luckily,
but it wasn’t a pleasant incident. Violence towards hospital staff isn’t unknown these days,’ she added sadly.
‘So you suspected the husband might have had something to do with Mrs Sommerby’s poisoning?’
‘It did cross my mind. I might be mistaken about the botulism, and if it’s something else … some poisonous substance … But
they say poison’s a woman’s weapon, don’t they?’
‘So they do. But there are exceptions to the rule.’ Wesley thought for a few moments. ‘However, from what you’ve told me about
the dead woman’s husband, I’d expect him to use less subtle methods to dispose of his wife. And anyway, bullies tend to like
their victims alive.’
Gerry Heffernan was nodding sagely in agreement. ‘If you give us his address, love, we can go and have a word.’
Sister Atkins hesitated for a moment as thoughts of patient confidentiality flitted through her head. But then Edith Sommerby’s
husband had never been her patient … and the thought of him receiving a visit from the police gave her an unexpected glow
of satisfaction. She walked over to a tall steel filing cabinet standing in the corner of the room and pulled out a file.
She wrote an address on a piece of paper and handed it to Heffernan. ‘Don’t say where you got it, will you. And I’ll ring
you with the post-mortem findings as soon as we get them.’ She smiled conspiratorially, happy that she’d done her bit for
the rights of women like Edith. She wasn’t a vindictive woman by nature, quite the reverse, but Sister Atkins hoped that Fred
Sommerby would get everything that was coming to him.
Wesley drove back to Tradmouth with Heffernan slumped in the passenger seat. He chose the shorter, scenic route via Queenswear
and the car ferry. As they crossed the riverwhere scores of yachts bobbed at anchor, their steel masts ringing like gentle wind chimes in the autumn breeze, Gerry Heffernan
stared out of the car window, longing to be out there on the
Rosie May
.
When they reached Tradmouth, Heffernan suggested lunch. A pub, he said: somewhere to get away from the office. Wesley had
to agree with him. He was in no mood to return to the station either. They settled on the Fisherman’s Arms: it was the right
sort of day for a good hotpot by a roaring pub fire.
‘So what do you make of it?’ Wesley asked as soon as they were settled, Heffernan with a pint of best bitter and Wesley with
an orange juice, as he would probably be driving later.
‘Make of what? Your mate getting shoved into one of his own trenches or that poor old dear getting poisoned with botulism?’
‘Both.’
Heffernan took a long drink and stared at his glass. ‘Well, we can’t do anything about the old dear until we get the post-mortem
results. I mean, that Sister Atkins could be wrong. Or it could be that the loving husband added a little something extra
to her tea. And as for your mate Neil … you sure it wasn’t an irate husband who gave him a push? If nothing was taken from
his dig … ’
Wesley smiled. ‘As far as I know Neil’s love life is going through a dormant period at the moment. I’m not aware that he’s
been bedding any married women … or any other women for that matter. I don’t think there’s been anyone since that girl at
Earlsacre last year … remember?’
Heffernan nodded. ‘The one who … ?’
‘That’s the one.’ Wesley hesitated, gathering his thoughts. ‘I can’t think of anybody who bears Neil a grudge so I doubt if
it’s anything personal. That leaves us with the nighthawks. They probably didn’t take anything because they realised Neil
was hurt and they panicked.’ Wesley sat back, looking pleased with himself. ‘I reckon if we makeenquiries among the local metal detectorists we’ll come up with a name sooner or later.’
Heffernan looked at his watch. ‘I’ll leave that in your capable hands, then, Wes. I’m seeing the Chief Super in an
but it wasn’t a pleasant incident. Violence towards hospital staff isn’t unknown these days,’ she added sadly.
‘So you suspected the husband might have had something to do with Mrs Sommerby’s poisoning?’
‘It did cross my mind. I might be mistaken about the botulism, and if it’s something else … some poisonous substance … But
they say poison’s a woman’s weapon, don’t they?’
‘So they do. But there are exceptions to the rule.’ Wesley thought for a few moments. ‘However, from what you’ve told me about
the dead woman’s husband, I’d expect him to use less subtle methods to dispose of his wife. And anyway, bullies tend to like
their victims alive.’
Gerry Heffernan was nodding sagely in agreement. ‘If you give us his address, love, we can go and have a word.’
Sister Atkins hesitated for a moment as thoughts of patient confidentiality flitted through her head. But then Edith Sommerby’s
husband had never been her patient … and the thought of him receiving a visit from the police gave her an unexpected glow
of satisfaction. She walked over to a tall steel filing cabinet standing in the corner of the room and pulled out a file.
She wrote an address on a piece of paper and handed it to Heffernan. ‘Don’t say where you got it, will you. And I’ll ring
you with the post-mortem findings as soon as we get them.’ She smiled conspiratorially, happy that she’d done her bit for
the rights of women like Edith. She wasn’t a vindictive woman by nature, quite the reverse, but Sister Atkins hoped that Fred
Sommerby would get everything that was coming to him.
Wesley drove back to Tradmouth with Heffernan slumped in the passenger seat. He chose the shorter, scenic route via Queenswear
and the car ferry. As they crossed the riverwhere scores of yachts bobbed at anchor, their steel masts ringing like gentle wind chimes in the autumn breeze, Gerry Heffernan
stared out of the car window, longing to be out there on the
Rosie May
.
When they reached Tradmouth, Heffernan suggested lunch. A pub, he said: somewhere to get away from the office. Wesley had
to agree with him. He was in no mood to return to the station either. They settled on the Fisherman’s Arms: it was the right
sort of day for a good hotpot by a roaring pub fire.
‘So what do you make of it?’ Wesley asked as soon as they were settled, Heffernan with a pint of best bitter and Wesley with
an orange juice, as he would probably be driving later.
‘Make of what? Your mate getting shoved into one of his own trenches or that poor old dear getting poisoned with botulism?’
‘Both.’
Heffernan took a long drink and stared at his glass. ‘Well, we can’t do anything about the old dear until we get the post-mortem
results. I mean, that Sister Atkins could be wrong. Or it could be that the loving husband added a little something extra
to her tea. And as for your mate Neil … you sure it wasn’t an irate husband who gave him a push? If nothing was taken from
his dig … ’
Wesley smiled. ‘As far as I know Neil’s love life is going through a dormant period at the moment. I’m not aware that he’s
been bedding any married women … or any other women for that matter. I don’t think there’s been anyone since that girl at
Earlsacre last year … remember?’
Heffernan nodded. ‘The one who … ?’
‘That’s the one.’ Wesley hesitated, gathering his thoughts. ‘I can’t think of anybody who bears Neil a grudge so I doubt if
it’s anything personal. That leaves us with the nighthawks. They probably didn’t take anything because they realised Neil
was hurt and they panicked.’ Wesley sat back, looking pleased with himself. ‘I reckon if we makeenquiries among the local metal detectorists we’ll come up with a name sooner or later.’
Heffernan looked at his watch. ‘I’ll leave that in your capable hands, then, Wes. I’m seeing the Chief Super in an
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