Read Online Poisoned Ground: A Hakim and Arnold Mystery (Hakim & Arnold Mystery 3) by Barbara Nadel - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Barbara Nadel
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account or someone was looking after him. But if he had transferred the money, how had he done it and where had it gone?
Lee said, ‘Do you know if Phil had any debts? Did he gamble?’
‘No and no. He had an allowance for his car and general expenses, and he never went over it or asked for any more.’
‘What about friends and relatives? Any of those in trouble as far as you know?’
‘No. His old man liked the odd little flutter on the gee-gees but what bloke his age don’t? Phil never said it was a problem.’ She sighed. Then she riffled in the pockets of her sack dress and took out a chocolate bar. ‘God help me. I’m sorry, I have to eat something now.’
Lee smiled. ‘It’s OK.’
‘Put me right back, all this,’ she said. ‘Back on meds too.’ She shook her head. ‘No, Phil’s mum and dad live in Southend in a flat by the sea and are very happy and settled, in spite of Bette’s dementia. Or they were until Phil went missing.’
‘You’ve spoken to them?’
‘To Ken, yeah. I never saw either of them that much, but we always got on.’
‘What about any new people in Phil’s circle?’ Lee asked. ‘Did he come into contact with anyone you thought might be a bit dodgy or maybe had a bad influence on him?’
‘No,’ she said. ‘Phil just went to his gym, which I had built forhim in the garden, he went out in his car sometimes and that was really all he did. When we was first together he used to go down the pub sometimes with Brian’s son, Barry, but then that all stopped years ago. Phil told me that all Barry ever wanted to do was pull birds and he wasn’t interested in that and so he knocked it on the head. I never once got any sort of feeling or heard any rumours that Phil was playing around with other women.’
‘Which pub did Phil and Barry go to?’
‘The George on Wanstead High Street,’ she said. ‘But that was years ago. Since me and Phil got together we did most things together, especially after I got ill. Poor Phil saw almost no one during that time because he had to be with me. I think I saw more people than he did, coming in to help me get well. Phil was just left to his own devices. Maybe that was why he wanted a divorce? Maybe he couldn’t bear the thought of going through all that with me again? What do you think, Lee?’
*
The patients (she could call them that in the privacy of her own head) and some of the staff said that the long corridor that connected the chronic block to the building containing the two acute wards was haunted. Some patient who had committed suicide back in the 1900s, supposedly. Shirley knew that a lot more had taken that route out of Ilford Hospital since then. Luckily she hadn’t been at work the day that young Sara Ibrahim had thrown herself out of the window. People who had seen it were still having trouble with it. Now that was haunting.
‘Mrs Mayfield.’
‘Mr Cotton.’
He’d appeared through a door ahead of her. There were several in the corridor but they were usually locked.
‘I saw a young woman I didn’t recognize with you this morning. Do you have a new volunteer?’
‘Yes. Miss Huq,’ she said.
‘Promising?’
‘I think so.’
They walked, he as usual with some difficulty.
Shirley was on her way to the car park via the acute wards. Inducting a new volunteer was always tiring and she wanted to get home and put her feet up.
‘There was a minor incident on the forensic ward this afternoon,’ the chief psychiatric consultant said. ‘Don’t know if it’s come to your notice.’
‘No. I didn’t hear the alarm go off.’
Even a minor incident on the forensic ward would necessitate the sounding of the old Second World War siren alarm.
‘As I say, it was a very minor incident,’ he said. ‘However, it may come to your attention. A male patient may ask you to institute an investigation into the conduct of a member of my staff.’
It was all right for him to use ‘patient’ because he was a doctor. It
Lee said, ‘Do you know if Phil had any debts? Did he gamble?’
‘No and no. He had an allowance for his car and general expenses, and he never went over it or asked for any more.’
‘What about friends and relatives? Any of those in trouble as far as you know?’
‘No. His old man liked the odd little flutter on the gee-gees but what bloke his age don’t? Phil never said it was a problem.’ She sighed. Then she riffled in the pockets of her sack dress and took out a chocolate bar. ‘God help me. I’m sorry, I have to eat something now.’
Lee smiled. ‘It’s OK.’
‘Put me right back, all this,’ she said. ‘Back on meds too.’ She shook her head. ‘No, Phil’s mum and dad live in Southend in a flat by the sea and are very happy and settled, in spite of Bette’s dementia. Or they were until Phil went missing.’
‘You’ve spoken to them?’
‘To Ken, yeah. I never saw either of them that much, but we always got on.’
‘What about any new people in Phil’s circle?’ Lee asked. ‘Did he come into contact with anyone you thought might be a bit dodgy or maybe had a bad influence on him?’
‘No,’ she said. ‘Phil just went to his gym, which I had built forhim in the garden, he went out in his car sometimes and that was really all he did. When we was first together he used to go down the pub sometimes with Brian’s son, Barry, but then that all stopped years ago. Phil told me that all Barry ever wanted to do was pull birds and he wasn’t interested in that and so he knocked it on the head. I never once got any sort of feeling or heard any rumours that Phil was playing around with other women.’
‘Which pub did Phil and Barry go to?’
‘The George on Wanstead High Street,’ she said. ‘But that was years ago. Since me and Phil got together we did most things together, especially after I got ill. Poor Phil saw almost no one during that time because he had to be with me. I think I saw more people than he did, coming in to help me get well. Phil was just left to his own devices. Maybe that was why he wanted a divorce? Maybe he couldn’t bear the thought of going through all that with me again? What do you think, Lee?’
*
The patients (she could call them that in the privacy of her own head) and some of the staff said that the long corridor that connected the chronic block to the building containing the two acute wards was haunted. Some patient who had committed suicide back in the 1900s, supposedly. Shirley knew that a lot more had taken that route out of Ilford Hospital since then. Luckily she hadn’t been at work the day that young Sara Ibrahim had thrown herself out of the window. People who had seen it were still having trouble with it. Now that was haunting.
‘Mrs Mayfield.’
‘Mr Cotton.’
He’d appeared through a door ahead of her. There were several in the corridor but they were usually locked.
‘I saw a young woman I didn’t recognize with you this morning. Do you have a new volunteer?’
‘Yes. Miss Huq,’ she said.
‘Promising?’
‘I think so.’
They walked, he as usual with some difficulty.
Shirley was on her way to the car park via the acute wards. Inducting a new volunteer was always tiring and she wanted to get home and put her feet up.
‘There was a minor incident on the forensic ward this afternoon,’ the chief psychiatric consultant said. ‘Don’t know if it’s come to your notice.’
‘No. I didn’t hear the alarm go off.’
Even a minor incident on the forensic ward would necessitate the sounding of the old Second World War siren alarm.
‘As I say, it was a very minor incident,’ he said. ‘However, it may come to your attention. A male patient may ask you to institute an investigation into the conduct of a member of my staff.’
It was all right for him to use ‘patient’ because he was a doctor. It
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