Hiding Game, The

by Brindle, J. T.

  Daddy said I was bad because I didn’t work hard enough at school. He said I would never amount to anything. When I told him I passed my exams, he didn’t believe me. He laughed. Mummy didn’t tell him not to laugh. She’ll be sorry for that! They’ll both be sorry.

  When I was little, I heard them rowing. He told her I needed to be disciplined. I heard them talking later… about how they should never have got me from the bad man. I don’t know who ‘the bad man’ is, but I’ll find out. Then they’ll wish I hadn’t.

  They were always wanting me to make friends. They think I don’t know why, but I do. It’s because they want to be rid of me. But I won’t leave. I must punish them first. Besides, I need to find out about ‘the bad man’.

  They say some people are mad, but sometimes I think I’m madder than any of them.

  4 August 1980. This is a special day. At long last, I think I’ve found someone who understands me. He never tells me I’m ugly, and he never laughs at me; not like they do. I haven’t told him because he might not like it. I’m so ugly, I don’t suppose he could ever love me, so I’ll always protect him, and he will never know.

  I have them under my thumb now. There was a time when they ordered me about, but now they have to do what I tell them, or they know what might happen. When they realise what I have in mind, they’ll beg me for mercy. They’ll have to suffer for a while, before the time comes to put them out of their misery.

  The time is very near.

  Still holding the book, Rosie let it rest in her lap. She had read only snatches of what was written but it was enough to make her aware that, not too far away, was someone who thought nothing of committing murder. It was a woman, someone who had lost all sense of reality; some poor, wretched soul, who was, in her own words, ‘madder than any of them’. Strange that, Rosie thought. Madder than who?

  Sitting there, alone with her thoughts, Rosie drew comfort from the slight noises emanating from the upper reaches of the house. ‘Sounds as if I’m not the only one having trouble getting to sleep,’ she remarked.

  If Alice Henshaw had been any sort of an approachable being, she might have gone up and shown her the diary. But common sense prevailed. ‘See Mavis and find out where she got this diary,’ she told herself. ‘Then we’ll decide what’s to be done. But I’ll have to be careful how I go about it. I can’t risk attracting attention to myself. Not when the police are probably still itching to get their hands on me.’

  One thought led to another, and soon she was thinking of Luke and his new girlfriend. ‘I wonder where they are now,’ she mused. ‘On the open road somewhere, where I should be if it wasn’t for Mike.’

  With Mike’s name on her lips she lay back against the cushions. Closing her eyes, she gave herself up to thoughts of him. ‘Oh, Mike, if only I had you, everything would be worthwhile.’ But she hadn’t got him – at least not yet.

  Mike filled her mind, the book slipped to the floor and soon she was sleeping; a shallow, unsettled sleep, disturbed by pain and emotion.

  It was the sirens that woke Rosie.

  Sitting up in the chair, it took her a moment to gather her wits. ‘Police!’

  Her first thought was that they had found her. Scrambling up, she ran to the window. ‘Oh, my God!’ The scene outside was chaos. Two police cars flanked the hospital entrance; there were uniformed men everywhere, and Matron was looking more serious than Rosie had ever seen her. Slowly shaking her head, she was talking to a police officer.

  The sirens Rosie had heard grew louder, and then the ambulance came screaming in, drawing to a halt close to the side entrance. Two paramedics leapt out, one going to the back of the ambulance, while the other ran across to speak to the approaching police officer.

  Still dazed from sleep, all Rosie could understand was that they were not here for her. But something bad had obviously happened.

  She saw the porter. Seated alone on a bench, he looked pale and ill, puffing on a cigarette as if his life depended on it.

  Rosie quickly dressed. Surveying herself in the mirror, she decided it would be hard for anyone to recognise her as Rosie Sharman. ‘You’ve done such a good job,’ she told her image, ‘your own mother wouldn’t recognise you.’

  She let herself out and made her way to the porter. She sat down beside him. ‘What’s happened, Tom?’ she asked. ‘Why are the police here?’ While she spoke, she kept a keen eye on their movements.

  Tom looked deeply shocked. ‘I’ve told them all I know,’ his voice trembled, ‘I need to sit quiet for a few minutes…’ He patted his chest. ‘My old heart ain’t what it was.’

