And None Shall Sleep

by Priscilla Masters

  She looked gratefully at him. ‘And a couple of aspirin, Mike,’ she said, before turning her attention back to the nurse.

  ‘The room next to Mr Selkirk’s.’

  The girl’s hand flew up to her face. ‘What about it?’

  ‘Was the window left open?’

  ‘Yes,’ she said emphatically. ‘It was.’

  Joanna watched her carefully as she asked the next questions. ‘So someone could have climbed in through the window and got to Mr Selkirk’s room without your knowing?’

  Dumbly, Yolande Prince moved her head up and down.

  ‘Did you hear a car during the night?’

  The nurse thought for a moment before nodding. ‘Yes,’ she said. ‘When I was on my way back from my lunch. It was around one.’

  ‘Can you tell us anything about it?’

  ‘No,’ she said frowning ‘Not really. It sort of pulled up and stopped. I thought it was one of the nurses being dropped off. He left the engine running.’ She smiled. ‘I just thought someone was having a goodnight kiss.’

  ‘Did you look out of the window?’

  Yolande shook her head. ‘I walked on to the ward and chatted to the other two.’

  ‘Did you hear the car move off?’

  ‘I can’t remember,’ she said. ‘A car’s just a background noise. No one takes much notice, unless it’s doing something odd, you know ... noisy or terribly fast.’

  Joanna nodded. It was not a step forward but neither was it a step back. She made a mental note. They’d better check none of the nurses was dropped off in the car park at around one a.m. If none had, this might be the vehicle they were looking for.

  Mike returned balancing two cups and slipped her a couple of tablets. ‘Courtesy of Sister,’ he said.

  Joanna swallowed them down with a swig of machine- made coffee and thought for a minute. ‘What time did his wife leave?’

  Nurse Prince thought for a moment before answering. ‘Around nine,’ she said, ‘as far as I can remember. I spoke to her as she left. She was heading for the wrong door.’

  Mike shot Joanna a swift glance. The nurse continued. ‘She tried to leave ...’ The significance of what she was saying suddenly registered. ‘I didn’t mean ...’

  ‘She tried to leave through the fire door?’

  Yolande nodded dumbly. ‘I expect she was glad to leave,’ she said after an awkward pause, then flushed. She looked miserable. ‘I’m always saying the wrong thing. What I mean was that some people – have a problem with being in hospital take it out on their relatives.’

  She smiled. ‘You know what I mean?’

  ‘No, not really.’ Joanna was in an uncompromising mood.

  ‘Do you mean Jonathan Selkirk was unpleasant to his wife?’

  ‘More than that. He was rude.’ She looked at the floor. ‘He wasn’t a nice man.’ She met Joanna’s eyes almost defiantly. ‘We don’t have to like our patients, you know, but ...’ She passed her hand across her brow. ‘I feel so responsible. He was ill and he was my patient. I feel really guilty.’

  ‘OK, Yolande,’ Joanna said finally. ‘You can go home now, to bed.’

  There was no doubting the relief on the nurse’s face.

  When the door had closed behind her Joanna turned to Mike. ‘Get the other two nurses on duty that night interviewed, will you? One of the PCs can do it. I’ll talk to them later. Ask them to concentrate on the basics, times, anything seen, anyone say anything. Perhaps they can find out whether Selkirk actually did use the phone. Ouch.’

  She winced as a sharp pain travelled up her fingers along her arm. ‘I want to get out of here. Take me round to his house, Mike. I’d like to meet his wife.’

  She stood up and looked around the shabby room with its bare floors and flaking paint, a huge, oak desk in the centre smothered with stacks of papers. The cottage hospital was a strange mix of vintage NHS and modern science. A computer stood in the centre of the desk, three green telephones side by side, silent now.

  Mike crossed to the window and spread his meaty hands across the radiator. He stared out across the car park and the neat lawns. ‘I wonder where he is,’ he said. ‘I wonder how he left without anyone hearing him. If he was taken, why from here?’ He turned around. ‘The whole thing is so ...’ He fumbled for the right word and as usual couldn’t find it. ‘So unnecessary.’

  ‘Well, we aren’t short of possibilities,’ she said. ‘A mistress, a boyfriend, a haven, the old memory loss.’ She laughed. ‘A sudden brain storm ... Depression.’ Her mood changed suddenly. ‘Or maybe he had an enemy. Then again we might never find him. We might never know the answers to any of your questions. He might join the rank and file of the Missing Persons Register. Who knows?’

