Deadly Admirer

by Christine Green

  The door opened with a slight creak and there stood Christopher, pale, dishevelled and holding his wrist.

  ‘I think it's broken,’ he said, ‘and I've been sick.’

  ‘Sh … sh …’ I said and then added in a whisper, ‘he's still asleep. We'll go upstairs and I'll look at your wrist.’

  Upstairs in the bathroom I examined Christopher's right wrist. It certainly looked broken: it was already beginning to swell, he could hardly move a finger and there was some deformity.

  ‘I think it may well be broken, Christopher,’ I said.v ‘And my chest is bruised,’ he announced as he gingerly lifted his sweater and vest for me to see. Not only was he bruised but his window-entering had removed quite a lot of skin from his chest.

  ‘You were very brave,’ I said.

  ‘You weren't,’ he said reproachfully.

  ‘We're all cowards sometimes, and I did try.’

  He gazed at me for a moment as if about to argue but then his pallor increased and I had to sit him down quickly on the bathroom chair in case he decided to faint on me.

  ‘You'll have to carry on being very brave,’ I said. ‘Till I get you to hospital anyway. Just wait here. I've got to check that Vanessa isn't anywhere in the house.’

  He nodded, though I was sure it was only the mention of Vanessa that made him agree.

  There was still no sound from below and I crept along the landing, opening the first door as quietly as I could. It was empty. The next small bedroom had an alarm clock by the bedside. I checked my watch. It showed the correct time. This room was definitely in use. The built-in cupboard was full of men's clothes. Sheila and Colin obviously slept apart. In the room next door which I assumed to be Sheila's I decided to have a closer look round. A half empty bottle of sleeping tablets sat on her bedside table. The name on the bottle said Colin Tiffield. At the bottom of a large wardrobe I found a photograph album. I flicked through it quickly. There were no photographs at all of Vanessa. Not one. Although Sheila in years gone by had looked very much like Vanessa and once or twice I had been unsure, the clothes and the age had been wrong.

  The last door opened on to another empty room. Empty of a bed or furniture that is. All it contained was an oval mirror, ornately carved and fixed to the wall. The mirror Vanessa had painted. So this, I guessed, had been Vanessa's room. As I caught a glimpse of myself in that bare, sad room, I shuddered.

  When I got back to the bathroom poor Christopher was crying with pain and shock.

  ‘Come on,’ I said, ‘we're getting out of here.’

  Holding his good arm I half lifted him from the chair and although he slumped at first, as he got used to being on his feet he was able to walk without help. Downstairs we had a choice of the front or back doors. I chose the back door, just in case Sheila returned and parked at the front.

  Outside the snow had turned to sleet and once we were through the trees and bushes and the car was in sight I felt a great sense of relief. My car keys were still in my pocket but it was only when I'd got Christopher in the back seat and covered with the blanket that I realised I'd dropped my purse somewhere.

  ‘I'll put that arm in a sling,’ I said as I opened my first-aid kit, which I now always keep in the car since Hubert let it be known to me that it was a disgrace for a nurse not to have one. In it I kept a triangular bandage. With a few muttered curses because of lack of space I finally managed to support Christopher's arm in a sling. He smiled a little pathetically when I'd finished, but it was a smile. His improved spirits didn't last, though, when I told him I had to go back to the house.

  ‘Please don't be long,’ he begged, ‘my arm's killing me.’

  I found my purse easily enough in the barn by the ladder. All I have to do now is check out Colin Tiffield, I thought, but it also crossed my mind that anyone who sleeps through the noise we made is either very deaf or very dead …

  Finding the right room was easy. Actually opening the door was a bit scary and I stood for a moment at the doorway before venturing inside.

  Colin Tiffield was breathing, shallow, quiet breaths. I moved closer to his chair, noticing the empty trouser leg that almost touched the carpet. I stood watching him. Most people would have stirred because the draught from the open door was sharp as a knife. He didn't move. Was he in a coma? I wondered. Feeling his hand first and being shocked by its coldness I moved my fingers round to his wrist and felt his pulse – it was slow but regular. Too slow. I shook him by the shoulder; there was no response.

