‘Really?’ said Caroline, astonished.
Bea shrugged. ‘I don’t mind just this once.’
Except it wouldn’t be a one-off. She planned to walk with Esme every day now she knew Sean had her little sister in his sights. The thought of him touching Esme the way he had her made her heartbeat accelerate in terror.
‘Are you sure you feel well enough to go today?’ said Caroline.
Bea proffered the slice of granary toast she’d slathered in butter and Marmite. ‘Yes. Look, I am eating.’
‘We’re still seeing Dr Reynolds on Monday though. I’ve made the appointment for right after school. I’ll pick you up and Esme can make her own way home.’
‘No! Can’t she come with us?’
Across the table, her sister pulled a face.
‘That’s not fair, I don’t want to,’ said Esme.
‘She’s right, it wouldn’t be fair,’ said Caroline, earning herself a beaming smile from her youngest daughter and a scowl from her eldest. ‘She’ll get bored sitting in the waiting room all that time.’
Bea tried to pretend she wasn’t bothered but inside she was frantic with worry. If she couldn’t be there to walk Esme home, who’d protect her if Sean followed through on his threat to go after her?
‘Right, you girls need to get going. It’s nearly twenty-five to nine.’
After watching them wriggle into their winter coats and pull on gloves and scarves, Caroline kissed both of her daughters on the cheek, shoved their bags into their hands and ushered them out of the front door. The cold blast of air that shot into the house made her shiver violently.
‘Quick, before you let all the heat out.’ She’d shut the door before they reached the end of the drive.
Esme broke into a skip as they reached the pavement.
‘Don’t do that,’ said Bea. Her voice was muffled from where she’d buried her chin and mouth in the depths of her scarf.
‘What is wrong with you? You’re being a right moody so-and-so.’
But Bea wasn’t listening. Her eyes darted back and forth across the street, searching for any sign of Sean. When they reached the main road she relaxed a little, the increase in pedestrians and the vehicles flowing past making her feel more secure. Still, she wasn’t taking any chances, and in the pocket of her coat her gloved hand tightly clutched her phone, just in case.
They were barely twenty yards from the school gate when Esme let out a squeak of excitement.
‘Oh my God, it’s him,’ she said, her words coming out in a high-pitched rush.
Bea didn’t need to look to know the ‘him’ her sister was talking about, but she did anyway. Sean was sitting on the brick wall outside the caretaker’s house, the final property between the rest of the street and the school perimeter. His long legs were stretched out in front of him, crossed at the ankles, and to her horror she realized he was wearing the same black Primark jeans he’d worn during each of the burglaries. She would bet anything the matching black T-shirt was under his bomber jacket. He had a beanie hat pulled down low over his head and Bea was taken aback to see a tuft of bright blond hair escaping the rim. Had he dyed his hair?
Sean wasn’t looking at her though. He was staring at Esme, who quivered with excitement beside Bea, her face scarlet. ‘Oh my God,’ she said over and over under her breath.
‘Is that the guy you were talking about, the one who said about your hair?’ Bea asked her, even though she already knew the answer.
‘Yes, that’s him,’ her sister giggled. ‘OMG, he’s so fit.’
Bea couldn’t lie and pretend Sean wasn’t attractive because he was. Judging by the looks being thrown his way by other girls streaming through the school gates ahead of them, she and Esme weren’t alone in thinking it either. But where she once saw beauty she now saw only danger. She grabbed at the sleeve of Esme’s coat and tugged.
‘Come on, we’ll be late.’
‘But he might want to talk to me again,’ Esme protested, pulling away from her.
‘Look at him,’ said Bea furiously. ‘He’s, like, so old. He shouldn’t be hanging around talking to girls your age. It’s messed up. I’ll tell your teacher.’
Esme was still of an age where the authority of teachers actually counted for something and Bea knew the thought of getting in trouble would fill her with dread. Immediately she stopped the tug-of-war with her sleeve and started moving, albeit slowly, towards the school gate, shooting looks over her shoulder at Sean as she went. Bea fought the urge to look back herself but couldn’t resist one final glance as she stepped into the safe haven of the playground.
