The Hero's Fall (DCI Cook Thriller Series Book 14)

by Phillip Strang

  A jealous lover didn’t seem likely, given Simmons’s ambivalence on matters of the heart, and Tricia Warburton’s complicity in the death seemed a long shot. After all, she was a capable woman, smart enough to find another job if Simmons had taken over the programme’s hosting.

  ‘McAlister’s feeding Ashley Otway the proof,’ Isaac said. He was tired; it had been a long day, and he had only slept three hours the night before, as the young Cook had a nasty cough, the mother fretting, the father providing moral support.

  ‘He’s out for what he can get,’ Larry said.

  ‘Fringe benefits,’ Wendy said. ‘You do know she’s sleeping with the man?’

  ‘We do,’ Isaac said. ‘She tried it on with me that time when I met her.’

  ‘Run a mile, DCI?’ Wendy asked, a broad smile across her face.

  ‘Two,’ Isaac’s reply. He tried to maintain a straight face, but in the end, he had to smile as well.

  ‘A man-eater?’ Bridget asked.

  ‘Not from what we know. Ashley Otway’s ambitious, a good investigative reporter, demoted after she had exposed a senior politician for corruption.’

  ‘The man’s been given a more senior position since then,’ Larry said. ‘One law for the rich and influential, another for the rest of us.’

  Wendy didn’t comment. Her politics were well known, and she didn’t expect anything better from those in power.

  ‘He’s not important at this juncture. Who took that shot is,’ Isaac said. ‘Any luck on the rifle?’

  ‘It’s in the report,’ Bridget said.

  ‘Humour me.’

  ‘A person of medium height, a universal rifle mount you can buy at any reputable gun store. Forensics and the crime scene team can’t be more specific than that.’

  ‘Trajectory, wind deflection? How about impact velocity?’

  ‘Lucky the first time. Even if the person had taken a couple of trial shots to check the rifle’s scope, there was still the wind, and in between the two buildings, it’s funnelled into a narrow canyon.’

  ‘And the person had time to pack up their belongings, not taking the mount, believing it was unimportant.’

  ‘A professional would have left it, possibly the rifle, certain that it couldn’t be traced back to him.’

  ‘We know that Charles Simmons is a good shot, and Skinner is. Who else?’

  ‘Gwyneth Simmons. Angus used to go hunting, but he was more traditionalist, setting traps and tickling trout.’

  ‘Discount the mother, and besides, it’s a long way down from Scotland to shoot your son, and we’ve found no evidence that she made the trip.’

  ‘Mike Hampton, but he wouldn’t have been able to make the climb,’ Larry said.

  ‘Unless he’s fooling us all. People do recover from back injuries. Bridget, you were looking into his medical records. Anything of interest?’

  ‘After the accident, Hampton spent time in a hospital in Argentina. Unable to move his lower body and in pain, he was doped out on morphine for most of it.’

  ‘Did Kate Hampton go down?’

  ‘She was there five days later, although the morphine was kicking in and he was becoming addicted to it. In the end, she chartered an air ambulance and had him repatriated to England.’

  ‘Expensive?’ Larry asked.

  ‘Anywhere between eighty thousand pounds to one hundred and ten thousand.’

  ‘Who paid?’

  ‘Hampton came from money. All I know is that his wife paid for the trip.’

  ‘Can you transport a person in that condition?’ Isaac asked.

  ‘I have a copy of the form that Kate filled in, as well as a medical report from a doctor in Argentina. It was in Spanish, easy to translate online these days. According to the doctor, Hampton’s spinal cord had been severed, and that, apart from some pain, dealt with by the morphine, he wouldn’t walk again, and no further damage could occur.’

  ‘No need for an air ambulance, then,’ Larry said. ‘They could have saved the money.’

  ‘Commercial airlines aren’t set up for a man in a stretcher, and besides, medical advice in this country disputed the Argentinians. They had access to the x-rays, and one doctor had flown down from the UK to see Hampton. I’ve got his name, not sure how much he’ll tell you, but he felt that if the diagnosis weren’t correct, he’d go along, get the man out of the country and into his care.’

  ‘How do you know this?’ Isaac asked.

  ‘Most of it is common knowledge.’

