Andy Carter opened the door to her knock. He gave them both a hostile stare.
‘I don’t believe this,’ he said. ‘You’ve been here once. We’ve told you everything. I was hoping you wouldn’t come back.’ His Adam’s apple bobbed around in his thin neck. ‘I suppose I was being a bit optimistic, wasn’t I?’ He stood back while they entered.
Ann Carter was lying on the sofa, watching television. She hardly looked up as the two officers walked in. ‘And I don’t suppose you’ve brought any good news for us, have you?’
Dawn perched on a dining chair with thin, spider legs.
Joanna sank down on the sofa beyond Ann’s feet. ‘And what would you consider good news, Mrs Carter?’
The woman merely stared back at her. She opened dry lips. No words came out.
Andy Carter took a seat beside his wife. They watched Joanna warily.
Joanna felt the domination of the photographs lining the walls of this small room. For a moment she stared at the largest of them.
‘She was a sweet little girl, wasn’t she?’
Andy Carter raised his eyes heavenwards. ‘Yes,’ he said through clenched teeth. ‘She was.’
Joanna’s eyes were drawn to the missing photograph. The Carters saw her look. They must have read her puzzlement. They exchanged glances but said nothing.
‘You must miss her.’
Andy Carter’s hand jerked in his wife’s. ‘What do you think?’ he asked furiously. ‘What do you bloody think? Oh!’ he exclaimed impatiently. ‘Is any of this going to bring her back?’
‘No. But then Selkirk’s death wasn’t going to resurrect your daughter, was it?’ Joanna let her gaze linger over the Photograph.
‘We didn’t have anything to do with his death.’ Carter spoke angrily. His face was a dark, angry red and she knew the pushing was having effect. He stood up, agitated. ‘What’s the bloody point of all this? Can’t you see? We’re still raw from our daughter’s death.’
‘I’ve come from another house today,’ Joanna said quietly. ‘They’d lost an only daughter too.’
‘Send them Victim Support, then,’ Ann Carter snapped. Her face was contorted with grief. ‘That’s what you did for us. Big help they were too.’
Joanna waited for the outburst to finish before carrying on. ‘You might know the girl.’
Neither looked curious. ‘She was a nurse.’
‘Oh, yeah?’ Andy Carter pulled at the gold sleeper in his ear. ‘Not five years old, then, like our Row.’
‘No, but every bit as precious to her parents.’
He flushed. ‘They have my sympathy,’ he mumbled.
But Ann Carter’s face was still hard. ‘What are you doing round here, Inspector?’ she sneered. ‘Come to admire our photographs?’
Joanna paused. The television in the corner of the room continued to spew out colour and sound. She wished they would switch it off. Somehow they seemed able to ignore it. She couldn’t.
‘The girl’s name was Yolande,’ she said, ‘Yolande Prince. She worked at the cottage hospital.’
Andy Carter let out a whistle of breath. ‘That’s where I’ve heard that name,’ he said. ‘I knew I’d read it somewhere.’ He gave Joanna a penetrating stare. ‘She was the nurse on duty the night Selkirk disappeared, wasn’t she?’
Joanna nodded.
They were both watching her now, their interest at last pricked.
Joanna leaned closer. ‘Who’s Michael Frost?’ she asked abruptly.
Ann Carter swung her feet to the floor, stood up, crossed the room and turned the television off. The room was abruptly empty, devoid of light, colour, noise. It seemed suddenly both plain and dull.
The woman picked one of the photographs from the wall and stared at it for a while without speaking. ‘When Selkirk crashed into the crossing outside the school he killed our Rowena. Molly Frost was the lollipop lady. She lost both her legs. Michael was her husband. He took it bad.’
The simple words were an obvious understatement.
At last. Joanna felt an enormous sense of relief wash over her as she listened to Ann Carter.
‘Michael was wonderful,’ she said. ‘He gave up his job to look after Molly. Cared for her like she was a baby.’ She gave Joanna a twisted smile. ‘Although Rowena died we never blamed Molly. We knew she had done her best. She would have saved her if she could have. She did try. We always felt grateful.’
Her husband put his arm around her, gave her a kiss on her cheek. Then he wiped the corner of his eye and sat down again.
