Disclaimer: I do not own any recognisable character. I make no money from publishing this fic. Reviews and constructive criticism would be appreciated. Any mistakes are my own.

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Sergeant James Hathaway had always hated the smell of hospitals. The sharp tang of disinfectant mingled with other distant aromas, like the cloying odour of boiled cabbage from the kitchens, the reek of various bodily excretions and the lurking stench of death. He strode down one of a number of seemingly endless corridors, preceded by a doctor.

"This way," the doctor gestured, unnecessarily.

"Tell me what happened," Hathaway said, calmly, as they walked.

"I've already told the Inspector," the doctor replied, irritably, "I'd like this dealt with quickly and quietly, please."

"And it will be, if you can tell me what happened," Hathaway persisted, unfazed by the doctor's snappish mood.

The doctor sighed, and shook his head. They stepped past a cleaning lady who was mopping the floor, who glanced at them quickly and then looked away, concentrating on her mopping.

"Her name is…was… Mrs Rogers," the doctor said, at last, sounding tired, "a most impatient patient. She was brought in with chest pains – for the third time this month, I might add – but we found nothing amiss. She was kept in for a few days for observation. However, a couple of hours ago, a nurse went in to check on her and she was gone. We instigated a search, and eventually, found her body on a gurney, covered up. Just down here…"

They turned a corner, and found an area cordoned off be tape and guarded by a lone uniformed officer. Hathaway glanced at the doctor.

"Wait here, please," he said, and stepped past the barrier, "we might have some more questions for you in a moment."

The doctor nodded, reluctantly, as the young sergeant headed off down the corridor. Ahead of him, he could see a knot of uniformed officers milling around with some scene of crime officers in their white forensic uniforms. There was a hospital gurney casually parked to one side against the wall, and it was next to this that Inspector Lewis and Dr Hobson were having a hushed conversation. As Hathaway approached, Lewis glanced up.

"Afternoon, Sergeant," he said, amusement making his tone light, "have a good night last night, did we?"

"With all due respect, sir, please shut up," Hathaway replied, resisting the urge to rub his tired eyes.

It had been a bit of a session last night – they had only gone for a pint after band practice, and one had become three, and then… Hathaway winced, and turned away from his boss's tolerant smile.

"Go on then, sir," he said, approaching the trolley and trying to forget about his hangover, "you know you want to. Give me the gory details."

"Her name is Anita Rogers," Lewis replied, as Hathaway pulled back the sheet to take a look, "78 years old, admitted with chest pains – one of the nurses described her as a pain all round. Apparently she was a bit of a hypochondriac – convinced she had a bad heart but the doctors said there was nothing wrong. She went missing sometime this morning – none of the nurses saw anything – and was later found by a porter lying on this trolley here. Dr Hobson says she's been dead for a few hours, like."

"Why is this considered to be a matter for CID?" Hathaway asked, curiously, as he replaced the sheet over the old woman's face.

"Well, it looks like Mrs Rogers has been murdered," Lewis replied, bluntly, "bruising around the mouth and nose indicate that she was smothered. She was then wheeled out of her room and left in this corridor, from the looks of it. As ever, we want to know who killed her and why."

Lewis reached out and twitched back the sheet again. Hathaway glanced at the body – an elderly, white-haired lady, who, for all the world, would have looked like she was asleep if had not been for the plainly visible bruising around her nose and mouth.

"Start interviewing the staff, sergeant," Lewis said, still staring at the body, "I'm going back to speak to our doctor friend – let's see if we can find out how a patient supposedly under observation can wind up dead in a hallway."

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By the end of the shift, Lewis and Hathaway were none the wiser as to why Anita Rogers would have been murdered.

"She was an old woman with no money and no living relatives save an elderly brother in a nursing home in Devon," Lewis said aloud, causing Hathaway to glance up from his desk in the corner, "she checked herself into hospital on a semi-regular basis more to get a hot meal than anything else. She was frail, but in otherwise good health."

"Some of the nurses found her quite irritating," Hathaway suggested, "maybe one of them got fed up with her and bumped her off."

"Bumped her off?" Lewis repeated, almost amused, "a frail old lady making demands from a hospital bed might be annoying, but it's not much of a motive for murder! Besides, I can't help but think I know our victim from somewhere. Her name is familiar… How are the file checks coming along?"

"Slowly, sir," replied Hathaway, "the computer is cross-checking her name against all files, both active and inactive. Coroner's report confirms suffocation – someone pinched her nose and covered her mouth at the same time."

Hathaway mimed the action, pinching his nose between thumb and forefinger and placing his palm over his mouth.

"She would have struggled," he continued, dropping his hand, "but as you said, sir – she was a frail old lady, so she couldn't have put up much of a fight."

"Yes," Lewis agreed, pensively, "anything else?"