  ‘Where’s Simmons while this is all going on?’

  ‘He was in Argentina with Kate Hampton, and then he flew back commercial.’

  ‘Why not on the charter?’

  ‘It was dependent on his need to be there. Kate Hampton flew on the charter, as did the doctor out from the UK, and it’s fair to assume Mike Hampton, if he hadn’t been semi-comatose on morphine and sedatives, wouldn’t want to see Simmons. The man, regardless of whether he was right or wrong about Kate’s affair, or whether he had tried to kill Simmons, or if it was the other way around, was still seriously ill. They wouldn’t have wanted any more trauma on the flight.’

  ‘McAlister?’

  ‘He stayed in South America for ten days, made sure all the equipment from the climb was packaged and shipped back to England, over two hundred kilos. Even if he’s a louse, as people seem to believe, he’s still competent and conscientious.’

  ‘Was the spinal cord broken?’

  ‘The medical reports in the UK are not so easy to obtain, although it has been reported that Hampton did have slight movement in his lower body.’

  ‘Conclusive?’

  ‘I’m not competent to comment,’ Bridget said. ‘From what I’ve researched, I believe that the damage to Hampton is not as severe as first thought. That doesn’t mean he’s regained the use of his limbs or ever will. I found another mountaineer on the internet, a broken back, spinal cord intact. Even so, it took ten months of intense treatment and considerable pain before he walked out of the hospital. Two years later, he climbed Mount Everest.’

  ‘And Hampton sits in a wheelchair, complaining about his lot in life,’ Wendy said.

  ‘The doctor, where is he? We need to contact him,’ Isaac said.

  ‘I’ve pre-empted you,’ Bridget said. ‘You have an appointment tomorrow morning, at 10 a.m. Royal National Orthopaedic Hospital, Stanmore, Middlesex. It’ll take you less than an hour to get there, assuming the traffic’s not too heavy. You’re meeting with Dr Matt Henstridge.’

  ‘Is he the doctor who went to Argentina?’

  ‘He is the most eminent in his field.’

  ‘You were right to make the appointment.’

  ‘I can’t guarantee how much he’ll tell you, patient confidentiality.’

  ‘We’ll deal with that after we’ve met with him. As for me, I’m off home and try to get some sleep.’

  ‘The joys of fatherhood,’ Wendy said.

  ‘Sometimes, I could do with a little less joy,’ Isaac said. ‘Larry, pick me up, 7.30 a.m. sharp.’

  Chapter 21

  The Royal National Orthopaedic Hospital, one of eleven centres in the United Kingdom specialising in spinal cord injury and rehabilitation, did not impress either Isaac or Larry. A modern building, but from the outside, it looked like a building site, surrounded on two sides by construction barriers, a crane hovering over the roof.

  ‘Expansion,’ the young lady at the reception said. ‘It’s not so easy, and the demand is increasing, too many fools in powerful cars showing off how good they are.’

  ‘They should keep it to a race track,’ Larry said.

  Isaac felt the woman was talking out of turn; sure, she was right, but the hospital was there to heal, not express an opinion.

  ‘Dr Henstridge,’ Isaac said. ‘He’s expecting us.’

  ‘Is this about Mike Hampton?’

  Too many questions, too nosy, the woman needed a session with the hospital’s human resources department. Patient confi
dentiality extended beyond the doctor.

  ‘It is.’

  ‘Dr Henstridge asked me to check. You’re DCI Cook and DI Hill, am I right?’

  ‘You are. The doctor?’

  ‘Five minutes. We’re busy, and the doctor’s been here since four this morning. If he’s not the most agreeable, you’ll have to make concessions. I’m sure you understand.’

  ‘We do,’ Isaac said. The two officers went and took a seat.

  Larry picked up a magazine that was on a table. ‘It’s older than me,’ he said as he put it down.

  Isaac looked around him, knowing that he and hospitals didn’t get along. In his youth, a broken arm, an overnight stay at the hospital. And then, at the age of fifteen, he had watched a childhood friend die in the hospital from a knife wound.

  A weary man came through the double folding doors at the far end of the reception area.

