Only when she was outside, gulping in mouthfuls of fresh air, did she begin to relax and her limbs lost the quivery sensation that follows a burst of adrenaline. As her breathing steadied, she began to berate herself for leaving so hastily. She’d made a spectacle of herself, which might prompt unwelcome questions when she returned.
Pulling her coat tighter around herself as she walked away from the hospital, she knew there was no question of her not going back. Seeing Sadie lying there all bandaged up had strengthened her resolve, not weakened it. She would go back every day until Sadie woke up so she could say sorry in person and explain it wasn’t her and Sean who’d attacked her. But for now she’d go home and keep up the pretence of being ill again.
As Bea waited to cross the approach road to the hospital to head back into town, she heard someone shout a familiar name.
‘Della?’
Her head whipped round as she frantically looked for anyone who might resemble Sadie’s granddaughter in the vicinity. Then she realized the woman in the trouser suit who’d called out Della’s name was walking towards her. She was some distance away still and her eyes were squinting against the sun, but she was definitely looking at Bea.
‘Della?’
Alarmed, Bea shook her head and turned on her heel, darting across the road between two cars that had pulled to a halt. She didn’t dare look over her shoulder to see if the woman was following her and instead kept running until she reached the familiar imposing outline of the shopping centre and darted inside.
Scurrying past shops and coffee bars on the cut-through to the bus station, Bea considered how bizarre it was that she’d now been mistaken twice for Della. Were they really that similar? It was probably her dyed hair, she decided – everyone said that being brunette made her look older.
The bus she needed to catch was about to leave, its engine ticking over impatiently as the driver waited for the last few stragglers to board. Tagging on to the back of the queue, it occurred to Bea that her resemblance to Della might work in her favour when Sadie did wake up – if Bea reminded her enough of her granddaughter, Sadie might be quicker to accept she had nothing to do with her being attacked.
Bea twirled a strand of her hair round her finger and held it up to examine it. She didn’t know if her mum had booked an appointment with the hairdresser on Saturday to strip the dye out, but if she had Bea would find a way to cancel it. Her hair needed to stay exactly as it was.
It might just be her saving grace.
26
Maggie’s stomach was in knots as she left the hospital. Umpire had every right to be annoyed with her for barracking him in the pub about going back to his wife, but she never imagined for a moment it would end their friendship as well as kill the chance of anything else developing. Walking slowly towards the car park up the paved slope running along the side of the hospital she hoped he’d come after her. Halfway up, unable to stop herself, she turned round to check, but the only person on the path behind her was Della Cardle.
Except it wasn’t Della. After calling her name and walking towards her, Maggie realized it was Della’s double – a teenage girl with the same shade of hair and similarly waifish build. Startled to see Maggie approaching her, the girl turned on her heel and ran across the road. Maggie let her go.
In the car park her frostbitten Toyota had to be coaxed to life with a few pumps on the accelerator pedal but five minutes and a complicated configuration of mini roundabouts later Maggie pulled into the rear of Mansell police station. Immediately she felt calmer. This was her domain, the place where she felt most at home. Even her own flat, where she’d lived for more than three years, didn’t give her the same sense of reassurance as the police station that had been her place of work for the past eight. As she relaxed, she told herself there was no point obsessing about the situation with Umpire when she had no control over it right now. At some point, God knows when, she would try again to raise the subject of them, but until that moment presented itself she would bury her feelings as effectively as he’d seemed to.
The front of the police station, overlooking the main thoroughfare leading to Mansell High Street, was an old but beautifully maintained red-brick facade with wood-frame sash windows. Behind it, though, the bit the public never saw unless they were handcuffed and being brought into the custody suite to be booked in, was a concrete box of smoked glass windows and steel doors. The station’s two faces. Maggie liked the contradiction.
CID was up on the third floor. The department was open plan and envied by the uniformed officers and civilian personnel shuttered in the rabbit warren of corridors and rooms on the lower floors.
Maggie had just stepped out of the lift when DS Renshaw bore down on her.
‘Ah, good, you’re here. I need you to do me a favour,’ she said.
The politeness of Renshaw’s approach and the smile that accompanied it caused Maggie’s hackles to rise, primed for the attack she was sure would follow.
‘Can you go round to see Della Cardle? I’ve just spoken to her and she’s in a right state about some more missing pictures. I couldn’t really get much sense out of her. I’d go myself but Nathan and I are meant to be seeing the first two victims this morning, as I want to go over the discrepancies in their descriptions of the Con Couple. That okay?’
Maggie was lost for words. She’d never known Renshaw to be so polite.
‘I know you’ve got a lot on with the attempted murder-suicide,’ Renshaw added, ‘but Della’s rung me five times. We should check she’s okay.’
Were they giving out frontal lobotomies in the canteen as a side order to sausage and chips? Maggie marvelled inwardly. It was surely the only possible explanation for Renshaw’s sudden niceness.
‘I can go round now,’ she replied, unable to hide her bemusement.
‘Thanks, I appreciate it.’
