Death of a Pregnant Woman: A Rhodes and Burrows Mystery

By Brian W. Strutt

Detective Chief Superintendent St John (pronounced Sinjun) Harcourt has been seconded from New Scotland Yard to the police force in St Albans, an old market town 20 miles north of London, to investigate the murder of a nursing assistant who has been caring for a young, autistic boy in the local hospital.

With his team of Detective Sergeant Siobhan Burrows, also from New Scotland Yard, and Detective Constable Amy Rhodes, an up and coming young officer from St Albans, St John makes frustratingly little progress in his enquiries, except to discover that the murdered woman was pregnant.

Then, several other murders occur, all of them pregnant women, but none of them leaving any evidence as to the killer.

St John sudden, and unexpected, romantic and passionate involvement with Dr. Eve McAllister, a child psychiatrist at the hospital becomes his only solace in an investigation bereft of clues and motivation and therefore suspects.

In a tale of twists and turns, interlaced with passionate interludes, St John and his two female officers pursue every slowly emerging lead until the identity of the murderer and his deranged reasoning, is finally revealed.

• Language: English
• Publisher: AuthorHouse
• Release date: Mar 31, 2016
• ISBN: 9781504905619

Brian W. Strutt

Brian W. Strutt is married to romance novelist Sheila Strutt. He has four daughters, eight grandchildren, and two great grandchildren. He has been an architect, a management consultant, a psychologist, and a lawyer. Born in England, he now divides his time between Canada and Florida where he lives on a boat. He prefers life without clothes. Member of the Crime Writers of Canada.

Book preview

CHAPTER 1

During the night it had rained leaving the air fresh and sweet. Clutching the virgin white smock tightly about her body, Eve ran down the steps of the ivy clad red brick building designated as the medical residents' quarters, built over two hundred years ago as a country mansion, into which the builder could escape the dirt, smoke and fog of London. It had now matured into a classic Georgian structure so covered in ivy that it was difficult to tell the colour of the bricks for the first two of its four storeys. Inside, it's previously lavish interior of thirty or more bedrooms, three great halls, two ballrooms and half dozen sitting rooms now provided accommodation for the eighteen or so unmarried medical staff of St. Mary's Hospital. The almost derelict house had been commandeered at the beginning of World War II and a military hospital had been built on its accompanying two-hundred acres of land. After the war it had been made part of the British National Health System.

The residential buildings external covering of vines, ivy, roses and honeysuckle provided habitation for a myriad squirrels; birds, of all kinds, and untold numbers of insects, all of which joined in the noisy dawn chorus which welcomed each fine new day and this day was no exception to the rule.

The sun shone out of an almost cloudless sky slowly dissipating the early morning mist which gently clung to the ground, covering it like a soft blanket. Eve felt, as much as heard, the chorus of birds and insects which filled the space around her as the cold freshness of the morning stung her nostrils. That she had hurried down the York stone steps, leading from the old solid oak door of the residency two at a time, meant even to her stunned mind that she was late; late for her first day back at St. Mary's.

The alarm had failed her. Failed her? She queried to herself. Electric clock radios don't malfunction! Her brain screamed back. Avoidance on her part perhaps! But the clock had fulfilled its function; it was she who had tried to ignore its constant scream until she had switched it to its radio function. Why, but why? She continued to argue with herself as she stepped off the broken crazy paving path leading from the residency building onto the immaculately cut, bright green grass of the hospital lawns. After all, it was her choice to return to St. Mary's and nobody had twisted her arm into coming.

The sudden shock of the cold early morning dew struck at the sides of her feet between the thin straps of her high heeled, snake skin sandals.

Damn! Eve exclaimed out loud. I should have known better, and worn the old fashioned standard white shoes that every nurse wears. The ones with good solid crepe soles that cushion one's feet from the hard tiled floors and dampness of the outside pavements, she continued aloud to nobody in particular. A Nurse Wears? Her mind queried. But you're not a nurse anymore, nor will you ever be again.

It had been nearly fourteen years since Eve McAllister, totally English in spite of her very Scottish name, had set off from St. Mary's Hospital, leaving behind her patients and the hospital staff. Oh yes, the staff with their biting sense of humour and often callous and blatant delight in other staff members' problems.

