In one fluid motion, she kicked the door open, yelling ‘Police! Freeze!’ as she did so.
The lights were off. She flicked the light switch. The lights flickered on, revealing Faye sitting on Rafferty’s bed with her legs tucked up beneath her chin and her arms wrapped around her shins. She was shaking and covered in blood.
‘Faye! What happened?’
Faye looked up at the sound of Rafferty’s voice. Her eyes were wide and wild. ‘I... I don’t know.’
The hairs on Rafferty’s neck stood on end. Hunches were normally Morton’s domain, but something was telling her that Faye had been involved somehow.
‘Faye, can I see your hands?’
The younger woman uncurled her arms and sat up. Rafferty’s hunch was right. The blood started at Faye’s right hand and had been smeared by transfer to her shirt and trousers. Faye had been the one to hurt Paddy. There wasn’t an intruder to be found. The attacker was the woman whom Rafferty had invited into her home.
Rafferty forced down the bile in her throat. The betrayal could wait. She needed to deal with Faye quickly. Paddy was bleeding out on the living room floor, and Rafferty hadn’t yet heard the paramedics arrive. She did the mental arithmetic. The nearest hospital was St Thomas’ in Lambeth, a little over a mile away. In traffic, that was a nine-minute ride. By that math, Rafferty had three or four minutes to take Faye into custody.
‘Faye, could you move to the other side of the bed, please?’ Rafferty said, her voice deadly calm.
‘Why?’ Faye asked in her sing-song voice. She was like a child who didn’t understand that it was not normal to be sitting on someone else’s bed covered in yet another person’s blood.
‘Please, just do it.’
Faye did. She shuffled to the right-hand side of the bed, next to the wall – and next to the radiator.
‘Okay, Faye, stay still for me.’ Rafferty approached Faye slowly. With one hand, she reached around to her back pocket and pulled out her handcuffs.
Then, as slowly and deliberately as she could, she clicked the handcuffs about Faye’s right wrist and then the other half to the radiator. Faye looked utterly confused, as if she had been the one betrayed.
‘Stay here, okay?’ Rafferty said.
She turned and sprinted back to where Paddy was lying on the floor. She knew he couldn’t hear her, but she kept talking to him, telling him everything was going to be alright.
‘Where are those damned paramedics?’
Chapter 46: Seventy-two Hours
Tuesday 28th June, 21:00
He was curled up on the sofa when the page came in. Sarah was leant against him, her head resting on his shoulders. She sighed when the phone went off.
Morton arched his back so he could squeeze his hand into his jeans pocket and retrieve his phone. He glanced at the screen and exhaled loudly. ‘Fuck.’
‘What’s wrong?’
‘Rafferty’s brother, Paddy, has been attacked. It doesn’t look good. He’s on his way to St Thomas’ Hospital now.’
Sarah lifted her head off his shoulder and turned to face him. ‘What happened?’
‘My murder suspect attacked him with a corkscrew,’ Morton said. ‘Want me to drop you off at the hospital on my way to Scotland Yard? I’ve got to go see what’s up with Faye Atkins, and I know Rafferty could do with some moral support.’
Before he’d even finished the sentence, Sarah was grabbing her coat and heading for the door.
***
With Sarah dropped off at St Thomas’, Morton headed for Scotland Yard. At this late hour, he easily found a parking space in the underground car park. Ayala was waiting in reception when he got there.
‘What’s going on, Ayala?’ Morton asked by way of greeting.
‘It’s Faye, boss. It looks like she was startled by Paddy when he let himself into Rafferty’s flat. He was there to cook dinner for him and his sister, and had an armful of groceries with him. He barely got the door open before she freaked out, jumped him, and stabbed him in the shoulder with a corkscrew. He wouldn’t have even seen it coming.’
‘What’s Faye’s story?’
‘She says she can’t remember a thing.’
Morton folded his arms. ‘That’s convenient.’
‘Yep, and we can’t question her, either. When she said she couldn’t remember anything, they called in medical. Medical said she’s physically fine, and they kicked it over to psych, some guy called Doctor–’
‘Jensen,’ Morton finished for him.
‘Yep. That’s him. He’s got her in interview suite one now. She seemed hyper-nervous at first, but she’s calmed down a bit.’
