s good of you to come in early, Ania.’ Holden began.

‘I am not used to this.’

‘No, of course not.’ Holden could be comforting and reassuring if she needed to be, though she hadn’t had much practice recently. ‘Please try not to worry. It is just that we have to ask you a few questions because it was you who found Mrs Nanette Wright dead.’

‘Dead, yes!’ she gasped, and her hand moved to her mouth. ‘I have only worked a few months here, and I never found a person dead in bed.’ It was, Holden reckoned, one of the inevitable parts of a job at a nursing home, that you would sooner or later find a patient dead in bed, but of course she wasn’t going to say that now.

‘I know you may find it distressing to think about Mrs Wright, but it is very important that I ask you some questions.’ She paused, giving the woman time to prepare herself.

‘Please, ask me.’ Gorski was looking at Holden now, with unblinking green eyes.

‘I want you to think back to when you found her. I want you to try and picture in your mind what you saw, and then tell me about it.’ Holden smiled encouragingly. ‘When you are ready,’ she purred.

‘It is about seven o’clock. After supper. I try to go around and say hello to all my ladies and gentlemen after supper to see if they are all right, but Mr Day has made a mess in his bed, and I have to clean him up and calm him down. So I am late when I get to Mrs Wright. She is in her chair. The TV is on, but her eyes are shut and I think she is asleep.’

‘So what did you do?’

‘I wish to turn the TV down. It is very loud, and she has the controller in her hand, but when I take it from her, her hand is cold.’ Again her hand flew to her mouth. ‘I feel her pulse. But I cannot feel it. So I ring for help.’ There was distress in her voice, and Gorski began to cry.

‘Here.’ Holden passed a tissue to her, and waited for her to recover herself. She could do sympathy up to a point – say comforting things, behave patiently, show concern – but she was more interested in getting answers. So she asked another question. ‘Did you notice anything else?’

‘Anything else?’ Gorski looked at her as if she hadn’t understood the question. ‘She is dead. I call Miss Sinclair for help. What do you mean?’

‘Did you notice anything unusual?’

Gorski made a face. The British policewoman was very odd. Why so many questions about an old lady who has died? She tried to focus her mind back to the time she realized Mrs Wright was dead. ‘No. Nothing unusual. I tidy Mrs Wright up while I wait for Miss Sinclair to come. I try to make her look peaceful. And I take the flask from her.’

If eyes had stalks, both Holden’s and Fox’s would have been fully extended on them.

‘What flask?’ Holden tried to keep the excitement out of her voice.

‘Mrs Wright has a flask. It is naughty, no? She thinks it is her secret, but we know. She likes a nip of whisky. That is what she called it. A nip. And the flask is in her other hand. So I take it and put it in her cupboard to be tidy. It is a matter of respect, I think. I did right?’

‘Yes,’ Holden replied. Of course it was right to give a dead woman a bit of decency in death. ‘Was there any whisky left in the flask?’

Gorski made a face. ‘I think not. I shake it, but it is empty. Mrs Wright has been drinking, I think.’ And then she began to cry again.

‘Where is Nanette Wright’s flask?’

Ania Gorski had gone off to start her shift, and almost immediately Fran Sinclair stuck her nosy head round the door. ‘Everything all right?’ she had said.

She was worried. Holden could see that. It was a stressful situation, but even so, she seemed very on edge. Not that Holden had any interest in making her feel better. That wasn’t what she was here for. So she had fired off the question without any preamble. ‘Where is Nanette Wright’s flask?’

‘Her flask?’ Fran looked puzzled.

‘She had a hip flask. She was holding it when she died. Ania put it in her cupboard. But it isn’t there now. So where is it?’

‘I hadn’t realized.’ The look of incomprehension remained on her face.

Holden pressed on, her natural scepticism now fully activated. ‘You hadn’t realized what? That she had a hip flask and liked a tipple? Or that she was holding it when she died?’

‘Well, I knew she liked a drink occasionally.’

‘Don’t you have rules about that sort of thing?’