Ward Zero: The dead ward

by Linda Huber

  ‘We’re keeping an eye on him, don’t worry,’ said Harry West heavily. ‘But he was pretty convincing about leaving her in the High Street. A couple of things he said about that check out in his favour. The image from Mrs Brady will be through very shortly, and we’ll know. Get Frankie to the station, and we’ll take it from there.’

  Caitlyn lifted her car key from the hall table and turned to see Frankie standing in the doorway.

  ‘You think she’s dead, don’t you?’ she said accusingly.

  ‘Frankie, I don’t know. No-one can know that. And don’t you dare say anything to upset Mim even more, do you hear?’

  The girl nodded, tears in her eyes. Caitlyn hugged her briefly as they went back next door. Suppose they never found Sarah, never found a body… People sometimes disappeared without trace, and no-one ever found out what happened to them. Please, not that for Sarah.

  The drive back across town was enough to settle Jack’s nerves. Everything was sorted; he could get on with his life. But how empty it seemed without Sarah. All he had left was the house, and he couldn’t do much more there until he had more cash. Well, he would get that, and this time from a source unconnected to a hospital. It would distract him from what was going on with Sarah and at Mim Dunbar’s. He had to make his life bearable again.

  He’d given some thought to the woman he’d met in the Indian Takeaway, Sheena Cameron, and her mother, and concluded they were ideal candidates for his next cash injection. He couldn’t use his usual modus operandi, but a new plan would be worth making. He’d swing past on the way home and see if he could find out anything useful.

  Thanks to the takeaway, the parking spaces near Mrs Bruce’s home were all full, and Jack had to park quite a long way beyond it. He walked back along the narrow pavement, wishing he’d left the car at home. Mrs Bruce lived in a mid-terrace house with a small patch of gravel in front. There was a brass name plate by the bell and he crept up the path. Damn – all it said was E + T Bruce. But maybe he could work this without the woman’s first name. Jack returned to his car, playing out the possible phone call in his head. When he arrived home he went straight to the drawer in the kitchen and pulled out the prepaid mobile he used for the scam. Now the phone book – hopefully E + T Bruce were listed… yes, there they were. And now was as good a time as any.

  ‘Mrs Bruce? I’m John Murray, a friend of Sheena’s – can I ask you something?’

  ‘Yes?’ She sounded suspicious, and Jack began to wonder if this was going to work after all. Oh well, he’d have one good try, and if nothing came of it he wouldn’t have lost anything.

  ‘I’m planning a little break for Sheena and Tim and me, a long weekend. Sheena said Tim would be happy whatever I chose, but I’m sure she just didn’t want me to book anything I couldn’t afford. So I thought I’d ask you the kind of thing Tim would enjoy most.’

  Mrs Bruce sniffed. ‘Teenage boys ain’t hard to please. Rollercoasters, that kind of thing. Like they have in Paris.’

  Jack made himself sound uncertain. ‘Oh – Euro Disney? I’m afraid that would be a bit too expensive – though Sheena did once say she’d love to go there…’ He allowed his voice to trail away. ‘I don’t suppose you could lend me the deposit?’

  It sounded desperate even as he spoke, but she didn’t refuse outright. ‘Why don’t you and Sheena come for tea tomorrow? Tim has a birthday coming up. I’ll call Sheena – maybe we could work something out.’

  ‘Excellent. Thank you so much. I’ll see you soon.’ Jack stammered his goodbyes and flung the mobile back into the drawer. What a disaster. What would Sheena think when her mother talked to her about her friend John Murray? Oh, well – it would only have been a few hundred. Trips to Paris didn’t cost the earth these days.

  But oh, God – when would Sarah die?

  None of them spoke on the way to the police station. Caitlyn parked in one of the visitor spaces at the side of the building, and went round to open Mim’s door. The older woman was back on both sticks today, so she must be feeling shaky. Caitlyn gripped Mim’s arm as they walked. Should she have said something about her suspicion that Jack was Petra’s killer? No – there was no point upsetting Mim even more until they knew for sure, and that would be very soon.

  Mandy Craven met them inside the door. ‘We’re using DI Summers’s office. The image should be here very shortly.’

