Blood Symmetry by Kate Rhodes Page A

boned, pale skin dusted with freckles. Her consulting room was more welcoming than Dr Pietersen’s: greeting cards and photos tacked to a pin board, a jug of yellow carnations on her coffee table.
    â€˜Thanks for making time to see us,’ Angie said.
    â€˜I’m glad to help.’ Her gaze shifted between us.
    â€˜Do you know Clare well?’ I asked.
    â€˜Not socially, but I’ve got her to thank for appointing me. She’s been my clinical supervisor since I arrived in January.’ Her words were delivered slowly, as if she was considering each statement.
    â€˜How would you describe her?’
    â€˜Professional and committed, but she doesn’t suffer fools.’
    â€˜In what way?’
    â€˜She makes quick judgements about people.’
    â€˜Would you say she’s well liked?’
    â€˜I enjoy working with her, but I can only speak for myself. Most colleagues respect her, certainly.’ She hesitated. ‘Clare tends to see things in black and white.’
    â€˜How do you mean?’
    â€˜She made six people redundant last year. Apparently she didn’t lose any sleep over it.’
    â€˜Could you tell us their names?’
    â€˜It was before I arrived. HR will have a list.’
    â€˜Do you know if Clare’s close to anyone in the department?’
    â€˜That’s not her style. A few of us go for a drink sometimes after work, but she never comes along. She goes home to herson as soon as her shift finishes.’ Novak stopped talking abruptly, as if she had decided not to expose a secret.
    â€˜Anything you share could help us find her, Dr Novak,’ I said.
    â€˜Call me Adele, please. Look, I won’t beat around the bush. I admire Clare, but she’s a strong personality. She’s close to the trustees, so her opinion carries a lot of weight. That puts people on edge.’ Novak’s voice petered out, as if she could be demoted for speaking out of turn.
    â€˜Thanks for being so open.’
    She studied me more closely. ‘Is Clare’s son okay?’
    â€˜He’s shaken, but getting good care.’
    â€˜It’s awful for him.’ Her eyes abruptly filled with tears. ‘The poor kid must be terrified.’
    I let Angie question her after that, measuring the doctor’s reactions. Her distress was obvious, even though she had hinted that Riordan was a difficult boss. When Angie gave her a card she examined it carefully before slipping it into the pocket of her white coat. She came over as a woman who left nothing to chance, a little too sensitive for such a challenging role.
    Angie turned to me when we got back to the hospital’s crowded foyer. ‘That was an eye-opener. Pietersen’s bedside manner stinks, and she made Riordan sound like a toxic force.’
    â€˜That’s survivor guilt for you.’
    â€˜How do you mean?’
    â€˜Pietersen resented Clare getting the director’s job. On a subconscious level he probably feels bad for ill-wishing her, and Novak’s scared of her boss. Maybe the whole department feels that way. It’s worth finding the people Clare sacked and checking their alibis.’
    She nodded. ‘I’ll get a background check on Pietersen too, and have his room searched. He had no need to be so defensive.’
    I’d seen that glint in Angie’s eye before; the senior doctor’s brusque manner had raised her antennae. The Debussy refrain stayed with me as she drove south. It seemed odd that Pietersen had described music as a stress-buster, even though his temper was so ill-controlled. Gradually the city’s noise replaced the melody. All I could hear were taxis revving, pedestrians’ voices, and the drone from Angie’s police radio. For once her chatter fell silent. Maybe she was obsessing about Riordan’s disappearance too. The doctor seemed to have vanished into thin air, leaving only a raft of unanswered questions and a distraught