She could still clearly see the green half tiled walls of the hospital corridors and the ever present smell of disinfectant and anesthetics which seemed not only to cling to the wards and corridors, but also to one's clothing and hair. The sight of the large low red and yellow brick, multi-warded buildings, stirred both good and bad memories of what now seemed like her short stay here as a nurse.

The hospital scandalmongers had certainly been a catalyst for Eve to leave the hospital where, as she was at the time, a Sister on the Pediatric Ward. Frustrated with nursing, she left England for Canada to attend McMaster Medical School in Hamilton, Ontario, to train as a physician. She had heard, it was one of the most far sighted medical training facilities in the world; even though it still taught in the now almost old fashioned apprenticeship style, once so common in England, whereby students were introduced to patients on almost their first day and then assigned for a number of weeks training and tuition to a rotation of senior staff, each an expert in his field. The rotations were intense, involving long hours of practice as well as classroom study. Eve wondered just how many of the old staff here, at St Mary's still worked at the same job they had been doing when she left, and how much or little they had changed in her absence. It seemed to her, she was always starting again, but this time she was returning, but returning to what, and why was she returning to St Mary's?

Memories bombarded her as she continued to make her way across the hospital grounds, taking her back to a much earlier first day. She could still smell the scent of fresh meat that greeted her each morning as she had walked through West Smithfield and the heart of one of the world's largest meat markets, where white clad porters, hefting sides of beef, or carcasses of pigs or sheep, scurried in all directions. Further on were the dome and scales of justice of the Central Criminal Court, known as the Old Bailey, always in view and appearing to be passing judgment on all it surveyed, and between the two -- Smithfield and the Old Bailey, - stood the ancient buildings of St. Bartholomew's Hospital.

It seemed like yesterday, yet it had been twenty-four years since she as a student nurse, totally awestruck by the hustle and bustle, had first passed under the porticos at the Queen Anne Gate of the teaching hospital and the institution affectionately known to all Londoners as 'Bart's'.

She recalled the story she had been told of how the hospital came into existence. Not only did England and the rest of the common-law world have William the Conqueror and his Norman knights to thank for its legal system but also for many of the churches and associated support systems. It is reported that by 1183, less than 120 years after the 'Conquest', London had a parish church to every three acres or a place to worship for every three hundred of the then forty thousand of its population.

Twenty-four years after that first arrival at St. Bart's, the dampness of the grass at St Mary's so typical of the heavy dew found on the beautifully manicured spring lawns of so many English hospitals, sent a cold chill through Eve's body and brought her back to reality. Swiftly she pulled her new white cotton, standard issue medical coat tightly around her slim, yet shapely figure.

If, as she had told herself, she wanted to arrive on her first day with as little fanfare as possible, she was doing a fairly lousy job of it by arriving both late and with wet feet.

Eve, in her adult form, had never been what you would call inconspicuous. Five feet seven inches tall, she had the sort of long shapely legs that any hosiery manufacturer would be please to use on television, billboards or in magazines to advertise their products. The legs ended in a torso that any size eight outfit would be equally enhanced by and her straight back led to a small delicate head, in which high cheek bones gave emphasis to both her petite, yet perfectly shaped nose and mouth, while, at the same time, taking nothing away from her round deep hazel eyes. Her face was framed by a mass of long thick hair the colour of a Saskatchewan prairie sunset which constantly changed colour ever so slightly as the light played tricks with it. The general expression, always clearly visible on her face was that inwardly she was laughing at some secret joke.

Outwardly, Eve always gave the impression of complete and utter confidence. Her stride was long and sure but light, almost that of a ballet dancer or a well-trained model with a posture, upright and definite, totally hiding the deep uncertainty that she often felt about herself as a woman. No-one, though, watching her today crossing the lush green quadrangle of grass between the residents building and the sun soaked portals of the main hospital building; would ever guess. At least, Eve hoped not.

CHAPTER 2

Morning, Nurse McAllister.

