off?’
Wesley looked across the bed at Heffernan, who was chewing at a fingernail, listening intently. He hadn’t considered a connection
with Huntings and he wondered why it had leapt into Neil’s mind.
‘What makes you think that?’
‘No reason. Just prejudice against greedy supermarkets who build on archaeological sites, that’s all.’ Neil closed his eyes,
as though the effort of conversation was becoming too much for him.
Wesley and Heffernan looked at each other. Neil’s words had reminded them of the primary reason for their visit … to have
a word with Sister Atkins.
They took their leave of the invalid, promising to return.
‘He seems cheerful enough,’ Heffernan said as they approached the sister’s office.
Wesley smiled. Now that he was satisfied his friend’s life wasn’t in immediate danger, he felt more relaxed. Sometimes the
victims of beatings or falls weren’t so lucky.
A statuesque woman wearing the dark blue dress of a ward sister emerged from the office. Wesley flashed his warrant card,
as did Heffernan, who was standing behind him looking rather awestruck.
‘Sister Atkins?’
‘That’s me. I’ve been expecting you.’ Her voice told Wesley that she was from the North – Yorkshire probably. She opened the
office door and stood aside to let them in.
Wesley sat down and looked at Sister Atkins expectantly. ‘You reported a suspected poisoning?’
Sister Atkins blushed. ‘I’ve probably jumped the gun a bit but an elderly lady was admitted a few days ago with poisoning
symptoms. Her husband assured us that she hadn’t eaten anything that he hadn’t.’ She hesitated. ‘When I was working up in
Leeds I saw a few cases of botulism. It was traced back to a batch of cooked ham at a butcher’s shop. Five people died: it
was on the news.’
‘Go on.’
‘Well, Mrs Sommerby’s symptoms were identical. I’vebeen half expecting there to be more cases … if it originated in a shop or … ’
‘But there haven’t been?’
‘I rang round some other local hospitals and they haven’t had any cases.’
‘Thanks. That saves us a job,’ Wesley said, giving the woman a grateful smile.
‘So what’s this all about?’ the sister asked. ‘Isn’t it usually the public health people who investigate outbreaks of food
poisoning?’
Wesley looked apologetic. ‘I can’t really tell you at the moment. Sorry.’ It was probably best if their suspicions weren’t
made public just yet. He didn’t want to start a panic. The sister raised her eyebrows but made no further comment.
The lone case fitted perfectly with the threat to Huntings … the letter saying, ‘I see the jam’s been sold already and when
your customer dies’ – customer in the singular. And the first letter Huntings had received had referred to biological warfare,
and there was nothing more biological and warlike than introducing a hint of botulism to one of Huntings’ products. It was
a fair assumption that the dead woman was the letter writer’s first victim. Although at this stage it was still very much
an assumption.
Maybe, like Sister Atkins, Wesley was jumping the gun, assuming too much. Maybe it was a coincidence; perhaps there would
be other cases and the source would be found to have nothing to do with Huntings after all.
Sister Atkins shifted in her seat. ‘There’s something else I haven’t told you. I don’t know if it’s relevant or … ’
Wesley and Heffernan sat forward expectantly.
‘I think Edith Sommerby’s husband used to beat her up. She had a mass of bruises and the doctor found a number of untreated
fractures. It’s my guess she’d been the victim of domestic violence for years. Her husband was an unpleasant man. Aggressive.
Just the type to think it was his right to use a poor defenceless woman as a punch bag.One of my nurses thought he was going to lash out at her on one occasion. And he pushed a doctor over … he wasn’t hurt,
Wesley looked across the bed at Heffernan, who was chewing at a fingernail, listening intently. He hadn’t considered a connection
with Huntings and he wondered why it had leapt into Neil’s mind.
‘What makes you think that?’
‘No reason. Just prejudice against greedy supermarkets who build on archaeological sites, that’s all.’ Neil closed his eyes,
as though the effort of conversation was becoming too much for him.
Wesley and Heffernan looked at each other. Neil’s words had reminded them of the primary reason for their visit … to have
a word with Sister Atkins.
They took their leave of the invalid, promising to return.
‘He seems cheerful enough,’ Heffernan said as they approached the sister’s office.
Wesley smiled. Now that he was satisfied his friend’s life wasn’t in immediate danger, he felt more relaxed. Sometimes the
victims of beatings or falls weren’t so lucky.
A statuesque woman wearing the dark blue dress of a ward sister emerged from the office. Wesley flashed his warrant card,
as did Heffernan, who was standing behind him looking rather awestruck.
‘Sister Atkins?’
‘That’s me. I’ve been expecting you.’ Her voice told Wesley that she was from the North – Yorkshire probably. She opened the
office door and stood aside to let them in.
Wesley sat down and looked at Sister Atkins expectantly. ‘You reported a suspected poisoning?’
Sister Atkins blushed. ‘I’ve probably jumped the gun a bit but an elderly lady was admitted a few days ago with poisoning
symptoms. Her husband assured us that she hadn’t eaten anything that he hadn’t.’ She hesitated. ‘When I was working up in
Leeds I saw a few cases of botulism. It was traced back to a batch of cooked ham at a butcher’s shop. Five people died: it
was on the news.’
‘Go on.’
‘Well, Mrs Sommerby’s symptoms were identical. I’vebeen half expecting there to be more cases … if it originated in a shop or … ’
‘But there haven’t been?’
‘I rang round some other local hospitals and they haven’t had any cases.’
‘Thanks. That saves us a job,’ Wesley said, giving the woman a grateful smile.
‘So what’s this all about?’ the sister asked. ‘Isn’t it usually the public health people who investigate outbreaks of food
poisoning?’
Wesley looked apologetic. ‘I can’t really tell you at the moment. Sorry.’ It was probably best if their suspicions weren’t
made public just yet. He didn’t want to start a panic. The sister raised her eyebrows but made no further comment.
The lone case fitted perfectly with the threat to Huntings … the letter saying, ‘I see the jam’s been sold already and when
your customer dies’ – customer in the singular. And the first letter Huntings had received had referred to biological warfare,
and there was nothing more biological and warlike than introducing a hint of botulism to one of Huntings’ products. It was
a fair assumption that the dead woman was the letter writer’s first victim. Although at this stage it was still very much
an assumption.
Maybe, like Sister Atkins, Wesley was jumping the gun, assuming too much. Maybe it was a coincidence; perhaps there would
be other cases and the source would be found to have nothing to do with Huntings after all.
Sister Atkins shifted in her seat. ‘There’s something else I haven’t told you. I don’t know if it’s relevant or … ’
Wesley and Heffernan sat forward expectantly.
‘I think Edith Sommerby’s husband used to beat her up. She had a mass of bruises and the doctor found a number of untreated
fractures. It’s my guess she’d been the victim of domestic violence for years. Her husband was an unpleasant man. Aggressive.
Just the type to think it was his right to use a poor defenceless woman as a punch bag.One of my nurses thought he was going to lash out at her on one occasion. And he pushed a doctor over … he wasn’t hurt,
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