Morton set off for the interview suite at a jog.
‘Boss? Where are you going?’
‘To watch.’
***
Faye was sitting in the chair cross-legged. She was staring attentively at Dr Jensen as if she was sizing him up. She seemed wary, leaning back with her arms folded across her chest. Guarded, Morton thought. She had changed out of the clothes she had arrived in and was now wearing the plain clothing provided to all detainees. Presumably, someone had retained the bloodied clothes for evidence. Morton made a mental note to have Mayberry follow up on that. She’d been cleaned up, too, though there was still dried blood on her.
Morton flicked the little switch by the side of the one-way mirror to turn on the speaker.
Jensen’s voice sounded patient, but there was a bite to it, as if he had been asking the same question since Faye had arrived. ‘You’ve said that, Faye. You don’t remember anything about Patrick Rafferty. What do you remember?’
Faye gave the doc a withering glare. ‘I don’t remember anything.’
‘This amnesia – how long did it last?’
‘I don’t remember.’
‘What’s the last thing you do remember before the amnesia?’ Jensen asked.
Faye’s eyes seemed to glaze over. When she opened them, she looked around the room in surprise. ‘Where... where am I?’
Jensen turned to the glass and rolled his eyes. Then he turned back to Faye. ‘You’re in Scotland Yard.’
‘The... police?’ Faye said. ‘Why? Where’s Miss Ashley?’
‘I’m Doctor Jensen. What’s the last thing that you remember?’
‘Doctor? Is there something wrong with me?’ Faye said.
Morton watched the verbal ping-pong go back and forth. The medical exam had concluded that there was nothing wrong with Faye at all. Either they were wrong, or she was playing a very weird game.
Jensen looked as confused by Faye’s sudden dislocation as Morton felt. Jensen’s hands were clasped so tight that his knuckles had turned white, and his eyes were narrowed. He clearly didn’t believe Faye’s act.
‘You’re telling me you don’t know why you’re here? What is the last thing you remember?’ Jensen asked again.
‘I was at home – Miss Ashley’s, that is – and a man broke in,’ Faye said. She looked around nervously, and gasped when she saw herself reflected in the one-way mirror. ‘Is that blood?’
‘It’s not yours,’ Jensen reassured her. ‘You’re healthy as an ox, Miss Atkins. Tell me about what happened when the man broke into the flat. What were you doing?’
‘I was in bed. I haven’t been sleeping well. I heard someone at the door. Miss Ashley wasn’t due home, so I got scared. Then, there was a man in the doorway. He was big, really big. He filled the whole doorway.’
‘And then?’
‘I don’t know. I must have blacked out. And then I woke up here.’
‘When was this?’
She looked puzzled, as if it was a stupid question. ‘When I started talking to you.’
‘Just a moment ago?’
‘Yes,’ Faye said. ‘What’s going on? Can I talk to Miss Ashley? I’m scared.’
Morton watched Jensen turn to the mirror and give an almost imperceptible shrug.
‘Let me go find out,’ Jensen said. He left Faye in the interview suite
and locked the door behind him.
‘So, you’ve been having fun,’ Morton said.
‘Fun? She’s totally infuriating. But, as far as I can tell, she’s not lying.’
Lying was Jensen’s specialism. He studied micro-expressions to look for those tiny glimpses that belied what a suspect was saying.
‘She’s not? So, she’s genuinely lost her memory?’
‘It would seem so. There’s nothing physically wrong with her. Mentally, she’s all over the show. She acts lucid one moment, and she’s unaware of what’s going on the next. It’s like a TV that keeps flipping channels.’
‘So, what do we do?’
‘We put her on a seventy-two-hour psych hold and see what we can find out.’
***
Rafferty was trying to stay calm. She was sitting in a waiting room at St Thomas’ Hospital, where Paddy had been in surgery for almost two hours, and she was desperate for news. She still didn’t understand how it had happened. Why had Faye attacked Paddy? It wasn’t as if she hadn’t warned Faye that Paddy would be visiting. She had mentioned it at least a dozen times. Could she have forgotten to mention to Faye that Paddy had a key?