Eve had failed to hear the approaching footsteps behind her and the voice startled her. Oh, err, good morning, she stammered out in the somewhat surprised, weak voice of someone in a state of shock.

You don't remember me? queried an elderly man, dressed also in a white coat with a rather old and well-worn stethoscope hanging from his left pocket which he appeared to be constantly trying to keep in place.

You're Dr. Swampscott, aren't you? the name came to her in the nick of time.

The very same, but a few years older I'm afraid. Then none of us get any younger, do we? he continued as they walked side by side towards the main hospital entrance. I thought we had seen the last of you. Suspected you would have been married by now, with a couple of youngsters of your own.

No such luck. replied Eve, a sudden darkness entering into her eyes and sweeping across her face, giving Jake Swampscott a clear message not to pursue the matter any further.

It's a beautiful morning, is it not? he said changing the subject abruptly, his strong Scottish ancestry coming to the fore. "I think this time of the day is the bonniest, don't you?

I do ag-r-e-e, but Eve's words suddenly trailed off as they seemed to stick in her throat. Another man was coming towards them. It couldn't be. Yet how could she be wrong? After all she did have twenty/twenty vision at least for that distance.

Well, off to the path lab! she dimly heard Jake Swampscott remark as he branched off towards the east door of the secondary hospital building where the pathology department was housed. Suddenly she recalled that Jake was one of the most prestigious pathologists in Europe.

"I must be wrong, I must be wrong!" she repeated out loud to no one in particular. "Not again, No! Not ever again." Her final thoughts were shattered as she came face to face or rather face to chest with a green surgeon's smock blocking out the rest of the world from her field of vision.

So you really couldn't keep away? the deep baritone voice demanded, scorn, ridicule and accusation giving a knowing emphasis to the remark.

Eve panicked. "It couldn't be. It mustn't be". She had only come to St. Mary's because she had heard he was in Sydney, Australia. So how could he be here causing her already fragile self-confidence to shatter like fine crystal, dropped onto a stone floor. Mark, she was eventually able to say.

Dr. Mark Topham took one step back up the steps leading to the front entrance door of the hospital and stopped. Suddenly Eve felt her hundred and twenty pounds grasped firmly around her waist by two strong hands, lifted, turned and deposited two steps above him, so as to place her at a level at which his deep brown eyes, could pierce through hers, into her very soul.

Eve's heart missed a few beats before she screamed Put me down. Who do you think you are? Sudden panic had once again set in as she felt the involuntary hardening of her nipples and an uncommon warmth flood her body.

"The whole affair had been over for seven years. So why is this happening?" she questioned herself as she struggled to free herself of the hands which still held her by the waist. Slowly his grip relaxed as a broad grin spread across his face.

Don't you ever do that again. snarled Eve.

Do what? Greet an old friend as if you're pleased to see her? he mocked as a smile lit up his entire face.

You know what I mean! Eve snapped back. Anyone would think you had rights. Well you don't. Not now, nor ever for that matter, she threw over her shoulder as she turned and climbed the last few steps to the heavy oak doors, with their deeply etched glass panels which gave entry to the main corridor of the hospital and safety she thought.

The antiseptic smell of the hospital was in sharp contrast to the perfume of the fresh dew laden grass and flowers outside. The strong and heady smell of Mark's aftershave still filled her nostrils, blocking out her sense of reality towards the entire situation. He hasn't changed she thought to herself; he even still uses 'Boucheron' aftershave lotion.

Dr. McAllister, Dr. McAllister, please report to pediatrics. The loudspeaker message assaulted her inner consciousness, smashing away the negative spell cast by Mark Topham's unexpected presence.

It seemed strange to be referred to as Doctor; particularly here at St. Mary's where for so long she had heard. Nurse, get this, nurse get that, nurse, Mr. Jones needs a bed pan. 'My, those bed pans. That's one job hopefully, I will never have to do again,' she mussed to herself as she quickly made her way to the pediatric ward. 'But then there had been Mark,' she continued to think.

