by Ellis, Tim
***
He’d been sitting in the Accident & Emergency waiting room for two hours watching the digital clock above the reception desk flicker every minute. It was now twenty past eleven.
It was quite busy for a Monday night. The waiting time to be seen for non-life-threatening injuries or medical problems was three hours. Three drunks, bleeding from grazes and minor cuts, had put in an appearance at about ten thirty. After they’d thoroughly annoyed everybody, and one of them had vomited outside the lifts, they’d been escorted off the premises by security. If Angie hadn’t been fighting for her life somewhere in the bowels of the A&E, he might have got involved, but instead he ignored them.
‘Have they said anything?’
He looked round and saw Richards and Kowalski. ‘If you’re both here, who’s looking after Jack?’
‘Marveen,’ Richards said, sitting down on a plastic chair next to him. ‘She came to the house as she said she would, and then when she heard what had happened she volunteered to sleep over.’
‘That’s very kind of her.’
‘So, what’s happening?’ Kowalski said.
‘Nothing – I’ve been left to stew in my own juices for two hours.’
Kowalski squeezed Parish’s shoulder. ‘Do you want me to go and wave my shiny new warrant card about?’
‘I don’t think so, but thanks anyway. They’ll come out when they’re ready.’
‘It looks like that could be now,’ Richards said, directing her gaze at a man in a white coat with grey hair, big ears, and dark bushy eyebrows.
‘Mr Parish?’ the man said.
He pushed himself up. ‘Yes?’
‘Should we go somewhere private?’
‘No, it’s all right. This is my wife’s daughter, and a close friend.’
‘I’m Donald Wade, the consultant psychiatrist. I don’t normally work at night, but I was called in to examine your wife.’
‘But...?’ Richards started to say.
Parish put a hand on her arm. ‘Carry on, Doctor.’
‘Physically, your wife is out of danger. Psychologically, however, she’s traversing a barren wasteland of her own making. Let’s find a room, and you can tell me what has brought you all here tonight.’
The psychiatrist led them along a corridor, and ushered them into a quiet room. Parish told him about Karen Kincaid, Marveen Hollingsworth, the baby being taken away, and about Angie being buried alive in the woods...
‘And tonight she was found buried in a graveyard I believe?’
Richards put a hand up to her mouth. ‘Oh God!’
‘Yes, she was found in a grave. We think the loose earth must have fallen in on top of her.’
‘Possibly... but it explains a lot. A preliminary diagnosis would be clinical depression brought on by the events you’ve just described. She will have been overwhelmed by thoughts and feelings of worthlessness, guilt, helplessness, hopelessness, and self-hatred. The symptoms also include delusions, withdrawal, and thoughts of death or suicide, which might explain why she was in the graveyard.’
‘I can’t believe we didn’t see it coming,’ Richards said.
‘You probably did, but without knowing the seriousness of what you were witnessing...’ He shrugged.
‘She’s been tired a lot lately,’ Parish said, ‘and she didn’t want to be near the baby. I just thought she’d work through it.’
‘It had gone too far. She needs professional help now.’
‘How long are we talking? A couple of days? A week? Maybe a month?’
‘I can’t give you a timeframe, Mr Parish. In some respects mental illness is wholly different from a physical illness. Unfortunately, we can’t just take her to the operating theatre and cut out the infected part – it will take time. If she recovers...’
Richards’ eyes opened wide. ‘If! Don’t say that, Doctor.’
‘You need to prepare yourselves. It could take weeks, months, possibly years. In some cases the patient never recovers.’
Parish staggered, and Kowalski’s strong hand gripped his good arm and kept him upright. How had it happened? Yesterday they were a family. Last night in bed he’d cuddled up to her, and held her tight. Tears burst from his eyes and ran down his cheeks. ‘Why didn’t she ask me for help?’
‘Like you, she never saw it coming. Don’t try to apportion blame. No one is to blame. You can’t rationalise it – mental illness occurs much the same as some diseases. Sometimes there’s an explanation, other times we are left without answers.’
‘Can we see her, Doctor?’ Richards asked through her sobs.
‘Yes, but remember she won’t recognise you.’
‘I don’t understand.’
‘For now, she’s gone somewhere in her mind that you can’t follow. It will take time to coax her out into the real world again – if we ever do.’
Parish put his arm around Richards’ shoulder. ‘Come on, let’s go and see her.’
They walked back to the A & E, and were directed into a cubicle. Angie was lying on a gurney staring into a place between the light and the dark.
Parish took hold of her hand, but she didn’t turn to look at him. How was that possible? They’d only been married six months. They loved each other, didn’t they?
Richards put her head on her mum’s chest and cried as if there was no tomorrow. ‘Please wake up, mum.’
‘What will happen to her now?’ Parish said.
‘For the moment, we’ll treat her upstairs on Beech ward. It might be necessary to transfer her to the Priory Hospital in Chelmsford at a later date, but for now let’s see how things go here, shall we?’
Parish took hold of Richards and guided her out of the cubicle. ‘Come on, the Chief will expect us in work bright-eyed and bushy-tailed at eight-thirty tomorrow morning.’
