by S W Kane
They chatted for a while, Kirby deliberately not asking any more questions, then he glanced at his watch – it was coming up to ten o’clock, and he had to meet Connie at eleven. He wondered whether he should take Livia to the emergency surgery, if such a thing existed on a Saturday morning, but envisaged her reaction if he suggested it. Now he thought about it, he didn’t even know who her GP was, as she was never ill. ‘I’m going to clear the drive for you, then I’m going to have to shoot. It’s this new case.’
‘Is that the Blackwater murder?’ she asked. ‘I heard about it on the news and wondered if you were involved.’
‘That’s the one.’
‘Poor woman. Imagine ending up in a place like that.’ She shivered and got up to wash the coffee cups.
‘Well, thankfully it’s something you don’t have to worry about. That’s my department.’ He went over to the sink and gave her a hug. ‘I’ll come and say goodbye when I’ve cleared the drive.’
Outside, the sky was bruising for another fight. It seemed pointless to clear the driveway now, as it would be covered again in the next hour by the looks of things, but he did it anyhow, the act of shovelling the snow giving him time to think. Whatever it was his mother was hiding, she wasn’t going to tell him without an argument – not today, at least. It could be anything, he reasoned: money, a new relationship, or perhaps she really was thinking of moving back to Italy. Any of those things might cause insomnia, but they didn’t explain the memory loss. The drawn blinds and dim kitchen lights had helped hide some of the signs, but her eyes had dark rings around them, and her skin, which was usually flawless, looked tired and worn. He wondered if she was eating properly, as she’d barely touched the cheesecake.
He was putting the shovel back in the garage when the first few flakes of snow began to fall. He hurried inside and said goodbye to Livia, who was curled up on the sofa with a book.
‘Why don’t you go back to bed?’ he suggested. ‘And make an appointment to see the doctor.’
‘If you insist.’
‘I do,’ he said, from the door. ‘Promise me you’ll do it?’
‘If it’ll stop you nagging at me, then yes. Now off you go. Catch that poor woman’s killer. Ciao ciao.’
When he got into the Citroën he looked up at the house, its curtains firmly drawn. Snow was already settling on the driveway that he’d only just cleared. As he pulled away, thinking of his mother cocooned in her house, he was left with the lingering feeling that this was just the start. Of what, he wasn’t sure.
CHAPTER 25
Connie arrived at Blackwater ten minutes early, so carried on walking along Battersea Fields Drive to keep warm. A fine snow was coming down, a strong wind driving it like needles into her face, and she pulled her parka hood further forward. She wondered what it was that Kirby wanted to talk to her about.
She’d spoken to Harry earlier and arranged to go over to his place once she’d finished at Blackwater. He’d sounded down on the phone, which was hardly surprising, so she thought she’d go and cheer him up. She also wanted to check the address on the Post-it note. In light of what Mole had told her, it had played on her mind all night, and she’d more or less made up her mind to go and confront this Tom Ellis person. That’s if the address actually belonged to her sister’s exploring companion – the truth was that he could be anyone.
She paused for a moment outside one of the mansion blocks that lined the road opposite Blackwater, and squinted through the snow up at the top flats. The views over the asylum – and beyond, to the river – must be awesome, and she wondered how the residents felt about the impending development. It would certainly turn this exclusive neighbourhood into a noisy and congested area for several years to come. Turning back to the road she suddenly realised how close she was to Marsh House, where she’d be going on Monday. She thought about moseying over for a quick look – it was probably only a few more minutes’ walk – but after checking the time she decided to leave it and began walking back to Blackwater’s main entrance.
Just as she approached the gate a green car pulled up. It wasn’t just any green car, but some sort of insane classic thing – even the shade of green was from another era. She watched, mesmerised, as it seemed to lower itself to the ground like some sort of crouching tiger. Who the hell drove a car like that? Connie didn’t know much about cars but she did recognise the Citroën logo on the front, and she was actually thinking what a cool machine it was when the door opened and a blast of Savages poured out at full volume, followed by Kirby. This was a surprise.