As she did, Sean pointed to his eyes with two fingers then pointed them directly at her.
I’m watching you.
47
Maggie stirred another sugar into her mug of tea. Normally she didn’t sweeten her drinks but this morning she needed every stimulant she could get, so shattered was she after being up until the early hours consoling Lou. Her eyeballs itched with tiredness and even though she’d showered before coming to work she was convinced the smell of smoke still lingered in her hair.
Across the table from her sat DI Green with a copy of Eleanor Bramwell’s statement laid out next to the cup of tea and bacon sandwich she’d ordered from the canteen servery. Green had texted Maggie just before eight saying she wanted a chat before they went to see Eleanor and could they meet at Mansell police station instead of at the hotel. The diversion made no odds to Maggie: she was too exhausted from dealing with the previous evening’s events to mind. With the fire at Lou’s house dominating her thoughts, she hadn’t even begun to process Umpire’s surprise visit to her flat, although she did keep checking her phone in the vain hope he might contact her. Every time she saw there was no message she felt even more deflated.
‘You don’t share DC Small’s opinion of Mrs Bramwell, do you?’ said Green. ‘He thinks she’s aggressive and a bit shifty.’
‘When he met her she’d just regained consciousness. You saw what she was like – distressed, confused and in unfamiliar surroundings. I’d have probably shouted at us too, if I were her.’
‘Fair dos. Maybe he needs to work on his bedside manner,’ said Green sardonically, taking a sip of tea. ‘Now, I’m going to lead the questions, but feel free to hop in if anything occurs. I prefer my interviews to be more like a chat than an inquisition. Am I right in thinking Mrs Bramwell still hasn’t got anyone with her, no friends or relatives?’
‘That’s right. She’s adamant she wants to be left alone. Her friends are mostly people her husband knew before they married, so she doesn’t want them around her.’
‘There’s always one in a relationship who brings more to the party. I couldn’t stand my husband’s friends when I first met him and got rid of them sharpish. He didn’t mind,’ said Green, catching the look on Maggie’s face. ‘He couldn’t stand them either.’
Maggie grinned. Green’s company was fast becoming the balm she needed after only two hours’ sleep. The DI carried herself in a way that commanded respect, but her humorous asides made Maggie think she’d be great fun on a night out.
Maggie didn’t plan to tell her about the fire though, finding it preferable to switch off and concentrate on work. Her parents, who’d arrived in Mansell at 3 a.m. after numerous toilet stops slowed their journey, had taken over the task of keeping an eye on Lou and the children, and when Maggie left for the station they were all crammed into the living room of her flat, deciding the day’s plan of action. Top of the to-do list was arranging for the utilities to be turned off and contacting the firm with which Lou held her buildings and home insurance. After that they would go back to the house and see what they could salvage from the ground floor.
DI Green drove them to the Langston Hotel, with Maggie giving directions.
‘I’d forgotten how bloody hilly Mansell is. Gonna bugger my clutch going up this,’ said Green as she crunched into second gear halfway up Bishop’s Hill. With some effort on the part of her agei
ng Audi, seconds later they swung into the forecourt of the hotel. Green parked efficiently in front of the glass-walled walkway and peered out of the windscreen.
‘Not a fancy place, then.’
‘It’s not the best hotel in Mansell, no. But one of the nurses recommended it and Eleanor insisted this was where she wanted to stay. I guess it suits her being a cheaper option – it’ll make her running-away fund stretch further.’
‘Her what?’
‘It’s what she calls the money she salted away to escape her marriage.’
Green let out a low whistle. ‘That bad, eh?’
‘So she says.’
The two of them got out of the car. It was half past nine and Eleanor was expecting them – Maggie had called ahead to let her know DI Green wanted to question her. Eleanor wasn’t happy but Maggie had made it clear it wasn’t optional.