When she and Mark had met, he had been in the second year of his orthopedic residency. He seemed at the time somewhat out of place. Six feet three, one hundred and ninety five pounds with deeply tanned rugged features protected by a mass of dark brown curly hair and hands the size of baseball mitts, he looked more suitable to be a rugby quarterback than a surgeon. Although his hands were large and strong, she knew only too well that they were also gentle hands; loving and caring.

Damned Mark, she said out loud as she continued to walk along the once familiar corridors. Why of all people did he have to be here, and today in particular, my first day back, in my new capacity as a doctor?

Her capacity as a doctor! The sudden realization of the fact brought her back to the here and now. She was here to do the job she had spent years training for, not to be thrown by the sight of Mark Topham. He was part of the past and that was where he was to stay. The corridor to the pediatric ward seemed endless, as first one person then another wished her welcome.

It's good to see you back, Eve. She hadn't noticed Jean Pargeter fall into step beside her.

Oh, hi Jean. It's good to be back. Eve replied with just the slightest hesitancy in her voice. She hoped it was not sufficient to have Jean notice.

I hear your joining me on peds. Jean was the charge nurse responsible for the pediatric ward and she didn't wait for an answer. We certainly have a lot of customers waiting for you.

Anyone of particular interest? How callous and cold thought Eve as she asked the question, and so unlike her, she realized.

One that's a complete mystery to us, responded Jean as she adjusted her stride to a closer match with Eve's. I'll take you to see him first unless you have anything urgent to do or anyone to see immediately. This boy has been here two weeks full-time and never said a word in terms of normal speech.

Any idea of the problem Jean? Perhaps he's just homesick! suggested Eve.

That doesn't appear to be either the lay opinion or the professional diagnosis. Also we have seen him a few times previously, and he has always been the same." Jean explained feeling pleased to be back in harness with Eve, one of her oldest friends at St. Mary's, or anywhere else come to that. Training together had built a close affinity between them starting from the first moment they had discovered they were to share the same room for their period of nursing training and this coming after boarding school.

Has Dr. Dryant seen him yet? enquired Eve as they entered the children's ward. Eve never heard Jeans' answer as her full attention was drawn to the area they were entering.

It had all changed since she had been responsible for the ward. She had heard that the new administrator had made a few improvements but this was beyond her wildest expectations. The drab hospital green and cream walls had been replaced by many bright and cheerful pastel shades. Each wall had murals: Peter Rabbit stories for the younger children's area, and space ships together with other fictional Star Wars characters for the older children. Her astonishment was obvious.

All she had worked for, fought for, screamed for, clawed for and demanded was here. The naked hospital type lamps had been replaced by lamps in the form of mobiles in character with each individual room's décor in the shape of birds, animals and space ships busily flying overhead. Even the mothers had not been left out. The hospital provided bed- sitting rooms for their day and night use so that very young, and the sometimes not so very young children, need not suffer the additional trauma of separation from their mothers. Eve just stood there dazed and unable to believe her eyes.

I hope you approve Dr. McAllister. After all, I hear it was largely your idea. Eve slowly turned to face the unfamiliar voice which had addressed her.

Oh, I'm sorry; I guess we haven't met as yet. I'm Paul. Paul Reimer, that is, the hospital administrator.

Approve! Who could disapprove, replied Eve, her eyes still riveted on the transformation of the old pediatric ward. It's f-a-n-t-a-s-t-i-c! Now perhaps we can concentrate on treating the problems instead of the fears. The joy she felt was obvious on her face as she furtively brushed a tear from her eye.

Suddenly, she realized she didn't know what the man looked like who had been responsible for this Cinderella like transformation, so she turned to face him.

I must appear terribly rude. I'm Eve McAllister, said Eve, offering her hand. But then you know that already, she said, as she pulled her hair back away from her face and turned bright pink, which only tended to emphasis her innate beauty and caused her to shrink inside.

Hi, Eve. Everyone calls me Paul. It's nice to see that you approve of the changes. After all, most of them I guess were your idea, he said obviously unable to take his eyes away from her. I've heard a great deal about you, he continued.

All good I hope? she said as she felt herself blush even deeper while she took a closer look at the man standing beside her. Certainly a good looking man, she thought. Probably in his late thirties going slightly grey with a moustache and full beard which, without her looking up, was in line with her eyes. Tall, lean, and athletic. Probably stuck on health foods and jogging, she thought.