Maggie gaped at the unprecedented expression of gratitude but Renshaw didn’t notice because at the same time she was yelling across the room to tell Nathan to get a move on. The young DC sprang from his chair, grabbed his coat from the back of it and hurried across to them, unbothered by the loud summons. He and Renshaw got on well and their easy rapport reminded Maggie of how it used to be between her and Steve Berry when he was still in CID. Like Renshaw and Nathan, she and Steve had shared the same way of thinking and the same approach to policing, but an error of judgement caused Steve to slip up on the Rosie Kinnock case and he quit the force before he could be disciplined. Maggie had tried to talk him out of resigning but he was resolute: his wife, Isla, had just had a baby and his new job for a private security firm meant family-friendlier hours. Watching Renshaw give Nathan a rundown of the descriptions the two witnesses had previously given as he pulled his coat on made Maggie wistful for Steve. She hadn’t gelled with anyone else in CID in quite the same way since his departure.
Noticing Maggie was still rooted to the spot, Renshaw broke off.
‘I haven’t got anything else to brief you on at the moment,’ she said. ‘That may change after we speak to these victims again, but you can get going if you want.’
Again Maggie waited for a rebuke to be tagged on to the end of the sentence but none came. She scanned Renshaw’s face for signs of insincerity – a sly jerk of an eyebrow, a subtle twist of the mouth, narrowed eyes – but there was nothing. Disconcerted, she said that when she got back from seeing Della, she had to write up a witness statement for Umpire, who wanted it by the afternoon.
Renshaw nodded her consent.
‘I’ll make sure you’re left alone to do it. Right, come on Nath, we need to get going.’
Renshaw strode off towards the exit. Maggie grabbed Nathan’s arm before he could follow.
‘What’s up with her?’ she hissed in an undertone. ‘Why is she being so nice?’
‘She’s always all right to me,’ he said. ‘Maybe if you stopped being so snarky to her, she wouldn’t be like it back.’
Jolted, Maggie dropped her hand from his arm. Was
Nathan right? Was her reciprocal attitude not the defensive response she thought it was but actually the fuel igniting the flame? No, a voice cautioned firmly inside her head. Renshaw had been a bitch to her since day one. If she was being pleasant all of a sudden, there was a reason for it.
Maggie had a feeling she wasn’t going to enjoy finding out what it was.
27
By the time Della had finished, the dining room looked as though it had been ransacked. She’d upended every book, ornament, envelope, document and stray piece of paper but couldn’t find any of the missing photographs from the album. She flew upstairs to Sadie’s room and went through every drawer in there but the result was the same. Nothing. She was about to start on the living room when the doorbell rang.
‘Oh, thank God,’ she cried when she saw Maggie on the doorstep. ‘You have to see this. Look, in here.’
Della shot down the hallway with Maggie trailing in her wake.
‘Wait—’ the officer called after her.
Della stopped abruptly in the doorway to the dining room, causing Maggie to stagger into her.
‘I can’t find them. I’ve looked everywhere,’ said Della, whipping round.
‘Can’t find what?’
‘The photographs of me. Every single picture of me growing up. They’ve been taken. I think you were right. It’s her. It has to be.’
She fired the words at Maggie so quickly that the officer held her hands up as if to deflect them.
‘You need to slow down, Della. Do you mean the missing pictures you spoke to DS Renshaw about earlier?’
Della ignored her again and dashed across to the cabinet, where she’d left the empty album. She shook with excitement.
‘Look, they’ve all gone. Every single one!’
She opened the album and shoved the empty pages at Maggie, who pulled back in surprise.
‘You were right,’ Della went on. ‘She was here, in the house. I can’t believe it. Nan won’t believe it either.’
Maggie took a step back and folded her arms across her chest.
‘Della, calm down.’
The firmness of her voice stopped Della in her tracks but she couldn’t stop herself smiling.
Helen had been here.
She had come back.
‘Now, do you want to start at the beginning?’ said Maggie. ‘And take it slowly this time . . .’
Della gulped down a huge intake of breath before she spoke again.
‘I was checking through my nan’s belongings like you said to, in case I’d missed anything, and I found a photograph on the floor, over there.’ She pointed to beneath the bureau, now an empty wooden shell with its contents scattered far and wide across the dining-room floor. ‘I didn’t know how it got there as it’s from one of Nan’s albums. When I went to put it back, I realized that all the photographs had come loose. Not just in that album but four of the others too. Look.’
Maggie followed her over to the tall cabinet. Saying nothing, she watched intently, arms still folded, as Della leafed through the albums to show her the photos and where the white cardboard corners holding them down had been ripped out.
‘Then I opened the last one,’ said Della breathlessly. ‘The photographs aren’t just missing from the pages, they’re missing completely.’
She handed the album to Maggie, who with the very edges of her fingertips slowly turned every page. Then she went back to the beginning and read the inscription. Her lack of urgency sent Della spinning again.
‘See, you were right when you said my mum could’ve been here. I think she’s the one who took them!’
‘Hang on, that’s not what I said, Della. I asked you if it was possible your mum had returned but you were adamant she hadn’t.’ Maggie handed the album back. ‘Isn’t it more likely your nan removed them and hasn’t mentioned it?’
‘Why would she throw away every picture of me?’ Della demanded. ‘That makes no sense.’