  I looked round the room. There was something missing. I had assumed when I didn't find it upstairs that it would be in the room with him. I quickly searched the rest of the ground floor and came back to him. His artificial leg wasn't in the house. I assumed Sheila had taken it. I also assumed she had given him some sleeping tablets: that would account for the deep sleep. I felt one of the radiators. It was cold. What on earth was she doing? Taking away his leg, even doping him was, perhaps, her way of controlling him. But leaving him uncovered in an unheated house? Now that was definitely not mere control but attempted murder.

  I rushed upstairs for a duvet and after I'd covered him I rang for an ambulance.

  ‘Your name please, dear?’ asked a reassuring male voice after I'd given him the patient's name and address.

  I paused. ‘Alison Dimwoody,’ I improvised, feeling that dim and woody was an apt description of my brainpower at the moment. ‘Right you are, Miss Dimwoody. You stay with the patient. We'll be with you in no time.’

  In the kitchen I found the central heating timer and switched it on to constant and then I ran for the car.

  ‘I'm cold,’ said Christopher as I started the engine. ‘You've been a long time.’

  ‘He's even colder,’ I said. ‘I've sent for an ambulance.’

  ‘For me?’ he asked.

  ‘No, I'm sorry, not for you. This would need too much explaining. You don't want to be charged with breaking and entering, do you? We'll find a hospital on the way back to Longborough.’

  Christopher sighed but said nothing and I drove away, hoping that there actually was a hospital this side of Longborough. As we left Bonsall an ambulance passed us with blue lights flashing and I felt slightly guilty that I hadn't stayed, but at least Colin Tiffield would soon be warm and tucked up in bed. But in the meantime where was Sheila Wootten and, more importantly, where was Vanessa? Was she still alive?

  I tried very hard to find a hospital for Christopher and I passed two but both had big ‘THERE IS NO CASUALTY DEPARTMENT AT THIS HOSPITAL' notices. The nearest was Longborough General.

  It was dark by the time we arrived in Longborough. Christopher had managed to sleep some of the way but as I parked in the General's car park he woke and said croakily, ‘I must ring my parents. They'll be worried.’

  ‘Where did you tell them you were going?’

  ‘Out with the search party.’

  ‘Do you think they will have phoned the police?’

  ‘Probably. They would know the search would be abandoned when it got dark.’

  ‘Let's get into casualty,’ I said. ‘I'll lie through my teeth. I'll say you fell behind the rest of the search party and slipped over and I found you in a ditch or something and brought you here.’

  The casualty department was a haven of warmth but busy. I was disappointed to find I knew no nurses on duty and the glimpse I did catch of the casualty houseman told me he was a stranger too.

  As Christopher gave his details to the receptionist I rang the vicarage from the public phone. The Reverend Collicot himself answered.

  ‘I shall come immediately of course,’ he said. ‘I'm much obliged that you have been kind enough to take care of Christopher.’

  I mumbled something about it being no trouble at all and felt my stomach churn with guilt pangs at telling such lies to a vicar. It was only later I realised the pangs were hunger.

  I returned to sit with Christopher and explained that his father was on his way and knew the full story.

&nb
sp; ‘You didn't tell him the truth?’

  ‘Of course not. I told him a pack of lies but if he questions you seriously just say you can't remember. That way you won't feel so bad.’

  ‘I couldn't feel worse.’

  ‘Soon they'll have that arm in a plaster and you'll be home.’

  ‘We didn't find Vanessa though, did we? I've failed her.’

  ‘Of course you haven't. Really, Christopher, the boy scouts would be proud of you. You've been a real Trojan. And our trip has given me a new lead. Perhaps by tomorrow we will have found Vanessa.’

  ‘Do you really think so?’

  ‘Scouts' honour. Dib, dib, dib and all that.’

  Christopher smiled weakly.

  As I waved him goodbye I wondered if being such a good liar was a necessary character trait for all private investigators. Because I didn't have a lead and I was beginning to feel that the chances of finding Vanessa alive were very slim indeed. And where had Sheila gone off to and why had she tried to kill her beloved Colin? Was it because she wanted to save her sister? If so, she must know where Colin had put her.

