Chameleon

by Ken McClure

  'They don't have a laboratory service there so Richardson's call wasn't anything to do with the job.'

  'So why would he be calling a mental hospital?'

  'Maybe he had a friend or colleague who worked there?'

  'If that was true his wife would have known about it. They told each other everything.'

  Jamieson thought for a moment then said, 'Everyone said the strain was getting to him. Maybe he was going to have himself admitted for a rest before he had a real breakdown.'

  'And then decided to kill himself instead?' said Sue.

  Jamieson acknowledged the incongruity. 'Claire Richardson doesn't believe that her husband did kill himself,' said Jamieson.

  'It would be difficult for her to do that under any circumstances,' said Sue. 'She was his wife. Suicide is always seen as a betrayal by the people who love you most.'

  'I wonder what she would think about the idea of her husband having himself admitted as a patient at Costello Court.'

  'Ask her,' said Sue.

  'Tomorrow,' said Jamieson.

  ELEVEN

  'A psychiatric hospital!' exclaimed Claire Richardson when Jamieson told her on the telephone. 'Why on earth would John contact a psychiatric hospital?'

  'That's what we have to find out,' said Jamieson. 'You are sure that your husband never mentioned it, even in passing?'

  'Positive.'

  'Claire, your husband was under a lot of strain. It did occur to me that he might have considered admitting himself to such a hospital just for a bit of a rest?' Jamieson could feel the tension that he had created as he waited for Claire Richardson to reply. He sensed that she wanted to shout down the idea but had stopped herself, probably admitting silently that her husband had been under severe stress. In the end, she settled for, 'Without telling me? Never.'

  'Then there must have been another reason for his call,' said Richardson diplomatically. Perhaps nothing to do with this affair at all.'

  'There must have been.'

  Jamieson said that he would keep Claire informed of any new developments and put the phone down. He let out a long sigh and said to Sue, 'Not the brightest thing to have suggested to Claire Richardson.'

  'She's very protective about her husband. You can't expect her to be anything else.'

  'I suppose not but maybe she's right. Maybe Richardson did have another reason for contacting Costello Court.'

  'Like what?'

  Jamieson thought for a moment then said, 'Maybe he remembered a similar outbreak of infection at another hospital in the past and rang up to compare notes?'

  'So you think this mental hospital has a Gynaecology Unit?' asked Sue.

  There had been no trace of sarcasm in Sue's voice but Jamieson saw the slight smile playing at the corner of her mouth when he looked at her. 'You spotted the flaw in the argument?' he smiled. He tapped his pen against his teeth and then had an idea. He said, 'Maybe Richardson was checking up on a patient?' There was a moment's silence before he looked at Sue and added, 'Or someone who had been a patient!'

  Sue saw exactly what Jamieson was getting at. 'Like Thelwell!' she exclaimed.

  'Exactly!' replied Jamieson excitedly and looking for the piece of paper with the phone number on it. 'If Thelwell has a history of mental instability then it's something we should know about.'

  'Can you just call and ask the hospital?' asked Sue doubtfully.

  'No, I'm not even going to try,' said Jamieson. 'They wouldn't tell me. I'm going to call Macmillan at Sci-Med and ask him to find out for me.'

  Jamieson phoned and made his request. Macmillan was not available but Miss Roberts took the message and assured him that the information would be relayed to him as soon as they had obtained it.

  'Now what?' asked Sue.

  'I have to go out this evening,' said Jamieson.

  'Where to?'

  'It's Thelwell's choir practice night.

  It started to rain as Jamieson sat in his car at the end of the street where Thelwell lived. Every thirty seconds or so he had to activate the screen wipers to clear it. He checked his watch for the umpteenth time and saw that it was eleven minutes past seven. At fourteen minutes past, Thelwell, shoulders hunched inside a dark raincoat with the collar up, stepped out on to the pavement and closed the garden gate behind him. A few moments later the dark green Volvo moved off towards town.