  A sudden mood of depression washed over her. Perhaps it was a combination of delayed shock from her accident – or the anaesthetic. Or even the realization that even in hospital one might not be safe if someone wished you harm.

  The Selkirks’ house was beautiful, authentic Georgian red brick with neat white paintwork, a pillared portico and pleasing symmetry. The drive was gravelled and free of weeds and the borders neat and still colourful.

  Mike drew the car to a halt then walked round to open the passenger door. ‘And don’t expect this sort of fancy treatment to carry on once you’re out of plaster,’ he warned.

  She grinned and thanked him. The door was flung open and a big, handsome woman in a floral dress with bright auburn hair crunched across the gravel towards them. ‘Have you found him yet?’ She had a deep, booming voice and sounded angry as though a child were playing truant from school. Angry, Joanna noted, not worried, and she scrutinized the woman’s face. It was heavily lined and deeply sunburned. Joanna could picture her crewing on a sailing dinghy somewhere hot with a relentless sun beating down. Perhaps it was the heartiness, the strength behind the firm, deep voice, the heavy, rolling walk in inappropriately smart patent shoes.

  ‘Mrs Selkirk?’ The woman eyed her plaster cast with suspicion.

  ‘I’m Detective Inspector Piercy,’ Joanna said. ‘I think you’ve already met Detective Sergeant Korpanski.’

  The woman nodded. ‘Have you found Jonathan yet?’ she repeated impatiently.

  ‘I’m sorry. Nothing so far. But we’re working on it. I’ve abandoned my sick bed to look into the disappearance of your husband, Mrs Selkirk,’ Joanna felt compelled to add. ‘We are concerned.’

  ‘Oh dear,’ Sheila Selkirk said without a trace of sympathy. ‘I am sorry’

  ‘Do you think we could come in?’

  The three of them crossed the drive, watched by a huge golden retriever who gave one loud bark. When it was ignored it went back to sleep again. Sheila Selkirk touched the dog with her foot. ‘Bloody useless hound,’ she said. ‘Wouldn’t protect us from Charles Manson. No aggression,’ she complained as she led them into a square, cold sitting room, devoid of ornaments.

  ‘Mrs Selkirk,’ Joanna began with difficulty. ‘As I’m sure you can appreciate, any number of things may have happened to your husband.’

  ‘I’m not daft,’ Sheila Selkirk barked. ‘I’ve got a bloody good imagination, Inspector.’

  ‘Yes,’ she said quietly. ‘So please help us by answering all of our questions as frankly as you can.’

  Joanna looked again at the woman’s face. A thick layer of make-up, bright lipsticked mouth, furtive dark eyes. A strong personality?

  ‘To your knowledge, Mrs Selkirk, did your husband have somewhere he might have gone to?’

  The woman’s eyes gleamed with intelligence. ‘Do you mean a mistress, Inspector?’ Her mouth twisted with a strange humour.

  Joanna shrugged. ‘Possibly.’

  Sheila Selkirk wiped mascara-stained tears from her cheeks. ‘God, no,’ she said, laughing. ‘Sex hardly featured in my husband’s life.’ She smeared another black trickle along her cheek and laughed again. ‘He had a job getting it up on our ruddy honeymoon, inspector. And that was years ago when he was a young man and
relatively virile. My husband,’ she said, ‘is now late into middle age. So you might try the traditional prerogative of middle-aged men. Not sex ... my dear, a nubile, warm-blooded female.’

  Mike was shuffling his feet.

  ‘Menfriends?’Joanna asked delicately.

  ‘Again, no.’ This time her voice was firm and without humour. ‘My husband was not a homosexual and he had few close friends. I have already telephoned them all.’ She paused. ‘Except his partner.’

  Mike raised his eyebrows and Joanna caught his glance and nodded before turning her attention back to Sheila Selkirk.

  ‘Was your husband depressed?’

  This time Sheila Selkirk nodded. ‘Yes,’ she said frankly. ‘He was depressed. I think severely so.’ She paused. ‘He refused to acknowledge it, of course, or to see a doctor about it. But then that’s the sort of person my husband was,’

  ‘Was?’

