Wrong Place

by Michelle Davies

  Della had been expecting to find her watching Loose Women like she always did. At first she hadn’t noticed the blood, only Sadie’s slippered feet poking out from behind the coffee table. Her immediate thought was a heart attack, the same thing that had killed her grandfather, Eric. He’d got up from a chair to fetch something one Sunday afternoon then fell backwards seconds later, already dead. There wasn’t even time for him to clutch his chest the way heart-attack victims supposedly do.

  It was only as she drew closer that Della had seen the blood pooling around Sadie’s head. But even then she still believed it to be an accident – her grandmother had fallen and somehow struck her head. To be told by the police that the wound appeared to have been inflicted deliberately was more than Della could comprehend. Who would do that to her? Sadie was the gentlest, kindest person she knew, adored by everyone who came into contact with her. She was diminutive in stature, barely five feet two tall, but she had the presence of a giant, filling every room she walked into with her unending cheerfulness. ‘No point worrying about it,’ was the motto Sadie lived by. Only Della knew that to scratch below the surface would reveal a mother who never stopped wondering about the adult daughter who upped and left one day, leaving her three-year-old child behind.

  Della frowned as an image of Helen intruded on her thoughts. She had long ago stopped thinking of Helen as her mum and she wasn’t about to start now – Helen lost that right when she abandoned her into the care of Sadie and Eric like an unwanted puppy. To push her from her mind, Della began reciting the Lord’s Prayer over and over to herself – the only prayer she knew – until at last the door opened and another nurse appeared, this one male. His hair was almost entirely grey but he had the relatively youthful face of someone still in his thirties.

  ‘Are you Sadie Cardle’s next of kin?’ he asked.

  Della’s throat went dry as she stood up.

  ‘Yes,’ she rasped. ‘I’m her granddaughter. How is she?’

  ‘You’d better come with me.’

  4

  Despite the seriousness of its function, Maggie found HDU to be a tranquil place to visit. The majority of its patients were bed-bound and unconscious, meaning a more peaceful environment prevailed compared to the general wards.

  Today was different though. Peering through the glass-panelled double doors at the entrance to the department, Maggie watched as two nurses in light blue pinstripe tunics and navy trousers sprinted down the corridor in the direction away from her. Their sense of urgency was palpable even from behind the glass and moments later a doctor with unruly brown hair, shirtsleeves rolled up and a stethoscope slung round his neck, sprang from a side room and raced after them.

  Maggie didn’t know the door security code required to gain access to the ward and was reluctant to ring the bell next to the keypad to summon assistance when an emergency was clearly taking place inside. But as she hovered outside the doors a male nurse on the ward side spotted her and opened them. His expression was set like stone and when Maggie showed him her warrant card and told him why she was there he blanched.

  ‘Mrs Cardle just went into respiratory arrest. My colleagues are working on her now.’

  ‘Is her granddaughter with her?’

  ‘Not right now, but she was when it started. I’ve taken her back to the relatives’ room.’

  ‘Can I check on her?’ asked Maggie.

  ‘She’s too upset to be questioned right now,’ he retorted.

  Maggie kept her tone level. ‘If her grandmother dies as the result of her injury, this becomes a murder inquiry. So while I take on board your concerns, I do need to speak to her. I promise I’ll go easy on her though.’

  The nurse pursed his lips and Maggie could see he was trying to weigh up whether she was the type of person who kept her word. She’d been told she looked trustworthy enough; her face was soft and round – she would forever lament her lack of cheekbones – and she had unusual blue-green eyes that combined to make her seem approachable and friendly. She flashed the nurse a smile for reassurance and it seemed to do the trick.

  ‘Okay, I’ll show you where she is but make sure you do take it gently,’ he said sternly. ‘I don’t want you causing an upset on the unit. We’re got enough on our plate today, what with that stabbing victim on her way in too.’

  ‘There’s been a stabbing in Mansell?’ Maggie exclaimed, surprised none of her CID colleagues had let her know. Bad news usually travelled fast.