They found her hovering nervously in the small and perfunctory reception area. Eleanor didn’t give DI Green the opportunity to re-introduce herself before she leapt in.
‘Is there any news on my husband?’
‘Actually, there is,’ said DI Green. ‘Shall we go somewhere private to talk?’
‘No, tell me now.’
Green stood firm. ‘I really think we should find a nice, quiet corner.’
Eleanor looked to Maggie for reassurance.
‘DI Green is right. Can we go to your room to talk?’
‘No, you can’t. Let’s go in here.’
As Green and Maggie raised eyebrows at each other behind her back, Eleanor led them into a room filled with bright orange easy chairs and low tables. There was a small bar in one corner, its beer pumps and bottles of liquor and wine locked out of temptation’s way behind a metal grille.
‘The receptionist said we could use this while the other guests have breakfast in the dining room,’ said Eleanor. She grew agitated as Green took a seat and motioned for her and Maggie to do the same.
‘Please, tell me what’s going on.’
‘The doctors treating your husband are hoping to bring him out of his coma this morning. There may be some lasting damage to his kidneys that will require further treatment but the signs are that he’s going to recover,’ said Green.
‘NO!’
Eleanor jumped out of her seat and screamed so loudly that both officers jolted in surprise. The scream continued until Green leapt up and forcibly grabbed Eleanor by her upper arms to hold her still.
‘You need to calm down, Mrs Bramwell,’ she said in a loud, firm voice, as a man in shirtsleeves and tie bolted into the room.
‘Is everything okay? I’m the manager . . .’
Green addressed him with the same forcefulness. ‘We’re fine. Mrs Bramwell’s just received some bad news. We’ll take care of her.’
Bewildered, the manager’s eyes darted from Maggie to Green to Eleanor.
‘You can go now,’ Green ordered.
‘I don’t think I should,’ he blustered.
‘DC Neville, can you speak to the gentleman outside?’
Maggie shot out of her seat and ushered the manager out of the bar.
‘Can we talk in your office?’
He took Maggie to a small room behind the reception area filled with three cluttered desks – all presently unoccupied – and shut the door behind them so the receptionist couldn’t overhear their conversation.
‘We can talk freely in here,’ he said.
When Maggie explained that she and Green were police officers and were there to interview Eleanor he was aghast.
‘Your receptionist should’ve informed you we were here,’ she added.
‘Why are you here to see my guest?’
‘She’s a witness to a crime. I’m afraid that’s all I can tell you for now.’
His eyes widened. ‘Is she in danger? Should she be staying here? Because I have a responsibility to all my guests, not just her.’
‘I give you my word she’s not at risk and nor is anyone else. Here, this is my card. If you have any concerns during her stay, give me a call. But there’s really nothing to worry about.’
The manager seemed not in the least bit mollified by her reassurance. His long, slim fingers grasped the card by one of its corners, as though the rest of it was contaminated. He peered at it through the narrow, rectangular lenses of the glasses perched on the end of his beaky nose. Everything about him was long and thin, including the strands of hair he’d combed over his head to disguise his baldness.
‘One whiff of trouble and I shall make a formal complaint,’ he warned.
As Maggie fought the urge to say something equally snippy in response, it suddenly dawned on her that the backroom office was where Della Cardle worked and that this man must be her boss.
‘I’m working on another case at the moment involving one of your employees,’ she said.
He seemed taken aback.
‘Oh, you mean Della? Such an awful business with her grandmother.’ There was a fraction of a pause. ‘I was hoping Della might be back to work today. I spoke to her yesterday and she said her grandmother was doing well. We’re rather short staffed without her, as you can see.’
He didn’t know Sadie had died.
‘I’m very sorry, Mr . . . ?’ Maggie looked for a name badge but there wasn’t one attached to his shirt.
‘Kendrick. Tim Kendrick. Sorry for what?’
‘I’m afraid Della’s grandmother died yesterday.’
Mr Kendrick gasped and raised a hand to his mouth. It was a few moments before he could speak.