Look Eve. I would like to stop and talk to you about other changes we have made and others we are considering, she heard him saying from a distance through her thoughts, but I am already late for a meeting. Why don't we have dinner together tonight? That is, if you have nothing better to do?

Yes, yes I would like that, she heard herself say without quite knowing why she felt good about accepting the invitation.

"They say the food at the 'George and Dragon', in Aylesbury is good, if that's OK with you. I'll pick you up at the residency at about eight."

Before she could answer his question come statement, Paul Reimer had disappeared in the direction of the wing which housed the Administration offices, and she was once again aware of Jean speaking to her.

That really is pretty good, isn't it? Jean was asking. He's pretty dishy too, don't you think?

Err, yes, it is. Eve heard herself stammer out. I mean the transformation of the ward is just fantastic. To think what it was like, eh, Jean?

My, my, my, clucked Jean, as her voice appeared to materialize out of thin air, but in fact it came from under the nursing station counter where she had been putting away some stationery supplies. You're not wasting any time I see. There was a tinge of envy in her voice. She had always seemed to be in the shadow of her friend on the boyfriend stakes, at least up until she had met Charles Sinclair. Their son was born a year and a half after they were married. Her happiness however, was not to last; both her husband and son were killed in a car accident two years later. Just before Eve went to Canada to train as a neurosurgeon and child psychiatrist.

Jean and Eve had a lot in common. They both came from what could be considered a comfortable middle-class background. Jean's father, being in the Foreign Service, had left her with an inheritance of successive boarding schools and relatives, most of which tolerated her for the various vacation periods during which she had nowhere else to go. All in all, it was not a very satisfactory arrangement: at least from her point of view.

Eve's mother had died shortly after she was born. Her father, even then, was an Oxford don, and following the death of his wife, became a hermit, locking himself in his room at Oxford; emerging only to give his statutory lectures, then scuttling back to his refuge like a startled rabbit. Although he worshiped the ground Eve walked on, he felt totally incapable of raising her past the age of twelve. Even prior to that, she saw very little of him. She was raised primarily for the whole twelve years by an indulging nanny. Suddenly, Eve's world changed as she was stripped of her family and sent off to be educated at Cramble Hall School for Girls. It was here that Jean and Eve became inseparable friends; a friendship which has lasted ever since. Not one where they needed to live in each other's pockets, but one where, no matter how long they had been apart they continue on as if the absence had never existed.

The thought of her father suddenly brought Eve into full focus for the first time this morning. He had run away from his own personal, painful experience, and damn it, so had she. One cannot escape ones painful experiences by running away from them; only by facing them fairly and squarely, can they be solved. Mark! Blast that man. Could she never escape him? But then maybe she never really tried, she told herself harshly.

Dr. McAllister. This is Craig. Say Hi Craig, requested Jean in her most persuasive tone of voice to the small blonde child standing awkwardly at her side.

Hi Craig and how are you? enquired Eve.

Hi Craig, and how are you? Hi Craig, and how are you? echoed the four year old boy peering round Jean,, obviously attracted by something on the other end of the room, away from Eve. Hi Craig, and how are you? Hi Craig, and how are you? he continued to repeat to no one in particular.

What sort of response do you usually manage to achieve with him, Jean? enquired Eve, reviewing the child's chart as she spoke.

That's about it. Sometimes he will echo television advertisements or the odd phrase he hears on television, or what one of the other children says, but usually he just sits and rocks. According to his mother, he has always been 'different', but his father disagrees saying it is all his wife's fault. That it is a recent thing and it is due to her spoiling him, Jean explained. Dr. Stuart, our child psychologist has made a diagnosis, but, he is finding it difficult to get support for his opinion, she continued on as she quietly played with the child in an attempt to gain his attention but without any success.

Eve carefully and methodically read the notes and laboratory reports which constituted the child's social and medical history of his past and present admissions to the hospital. Apparently, he didn't start to talk at all until nine months ago. He was still unable to feed himself except in the most primitive fashion. Also, as yet, he was not toilet trained even though he was only a month short of his fifth birthday. He was the only child of an older than average parents in their mid-forties Eve read, with a mother who doted on him and father who was aloof..

