All Passion Spent - Bergotte (pdf e book reader .txt) 📗

“No,” replied Gerrard, “but what I want you to do is to get hold of the daughter and son-in-law and make sure they understand the serious nature of this business.”
“Do I tell them that it is a possible murder inquiry?”
“No, not at this stage. It’s too early for that yet. Now, we need at least one of them to come and formally identify the body. Considering that she probably died on Saturday and today is Tuesday we seem to be taking a long, long time to get even the basics done.”
“Right, sir, I’ll see to it.”
“And get them to come here to be interviewed.”
“Yes, sir.”
“I’m out until lunchtime… there is something I have to do. I’ll see you here soon.”

Anna wondered where he was going and why he wasn’t telling her about it. Gerrard put on his coat, picked up his document case and walked out to his car. He started the engine, and drove out of the south side of the city. He crossed the River Avon at the Churchill Bridge and followed the one way system to turn right on to the Lower Bristol Road. He found himself in thick traffic as he made his way slowly by the river, with the mean streets that make up the district of Twerton on his left-hand side. He started to think about the case as he sat at traffic lights. Why would someone want to run over a middle-aged lady on a Saturday evening, in Bath? Perhaps it was a genuine accident. The driver could have fallen asleep at the wheel. There were half a dozen explanations to hand that were on the accidental list.

Half an hour later the detective pulled up outside a big house, set in its own grounds, with picturesque gardens and a sign advertising itself as a nursing home specialising in EMI, for the elderly mentally infirm. Peter Gerrard had come to visit Jack, his great uncle, aged eighty-seven, who suffered from senile dementia. He remembered the nurse saying to him when Jack was first admitted to the home, “His short term memory is now very bad and has been for some years, but his long term memory particularly of World War II is good. He likes to have photographs around him that remind him of ‘the old days’.” One of the main problems that Jack had as a result of his dementia was that he was constantly losing his personal possessions such as his spectacles and his teeth.

Gerrard rode up to the first floor in the lift and was reminded once again of the tight security in the home as he pushed against a door and then pressed in the code in the panel next to it. They had told him that the security was not so much to stop unwelcome visitors getting in but to prevent the residents getting out. He made his way down the corridor to room forty-three and knocked on the door. He heard a familiar voice shout, "Come,” and entered the room.

There he found the old man sitting in an armchair reading a newspaper with some jazz playing in the background. He knew that Jack had been a jazz musician in the forties, playing alto sax in a small five-piece band. It was Jack who had encouraged his great nephew to take up playing the sax too, and Gerrard found this instrument a great help to his own mental well-being when the stress of his work load got to him. To take the instrument from its case and play a few riffs was still a great joy to him.

“Hello, Peter,” said Jack, “it’s good of you to call.” Gerrard noted that Jack still remembered who he was.
“I know I don’t come very often,” he said, “and I can’t stay very long but it’s good to see you again. How are you keeping?”
“I mustn’t complain. I’m pretty fit really.”
“You still enjoy listening to music then?”
“Yes, I can’t play any more as you know. I haven’t the stamina any more to blow, but I like listening. This is Stan Getz, do you know it?”
“Yes, of course,” replied Gerrard, “He’s a great tenor player. I love his Latin American stuff. This is Desafinado isn’t it?”
“I can’t remember the title. But you’re probably right.”
“Where’s the case for it?” “The what?” “The jewel-box, you know, the case.” “I don’t know.”

Gerrard got up and looked around the room but he couldn’t see anything that looked like an empty jewel case. He went to the window and opened it slightly. It always felt very hot when he went visit, no matter what time of year it was. Old people, who do not walk much, some not at all, need to be kept warm, he reflected as he looked out on an orchard close to the home.

“Someone has probably walked off with it,” commented Jack.
Gerrard sat down again. The music came to a stop and the pair sat in silence for some time, each left with his own thoughts. Suddenly, Jack asked, “What case are you working on?” Gerrard, caught off-guard by the direct question, found it difficult to answer coherently. He drew breath, paused for a moment or two, then said, “We have a suspicious death we are investigating. It was reported yesterday… so we are in the early stages at the moment.” “You think it’s murder, do you?” asked the old man. “It could be, it could be,” murmured Gerrard. Jack returned to his newspaper and started reading aloud. He read only the main headline of an article before going on to another. Gerrard realised that the resident of number forty-three really needed to be wearing his glasses. Just as suddenly as he had taken up the newspaper his hands fell into his lap, his eyes closed and Gerrard could see that Jack was now fast asleep.

