“Give me the details and I’ll see if we can track it to a location.”
Caslin agreed and read out Stefan’s number, Inglis took note.
“Any idea where he may have gone?”
Caslin blew out his cheeks, “Not really, no. You might find him propping up a bar somewhere. As far as I know, he hasn’t anywhere in particular to go.”
“Is there anything else that you think we should know?” Inglis asked. Caslin appeared thoughtful before shaking his head. The DCI said goodbye and Caslin found himself alone with his thoughts.
Apart from Stefan, there was their mother but his parents divorced decades ago and he couldn’t see her dropping everything to attend. Once there was more definitive information he would let her know but saw no need to burden her with bad news at this time of night. Reaching into his pocket, he took out his dwindling supply of painkillers. Crossing over to the water fountain, he popped one from the strip and swallowed it before heading to the nurses’ station. From there he was shown to his father.
Caslin took a deep breath and gathered himself before easing the door open. Over the years, he’d been exposed to people in all manner of shocking conditions, however on this occasion, there carried with it a terrifying feeling of helplessness. His father lay in a bed, connected to a drip and several pieces of automated medical equipment. A monitor whirred away, depicting the old man’s heartbeat with an occasional beep to remind him that it was still there. An artificial ventilator assisted with his breathing. Caslin caught sight of his own reflection in the solitary window to the outside as he approached, appearing ashen-faced. Fighting tears, he came to stand next to the bedside. Before him, his father looked every bit as frail as his seventy-four years denoted.
Tentatively, he placed his palm on the back of his father’s hand. The skin felt cool and was grey in colour. Caslin found the contrast between the man lying before him and the one he was used to, quite striking. Gently squeezing his hand, there was no reaction. Trying to think of something prophetic to say, and being unable to do so, Caslin stood in momentary silence.
“I’m sorry I wasn’t there for you, Dad,” he said softly. The words sounded hollow. His father had reiterated time after time, that he wouldn’t ever go into hospital. His choice would be to remain at home, under any circumstances, rather than face the indignity of full-time care. Caslin remembered those conversations now. It seemed an odd stance to take, bearing in mind what can befall you in life. His father appeared, at least on the surface, to be resigned to passing when it was his time and wanted to face it on his own terms when the moment came. “You don’t always get to choose,” he said quietly, reflecting on those memories.
At that point his mobile began to ring which surprised him, what with it having passed three in the morning. Taking it out, he saw it was Terry Holt. Not considering ignoring it for a second, he clicked the answer tab.
“Sir, I’m sorry to call so late…early… whatever. Did I wake you?”
Caslin realised Holt was somehow unaware of the evening’s events and didn’t bother to enlighten him. “No, what’s up, Terry?”
“Hunter gave me some follow up to do on this old boy, up in Inverness.”
“Duncan Shiach?”
“That’s the chap,” Holt went on. “I was looking at staff members who might be interesting and I turned something up so I ran with it.”
“Go on,” Caslin encouraged him, intrigued.
“Most of them were locals and they tend not to move around much but I came across this one guy, Mark Rabiot. He was an agency worker, there on and off over a period of nine months.”
“Does he have a record?”
“No, not that I’m aware of. He’s an Australian national, here on permanent leave to remain since he married one of ours.”
“Why is he so interesting?”
“He stood out from the list as one likely to move about, bearing in mind he’s travelled halfway around the world to be here. Anyway, he’s a specialist in caring for dementia patients, cognitive therapy and the like. I did some digging-”
“It’s late, Terry,” Caslin said pointedly.
“He’s working here, in York.”
A flicker of anticipation coursed through him, “I like that.”
“Thought you might. Secondly, looks like he could’ve been working in Leeds when Irena Toskaya went missing.”
“A lot of people work in Leeds-”
“How many worked in Inverness with access to Shiach’s personal information, then Leeds around the time of Irena’s disappearance and now here in York?”