  At first Jamieson thought that Thelwell really did intend going to a choir practice when he found the car in front following a route that would take him to St Serf's church. He was relieved when the Volvo passed straight by and continued on towards the city. There was anxious moment for Jamieson when Thelwell went through an amber light while he himself, travelling some one hundred metres behind had to stop and wait for the lights to change. He caught up however at the next junction. Thelwell was at the head of the queue with a Metro and a Ford Escort behind him. The Escort driver stalled as the lights changed and Jamieson cursed under his breath as he saw Thelwell start to pull well ahead. They were moving into busy traffic. It would be all too easy to lose him in this part of town. The Escort finally moved off, engine over-revving as its driver covered his embarrassment.

  A service bus made to move out from the kerb as Jamieson tried to make up lost ground. Unwilling to concede right of way, he held his line and slapped his hand on the horn praying that the bus driver would back down. He did but not until he had given Jamieson a heart stopping moment. He snatched a quick glance in the rear view mirror and saw the bus driver make a rude gesture. 'You too,' he muttered, still desperately trying to see round the traffic in front and fearing that he might have lost touch with Thelwell.

  The road ahead straightened out and Jamieson's heart sank as he failed to see the Volvo anywhere up ahead. He was rapidly approaching a 'Y' junction and he had no idea which arm to take. If he chose right it would take him round the back of the station and on towards the main shopping centre. If he forked left it would take him down through the red light district… The decision was made. He veered left and hoped for a bit of luck. He got it as he cleared a roundabout and momentarily got a clear view of the road ahead for he was in time to see a green Volvo turn left at the foot of the hill. It might not be Thelwell, he cautioned himself but on the other hand, it just might.

  Jamieson slowed and turned left where he thought the Volvo had left the main road. He could not be sure because, in this area, there was an opening every twenty-five metres or so leading off into the warren of run down tenement buildings that lay behind the main thoroughfare. There was no sign of Thelwell's car as he moved slowly along a narrow lane, looking to both sides and checking in the mirror to see that he wasn't holding up traffic behind him. There were a number of bars and restaurants in the lane and many had advertising boards out on the pavement. People were constantly stepping off the pavement to walk round them.

  A drunk staggered out from a Greek Restaurant, his exit being assisted by a swarthy man wearing a dinner jacket who emerged behind him gesturing angrily. Jamieson had to brake to avoid the drunk who stumbled out in front of him but he was travelling so slowly that there was no danger of hitting the man. The drunk regarded him with expressionless eyes and then veered to return to the gutter.

  Two whores looked at Jamieson's car as he slowed to a halt at an intersection. One smiled, the other put her hand on her hip. They were standing together at the corner of the street. Jamieson assumed that working in pairs was their safety measure. He wondered how effective that would be but recognised that business would probably go on as usual whatever the risk. Paid holidays and sick leave were alien to the oldest profession.

  Jamieson turned the corner and looked along both sides of the street. There was still no sign of Thelwell's Volvo. He pulled in to the kerb and paused with the engine still running while he thought what to do next. Live jazz music was coming from a bar some fifty metres down the street. He found the tune familiar but the title eluded him. He ran through a few possibilities in his head before remembering that i
t was Cherokee.

  Jamieson was vaguely aware that his action in stopping had been misinterpreted by a black girl wearing a tight white sweater under an open leather jacket and a black woollen mini skirt. She started to cross the road towards him. Through the open window on the driver's side he could hear her thick thighs rubbing audibly together. He smiled thinly and held up his open palm to signify that she was not the object of his desire and the girl retreated with a sullen shrug. Jamieson felt embarrassed by the incident. He found himself wanting to apologise. He was about to move off again when the passenger door of his car was suddenly pulled open and a male voice said languidly, 'Run out of petrol have we sir?'

  The sneer in the voice immediately put Jamieson's back up as had the man's action in opening the car door. Apart from anything else it had startled him. 'No we haven't,' he replied, maintaining the plural for the benefit of the man he knew was about to announce his credentials as a police officer.

  The anticipated warrant card was flipped open and the sneering voice continued, 'Then just what are we up to sir might I ask?'