‘Don’t talk rubbish, Parish,’ Kowalski said. ‘Take as much time off as you need.’
‘And do what?’
‘We can’t go to work, Sir.’
‘Why not? Oh you think it’s an excuse to take a couple of days off. Get your hair done, a manicure, do some shopping, maybe check into a health spa...’
‘You know I don’t mean that.’
‘So, what will you do with all this time off?’
Richards didn’t look at him.
‘You’ll lie in bed unable to face the day, wander around the house in your pyjamas wondering how it all went wrong, start losing weight because you can’t face eating while your mother is being hand-fed in here, cry yourself to sleep... No, we’ll both be working. We have dead people who need our help.’
‘If you say so.’
‘I most definitely do say so, Richards. Not only that, the Chief needs our help.’
Kowalski’s brow wrinkled up. ‘How’s that, Parish?’
‘He’s on an induction course tomorrow. If we took time off he’d have to cancel it, and find two more detectives to take our place. Someone would have to brief them, then they’d be sitting in our desks with their grubby hands all over our files and folders...’
‘But what about mum?’
‘You heard the doctor. Your mum is trapped in a purgatory of her own making. If I could, I’d fight Satan himself to get her out of there, but I can’t. And I certainly don’t want to sit at home feeling useless.’
‘And there’s Jack.’
‘We’ll get someone in to look after him during the day... maybe all the time... a live-in nanny. The midwife might know someone.’
‘You’ve got it all worked out, haven’t you?’
‘If I had, your mother would be here with us. All I want to do is survive her absence.’
‘I know.’
‘Are you sure you don’t want time off, Parish?’
‘No. Richards and I are better off working. Time off would be time off to think, and thinking about things you can’t change never did anybody any good.’
Outside, Kowalski’s car was parked in the car park. Someone had given him a ticket.
<
br /> ‘Bastards,’ he said, screwing the offending article up and throwing it on the ground. ‘Giving people tickets in a hospital car park should be bloody illegal.’
***
Tuesday, 15th January
Marveen was pacing through the house with a bawling Jack when they arrived home. Parish took him off her, and Richards told her what had happened at the hospital.
‘Dear Lord,’ she said. ‘I’ll pray for her. I know someone who will look after Jack if you’re interested?’
‘And will she live in?’ Parish queried.
‘Yes.’
It was agreed that Marveen would stay on in the morning and settle the new nanny in while Parish and Richards went to work.
‘What’s this Alicia Mae Carter like?’ Richards asked.
Marveen screwed up her nose. ‘Young and pretty.’
‘Huh!’
‘Is it a problem?’
‘Not for me,’ Richards said. ‘And it better not be for him either.’
‘I am still here in the room, Richards.’
‘I know.’
Parish stayed up alone feeding Jack until quarter past one. If the truth were told, his son was the only part of Angie he had left. And in his heart he had the terrible feeling that he would never see the light of love in Angie’s eyes again. That night, he cried himself silently to sleep.
***
Richards turned over. ‘I can’t.’
‘You can and you will. I’ll count to two and three-quarters. If you’re not out of that bed by then I’ll drag you out by your ankles.’
‘One...’
‘You wouldn’t.’
‘Two...’
‘Just leave me here.’
‘Two and a quarter...’
‘Nobody counts to...’
‘Two and a half...’
Sitting up in bed she said, ‘All right, I’m up.’
‘That’s not out of the bed. Two and three...’
She threw the quilt off, and swung her legs over the side of the bed. ‘You have no feelings. My mother – your wife, the mother of your son – is in the crazy ward and you’re making me work. I should report you to the European Court of Human Rights.’
‘Again? I’ll get you the telephone number, but you’ll have to come downstairs for it. It’s seven o’clock. You have half an hour.’
‘I need more time.’
‘Twenty nine minutes.’
‘I hate you.’
‘Twenty eight minutes,’ he said as he slid out of the door like a thief. It would be too easy for them both to fall into the pit of despair by staying at home and wallowing in self-pity. The key to getting through this was to keep busy, stay focused on other things, make sure that when Angie came home again it was to a house that had weathered the storm – a house that was a safe harbour for weary mariners who had navigated across the sea of madness.
She came stomping down the stairs at seven thirty. ‘I’ll never get through the day.’
‘You will. We have places to go and people to see. What we do is not a nine-to-five office job where you can call in sick, have duvet days, and generally skive off. If you can’t see that... well, maybe it’s time to pop along to the local supermarket and ask for that shelf-stacker’s job you’ve always wanted.’
‘Don’t think I don’t know what you’re trying to do.’
He threw her the keys. ‘You’re driving.’
They said goodbye to Marveen, and Parish thanked her profusely for all her help. He cuddled and kissed Jack goodbye, and then offered him to Richards. ‘Kiss please.’
She kissed her baby brother. ‘Goodbye Jack, the slave has to go to work now with the overseer.’
Parish gave Jack back to Marveen, patted Digby’s head, and shoved Richards out of the door. ‘Slaves should be seen and not heard.’
‘Huh.’
