(2013) Looks Could Kill Read Online Free PDF Page A

Francis with her nursing background and travels; and Miss Johnson who liked to talk about music. What really made them stand out for her was the sparkle in their eyes; they might be elderly, but they were still very much alive.
    “Emma,” asked the matron, “would you mind having a chat with Miss Carlisle in room 12? She comes from a village near you and doesn’t have anyone visiting her these days. Her first name is Joanne.”
    “No problem,” said Emma, “I’d be happy to.”
    Emma went to Miss Carlisle’s room and knocked on the door. There was a barely whispered “Come in.” The occupant was in her early 70s, extremely frail and sitting up in bed against propped up pillows. Her medication was on the bedside table and she was on a lot of different drugs. Emma noticed that these included a bottle of insulin and there were some syringes nearby. There was a plate of barely touched food on a table at the foot of her bed.
    Emma sat by her side and took her hand. “I’m Emma,” she said, “Matron told me you might like a visitor.”
    Miss Carlisle slowly turned her head to look at Emma. The faintest glimmer of a smile crossed her features. Emma smiled in return and crossed to the windows to glance outside. “It’s a lovely spring day, Joanne. I really wish you could see it. It’s so beautiful,” she said.
    Emma returned to her bedside and sat down. With her white hair spread over the pillows and her fine features, Joanne reminded her of a Large White butterfly. She felt compelled to peer into her eyes. She saw suffering, despair and hopelessness, but there was dignity and beauty as well.
    She held Joanne’s bony hands, the veins mottled and her skin paper thin. She found herself talking about her childhood, her parents and the place she had at Oxford to study medicine later in the year. She wasn’t sure why she’d opened up, as this was something that Emma had never done before. From time to time, Joanne would give a gentle smile and she seemed content for Emma to continue talking. After about thirty minutes, Joanne nodded, closed her eyes and leant her head back into the pillow. “Thank you, dear,” she whispered.
    Emma quietly got up. “Goodbye, Joanne, I’ll see you next week.” She left the room, closing the door softly behind her.
    She went to the matron’s office. “I had a bit of a chat but she seemed very tired,” said Emma. “Perhaps I’ll try again next week.”
    “Thank you, dear,” said the matron. “We really appreciate your visits.”
    When Emma visited the following week, she found that the entrance to room 12 was blocked by some sort of brightly coloured tape. She sought out the matron to find out what had happened.
    “I’m really sorry to have to tell you, Emma, but Joanne passed away the same day that you visited,” said the matron.
    “Gosh, I’m so sorry to hear that, she was such a nice lady. Do you know how she died?”
    “Well, we’re not absolutely sure how she died, but our GP thinks it could have been an overdose of insulin, as there was a used syringe by her bedside. I’m afraid we may be in for some trouble as we allow residents to take charge of their own medicines if they’re able.”
    “I can’t believe that she had the energy to take an overdose; she seemed so frail.”
    “Yes, it’s strange, isn’t it? I suppose where there’s a will, there’s a way. But I really wouldn’t have considered her as being the sort of person who’d want to take their own life.”
    “And why’s there that tape in front of the door to her room?”
    “I’m afraid, dear, that the police are treating the death as suspicious and they may want to speak with you.”
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     

March 1981, one week later
     
     
    Early one Friday evening, when the Jones family had just sat down to their supper, there was a loud knock on the door. Emma’s father got up to open it and was surprised to see two police officers.
    “Is there a Miss Emma Jones residing