by L M Krier
'No signs of any vehicles at any of the cottages, and no one about to ask. All the curtains were drawn in Angela's. It looked a bit deserted, as if she might be away. We'll just have to keep going back at different times of day until we find her.
'So it's down to you, Jezza,' Mike turned towards where she was stifling yet another yawn. 'If we're not keeping you up?'
She shook herself, as if trying to wake up, and said sweetly, 'No worries, Sarge. Bright-eyed, bushy-tailed and raring to go.'
'Right, for now, Steve, dig up everything you can find about Angela,' the DS told him. 'Vehicle licence check, National Insurance, credit cards, anything.
'Already on it, Sarge.'
'Should we get back to the law firms?' Rob asked. 'Now we have her real name? It's just possible she may work at one, perhaps not as a solicitor, but as something else.'
''Surely, when we were ringing round asking about an Angela Mortice someone would have had the gumption to say no, but we have an Angela Mortensen?' Jezza asked, but Ted noticed that there was none of the usual sarcasm in her question.
'It's worth trying,' Ted put in. 'We're the closest we've been yet, so let's not leave any stone unturned, not even the most unlikely. Law firms are not always known for giving out information freely, if we don't ask the right questions.
'Now, where are we up to with Mandy Griffiths?'
'She claims not to know anyone called Angela Mortensen,' Sal said. 'When I mentioned the episode at the hospital, she admitted talking to the woman, but said she didn't know her name. She's sticking to her story that that's the only contact she's ever had with her. We know Angela changes her appearance, so it's just possible Griffiths would not have recognised her anyway, even if she saw her at Snowdon Lodge. She may just be telling the truth.
'She's being as cooperative as anything, clearly desperate to avoid any implication in a murder case. She's admitted to robbing her neighbour. We can safely charge her with that, I think, boss, if you're happy. But I don't know that we can justify keeping her in custody much longer, without charging her.
'We're going through her phone records, with her permission, to see if we can find any connection to our Angela. But there's nothing incoming or outgoing that we can identify as anyone other than her family, friends and work.'
'I'm inclined to agree with you, Sal,' Ted said reflectively. 'Let me have a quick look at the file before you charge her and we'll decide what to do from there.
'Right, you all know what needs doing. Let's get on with it. Let's hope this is the day we finally get hold of Angela and see what she has to say for herself.'
He stood up and headed towards his office, throwing over his shoulder, 'Jezza, I'd like a word, please.'
This time, at least, he did not leave her standing. He was worried she might fall asleep on her feet if he did. He nodded to the spare chair, then sat down opposite her.
'Right, DC Vine,' he began formally. 'Without wishing to be critical of your appearance, or to pry into your private life, you look dreadful. Should you even be at work?'
Now he was looking at her more closely, he was sure she had lost weight. She did not really have any to lose. The dark smudges under her bloodshot eyes were even more pronounced.
'I'm fine,' she said, attempting a breezy tone. 'I'm not ill. I just don't sleep very well.'
'Frankly, you look as if you haven't slept in a week. What you do in your own time is your own business. Up to a point. Once it starts impacting on your work, then it becomes my business. Can you not take something to help you sleep?'
She shook her head emphatically.
'I don't do medication. And I don't do drugs, if that's what you're thinking.'
'I don't make assumptions, Jezza,' he said calmly. 'I try not to judge people. But you are a member of my team, therefore you are my responsibility. And something is clearly affecting your ability to do your job as required.'
'I can do my job,' she protested. 'I'm just a bit tired. And I can't take any medication. I really can't. It's … it's complicated. But I can't.'
Ted looked at her hard for a long moment. As usual, she had no trouble in holding his gaze. Behind the defiance he could see something else. Determination? Desperation?
'Right,' Ted said finally. 'Go and start on your appointed tasks, then get off to Cottage Row. And don't let me down, Jezza. I've already given you far more rope than any of your previous senior officers have ever done. I don't want it to come back to hang me out to dry.'