***
‘I’ve got a fucking press conference at nine o’clock, Stick.’
‘Ah, so I have a bit more than half an hour to do those tasks then?’
‘Is that all you can think about?’
‘Why, was there something else?’
‘You think I like press conferences?’
‘I don’t know. Do you?’
She slapped the email attachment of Judge Boyd’s criminal cases on the side of Stick’s desk. ‘No, I fucking hate them.’
‘Oh!’ he said, picking up the phone.
On her way home last night she’d dropped into a bar called the Ming Inn, and picked up a man called Slug. It was a very apt description. Not only was the shag unsatisfying, but he snored like a pig with a broken snout. This morning, she’d had to threaten to pass his name and the names of all his family for five generations to the drug squad if he didn’t get the fuck out of her flat. It wasn’t a good start to the day. In fact, if her mood became any darker, she would probably blot out the sun.
‘Well, I’ll go and do the press conference, shall I?’
‘Okay, Sarge.’ He laughed. ‘Don’t tell them anything I wouldn’t.’
She shook her head as she walked along the corridor towards the stairs. The guy was a fucking fruit bat.
The press briefing room resembled a tin of sardines, and her insides had more knots than a scout meeting. If there was one thing she could do without, it was press briefings. The young and the pretty were camera friendly – the cameras hated her. They made her look like an angry warthog. This morning, she’d made a small effort. She’d found some make-up that she’d forgotten she had in one of the boxes still waiting to be unpacked, but it hadn’t made the slightest bit of difference to her appearance, and Stick hadn’t even noticed. Why it should be important that Stick should notice, she had no idea.
‘Sergeant Blake for the prosecution,’ she said as she sat down, but nobody laughed.
‘First name?’ somebody asked.
They always wanted to know her first name, and then when she told them there’d be some jokes that she was meant to laugh at but never did. ‘Xena – spelt with an x... Detective Sergeant Xena Blake.’
‘Like the warrior princess?’
‘Where’s your sword, and that round boomerang thingy?’
She wasn’t about to tell them it was called a chakram, and provide the bastards with more ammunition to grind her down.
‘Any chance of seeing you in one of those short bodice type mini-skirt thingamabobs, Xena?’
‘I really liked that Gabrielle, she was hot. Not that Xena wasn’t...’
‘Okay, now that we’ve got that out of the way, shall we continue?’
There was a ripple of laughter.
She read out the statement the Chief had agreed by email earlier. ‘Eleven bodies have been found in the garden of 117 Hobbs Cross, which appear to have been buried between 1997 and 2010. The current occupants of the house – Mr and Mrs David Rushforth – are in no way connected to this discovery. We’ve identified one of the bodies as eighteen year-old Belarus exchange student Petra Loyer, who went missing on 30th May 2002 from Derby. As yet, we have no suspects, but investigations are ongoing.’ She would love to have told them to fuck off, but that probably wasn’t appropriate on live television.
‘Do you know the age and sex of the victims, Xena?’
‘Let’s be clear about something, shall we? It’s DS Blake. If you call me by any other name I won’t respond. In answer to your question, the majority of the victims are women in their early twenties. There is also one male, and I’ve told you about the student, Petra Loyer.’
‘Cause of death?’
‘Not yet. The forensic pathologist has, as yet, not carried out the post mortems. You can imagine that she has her work cut out.’
‘It’s hard to believe you have no suspects.’
‘And yet that is the situation. As far as we can ascertain, nobody connected to the house has had access to the grounds throughout the period of interest.’
‘So, it’s someone else?’
‘As I’ve said, investigations a
re ongoing. When I have something further to say, I’ll call another briefing. Thank you for your time.’
She left them still shouting out questions asking for information she didn’t have, or that she’d answered already.
‘Not bad,’ Stick said when she returned to the squad room. ‘Speaking from a purely spectator perspective, of course.’
‘You couldn’t lie if your life depended on it. I was fucking awful. Have you seen a dentist yet?’
He hesitated. ‘When am I supposed to have done that?’
‘This morning. Get the Yellow Pages out and find a local dentist.’
‘I seem to have mislaid the...’
‘Don’t tell me a Special Ops hero is afraid of the dentist.’
‘No.’
She stood over him with her hands on her hips. ‘Well?’
He had no choice but to do as she said. A local private dentist would see him in three quarters of an hour as an emergency.
‘That wasn’t too hard was it?’
Chapter Nine
They were heading towards the station. Not only was John Frankl waiting there to be interviewed, but they had a number of other tasks to do before they could get out and about again.
‘We have so many people to see and things to do,’ Richards said.
‘Good. We won’t have time to think of anything else.’
‘What else could we possibly have to think about?’
‘Is that you trying to be facetious?’
‘Maybe it would be if I knew what the word meant.’
‘You can interview Frankl.’
‘Me?’
‘Is that a problem?’
‘You’ll be there?’
‘Of course.’
‘It should be easy. We already know he’s guilty.’
‘Do we?’
‘Don’t we?’
‘Describe the evidence you have against him?’
‘We saw him coming out of that door stuffing something into his jacket and looking furtive.’
‘I see. Is that it?’
