by Carole Pitt
'Who opened it?'
'Jacob thought I should. So I did.'
'That's interesting. He was obviously suspicious about the contents. Did he seem nervous?'
'I don't think he was suspicious, cautious maybe. He's aware he could be targeted by nutcases. There are vigilantes out there, some of them are dangerous.'
Elizabeth pulled on latex gloves and handed Patterson a pair. Lane had tried resealing the box and she wondered why, to protect it? Like the tissue, someone had carefully wrapped the mask in blue tissue paper. A woman's touch, Elizabeth guessed as she gently prised the blue paper away. She picked up the mask and studied it for a few seconds. It had to be one of the missing masks from Grasmere. She could feel the layers of papier-mâché and when she turned it over, the inside was rough. Something caught her eye, initials written on the bottom left hand corner. She tried to make them out but the ink had spread making the letters blur into each other.
'Take a look. Your eyes are better,' she handed it to Patterson.
'Difficult to see, first letter might be, I, or a T. Not sure.'
She lowered the mask carefully into the box. 'Thinking about it, I don't think the letters are initials. Because Morven was judging, I'm certain I heard that someone in the art department devised a code to prevent any favouritism.'
'That wasn't necessary. Even with their full names on, how would Morven know who was who? It might be worth asking these art teachers why they resorted to codes.'
'We can think about that later. I want to go to the Radcliffe on the way back.'
Lane was listening intently to their conversation. Elizabeth cursed. She was bound to tell Morven what she'd heard.
When they returned to the sitting room, Jacob Morven had positioned himself next to Sergeant Adams. Elizabeth noticed the change in him. His face was drawn and he appeared to have lost weight. 'I assume there was no note with this,' Elizabeth held up the box.
Morven stood up. 'We would have told you.'
Walsh asked. 'Okay if I see it?'
Elizabeth held the box while Walsh and Adams had a look inside.
'Would you say it's an authentic representation of a Nisga'a mask?' Elizabeth asked.
'Who made it?' Walsh asked.
'A sixth form pupil studying at Grasmere,' Patterson answered.
'For English kids who know little about the culture, I'd say it was a pretty good effort.' Adams added. 'It's a shame they hadn't used cedar wood instead of paper.'
Morven spoke quietly 'Too expensive and none of them knew how to carve,' he stared at Elizabeth. 'Show it to John, when he's well enough. He's the real expert.'
Lane directed her question at the Canadians. 'Did either of you know the professor.'
'Walsh answered. 'I met him once when he came up to the Nass Valley. Sergeant Adams was away on holiday at the time and missed him. He'd organised a symposium for a group of Eastern European academics studying the lava beds. He also paid a visit to the First Nation Museum.'
Elizabeth didn't want to discuss Wilson's phantom mask in front of the Canadians. Because she hadn’t told them immediately, she didn't want them to think she was hiding important information. In any case it had nothing to do with them. She turned to Walsh and Adams. 'Patterson and I need to go to the hospital. Do you want me to arrange your transport back to Cheltenham?'
Walsh held up her phone. 'We've got access to a driver from the embassy. I didn't want to take advantage, but I think I will now.'
'Are you hoping to talk to McAllister?' Adams asked.
Elizabeth was ready to leave. 'That wasn't my intention. I need a report from his doctor confirming there were no other injuries.'
The room went quiet as everyone digested what she'd said.
CHAPTER FORTY-SIX
Patterson took a minor road out of Bibury then turned onto the A40. Elizabeth hadn't spoken since leaving Morven's place. He turned his head and saw she was dozing. To break the silence he turned on the radio but kept it low.
Classical music filled the confined space until he fiddled with the tuning and picked up the local radio station. The hourly news bulletin was due in five minutes and he wanted to check whether the media was still running the Harper story. Patterson skirted Oxford and followed the signs to Headley Way and the John Radcliffe Hospital situated three miles from the city centre. It was an Oxford University hospital, one of the largest teaching trusts in the UK with an international reputation. The Harper story had been usurped by a minor earthquake in California.