  Christopher's father was driving into the car park as I left. I kept my head down. I wasn't responsible for Christopher being in my car, I told myself. And I didn't want him to attempt that stupid window anyway.

  Hubert greeted me with what I thought was his ‘I've been worried about you expression' but it wasn't. It was his ‘I've got bad news for you' look.

  ‘You'd better come up to my flat,’ he said. That boded ill. Especially when he told me to sit down, gave me a neat brandy and then stood nervously watching while I drank it.

  ‘What's the matter, Hubert?’ I asked as the first slug of fiery liquid hit my stomach.

  ‘Bad news, Kate. I'm sorry.’

  I knew then the expression on his face was the one he reserved for really grave news. Funereal graveness. I waited.

  ‘Finish your drink,’ he said.

  I continued to watch his face as I drank the last of my brandy. ‘I've just heard,’ he said quietly, ‘that a young woman's body has been found ten miles away. According to my sources it could be Vanessa.’

  ‘No … it can't be … I don't believe it.’ But I did and suddenly a knot formed in my stomach and the tears welled up like a geyser about to explode.

  ‘There … there,’ said Hubert, patting my back gently.

  And that made me feel worse and then the tears dropped very conveniently into my empty brandy glass.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Hubert let me cry for a while, then he swapped my tear-smeared brandy glass for a fresh one and gave me what he called a ‘good double'.

  When I'd stopped sniffing and gulping he said, ‘Do you want to talk about it?’

  ‘No thank you, Hubert. You talk, I'll listen. What happened?’

  ‘Well, it was some time this afternoon. The police began dragging the rivers and they came up with a body. The only info I've got is that it's a young woman. So far no one other than Vanessa has been reported missing locally.’

  ‘Her sister's gone missing, but she's not young,’ I said miserably. ‘It does seem likely that it's Vanessa, doesn't it?’ Hubert nodded. ‘You did your best.’

  ‘My best isn't up to much, is it? I'm packing up the agency. I've had enough. Amateurs like me shouldn't be allowed out.’

  ‘Now come on, Kate. The police couldn't protect her. Why should you do any better than the police?’

  ‘Because she trusted me. Well, I think she did. I'll never know now, will I? Perhaps if I'd gone to Derbyshire sooner, not wasted my time with Dr Guilsborough … not—’

  ‘If this body is Vanessa,’ interrupted Hubert, ‘you've still got a job to do. You've still got the murderer to find.’

  ‘He's tucked up safe and warm in some hospital bed. And I suppose he's still acting dumb. I think Sheila thought she was doing the decent thing. Killing him gently. I expect she'd guessed for some time. Realised that what happened in the past wasn't Vanessa's fault and decided to play judge and jury. It wouldn't surprise me if she committed suicide now. She's got nothing left, has she?’

  Hubert didn't answer as he poured himself a brandy and sat down on his splendid sofa.

  ‘What exactly happened today, Kate? I'm confused. Is this Colin Tiffield dead or alive?’

  ‘He was alive. I expect he'll be fine tomorrow when the sleeping tablets have worn off and his body's warmed up. I couldn't just leave him to die, could I?’

  ‘Not your style at all,’ said Hubert, smiling. ‘But come on now, Kate, tell me all the interesting details and don't leave anything out.’

  I told Hubert about Christopher nearly killing me with shock and about not being able to climb the ladder and then finding Colin semi-comatose. Hubert nodded and didn't say much.

  All he said when I finished was, ‘How about a sandwich or two and then you can get some sleep?’

  ‘I can't think about sleep, Hubert,’ I said. ‘I've got to find …’

  And then I remembered that it appeared it was too late to save Vanessa. I'd failed her.

  I felt a weight on my arm and heard Hubert say, ‘Wake up, Kate. The police are here.’

  I rubbed my eyes, trying to orientate myself to time and place. Hook and Roade stood there.

  ‘Is this a dawn raid?’ I asked turning myself on to my side, thinking I was in bed but finding myself perilously close to the edge of Hubert's sofa.

  ‘Hardly,’ said Hook. ‘It's only eleven p.m.’

  ‘Oh.’

  ‘We hear you've been doing a bit of breaking and entering.’ ‘I wouldn't put it as strongly as that, Inspector. I did go in through the front door.’