Is this what I’m going to come to in forty years time he wondered? His gaze wandered round the room and came to rest on the clock that he had given Jack a year earlier. ‘Half past eleven,’ he said to himself. He closed his eyes and dozed off for ten minutes.

There was a knock at the door and a nurse entered. “Oh, I’m sorry to disturb you,” she said, apologetically. “I thought Jack was alone, I did not realise you had company Jack.” Jack made no response.

“Hello Irene. How are you?” said Gerrard. The nurse, from Singapore, if I remember correctly, thought Gerrard, smiled her beatific smile. “Fine, thanks. I can come back later,” she said in her cheery voice with the strange intonation. She had known Gerrard for more than a year and had been a great help when great uncle Jack had been going through a rough time, having been recently transferred from a geriatric hospital ward as a ‘bedblocker’. Then, he had been very disorientated and become unsteady on his feet. When he had fallen down he had lashed out at any nursing staff who had tried to assist him. Nurse Irene had understood Jack’s loss of dignity in these difficult circumstances. She had been a tower of strength.

“No, that’s all right, please do what you have to do,” said Gerrard, trying to return the smile in the same sunny manner, but failing.
“I have come to take Jack’s BP and his blood sugar levels.”
“Please do… I’ll wander down the corridor.” Gerrard got up and left the room. Minutes later he saw nurse Irene in the corridor. “How is he?” asked Gerrard.
“Oh he’s fine, given his age. He has diabetes as you know, so we have to keep a close check on his sugar levels, but it’s fine at the moment and his blood pressure is fairly normal as well. He’s is in pretty good health.”
“I’m glad to hear it.”
“You remember we agreed that today we would do the review of your great uncle?”
“No, I’d completely forgotten. I’ll go in to say goodbye to him.”

Gerrard entered the room once more and bade the old man farewell He was about to leave when he heard the familiar sound of his mobile phone, emanating from his jacket packet.
“Hello,” he said.
“Hello, sir,” said Anna. “A lady has telephoned saying that she saw something on Saturday night. I said I would go and see her this afternoon.”
“I’ll be with you soon,” said Gerrard, “and we’ll go together. Any luck with the relatives?”
“Oh, yes. I’ve been informed that Isabella, the daughter went to identify her mother’s body this morning.” “Good,” said Gerrard and rang off abruptly.

He closed Jack’s door behind him and marched swiftly down the corridor to see nurse Irene in her glass-fronted office. He smiled at her as he waited for her to open the door to him. “Come in and sit down please. I’ve filled in a lot of the details already on this form… the things I told you about earlier,” she told him. “Good,” he replied.

She continued to describe his great uncle’s state of health in some detail, reading out the list of medications that the nursing staff were administering on a daily basis. He had seen the chiropodist, dentist and optician recently. He gets on quite well with the other residents. When he realises he cannot remember things he gets very stressed. She mentioned the importance of photographs “He does like looking at photographs. He spends a long time each day gazing at the photo albums you brought, in of his relations,” she reminded him. “They go back many years, and bring back many happy memories,” said Gerrard, reflecting on how important were photos, postcards and pictures generally in his own work. How often had witnesses and suspects, for that matter, had their memories jogged with the introduction of some pictures to the interview room? Yes, mused Gerrard, photos are of the utmost importance.

Irene turned to the issue of things the old man might need. At the top of her list was the word ‘Shoes’. “He really needs new shoes… like me … look at these.” She took off one of her own shoes and held it up for Gerrard to see. “What’s wrong with it?” he asked, innocently. “Look! The sole is coming away from this part… what do you call it?” “The upper,” replied Gerrard. “Does Jack wear shoes much?” “Yes, and we encourage it. He goes down to the lounge, and out into the enclosed garden. He likes to sit out in the sun… when there is any. We have the new bar now along the corridor from Jack’s room. He likes to go there every Friday morning for coffee and most evenings after the meal he goes along. Sometimes he is allowed his alcohol free lager. We play games and hold general knowledge quizzes there, as well.” “I suppose it’s good to get out of bedroom slippers and into shoes.” “Yes, and he still walks quite well. He doesn’t need a stick any more… like when he first came here.”

“I’ll try and get some shoes for him, I know his size and what he likes,” said Gerrard. “You can get some for me while you’re at it,” she said, and laughed loudly. “I don’t know your size or what you like.” “Size four, and I need ordinary flat shoes for working here.” “No heels?” “No, definitely not heels. I have to climb up on chairs and do all sorts of unladylike things like that. Heels are not appropriate for this kind of work.” “I suppose slip-ons are better for him than lace-ups,” mused Gerrard, out loud. “Yes, older people don’t like bending down to tie