Free Murder With Mercy by Veronica Heley

painkillers and fluids.
Wednesday afternoon.
    She got to the checkout point and couldn’t remember her pin number. Eight five oh something. She tried what she thought it should be twice, and the assistant said if she got it wrong the third time the card would be blacklisted and she’d have to ring some helpline or other to reactivate it. She had to leave her groceries there as she hadn’t enough cash to pay the bill.
    She had it written down as a telephone number in her diary, but she couldn’t find her diary. Perhaps it was in her brown handbag, the one that she could wear over her shoulder?
    She remembered some things better than others. She remembered opening the door, nearly ten months ago it must have been, to find poor Dr Ben, his face twisted with pain, clutching at his heart. She hadn’t been her husband’s practice nurse all those years for nothing. She’d realized he was having a heart attack, helped him inside and searched his pockets for his medication. She couldn’t find it, so she rang nine nine nine. He’d gone by the time the ambulance came.
    That was a bad day. After her husband had died two years earlier … another heart attack … What was it with these doctors that they ignored the symptoms? … Anyway, Ben was the only doctor in the practice to keep in touch. No waiting in the surgery for her while he was alive. He used to come to see her regular as clockwork, every other Friday afternoon. He made sure she always had enough painkillers and sleeping tablets, they’d have a small sherry and a gossip and off he’d go. He was a lovely man, and she missed him.
    She didn’t find his bag till later. Going out to close the gate after they’d taken him away, she spotted something brown under the laurel bush by the front door. He must have dropped his bag there when he felt the first pang.
    It had started to rain, so she picked it up and took it inside, lest it get ruined. She took out her own tablets, of course, and anything else she thought might come in useful. She’d stopped needing sleeping pills some time ago but they did come in handy for other people.
    She rang the surgery next morning and said she’d found his bag outside in the garden. They came to collect it and said some drug addict must have cleared out his bag of pills before she got to it. She didn’t contradict them because having them made her feel much more secure. Insurance for a rainy day.
    Eight four oh two sounded right. Or was it nine four oh two?

FIVE
Wednesday afternoon
    E llie struggled to get her key into her front door. Hampered by the bag of dry cleaning which she’d picked up on the way home, she found it a tricky business. Thomas never had this trouble with the front door key, but for some reason Ellie did. Perhaps she should have a new one cut?
    Finally, she was in and out of the rain but not free to sit down and have a rest, for there was Rose, their housekeeper, wringing her hands, bobbing up and down, in a terrible state. Her cheeks were flushed. Had she been crying?
    â€˜Oh, thank goodness you’re back, I didn’t know what to do, I tried ringing you, but my fingers are all thumbs and I couldn’t seem to get the right number down so I asked the man who came to read the electricity, and he did it for me, but then he said you were switched off and weren’t taking calls, so then I thought of trying Thomas but he’s in a meeting and said he’d ring me back but he hasn’t. I really didn’t know what to do for the best so I rang your secretary but she’s not at home and in any case it’s not really her problem, is it?’
    â€˜What isn’t?’ Ellie said, dumping the dry cleaning and shedding her wet coat and umbrella. ‘Has there been an accident?’
    â€˜No, no,’ said Rose, wringing her hands again, trying to explain and making a poor fist of it. ‘It’s Vera. At least, it ought to be