"One other thing, sir," Hathaway nodded, "Dr Hobson says that from the size of the bruises, the killer had quite small hands."

"Is she saying our killer is a woman?"

"Possibly, sir – Dr Hobson says she can't commit to anything."

Lewis raised a small, knowing smile, and then returned to reading the statements in front of him from the hospital staff. They had interviewed three doctors, the staff nurse, three other nurses and two porters. Of these, only one of the nurses had recalled seeing Mrs Rogers alive, some time during the night when she had checked in on her, until during the morning shift another nurse had raised the alarm. The body had been found by the two porters, who had seen the corpse covered by a sheet abandoned in a hallway nowhere near the morgue. The itinerary for the morning had been lights on, serve breakfast at 8, collect breakfast dishes at 8:30, then a deep clean of the rooms between 8:45 and 9:30. This was followed by a check on the patients at 10:00, doctor's rounds commencing at 10:30, and then distribution of medication. Mrs Rogers had been reported missing at 10:15…Lewis frowned. There was something bothering him, but he couldn't quite put his finger on it…

Suddenly, Hathaway sneezed, and Lewis jumped, losing the train of thought.

"Bless you," Lewis said, automatically.

"Thank you, sir," Hathaway replied, with a sniff, "bloody dust from these files…"

Lewis looked back down at the report, but whatever it was that had tickled his thoughts had slipped away. He sighed, and stood up.

"Come on," Lewis said, pulling on his jacket, "you look about ready for a hair of the dog that bit you."

"Who's buying?" Hathaway said, suspiciously.

"I think it's your round," Lewis responded, smoothly, ignoring the glare Hathaway shot him.

"Aye sir," the sergeant said, getting to his feet and grabbing his jacket, "sounds like a plan…"

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They sat in a corner, leaning on opposite sides of a table, sipping their drinks quietly.

"I can't get her face out of my mind," Lewis confessed, at last, "something's bothering me, James, and I can't quite put my finger on it. I'm sure I know her name from somewhere."

"A case, sir…?"

"I'm almost sure of it," Lewis nodded, "certainly not a recent one, of course…I just wish I could remember, that's all."

"Maybe she was a bit younger then, sir – whenever it was."

"Probably," Lewis agreed, taking a deep mouthful of his drink, "fancy another, sergeant?"

Hathaway drained the last of his glass, and set it down on the table.

"Yeah, why not?" he said.

"Good. Same again, please."

Hathaway sighed, smiled to himself, gathered the empties, and went to the bar.

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The next morning, Lewis headed into work early, keen to check the results of the computer search. As he was driving, he slowed the car slightly, as he passed a man sweeping rubbish out of the gutter with a broom. Watching the man in his rear-view mirror, Lewis suddenly braked hard, causing the driver behind him to blare his horn loudly.

"Of course!" Lewis slapped the steering wheel, "We didn't get a statement from the cleaner!"

He hauled on the wheel, made an illegal U-turn to the continued consternation of the driver behind him, and sped off in the direction of the hospital. It was not a long drive, and he pulled into the car park, parking close to the entrance. He went into the hospital, and, from memory, made his way through the corridors until he found the geriatrics ward, and the nurse's station. The staff nurse gave him a nod of recognition.

"Inspector Lewis," she said, coolly, "what can I do for you?"

"I was wondering if you knew who it was who did the cleaning of Mrs Rogers' room yesterday?" Lewis asked, "We didn't get a chance to speak to the cleaner, and it's important that we establish who the last person was to see her alive."

"Certainly," the nurse nodded, "that would be Maria…I think her name is Maria, anyway. She always does these wards. Here she comes now…"

The nurse pointed, and called out to the approaching woman; "Maria!"

The cleaner looked up, and Lewis could not prevent a gasp; "You!"

The woman's eyes widened with shock. She let go of the cleaning cart, dropped the mop, and ran. Lewis took off after her.

"Stop!" he shouted, "Police – stop that woman!"

Despite his shouts, the shocked staff and patrons of the hospital did little else but jump to one side. Lewis pursued her down the corridors, and then outside into the car park. Momentarily blinded by the sun, he raised his hands to shield his eyes, as he visually scanned the area. There were two nurses smoking and chatting outside the entrance, who broke off their conversation to stare at him curiously.

"Which way did she go?" Lewis called to them, still looking around desperately as he stepped into the car park.

"Who? The cleaner?" one of the nurses asked, confused.

Lewis was nodding as he looked around the car park for movement – she could not have gotten far, so she was most likely hiding… Suddenly, he heard an engine rev some where to his right. He turned, and suddenly saw the blur of a vehicle heading towards him. He turned to move, but there was no time. Distantly, he heard one of the nurses scream a warning. He felt the impact on his right leg, his head hit the bonnet of the car, and he knew no more.