His words were still ringing in her ears as she set off for Cottage Row later that day. She was so bone-crushingly tired she had no idea how she was going to get through the day. She had already fallen asleep at the wheel of the Golf at a red traffic light. Only the angry honking horns of the cars behind her had jolted her awake. And then she had stalled the car in her haste to drive off.
Her cursing, as she crashed the car into first gear and pulled away, tyres squealing, was mostly directed at her new boss. Ted bloody Darling. Not because of his words to her, but because, for the first time in her police career, she had finally found a boss she could respect.
He was clearly passionate about his work and scrupulously fair in the way he ran his team. Damn him! Despite her prickly shell and determination to stay aloof, she found she wanted to prove something to him. Nothing to do with her usual bloody-mindedness, but because she actually valued his opinion.
Being short, gay and called Darling must have caused him so many problems in his police career. But perhaps because of that, she had never met anyone who could command such respect without ranting, raving and resorting to disciplinary hearings.
She did not yet feel part of the team. They were too wary of her to let her in. Too protective of their boss, and disapproving of the way she behaved towards him. But she had never before worked in a team where she had not encountered lewd, blokey remarks which, if she challenged them, were put down to humour which she had misunderstood. Or accusations that she was a dyke.
'You need shagging, darling,' she had been told so many times by sneering male colleagues, when she had objected to their comments.
She now desperately wanted to be the one to bring Angela to justice, to prove to Ted that she was a good copper. And when she did, she was going to ask for a day off – a weekday off – and she was going to sleep the entire day.
The team would have been surprised once more at the total transformation she underwent as soon as she arrived at Cottage Row. The ripped jeans had already been replaced by neatly tailored trousers, the boots by comfortable shoes. The rebellious hair was gelled into submission. Carefully applied make-up covered most traces of the dark shadows under her eyes.
Her entire posture changed as she approached the door of the care home and rang the bell. The slouch was gone. She stood up tall, light on her feet, and appeared brimming with energy and ready for her shift. At least the rain had stopped and the sun was trying to appear.
One of the carers let her in and she went in search of her pale pink tabard. Her name badge showed her as Jessica.
Once she was wearing it, she breezed over to where an elderly woman was sitting in a shaft of weak sunlight which streamed through the stained glass side panels of the porch. With her walking stick, she kept stabbing at the moving patterns of light on the carpet.
'Hello, Lucy, how's my favourite person today?' Jezza asked brightly, bending down to make eye contact with the woman.
'Oh, hello, love, how lovely to see you,' Lucy Lee said, her rheumy eyes blinking up at her. 'Is it our Doris?'
'No, it's Jessica,' she said, then, seeing that she had not been heard, she repeated more loudly, 'Jessica.'
'Yesterday?' the woman asked in confusion.
Jezza laughed. 'You've not got your hearing aid in again, have you, bless you? I'll go and get it for you. I won't be a moment.'
When she came walking back up the corridor from the bedroom, hearing aid in hand, there was a woman standing next to Lucy. Jezza knew instinctively that i
t was Angela.
The CCTV from the hospital had not been clear enough to be helpful. But this woman matched perfectly the description Maurice had been given on an earlier visit to Cottage Row. A smart, expensive-looking tailored skirt and jacket, black hair neatly pulled back into a French pleat, sober glasses with dark frames.
Jezza had rehearsed this scene so many times in her head. Don't do anything to panic her. Act naturally. Find a way to get some information from her, even if it was only her car registration number.
'Hello,' she began brightly. 'You've come to see Lucy? That's lovely, she loves to have a visitor. I'll just pop her hearing aid in for you, then you won't have to shout. Would you like to take a seat?'
Jezza fought to keep her hands steady as she fiddled the hearing aid into Lucy's ear, while Angela sat down. There was a small table between her and Lucy. Jezza could see that she had put a bakery box on it.
'You've brought her some cakes, too. That's great. She has a very sweet tooth,' Jezza went on. 'I'm sorry she can't have them this afternoon, though. We have to monitor her blood sugars today, so nothing sweet. Shall I pop them in the fridge for you, then she can have them another day?'