“Well, you have a way with words, Terry. Do you have an address?” Caslin asked, leaving the recovery room and stepping into the corridor.
“Yes, it’s in New Earswick.”
“Pick me up from the hospital on your way, would you?”
“Hospit…what are you doing there?”
“Later, Terry,” Caslin replied. “Have you been onto Inglis with this?”
“Can’t get an answer from him, nor Hunter for that matter. Shouldn’t we sit on it until the morning?”
Caslin’s gaze drifted back to his father. A pang of guilt knotted in his chest. His place was here and he knew it. His father would make it or he wouldn’t, that was the reality and Caslin also knew he could do nothing to influence the outcome. “My call, Terry. Let’s check him out before we get everyone all excited-”
Caslin almost collided with a doctor as he resumed his course to the stairwell, so preoccupied was he with the conversation. “Sorry,” he muttered under his breath, making his way through the door. Looking back over his shoulder, he saw the man cast him a sideways glance before continuing on. Caslin stopped. Terry Holt was still talking but he had ceased listening. Taking a couple of steps backwards, he eased open the door. At the far end of the corridor, the same doctor reached a turn. Once again, he glanced towards Caslin before disappearing from view. There was something about the expression on his face, the eye contact, the body language, that piqued his interest.
“Sir?” Holt said. “Are you still there?”
“I’m here, Terry,” Caslin said absently, although his focus had moved to the ward reception desk. He moved in that direction, drawing the attention of the nurse. “Excuse me,” he asked, “which doctors are on shift tonight?”
The nurse appeared a little surprised at the question but answered, “Doctors Shaw and Ramirez, although the latter is on call and present only for your father’s case.”
“And Dr Shaw,” Caslin continued, “is he on his rounds?”
“She is on her rest break. Is there anything I can help you with?”
Caslin stood still, fighting the instinct that was gnawing away at him, “Is there anyone else on shift tonight?”
“On this floor?” she clarified. He nodded. “No, not directly but others do have access. This is the twenty-four-hour, trauma ward. Besides ICU, there are those requiring close monitoring before they can be moved to a general ward.”
“Right,” Caslin said, as if he understood. He remained there, his mind ticking over with the phone still pressed to his ear.
“Mr Caslin,” the nurse persisted, “is there something that you need?”
“No. No, there isn’t, thank you,” he said, walking away. His attention returned to Terry Holt. “I’ll wait for you outside, Terry.”
“I’ll be there in about twenty minutes,” Holt replied in far too upbeat a manner for that time of night, before hanging up.
Caslin headed for the stairs. Upon reaching them, he put his hand upon the door before the unnamed doctor appeared at the end of the corridor again. Seeing Caslin looking in his direction, he stopped, turned slowly on his heel and headed back in the direction from where he’d come.
“Doctor,” Caslin called out. The man didn’t stop and if anything, sped up. “Doctor!” Caslin raised his voice but to no avail. Glancing at the nurses’ station, he saw it was no longer manned. Letting go of the door, he set off down the corri
dor at a trot, his footfalls echoing on the polished floor. Reaching the tee-junction, he glanced to the left but there was no-one in sight. Slowing his pace, Caslin continued on, giving each room, he passed, a cursory inspection. Most were in darkness, some were locked, all were apparently unoccupied. His head told him that he was wasting his time but the feeling that something wasn’t right had returned.
A ping came to his ear and he knew it was the sound of an elevator notification. Breaking into a run, Caslin made it to the lifts as the doors closed. He frantically pressed the call button but the machinery had already engaged. Stepping back, he looked at the digital counter, registering that it was heading down. Turning, Caslin ran to the nearest stairwell and descended as fast as he dared, bracing against the wall several times, on the way. Reaching the second floor, he heard the clatter of metal hit the ground. Realising that Stefan’s gun had slipped from his waistband. Caslin retrieved it before looking at the elevator again. It hadn’t stopped and he resumed his descent. By the time he made it to the ground floor, he was sweating and breathing heavily in equal measure. The display indicated that it was now stationary at the Lower Ground. Caslin headed that way.
