Blood Symmetry by Kate Rhodes

visitors’ book.
    â€˜Step this way, ladies. Anything you need, just ask.’
    She led us down the corridor at a smart pace. Ten metres away a young male patient was dragging an IV trolley towards a treatment room. Through an open doorway a woman was flicking through a magazine while medication dripped from a plastic bag into her bloodstream. Brenda rapped on Dr Pietersen’s office door then left us to wait. A tall, bald-headed man of indeterminate age stood on the threshold. His face was so gaunt that I wondered if he was ill. He considered us through muddy green eyes then stepped back into his consulting room, where classical music was playing at low volume.
    â€˜Debussy,’ Angie said. ‘“Clair de Lune”.’
    â€˜You’re a classical fan?’ The doctor’s expression brightened. ‘I often listen to Radio Three between appointments. It’s a great stress-buster.’
    She returned his smile. ‘I had that piece at my wedding.’
    I stood back to admire her technique. Angie had mellowed in the last year, no longer blundering ahead for a quick result. Judging by Pietersen’s reaction, she had relaxed him enough to lower his guard.
    â€˜It’s hard to imagine something like this happening,’ he said quietly. ‘Clare’s incredibly hard working.’
    â€˜Could you tell us a little about her job here?’
    â€˜Most of our patients are seriously ill. They have blood-borne viruses, like HIV or hepatitis, or illnesses like leukaemia. The majority respond well to treatment, but Clare’s role as head of department leaves her with difficult choices. Funding decisions are her responsibility.’
    â€˜Did she get any complaints?’
    â€˜Not as far as I know. But some patients don’t receive the treatments they want, due to budget cuts.’
    â€˜That must be frustrating for you all.’
    â€˜It’s the worst aspect of the job.’
    â€˜Do you and Dr Riordan see eye to eye, on a personal level?’
    He shuffled papers across his desk. ‘We’ve had conflicts, but it’s never affected our work.’
    â€˜Professional differences?’ Angie asked.
    â€˜We both applied for the top job in April. I’ve had more training, served more years, and my record’s flawless. I complained about her appointment to the trustees.’
    â€˜Did that make things awkward?’
    His frown deepened. ‘I’d never let personal matters affect my patients. Once the issue was resolved she got my full support.’
    â€˜Do you know if Clare had fallen out with anyone?’
    â€˜I don’t keep track of my colleagues’ disagreements.’
    â€˜Can you tell us how you spent the morning of Saturday the eleventh of October?’
    Pietersen’s sluggish eyes widened into a stare. ‘Are you suggesting I caused her disappearance?’
    â€˜Everyone will be asked the same question.’
    â€˜I was on weekend duty here, dealing with emergency referrals. The receptionists will confirm I arrived before nine a.m. If you ask around, you’ll learn that Clare and I have a sound professional relationship.’ His charm had switched off as abruptly as a water supply.
    â€˜Dr Riordan was taken much earlier, at around seven fifteen a.m.’
    â€˜Speak to my wife, if you doubt my word. I was at home until eight, then drove straight here.’
    â€˜That’s helpful, thanks.’
    â€˜You’ll have to excuse me, I need to prepare for my patients.’ He began leafing through his in-tray, as though we’d already vacated his consulting room.
    The second doctor was a junior consultant called Adele Novak. Her office stood directly opposite Pietersen’s; through the open doorway, I saw a slim woman of around my own age with cropped dark brown hair leaning over her desk, absorbed in a report. When Angie tapped on the door she gave us a calm smile. Novak was attractive and fine