Deadly Admirer

by Christine Green

  ‘Thanks,’ replied Hubert in a hurt voice. ‘Then what?’

  ‘I don't know. You'll just have to improvise long enough for me to get past the porter.’

  ‘How will you know which ward he's on?’

  ‘I hadn't thought of that,’ I said slowly. ‘Well, I'll just have to ask, won't I?’

  ‘You haven't thought this through, have you, Kate? You just intend to go blundering in …’

  ‘Don't go on, Hubert. Bet you a fiver we do it.’

  ‘I'm not a betting man,’ said Hubert primly, ‘but I'll definitely up your rent if this turns out to be one almighty cock-up.’

  I walked slowly towards the main door. The night air was cold on my bare arms but I had to pretend to be enjoying it and at the door I made a great show of doing a bit of deep breathing and arm-stretching.

  As I opened the door I acted as if I were reluctant to come inside.

  ‘Wonderful night,’ I said. ‘I really needed some fresh air. I'm agency and I usually work days. It's so hard to keep awake when you get too warm, isn't it?’

  ‘I'm a night bird myself,’ said the porter, who was rotund with dark bags under his eyes.

  He didn't try to stop me so I walked past him. As I approached the corridor I faltered.

  ‘I am sorry,’ I said, turning back, ‘I think I'm lost. It's my first night. I know I'm on male medical. It's the ward they are keeping that man under guard – they needed extra staff because of all the police activity. Could you direct me? I came out another way.’

  ‘It's confusing when you're new, dear. You want Nelson ward. Up the corridor, turn left, up the stairs, then it's second door on your right. It's got a sign – you can't miss it.’

  ‘Thank you for being so helpful,’ I said. ‘This is one of the friendliest hospitals I've ever worked in.’

  The night porter took that as a personal compliment and smiled delightedly.

  I walked quickly but with showy confidence towards the ward. It's all in the walk, I thought, remembering Hubert's words. He was right, of course; he often is.

  I met no one at the entrance to the ward and the right room was easy to find because a young uniformed police constable sat outside on a straight-back chair reading a book.

  ‘Good book?’ I asked as I approached.

  He smiled. ‘Terrible. It's about giant man eating hedgehogs that pierce their victims all over with huge spines before chomping through them.’

  ‘Should keep you awake,’ I said. ‘I've just been sent to take Mr Tiffield's temperature. Is that okay?’

  ‘Fine. His sister turned up an hour ago, spent a few minutes with him. She seemed pleased with his progress when she left.’ ‘I didn't know he had a sister?’

  ‘Nice woman. Grey-haired, walked with a stick. Night sister said she could see him as she'd had a long way to come and had only just heard he'd been admitted.’

  He continued reading his book as I entered the room.

  The overhead bedside light was on and Colin Tiffield was turned away from me, facing the curtained windows. I went round to the side of the bed and pulled back the sheet and blanket that half covered his face. There was no need to take his temperature. It would have been on a minus scale. His eyes were open and staring and the blue of his face matched the dark blue of my uniform. A thick line of bruising encircled his neck. He'd been strangled with a piece of rope or similar. What was used was purely academic for she was on the loose.

  I had to think quickly. If I reported him dead I would not only have to stay but I might fall under suspicion myself.

  ‘Sorry to disturb you, Mr Tiffield,’ I said loudly. ‘You go off to sleep now. No one will be troubling you again.’

  I paused then to take a few deep breaths before I opened the door.

  ‘That was quick,’ said the constable.

  ‘He's very peaceful,’ I said. ‘As warm as he'll ever be.’

  ‘Oh, good. I'll soon be going to my nice warm bed. It's been a hell of a long night.’

  ‘See you,’ I said.

  He nodded and his eyes dropped to read more about homicidal hedgehogs as I made a hasty exit.

  Trying not to run and trying to remember the way back, I walked as quickly as I could. Eventually I got back to the main entrance and the night porter.

  ‘You back again, dear?’ he said with what I thought was a touch of suspicion in his voice.

  ‘I felt faint,’ I said. ‘I'm pregnant you see, early days but I seem to need more fresh air than I did.’

  ‘I understand, dear. You mind you don't get cold outside, though. Want to borrow my coat?’