  ‘You’ll never guess what happened,’ said the nurse, his voice dropping to a hush and his face taking on the look of someone who enjoyed imparting gossip. ‘Attempted murder-suicide. Husband stabbed his wife then took an overdose but by some miracle they’ve both survived. It happened in Trenton this morning. The wife is being brought down here to HDU while the husband stays up there under police guard. It’s nothing for you and your lot to worry about though,’ he said, misinterpreting the look on Maggie’s face. ‘From what I’ve been told the police in Trenton are dealing with it.’

  That wasn’t what concerned her. Trenton was only half an hour’s drive away from Mansell, towards the north of Buckinghamshire, and Maggie knew the town well. It had a quaintly rural charm that Mansell lacked, emphasized by its pedestrianized town square and the imposing twelfth-century church flanking it, which was often used as a location by film and TV production companies.

  Trenton was also where Detective Chief Inspector Will Umpire lived.

  Umpire was the SIO on two of the last three cases Maggie had been assigned as Family Liaison and while their roles at work were easy to define, outside of it their relationship was not so easily pigeonholed. When she was injured making an arrest during the Rosie Kinnock abduction – six months previously – and put on enforced sick leave for a fortnight, Umpire had visited her at home to see how she was. Once she was back at work he then suggested they meet for a drink one evening – ostensibly to discuss the court case that would follow – so a few times they’d met in a pub halfway between Mansell and Trenton. Then, three months ago, dinner had been mooted for the first time and the two of them travelled into London to eat at a restaurant Umpire had been raving about. Further dinners followed, but still very much on a platonic footing; mostly they talked about work and the forthcoming trial.

  Maggie liked having Umpire as a sounding board and had initially refused to consider there could be anything else between them other than friendship. He was a senior officer, after all, and he was also in the final stages of his divorce: the welfare of his two children, a boy of nine and girl of eleven, was his overriding concern, not a new relationship. Maggie also had a self-imposed rule never to fall for someone already in a relationship and in her mind Umpire was technically still married. The rule stemmed back to when she was eighteen and had fallen in love with a man who was engaged to another woman; although the affair had remained a secret, the ramifications of it could still be felt.

  Yet the more they socialized, the more attracted she was to him and at their last dinner two weeks ago she’d suspected the feeling was mutual: there was a flirty edge to their conversation that hadn’t been there before and the air had crackled with possibility. Maggie was certain that if she’d made a move Umpire would have happily reciprocated, so when he let slip that his decree absolute was only weeks from being signed she had started to tell herself he was as good as single anyway.

  Until she blew it.

  5

  The nurse said he would update Maggie on Sadie’s condition when he could.

  ‘The granddaughter’s in there,’ he added, coming to a halt and gesturing towards a door.

  Maggie thanked him and rapped softly on the pale wood. She heard a faint ‘Hello?’ from the other side and let herself in.

  A young woman was sat hunched over on one of the sofas. Her face was bright red, possibly because she was crying, but just as likely because she was sweltering in the oversized black Puffa jacket she had on. It looked as though it was made for Arctic conditions, with a
huge, stiff collar that sat up past her ears like an Elizabethan ruff. Although the coat’s inflated folds swamped her, Maggie could see she was petite.

  ‘Are you Della Cardle?’ she asked.

  The woman nodded nervously, tucking her hair behind her ears. Dark brown, in no discernible style, it had the same fluffy, flyaway texture as candyfloss.

  ‘Yes, I’m Della,’ she replied in a voice so small and faint it was as though the volume on it had been turned down to almost nothing.

  Maggie introduced herself and explained she was part of the CID team investigating the attack on Sadie.

  ‘I know this is a difficult time but I have a few questions I need to ask you,’ she said. ‘It would help us if you could answer them now.’

  ‘Do you know how my nan is? I was sat there and the machine started beeping and she just, just . . . The noise she made—’ Della faltered and bit down hard on her bottom lip as her eyes shone with unshed tears.

