She saw his grimace and pressed home the point. ‘Why would she do that to herself? Not here, not in the UK, not in the twenty-first century. We have the NHS, and an abundance of private clinics all too ready to help. Why would any woman resort to such a risk on her own to get rid of an unwanted pregnancy?’
‘According to her GP she had been depressed for a while, more so since she found out she was pregnant. He’d been treating her for gonorrhoea and she was worried it could harm the foetus. She discussed a termination with him two weeks ago. He was waiting on her decision.’
Alex stood back up, waving a hand in despair. ‘So why didn’t she go back to him? She could have got help easily.’
‘We don’t know yet why she did this. She was a qualified nurse. Maybe she thought she could handle it by herself. Or maybe depression made her desperate. We’re trying to locate the father. Her parents tell us she didn’t have a steady boyfriend, but if we can find him, he may be able to shed some light, tell us something we don’t know.’
‘So everything I told you now sounds ridiculous. You must think me a madwoman for calling you in. I just thought .?.?.’
Greg Turner perched on the windowsill and crossed his ankles. ‘There is no connection that we can find, Dr Taylor. I went through your statement and I checked with DC Best. You are aware that they made a thorough search of both the grounds and the hospital that night. They found nothing. The theatres were all searched. In three of them operations were taking place at the time you say you were in one of them. The entire theatre team for that night have been interviewed and they all agree that there is no way anyone could have occupied one of the others without them being aware of it. The night cleaners were there till gone midnight because there was an MRSA case earlier in one of the theatres, and they had the entire suite to deep clean. Unfortunately, CCTV doesn’t reach the part of the car park where you were found, but that area was searched, and there were newly broken tree branches on the ground near to where you were lying.’
Alex struggled to stay calm. She needed a drink; the whisky-laced coffee in her hand was not enough. She wanted the kick of something strong and undiluted slipping straight into her bloodstream. ‘My dress, which your officer still has, is something I don’t think DC Best noticed that night.’
His eyes narrowed at the tone in her voice when she mentioned the female officer’s name, but he sat silently.
‘It was dry, bone dry – not a mark on it, from what I could see. They found me in the car park where I lay in the rain, and yet it was dry. How do you explain that, DI Turner?’
‘I can’t. Maybe the lab can. If it hasn’t already been checked, I’ll chase it up. I’ll also discuss it with DC Best. Though I am sure she would have noticed the state of your dress. She’s pretty thorough.’
Alex flushed at the rebuke, but she’d be damned before she apologised. DC Best hadn’t even had the decency to ring up and check on how she was doing.
‘DC Best came to see you a few days later, but you were away. Your colleagues told her you were having a week off work.’
Alex bit hard on her lower lip to stop it from trembling. She was sick of crying and showing how weak she was. She breathed slowly and steadily until she felt calmer.
‘Two weeks ago I had a normal life. I had a job I am good at, colleagues who trusted in my judgement. And now it’s in tatters. I can’t put it back together again. What would you do if you were me?’
He cradled the coffee mug in his hands and took a moment before replying. ‘I’ve seen many men and women reach a crisis point in their lives. A friend of mine who’s a police officer and was on duty during an incident, at this very moment is undergoing therapy for severe stress. He blames himself for the death of a pedestrian who stepped out into the road in front of his speeding vehicle. No matter that he has been exonerated of any blame, he feels he should have known that a man, at that precise moment, was going to appear out of nowhere and walk across that road. The helicopter overhead hadn’t spotted the pedestrian, the officer in the passenger seat beside my friend hadn’t noticed the man, but my friend blames himself. Talk to someone, Dr Taylor. The mind is a fragile thing. It can deceive us when we least expect it and it can punish us in a way no one can explain. When you’re ready you will be able to put yourself back together again. You will have a normal life again.’
Chapter twelve
In her childhood bedroom, in the house where she grew up, the cream walls still bore the scars of Blu-tacked photos and Sellotaped posters, and in large glass picture frames prints of Andy Warhol’s portraits of Jackie Kennedy and Ingrid Bergman still hung. In her childhood bedroom where she had slept and dreamed of her future.
Alex’s legs were shaking badly and her grip on the door of the wardrobe was all that prevented her from toppling right in. The dress she was looking at was the same shade of pink she had worn on the night she was attacked. The same style of dress, except longer, and the same type of strappy shoes. Her sister, Pamela, was staring at her with a mixture of anger and resentment. This was not new; Alex felt there had always been resentment from her younger sister. Eighteen months separated them in age, but in terms of maturity, Alex had always felt far older.
Pamela had grown up believing that Alex had achieved her ambitions effortlessly, and that everything she did was accomplished with a snap of her fingers. It never occurred to her to think about the years of studying Alex put in, and the great parties, family holidays and social events that Alex missed so that she could stay focused and disciplined until her exams were passed, her future set, and yes, her ambition achieved.
Pamela went to college instead of university, took a BTEC course instead of a degree, worked part-time jobs instead of getting a student loan and had gone on to be an assistant hotel manager. She had spent the last several years seeming to enjoy life: nice boyfriends, nice girlfriends, nice holidays, nice everything. Nice and safe, with nothing to mar her happiness except for a childish resentment of her older sister. On the few occasions where the sisters met up and Alex was introduced to whoever was with her sister at the time, inevitably the question of ‘What do you do?’ was asked and Alex would see the admiration in Pamela’s friends’ eyes and the envious looks her sister gave her. It was the title that peeved her sister most. She was into titles.