'No, don't worry,' the woman she knew as Angela said, slightly too quickly. 'I'll just go and put them back in the car. I know I'll forget them otherwise and I do enjoy watching her eat her little treats.'
'What are these on the floor? Are they mice?' the older woman was saying, poking determinedly at the light patterns on the carpet with her stick. 'They're very quick. I can't catch the little beggars.'
Angela had stood up and was holding the bakery box almost protectively as Jezza said, 'Honestly, it's no trouble at all, and I can remind you to take them,' then, to Lucy, 'No, sweetheart, it's just the light, shining through the glass.'
'I'll just do it now, then it's done,' Angela said. 'Perhaps you could organise a cup of tea for us while I do? That is, if Lucy is allowed tea this afternoon?'
'Back off, Jezza,' she told herself mentally, trying to keep calm, keep control of the situation. Aloud, she said, 'Yes, of course, I'll see to that right away. Just as long as Lucy doesn't have sugar.'
'Are you sure they're not mice? They keep scampering about,' Lucy said, poking more vigorously.
Something about Angela's body language as she went out of the door, still clutching the cake box, told Jezza she had blown it. She had spooked Angela into flight and she was not coming back in.
She decided she just had time to rush to the bay window to get a glimpse of Angela's car before she drove out of the car park. She took a step forward. Lucy's prodding walking stick went between her legs and she crashed to the ground, her head hitting the small side table, hard, before she reached the floor.
Jezza had always thought the expression 'seeing stars' was just poetic licence. She quickly discovered it was not. For the moment, she was not going anywhere. She tried her best to reassure Lucy, who had become extremely agitated and was wailing loudly. Her cries quickly brought help in the shape of a carer and, shortly behind her, the home manager.
'Whatever's happened? Are you all right, dear?' the manager was saying anxiously.
Jezza's head was spinning. She decided she would much prefer to lie where she was for the time being. Angela would be long gone by now. She had completely blown it, so she may as well stay on the floor, where her morale already was.
'I'm fine, honestly. Just give me a minute. It's nothing serious,' she tried to reassure everyone. 'Lucy tripped me up with her walking stick. I think I head-butted the table on the way down. But you need to phone my boss.'
Ted was working at his desk when his mobile rang. It was the care home manager, clearly anxious. She outlined what had happened and added, 'Jessica was most insistent I should phone you directly, not her sergeant.'
'Is she all right?' was Ted's first question.
'We've checked her out carefully and she appears to be fine,' the manager assured him. 'But I think it would be advisable if she didn't drive home, after a bump on the head. She's very upset, worried that she let you down.'
'I'll send someone round to collect her, and please tell her not to worry. This is clearly not her fault, from what you've told me.'
When he disconnected the call, he went out into the main office. Only Mike and Maurice were in, working at their desks. Perfect. Despite appearances to the contrary, Maurice was the best person to deal with anyone hurt or anxious. He was naturally the fatherly type.
He quickly outlined what had happened. As he expected, Maurice's first reaction was to ask if Jezza was all right.
'Mike, take Maurice over to the home. Maurice, you drive Jezza back to her place in her own car, then either come back with the DS or jump on the bus. Make sure, both of you, that you let her know I understand none of this was her fault.
'Tell her only to come in tomorrow if she feels up to it, and then to tell me what happened. Maurice, when you get back, you report to me first, please. I don't want this gossiped about until I know exactly what has happened.'
Mike and Maurice replied with a brief, 'Sir'. They both knew what it meant when the boss used that tone of voice.
Chapter Thirty-seven
Mike and Maurice got back to the station together and, as instructed, Maurice headed straight for the boss's office. Ted had just made himself a mug of tea, so he made coffee for Maurice and put it in front of him as they both sat down.
'Bloody hell, boss, I don't like to speak out of turn,' Maurice began.
Ted could not suppress a smile as he said, 'It's never stopped you before, Maurice. Tell me first how she is. Is the injury serious?'