  ‘No thanks. I'll only be out in the cold a few minutes. I'll be fine.’

  At that moment a phone rang and he turned his attention to the switchboard and I was out of the door as he did so.

  Hubert was waiting with a resigned look on his face.

  ‘Get out of here quickly, Hubert,’ I said, ‘and I mean like – now!’

  ‘What have you done?’ he asked as he drove off with only a marginal sense of urgency.

  ‘Do drive a bit faster,’ I urged as he joined the main road.

  ‘Why?’ he asked. ‘Are we being followed?’

  ‘Not yet.’

  ‘Where to?’

  That was a question I couldn't answer. It wouldn't be long before they found the body and circulated my description.

  ‘Which way?’ asked Hubert irritably as we came to a crossroads. ‘And why?’

  ‘Please, Hubert, just drive fast and keep to the side roads. I'll think of something.’

  ‘You'd better,’ said Hubert, looking in his rear mirror. ‘We are being followed.’

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Even as I turned my head to look behind, the blue light began to flash and the high-pitched siren began its screaming.

  ‘This is it, Hubert,’ I said.

  ‘I could step on the gas,’ said Hubert. ‘What do you think?’ Before I had chance to reply the police car was past us and signalling for us to stop.

  ‘Too late,’ said Hubert as he slowly pulled into a lay-by. ‘Just be polite to them, Kate.’

  Hubert wound down the window as a thin young constable approached the car.

  ‘Is this car yours, sir?’ he asked.

  ‘Yes, Officer,’ said Hubert meekly.

  ‘Do you have your driving licence and log book, sir?’

  From the glove compartment Hubert produced them both. I was most impressed, not only because he had them in the car but impressed with Hubert's general demeanour. It was as if he was used to being stopped.

  The constable scrutinised the documents very slowly. Finally he looked up and said, ‘Nice car, sir. Pity about the rear offside brake light that's not working. And about the speeding. I'd like you to step out of the car and breathe into this bag, sir.’

  Hubert didn't argue. He did just as he was told. After the constable had examined the filter of the breathalyser there was a little nodding and chat and Hubert was handed a piece of paper.

  The constable's last words as he walked away were, ‘Don't forget to get that brake light fixed, sir.’

  We watched in silence as the police car drove away. I hardly dared believe our luck.

  ‘What did he say?’ I asked.

  ‘Fixed penalty speeding fine for doing seventy in a forty mile an hour zone and a warning about the brake light. Nice chap, though.’

  Somehow I now felt deflated. My adrenalin levels were obviously on the wane. What would have happened, I wonder, if Hubert had stepped on the gas … the gas! Of course. Why hadn't I realised the significance of the gas before? The Calor gas cylinders in Sheila Wootten's barn. Why would someone who had gas-fired central heating have Calor gas? Unless that person used it elsewhere. Like in a caravan.

  Hubert had just started the engine and was looking at me questioningly.

  ‘What would you do if you kidnapped a woman?’ I asked.

  Sighing, he switched off the engine. ‘That sort of talk is a bi
t too much for me, Kate. It's not a matter I've given much thought to lately.’

  ‘Come on, Hubert,’ I cajoled. ‘Think about it now.’

  After a while he said, ‘She wouldn't be willing, would she?’

  ‘Of course not. It wouldn't be kidnapping then, would it?’

  He smiled. ‘Well in that case I'd have to tie her up, or drug her, bundle her in my car and …’

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘Take her somewhere safe.’

  ‘Precisely, Hubert. Somewhere where she wasn't likely to be found.’

  ‘Wouldn't all this kidnapping business take a long time to plan?’

  ‘I think something like this has been in the planning stage for a very long time.’

  Hubert watched me as I put on my extra sweater and my scarf and changed into my boots. Even though the car was warm I had suddenly become shivery.

  ‘Now perhaps you can tell me what happened in the hospital, Kate.’

  ‘He was dead, Hubert. He'd had a visitor. The policeman guarding him thought she looked harmless.’

  Hubert's mouth dropped open a little. ‘But if he's dead surely it's all over. He must have left Vanessa somewhere …’

  ‘It's not quite as simple as that, but I think she's in a caravan somewhere. There were Calor gas cylinders in Sheila Wootten's barn. All we have to do now is find that caravan.’