Coming to what was the basement level, he slowed. Edging through the double doors and out of the stairwell, he walked into semi-darkness. Only the occasional lighting illuminated the corridor. Listening intently, he sought an indication of which direction to take but nothing came to his ear. It was a toss of the coin and he chose left for no other reason than that direction was well lit. With each step he doubted his decision, contemplating whether or not paranoia had got the better of him?
He heard something faint and froze. Listening intently, he waited, his own increased heartbeat was all that registered. Dismissing it as a trick of the mind, he set off, only to hear the same sound repeated. This time he was sure and moved with caution, almost hugging the wall. Approaching another stairwell, Caslin glanced along the corridor for some indication of what to expect, his eyes straining in the gloom. No more sound came his way and just as acceptance that he was alone began to dawn on him, a body moved from the shadows. An involuntary yelp emanated from somewhere inside him, akin to the sound of a startled cat.
“What are you doing down here?” a male voice barked at him, before training the beam of a torch into his face. Caslin blinked, holding a hand up to shield his eyes. He could make out the lapels of a uniform on the figure’s shoulder, beyond the intense light.
“Police,” he uttered in response, as if that answered everything.
“Show me your ID,” the man commanded. Caslin reluctantly took out his wallet, brandishing his warrant card. The security guard appeared satisfied and redirected the beam of his torch away from Caslin, who in turn was grateful. Caslin got a grip of himself.
“Have you come across anyone else down here?”
“No, there’s no-one here but you.”
“What about staff members?” Caslin pressed, glancing beyond the stocky man’s frame. “Anyone at all?”
The man shook his head, “No, just you. What are you doing down here, this is off limits to the public.”
“I saw…” he began, “I thought I saw someone suspicious and followed him.”
“Suspicious how?”
Caslin shrugged, “A doctor. At least, he was dressed like one.”
“A doctor, here in the hospital? That’s strange.”
Caslin ignored the sarcasm, believing he had fortuitously encountered the one guard who runs the NHS. “Anything out of the ordinary?”
“No-one dodgy…apart from you. Should I be arranging a search?”
Caslin concluded that wouldn’t be necessary, “No, it’s probably my imagination. Forget it.”
“I’ll escort you back upstairs.”
“Okay,” Caslin replied flatly, still looking along the corridor in expectation of seeing something. He didn’t.
Chapter 24
“Enlighten me, on Rabiot,” Caslin asked as soon as he got into Terry Holt’s car, outside the hospital.
“Are you okay, Sir?” Holt enquired.
Caslin cast him a look, “Yes, I’m fine. Rabiot?”
Holt didn’t question further, although Caslin knew the DC was itching to know what he was doing at the hospital in the middle of the night. “Like I said on the phone, he’s an Aussie national, been living here for years. Married to Samantha, a British national, and they have an eight-year old daughter. No priors on any of them.”
Caslin digested the information, “So this is a bit of a leap to link him to all this?”
“Absolutely,” Holt agreed. “Everything is circumstantial. I wouldn’t be looking at him if he hadn’t been present at locations relevant to our time-frame.”
“What about at home?”
“In Oz?” Holt clarified, taking his eyes off the road momentarily, Caslin nodded. “That’s where it gets interesting. A man of the same name was detained under their Crimes Act, in Victoria. That covers domestic violence but also incidences of stalking.”
“Any conviction?” Holt took a left turn. New Earswick was to be found to the north-east of the city centre, barely five minutes’ drive from the hospital.
“No, he was questioned and released without charge. I’m still waiting to find out if this is the same guy. The local police are trying to help us with that but if it is him, then-”
“-we have somebody with form,” Caslin finished. “Where’s he working now?”
Holt shrugged, taking the first left as they entered their destination neighbourhood, “No idea, as yet. I know he’s not on the current NHS register but I’ll have to wait until the morning for the private centres.”