‘It was too much for Michael.’ He took up the story. ‘Watching over Molly all day every day, and her in such – pain.’ He stopped. ‘Her spine were damaged. She were never free of it. The week before Michael had to go in with his depression there were talk of Molly having to go to one of them hospices and have proper care. He felt such a failure. The pair of them.’ He gave a frustrated laugh. ‘He felt he’d failed Molly and Molly felt she’d failed Rowena.’ Some of his anger surfaced. ‘And really it was that bastard Selkirk who should have taken the blame for it all, but he didn’t care. He got off scot free. No driving ban or anything. I saw him a couple of weeks ago ... driving a ...’ His voice trailed away and he gave a quick, guilty glance at his wife.
Joanna stiffened. There was something here, some rekindled hatred ... she glanced at their faces and read some furtiveness, some concealment. All her senses were jangling.
Andy Carter spoke quickly. ‘The nurse took a letter to Molly,’ he said. ‘He told her everything before he jumped.’
Joanna sat very still. ‘And where is Molly now?’
‘In a home,’ Ann Carter said. The atmosphere was beginning to thaw. ‘She’s wheelchair-fast. They look after her well, though. Michael needn’t have worried, not like he did. It was all so unnecessary’
All so unnecessary ... The phrase rang in Joanna’s ears all the way home.
Chapter Fourteen
She was excited when Mike called round in the morning. Late. He always felt he should register his disapproval of working on a Sunday. She’d been pacing in front of the window for more than half an hour, reluctant to call his home. Fran Korpanski hated being bothered by colleagues from the force at any time – and especially Joanna, especially on a Sunday. So although she had picked up the phone more than once she hadn’t even begun dialling his number. It was a relief to hear his tyres scrabbling over the gravel. She flung the door open.
‘At last,’ she said. ‘I’ve found a connection between Michael Frost’s suicide and Selkirk.’
He was out of the car in double-quick time. ‘What?’ he demanded.’ How? When?’
‘I visited the Carters last night.’
‘I thought you seemed a bit anxious to get rid of me.’ He sounded hurt.
‘I decided it would be less intimidating.’
‘Well, go on, then.’ Korpanski was definitely sulking.
‘It’s so simple,’ she said. ‘Frost’s wife was the lollipop lady outside the school. She was injured in the accident, badly injured. She lost both her legs.’
Mike stared at her. ‘Joanna,’ he said slowly, ‘where does that leave us?’
‘Mike,’ she said deliberately, ‘Molly Frost is stuck in a wheelchair. There’s no way she could have got to Selkirk. Unless of course she used a hired killer.’
Mike was dubious. ‘I’m not convinced. Why wait all this time? Rowena Carter’s accident was five years ago. Her husband committed suicide a year ago. How could she possibly have known Selkirk had been admitted to hospital that morning? And then there’s Yolande Prince. Far from dragging her in as an accomplice she’s more likely to have blamed the nurse for her husband’s death.’
‘She might have done,’ she agreed cautiously.
Mike had another objection. ‘And how is she supposed to have reached a first-floor flat and murdered her? I didn’t notice a lift.’ His eyes were dark as he added, ‘We both saw Yolande. There’s no way someone in a wheelchair could have s
trangled her.’
‘There’s one way to settle this, Mike.’ She slammed the door behind her and turned the key. ‘Let’s go and see her after the briefing. Perhaps we’ll find out.’
The briefing had originally been called for ten thirty, out of respect for the ‘day of rest’. But before she had time to make her way to the interview room a telephone call came through. It was Pugh and she sounded pleased with herself. ‘We’ve got Gallini here,’ she said, ‘in custody, and I’ve quizzed him.’ She gave one of her loud, barking laughs. ‘Over and over again, actually. He doesn’t seem to want – or to be able – to tell us much, unfortunately.’ She paused for breath. ‘I had rather hoped to be able to hand you the whole thing on a plate. Save police time and all that.’
‘Is he going to tell us anything?’
‘Doesn’t know a lot,’ Pugh said. ‘I got a few things out of him.’
Joanna smiled and held the receiver close to her ear. ‘I thought you said he wouldn’t talk.’
‘We’ve got our ways.’ Pugh’s laugh sounded hollow.
‘You don’t mean ...?’