  Hubert's eyebrows raised. ‘You're an optimist. Round Longborough there are at least three caravan sites. You weren't thinking of going further afield, were you?’

  ‘No, Hubert. I'm sure it will be local.’

  ‘Oh good!’ he said sarcastically.

  As Hubert drove off in the direction of Longborough via the B roads he said, ‘You do realise that the police could have easily made the same connection as you.’

  ‘Yes, but we can't assume they'll go to the same places as us at the same time. Anyway it doesn't matter who finds her really, does it? Just as long as someone gets there in time.’

  We'd been driving a few miles when I saw car lights in the wing mirror.

  ‘Hubert, who's behind us?’

  He glanced in his rear-view mirror. ‘It's not a police car, Kate, so relax.’

  ‘What sort of car is it?’

  ‘I don't know. Maybe a Lada. I only know the quality end of the market.’

  ‘Bear with me, Hubert. What colour is it?’

  ‘It's dark red or black. It's difficult to tell. Would you like me to stop it and give it a full inspection?’

  ‘Don't get riled. Only one more question. Who is driving?’ ‘Now you're getting silly, Kate. How would I know who's driving?’ ‘Male or female?’

  Hubert looked into his mirror and the staring lights of the car behind. ‘We'll have an accident if this carries on. Anyway I don't know. I can't be sure. It's too far behind. If it was my own father I couldn't tell.’

  ‘What about your mother?’

  ‘She couldn't drive. Can I concentrate on the road ahead now before we land up in a ditch?’

  I stayed silent for a while. The Lada eventually turned off down a lane and soon the road signs told us Longborough was within ten miles. There was one big caravan site I knew of, holiday homes that opened in May and closed in October. Enclosed by fences and not easily accessible in the winter.

  ‘We won't be able to get into Lakeview Holiday Park,’ said Hubert as if he'd guessed what I was thinking. ‘I think they have guard dogs patrolling.’

  ‘Probably just a few “Guard Dogs Patrolling” signs up; it's cheaper than real dogs and it's bound to deter people.’

  ‘Last time we were on one of these jaunts I was savaged by a dog. I haven't forgotten even if you have.’

  ‘That was only a scratch, Hubert. This time we'll have no trouble with dogs. I'm sure of it.’

  ‘Huh,’ he muttered.

  The road to Lakeview was narrow, tree-lined and so long and winding that we thought we had made a wrong turn. Until, that is, we came to the entrance. There at the wrought-iron gates were three police cars, lights blazing, and the sound of police dogs and the sight of as much police activity as Longborough could muster if the FA Cup Final was to be played there.

  ‘Drive on, Hubert,’ I said, putting my head between my knees so that hopefully I wouldn't be seen. I expected to be stopped but Hubert drove on slowly and nothing happened.

  After a mile or so Hubert said, ‘There's a small permanent caravan site the other side of Longborough and the other one is a gypsy site so it's not likely that Vanessa would be there, is it?’ ‘Try the permanent one then.’

  Somehow the spark had left us both. Hubert drove silently, except to make the comment that he could do with a good breakfast. I debated with myself how long my bladder would last. And when we did find Vanessa would we be in time?

  The permanent caravan site was well away from the town, a mere five or six homes arranged in a walled field. Three of them had their lights on although it was only just six a.m. and still dark and murky. As Hubert parked the car I said, ‘You stay here, Hubert. I'll make a few enquiries. They might not open up if they see you.’

  ‘I'm only the driver,’ he said.

  My enquiries didn't take long. At the first caravan I called on, the door opened and an irate middle-aged woman in a dressinggown said, ‘Now what? I'm sick of this. Haven't we been disturbed enough? First we get the police in droves, now it's … well, what do you want?’

  ‘I am sorry. I am a policewoman, I've been sent back to ask about any more caravan sites in the area.’

  ‘Don't the police have maps? The lot that came before seemed to know where they were. They found us, didn't they?’

  ‘I'll be in trouble with the Inspector if I don't come back with something.’

