Prentice broached the subject first. “What does he expect from this confession Olivia?”
“I wasn’t guilty.”
“That’s not what I asked, I think it would be best if you start at the beginning. We know it involves the death of the little boy in the picture. Why don’t you begin with what happened during the operation?”
“It began before that. James Mitchell had been written off as a candidate for surgery. He was simply going to die. I truly believed there was a reasonable chance to get at this tumour, if only to buy some time. If he healed sufficiently for a second op within that time, I would have another, less risky chance to expose more of the inaccessible part to subsequent radiotherapy. His chemo was almost at an end. It was his only hope. Gladstone put his own career at risk by overturning the others, and said it was to become the decision of the parents. A slim chance of survival or no chance of beating the inevitable. It was a pragmatic decision, unlike the cost-effective garbage we hear so much of these days.
“When I re-read his case notes from the hospital he was referred from, I was reminded that James had been prone to seizures, infrequent but relatively severe. The normal procedure demands that the surgeon and the anaesthetist discuss the options before the operation is scheduled. Philip Morrison was against ‘playing God’ and accused me of grandstanding. It was his call, either to opt for facially-administered anaesthetic, or to deliver it by an inserted tube in the most favourable part of the body. He chose the latter because he felt that a mouth and nose mask, which would require a more complex fixing device, would complicate my task. So far so good. When I said it wouldn’t be a problem, he reminded me that it wasn’t for me to decide. I raised the point that with the chance of seizure, it might be safer if we could actually see any interruption to the supply of anaesthetic, because all of us except him would be concentrating on the head region. He dismissed this, with a further accusation that I was trying to undermine his skill as an anaesthetist, so I let it pass.
“When the procedure was well underway, it struck. James succumbed to quite a violent seizure. One of my assistants noticed the delivery of anaesthetic was erratic. Now the issue gets clouded. I believed that this failure was responsible for creating the additional trauma to the brain which triggered this reaction of repetitive convulsions. Morrison claimed it was my clumsiness alone which was to blame. I countered by saying if we’d had the feed by respiratory means, the irregularity in anaesthetic flow would have been picked up earlier. He told me to shut up while he sorted his end out. I did so, but by then we were past the point of no return, we lost James. The measurement of delivered anaesthetic confirmed the supply had faltered well before the seizure, indicating that it was probably the cause, but not unimpeachable proof.
“The inquisition which followed was incomplete. Despite all of my staff in attendance testifying to the actual order of events, this aspect was largely ignored by the hospital board. The situation had to be managed. When I stated that I’d brought this risk up in the pre-op discussion with Morrison, I was told that there was no such reference in the notes. They had been erased from the electronic record. The board members weren’t aware of the fact that I retained a hard copy of that meeting, signed by both Morrison and myself. Things got nasty and Gladstone said we had to think of the reputation of the hospital, and indeed our own future if this couldn’t be resolved sensibly. In reality he meant that his position was in jeopardy for authorising the procedure in the first place. I was later called to his office and told that Morrison was leaving and the damage had been limited, it was a very unfortunate ‘act of God’ and thankfully nobody was to blame. It was only after the Mitchell family took out their malpractice crusade that I realised I was now the lone person in the dock. Morrison’s threat to Gladstone to bring the house down by offering to be a witness for the Mitchells reinforced Ian’s need to bury this. A glowing reference to a London hospital and a later financial appropriation secured his silence. I was told that if I didn’t stop rocking the boat, my own future would not be secure. My staff were prepared to support me, but they got the same message that I did, and I couldn’t let them take the rap for Morrison’s whitewash. I felt so sorry for the Mitchells but the hospital legal presence forbade me to even talk to them. I still do feel that I let them down, but not for what I did in theatre. Anyway, I know exactly what Edward Mitchell wants me to do, so I will fall on my sword, my career is over. I’ll admit it was my fault. I’ll do it directly through the press so that it can’t be denied. I’ve carried this burden around for so long, and it isn’t worth worrying about it anymore when it affects my son’s life.”
It was Jones who questioned her intent. “If what you say can be proven, it’s possible that Mitchell will think differently about what he’s doing. Assuming he still blames you for his son’s death, it’s your head he wants on the block, not Kieron’s. His decision not to threaten to punish the boy has to be his way of gaining leverage to get you to trash what he thinks is most dear to you, other than Kieron. It seems obvious to me. Can we get this proof?”
“You don’t realise what you’re up against Inspector. Gladstone won’t give up his legacy, even if he is retiring.”
Prentice threw in a googly. “He could have a change of heart, now that he might have to explain knowing he had an ‘illegitimate’ daughter, and one he guided through the trials of becoming his nominee to succeed him. It’s called nepotism. And in case you think you have any loyalty to this man, he told Jones and myself that he hadn’t recommended you for the post.”
“But he inferred to me that he had.”
“Yes, however, that was surely before he was told by us that we knew he was your father. This case changed the entire situation for him. And anyway, I now seem to recall that he confirmed you could still get the job, without his help, what about you Jones?”
“Erm, yeah, that might have been what I heard, yes.”
Olivia was confused, then the penny dropped. “You mean that he should be the one to convince Edward Mitchell, otherwise I should blackmail him?”
