Chapter 12 – Details

Scribbs hung up the telephone with a resounding clunk. "Barnard's train ticket to Heathrow for his flight to Mallorca did not get used."

"That fits with finding his case in the boot of his car in his garage." Ash was biting on the end of a pencil. "Was there another ticket?"

Scribbs smiled. "Beat me to it, Ash. Yes, there was, in the name of Jenny Browning."

"And his travel case was filled with the usual jet off to the Med clothing."

Scribbs shook her head. "Why don't we ever take a trip to sunny climes?" She rubbed her cold hands together. "Look at it out there," she pointed to the window with her chin. "Raining cats and dogs out there, and my feet are freezing."

"Well, Scribbs if you chose better footwear…"

Scribbs looked down at her black and pink trainers, which were still damp after this morning's repeat inspection of Barnard's house. "They looked very cute in the shop…" she sighed. "You went for the boot look today."

"Scribbs, it's late Autumn, it's raining, and I knew we'd be out of the office."

"Knew, Ash?"

Ash shrugged. "Guessed. Honestly, Scribbs you ought to be better prepared."

Scribbs stuck out her tongue in reply, and then the telephone rang. She scooped it up. "DS Scribbins. Yes? Oh… that is interesting. Thank you. And you'll get that to the lab? Right." She slowly set the handset down. "The SOCO boys found a home pregnancy test thing in a polythene bag at Bernard's house. Used and positive."

"Ah," Ash replied.

"Ah?"

"Ah as in, unless the vet was doing home pregnancy tests on his animal patients at his home, it would seem that we have a smoking gun, or test, as it may be."

"Yeah," Scribbs replied, "But if he and Jenny Browning were going away together, did her husband know? As well that she was preggers? And who is the father?"

"Also where is Jenny's car?" Ash went on. "It's still missing."

Scribbs scribbled a note. "I think we need to talk to the vet staff. Three assistants the man had?"

"Or so we were told."

"What say I tackle them?"

Ash nodded. "Right, and I'll speak with Barry Browning. Ask him what he knows about Jenny's condition as well as her car. Maybe I can get more out of him."

The detectives shucked into their coats and walked to the outer door. "Still raining," Scribbs moaned when she saw the rain still pouring down. "My poor feet."

Ash chuckled. "Meaning you'll wear boots tomorrow?"

"Or it might be sunny, you never know."

Ash rolled her eyes.

Emma drove to the vet after calling to confirm their hours. She agreed to arrive at half two when they were not so busy. Scribbs announced herself to the receptionist, a woman named Pam, based on the name badge pinned on her smock. "I'm to see Dr. Gupta."

The woman nodded. "Have a seat," she replied coolly after she had Scribbs sign in.

Emma noticed her fingernails were chipped and one (fake obviously) was missing. She took a rather creaky plastic chair, and busied herself flipping through a cat journal, or appeared to. It gave her a few seconds to examine the room. The linoleum was clean but scratched (from pet claws and nails, no doubt). The walls were painted that off shade of beige favored by family run shops and doctor's offices. There was a smell of animal in the air, but it was nowhere near the decomposition she had smelled at the murder scene.

As for the woman at the front desk, Emma took added note of too-bright blonde hair (bleached she guessed for she saw dark roots), blue eyes which looked tense, and a body that was one or two stone overweight, based on her assumed height, for she'd stayed seated. She turned to the side, rummaged around, and brought our what must have been a nailfile for Emma was serenaded by the sound of nails being filed down. The sound made Emma's skin crawl.

Finally, a door opened at the back and an old couple emerged dragging an elderly terrier on a leash. Dr. Gupta was seen with another woman. The doctor was saying, "Just keep Roger on his meds. No skipping, from now on."

The old people asked a few questions, and the doctor repeated his instructions. He shepherded them to the door and closed it behind them, breathing a sigh of relief. "I don't know what's worse. Recalcitrant pets trying to bite me or their stubborn owners."

Emma stood saying. "At least the pets have received their rabies vaccinations."

The vet laughed along with his tech. "Right. So," he rubbed his hands on his coat, and took Emma's hand. "you have some questions? Terrible news about Michael." He shook his head sorrowfully. "I can't believe he's gone… that is dead. Horrible. Murder the telly said."

"Well, it does appear that way," Emma replied. She dropped his hand. "Is there somewhere I can speak to you all at once?"

"Ahm, yes, our lunch space. There's a table…"

"That will be fine."

"Pam, please put the phones on silent, lock the door and join us."

Pam frowned at the vet (which Emma noticed) but rose from behind the counter.

Emma noted she was wearing rather decorated shoes with her tan trousers with a blue vet smock and pearls (fake likely). The shoes were decorated with stones and had open toes. Not very practical for a vet's office she did not think.

The vet led Emma to a small kitchen space in the back, with a table and six chairs. "Our little lunch place," the vet explained. He stripped off his coat, draped it over a chair and turned to a coffee pot. "Coffee?"

"That would be good," Emma told him. She watched as the vet filled a mug, then slid it across the table to her, along with a spoon, and packs of creamer and sweetener.

Then man sat down across from Emma, then waved the two women to join them.

Emma produced her badge and introduced herself. She went on, "As you know your colleague, Dr. Barnard, has been found dead." She produced her pad and a pencil then turned to the vet tech. "You are?"

"Jane Walker. I have worked for Dr. Barnard for ten years or so. Since he started practice. Straight from vet school." She wiped her eyes. "He was a nice man… a nice man."

Emma wrote this down and then turned to Pam. "You are?"

Pam cleared her throat. "Pamela Clarke."

"Pam started with us last year. October right?" volunteered the vet and he was rewarded with a bleak look from the woman. "Plus, there is Deirdre Palmer who is on maternity leave, one of our three veterinary technicians. But she gave birth two months ago, so I don't see how she might figure in your investigation. Our third is Maeve O'Brien. She has been ill with the flu for a few days. I can, of course, give you her mobile number, and Deirdre as well."

Emma made notes. "And you Dr. Gupta? How long have you known or worked with your medical partner?"

"Six years," he sighed. "Michael took me on after I left a training position in Luton. I am buying into the practice. I have the papers available if you need them."

Emma replied, "Perhaps later. So, give me your impression of Dr. Barnard. Be frank." She heard the usual litany of good things; prompt, likeable, clean, neat, working on his house.

"Good with animals," added Jane. "And a way with the owners as well. Sometimes…" she cast a glance at Dr. Gupta.

Dr. Gupta interrupted, "Ahem, I think what Jane might want to say is that occasionally we, that is in the practice, have difficulty managing the expectations of the pet owners. For instance, whether treatment ought to continue in incredibly old animals; especially if the outcome will be the same."

"You mean death?" Emma asked.

"Just so. Spending many Pounds on a fifteen-year-old dog or twenty-year-old cat. Or if the animal is gravely injured. That sort of thing."

Emma flashed back to the old couple and their aged dog she'd seen leaving. "The people and the dog who were just here?"

"The dog is going on sixteen with a bad heart, near non-functioning kidneys, is nearly blind and deaf, and his joints are stiff with arthritis," Gupta recited. "I have been reluctant to recommend anything that would prolong his life."

"That'll be me in sixty years, Doc," blurted out Emma in a grave tone. "As well as you."

The man's face fell.

"Right," Emma said with a smile. "Now, tell me more about Dr. Bernard. Did he have any enemies that you know of?"