  ‘The doctors are still with her,’ said Maggie. ‘Mind if I sit down?’

  Della shook her head and shuffled across on the sofa to make room, even though her tiny frame barely took up any space as it was.

  ‘What if she dies?’ she cried. ‘What will I do?’

  Maggie decided to employ the same approach to questioning she used in Family Liaison, even though she wasn’t acting in that capacity – at least not yet: go in gently.

  ‘I know you’re not in the right frame of mind to answer lots of questions right now, but I do need to ask you a couple of things about your nan that would help move our investigation along. Are you okay with that?’ she said.

  Della puffed out her next breath and the exhalation seemed to calm her down. Her face was as bird-like as the rest of her: she had the sharp, angular chin of someone who carried little or no excess body fat and the hands and wrists poking out of the thick sleeves of her coat were similarly waifish. Although close up she looked to be in her twenties, at a distance she would easily pass for a teenager still.

  ‘What do you want to ask me?’

  ‘You don’t live with your grandmother, do you?’ said Maggie lightly.

  ‘No, I moved out around a year ago, to a flat about five minutes away. There was no row or anything that made me leave,’ Della added hastily. ‘I just wanted my own space. I pop in to check on Nan all the time.’

  ‘I understand you don’t have any other family we can call for you?’

  ‘It’s just been Nan and me since my granddad died. They raised me.’

  ‘Your parents aren’t in contact at all?’

  Della couldn’t find the words to answer and her eyes filled with fresh tears as she gave a brief shake of the head. Realizing there was a story to be learned, Maggie mentally filed away the question to mention again later.

  ‘I’m sorry, Della; I didn’t mean to upset you. It just helps us if we know a bit more about your nan – what she’s like, who her friends are, any other relatives. We need to draw up a list of witnesses to talk to, to find out if anyone knows anything.’

  ‘But aren’t the people who attacked her the same ones who broke into those other old people’s houses?’ asked Della, looking confused. ‘I read about them in the Echo. Why would you think it was someone else?’

  ‘While the crimes do appear similar, we have a duty to consider other possibilities too,’ said Maggie. ‘Can you think of anyone else who might have had reason to confront your nan like that?’

  Della recoiled and as she did the sleeves of her Puffa jacket rubbed against her sides, making a scraping sound that set Maggie’s teeth on edge.

  ‘Why would anyone she knows want to hurt her?’ said Della.

  ‘There could be lots of reasons.’

  ‘No, it can’t have been someone she knew. Everyone loves Nan and I’ve never known her to fall out with anyone about anything—’ Della let out a long, tremulous sigh and rubbed her temples with her slim fingers, averting her gaze.

  Maggie waited for her to continue but Della would not look up. It was time to break her promise about not badgering her for answers.

  ‘Are you holding something back, Della? If there’s something or someone we need to know about, you must tell us.’

  ‘There’s nothing to tell,’ Della insisted.

  ‘Are you sure?’

  ‘I promise you I would say if there was.’

  For the first time in their conversation, Della’s voice reached a normal pitch and Maggie was forced to change tack.

  ‘I know you were probably too upset because you’d just found your grandmother, but I don’t suppose you happened to notice if anything obvious was missing from the house?’

  Della thought for a moment. ‘Her rings. I noticed they were gone.’

  ‘From her jewellery box?’

  ‘No, her wedding band and engagement ring were gone from her finger. She never takes them off, not even to have a bath.’ Della began to cry again. ‘She will be so upset when she finds out they’ve been taken. See, that’s why it can’t be anyone she knows – who would be so cruel?’

  Maggie frowned. In the previous raids the ‘Con Couple’ had stolen cash from the victims’ purses and taken easily transportable valuables from around the house but nothing from their persons. Had their greed escalated along with their thirst for violence?

  ‘Do you have a picture of your nan wearing her rings? We could circulate the image in case they turn up in one of the local pawn shops.’

  ‘I can find one for you. I’m sure there will be one in Nan’s photo albums.’

