by Peter Boland
Savage rubbed his unshaven chin, thoughtfully. “There must be some reason. I mean, why would you do such a responsible job when it pays so little? Family obviously means nothing to Simon Wellington, he’s treating his son like a regular employee; worse in fact. You’d never get anyone to do that job for such low wages.”
Just then something caught Savage’s eye on the screen showing Ben Wellington’s bank account. A monthly outgoing.
“That name sounds familiar.”
“Which one?” asked Tannaz.
Savage pointed to the screen “There. A payment for the Lupin Care Group, I recognise the name from somewhere. Could you Google it?”
Tannaz opened another window, typed in a search and up popped a web page full of bright images showing happy elderly faces in a selection of care homes, one of which was Heatherlands Nursing Home.
“See, that’s a bit odd. That’s where Jenny Hopkins stays,” said Savage. “The lady we visited who thinks Simon Wellington killed her daughter.”
“Coincidence, maybe one of his relatives is staying there.”
Savage shook his head. “Ben Wellington’s mother died years ago and he has no aunts or uncles.”
“Maybe on his wife’s side?”
“I’ve got an idea, give them a ring and ask.”
Tannaz sat back in her chair and took another sip of beer. “They’re not going to give us that information, it’ll be confidential.”
“They will if they think we want to give them more money. Might be time to reprise your role as Vicky from Wellington Properties. Tell them you’re Ben’s secretary and he’s asked you to enquire about moving his relative to a bigger room and would be happy to increase the monthly payments. They’ll be all ears. Just claim ignorance when they ask who the relative is.”
Tannaz got on the phone and put on her best Vicky telephone voice, all over-friendly and insincere. Savage moved closer so he could hear the conversation.
“Hello, Heatherlands Nursing Home. How can I help you?”
“Oh, hi. Yes, I’m calling on behalf of my boss, Ben Wellington. He currently contributes to the care of an elderly relative. He’s asked me to enquire about the possibility of getting a bigger room for…” Tannaz left a big, awkward pause.
“Hello, are you still there?” said the woman at the other end of the line.
“Yes, I am so sorry. This is very embarrassing. He hasn’t given me the name of his relative. I feel so stupid.”
“That’s okay, I can find out from the system. What did you say the name was again?”
“Ben Wellington.”
“Ah, yes here it is. Oh…” The woman’s voice dropped. “It’s Jenny Hopkins.”
“Oh, that’s right. Jenny Hopkins. I’m such a dimwit.” Tannaz looked at Savage and nodded her head positively.
“That’s quite alright,” the woman replied. “But I’m afraid it won’t be possible to move Jenny to a bigger room.”
“Why’s that?” asked Tannaz.
“I’m very sorry to say, Jenny passed away last month.”
Tannaz nearly dropped the phone. Savage felt all the blood leave his head.
“Miss, miss. Are you still there?” the woman asked.
Tannaz managed to regain a modicum of self-control. “Yes, yes. I’m here. Just shocked is all. I didn’t know.”
“We have notified Ben Wellington. And we will be refunding the payment that has gone out of his account this month.”
“Oh, okay. I must have got my wires crossed. I feel so embarrassed.”
“That’s okay,” said the woman. “Things like this often happen when someone passes. It can be a confusing time for everyone.”
“Would you mind not mentioning this phone call to Ben? He’s my boss and I feel rather silly not knowing that Jenny had passed away.”
“That’s quite alright, dear. Won’t say a word.”
Savage nudged Tannaz and mouthed some words to her, she lipread them and relayed the question to the woman on the phone. “Just one more thing,” Tannaz asked. “How did Jenny die?”
“She tripped and fell.”
“And when was this?”
“It happened in her room during the night of March twelfth. A nurse came in the next morning and found her on the floor. Terrible tragedy.”
“Which nurse found her?”
“Maria Garcia.”
Tannaz hung up, then swore. Her face went white. “Jenny died on March twelfth. Two days after we visited her. Someone killed Jenny after we questioned her. I think I’m going to be sick.”
