Free Malice Aforethought by J. M. Gregson

upon the doctor’s carpet. Within a few seconds, this passed, her vision cleared, and she was seized by a disconcerting urge to leap forward and embrace the grey-haired, bespectacled figure on the other side of the desk. Instead, she said simply, ‘You can’t even guess how relieved I am. I was convinced in my own mind it was the cancer recurring, you see!’
    Dr Cooper’s natural caution surfaced immediately; he mustn’t allow this nice middle-aged woman’s relief to mislead her. When she had thought her pain stemmed from cancer, she had been adamant that he was to hold nothing back, that there was to be no room for what she had called ‘medical discretion’ with her. He hastened now to prick her bubble of optimism before it soared out of reach. ‘The news may not be quite as good as you imagined, Mrs Lambert. No cancer. But a serious heart condition. We’re talking about major surgery. Maybe a triple bypass.’
    Christine, who knew she should look grave, tried to do so and failed. ‘Surgery is a relief now. I thought you were going to tell me that it was cancer which had gone beyond the lymph glands, that it was simply a matter of time. I was all keyed up to refuse surgery, to refuse any treatment except painkillers, in fact. I had my speech about going swiftly and not losing dignity all ready for you.’
    Dr Cooper smiled. It was not often that someone greeted the necessity for a heart bypass with such elation. ‘There’s a high chance of a successful outcome; the figures improve with each passing year. But it is a serious prospect, nonetheless, and you and your family must prepare for it properly, Christine.’ It was probably because of her unexpected skittishness that he used her first name. He had seen this woman through three pregnancies and breast cancer, without ever falling into that intimacy; now, with the need to impose realism upon her schoolgirl buoyancy, it had tripped out quite naturally.
    It was not the serious nature of her condition but the mention of her family which brought Christine Lambert back to earth. ‘Yes, you’re quite right, of course. I’ll prepare them. One thing, though: please don’t mention this to John at the moment. I’ll tell him, but in my own good time.’
    ‘I’ll respect your wishes, of course. But we really don’t recommend keeping secrets from spouses. In the long run, it doesn’t—’
    ‘Don’t worry, I’ll tell him. But although he’s a detective superintendent and well used to death, he can’t bear any thought of it within his own family. I don’t want him fussing round me like a protective mother, not until I’ve adjusted myself to the new situation.’ She wished suddenly that her own protective mother, who had been dead now these ten years, was around to see her through this. And with that thought, her levity departed and she became responsible again. ‘Don’t worry, Doctor, I’ll let him know as soon as you have a bed arranged for me. But John’s much better at coping with thieves and murderers than with a sick wife. He rather loses balance when I’m ill. He never had to cope with it until two years ago, and I doubt whether he’s a quick learner in this.’
    Christine prevailed, as she always did when she was determined to do so, and they left it at that. And a seriously ill woman drove home with her heart singing with hope.
    ***
    Superintendent John Lambert, thought by his wife to be so good at coping with murderers, felt himself not much nearer to discovering the identity of this particular one.
    He sat in his office with Chris Rushton and Bert Hook, digesting the fund of information gathered by the team, trying to isolate the five per cent of it which might be important. ‘Anyone at the school we should put in the frame?’ he asked. ‘Apart from the obvious candidate, of course, who so delighted in showing us that he was in Ireland.’
    ‘That tale seems to stand up, I’m afraid,’ said DI Rushton, meticulous as ever, and as ever