  ‘I don't want the details but if you did go in the front door who went through the bathroom window?’

  ‘I couldn't divulge that, I'm afraid; it's against the PI's pledge.’

  ‘What's that?’

  ‘Thou shalt tell no one, least of all the police, of whosoever shall offer a helping hand, a bit of legwork or a word in the right direction. That name shall henceforth be sacrosanct and none shall prise the information forth with either bribes of money or threats or even torture.’

  ‘Ha ha!’ said Hook sarcastically.

  ‘I thought that was pretty good for spur-of-the-moment stuff.’

  ‘You might be quite good at finding willing helpers but you've had no more luck than us at finding Vanessa.’

  ‘I thought …’

  ‘You thought wrong, Miss Kinsella. The body we found is not that of Vanessa Wootten. She'd been in the water for at least two weeks and so far as we can tell she is younger than Vanessa and shorter. We haven't got a name yet but we're in touch with the Met and we're going through missing persons. No doubt in a day or two we'll have a name and hopefully her killer.’

  ‘Thank you for telling me, Inspector.’

  ‘I didn't come just to tell you that,’ he said irritably. ‘I came to warn you that next time you go house-breaking you'll be charged. We're only letting you off this time because you inadvertently saved a life. The hospital says he'll be fine tomorrow. In the meantime he's under police guard so don't attempt to visit him. He's been trying to speak but isn't able to do so. A miniature electronic keyboard is being delivered so that we can interview him. That is if he can understand our questions, let alone tap out the answers.’

  ‘And Sheila Wootten and Vanessa?’

  ‘Just leave them to us, Miss Kinsella. In fact leave everything to us. It'll be safer in the long run.’

  As they left Roade waved and said, ‘Bye, Miss Dimwoody,’ and Hook gave Hubert an up-and-down look as if to say, ‘How the hell did you get through that bathroom window?’

  Once they'd gone I gave vent to my excitement. ‘She's still alive, Hubert! I know she is and I've got another opportunity to find her.’

  ‘Don't get carried away, Kate. She could be dead anyway.’

  ‘There's still a chance and that's what matters.’

  ‘What are you plann
ing?’ asked Hubert, frowning.

  ‘Just a little hospital visit, that's all.’

  ‘All! You heard Hook, Tiffield is under guard. The police are hardly likely to let you get a look at the ward door, never mind have a bedside tête-à-tête.’

  ‘Well, he supposedly can't speak, so I can't do much harm, can I?’

  ‘Why go then?’

  ‘Because he might be in danger simply because he does know where Vanessa is, and if that word machine has arrived he might, just might, be able to tell me.’

  ‘I thought,’ said Hubert looking perplexed, ‘you thought he was the kidnapper-cum-murderer. How is it that you're now trying to protect him?’

  ‘It's really very simple, Hubert. I had a dream and that's sorted out a few problems I had with this case. You see, he's not the main man.’

  Hubert sighed. ‘Well, if you're relying on dreams I think I'd better come with you. You may as well go in style. When do you want to go?’

  ‘About two thirty. I can pretend I'm the night nurse. Whoever is guarding him will be at a low ebb in the early hours. It will be easy, you'll see.’

  ‘I've heard that before,’ said Hubert. ‘I'm going to bed.’

  As he walked off towards his bedroom I called after him, ‘Don't forget to set the alarm, Hubert. You wouldn't want to miss this, would you?’

  ‘I'm seriously thinking,’ said Hubert turning to fix me with a glum stare, ‘of upping your rent.’

  Plumbridge General Hospital glistened with melting snow. The car park was only a quarter full and Hubert's posh white car swished quietly into a convenient position near the main door. ‘Now what?’ asked Hubert.

  I began removing my coat, two jumpers, scarf, gloves and then felt a slight shiver as I sat in just my blue uniform dress.

  ‘Simple, Hubert. I bluff my way in saying … well. I'll think of something but if the night porter questions me I'll run my fingers through my hair and you can come in saying you're the undertaker.’

  ‘I see. I couldn't just rush in saying I was MI5.’

  ‘No, Hubert. You don't look like a man from MI5. You look like an undertaker.’