He raised a hand in greeting. ‘Thanks for coming.’ He locked the car and walked over, zipping up a black North Face jacket.
‘I didn’t know the Met had such good taste. The car, I mean.’
‘They don’t. My work car is a Corsa. I shouldn’t really be driving this on duty, but I’m just on my way back from somewhere.’
‘What is it? It’s – well, amazing.’
‘It’s a Citroën SM. Wildly inappropriate, no doubt destroying the planet as I speak, and older than I am. Shall we?’ He gestured towards the main gate of the old hospital just as an Emeris security guard appeared. Kirby showed the guard his ID and they were let in.
It felt strange to be walking into Blackwater without looking over her shoulder. Two huge, brown arcs had been carved in the snow where the gates had opened and closed over the past few days, and the tyre tracks of multiple vehicles were now frozen in hard, uneven ruts, making walking difficult. The snow was undisturbed off the main driveway apart from the odd track, which Connie assumed must have been the Scenes of Crime people.
She and Kirby began walking up the driveway, their feet crunching on the frozen ice.
‘Do you have any leads yet?’ she asked, as they made their way towards the administration block.
‘A few,’ he replied.
‘What did you want to see me about?’ The wind and snow made conversation difficult. ‘There’s still no word from Ed.’
‘There’s something I think you can help me with,’ said Kirby, turning his head towards her so that she could hear him. ‘I was hoping you might be able to give me some historical background on the place. Recent history is relatively well documented but there’s a big chunk that isn’t.’
‘I can try, but Ed’s the one who knows this place inside out.’ Moving to the side of the rutted driveway, they trudged on – which made the going easier, the snow squeaking beneath their boots.
‘I can’t help feeling like I’m missing something,’ Kirby was saying. ‘Something important. So much has gone on here.’
‘Where exactly are we going?’ she asked, wondering what she might know that could possibly help. ‘The place is humongous.’
‘Keats Ward,’ he replied. ‘Do you know it?’
‘I think so; it’s down towards the lake, away from the main ward blocks. It’s a detached block?’
‘Correct. It’s where the body was found.’
It hadn’t occurred to her that she’d be visiting a murder scene, and suddenly she felt slightly nervous. After a few minutes they reached the admin block, and she was glad that she’d worn her snow boots as the temperature seemed to be dropping by the minute – the cold was stinging her eyes and she could feel them watering.
The admin block was dominated by a central clock tower, and she squinted through the snow at the void where the clock face should have been. The space stared out like an empty eye socket. A weather vane atop the tower was bent, as though an unseen force had passed through it; an uneven top hat of snow was precariously balanced on the top, frozen solid. All the windows of the building had been boarded up, and Buddleja grew out of a first-floor balcony.
‘This was used by security when the place first closed,’ said Connie, who’d been in there two or three times in the past. ‘It used to have lovely wooden panelling until the fire.’ Large parts of it had been destroyed in an arson attack in 2004, but the front portion, which they were looking at, had remained f
airly intact.
As they both stopped to look at the building, she stole a sideways glance at her companion. Kirby actually seemed interested in the place, as he had done at RADE. It could just be professional interest, but she sensed a curiosity that surprised her – like the car had. What sort of detective drove a Citroën SM and listened to Savages? She wondered what he did when he was off duty, and found herself blushing at the thought.
‘We need to go this way,’ he said, as though suddenly remembering why they were there, and pointed off to the left.
Glad to be moving again, Connie followed him as they skirted around what had once been the recreational hall, which had also been badly damaged by fire. All that was left were four walls and the remains of a decorative cast-iron railing, which now hung suspended in mid-air, and the rubble-strewn floor was covered in a layer of snow. The four walls gave a brief respite from the driving wind, which seemed to find every crevice it could in her clothing. She noticed a crude smiley face drawn on one of the walls, crumbling mortar giving it the appearance of having lost a tooth.