He knew he couldn't risk parking just anywhere even if he was on police business. He spotted the signs to the trauma unit and cardiac services. The allocated area was car park one. As he slowed to negotiate the ramps, Elizabeth woke up.
'Here already,' she said, rubbing her eyes. She sat up and yawned.
'What do you want me to do while you see the doctor?' Patterson asked.
'What do you want to do?'
'Order a strong coffee and try and turn my brain off for half an hour.'
* * *
Patterson parked and went off to buy a ticket. Elizabeth hurried to the hospital's main entrance.
She stopped at reception, introduced herself and asked to see Dr Burgess. When she reached the cardiac department, a junior nurse guided her through the maze of corridors until she stopped and knocked on a door. 'Mr Burgess is the consultant in charge. He's looking after the professor.'
Burgess was probably in his mid sixties, a small slim distinguished man. 'I didn't realise you would be here so soon, otherwise I would have been more polite and met you at reception.'
'You're a busy man and I don't intend wasting your time. I need information on Professor McAllister's condition and what might have caused his heart attack.'
Burgess seemed astonished at her question. 'Are you conducting an investigation into a simple cardiac arrest?'
'I need confirmation for my reports. Professor McAllister is by association connected to a criminal investigation. I wouldn't be doing my duty as a police officer if I didn't follow this up.'
Burgess visibly relaxed. 'He's doing all right, stable for the moment. As soon as he was admitted we got his medical records. He has a history of hypertension, associated with acute stress. Otherwise, he's not in bad shape. Personally, I think his long-term anxiety and stress combined with his sedentary lifestyle has contributed to the problem. Take into account he's also getting on a bit. The journey from Canada and concern for his friend's situation will also have played a part. I don't know the whole story, so perhaps you could fill in the gaps.'
Elizabeth went on to tell him about the parcel but didn't disclose its contents. 'That's as much as I can tell you. This is an ongoing inquiry.'
'I understand your suspicions but I assure you there's nothing untoward about his medical condition. If that's what you want to know.'
'Extreme fear can cause heart attacks,' Elizabeth said.
Burgess smiled. ‘It's not impossible but extremely rare. I do agree a severe shock can cause cardiac arrest but a good proportion of patients survive these serious attacks. Come on Inspector, are you insinuating an attempted murder.'
'I disagree, what if someone knew he was susceptible to a specific trigger. It's like any severe phobias, arachnophobia for instance. Each time I set eyes on a house spider my blood pressure shoots up and my heart pounds.'
'It's a bit hit or miss. Why not use a more reliable method.'
'Exactly, and murderers do. Think of poisoned chocolates sent through the post. It has happened. The professor was profoundly distressed by this parcel arriving.'
'Won't forensic analysis throw up clues?'
'I hope so.' Elizabeth suddenly remembered she'd locked the parcel in the boot and needed to get it to the lab quickly now Burgess wasn't going to alter his opinion on McAllister's diagnosis.'
'Why do you think this was an attempted murder?'
'I'm covering all angles, if someone sent it deliberately to cause harm I need to know who that person is.'
Burgess looked uncomfortable. 'His friend has been charged with murder, yet the professor came to England to offer support. What if...?'
Elizabeth realised he'd stopped before making an accusation. She finished the doctor's sentence. 'What if Morven deliberately frightened the professor. Is that what you were about to say?'
Burgess shook his head. 'Of course not, it's a ludicrous idea.'
'We all have suspicious minds, but police officers are paid to think that way. We'd never solve any crimes if we always believed everyone was honest and good. Personally, I'd be very surprised if Morven had tried to harm his friend.'
Burgess sounded relieved. 'I'm glad to hear you say that. I heard the professor is well-known at Oxford University.'
Elizabeth said, 'I'm told he's a very well respected man, especially at UBC, sorry, the University of British Columbia.'