  Her thin face softened a little. ‘Look love, Longborough isn't that keen on caravan sites, especially permanent sites. They think it lowers the tone. There are only three proper sites. And of course those who keep their caravans in their fields or back gardens.’

  My heart sank at the thought and I must have looked despondent because she said, ‘I didn't mean to moan, love. You police are only doing your job. I just hope you find that poor girl. But as for caravans … mind you … I've just thought. There's a farm over by Little Charnford, two miles the other side. The farmer sometimes has a caravan to let. I was over there last summer doing a bit of pick your own strawberries and someone was renting it then.’ ‘Did you see them?’

  ‘Oh yes, dear. It was a couple. He was in a bad way. Couldn't walk very well. Lord knows why they were there because it's only a field, there's no proper facilities. Perhaps she did a bit of farm work just during the summer.’

  ‘Thank you so much,’ I said. ‘You may have just saved a life.’ ‘That's nice, dear. Glad to be of help.’

  As I got back into the car Hubert said resignedly, ‘Where to now, madam?’

  ‘A mere few miles,’ I said. ‘A farm the other side of Little Charnford.’

  ‘When this is over, Kate, you and I are going somewhere for a slap-up breakfast: eggs, bacon, sausage, mushrooms, fried bread – the lot.’

  ‘No tomatoes or black pudding?’

  ‘I could manage that.’

  ‘If we find Vanessa – yes. If not I won't be able to eat.’

  It began to snow again as we passed through the tiny hamlet of Little Charnford. It was easy enough to find the farm; it seemed to be the only one for miles. At first I couldn't see the caravan because it was in a field behind the main farm building. But as we drove past, there it was: old and a tired white with a thin blue stripe running along its side. Both the farm and the caravan seemed neglected and deserted. I'd hoped to find Sheila's red Golf but the only vehicles around were a Land-Rover and a tractor.

  ‘Come on, Hubert, let's have a look round.’

  ‘I expect the police have already done that.’

  ‘Don't be so sure. We could get lucky.’

  Hubert left the car reluctantly, pulling up the collar of his overcoat an
d then began searching in his coat pocket for something.

  ‘Want a swig?’ he said, showing me a small silver flask.

  ‘Brandy?’

  ‘Do you good.’

  ‘It won't, Hubert, it just causes peripheral dilatation of the blood vessels.’

  ‘Does that mean it will warm me up?’

  ‘It will seem to but really …’

  ‘I'll settle for that, Kate.’

  I refused to drink any. I didn't want my wits dulled nor any of my brain's vital blood supply ending up in warm fingers. My brain needed all the help it could get.

  There was still no sign of life in or around the farm and the caravan door was locked. On tiptoe I peered through the windows. It was empty. One Formica table with bench seats and cushions plus a window seat and a wall cupboard was all that space allowed. Disappointment welled inside me, until I saw it. Just a shimmer by one of the bench seats and then my breath on the windows made it disappear.

  ‘We need a crowbar, Hubert, or a hammer. We have to get in.’ Hubert tramped back to the car and opened the boot. Moments later he came back, crowbar in hand. ‘Right, stand back,’ he said as he began to force the lock.

  It took longer than I expected but with a final heave and a wrench the lock gave and we were in.

  The caravan had the smell I expected of all caravans, Calor gas and plastic and a slight staleness. The silence and the emptiness were even more disappointing inside. Even the shimmering gold on the floor was not, as I expected, one of Vanessa's golden hoops, but a tiny piece of screwed-up gold foil. As I bent to pick it up I heard something. A groan or a sigh: I wasn't sure which, but something! Hubert heard it too. We looked round but there was nothing to see. The sound had stopped now but we searched in the shower compartment and the portaloo and in the one fulllength cupboard. But all was still and silent. We waited, trying not to breathe too loudly lest we blocked the tiniest sound. Then after a while we heard a movement, just a shuffling sound but this time I knew where it was coming from. Quickly I lifted the bench seat lid up and there, knees drawn up to her chest, hands tied behind her back, mouth taped with Elastoplast, was Vanessa. Her eyelids flickered but didn't open. We both bent to lift her out and as we did so we failed to hear the movement behind us or see the face of the person who dug the gun into the small of my back. The voice, though, I recognised.