  ‘Sorry about the delay. I’m Henstridge,’ he said as he shook hands. In his mid-fifties, balding, with bloodshot eyes ringed by horn-rimmed spectacles, the man looked the part.

  ‘Pleased to meet you,’ Isaac said. ‘This is Detective Inspector Hill.’

  ‘Please to meet you, Inspector,’ Henstridge said. ‘Sorry that I’m not brighter, but I’ve just finished in the operating theatre.’

  ‘The patient transferred here from another hospital?’

  ‘We primarily deal with orthopaedics, so the answer to your question is yes. Anyway, you’re not here for that, and I could do with something to drink, a stale sandwich in the canteen if there’s one left.’

  Larry tried one of the sandwiches, not stale as Henstridge had said.

  ‘We can talk here,’ Henstridge said. ‘The canteen’s as good as anywhere, not sure I’ll be able to help you.’

  Isaac would have preferred somewhere more private, but he wasn’t about to complain or confuse matters. ‘Doctor, Mike Hampton?’

  ‘That’s what I was saying, not sure I can help you much. I went down to Argentina, checked the man out, signed him off to fly.’

  ‘You came back with him?’

  ‘I did. It was a bun fight down there, too much paperwork, and the authorities thought that his returning to England would reflect badly on their medical expertise.’

  ‘Did it?’

  ‘The hospital near to where he had injured himself was basic, not set up for spinal injuries, but apart from that, it was clean, efficient and no worse than some you’d find in this country.

  ‘But here was better for him?’ Larry asked.

  ‘Definitely. There are other facilities throughout the UK specialising in spinal injuries, and even if I say so myself, here’s the best. Hampton’s wife couldn’t have chosen better.’

  ‘Expensive?’

  ‘Look around you; what do you reckon? And besides, the cost isn’t the most important factor.’

  ‘It is if you don’t have the money.’

  ‘True, but people come here under the National Health Service, and if you have insurance, or you’re a genuine hard-luck case, we’ll not turn people away.’

  ‘The construction work outside?’ Isaac asked.

  ‘Expansion. We’ve got forty beds, need another twenty. We’re expanding out the rear of the building, trying to keep the disruption to a minimum, not always succeeding.’

  ‘How long to complete?’

  ‘Twice as long as it should take, strict hours when they can work. No weekends, nothing after 4 p.m., nothing before 7 a.m., and if they’re using heavy equipment, driving in piles or jack-hammering, they need to put in a request two days in advance, and even then, we’re likely to knock it back. Frankly, we shouldn’t have started the work, but now, we’re committed.’

  The general chit-chat aside, Isaac knew they needed to focus on the one patient. ‘Mike Hampton?’ he said again.

  ‘Has he been charged with a crime?’ Henstridge asked.

  ‘He’s a person of interest,’ Isaac said.

  ‘No doubt you don’t have a court order, nor do you have a letter of consent from the man.’

  ‘Neither. It’s Mike Hampton’s former friend whose murder we’re investigating.’

  ‘I’m bound by the General Medical Council, by the law of this country, and something called the Hippocratic Oath. Much as I’d like to help, I can’t. Frustrating for you, no doubt, but I can’t see a way around the dilemma.’

  ‘We understand,’ Isaac said. ‘Why don’t we go over what is general knowledge, and if you feel comfortable, then you can answer accordingly.’

  ‘We can try, but remember, I am limited in what I can say.’

  ‘Very well. You went down to Argentina, correct?’

  ‘Correct.’

  ‘You signed off on the man, dealt with the Argentinian authorities and then came back to England with him, checked him into here?’

  ‘In essence, you’re correct. The only item is the Argentinian authorities. The air ambulance’s personnel dealt with the majority of the paperwork. I was primarily concerned with confirming to Kate Hampton and the air ambulance that it was safe for him to fly. Although I did have some contact with Argentinian medical personnel, on account of this facility’s reputation and my name.’

  ‘You signed off because you believed his spinal cord was damaged irreparably, that he’d never walk again.’

  ‘In part, and that was my belief at the time. The facilities in Argentina did not allow a more intensive evaluation of his condition.’

  ‘Mike Hampton, what part did he take in all this?’

  ‘Not a lot. He was on morphine, and he had other injuries. The only problem was that they gave him too much. He developed a mild addiction to it.’