  Maggie made a note to have the photograph collected.

  ‘Actually, talking of pictures, I noticed one was missing when I was at the house earlier.’ Maggie pulled out her phone and found the image she’d taken. ‘Here, can you see the gap on the wall?’

  Della let out a short gasp as she took Maggie’s phone and studied the image.

  ‘That’s the only one that’s missing?’ she said, her voice back to a whisper.

  ‘It looks that way. Can you remember what the frame’s like? If it’s worth a bit, that may be why they took it.’

  Della seemed paralysed for a moment as she gripped Maggie’s phone. ‘I . . . I can’t remember.’

  ‘Who’s in the photograph?’

  ‘Um . . . I’m not sure. Nan has so many.’

  Della threw the phone back at Maggie as if it was scalding hot.

  ‘Are you sure?’

  ‘Stop asking me, I don’t know!’ Della flared up angrily.

  The sudden spark of aggression surprised Maggie.

  ‘Well, if you do remember, let me know. If we have a description of the frame, we might be able to track it down if they try to sell it on.’

  ‘It’s a silly old photograph, it doesn’t matter,’ Della snapped. ‘We don’t need it back.’

  ‘If you don’t remember it, how can you be so sure you don’t want it returned?’

  6

  Della tried to keep her breathing normal but she could feel her lungs constricting as her body spiralled into panic mode. It took every ounce of self-control not to start gulping in mouthfuls of air and when she swallowed it felt like her throat had been sandpapered.

  ‘I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to snap,’ she managed to say. ‘It’s just that with Nan in such a bad way, it seems silly to be worrying about a missing picture.’

  The detective nodded but didn’t seem convinced.

  ‘I am sorry,’ Della repeated. ‘I can’t think straight until I know she’s going to be okay.’

  ‘Of course,’ said Maggie, tucking her notebook into her handbag. ‘I’m sorry if I upset you.’

  ‘You really didn’t,’ said Della, mortified she might have annoyed the officer. ‘Let me have a proper think about it. Maybe I’ll remember later.’

  She didn’t need time to remember though. In a heartbeat she could describe every inch of the picture – she simply didn’t want to have to explain to the police why nothing would make her happier than to never
have to clap eyes on it again.

  The photograph was of her and Helen, taken in the postnatal ward at Mansell General Hospital on the day Della was born. To anyone else it was a touching picture of a mum and her newborn, but when Della looked at it all she saw was Helen’s dispirited emotional state reflected in her expression and her body language. Dead eyes, downturned mouth, arms stiff and unyielding as she awkwardly cradled her tiny daughter’s sleeping form. Della felt a stab of hurt every time she looked at it.

  Helen had never wanted her, a fact Della discovered around her ninth birthday. Until then she’d grown up believing her grandparents’ explanation that Helen had been forced to leave her in their care because she was unwell. There was never any elaboration on what kind of illness would cause a woman to have no contact with her child for almost six years, but the way Sadie said ‘unwell’ in a pained, hushed voice as she pointed to her temple convinced Della of its seriousness.

  It was Eric who finally told her the truth, after tiring of her incessantly questioning why Helen wasn’t any better after years of supposed treatment. Surely she wouldn’t mind a visit wherever she was, Della would ask him over and over. Patience stretched to breaking point, Eric decided he could no longer acquiesce with his wife’s view that Della should be protected from knowing what had really happened. So he sat his granddaughter down and told her, while outside the rain pelted so hard against the window his voice was almost drowned out.

  Mindfully using words he hoped a nine-year-old would understand and not be too upset by, Eric had revealed that Helen’s pregnancy was unplanned. She was eighteen and felt far too young to be a mum – she wanted to go to college and have a career, make something of herself. As Della grew up, she came to understand what this actually meant, what her mother would have wanted to do. But she also knew that, due to her grandmother’s Christian beliefs, Sadie would have been strongly opposed to an abortion. Helen’s baby deserved to be born and would be.