‘Get up to date,’ Pugh said. ‘Your idea, actually. Deals, sentence-bargaining. And just a possibility he’ll serve part of his sentence in his beloved Sicily. Though why,’ she gave an expression of disgust, ‘why on earth he’d want to go there ... I’ve heard the prisons are positively uncivilized.’
‘Well, ours aren’t exactly paradise.’
‘Quite ... quite,’ Pugh said hastily. ‘Anyway. They used box numbers throughout. And ... you’ll love this. He even has a mobile phone. Quite the little businessman.’
‘How did they make contact?’
‘He didn’t want to tell me,’ Pugh explained, ‘because it was rather clever. He answered an advert in one of the specialist weaponry magazines. In the wanted column was an advert for an antique assassin’s gun. Good price paid and all that. North of England. And for Gallini he showed a glimmer of intelligence. He answered the advert saying he didn’t have an antique assassin’s gun but he had a modern one in good working order. It would cost ten thousand pounds. He left a mobile phone number, no address.’
‘So he spoke to someone? Man or a woman?’
‘He says a woman.’ Pugh was irritated at being interrupted. ‘It was a woman who rang him up on the Monday morning to say there had been a slight change of plan and that Selkirk could be found in the local hospital. This person told him a nurse would let him in through the side door. And I was right about something else,’ she said proudly. ‘He spent most of the afternoon wandering round the hospital in various disguises.’
‘Gosh.’ Even now Joanna was finding the whole thing incredible. She chewed this latest fact over before remembering Yolande’s death. ‘You know there was a second murder don’t you? The nurse we interviewed the morning after Selkirk’s disappearance?’
‘Yes,’ Pugh barked down the phone. ‘That wasn’t Gallini. He was driving back down to London by then. The car was delivered back at the garage by nine o’clock in the morning, waiting outside when they opened. And you’ll be pleased to know they couldn’t quite clean all the blood off the back seat, even with a most thorough valeting.’ She chuckled. ‘Fiat Panda, for your information. Didn’t quite do it in style, did he? But, Piercy,’ she said, ‘he didn’t kill that girl. You’ll have to look a little closer to home.’
Joanna frowned. ‘Was his contact definitely a woman?’
‘Yes,’ Pugh said decisively, ‘according to Gallini.’ Then,
‘You did say it was one of the nurses from the hospital who was found dead?’
‘Yes. Strangled.’
‘Ah,’ said Pugh. ‘So I was right. An inside job – or at least there was inside involvement.’
‘Yes.’
‘I knew someone had to have let him in. The fire door was simply proof for what I already knew. By the way,’ she added, ‘you may be interested to know that Gallini in the presence of the nurse told Selkirk they were moving him to another ward. Selkirk thought Gallini was just a porter. Once in the car the gun was jammed against his head. And then his mouth was taped. Oh, and another thing.’
Joanna stiffened. Not more ugly facts?
‘Gallows Wood wasn’t his idea. It was a suggestion made by his employer. They thought it ideal.’
‘I see. Thanks for letting me know,’ Joanna said, and suddenly was curious. ‘What’s he like?’
‘Our cold-blooded killer?’ Pugh sighed. ‘Not very bright. Knows just enough English to get by. Cold eyes. Very unemotional.’ She paused. ‘No pity. There would be no point in appealing to his better nature – he hasn’t got one. He’s a big man, six feet tall, black hair, wide across the shoulders. Bit like your friend, Sergeant Korpanski. Looks as though he could throw you over his shoulder. But unlike Korpanski he looks as though he’d like to. Not a nice character to have loose on the streets.’
Mike stuck his head round the door as Joanna put down the phone. ‘I thought you’d promised us a briefing this morning.’
‘A phone call from Pugh,’ she explained.
‘Coming up to visit us again?’
She shook her head. ‘Not in the foreseeable future.’
‘Whew, thank God.’
‘And she was nice about you too. Have you got the report on that letter yet?’
‘No.’
‘Then check it up, Mike, please.’
The briefing proved unexpectedly productive. She watched the morale lift as she discussed her recent findings and PC Timmis had a bit of news too. ‘I paid a visit to Dustin Holloway last night.’ He looked pleased with himself. ‘He confessed he’d been after badgers. Of course, we’ve known that for ages but couldn’t get any evidence. But this time we were lucky enough to find a dead one in the back of his car. It had been mauled something rotten.’