  Mandy settled Mim into the one comfortable chair while Caitlyn and Frankie sat on a broad window ledge overlooking a sports field. DI Summers came in and greeted them briefly, then sat down facing the computer screen, Harry West standing behind him. The silence in the room was oppressive, but Caitlyn couldn’t for the life of her think of anything to break it. This was too important for the trite – and there was nothing meaningful she could say, either. Frankie looked up at her, all eyes, and Caitlyn wondered how on earth the girl would cope if Sarah died. First Petra, then Sarah. No child could cope with that.

  The minutes ticked by, and Caitlyn squirmed on the hard window ledge. How long did it take to make an e-fit picture? She was about to ask when DI Summers spoke tersely.

  ‘Okay. Here we are.’ He gazed at the computer screen, lifting the phone when it started to ring. Caitlyn stared at him, aware that Mim and Frankie were staring too, and none of them were breathing normally. DI Summers clicked then double-clicked the mouse and spoke into the phone.

  ‘Yup. It’s here. Hang on.’

  He swung the screen round to face the room, and Caitlyn and Frankie stepped forward to lean over the back of Mim’s chair. The face on the screen was an unreal-looking caricature with short dark hair, a long nose, high cheekbones and wide-set eyes.

  Caitlyn’s ears began to buzz and she fought back dizziness. Mim’s hands were fluttering towards her throat.

  ‘But that’s Jack,’ said Frankie, her voice puzzled. ‘He’s Sarah’s boyfriend.’

  Harry West’s face was as grim as Caitlyn had seen it. ‘I’m afraid people aren’t always what they seem.’

  Mim was trembling, and her voice shook. ‘Why would Jack take Sarah – why – dear heavens, was it Jack who killed…’

  Caitlyn leaned over to hold her, then Frankie began to cry, and Caitlyn let Mim go to cuddle the child. ‘Mim, we’ll find him. We’ll make him tell us where Sarah is.’ But oh, would they be in time to get her back alive?

  DI Summers clattered the phone down. ‘They’re on their way to bring him in. We’ll search his home and his workplace. We’ll question the neighbours and his workmates and any other names we come across. If it is humanly possible, Mrs Dunbar, we’ll find her. I want you to go home and wait there.’

  Caitlyn helped Mim to her feet. How shaky she was, leaning heavily on both sticks. With Mandy on the other side they went back to the car, away from the bustle inside the police station, all the rushing and shouting that was the start of the search for Jack – and Sarah.

  ‘We’ll be home in ten minutes, Mim, and get you some tea.’ Caitlyn reached across to fasten Mim’s seatbelt. As if tea was going to help. Poor Mim. Poor all of them. And thank God in heaven her kids were with their father, well away from this.

  Mim was leaning back in the passenger seat, her eyes closed. Caitlyn looked round at Frankie. There was anger as well as sheer misery on the child’s face, exactly what Caitlyn was feeling too. No-one could imagine a worse scenario than this. And there was nothing they could do to hurry the search along.

  ‘Miss Mackie! Mrs Dunbar!’

  Mandy Craven was running back towards them and Caitlyn stalled the engine, her heart hammering. What had happened? Had they found –

  Mandy Craven opened the door and bent to speak to Mim. ‘We’ve just heard – a shoe has been found behind the shops in the High Street, and it matches the description of Sarah’s. Could you wait and see if you can identify it? It’s being brought here now.’

  ‘Of course,’ said Mim faintly.

  Caitlyn and Mandy helped her back into the building. This time they were shown into a waiti
ng room close by the front desk. Mim reached for Frankie’s hand. Caitlyn saw how the girl held on for dear life, and how Mim choked back a sob. At least they had each other. But if Sarah’s shoe had been found then she wasn’t wearing it, which meant – what?

  A few minutes later they heard people at the front desk. Caitlyn and Mim exchanged apprehensive glances. This was the shoe arriving.

  A few minutes later Harry West came into the waiting room, carrying a black strap sandal in a see-through plastic bag, and Mim sat up straighter. Caitlyn leaned forward.

  Harry gave Mim the bag with the sandal.

  ‘It looks like hers,’ whispered Mim. ‘Black leather, silver buckle. And new.’

  She turned the sandal over and Caitlyn began to shake. The size was there on the instep, a continental 38 and not the British 5. It was a Swiss shoe.