  ‘What did you do about it?’

  ‘Weaned him off it once we were back here.’

  ‘What else can you tell us?’ Larry asked.

  ‘So far, I believe I’ve told you what is common knowledge. I gave a speech at a seminar, used my trip to Argentina, the difficulties, our treatment when we got back to England.’

  ‘Mike Hampton agreed?’

  ‘He did. I saw him myself, got him to sign off on the speech.’

  ‘From our contact with him, he’s showed no interest in anything or anyone. A down on life; surprised he doesn’t blame you for saving his life.’

  ‘As injured as he was in that hospital in Argentina, he wasn’t going to die.’

  ‘Since then?’

  ‘I see him every couple of months. The man is physically well apart from his disability. Mentally active, having to deal with a changed situation. We’ve given him counselling, advised him to continue, but that’s not my area. I believe that’s it.’

  ‘One more question,’ Isaac said.

  ‘You can try.’

  ‘It’s been reported that Hampton had some movement in his toes. Does that indicate that the spinal cord might not be permanently damaged and that it could self-heal?’

  ‘I’m afraid you’re now asking questions I can’t answer. I sympathise, but I can’t discuss the case further.’

  ‘It’s been reported.’

  ‘Not by me, it hasn’t. Get a court order, not so easy, given that he’s not the victim, nor has he been charged with a crime. Otherwise, get Mr Hampton to sign a letter of consent. I’ll give you a form before you leave.’

  Larry regarded the visit as wasted; Isaac wasn’t so sure.

  ‘Henstridge clammed up when we asked about Hampton moving his toes. He was right, gave us more than I expected, but he’s not going to be drawn on a contentious area.’

  ‘It’s not his responsibility,’ Larry said. ‘What are the chances of a court order?’

  ‘On what grounds?’

  ‘Then we need Hampton to sign the letter of consent.’

  ‘You or me, or should we leave it with Wendy?’ Isaac asked.

  ‘She can talk to Deb Hampton, to the man’s wife, see if they can talk him around.’

  ***

  Otto McAlister, his phone calls to Ashley unanswe
red, was unsure what to do next. He had seen her leaving the Savoy with Jaden, smiling at each other, sharing a taxi.

  Desperate and believing that she was leaving him for Jaden, he went to the pub, drank five pints and then drove to her home. If she were there with another man, he’d deal with him, then her.

  ‘Who is it?’ a voice called out from inside the house.

  ‘Otto,’ he said.

  It was after one in the morning, and no one was in the street, apart from a drunk staggering home, a couple of cats and a stray dog.

  ‘Go away. It’s late; I need to sleep,’ Ashley said.

  ‘With who? I saw you with him,’ McAlister said. He was feeling unsteady, swaying from side to side. He wasn’t a drinker, and five pints had been too much for him, but it was Dutch courage, the courage to approach the woman, to find out what was going on, to plan for the future.

  He had already decided that once he had the money, the two hundred thousand, he was off to Thailand or Cambodia, somewhere he could live cheaply, and with that sort of money, he could live well.

  ‘I’ll phone you tomorrow.’

  ‘Now, we need to talk now.’

  Along the road, bedroom lights were going on, residents wanting to know what the disturbance was. A voice shouted out, ‘Shut up, go home.’

  ‘Bugger off,’ McAlister said in response.

  ‘I’ll phone the police,’ Ashley said. She stood on the other side of the door. He bent down, pushed open the letterbox flap; he could see her, dressed in a bra and panties. He was wild, desperate and drunk.

  ‘You have to let me in, or I’ll shout the place down.’

  It was either the neighbours or opening the door. Ashley Otway chose the latter.

  ‘I’ve got a Taser,’ she said as he lunged forward.

  ‘I wanted to see who you had upstairs.’

  ‘Nobody, I’m on my own.’

  ‘I don’t trust you, and what were you doing with Jaden?’

  ‘Trying to get your money. What do you think I’d be doing with him? He’s old enough to be my father, and I’m not whoring myself with him, not with you, not anymore. You’ll get your money, and then I don’t want to see you again.’

  ‘But tonight, I’m here.’

  ‘You can have a black coffee, something to eat and then leave.’