  ‘Now come along, Inspector.’ Sheila Selkirk’s voice was firm, schoolmarmish, bordering on being patronizing. ‘Is – was? Don’t let’s pretend. My husband is a very sick man. He was admitted yesterday with a suspected heart attack. Wired up to dozens of machines. I know he was also very depressed and had talked to me of suicide.’ She stopped and drew in a long, deep breath. ‘I had done all I could to persuade him to consult his GP. He took absolutely no notice of my advice.’ She looked coolly at Joanna. ‘What else could I do? At least I assumed he was safe when he was admitted to hospital. But then in the middle of the night he pulls out his tubes, rips the wires off and disappears, leaving behind a trail of blood. Now what am I supposed to think? At first I was convinced he’d turn up. But as time moves on I wonder. If you ask me he’s topped himself,’ she said unexpectedly.

  ‘I beg your pardon?’Joanna was shocked, more so than if Sheila Selkirk had used the f-word.

  ‘The trail of blood stopped at the car park,’ Mike said. ‘We believe someone must have met him there, given him a lift. Who?’

  Sheila Selkirk shrugged her shoulders. ‘A taxi? Or ...’ She paused. ‘He might have bound the wound up and stopped the bleeding’

  ‘He wasn’t even wearing his slippers.’ Joanna glanced at Mike. His bulky shoulders were tensed, like an animal’s, ready to spring. His gaze at Mrs Selkirk was frankly hostile.

  ‘It wasn’t you, was it, Mrs Selkirk, who picked him up?’

  Sheila Selkirk glared at him. ‘I was with a friend all evening’

  ‘His name?’

  Sheila Selkirk looked angry. ‘Just what are you implying?’

  ‘Nothing,’ Joanna said frankly. ‘We’re implying nothing.

  This is all purely routine,’ she said, ‘just like ninety-nine per cent of all police work – boring, pointless questions which don’t lead us anywhere.’ Her pupils were tiny, hard pinpoints. ‘But we still ask them, all the same.’

  ‘I was with an old family friend,’ Mrs Selkirk said crossly. ‘Someone both Jonathan and I have known for years.’

  ‘His name,’ Mike said woodenly.

  ‘Anthony.’ Mrs Selkirk said. Anthony Pritchard. Not that it’s any of your bloody business. He’s an old family friend. Quite innocent.’

  ‘As you said.’ Mike was giving her no points. ‘Innocent family friend.’ He paused. ‘Married, is he?’

  She sucked in her breath and spat out the answer. ‘Widower. His wife and I were very close friends. She died tragically of cancer five years ago.’

  ‘I see.’ Mike always managed to sound offensive in situations like this.

  Joanna felt it was time to step in. ‘Was there anything your husband was particularly depressed about, Mrs Selkirk?’

  Jonathan Selkirk’s wife blinked and she sat very upright on the sofa. ‘Well, things aren’t terribly brilliant financially. People don’t pay when they ought to. Damned bloody legal aid and no money around these days.’

  Joanna thought for a minute, then asked almost casually, ‘What exactly did your husband do?’

  ‘He was a solicitor. Don’t you know that much, Inspector?’

  ‘I know he was a solicitor, Mrs Selkirk.’ Joanna felt quite angry and her arm was beginning to ache again. The effect of the aspirins must be wearing off.

  ‘What I meant was, what branch of the law did he specialize in?’

  ‘Criminal law,’ Sheila Selkirk barked without apology. ‘His job was to defend the little prats who go around breaking the law. That’s what he did for a living. Mostly legal aid work,’ she added. ‘That was his bread and butter. Unfortunately at about the same time as the government withdrew about half the funding for legal aid they put up the cost of living.’ She stopped and a veil dropped over her eyes. ‘Hence the trouble paying the wretched bills. And then your lot ...’ she glared at Mike, ‘decided to give him some hassle over a few paltry claims.’

  ‘Ah,’ Joanna said. ‘You mean the Fraud Squad investigation.’

  ‘Fraud!’ Sheila exclaimed. Absolutely bloody ridiculous.’ She scratched the side of her mouth. ‘But a worry all the same.’

  Mike’s eyes were fixed on the woman’s face without a trace of sympathy.

  ‘Poor old Jonathan,’ Sheila Selkirk continued. ‘All this trouble ... worry. He’d suffered from angina for years. Then he gets that bloody letter.’

  ‘Ah yes,’ Joanna said. ‘The letter.’

  ‘Yesterday, in the post. Wait a minute ...’ She stood up. ‘I’ll go and fetch it.’

  The skirt of her dress rustled as she moved swiftly towards the door. Joanna glanced at Mike. He screwed up his face and she knew he disliked Sheila Selkirk. But she didn’t. Yes, the woman had a powerful personality. Some might call her overbearing. But there was an honesty, a directness, that Joanna felt she could relate to.