'Before he leaves here, I'm going to suggest he retires, but I doubt he'll thank me for it. Would you like to see him before you go?'
'That's very kind if you,' Elizabeth weighed up the extra time involved, but knew she'd feel better afterwards. She followed Burgess to the IC suite and as soon as she entered McAllister's room, it brought back memories of Frenchay. Seeing Patterson and wondering if he was going to make it. She stood at the bottom of McAllister's bed, pleased to see his colour appeared normal. He was sleeping peacefully.
'Are you alright?' the doctor asked. 'Policing is a stressful occupation. I've seen the consequences many times.'
'I'm sure it's not half as stressful as yours,' she said and handed him her card. 'Please get in touch as soon as Professor McAllister is well enough to hold a conversation.'
'Don't you mean an interrogation?' he asked.
'If it's necessary,' she answered and made her way back to the cafe where Patterson was engrossed in a newspaper.
'Time to go,' Elizabeth said. 'I keep having visions.'
'What kind of visions?'
'Mutiny back at Park Road, Morven dressed in his regalia, and Jade Harper trying to tell me who killed her. I'm not capable of handling two investigations Tony. We need someone else at the helm to keep us on course.'
'We're like a ship without a captain,' Patterson said. 'Sailing the high seas with no idea where we'll end up.'
'Only until we find a replacement for Daly,' Elizabeth added.
CHAPTER FORTY SEVEN
While they were on the road, she made a few decisions. The more time she and Patterson spent away, shoring up the Morven case, the less time she had to deal with the Harper case. She was expecting her team to find the breakthrough. Yes, they'd started out fine but without regular briefings and tangible leads to follow up they'd lose the impetus and stagnate.
She compiled a list of immediate things to do in her head. For starters, Eldridge and Gardiner could re-interview the other art teachers while they paid Beresford a visit. Elizabeth had only met him briefly and regretted not talking to him sooner. As she climbed the stairs, she heard a massive argument going on in the incident room. Patterson was coming up behind her.
'Quietly,' she said, pointing.
Eldridge was shouting, 'You fucking bastard,' to someone, at which point Elizabeth flung open the door and saw Darren Johnson taking a swing at him with a golf club. Katie Gardiner was trying to move Eldridge out of the firing line while a young DC called Lawrence Richmond held a metal chair over another junior detective's head. A group of uniforms had gathered around and were encouraging the violence. Katie Gardiner turned her head and spotted them.
Elizabeth yelled as loud as she could. 'I thought this only happened in schools when the teacher disappeared out of the room. Why the hell are you all behaving like juveniles?'
Johnson swung the golf club again narrowly missing Patterson. 'We're pig sick of him.' He pointed at Eldridge.
Patterson grabbed Johnson's arm and tightened his grip until the club crashed to the ground. 'Try that again Johnson and you're out of here, for good.'
'Shut up, all of you,' Elizabeth shouted, and paced up and down trying to resist the urge to scream. If she lost control now, they'd see it as a weakness. She'd witnessed plenty of fights over the years, nearly always due to long hours and a buildup of stress. How to deal with it effectively was her immediate problem.
Patterson's analogy of the ship without a captain was true. Some people were born leaders, she wasn't. The secret was finding the balance between the likes of Yeats, who was power hungry and someone like herself who at times lacked confidence. After her promotion to Detective Inspector, she hadn't considered whether she was suitable for the job. Her euphoria at passing the exams had clouded any misgivings about her capabilities. Looking back, without Daly's help and patience, she might not have merited her rank. At times, she knew she'd made hasty judgments and when she'd broken the rules, it was from stupidity and lack of experience. Yet Daly had tolerated her naivety, had seen her potential and said as much. Whether she liked this present situation was irrelevant, she was stuck with it.
She was aware they were all staring at her. How long had she been pacing up and down, seconds, minutes? She heard quiet laughter and stopped.
'What's so damned funny?' she asked.
'You're turning into Daly,' Patterson said. 'He always paced to stop himself blowing a fuse.'
