Blood on the Marsh (DI Susan Holden 3)

‘Yes.’

‘So her death is suspicious?’ The amusement in his eyes had dissolved.

Wilson pursed his lips. ‘All I can say is that we are investigating her death, and we need to collect all the information about her we can. Mr Hargreaves told me that she became a part owner of her son’s house about a year ago.’

‘And I expect you’ve already worked out that six months later they were shunting her into a care home. It makes you think, doesn’t it?’

‘I assume she needed more care than her son and daughter-in-law could give.’

Kelly made a face. ‘You can assume what you like, but I wouldn’t treat my mother like that. Never!’

‘Was her son short of money?’

‘Is her son a bastard? The answer is yes to both questions. I never liked him. He came round here with her a couple of times and asked a lot of intrusive questions. So when they’d gone, I did some of my own investigations. He had his own building business, and it was quite successful for a while. He even bought property out in Spain, doing it up and selling it on, but when the property market there crashed in 2007, so did his business. Now he’s just a jobbing builder, but my guess is that he’s still skint. That’s why his mother had to buy a stake in his house. He needed cash.’

‘So Mrs Wright’s death is a bit of a windfall for her son.’

‘It’s certainly damned convenient. Apart from her share in the house, she has maybe twenty grand left, which he’ll now get. But, of course, she’s been shelling out several hundred pounds a week for Sunnymede, and if she’d lived for a while longer, she’d have had to ask her son for her money back. And that would have made things difficult for him. So if you’re looking for a motive for murder, then Jim Wright – not to mention his wife – has it in spades.’

Holden tracked down Fran Sinclair in her office. It was, she noted, much smaller than Greenleaf’s, and with the desk, sideboard, and two wall cupboards it felt cramped and unwelcoming. The single small window in the back wall, which seemed to have escaped the attention of whoever it was who cleaned the windows, did nothing to change that impression.

Sinclair did not rise. She had a mug of something hot in one hand, and a chocolate biscuit in the other, which was poised in front of her mouth. Her eyes ran up and down her visitor, and then, without a word of welcome, she thrust the biscuit into her mouth.

‘I’d like to talk to you about your drugs regime.’

Sinclair continued chewing. Holden sat down. Sinclair now took a sip from the mug, wiped her mouth with the back of her wrist, and sniffed.

‘So, what do you want to know?’

‘Where do you keep your drugs for your patients?’

‘In the drugs trolley.’ Sinclair sniffed again.

‘I assume that it’s lockable?’

‘Of course it’s lockable. And it’s kept locked.’

‘And do you have much morphine in it?’

> ‘None.’

‘None?’ The surprise in Holden’s voice was obvious, and it provoked an immediate smile in the woman opposite her. Fran Sinclair was more than happy to play silly buggers. ‘Are you saying there’s no one in Sunnymede who is taking morphine?’

‘No!’ The smile was even more smug now. ‘Morphine is a controlled drug. And like all controlled drugs, it has to be kept in a locked and immovable container, like that cupboard on the wall.’ She pointed high towards Holden’s right. ‘That way, no one can walk off with the whole lot.’

‘So how much morphine have you got in there at the moment? Can I look inside?’

‘No need.’ Sinclair picked up a black A4 book sitting on top of a pile of papers. ‘This is our register of controlled drugs. We log them in, we log them out. We keep a running total.’

‘Can I see?’ It was a polite request, but Fran Sinclair didn’t immediately pass it over. Holden felt her patience running thin. She didn’t like the woman sitting in front of her, and she certainly didn’t like her attitude.

Sinclair opened the book and leafed slowly through several pages, before turning it round so that Holden could see it.

‘That’s a good example. One of our cancer patients. She needs morphine on a daily basis. As you can see, each dose is logged, signed for, and witnessed. And the balance of the drug in the cabinet is also recorded.’

Holden nodded. She had never seen one of these before. ‘So you check the balance on the book against what is in the cupboard?’

‘Yes.’