Maurice shook his head.
'The home checked her out and I did too,' he said. 'She's going to have a nasty bump on her forehead by tomorrow but I think she's fine. She was very upset, poor lass. I was nice to her. I did my daddy hen bit,' Maurice said with a wink, then went on, 'No, but seriously, boss, Jezza must be minted. Do you know what car she drives?'
'A Golf, she told me,' Ted replied.
'Not just a Golf, boss. A GTi cabriolet, top of the range. Custom paint job, leather seats, the works. Must have cost more than thirty grand,' Maurice told him. 'And her place? She's got a flat in one of those big posh buildings on Heaton Moor Road. The ones that go for two or three hundred grand. She didn't ask me in,' he said, with a twinge of regret.
'Are we sure she's not moonlighting as a high-class hooker? I mean, you saw the way she was dressed up in the pub. It would explain why she's always falling asleep …'
Ted held up a hand.
'Stop right there, Maurice,' he said sternly. 'That's totally unacceptable. You can't make assumptions about a colleague behind their back. Especially not ones like that.'
'I know, boss, but if she was a suspect, we'd be thinking that,' Maurice said stubbornly.
'She isn't a suspect, she's a valued member of this team,' Ted replied shortly. 'Even if she was a suspect, there are all sorts of other perfectly plausible explanations. She may have independent means. So, how did you leave it with her, about coming in tomorrow?'
'She was really worried about coming in to face you, boss,' Maurice said. 'I told her you were a pussy cat really, very fair. And that the best thing about this team is that there's no blame culture. She said she hoped to be in late morning.'
Ted nodded.
'Great, thanks, Maurice, you did well,' he said. 'Just remember though, this particular pussy cat doesn't like gossip about colleagues. Keep your theories to yourself, please. If I hear any talk within this station, I will know where it's come from and the consequences will be dire. Do I make myself absolutely clear, DC Brown?'
'Perfectly clear, sir,' Maurice said formally, but he was grinning widely as he left the office, after gulping down the rest of his coffee.
Ted was not at all surprised that Jezza did not appear first thing the following morning. She must have been left with quite a headache from her fall, if nothing else.
There had been ano
ther small breakthrough. Rob had succeeded in finding out that an Angela Mortensen did work part-time for a firm of solicitors in town, but as a legal executive, rather than a solicitor.
'She works mornings, but she's been signed off on the sick for a couple of months,' Rob told the team. 'Obviously they wouldn't give me any confidential information. They did say she cut her hours from full to part-time after her husband died, but she's still not been coping well.
'Reading between the lines, it sounds like she had some sort of nervous breakdown and is still suffering from depression. I did persuade them to give me the name of her GP, by pointing out that we were seriously concerned for her well-being. I thought I'd talk to him next. Again, although he will certainly wave the confidentiality card, if I can persuade him we are anxious about her, he might help. It's possible, for instance, she may have given some indication if she's staying somewhere other than at her home at the moment.'
'I'm going to go back to the cottage again later today,' Mike chipped in. 'If she's not around, I could perhaps have a scout round the garden, just to see what she's growing there.'
It was not long after the morning briefing that the manager from Cottage Row phoned Ted to ask after Jezza. She spoke highly of how well she had been carrying out her role there.
'It really wasn't her fault, Inspector. Lucy is a menace with that walking stick. It's a real Health and Safety hazard. Jessica is not the first person she's tripped up with it. We've tried taking it off her but she gets so upset we keep having to give it back.
'Do please give Jessica my best wishes and say I hope she'll come back and see us all again soon. Such a lovely young lady, so bright and cheerful.'
Ted thanked her and rang off, surprised. The description didn't tally at all with the truculent side that Jezza presented in the workplace. He was all the more determined to try and find out more about her and why she was always so prickly at work.
Later on that morning, Maurice knocked and came into Ted's office.
'Jezza just phoned me from the car park, boss. She's here, but she's really worried about facing you. I told her it would be fine, but in the end I said I'd go down and get her.'