‘I’ve never been here in snow before,’ she said. ‘Everything looks so different.’
‘Don’t you worry about getting caught?’ Kirby asked. ‘When you’re exploring a place like this?’
‘It’s part of the buzz – not getting caught. Getting in, getting out. It’s one of the things I learned to enjoy, but yeah, no one wants to get caught.’
‘The old adrenalin rush, I get it,’ said Kirby. ‘I can understand your interest in the place because of your sister. Is it the same for Ed?’
‘His grandfather used to work here – he was a groundsman – and they lived in a tower block that overlooked the place. He used to tell Ed stories when he was a kid. But apart from all that, it’s an interesting place. It was also fairly easy to access at one point, and a lot of stuff was left behind – machinery, patient records, samples, that sort of thing.’ Her lips were going numb, it was so cold.
‘Patient records?’ asked Kirby.
‘Yeah, there’s loads. And medical samples.’
‘Isn’t that illegal, or some kind of breach of privacy?’
‘You’re the policeman, not me,’ said Connie. ‘Anyhow, there’s a lot to explore here. Plus, my job at the architecture library gives me a geeky interest in the design of the place.’
They had now reached the chapel, which was in good nick compared to most of the buildings and had been listed four years ago, along with the water tower. Beyond the chapel lay the kitchens and then the ward blocks. She’d give anything for a poke about while they were here, but it was hardly a sightseeing tour, so she said nothing.
They trudged on through the snow, passing wards Blake, Byron and Milton. Suddenly, the wind dropped and the place fell eerily silent, the snowflakes drifting dreamily to the ground. She tried to imagine what an elderly woman might have been doing here at night. Something had brought the woman back to Blackwater – or someone.
After ten more minutes they reached Keats Ward – all alone, facing the lake, the water tower to its right. It had stopped snowing by now, and the view was quite serene. Keats had been engraved into the stone lintel over the doorway and was just visible through the snow-covered ivy that clung to the brickwork.
‘This is the building I was thinking of,’ said Connie, as they ducked under the police tape that had been pinned across the doorless entrance.
Structurally, the building was in good condition, but the large day room on the ground floor had been used as a store space and was a chaotic jumble of old chairs, tables, bed frames and medical equipment – all of which was in poor condition, the metal rusted and the wood warped and mouldy. The air felt colder than it had outside, and even through the frozen air she could smell the decay. ‘Fuck it’s cold,’ she said.
‘I’ve had to dig out my skiwear this winter it’s been so cold,’ said Kirby, leading the way upstairs.
‘You ski, then?’
‘Used to. My mother taught me – she’s Italian. Skied all her life.’
They made their way upstairs and Kirby led her along a corridor, cell doors opening off to their left. Connie had only been in here once – about two years ago – and had found it creepy then, but today it was even more so. At the end of the corridor was a door that bore a sign that read Television Room. It was where, instinctively, she knew Kirby was taking her.
‘Is this where you found her?’ Connie asked, as she and Kirby entered the room.
‘Yes.’ Kirby pointed to the far corner. ‘On a bed, over there – with the number nineteen on it. Does that mean anything to you?’
She shook her head and pulled her jacket collar a little tighter. Her neck felt cold, and a sudden rash of goosebumps ran down her arms. There was something about the room that she didn’t like; the atmosphere felt different to that in the corridor outside. ‘You do know that this used to be called the Narcosis Room or the Sleep Room?’
‘No, why was that?’
‘Basically, the patients were given a shitload of drugs, including barbiturates, to make them sleep for several days – in some cases weeks or months. They’d carry out ECT on them too.’
‘Electroconvulsive Therapy?’
‘Yeah. There’s still a machine downstairs, or there was when I was last here. It gives me the creeps.’
‘I’m not surprised. Did this deep-sleep stuff work?’ Kirby asked.
‘The opposite – quite a few people were permanently damaged, lost huge chunks of their memory.’