“Hold it together, Tannaz.”
“That’s easy for you to say. You’re used to war and people dying around you.”
“I am, and it never gets any easier. We can’t do anything to help Jenny, but we can make the scumbags who did this pay.”
“But we’re responsible.”
“Could be a coincidence.”
Tannaz drained her pint and slammed the empty glass on the table. “Oh, come on, Savage. First, Luke, then Jenny. Two people have died after we’ve talked to them.”
“There could be another explanation. That nurse Maria Garcia said Jenny had been telling everyone how Simon Wellington killed her daughter. Knowing what Simon Wellington is like, I think her days were numbered. He’s not the kind of gangster that leaves someone like that bad mouthing him to all and sundry, even if she did have dementia. Could just be that we showed up at the wrong time.”
“Maybe,” she said. “I think it’s more likely we set the wheels in motion.”
Savage sat back in his chair, locked his hands behind his head and breathed deeply. “You’re right. Wellington probably had that place under surveillance. Ben Wellington was not only visiting her, he was paying towards her keep, possibly under the instructions of his father so he could keep an eye on her. He had free and easy access to her. His name was all over the visitors’ book. Plus, there’s the nurse, Maria Garcia.”
“You think she’s involved?”
“There’s a strong possibility. Especially if she was the first person to find Jenny after she died. She might be on the Wellington payroll.”
“If that’s true, she could have gone straight to Wellington after we visited Jenny.”
“Yep.”
“And that could’ve kick-started his plan to silence her.”
They both fell silent, contemplating the fact that by investigating one death they could’ve been instrumental in another.
Savage broke the silence first. “If Maria Garcia is involved, we could get answers out of her.”
“How so?” Tannaz looked longingly at her empty glass.
Savage was a slow drinker. He poured some of his beer into her glass. “Her accent. She lied about where she was from, remember? If she’s here illegally, we could use that as a bargaining chip. Get her to talk or threaten her with deportation.”
Tannaz took a sip of beer. “Won’t she go straight to Wellington, I mean, if she is involved in all this?”
“Not if we lay the threat of deportation on thick. She’ll do whatever we ask, including buying her silence.”
Tannaz began typing rapidly. “Okay, Maria Garcia. Let’s see where you’re really from.”
Chapter 26
Maria Garcia stepped off the bus and slung her bag over her shoulder, checked the road both ways and crossed Shirley High Street. She made it safely across the busy road, dodging between two badly parked cars on the other side. As she strode along the pavement, a Tesco bag swung idly by her side, scuffing against her nurse uniform she wore beneath a bland winter waterproof. Flipping up her hood, she clutched the front of her jacket tightly, hunkering down against the cold, clearly not liking the damp weather.
She was unaware she was being followed, walking home as she did every night. Tannaz tailed her on the oppo
site side of the road, hanging back several yards, keeping a diagonal view of Maria. It was one of the many tricks Savage had taught her, although it wasn’t really necessary. Tonight, Shirley High Street was so congested with foot and car traffic that any amateur could have pulled it off. Still, she stuck with Savage’s advice, following Maria at a safe distance across the road from her.
At one point, Maria Garcia stopped to look in a shop window. Tannaz just kept walking so she didn’t arouse suspicion, until she found a suitable van parked up on the kerb which she stopped behind, using it to hide her presence. Tannaz sidled along the van’s length, stopping just shy of its tailgate. She pulled out her phone, pretending to check her messages. From this angle, Maria would have no idea Tannaz was behind the van. Eventually, Maria lost interest in the window and resumed her walk home. Tannaz continued the pursuit.
A minute later, Maria Garcia stopped at a front door sandwiched between a butcher’s and a shop that repaired mobile phones. Tannaz sped up, increasing her pace like someone hurrying to catch a bus but not fast enough to count as a run. She crossed the road. Her timing couldn’t have been more perfect. Maria Garcia pushed her key in the lock and opened the door ajar just as Tannaz passed, making it look like a chance meeting.