‘Here,’ Sarah said, pressing a cup of hot chocolate into Rafferty’s hands. ‘You look like you need this. I always find that something sweet helps with the shock.’
Rafferty tried in vain to smile. ‘Thanks, Sarah. For everything. You didn’t have to come down tonight.’
Sarah took the seat next to her. ‘Of course I did. David would be here too if he could be.’
‘Why’d she do it?’ Rafferty lamented. ‘She knew he was visiting. I just can’t believe she would be startled by Paddy. She had no reason to want to hurt him. She’d never even met him.’
‘I don’t know. We can worry about that tomorrow. Tonight, all that matters is Paddy.’
Rafferty set her cup down, stood, and stretched her legs. She had spotted a nurse wandering past in the corridor. ‘Excuse me! Nurse!’
The nurse turned around. ‘Yes?’
‘Is there any news on Patrick Rafferty?’ Rafferty said. At the nurse’s look of consternation, she added, ‘He’s the man who was stabbed in the neck.’
‘I’m afraid not. He’s still in surgery, and he’s lost a lot of blood. The surgeon will come and find you as soon as we know anything.’
Rafferty thanked the nurse and returned to the waiting room to pace up and down.
***
Jamie Black was pacing in her office. The detective wasn’t answering her phone, and she’d ignored Jamie’s voicemails asking for a call-back. She was tempted to give up. She didn’t have to tell her what she’d found.
One more try? Jamie wondered. She picked up her phone and called again, and for a moment she thought it had gone to voicemail. Then the call was answered.
‘Inspector Rafferty? This is Jamie Black from Westferry Security Services. I have some information for you.’
‘Hi, Jamie. Is this urgent?’
‘I think so. I can prove someone left Tim Fowler’s apartment on the night you asked about.’
‘How?’ Rafferty said.
‘The lift to their penthouse is a private lift. Only they can use it. I can see the lift was called for the first time that Monday at twenty past midnight.’
‘So, somebody left the flat?’
‘That’s correct.’
‘Thank you, Jamie.’
***
Jensen thought he might go crazy himself if he didn’t figure this out soon.
Faye was sitting exactly where she’d been left, sitting motionless on her bed and staring blankly at the opposing wall. She hadn’t said a word since they’d put her on a seventy-two-hour psych hold.
‘What do you think, Doctor Jensen?’ the attending nurse asked.
‘She’s clearly dissociative,’ Jensen said. ‘She’s not suffering any sort of organic mental disorder, there’s no indication in her bloodwork that she’s suffering the physiological effects of drugs or alcohol, and she’s not in withdrawal, either.’
‘Is that smart-person speak for “I don’t have a clue”?’
‘Pretty much.’
‘So, why can’t she remember anything?’ the nurse asked. ‘Is she just pretending?’
‘She’s not lying, not that I can tell. Normally, when someone says “memory loss”, you think physical trauma, stroke, sleep deprivation, drugs, or some underlying physical illness. She isn’t sick, not physically, at least.’
‘What about early onset Alzheimer’s?’ the nurse suggested.
‘It’s not Alzheimer’s,’ Jensen snapped. ‘She’s not confused, nor is she sun-downing. She does seem to have personality swings, though you can’t tell that from all the time she’s refusing to speak.’
‘It was just an idea, Doctor Jensen. I’m only trying to help.’ The nurse shuffled off, leaving Jensen alone with his thoughts.
There was something wrong, something unusual. If Faye was genuinely losing time, there had to be a reasonable explanation.
***
Paddy Rafferty got out of surgery in the small hours of the morning. Rafferty was still waiting, with Sarah napping by her side, when the surgeon appeared with news.
‘Patrick is stable, though he’s not out of the woods yet. The corkscrew penetrated his neck between zones two and three.’ The surgeon indicated the lowest part of his neck. ‘You did well to contain the blood loss as much as you did.’
‘What’s the prognosis?’
‘Patrick suffered neurogenic shock. We’ve got to keep an eye on his blood pressure. There’s a risk of contralateral hemiparesis causing some issues, though we won’t know the extent until Patrick is fully conscious. But he’ll live.’
‘Can I see him?’ Rafferty asked.