  ‘It is Sarah’s,’ said Mim, choking on the words. Frankie burst into tears, and Caitlyn closed her eyes as Harry grabbed the sandal and strode off with it.

  Mandy Craven came back in. ‘That’s all. You can go now. The sandal’s off to forensics, and we’ll be in touch.’

  For the second time Caitlyn helped Mim back to the car.

  Jack stood in his lovely kitchen, trying in vain to calm his racing heart. This couldn’t be good for him. This was stress; you were supposed to avoid it. Everything would be all right, because it had to be. The Sarah situation was under control. He swallowed painfully. Of course he was sad she would never be Mrs Jack Morrison, but… that wasn’t meant to be, and he had to get on with his life. And the best way to do that was to concentrate on the house. One more cash injection, then he’d take a break until next year. He had to forget Sarah and start living normally again.

  He would go to the caff for something to eat, yes – the fridge was empty. And he should think about Sheena’s mother – maybe he could still turn that round. The woman didn’t know he was the one who’d phoned her… maybe the face to face method he used in the hospitals was best. He could plan while he was eating, and go and see Mrs Bruce on the way home. It was quite safe; Sheena only went on Tuesdays.

  Forty minutes later, a hamburger and chips digesting in his stomach, he was standing on the other side of the road, looking across to Mrs Bruce’s house. The problem was, for some reason his head wasn’t cooperating – he couldn’t think of an excuse to go and see the woman. He’d have to leave this for another day. And even if she did give him a load of detail about her life, he could hardly phone and pretend to be yet another of Sheena’s boyfriends wanting to give her a treat. He licked his lips. He could go and… no, he had to…

  It was difficult to think straight. Tears welled up in his eyes and he fumbled for a tissue – was he losing his touch? All those years he’d spent running round doing what Mum and Dad told him, being a puppet. Now was his time, and he couldn’t lose that. He needed a lovely home – he hadn’t meant anyone to get hurt. Not Petra and not that old woman and oh, not Sarah.

  It was all hopeless.

  A movement in the window of the house opposite attracted his attention, and to Jack’s horror he saw Sheena standing there with – presumably – her mother. His heart almost stopped, so great was the shock. He knew the older woman. That was Liz. He hadn’t known her surname, but she was one of the people his mother would meet at the supermarket and chat to, while he was standing there behind her, sweating with a boxful of groceries.

  Now Sheena was pointing at him and Liz Bruce was talking, then Sheena held up her phone. Christ no. She’d taken a photo of him, her friend John Murray, the one who’d phoned her mother and wanted to borrow money for a surprise…

  Black despair crashed down on Jack. That was it. It was over.

  He turned and fled back along the road. Home, home. Back to his refuge.

  Caitlyn slumped in the corner of the sofa, clutching the mug of tea Frankie had made. She should call Mrs Brady and thank her for doing the e-fit picture. The lists had worked, and if they got Sarah back it would be largely due to Glynis Brady.

  The phone rang, and Frankie rushed to answer it before Caitlyn could move. Mim reached out a hand and Caitlyn gripped it tightly. Every phone call, any moment, might bring the worst news of all. There was nothing she could say to comfort Mim; the poor soul was in hell.

  ‘It’s Mr West,’ said Frankie. She gave the phone to Mim and leaned on the arm of the sofa, her thin little body tense.

  Mim’s face was set. She said ‘Yes,’ and ‘I see,’ and clicked the phone off. Caitlyn breathed out. Whatever it was, it still wasn’t the worst news.

  ‘Anything?’ she said, surprised she sounded so calm.

  ‘He’s coming round. Jack’s fingerprints are on the sandal,’ said Mim.

  Caitlyn slumped. It brought them no closer to finding Sarah. The police would be searching Jack’s house, they’d be fingerprinting things there too, and looking for evidence that Sarah had been there. Other officers were at the hospital talking to Jack’s colleagues.

  It was after two o’clock. Sarah had been missing for over twelve hours.

  The doorbell rang, and Caitlyn rose to answer it. Frankie immediately took her place and cuddled up beside Mim on the sofa.

  Harry West, and one look at him told Caitlyn that there was still no good news.

