‘It transpired after several months
that someone had been tampering with the pill cabinet. You see, Mr. Jonas, in
places like these, strong drugs are needed to keep patients at ease.’ Amy faced
Nancy to serve up a scouring glint. ‘Like people with bedsores, rheumatoid
arthritis…cancer.’
Vince’s
crutch twitched. ‘She drugged them?’
‘No
Mr. Jonas, quite the opposite. She denied those patients what they badly needed
to get through the day. Who’s to know if orange juice or a mint tablet has or
has no active ingredient?’ Amy ended her glower with one of her disdainful
blinks to face Vince again. ‘A woman with osteoporosis cried herself to sleep
with nothing but blackcurrant sweets in her system. A man with a stomach ulcers
got by on watered-down menthol. And that’s to name just two patients.’ Amy’s
lips bunched. ‘When Ms. Hutchens got caught, she’d made the lame excuse she
didn’t like seeing the effect of people all dosed up. They couldn’t keep their
promises, made ‘em act all soft in the head, stupid, weak and a sellout.
Someone probably claimed their undying love for her when they was drunk and
regretted it in the cold light of day.’
Amy’s
chin lifted ‘And by way, Mr. Jonas, you guessed right about the nurse thing,
but she wasn’t even a carer. She worked as a cleaner. A cleaner. The mind
boggles at how a cleaner got her hands on the keys to the pill cabinet, but
I’ll leave the guesswork to you.’
Everything
Nancy wore subsided around her, pulling her into the ground.
‘A
doctor Alexander Croyd discovered what she was up to and turned her in. The
facts are pretty sketchy at this point, but it appears there was somethin’
goin’ on between the two of them, which ain’t surprising. Ms. Hutchens’
attentions were probably foiled by a good doctor only to try to sully the poor
man’s reputation by claiming he was blackmailing her for sex. The allegations
didn’t even survive speculation, let alone the courts.’ Amy gave a snort. ‘And
then she vanished to her aunt’s till the dust settled.’
Amy’s
wedges clicked as she turned for the door. ‘Henry.’
De
Kooning’s knotted figures wavered on the wall as Henry’s boots clumped into the
room. Rounded shoulders betrayed an aversion to spectators. Henry nudged his
glasses to the bridge of his nose and kept his sights ahead.
Amy
crossed her arms once he had levelled with her. ‘Ms. Hutchens’ guile knows no
bounds, Mr. Jonas. Isn’t that right, Henry?’
Henry
coughed a faltering start. His ensuing monotone burned into Nancy’s ears. ‘I’m
sorry, Mr. Jonas,’ he began and confessed to being duped by an imposter. His
trusting nature had been used. Garden duties had diverted him from what was
really going on until he discovered she had deprived Mr. Jonas of all but his
crutches and enforced a rigorous, at times cruel routine. She then tried to
blackmail him if he told on her. The dilemma kept him awake at night and he
feared he’d lose his job. When he discovered she’d stolen the keys from the
cabinet he felt he had no choice.
Facing
Vince now, Amy rounded things off. ‘You had received some nursing care, Mr.
Jonas, the bad kind, the bitter and angry kind from a mixed-up woman with a
chip on her shoulder.’ Amy gave Henry a nod. ‘You did real good, Henry. You can
go now.’
Henry
bowed his head, his glasses flashing at the window. Nancy couldn’t tell if he’d
caught her eye and didn’t much care. He clumped his way back to the kitchen
where Mr. Blakemore waited.