‘But why would someone else want to take all your photographs?’
‘It must be Helen,’ Della parried. ‘What if she came back? What if,’ she went on, her voice rising an octave, ‘she came back for me and my nan didn’t like it and they argued and Nan fell and that’s how she got hurt and now Helen won’t come forward because she’s worried she’ll get into trouble when it was an accident?’
Maggie took her time before answering. When she did, her tone was gentle.
‘We believe a glass bottle was used as a weapon to hit your nan and it doesn’t appear to have been accidental. The back door showed signs of forced entry, and her rings being stolen from her person also indicate this was a robbery.’ Della opened her mouth to protest but Maggie raised a hand to stop her. ‘I do think the theft of the photograph in the hallway is significant, in that it was taken because the frame was worth something. But I’m not sure we can say the same about these pictures.’
Della groped for something she could say that might convince Maggie otherwise.
‘Don’t you have a duty to investigate all possibilities?’ she pleaded. ‘Isn’t that what you said to me when you asked if any of Nan’s friends were capable of hurting her, that you had to check every line of inquiry?’
‘Every credible line of inquiry. I’m sorry, Della, I know you’re going through a very stressful time right now, but we don’t have the resources to investigate an empty photo album. Forensics checked this room and they were satisfied the intruders hadn’t entered it—’
There was a loud banging on the front door. Feeling too overwrought to deal with whoever was making the noise, Della let Maggie answer it. She made out a man’s voice she didn’t recognize then heard Maggie say something in response. She shut the dining-room door to block them both out. Then she slumped to the floor cradling the empty album of lost memories and began to cry.
28
The minicab driver on the doorstep didn’t care who paid the fare, as long as someone did. ‘I’ve been out here with the meter running. She told me to wait.’
‘How much is it?’ said Maggie.
‘Twenty-two quid.’
‘Really? That seems a lot.’
‘I’ve been out here half a bleedin’ hour,’ said the driver, who didn’t sound local. ‘I’m freezin’ me knackers off.’
‘Hang on, I’ll see if she’s got any cash.’
‘Don’t she want taking to the hospital now?’ said the driver irritably. ‘Have I been wasting my time?’
‘Not if you’re getting paid. Just wait a minute.’
Maggie ducked inside. She found Della cross-legged on the floor of the dining room, hugging the album to her chest like a teddy bear. It took a few attempts, but she managed to elicit a response and Della got the money from her purse.
‘I’ll drive you to the hospital myself when you’re ready,’ Maggie told her.
The driver had returned to his minicab, engine running and the heating cranked up. The radio was also at full whack, a commentator on 5 Live giving a rundown of the previous night’s football results. Maggie rapped on the window to get the driver’s attention, which made him jump. The window slid open.
‘Here you go,’ said Maggie, bending down to hand over £25. She didn’t ask for change and nor did the driver offer any.
‘Cheers. ’Ere, is that the house where that old lady got clobbered?’
Maggie straightened up. ‘You can go now.’
‘Ah, you’re a copper. I should’ve guessed. I can tell by the way you walk.’
Maggie rolled her eyes and the driver gave a friendly blast of his horn as he drove off. The noise must have disturbed Sadie’s next-door neighbour, because Maggie noticed movement behind the net curtain in the downstairs window and a moment later Audrey Allen threw open her front door and beckoned her up the path.
‘I do hope you don’t mind me disturbing you, officer, but I was wondering if there was any news on Sadie. I haven’t wanted to go round and ask Della because she looks so upset,’ said Mrs Allen, who looked equally st
ricken as she wrung her hands.
‘I’m about to take Della to the hospital so we’ll know more then, but the last I heard Mrs Cardle was in a critical but stable condition.’
‘She’s stable? Oh, that’s good to hear.’
‘I’ll ask Della if you can visit, if you want?’
Audrey Allen brightened at the suggestion.
‘Oh, that would be lovely. I’ve been ever so worried. I hadn’t seen Sadie for days before all this happened.’
Maggie frowned as she remembered what Della had said about the two women usually going out on Monday evenings.
‘You didn’t go to bingo with her?’
‘I went, but Sadie cried off this week. She said she was expecting someone.’
That was news to Maggie. There had been no mention of Sadie having a visitor in any of Renshaw’s briefings.
‘Did she say who?’
‘She didn’t give much away, but she said someone was coming to talk to her about her father. He had a bit of a claim to fame, you see. After the war he was a cabinetmaker at Perry’s – you know, the furniture factory that used to be on Chapel Lane until it shut down. Well, one day, just like that, he was handpicked to make a writing desk for Winston Churchill to use at Chequers.’
Maggie was impressed. Almost twenty miles north of Mansell, Chequers had for a century been the country residence of prime ministers and was one of the nation’s most famous houses. Being commissioned to make the desk for Churchill would’ve been a huge honour for Sadie’s father.
‘So she was being interviewed about that?’
‘I think so. That’s what it sounded like. She was very excited.’
It dawned on Maggie that the interview might explain why the photo albums were in disarray: Sadie could have been looking through them for images of her father to accompany the story.
Wrong Place Page 12