  Rosie was gentle. ‘It’s not Mavis, is it? Don’t tell me she’s run off again?’

  When he stared at her, she sighed. ‘Oh, Tom, isn’t she a bugger, eh? I told her to go straight back and I watched her come across to the hospital. I saw her talking to you.’

  When Tom looked up, she saw he was crying and her heart sank. ‘What’s happened, Tom? Tell me!’

  ‘It weren’t my fault. I warned her, go straight back to your ward, that’s what I said. Like you, I knew she’d be in real trouble if Matron found out. I’d have got the sack too. She knew that. That’s why I was so sure she’d gone back to her ward.’ Overwhelmed by it all, he bowed his head. ‘I never dreamed she’d gone downstairs.’

  ‘Downstairs?’ Rosie was impatient. ‘The boiler room, you mean?’ Why would Mavis go down to the boiler room?

  Covering his face with his hands, he sobbed helplessly. ‘I went down there first thing… same as always. On a winter’s morning it’s nice to warm your arse. Me and the maintenance man like to sit and have a chat when it’s quiet, and besides, it gets lonely in my little office. He makes us a brew and it breaks the day, if you know what I mean.’

  ‘But what about Mavis?’ Rosie said impatiently.

  Tom closed his old eyes and put his hand over them, as if fending off some terrible thing. ‘She was…’ he shuddered. ‘Oh, dear God!’

  ‘Tom! What are you trying to tell me?’

  His voice calmer now, he went on, ‘Like I said, I went down, same as I always do first thing of a morning. There was no sign of Bob. I called out, but it was that quiet, only the sound of the boiler churning away. I thought he’d gone out for a minute or two, so I filled the kettle and put it on, and I waited… I didn’t see him, not at first. Lying on the floor, he was, right by my feet, and I didn’t even see him.’

  ‘What? You mean he was hurt? Had there been an accident?’

  ‘Lying in a pool of blood, he was.’ Tom gulped hard. ‘I could see he were dead straightaway.’

  ‘Dead?’

  ‘I panicked. I ran out… went to get help.’ He gave a low, shuddering cry. ‘That was when I saw her.’

  ‘Who, Tom? Not Mavis. Tell me it wasn’t Mavis.’ The look on Tom’s face confirmed what she knew in her heart.

  * * *

  Detective Inspector Webb watched the body being carried to the ambulance.

  ‘Too late for this one,’ the officer remarked. ‘A heavy blow to the back of the head. He wouldn’t have known a thing.’

  ‘What about the other one?’

  The policeman looked as if he was about to throw up. ‘Don’t know, sir. They’re down there now.’

  ‘Are you all right?’

  ‘No, sir.’

  ‘Bit of a shock, eh?’

  ‘Yes, sir.’ He looked grey. ‘Can I take a few minutes out, sir?’

  ‘Go on. Five minutes, then I want you back here.’

  He went at a run. A short time later he could be heard pewking in the bushes.

  ‘Poor sod.’ Sergeant Madison had finished taking notes from Matron. ‘Green behind the ears.’ He gestured towards the shrubbery. ‘He’ll get used to it.’

  DI Webb glared at him. ‘Not on my patch, he won’t! Whoever did this is a bloody psycho. I want him caught before he can do it again. Get every available man on to it,’ he ordered. ‘I want results, and I want them fast!’

&nbs
p; ‘Yes, sir.’

  Webb glanced at Madison’s notebook. ‘Right then, what have we got?’

  ‘The woman is Mavis Dewhurst, a patient at the hospital. According to Matron, she had a habit of absconding but they always got her back.’

  ‘Not this time, eh?’

  ‘Well.’ He consulted his notebook. ‘It seems she went missing again last night. It was only when the morning shift arrived that they saw her bed had not been slept in.’

  ‘What about the night shift? Why didn’t they realise she was missing?’

  ‘There were two nurses on last night, Nurse York and Nurse Henshaw. We’ve spoken to them both and neither had any idea she’d gone. Nurse Henshaw said she checked Mavis Dewhurst’s bed while doing her rounds. It would have been Nurse York’s job to check after lights out, but by all accounts they had a bad night.’ He tapped his notebook. ‘Apparently one of the more violent inmates decided to go on the rampage.’

  ‘York and Henshaw – you got them out of their beds, did you?’