“Oh, hi, Maria,” Tannaz said cheerfully.
Maria turned, flipping her hood down. Eyes narrowed, she scanned Tannaz’s face. For a second, Tannaz thought she would feign ignorance. With her distinctive glossy black curly hair shaved mercilessly up the side and her voluptuous red lips, Tannaz was hard to forget.
“Oh, hi,” Maria said weakly.
“How are you?” asked Tannaz.
Maria stared back awkwardly. “I am good. Oh, well, I better go, have dinner to make.” She gestured to the shopping bag in her hand, then tried to step into her flat. Tannaz blocked her path, standing with her back to the doorway.
“Aren’t you going to offer your condolences?” asked Tannaz.
Maria took a second or two to process the question. A veil of guilt passed over her face.
“Sorry?” Maria replied. “I do not know this word.”
Tannaz didn’t believe her but played along.
“Your condolences, you know, when someone dies. It’s to say sorry, offer sympathy.”
“Oh, yes. You mean Jenny. I’m sorry, I thought you had only met her once.”
“Yes, that’s true,” said Tannaz. “But it’s always upsetting when someone dies for no apparent reason.”
“What do you mean?”
“I think you know.”
Maria’s mouth formed a hard, straight line. “Listen,” she said. “I have to go. Please move out of the way.”
Tannaz stood her ground. “Tell me who Sylvia Sanchez is?”
Rage flared in Maria’s eyes. “I do not know who you’re talking about.”
“Sure you do.”
“No, I don’t.” Maria shoved Tannaz hard in the chest, catching her off guard. Tannaz tripped over the threshold of the open door, falling backwards into a dimly lit, narrow hallway. Several bikes leant against the wall and unopened mail was scattered over the floor. Tannaz tried to get to her feet, but Maria flung the whole bag of shopping at her, hitting her square in the face. The blow bought Maria a precious second or two. She fiddled with the quick release mechanism on the frame of the nearest bike. Slid the saddle and seat post out—a firm uncomfortable racing-bike saddle—and held it high in the air. A nasty, improvised club.
Tannaz pushed her palms down hard on the floor and leapt to her feet.
Maria got ready to strike.
Tannaz’s training kicked in. Savage had taught her that the most lethal part of a striking weapon was the end. It had the most velocity and therefore, the most force. The seat post was no different. Tannaz had to close the gap, minimise the distance and by doing so, the effectiveness of the weapon. Even if she got hit, the closer she was, the less it would hurt. Tannaz lunged at Maria Garcia, getting into her personal space, while bringing both arms up at an angle to protect her head. Maria swung the seat post down hard. It slid harmlessly along Tannaz’s angled left forearm. Simultaneously, Tannaz rammed the heel of her right hand upwards underneath Maria Garcia’s chin. Then she curled her left arm around Maria’s right, the one that held the seat, tangling it up so she couldn’t swing another blow. With her free right hand, Tannaz reached across and gripped the makeshift weapon, twisted her whole body round until Maria Garcia had no choice but to let go, or dislocate her shoulder.
Maria Garcia crumpled to the floor, Tannaz stood over her holding the seat post, ready to strike. Maria scooched backwards on her hands until she reached the bottom of the stairs. She fumbled with a cheap mobile phone. Big clumsy buttons and hardly any screen with a burgundy casing. It looked like a relic from the last century, probably a burner.
“Calling the police?” asked Tannaz.
Maria Garcia ignored her and thumbed the phone clumsily.
“Make sure you give them your proper name, Sylvia Sanchez.”
Maria, or Sylvia as she was properly known, stopped and fixed Tannaz with a pair of terrified eyes. Sylvia was tough, and hadn’t shown any fear while they were fighting. Angry and enraged, yes, but not frightened.
Now she was.
“Who are you?” she asked.