Eldridge had to go one better. 'You'll be wiping your face with a tea towel next.'
She stared at them, trying hard not to smile. 'That's the best compliment I've had in years. As Patterson has just mentioned DCS Daly, I'm prepared to give you an update, on one condition. You start pulling together and stop this nonsense.'
A murmur of agreement went around the room.
'Okay, back to Daly. I realise there's been much speculation and confusion about his absence. That I'm pleased to say, is over.'
All eyes focused on her. She'd never had such a captive audience. 'Back in early February, he wasn't feeling well. I actually noticed he wasn't himself, but didn't dare mention it. His doctor sent him for tests and initially the prognosis was poor. I've promised not to divulge his illness for various reasons. However, I'm pleased to say he's on the mend and will make a full recovery.'
'Any idea when he's coming back?' Eldridge asked.
'I don't think we should build our hopes up yet. Remember Daly's been going to retire for over a year and he may feel it would be better for his health if he does. In any case DCI Yeats is theoretically still in charge, and until we know his plans, it's all up in the air.'
'About DCI Yeats,' Katie Gardiner said. 'I don't know whether I've told you about my uncle. He retired from Thames Valley Police and now works for a big security firm. He was telling my mum about his latest job at one of the national papers. He's heard there's a big story ready to break about the old Royal Ulster Constabulary. Maybe that's why he had to go back to Belfast.'
Elizabeth kept her expression neutral. Any sign that Gardiner's story had affected her would give the game away. 'It's possible Katie, but we need to concentrate on our main objectives. I'm now solely responsible for the Harper investigation and tying up the Wilson one. As of yesterday, the CPS has decided to raise the stakes. They're asking us to put forward more evidence before they make a final decision.'
'Surely the evidence is watertight?' Johnson said.
Elizabeth accepted that some of the younger members of CID were still a bit naive. She couldn't criticise them because she'd been no different. The legal complexities were overwhelming at times, even to her.
'As it stands at the moment we have circumstantial evidence against Morven, but not enough to back up the assertion of guilt. What we lack is direct evidence. As you know, going to court with just circumstantial evidence doesn't guarantee a
guilty verdict. We have no reliable witness to Morven acting suspiciously. All we have are his fingerprints on carving the tool, which as it belonged to him is no surprise. Everyone who attended his lecture saw him handle it. If he left it in the hall before going to lunch, anyone could have taken it. Morven admitted physically bumping into Wilson so that proximity could account for fibre exchange.'
Elizabeth pointed to the white boards. 'See these. It's a joke, wiping them clean before logging any information onto the computer. Actually it's worse than a joke. It's a dereliction of duty. I won't ask which fool is doing this, because you're all staying here until...,' she banged on the board, 'is covered with everything you've collected either physically, mentally, or you found scrunched up in the waste bins. We could have lost a significant piece of the puzzle because you're too bone idle to collate reports. So get on with it now and I'll let you know when you can go home. Patterson, you come with me.'
They trooped back to Daly's old office. Elizabeth sank into the leather chair and stretched out her arms and legs and weariness crept over her.
'Bit of a close shave there,' Patterson commented.
'It's not their fault, it's the circumstances.'
'I wonder how Walsh and Adams got on with Morven. I thought one of them might have rung to let us know what happens next.'
'They don't believe he did it,' Elizabeth said.
Patterson seemed surprised. 'How can you possibly say that? If they do it means they know something we don't, and that's unlikely.'
'Not if Morven's confided in Lane to the point where she's certain of his innocence. Do you know something Tony? I've had a lingering thought that he's playing games with us.'
'Why would he do that?'
'Think about it. In his situation he's got nothing to lose. He is either exonerated or he goes to trial. If he's found guilty, he'll appeal. Meanwhile he'll only serve the first couple of years here in the UK and then the Canadians will want him back for the remainder of his sentence. The he'll appeal again. All the time he's in jail he'll remain a high profile figure and people will campaign to have him released.'