Eve slowly and carefully took the child's hand and led him away from Jean to one of the cheerful side rooms used for examination and play therapy. It was over three hours later that Eve emerged again with Craig having completed her physical and psychological examination. Jean came up to her almost immediately, concern clouding her otherwise happy and cheerful face.

As a child psychiatrist Eve, do you think there is any chance? It was more the plea of a concerned and worried mother than a question asked by a nurse. It was obvious to Eve that Jean, much against her professional training and judgment, had a great deal at stake in this child.

I can't be sure yet. Eve slowly relinquished the child to her friend with what she hoped was an encouraging smile and then turned and deep in thought, left the ward with Jean's question still ringing in her ears. This was the part of her job she disliked the most. It would appear that the psychologist had been correct in his diagnosis and prognosis. Someone had to tell the child's parents the truth. The truth that every doctor hates to relate.

CHAPTER 3

The day had been both long and strenuous for Eve, as she slowly made her way back across the grass quadrangle, wet with evening dew glistening in the moonlight, twelve hours after she had first crossed it that morning. It's strange she thought, that in spite of all the 'KEEP OFF THE GRASS' signs, everyone, including herself, still used the grass as a short cut. It was not two steps at a time that she now climbed the stone stairs to her apartment, the way she had descended them that morning, but with one foot laboriously and slowly placed after the other.

'The old Town Hall clock struck seven thirty and. she suddenly realized Paul Reimer would be arriving to collect her for dinner in half an hour. She was already regretting the arrangement she had made. Wait she thought to herself; I never made it, HE did. Well, it was better than spending the evening alone in the dreary bachelor quarters provided by the hospital for single medical staff and on call night duty doctors.

Slowly she removed the clothes she had worn that day now heavy with the aroma of anesthetics and disinfectant. The hospital may have been partly updated and re-decorated, but some things never seemed to change, although at least part of the updating of the residents' quarters had been the installation of en suite bathrooms and showers.

Removing the last vestige of her underwear and turning towards the shower, Eve caught sight of her naked body in the full length mirror which formed the exterior door of the walk-in cubicle. Not bad, that is for a woman well past thirty-nine, she said aloud to her reflection, as she slowly smoothed her hands down over her pear shaped breasts and tight, flat stomach. Not bad, not bad at all, in fact ..... she never finished what she was about to say: the angry buzz of the doorbell interrupted her train of thought.

'Who is it? She called out.

''Paul, Paul Reimer. Am I early?

Just a little, replied Eve, pulling on her red toweling Ralph Lauren bath robe, as she moved towards the closed apartment door.

Would you prefer I came back later? he asked, his voice strong and masculine.

I was just getting into the shower, but do come in, she said opening the door. I'm sorry not to be ready, I've only just finished on the ward, but do make yourself at home, Paul. The drinks are on the side table. Help yourself, I won't be long, she continued as she walked into the bathroom.

'Can I get you a drink as well? he enquired of her retreating back.

No thanks. I will only be a couple of minutes and then we can leave. She closed the bathroom door without looking back.

'The hot water felt good against her skin, slowly easing stress and tension from her muscles and brain, allowing her to take stock of the day. It was obvious to her even now, that the demands placed upon her would increase daily. She knew she could cope and meet the new challenges each day would bring and yet .....and yet somewhere deep inside her was an anxiety she couldn't identify. One that kept surging to the surface of her mind, but then disappeared before she could catch hold of it.

It isn't the job, of that she was sure, but in some way it seemed to be associated with it. She was used to having doubts as to her own ability. What she had achieved over the last few years had done a great deal to rebuild her confidence, and she knew she was good at what she did Therefore, it had to be something else which had suddenly raised this level of trepidation in her.

'Would you like your back scrubbed?' the masculine voice so close by forced her from her reflections, causing her to turn at the same time towards the direction of the voice.

'I asked, would you like your back scrubbed as I'm here?' repeated Paul, as he stood in front of the now