“Don’t you worry now, Miss MacPherson. We have no reason to suspect you. Just trying to get a few facts straight.”
Just get on with it, she thought. Please.
“You were, I’m sure, engaged with medical business on the morning of October third? In the clinic with Doctor Davies?”
“No, I was –”
“Somewhere else in the hospital, then.” He wrote on his ruled pad. “I’ve seen you there myself.” His hands were thick-fingered paws, working hands that seemed ill at ease with a pen. He wrote as if a schoolteacher was standing over him. She had a memory of their conversation in the clinic: he’d grown up on a farm south of Cochrane. “Other nurses will corroborate your whereabouts.” It was not a question.
“I won’t keep you from your work much longer. I know how busy you are. My sister was a nurse in th
