Cuthbert's Way (DCI Ryan Mysteries, #17)(54)
CHAPTER 27
There were countless support groups, cancer centres, private counselling offices and other services that worked alongside the hospitals and GP surgeries in the North East which, even when narrowing the geographic area to Durham and its surrounds, presented a logistical challenge to Ryan and his team. The objective was to try to uncover the means by which Justine Winter first came into contact with a person or group who managed to convince her that the only way to help her ailing brother was to seek a miracle. An extensive dive into Winter’s personal history elucidated a sad, lonely sort of life; not at all what one might have expected of a woman her age. However, Justine had acted as both mother and father to her younger brother, responsibility having been thrust upon her at an early age following the death of her mother from breast cancer. Her father had, by all accounts, not been much to speak of. Her brother, Danny suffered from early-onset motor neurone disease, extremely rare in children, as well as severe learning difficulties, and Justine had been his carer—as well as working a stressful, part-time in Durham CID. Outside of work, Danny was her only focus in life, and their regular hospital appointments one of the few social engagements she attended.
Having built up a picture of Justine’s life, they were able to narrow the list of support groups she attended and other potential meeting points to three possibilities: an MND support group which met on Tuesday evenings; a general support group which met on Wednesdays; and, anyone she might have happened to come across on a Monday, when she accompanied her brother to his weekly appointments with a neurologist and a neurophysiologist. It had been a difficult task to elicit the names of attendees for each group, but armed now with a warrant to compel disclosure, MacKenzie had come to speak with the hospital staff directly. In her long experience, it was often the case that you learned interesting little titbits in conversation that could otherwise be missed.
“I know the circumstances aren’t exactly romantic, but it’s a rare treat being out and about with you, my love.”
Since Ryan was tied up with other tasks back at Police Headquarters, Phillips had decided to accompany his wife for the afternoon, and the two of them pulled into the car park of the University Hospital in Durham like a pair of teenagers on their first date.
“I could say the same,” she said, leaning across to bestow a kiss on his upturned face. “It isn’t Florence, that’s for sure, but I’ll still take a wintry day in Durham, so long as it’s with you.”
Phillips puckered up for another kiss, but she held him off.
“Since you’re in such a good mood, there’s something I need to tell you.”
His heart skipped a beat, as all manner of worst-case scenarios flooded his mind.
Denise was ill.
Samantha was ill.
She’d heard he ate that leftover ham-and-cheese toastie, the day before…
“Samantha told me she has a boyfriend.”
Much worse than he could ever have imagined, Phillips thought, dumbstruck.
“Frank? Now, don’t overreact—”
“D—don’t overreact?” he burst out. “The lass is barely ten years old, and she’s courtin’ already? What year are we livin’ in—1500? She needs to be at least…twenty-one before there’s any talk of boyfriends!”
MacKenzie sighed, and let him rant.
“In my day, the kids were still climbin’ trees at that age! What’s his name?” he suddenly demanded.
“Now, Frank, don’t go thinking you can check up on the poor boy. He’s only ten, you know.”
“I only want to ask him about his intentions,” Phillips muttered, and folded his arms across his chest.
“Frank, I don’t think you really understand what ten-year-olds mean when they say ‘boyfriend’,” MacKenzie said gently. “All it means is that she’s picked her current favourite—probably the one who wears the coolest trainers—and they’re walking around the playground holding hands for a while, while the others giggle about it. At worst, there’s probably a peck on the lips, quickly wiped clean, to everyone’s disgust.”
“Aye, that’s how it starts,” Phillips grumbled.
“Yes,” she said. “It is how it starts, Frank, for all normal kids. Years of innocent handholding, of crushes on pop stars and, when she gets older, there’ll be a perfectly ridiculous pre-teen obsession with some TV character who’s a vampire at a high school in America. She’ll do her hair in all kinds of ways and, because she’s a redhead—and I speak from experience—she’ll go through the inevitable phase of wanting to chop it all off or dye it brown, after some muppet calls her a ‘ginger’.”
“Only a ginger can call another ginger, ‘ginger’,” Phillips acknowledged. “I hope she doesn’t change, Denise. I don’t think I could stand it.”
“Of course you could—and you will,” she said. “We signed up to be parents, Frank, and, for the most part, Sam makes a hard job seem easy. She can do many things, but she can’t promise not to grow up.”
Phillips looked out across the car park, remembering the first time he and Samantha had met.
“She’ll always be my little girl,” he said. “No matter how big she gets, I’ll love every hair on her head—even if she changes the colour of it.”