‘Unlucky for the badger,’ Joanna commented. ‘Did he see anything at the wood?’
Timmis nodded. ‘He saw a man walking out. A little after one in the morning. Tall, dark haired, slim. He got into a ...’
‘Don’t tell me – a Fiat Panda.’
‘Yes. Holloway even took the number. Quite the Neighbourhood Watch prodigy.’ He handed Joanna a sheet of paper. She would match up the number later with that of the hire car. ‘Holloway says he’ll even give evidence if we drop charges.’
Joanna stared. ‘Oh, really,’ she said. ‘Well that’s mighty big of our Mr Holloway. You can tell him to get stuffed. No deal, and we’ll up the badger baiting sentence for attempting to bribe a police officer.’
Mike put his hand on her arm. ‘Steady on, Jo.’
She glared at him. ‘I’m in a mean mood,’ she said, ‘fed up with all these petty crooks after bloody deals.’
‘Well, what about Gallini? You were encouraging Pugh to make a deal with him’
She met his eyes. ‘Only so we could find out who the real killer was, the person morally responsible for Selkirk’s murder.’
‘Well, hang on a minute,’ he argued. ‘Gallini shot him. Whoever it was who killed him just had the money. That wouldn’t have killed Selkirk, would it? So they’re both equally responsible.’
‘And what about Yolande Prince?’ she said. ‘We can’t blame our Sicilian friend for her death.’
He grinned then. ‘No,’ he admitted.
She turned her attention back to the group sitting in the corner. ‘You’ve been checking out the flats where Yolande Prince lived?’
They nodded.
‘Come up with anything?’
‘The next-door neighbour heard her come in,’ PC Jenkins said. ‘That was at about twelve midday.’
Joanna nodded. ‘Not long after we’d interviewed her,’ she said. ‘Then what?’
‘She heard her run a bath. Walls are thin,’ he explained. ‘About lunch time she heard the doorbell ring, three times.’
‘And?’
‘The neighbour was just getting the baby to sleep, so she hoped no one would be making a noise.’
‘She didn’t look to see who it was?’
‘No.’
‘Then what?’
‘She heard talking. For about ten minutes. The radio was on low. She couldn’t hear much. The radio was turned off a couple of minutes later. Then all was quiet.’
Joanna turned her attention to one of the SOG team. ‘I suppose it’s too much to expect that there was a fingerprint on one of the radio controls?’
‘Far too much,’ he said with a smile. ‘Nothing there.’ She sighed and turned back to Jenkins. ‘Then what?’
‘It just went quiet. The baby went to sleep and the neighbour had a bath, watched television. She was just glad of the peace.’
‘I don’t suppose she saw anyone leave the flat?’
‘She looked out a couple of minutes after the radio was turned off and thought she saw someone disappearing down the stairs. A man, in a peaked cap and a long dark coat.’ He paused before adding apologetically, ‘She only saw the back view.’
Joanna drew in a deep breath. ‘Height?’
‘Around five ten, medium build, couldn’t see the hair.’
‘Don’t tell me, collar turned up.’
Jenkins gave a rueful grin.
‘Well,’ she said. ‘Thank you. That was the killer. And it was no hired assassin this time, imported from London. That was someone local. Someone from Leek. Someone whom Yolande almost certainly knew. And ...’ she gazed around the room, ‘the same person who hired Gallini.’
Molly Frost lived in a small, single-storey, nursing home. And it was a woman in a wheelchair who answered the door.
‘Molly? She’s down here.’ She led them along a bright, sunny corridor towards a closed door at the end. Someone in one of the rooms must have had a radio playing. Joanna could hear the sound of a hymn. She closed her eyes and for an instant was transported back to childhood, the sun streaming through stained-glass windows. She opened her eyes and breathed in the unmistakable scent of the Sunday roast.
Molly Frost was sitting inside, also in a wheelchair. It was then that Joanna really understood the extent of her injuries. And somehow the plaster on her own arm seemed a tiny price to pay for her encounter with the lorry. Molly had been hit by a car. And five years later she was still suffering, and that suffering would never stop.
And None Shall Sleep Page 17
