The Simple Death by Michael Duffy Page A

coat, as though the whole hospital was his office. There was an easy authority to his manner, and Troy sensed this was based on solid foundations: here was someone used to making decisions and keeping secrets. His normal job was chief financial officer, and McIver had explained yesterday this covered a lot more ground than in most organisations. Troy wasn’t surprised McIver should know this: he’d once said he didn’t know everything about Sydney, but usually he knew who to ask.
    After the introductions, McIver announced the discovery of Mark Pearson’s body. Saunders winced and looked away briefly.
    â€˜Tragic,’ he said. ‘Does Emily know?’
    â€˜I’ve got someone calling on her,’ said McIver.
    â€˜He was so young. You just . . .’ He made the sign of the cross, just a flick of fingers over chest. ‘Anything more on the pethidine?’
    He seemed to have absorbed the fact of Pearson’s death quickly.
    â€˜No.’
    â€˜I hear you had a witness, a possible witness, but he got away?’
    McIver nodded. Saunders was staring at him, not exactly accusing but wanting to make it clear he knew there’d been a stuff-up. Wanting to see how Mac would react. After a few seconds of this he said, ‘Let’s talk in my office.’
    The bright white corridors were busy with people, doctors and other staff with stethoscopes and security passes hanging off their clothing at different points, members of the public moving more slowly and clasping bags, magazines and flowers. As they walked, Saunders made small talk, explained that he’d been in the job fifteen years, had seen the hospital double in size.
    â€˜Where do you get the space?’ Troy said, thinking about the location of the hospice, almost a kilometre away.
    â€˜Upwards and outwards. People leave us money, we have a secret buying program in the neighbourhood. The local real estate agents know, of course. It takes a certain guile, but we don’t have much choice.’ He smiled at Troy, as though to imply he had no secrets from the detectives.
    Saunders’ office was big and there were three seating options: a large desk with chairs in front; a table with eight chairs; and a sofa and two armchairs grouped around a rug. He pointed to the table and his secretary took orders for coffee. When they were seated, McIver explained the state of the investigation and asked Saunders to tell them about Mark Pearson’s job. Conti took out a digital recorder and turned it on.
    Saunders described how the nun who’d run the hospital for decades had retired two years ago. Her replacement, Alan Bellamy, was not a member of a religious order. He wasn’t even a Catholic.
    â€˜That decision marked an important turning point for St Thomas’,’ he said, his eyes switching between the detectives as he spoke. ‘The board was sending a clear signal that times had changed. Most of those who ran the place were Catholics who’d known each other, been here a long time. There was a perception by some that they were too close.’
    Troy wondered what any of this had to do with Mark Pearson.
    â€˜You’re a Catholic yourself?’ said McIver.
    â€˜That’s right.’
    One of Bellamy’s initiatives had been to create the position of hospital ombudsman, an independent person to consider complaints from patients and their families.
    â€˜It’s a relatively new idea for Australia, an ombudsman in a hospital,’ Saunders said, crossing his legs and staring at the cloth of his trousers. ‘Complaints are a big thing with us; New South Wales is supposed to be the most litigious place in the world for suing hospitals, even worse than America. So we’ve always had people dealing with that sort of thing—naturally we want to sort it out before it gets to court, if possible.’
    â€˜Doesn’t the Health Care Complaints Commission deal with serious