Page 213 of Troubled Blood

“It’s an unpleasant idea, I know,” said Strike unemotionally. “When I was talking to her, Deborah told me about Dr. Brenner visiting her at home. She said he’d—er—asked her to take off her pants—”

“No!” said Janice, in what seemed instinctive revulsion. “No, I’m sure—no, that’s not right. That’s not ’ow it would’ve ’appened, if she’d needed an intimate examination. It would have ’appened at the surgery.”

“You said she was agoraphobic?”

“Well—yeah, but…”

“Samhain, the son, said something about Dr. Brenner being a ‘dirty old man.’”

“’E… but… no, it… it must’ve been an examination… maybe after the baby was born? But that should’ve been me, the nurse… that’s upset me, now,” said Janice, looking distressed. “You think you’ve ’eard everything, but… no, that’s really upset me. I mean, I was in the ’ouse that one time to see the kid and she never said a word to me… but of course, ’e was there, the father, telling me all about ’is bloody magic powers. She was probably too scared to… no, that’s really upset me, that ’as.”

“I’m sorry,” said Strike, “but I have to ask: did you ever hear that Brenner used prostitutes? Ever hear any rumors about him, locally?”

“Not a word,” said Janice. “I’d’ve told someone, if I’d ’eard that. It wouldn’t be ethical, not in our catchment area. All the women there were registered to our practice. She’d’ve been a patient.”

“According to Talbot’s notes,” said Strike, “somebody claimed they saw Brenner in Michael Cliffe House on the evening Margot disappeared. The story Brenner gave the police was that he went straight home.”

“Michael Cliffe ’Ouse… that’s the tower block on Skinner Street, innit?” said Janice. “We ’ad patients in there, but otherwise…” Janice appeared sickened. “You’ve upset me,” she said again. “’Im and that poor Athorn woman… and there’s me defending ’im to all and sundry, because of ’is experiences in the war. Not two weeks back, I ’ad Dorothy’s son sitting exactly where you are now—”

“Carl Oakden was here?” said Strike sharply.

“Yeah,” said Janice, “and ’e didn’t wipe ’is feet, neither. Dog shit all up my ’all carpet.”

“What did he want?” asked Strike.

“Well, ’e pretended it was a nice catch-up,” said Janice. “You’d think I might not recognize ’im after all this time, but actually, ’e don’t look that much diff’rent, not really. Anyway, ’e sat in that chair where you are, spouting all sorts of rubbish about old times and ’is mum remembering me fondly—ha! Dorothy Oakden, remember me fondly? Dorothy thought Irene and me were a pair of hussies, skirts above our knees, going out to the pub togevver…

“’E mentioned you,” said Janice, with a beady look. “Wanted to know if I’d met you, yet. ’E wrote a book about Margot, you know, but it never made it into the shops, which ’e’s angry about. ’E told me all about it when ’e was ’ere. ’E’s finking of writing another one and it’s you what’s got ’im interested in it. The famous detective solving the case—or the famous detective not solving the case. Either one’ll do for Carl.”

“What was he saying about Brenner?” asked Strike. There would be time enough later to consider the implications of an amateur biographer tramping all over the case.

“Said Dr. Brenner was a sadistic old man, and there I was, sort of sticking up for Dr. Brenner… but now you’re telling me this about Deborah Athorn…”

“Oakden said Brenner was sadistic, did he? That’s a strong word.”

“I fort so, too. Carl said ’e’d never liked ’im, said Dr. Brenner used to go round Dorothy’s ’ouse a lot, which I never realized, for Sunday lunch and that. I always fort they were just workmates. You know, Dr. Brenner probably told Carl off, that’s all. ’E was an ’oly terror when ’e was a kid, Carl, and ’e comes across as the kind of man ’oo ’olds a grudge.”

“If Oakden comes round here again,” said Strike, “I’d advise you not to let him in. He’s done time, you know. For conning…” He just stopped himself saying “old” “… single women out of their money.”

“Oh,” said Janice, taken aback. “Blimey. I’d better warn Irene. ’E said ’e was going to try ’er next.”

“And he seemed primarily interested in Brenner, did he, when he came round here?”

“Well, no,” said Janice. “’E seemed mostly interested in you, but yeah, we talked about Brenner more’n anyone else at the practice.”

“Mrs. Beattie, you wouldn’t happen to still have that newspaper obituary of Brenner you mentioned? I think you said you kept it?”

“Oh,” said Janice, glancing toward the drawer at the base of her china cabinet, “yeah… Carl wanted to see that, too, when ’e ’eard I ’ad it…”

She pushed herself out of the sofa and crossed to the china cabinet. Gripping the mantelpiece to steady herself, she knelt down, opened the drawer and began rummaging.

“They’re all in a bit of a state, my clippings. Irene finks I’m bonkers, me and my newspapers,” she added, wrist-deep in the contents of the drawer. “She’s never been much for the news or politics or any of that, but I’ve always saved interesting bits and pieces, you know: medical fings, and I won’t lie, I do like a story on the royals and…”

She began tugging on what looked like the corner of a cardboard folder.

“… and Irene can fink it’s strange all she likes, but I don’t see what’s wrong—with saving—the story of…”

The folder came free.

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