“I couldn’t possibly comment.” said Prentice. “But I suppose he should be offered the chance to weigh up the choices in front of him – tell the truth and help his grandson, or try to keep the truth buried, and still lose this legacy he craves, and more importantly his grandson into the bargain. Of course, none of this conversation ever took place.”
Martha had been silent until now. “You might want to speak with him before you get any kind of deadline from Mitchell. He did state that Kieron would speak to you soon.”
Olivia thanked them and tried to resist accepting a ride to the hospital. Prentice frogmarched her to the car and the other two detectives took the weary journey to their respective homes, relieved that the episode hadn’t turned out so badly after all.
*
There was more good news when she arrived. Peter had been brought from IC to a quiet room in a normal care ward. Pauline was by his bed. Olivia was received with smiles from both of them. Peter mumbled something which sounded like advice that she needed to get some sleep. Pauline settled for hugging her daughter. Perhaps there was some daylight emerging from this tunnel of hell. Peter’s speech function had a way to go, but it was definitely improving. She excused herself for one minute while she rang Ian Gladstone’s mobile. “We need to talk.”
*
“So, how did it go?”
“Pretty well I’d guess. I’ll give her a couple of days or so before sending the video. I don’t want this news to get lost amongst all of the Happy New Year around the world shit. I think she did what I asked, I couldn’t see any sign of police. We’re close to getting justice at last.”
Chapter 32
Tom rang to wish her Happy New Year. She made him promise that he would keep his word and stay in London before she recounted what had happened on the quayside. He seemed different, in fact quite calm. She had certainly expected him to advocate giving Mitchell what he wanted, her confession, her care
er flushed down the pan, and the public humiliation of being labelled as a ‘child killer’ by neglect.
“You can’t do this Olivia. I once confessed to something I wasn’t guilty of, and look what it did to my life. I did it with the best of intentions, to protect someone I loved, and I deluded myself that it was a noble cause. There has to be another way, you ain’t guilty, it’s only Mitchell that thinks otherwise.”
She floated the alternative Prentice had suggested, completely off the record. He realised there was a flicker of trust in her voice. “What do you think?”
‘She wants to know what I think. This is a massive dilemma she has, and she wants to know what I think.’ He was locked in a vacuum of indecision. He always knew what to do, even when he was wrong. Grappling with sole responsibility for advising on a potential life and death situation wasn’t in his repertoire. “You need to tell me how you think Gladstone will react to such a threat. He has to take the full hit completely, and must avoid revealing that Kieron is his grandson, otherwise Mitchell won’t buy it. He’s no fool, and he’ll see through any concocted attempt to free our son. Gladstone has to become the focus of all the pent up anger this guy has been feeling for twelve years. That’s a feeling I can personally empathise with. Off the top of my head, I’d say you can rule out any kind of meeting or bargaining with Sir Ian, it will stink of collaboration. Gladstone needs to use this as the reason for his retirement, which must occur concurrently with his exclusive admission to some investigative journalist. Headline news, irrefutable proof, guilt and passing of sentence, all rolled into one. Mitchell must not be asked to consider this, he has to feel deep shame all by himself, without anyone else trying to up the ante. Guilt that he’s campaigned against and slandered the one person who was only ever to blame for trying to save his son. For twelve years. That’s the only winning hand for Kieron, transference of guilt. Go for it Olivia. I’ll stay out of the way.”
Her control broke down, she was unable to process the feeling of role reversal. She was the one with the ability to stay focussed under pressure, Tom was a liability looking for a problem to amplify. She seemed stuck in time, then she was suddenly jerked backwards to the awful mess when they were at University together. It was a comparable moment. Tom’s ‘wrong’ decision then had an enormous cost for both of them. “I’m going to do as you suggest Tom, thanks for being so patient, I wouldn’t have had the guts to do this alone, and nobody else could have made me see it the way you have, I’ve never truly thought of my career as irrelevant. I’ll speak to you again when I’ve confronted Gladstone.”
New Year’s Day
Gladstone pulled on to the drive in Hamsterley Mill. Olivia opened the door and made it clear by her body language that this wasn’t going to be a pleasant chat, disregarding his attempt to engage in the customary hug. No coffee was offered, and she pointed to an armchair.
“I think I know what this is about Olivia. Peter was away almost all of the time, and Pauline hardly ever saw him. She was drowning in loneliness. It wasn’t meant to happen. She admitted to me that it was a mistake. Look, Peter knew about this before you were born. He wanted it this way. I complied, and I’ve regretted it ever since. I was sworn not to tell you, and that was that. It was very much a mixed blessing when you landed the post here in Newcastle. However, I’m not sorry about the way our professional relationship has helped to compensate for lost years in my personal life. Your mother could have left Peter and married me, but she declined.”
“Well, that’s a good starting point, our professional relationship. I don’t want to get into the cold facts of DNA tests and what it all means. It is what it is. I’d like to know if you want to help Kieron, that little boy, whose genes also bear your imprint. I’ve been given an ultimatum of sorts.”
“Of course, but what can I do? We don’t even have a clue where to start, courtesy of the Keystone Cops.”