They pulled up at the kerbside and looked around. New Earswick was an established estate of terraced and semi-detached, brick houses, set in leafy surroundings. At this time of night all was still, with almost every house in darkness. Holt indicated which one was Rabiot’s registered address. It was a non-descript, mid-terraced dwelling, set within a low hedgerow boundary. The garden appeared to be well maintained, as did the house.
“Do we go in?” Holt asked.
“I didn’t come out here to sit and watch,” Caslin said, getting out of the car. Holt followed, although unsure whether it was the right move. “Problem, Terry?”
“It’s just…with Soriza, we went in with all the bells and whistles-”
“And this time it’s just us?”
“Exactly,” Holt said. “What if-”
“Oh, shut up, Terry,” Caslin chastised him. “Come on.”
Without another word, Caslin was off up the path, a reluctant DC in tow. Reaching the front door, Caslin rang the bell before hammering on the pane with a closed fist for good measure. After no response, he did so again. Stepping back, he looked up as a light came on upstairs.
“Wakey, wakey,” Caslin said under his breath. Moments later the hallway beyond the door was illuminated as a figure descended the stairs.
“Who is it?” a female voice called.
“Police,” Caslin stated. The door cracked open, security chain in place, and a pair of brown eyes peaked through. Caslin brandished his warrant card. “Forgive the time. Please may we come in?” The door was closed and they heard the sound of the chain being unhooked. Then they found themselves looking at a young woman, slight in stature, drawing a dressing gown tightly about her, a look of fear in her eyes.
“Is it Mark? What’s happened?” she asked, the fear transmitting in her tone.
“Mark is your husband?” Caslin responded and she nodded. “May we come in?” She nodded again, stepping back and giving them room to enter. The hall was narrow and she ushered them into the living room.
“Is Mark okay?” she asked again.
“As far as we know,” Caslin said, glancing around. “You are Samantha Rabiot?” he asked and she confirmed it. “Do you know of Mark’s whereabouts?”
“Of course, he’s at work.”
“And where is that?” Holt asked.
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“He’s rostered on emergency call-outs, has been for months but I don’t know where he is right now. Why do you ask?” her tone had changed to one of confusion.
“What kind of emergency?” Caslin asked, slowly pacing the room, his eyes scanning the scene as he went.
“Mental health issues and stuff,” she indicated to him, “like when your lot have a problem with someone and he comes out to assess their mental state.”
“To determine if they’re a danger to themselves or others?” Caslin asked.
“Yes,” Samantha replied. Wide awake now, it was beginning to dawn on her that this wasn’t a welfare visit. “Why are you here?” she asked pointedly.
Caslin stopped before the fire, taking in the pictures on the mantel before him in a casual manner. “When will Mark be home? We need to have a word with him.”
“About what?”
“A patient of his, one whose care he was involved with, up in Scotland,” Caslin answered without breaking step.
“At nearly four, in the morning?”
“It’s very important that we speak to him, Mrs Rabiot,” Caslin said. “Do you mind if my colleague has a look around?”
“He’s not here,” she replied flatly.
“Would you mind?” Caslin asked again.
“Help yourself but don’t wake up my daughter,” she said with a dismissive gesture, “I don’t want her being scared to death by finding a strange man in her bedroom.” Holt left the room, heading for the stairs. It was clear that they were the only ones present on the ground floor, what with it being largely open plan.
“When did you last see your husband, Mrs Rabiot?” Her eyes followed the back of Terry Holt as he disappeared upstairs.
“This afternoon, before he was called out.”
“What time was that?”
“A little after four, I think.”
“And he received a call? You heard it?”
Samantha shook her head, “Come to think of it, no. I went to the bathroom and when I came back he said he had to go.”
“Where was he for the rest of the day?”
Blacklight (Dark Yorkshire Book 2) Page 24