  He sat on the armchair and spoke quickly. ‘We’re searching the area where the sandal was found, but we haven’t found anything else there. Jack Morrison seems to have vanished off the face of the earth, and that’s not a good sign. We’re speaking to the neighbours and we’re pulling the street apart looking in sheds and so on. He has an old lock-up too. There was a, em, a –’ he raised his eyebrows at Mim and Caitlyn, then glanced towards the kitchen where Frankie had gone to fetch Mim a glass of water, ‘– a stained shovel there that we’re, um, investigating.’

  Caitlyn heard Mim’s breath catch, and reached for her hand. It was cold as ice.

  ‘The stains are old ones,’ said Harry hurriedly, and Mim’s hand shook in Caitlyn’s. So the shovel may have been used to kill Petra, but not Sarah.

  ‘What are you doing now?’ said Caitlyn, shifting along the sofa as Frankie reclaimed her cuddle position beside Mim.

  Harry stood up. ‘We’re bringing in dogs to use at the hospital and at Morrison’s place. We need a couple of things that Sarah has worn, for the scent.’

  ‘Fetch Sarah’s blue pullover and her slippers, would you, Frankie?’ said Mim. Her voice broke as she continued. ‘She was wearing them yesterday, before she went out with – with him.’

  ‘What about an appeal?’ said Caitlyn.

  Would Jack tell them where Sarah was, if he was caught? There was no way to know what had been going on in his mind all this time. He could act, that was clear.

  ‘We’ve got Jack’s photo out on TV and online,’ said Harry. ‘There’s a recent one on his file at the hospital.’

  Mim drew a shuddering breath. ‘I don’t care if you find him or not,’ she said, her voice wobbling dangerously. Caitlyn could hear that in spite of her efforts a storm of tears wasn’t far off. ‘Find Sarah, that’s all I want.’

  ‘I know.’ Harry West turned to go.

  Caitlyn rose to her feet. ‘I’m coming with you. I want to help, and I know Sarah and the hospital too,’ she said, and was surprised at the decisiveness in her own voice.

  ‘I wish I could come,’ said Mim, putting her hands round her new knee and shaking it.

  ‘You stay here with Frankie. Caitlyn, you can come if you don’t get in the way,’ said Harry.

  Caitlyn picked up the plastic bag with Sarah’s clothes and touched Mim’s shoulder on the way out. In the car she sat silently as Harry pulled away from the house. She didn’t look round; she knew the sight of Frankie standing in the window would have her in tears. And she needed to be strong now for Sarah.

  Please God there still was a Sarah.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Friday, 21st July – evening

  Jack scurried along the road, pulling up
abruptly when he reached the end of his street. Two police cars were sitting at his garden gate. Outrage crashed over him when he saw movement in the living room window, and he began to pant. What were they doing in his beautiful house?

  Think, man, think. The police couldn’t possibly have found Sarah. They couldn’t know he had taken her. Maybe they simply wanted to ask him more questions… they’d said there would be more later. Had they come to collect him, take him to the station? But why go inside? And why the second car? He should go and see what they wanted – help them with their inquiries. It would be best to appear cooperative.

  But no. What was happening at his house was more than a pair of policemen arriving to interview him. A third car had arrived, and four officers were going up the path with a couple of cases. Someone inside opened the door, and the new arrivals vanished into the house. Jack wiped his sweat-streaked face with one hand. Now they were cordoning off the street; a tall policeman was stretching blue and white tape from one side to the other. Mrs Grant across the road came out and spoke to him, and the officer gesticulated towards Jack’s house. They must be going to search it, but didn’t they need a warrant or something? Or maybe they had one. Well, they wouldn’t find anything of Sarah there.

  But that would mean they were looking for him, too.

  So. It had happened. The worst thing of all. They had somehow found out that he was the mastermind behind – what? Sarah’s disappearance? Petra’s murder? Swindling a handful of old dears out of their savings? Whichever it was, it was all up for him. He would never be able to finish his perfect house; his glorious dream of building a perfect future in his lovely home was over. His beautiful, brightly-coloured bubble in the sky had burst.

  He would go to prison. There would be more humiliation, more pain, more Mummy and Daddy people telling him what to do all the time, forcing him to be subservient, an underdog.