“That’s not strictly true. I’ve had contact with his abductor, but you can’t let anyone know that. He will spare your grandson’s life if I make it known to the world at large that James Mitchell died because I screwed up.”
“You can’t do that Olivia, we took care of that twelve years ago.”
“You’re right on the first point, I can’t do it primarily because I didn’t screw up. On the second, we didn’t take care of that accusation, you did. It was beautifully sculptured to preserve your squeaky clean, beyond reproach image. My potential reward for keeping schtum on the whitewash of Philip Morrison, was, to one day ascend to your throne. I have a feeling that might not happen now. Relax, it’s no longer of any importance to me. So, we have options. The first is that I give the whole truth to the press, and you are seen as the orchestrator of the cover up, as I still have hard copies of the evidence from me and my entire staff, which was never allowed to surface. The second option gives you a chance to preserve a modicum of honour. You exonerate me completely, and having searched your soul, you uncover old archived reports which puts Morrison in the dock. You call for the case to be urgently reviewed out of a strict sense of duty. It would be wrong for your successor to inherit a miscarriage of justice on the first day that their arse hits the chair. An upstanding figure like Sir Ian Gladstone would be expected to do no less, knowing that it might just preserve his legacy as a selfless foot soldier of this great nation’s health service, even as he retires. What a guy! With a bit of polish this option could still allow you to emerge from the shit swamp smelling of pure English roses. Don’t underestimate my willingness to sacrifice everything to get my boy back.”
“I need to think about this, Olivia.”
“Wrong, you need to think about Kieron, and little James Mitchell. If you don’t, I’ll make sure you’re ostracised for the rest of your life.”
“Alright, alright, I get the point. I’ll try to draft something when I get back to my hotel.”
“Wrong again, we’ll do it together here. And I’ll choose the journalist with whom we work to set that awful deception to rights. I need this today, because I don’t know when Mitchell will snap, and that will put Kieron’s fate beyond our influence. Stay here tonight if you want, I’ve got police protection until this is over. You mustn’t have seen them as you came in, but they flagged me of your arrival. They might need a copy of your deed of honour. It’s decaffeinated isn’t it?”
*
Olivia called Prentice to let him know that the confession Mitchell had demanded was under preparation. He knew she meant Gladstone’s confession, and that this call was solely to clear the police of any interference or deviation from their remit. She then spoke to Tom. “I don’t think Gladstone is riddled with genuine guilt yet. However, there are signs that he accepts he’ll burn at the stake if Mitchell doesn’t believe he’s reopened the case out of sheer dedication to correct a wrong, based on the new evidence. That’s all that matters. You were right, what can I say?”
“Sorry, I didn’t hear that, say again.”
“Sod off, you heard me all right. Fingers crossed now, all we can do is hope that we can get this into tomorrow’s newspaper and that Mitchell doesn’t make contact before he reads it, or hears about it. My press contact says he’ll try to get the editor to rejig the morning edition to make way for our piece, and the radio people are standing by on the same basis, but with a short version, and after the print version has gone on sale. We don’t know about the TV yet.”
“You know this enforced detachment ain’t as bad as I thought it was gonna be. It’s still early days, but at least I seem to be riding some of the waves, rather than trying to tackle them all. Keep the good news coming Olivia, you know I want to be there whenever I’m welcome.”
“I know.”
Chapter 33
January 2nd
Exhumation Day
The weather was absolutely foul, almost a blizzard. The enclosed space provided by the tent quickly accumulated enough snow to require constant brushing off, otherwise the task would have to be abandoned. The only people
gathered there other than CID personnel, forensics specialists and Angela Mitchell, were officials presiding over the proper procedure to be followed. Two gravediggers and a suited individual with a clipboard. Prentice, Cartwright, Clipboard and the two diggers were inside the tent. The rest were huddled like snowmen, waiting to be called as required. The soil was favourably soft and helped to reduce the time taken for the first stage considerably. Lifting the casket to the surface, Clipboard ensured every attendee had their mask in place. The lid resisted several attempts to reveal the remains before it was prised off with a jemmy, and it was accompanied by a loud, ear-piercing crack. There was hardly any tissue left on or around the skeletal shape. Prentice asked for Jones to attend before any attempt was made to free the ‘body’ from the casket’s icy grip. There was no sign of anything remotely like an earring. A second inspection would take place after the rest of the remains had been extracted. It simply wasn’t going to be possible to get this out in one piece. It took almost an hour to clear the coffin of bones and any debris surrounding them. The long-suffering forensics squad entered, beckoned by Cartwright. They photographed and labelled each piece, fragment, and any interesting extraneous material before placing them in the waiting sterilised receptacles. The sky was still laden with precipitation but it was gradually turning from fresh snow to sleet.
The lights were turned off and any last conversations brief, as car engines fired up. They were all gone bar the gravediggers, whose last detail was to secure the casket and the tent guide ropes. Just in time, darkness was closing in.
Cartwright already had Edward Mitchell’s dental records on hand for comparison with the remains. Any recovered DNA would act as confirmation. The bulk of the remains were kept in a freezer, while samples went straight to the test lab.