  She was back in a minute, tossed the letter towards Joanna. It floated free for a second before landing on her lap. Joanna read it twice without touching it, then looked up.

  ‘At first I thought it was advertising,’ Sheila Selkirk barked. Jonathan took it as a rather pathetic threat.’

  ‘And who would threaten your husband?’

  ‘Solicitors meet all sorts of people.’

  It was a vague, evasive reply.

  ‘Whatever it meant, we were both disturbed by it.’

  Mike was studying it over her shoulder. ‘I should think you were, Mrs Selkirk.’ He stared at her. ‘And had he?’

  ‘Sorry?’

  ‘Made a will.’

  She took a deep breath in. ‘My husband is a solicitor, Sergeant Korpanski.’ A touch of humour lightened her face and they could both see that once – not very long ago – Mrs Sheila Selkirk had been a very handsome woman. ‘What do you think? He’d actually made several, I believe.’ Then she looked thoughtfully at him. ‘Tell me, Sergeant,’ she said, ‘are you naturally that shape or do you have to work at it?’

  Mike spluttered and Joanna smothered a silent giggle. She loved to see Mike baited. Sheila Selkirk was perceptive enough to know that Mike disliked her. And this was her revenge.

  Joanna turned her attention back to Jonathan Selkirk’s wife. ‘May I keep this?’

  ‘Do what you bloody well like with it.’

  ‘Thank you.’ Joanna paused. And had your husband ever received a letter like this before?’

  ‘Absolutely not.’

  So again Joanna changed tack. ‘Do you think it is possible, or probable, that someone abducted your husband from the hospital? Possibly even for money?’

  Sheila Selkirk gave another explosive laugh. ‘You mean kidnapped?’ she said. ‘For a ransom ... Jonathan? Oh, my dear. They’d wait a long time for their money.’ Her face was pink with humour. ‘Kidnappers don’t target middle-aged criminal solicitors. They go for pink-cheeked sweet little babies. Worth far more money, don’t you think?’

  Then she leaned towards Joanna, revealing an eyeful of ample cleavage. ‘Are you married, my dear?’ She chuckled again before adding, ‘It wouldn’t be worth their while kidnapping Jonathan ... I wouldn’t pay the ransom
, even if I had the money. And where’s the demand, eh? Where is it?’

  This time it was Joanna who was discomfited. For all her honesty and directness, Sheila Selkirk was an embarrassing woman. So she ignored the comment.

  ‘Tell me, Mrs Selkirk,’ she said smoothly. ‘Is there nowhere your husband might have taken refuge, away from the hospital, if he was depressed or unhappy? If not close friends, your son, perhaps?’

  Immediately the words were spoken she knew the dart had pierced a sensitive spot.

  Sheila Selkirk flushed. ‘You know about him, then? My son …’ Sheila Selkirk drew in a large, deliberate breath. ‘You know about Justin?’

  ‘I know only that you have a son,’ Joanna’s curiosity was pricking her.

  Sheila Selkirk’s face seemed to crumple. ‘Yes, I have a son,’ she said sadly. ‘His name’s Justin.’ Here she stopped and stared out of the window, at the browns, reds and golds of the autumn trees. Her breath came in slow, heaving gasps. ‘Unfortunately he and Jonathan ...’ she cleared her throat noisily, ‘they didn’t get on. They never have. In fact,’ she swallowed, ‘it would be nearer the truth to say that they couldn’t stand the sight of each other. Jonathan packed the poor little blighter off to boarding school the minute it was considered decent.’ She turned her gaze back to Joanna. ‘I don’t really think Justin ever quite forgave him. He was bullied rather mercilessly.’ She closed her eyes in pain. ‘Kids, they can be so cruel. Far more cruel than adults, you know.’

  And a picture of Eloise flashed across Joanna’s mind. ‘Yes,’ she said softly. Kids can be cruel, more cruel than ...’

  Sheila Selkirk seemed not to notice. But Mike was more vigilant. He shot her a sharp, enquiring look and for once Joanna met his eyes and didn’t even try concealing her feelings.

  Sheila Selkirk started. She looked at them both. ‘Funny,’ she said drily. ‘Isn’t it? His own flesh and blood and they just hated each other. In fact, inspector,’ she said calmly now and without emotion, ‘if one walked into the room the other would walk straight out. They skirted round each other, avoided one another. The school holidays were sheer misery for poor old Justin. Absolute misery. And Jonathan did everything he possibly could to avoid coming home.’