  ‘You could say that.’ He laughed. ‘Nurse York wasn’t too happy to be woken up early. I pity the poor sod who marries her. The other one, Henshaw, was woken by the sirens. She came across to see what was going on.’

  ‘Where are they now?’

  ‘In the dayroom. PC Hawkins is keeping an eye on them.’

  ‘What about the man who found the bodies?’

  ‘That’s him over there.’ He pointed to Tom. One of the nurses was with him now. ‘I feel sorry for the old bugger. Fancy stumbling across that lot down there, eh?’ He whistled through his teeth. ‘Got a dicky heart too. It’s a wonder it didn’t finish him off.’

  ‘What sort of a monster would do a thing like that?’

  ‘God knows.’

  ‘He’s got to be demented, to cut up a young woman like that.’ He shook his head. ‘I’ve seen some things in my time, but… We’ve got to pull out all the stops on this one.’

  ‘Don’t worry, sir, we’ll get the bastard.’

  At that moment, two paramedics came out of the boiler room. The stretcher they carried was rigged with drips and all manner of life-saving equipment. Lying there, white as death and unmoving, Mavis looked a terrible sight.

  Webb followed them. After they put her in the ambulance, he asked, ‘Do you think she’ll live?’

  ‘Your guess is as good as mine.’ The taller of the two closed the doors. ‘It’s a miracle she’s alive at all.’

  From not too far off and well out of sight, Rosie heard every word. She decided to put as much distance between herself and the police as possible. No one saw her there. No one saw her leave.

  Just then there was a flurry of activity when Hawkins reported to Webb that one of the nurses had gone missing.

  ‘What the bloody hell do you mean, gone missing? I thought you were on watch!’

  ‘I was, sir! I never moved from the door.’

  ‘Then how the hell did she get out?’

  ‘There’s a window, sir, small and high up. It’s the only other way out.’

  ‘Which nurse?’

  ‘Henshaw, sir.’

  ‘What about the other one?’

  ‘She stayed put, but didn’t let us know till Henshaw had gone.’

  ‘Right. Get over to Henshaw’s quarters with Sergeant Madison. I want that place searched from top to bottom.’

  ‘Right away, sir.’

  In Alice Henshaw’s room, they found nothing of interest, apart from a torn photograph.

  ‘Wonder who this is?’ said Hawkins idly.

  Madison took it from him. He stared at the face in the picture. ‘I know him,’ he said.

  ‘Oh? Who is he then?’

  ‘I’m sure it’s Mike Peterson.’ Madison was delighted. Now DI Webb would have to take him seriously.

  Later that day, Mike opened the door to DI Webb and Sergeant Madison. ‘Are you Mr Peterson?’ It was Webb who asked. ‘Mr Mike Peterson?’ In fact, he recognised him from their enquiries the year before.

  When Mike confirmed that yes, he was Mike Peterson, they showed him their identity cards and asked to come in.

  ‘What’s this about?’ he asked as he showed them into the lounge where Kerry had just got back from work.

  First, they had more questions. Did Mike know a Nurse Alice Henshaw? Did he know the injured woman? When was the last time he visited Landsmead Institute? There were other questions too, questions that prompted Kerry to intervene.

  ‘It seems to me you should explain what you want,’ she told them angrily. ‘Why exactly are you here?’

  ‘We’re investigating a very serious crime,’ DI Webb explained. ‘Yesterday a man was murdered and a woman seriously injured – she may yet die. We’re questioning everyone who might have known them.’

  ‘Mavis was a patient at Landsmead Institute for at least as long as I was there,’ Mike told them. ‘Of course I knew her.’

  ‘And you knew Nurse Henshaw?’

  ‘Well, yes. I was in her care for most of the time.’

  ‘I see.’

  ‘What has Nurse Henshaw got to do with any of this?’

  ‘How well did you know her – personally, I mean?’

  ‘If you mean what I think you mean, not at all! I knew her strictly on a professional level, and that’s all.’

  ‘Where were you between the hours of eleven p.m. yesterday, and seven a.m. today?’

  ‘Where all good boys should be.’

  ‘Don’t get clever, Mr Peterson!’

  ‘I was here.’

  ‘And your wife will vouch for that?’ Webb glanced at Kerry.