  Jamieson read the relevant credentials from the card. The man was a detective constable. 'We are working,' said Jamieson, presenting his own ID. 'We are working for the Sci Med Monitor and we could get very annoyed if some half-arsed detective constable were to fuck up our investigation. We would like to be alone.'

  'Sorry sir,' replied the constable his manner changing immediately. 'I thought…'

  'I know what you thought,' said Jamieson. 'I'm going to be in the area for a while.'

  'Very good sir.'

  'Have you seen a green Volvo estate around here?' asked Jamieson.

  'Lots,' replied the policeman.

  'I wouldn't have thought there would be too many down here,' said Jamieson.

  'You'd be surprised,' said the constable. 'Apart from the yuppie evening visitors who come down here to eat and savour the 'danger' there are lots of well-heeled folk who actually live down here. It's become trendy to return to the heart of the city ever since Prince Charles said so. The Volvo mob have been moving in in a big way. They live in converted warehouses and mews garages. They need the estate car to take the Labradors for a shit up in the park. I sometimes think that the whores round here will soon have daylight running lights.

  Jamieson did not smile. He was thinking about what the man had said. He was considering the possibility that Thelwell might actually have his own flat in the area. That would have distinct advantages for a killer. It would be much more convenient than killing from home. It would be somewhere where he could change his clothes, wash, brush up after the event. He wouldn't have to go home with blood stained clothes and, from what he had heard about the victims, there had been a lot of blood around. It might even make sense on a psychiatric level. Thelwell might be suffering from a split personality. The flat might be a base for his other self. Mr Hyde's place.

  Jamieson continued to wind his way through the back streets, finally drawing to a halt when he found a parking place that was being newly vacated by a white Golf GTi that took off as if it had been entered for Le Mans. He backed into the space and switched off the engine. He rested his arms on the steering wheel and gazed out through the windscreen as he contemplated failure. It had started to rain again so he turned on the intermittent cycle on the wipers. He smiled wryly as he remembered telling Sue how simple it would be to follow Thelwell. He had been wrong. He had lost him.

  The prospect of giving up and returning to the hospital was uppermost in his mind when a green Volvo suddenly crossed at the junction some fifty metres away. It happened so quickly that he did not get a look at the driver. Knowing that it would take a bit of manoeuvring to get his own car out of the small space he had just backed into he jumped out of the car and ran down to the junction to see where the Volvo was heading. It turned left half way down the street. Jamieson swithered on going back for his car but then gambled on the Volvo being near its final destination. He ran down to the intersection where he had last seen it and sneaked a look round the corner. He was looking into a broad, dark cul-de-sac, the end of which comprised a tall, picket fence which fronted a builder's yard. The green Volvo was parked to the left of the gate which carried a notice saying that it was in use 24 hours. The car was empty.

  The question now was, where had Thelwell gone? Jamieson looked up at the windows on both sides of the street. Thelwell had not had time to walk more than half way back along the lane he reckoned. That narrowed the choice down to one of four doorways leading to the tenement flats above. As Jamieson considered he heard the sound of conversation coming up behind him. He looked round. A soldier, obviously very drunk, was being supported by a girl half his size who was doing her best to keep him upright. They turned into the lane. Jamieson, who had moved back into the shelter of a shop doorway, watched their unsteady progress until they had passed. He was about to move out again when the soldier fell to the ground.

  'Oh my God,' exclaimed his companion in a broad local accent. 'Come on! Wake up! You can't sleep here!' Her voice changed to cajoling when this didn't work. 'Come on my lovely. Up on your feet. We are going to have a party remember?'

  The soldier gave a drunken giggle but made no attempt to get up. 'Have a party,' he repeated drunkenly. Then in a sing song voice he started to chant, 'We're going to have a party… we're going to have

  …'

  The whore with him finally lost her temper after failing to get him to his feet for the third time. 'If you think I've carried you all this way to have you flake out on me you've got another think coming sonny Jim!' she ranted.