‘Oh, oh, that’s awful. Poor Della. I had no idea. Who would do such a thing?’
Maggie let the comment hang; it wasn’t her place to mention the hospital investigation. Mr Kendrick sank into one of the empty chairs and stared into space as he processed the news. Eventually he looked up, his face marked with sadness. ‘Is there anything I can do to help?’
‘You could start by giving Della as much time off as she needs. Her grandmother was her only family, so she’s got a lot to deal with on her own.’
‘Of course, yes, absolutely,’ he said, visibly choked. ‘Anything she wants. Maybe we could help her with the funeral. Have the wake here.’ He shook his head. ‘What terrible, terrible news. I knew it was a nasty attack but, well . . . I thought she’d get better. Poor Della.’
He clearly cared. Maggie was touched.
‘I’m sure Della will appreciate whatever support you can give her.’
Blinking back tears, Mr Kendrick gathered himself together.
‘I’ll let you get on, detective. Would you like me to bring you some teas and coffees?’
‘That would be terrific, thank you.’
Thinking that Della was lucky to have a considerate employer, Maggie re-entered the bar. Then, as her eyes focused on the scene in front of her, she stopped in her tracks.
DI Green was on the floor, out cold, her head resting at an awkward angle.
Eleanor Bramwell was nowhere to be seen.
48
Maggie darted across the bar and pressed her fingers against the side of Green’s throat in search of a pulse. To her relief she found one instantly, strong and regular. There was no obvious sign of injuries but a red mark was forming on the DI’s cheek. Maggie called control on her radio to request an ambulance and to summon back-up to the hotel.
‘Can someone help me in here?’ she hollered as she clipped the radio back onto her belt.
A few seconds later Mr Kendrick dashed into the room. The manager went ashen when he saw DI Green on the floor. ‘What happened?’
‘Did you see Mrs Bramwell leave?’ Maggie barked at him.
‘No, I was in the back office still.’
‘I need to find her,’ said Maggie. ‘What room is she in?’
‘317, third floor.’
‘Stay here with DI Green, but don’t move her. She might be injured internally and moving her could make it worse.’
He nodded.
The digital displ
ay above the hotel’s only lift said it was on the third floor already. Too impatient to wait for it to descend, Maggie raced up the stairs, her lungs burning by the time she reached the top.
The third-floor corridor was empty except for a tray bearing used crockery, a scrunched-up napkin and a half-eaten croissant on the carpet outside one of the rooms. Maggie checked the first door she came across: Room 300. She was at the wrong end.
She took off in the opposite direction, her footsteps muffled by the navy patterned carpet. She wasn’t entirely sure what she was looking for – was it Eleanor who’d attacked DI Green or a different assailant altogether? And if it was Eleanor, why on earth had she done it? Maggie got the answer to her first question a moment later when, as she rounded the corner at the end of the corridor, she was smacked full in the face by a small suitcase. As she fell back against the wall with a groan, blood pouring from her nose, Maggie caught a glimpse of long blonde hair flying past her.
Eleanor.
She staggered forward onto her hands and knees as the blood from her nose flowed onto the carpet like water from a tap. Then, with some effort, she forced herself to her feet. Woozily she began to run, her hand slapping along the wall for support. Reaching the corner she saw there was no sign of Eleanor near the lift or the door to the stairs so she aimed for the former. Her legs felt too shaky to negotiate three flights of steps.
The lift seemed to take ages to reach the ground floor and Maggie cursed its slowness. She’d managed to stem the bleeding from her nose by removing her coat and using the suit jacket she wore underneath as a hanky-cum-bandage. Her nose and cheeks throbbed painfully but her pride was battered more. She’d been too trusting with Eleanor Bramwell.
The receptionist shrieked as Maggie stumbled out of the lift covered in blood.
‘I’m okay, it’s just my nose,’ she reassured her. Her voice was thick though, like she was bunged up with a cold. ‘One of your guests, Mrs Bramwell, did she come through this way?’
Wrong Place Page 21