‘Not yet. He’s in recovery, and we’ll move him to the Intensive Care Unit when he’s ready. Go home, get some sleep, and come back in the morning. Your brother’s doctor will be able to answer any questions you may have. He’ll be in the ICU for the next day or two, at least.’
The surgeon disappeared back through the doors marked ‘Medical Personnel Only’, leaving Rafferty in the waiting room.
‘You awake?’ Rafferty prodded Sarah.
Sarah smiled. She’d been awake the whole time but had been trying to give Rafferty some privacy while she talked to the surgeon.
‘I knew it,’ Rafferty said. ‘You can go home if you want. I’m going to wait here.’
‘You sure? I don’t mind sitting up with you.’
‘Go. It’s fine. Say hi to David for me.’
‘Will do,’ Sarah said. ’Ash, why don’t you take a day or two off? I’ll talk to David for you. The boys can cope without you for a couple of days – I hope.’
Rafferty forced herself to smile. ‘Thank you.’
Chapter 47: Unexplained Absences
Wednesday 29th June, 08:15
The CCTV didn’t lie. According to the footage, nobody had gone out the front door of the Medici building that morning at just after midnight. Somehow, either Tim or Laura, or both, had slipped out of the flat on the last night Mark had been seen, and they’d done it without going past the CCTV cameras.
Ayala knew he had to find out which of them it was.
There was no point in talking to either of them again. They’d just deny it – unless Ayala could confront them both at the same time. It was too early to find them together. Tim would no doubt be hard at work in his office in the City, and Laura would be... Where would Laura be? Nobody had said anything about her having a job.
A thought struck Ayala. They had Laura’s mobile number. If her mobile was on, they could trace her whereabouts. He dialled the new IT guy.
‘Brodie.’
‘This is DI Ayala. I need a look-up on the location of a suspect, Laura Keaton.’
‘It’ll cost you, laddie. I’m not on the clock ‘til nine.’
‘Cost me what?’
‘Twenty quid? Nah, I’m just messing with you, lad
die. I’ll call you back in five.’
***
Laura was at a five-star hotel on the south side of Hyde Park in Knightsbridge. Ayala arrived on the scene while the breakfast service was in full swing. Guests were coming and going from the dining room to the background noise of clattering plates and cutlery. Ayala followed the crowds. If Laura was here, as her mobile phone location suggested, then the crowded dining room was the best place to look for her.
Liveried serving staff dashed back and forth, carrying pots of coffee and jugs of freshly squeezed orange juice.
‘Room number, sir?’ the host prompted Ayala.
‘Oh, no, I’m just looking for someone.’
The host looked put out, as if he was unsure what to do with a man loitering in the dining room. Ayala watched as he glanced over to reception, discreetly summoning security to escort Ayala out.
‘I’m a police officer,’ Ayala said quickly. ‘I have reason to believe one of my witnesses is among your guests, and it’s urgent that I find her.’
‘Okay. What’s her name? I can tell you if her party has arrived for breakfast yet.’
‘Laura Keaton,’ Ayala said. ‘That’s K-E-A-T-O-N, Keaton.’
The host looked bemused, as if he was insulted that Ayala had felt the need to spell it out. ‘That’s K for knot, is it?’
‘Yes... Wait, no. Everyone’s a comedian, these days. Is she here or not?’ Ayala demanded.
‘I’m afraid we’ve no record of her, sir. Are you sure she’s a guest? If so, could the reservation be under another name?’
‘She’s definitely here somewhere. Could I show you a photo of her?’ Ayala asked. He pulled out his phone from his breast pocket and began rifling through the police database for Laura’s file.
‘You can show me, sir,’ the host said, ‘but I see thousands of people every day. I probably wouldn’t recognise her, even if she’s here.’
Ayala showed him anyway.
‘Sorry, sir, I don’t recall seeing her,’ the host said. When Ayala didn’t immediately walk away, he added with a little more bite, ‘Why don’t you try asking at the front desk, sir?’
‘Right. Thanks for your time.’ Ayala didn’t need a second hint. Behind him, the queue to be seated had grown ten deep, and Ayala had to fight to get back to reception. ‘Excuse me, coming through!’
Missing Persons (A DCI Morton Crime Novel Book 5) Page 16