  ‘Mike was here with me all night. I’m a light sleeper and if he so much as moved, I’d know. Besides, none of us had much sleep last night. Susie woke with a toothache. While I calmed her down, Mike made us a hot drink. What with all the noise and fuss, Jack woke up too. We must have been up for all of two hours.’

  ‘We’ll need to talk to the children.’

  Mike agreed. ‘But I don’t want them interrogated.’

  ‘We just want them to verify what you’ve told us.’

  ‘Okay, but go easy. They’re in the kitchen with their grandmother.’

  They all crowded into the kitchen where Julie and the children were engrossed in a jigsaw.

  ‘Jack, Susie,’ Kerry said, ‘these gentlemen would like to ask you some questions.’

  Julie looked quizzically at her but remained silent when Kerry gave her a warning glance.

  Remembering how it was before, when he and his daddy were rescued, Jack decided to be difficult. However, when he saw that Susie was quite happy to talk to them, he opened up and confirmed that yes, Susie had had a terrible toothache and everyone was awake half the night.

  Afterwards, Mike showed the policemen out. ‘Sorry we couldn’t help you,’ he said with the slightest of smiles.

  ‘Sly bastard!’ Sergeant Madison declared on the way back to the police station. ‘I know he’s involved. I just know it!’

  ‘You heard.’ Inspector Webb was yet to be convinced. ‘He’s got a watertight alibi.’

  ‘We’re missing something.’ Like a dog with a bone, he didn’t intend to let it go.

  Behind them in the house, tension was building.

  Alone in the sitting room with Mike, Kerry said, ‘You did go out late last night. You were gone for over an hour. I know because I heard the front door close and couldn’t go back to sleep. Soon after you came back to bed, Susie woke up.’

  ‘So?’ He hadn’t realised he’d been missed.

  ‘So I lied for you just now, and I don’t like being a liar. Where did you go, Mike? I have to know.’

  ‘Couldn’t sleep so I went for a walk. I had some thinking to do.’

  ‘Did you go to the hospital?’

  ‘Why should I want to go there?’ Anger flushed his face. ‘Good God, Kerry! You don’t think I had anything to do with the murder?’ When she turned away, he took her roughly by the shoulders and spun her round.
‘Do you?’

  She hesitated, then she muttered, ‘No.’ Pushing him away, she said she had to see to the children.

  As she opened the door to leave the room, Mike caught a glimpse of Julie scurrying away. ‘Old witch! She was listening,’ he muttered, and he suddenly felt afraid.

  It was the sunniest day so far this year. Merrily whistling, the postman parked his van in the lane. Reaching over to the passenger seat, he collected the parcel and got out. Taking a breath of clean, fresh country air, he went up the path to the house.

  Still whistling, he knocked on the door.

  While he waited, he glanced at the parcel. Small and square, and unusually heavy, it was marked ‘Ironmongery’. ‘Could be a safety chain, or door bolts.’ Having delivered parcels for thirty years, he prided himself on identifying what might be inside.

  Growing impatient, he knocked again.

  ‘It’s no use you knocking there.’ Mrs Lewis was a dear old soul who walked her dog along the lane most days. ‘They’ve gone away.’

  ‘Oh?’ Retracing his steps, he paused at the garden gate. ‘That’s all right. I can always bring it back tomorrow.’

  ‘No point doing that,’ she said. ‘They’ll be away for a fortnight – gone to visit an ailing aunt in the North. Their friend told me. Nice person, very well dressed.’

  ‘Is that right?’ He wasn’t really interested. He had more on his mind than delivering this parcel. A widower these past few years, he was taking a lady to bingo this evening, and who knew what it might lead to.

  ‘They’re a quiet couple, you know. I hardly ever see them. Keep themselves to themselves, they do.’

  ‘Can’t blame them for that.’ Opening the back door of his van, he placed the parcel inside and then scribbled on a card. He went back up the path.’ Just to let them know there’s a parcel waiting for them,’ he said.

  Popping the card through the letter box, he drew back as if from something repugnant. ‘Phew!’ He glanced down at the mat he was standing on.

  ‘What’s wrong?’

  ‘I reckon a stray cat must have emptied its tank here.’ Taking the mat by one corner, he threw it into the garden. ‘They’ll not be too pleased to find the doormat stinking when they get back.’