Kirby looked intrigued. ‘Do many people know about it?’
‘A lot of urbexes do, it became a bit of a thing – you know, the creepy room at Blackwater.’
‘Can you tell me anything else about this ward, anything unusual?’
‘Not really. It’s not a secret but not particularly widely known about, either – I think the tabloids ran a story at some point.’
Kirby said nothing and appeared to be deep in thought, distracted even, his eyes fixed on some point she couldn’t determine.
‘Do you think this is relevant to the woman’s death?’ Connie asked.
‘I thought there might be a reason why the body was left up here rather than anywhere else.’ His eyes shifted from whatever they’d been focused on and came to rest on her. ‘I’d value your opinion, that’s all. You know this place pretty well.’
‘It is strange, I agree. Like, there are plenty of other places to leave a body here where they wouldn’t be found for months, if not years. Mind you, with the demolition guys coming in, a body would be found sooner or later.’
‘Where would you hide a body then?’ he asked.
‘Me? I hope you don’t think I had anything to do with this.’
He smiled. ‘No, nothing like that. I’m genuinely curious to know what you think.’
‘Well . . .’ She began running through the remotest and most inaccessible parts of the site in her mind. ‘I suppose the more overgrown areas would be obvious – the small outbuildings by the laundry, maybe? There was a groundsman’s storage shed somewhere but that got so overgrown it could be anywhere.’ She thought for a minute. ‘There is one place where no one would find a body.’
‘Where?’
‘The lake. And if it was weighed down it wouldn’t be found until – well, when the lake was drained.’ She looked at Kirby, trying to read his thoughts, wondering if this had been some kind of trap.
‘Good answer,’ he said, eventually. ‘Which all rather reinforces the idea that this room is somehow significant.’
‘I suppose it might.’
‘You said a lot of stuff was left behind here. What about drugs? Not in this room, but elsewhere on the site?’
‘You mean like old medical drugs?’
Kirby nodded. ‘Have you ever come across any here?’
Connie shook her head. Sometimes there were old supplies left, but she’d definitely never found any drugs here.
‘Where would they be if there were drugs her
e?’ asked Kirby.
‘God, I don’t know. They’d all have been stolen by now.’
Kirby looked thoughtful. ‘Did Ed ever mention finding any drugs here?’
‘Never. Why are you asking?’
‘I just wondered, that’s all.’
‘It’s certainly possible. I’ve visited abandoned veterinary practices in the past that have still had drugs in them.’
‘Interesting,’ said Kirby. ‘Thanks.’
Connie went over to one of the windows and looked down over the frozen lake. It really did look beautiful today. Then her eyes wandered to the right and to the old water tower, dark and brooding in contrast to the white snow – the place where Sarah had fallen to her death. ‘That’s where it happened,’ she said, quietly. ‘The water tower.’
Kirby joined her by the window and followed her gaze. ‘I know. I read the report. Have you been up there?’
‘Several times. You?’
Kirby shook his head. ‘I imagine the views are incredible.’
‘At night, the red lights on the cranes at the power station look like a constellation. It’s pretty magical.’
‘Aren’t you frightened of falling, like your sister did?’
‘Not really. In any case, that part is boarded-off now.’ Connie stared down at the lake and beyond it towards the Thames, brown and sluggish, and an overwhelming sense of loss swept over her – first Sarah and now Ed. ‘Apparently Ed had found out who she was with, the day she fell. He was going to tell me on Tuesday.’
‘You didn’t mention that on Thursday when we spoke,’ Kirby said.
‘I didn’t know then. Our friend Mole, the one I mentioned who was in Poland, told me last night.’
‘I see. Well, let’s hope that Ed surfaces soon and can still tell you.’
‘You don’t think it could have anything to do with his disappearance, do you?’ Connie asked.
‘I’ve seen the report on your sister’s death, and it was an accident. Whatever’s going on now is something entirely different.’