“Someone who can keep secrets,” said Tannaz. “Secrets like, let’s see, a Venezuelan nurse who’s here illegally, pretending to be from Madrid but who can’t do a Madrid accent but thinks no one will notice. And is using the false name of Maria Garcia, which is a dead giveaway because it’s the most common female name in Spain, nice and bland. Bit like calling yourself Sarah Smith over here. Oh and who’s also being paid on the side by Ben Wellington to keep an eye on Jenny Hopkins, and maybe had a hand in killing her.”
Sylvia rapidly shook her head. “I didn’t kill her, I swear on the Holy Mother.”
“I’m Muslim, well ex-Muslim, so I couldn’t care less about the Holy Mother.”
Sylvia got to her feet. Tannaz raised the seat post higher. “Stay where you are, or I’ll wrap this around your head. Then I’ll call immigration and get you out of this country faster than you can say deportation order.”
Sylvia laced her finger together and begged. “Please, please. I’ll tell you anything, anything. Just don’t get me deported, my family relies on the money I send.”
Tannaz lowered the seat post. “Start from the beginning.”
Sylvia’s shoulders slumped and she lowered herself onto the bottom step of the stairs. “I was living in Swaythling.”
“Where’s that?”
“North Southampton, near the airport. I was in an HMO. Terrible place, terrible people.”
“One of Wellington’s places?”
“No, but just as bad. The landlord turned a blind eye to illegal immigrants, so it was all I could get. Then one day, one of Wellington’s men approached me, said did I want to get out of there, live in a nice apartment. I thought he wanted me to be a prostitute. The man said no, all I had to do was work in a nursing home and keep an eye on an old lady, Jenny Hopkins.”
“And you jumped at the chance.”
“Of course. I’m a trained nurse in Venezuela but the only work I could do here were jobs where they ask no questions or want no work visas—picking fruit and cleaning. One of Wellington’s men gave me paperwork and a fake passport, new name. Told me to apply for the job at Heatherlands. I had an interview, started working almost immediately. Meant I could rent this flat.”
“Is this one of Wellington’s properties?”
“No, I rent this myself from the money I earn at the nursing home. It’s not much, just a bed and a room, but I have a nice job and no one bothers me.”
“Apart from Wellington.” Tannaz thought for a moment. “So when he said keep an eye on Jenny, what did he mean?”
“It wa
sn’t Wellington, it was one of his men.”
“Do you have a name? What did he look like?”
Sylvia shook her head. “Met him once, when he gave me this phone.” She held up her mobile. “After that we would only speak on the phone.”
“How long ago was that?”
“Two years ago.”
“Is the phone registered in his name or yours?”
“Is disposable phone.”
“A burner?”
“Yes.”
“And you can’t remember what he looked like?”
“Big, white, mean looking. Shaved head.” Sylvia pointed to her ear. “He had a headset thing…”
“A Bluetooth.”
Sylvia nodded. Could be a million guys in Southampton, Tannaz thought. “What’s the number he calls you from?”
“Is withheld.”
“And what did he ask you to do?”
Sylvia shifted uncomfortably. “I had to tell them things Jenny said, things she spoke about and if anyone believed her. Make sure people knew she had dementia, tell them it was all nonsense. Every Friday he’d call and I’d tell him what I’d seen during the week, and all the things she talked about. And I also had to tell him about any visitors.”
“Like us you mean?” asked Tannaz.
“Yes, but I never got to tell him. Jenny died on a Wednesday and after that I got no more Friday calls from him. I guess there was no point.”
“So Wellington never knew about our visit.”
“No, but he did know about her one and only visitor, his son, Ben Wellington.”
“Ben Wellington was the only person who visited Jenny?” Tannaz asked.
“Yes, she had no family left. They became very friendly, as far as someone with dementia can.”
“Why would Wellington’s son become friends with a woman his father did magic shows with years ago. To keep an eye on her?”
“I don’t think so. He already had me to do that. Simon Wellington, he is a business man. He wouldn’t pay for two people to do the same job.”
Tannaz fitted the seat back into the bike and turned to ask, “So why would Ben visit her so much, and help pay her fees?”