  Jamieson could see that she was searching through the soldier's pockets. He watched her remove his wallet. 'Put it back!' he hissed from the doorway.

  The whore was startled and frightened. 'Who's there?' she demanded shakily. 'Where are you?' She got to her feet and looked about her nervously 'Oh my God!' she exclaimed as fear of the unknown got the better of her. She flung the wallet at the soldier and took to her heels.

  Jamieson moved the soldier to a sitting position on the pavement and put the man's wallet back in his pocket. He decided that that was the best he could do in the circumstances and left him to continue along the lane. He still had no real idea what he was going to say or do when he found Thelwell but he suspected that he might have plenty of time to think about it. He found another doorway and decided to wait there until Thelwell reappeared.

  After half an hour of moving from doorway to doorway to aid his circulation Jamieson had a stroke of luck. He saw what he felt sure was Thelwell's silhouette against one of the lighted windows above. He walked over to the relevant building and tried the entrance door. Another piece of luck; it was unlocked. He slipped inside and closed the door quietly behind him, holding his breath as he released the handle with painstaking slowness.

  The possible stupidity of his action was becoming more and more apparent to him as he put his foot on the first step. He might be about to confront a psychopathic killer with little more than the hope that the man would fall at his feet and confess everything. The thought made him tense all his muscles. He had to be prepared for anything that might happen but as long as Thelwell did not have a gun or a knife he should not pose too much of a problem. After all, he, Jamieson, had the element of surprise in his favour. The fact that all the lights in the stairway had suddenly just gone out argued against that.

  Jamieson stood stock still in the darkness. He was half way up the third flight of steps but the blackness was so complete that he could almost feel it. He desperately wished that he had a match or cigarette lighter with him. There was a smell of dampness in the stair well and the cold was tangible against his face when he moved. Suddenly there was a shuffling noise somewhere above him and he drew in breath sharply. 'Is that you Thelwell?' he demanded, annoyed that his voice had developed a slight tremor. Silence. There was a sound on the other side of him, another shuffling of feet. 'Stop playing games Thelwell. The game's up!' said Jamieson sounding
a lot more courageous than he felt. Silence.

  Jamieson took a step back down the stairs, feeling for the step below with the toe of his right foot. He was trying to move as quietly as possible but his heart was beating so fast and so hard that he felt sure that it must be clearly audible. He kept his back against the wall to ensure that there was at least one direction that an attacker could not approach from. He could not come from directly in front either he reasoned for that was where the railings were and on the other side was a thirty foot drop into the well of the stairs. He had the feeling that there was more than one of them in the darkness. They were approaching him from above and from below on the stairs. Nerves wanted him to say something out loud again but he steeled himself to keep quiet and not give away his own position too accurately.

  'Psst,' said a voice above him like sibilant snake.

  'Psst,' answered another voice from below.

  They were playing with him! thought Jamieson. The bastards were playing with him! Fear and fury vied within him as he fought to remain calm. His stalkers could not see him any more than he could see them, he reasoned. Slowly he reached out with his foot again for the next step down but this time it was pulled away from him with a sudden violent tug. He crashed heavily down on to the stone steps with his cheek taking the brunt of his fall. His head filled with stars and the pain made him cry out loud. A fist smashed into his right kidney making him cry out again as he tried to roll himself into a ball for protection. He swung his fist backwards hoping to make contact with something and he did but there was no power behind it and in reply a foot crashed into his stomach taking the breath from him.

  'Get his arms!' rasped a voice in the blackness.

  Jamieson felt his arms being pinned behind him as he was dragged to his feet and more blows thudded into his body. As he felt himself being pushed against the railings the thought that they might be about to push him over the banister into the stair well and almost certain death bred new strength in him. He lashed out with the heel of his right foot and caught one of his attackers below the knee cap. The man yelled out and released his grip on Jamieson's arms so that Jamieson was able to pull back a bit and turn round. He took a swipe at his other attacker but failed to make any contact whereas something heavy and hard hit him on the side of the head and the strength drained from his limbs.