by DS Butler
“I need to put her first.”
“Sure.”
Katy walked slowly upstairs to her room. She didn’t want to hear anymore.
85
Mackinnon had spent the past two hours trying to track down Wayne Green, Charlotte’s ex.
Finding Wayne’s home address, a small terraced house in Hackney, had been easy enough, but no one answered when he jabbed repeatedly at the doorbell.
He betrayed his impatience by banging on the front door with the side of his clenched fist.
The woman next door, wearing a flowery dress and a red cardigan pulled over her matronly chest, chose that moment to open her front door and peer out.
She stepped out, holding a carrier bag and walked the short distance to her green wheelie bin. She lifted the lid and placed the bag of rubbish inside, while keeping an eye on Mackinnon. The bag was a prop. She just wanted to know what Mackinnon was up to.
He went back to the car, climbed inside and waited.
He stayed at a bed and breakfast on Woodstock Road last night. Chloe didn’t want him in the house, but he wanted to stay close. Just in case. Sitting alone in the B&B was driving him crazy.
He needed to do something.
Sitting in the car, waiting for Wayne, he felt a trickle of doubt. Perhaps this wasn’t such a good idea. Perhaps this might make things even more difficult for Charlotte.
Mackinnon had his hand on the key in the ignition and was about to start the car when he spotted a man walking up the road. He looked mid-thirties, carried a newspaper tucked under one arm and had a carrier bag in the other. Mackinnon watched the man walk up the road towards him. He wore a pastel pink polo shirt under a black jumper with some kind of logo on the front.
Mackinnon stared as the man stopped at door he had been banging on five minutes earlier.
This was it. Decision time. He stayed in the car, staring straight ahead, trying to focus.
The front door opened again. The man came out, holding a green bucket and a yellow sponge. He put them both on the front step and went to open the garage door. The end of terrace house looked tiny from the outside, but it was the only one of the row of houses to have a garage.
He raised the garage door, revealing a small blue car inside. He then opened the car door and slid inside. Mackinnon was close enough to hear the engine start up. Wayne backed the car out of the garage, into the road, before getting out and retrieving his bucket and sponge from the front step.
As Wayne began sponging down his car, a Nissan z350, Mackinnon got out of his Volvo, slamming the door behind him. Wayne looked up at the noise, gave a half smile and said, “Afternoon.”
Mackinnon took his time walking over to him.
Wayne’s shoulders tensed, and his eyes narrowed. “Can I help you?”
From this distance, Mackinnon could see Wayne was good looking in a baby-faced, clean-cut kind of way.
Mackinnon introduced himself, and saw the tension in Wayne’s shoulders ease slightly, but the mistrust in his eyes remained.
“Nice motor,” Mackinnon said, trailing the front wing of the z350 with a fingertip.
Wayne beamed, and they talked about cars for a while. Wayne let his guard down, bit by bit.
Wayne nodded to Mackinnon’s Volvo. “Family car, right? That’s what happens when you’re under the thumb, mate.”
Mackinnon ignored the comment. “I wanted to have a word about Charlotte Brown.”
Wayne’s head jerked up. “Christ, not that again.” He threw the sponge into the bucket and suds slopped over the sides onto the pavement. “I was told she dropped the charges. You know it is all lies, don’t you?”
Mackinnon said nothing.
“Why are you poking around? You weren’t involved in the internal investigation? What the hell has it got to do with City Police anyway?”
Then, as if answering his own question, Wayne smiled and nodded. “You’re her new bloke, aren’t you? Good luck to you, mate. That’s all I can say. You’re going to need it.”
Wayne picked up the sponge again and wrung it out. The water trickled back into the bucket.
“We just work together.” Mackinnon said.
“Yeah? Well she might seem normal at the moment, but she’ll flip. Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”
“So you never hit her?”
Wayne stopped, with the sponge held in the air, water trickling down his arm. “‘Course I didn’t.” Wayne licked his lips and put down the sponge. “Look, just so we understand each other, I never touched her, but I know she can be convincing. Hell, half the officers at my station believed her at first. So I can’t blame you for being taken in. But she had to drop the allegations in the end, when people saw through them.”
Wayne shrugged, an “all men together” gesture. “Seriously, mate, my advice would be to steer well clear of her.”
Mackinnon nodded. “Right, well, I’ll leave you to it.” He patted the bonnet of the car and began to walk back to his Volvo.
From five feet away, he turned and said, “Oh, and Wayne?”
“Yes, mate?”
“Just one more thing, mate. If you go anywhere near Charlotte again, I’ll put your head through that windshield.” Mackinnon turned and walked away, leaving Wayne holding the limp sponge, dripping soapy water onto his trainers.
86
Charlotte was starving. Her stomach rumbled.
Nan raised an eyebrow. “Is that you, dear?”
“I missed breakfast.”
Nan rummaged through her huge handbag and then proudly displayed a packet of Werther’s originals.
They were sitting on a bench in the pathology department of the John Radcliffe Hospital. They hadn’t been waiting long. The staff seemed to be impressively efficient.
They were escorted from the entrance by a very helpful elderly gentlemen, a friend of the hospital, with a badge to prove it. They had given Nan’s details at the reception and settled down to wait for the blood tests.
A young woman stood, leaning heavily on the handles of a pushchair, at the hospital pharmacy. Her hair was slicked back into a ponytail, showing strips of her scalp. Huge gold loops hung from her ears, and she was moaning at the pharmacist.
“How long is it going to take? Couldn’t I have just gone down Boots for it?” The woman turned to the man next to her, dressed in a nylon tracksuit and white baseball cap. “Do you want to wait, or just go down Boots?”
The man shrugged.
Charlotte exchanged a look with Nan. A look that said, “takes all sorts.”
They followed the instructions on the signs that told them to take a numbered card and sit in the waiting area, which was really a wide corridor, until their number was called.
When their number came up, they were called into one of the small side rooms by the phlebotomist, a ruddy-cheeked, slightly overweight woman with curly hair.
“If you can just sit here for me, my love,” the phlebotomist said to Nan. “And roll up your sleeve.”
Charlotte leaned back against the wall. She spent a great deal of time around blood, one way or another: road traffic accident, punch-ups, but the process of collecting blood always made her feel a bit queasy.
“It’s nice to have someone with you. Some people feel a bit funny after having blood taken,” the phlebotomist said, smiling up at Charlotte as she reached for a cotton wool ball.
Nan said nothing but held out her arm, her face set in stoic concentration. The phlebotomist wiped Nan’s arm with the cotton wool, and Nan averted her eyes to a point on the wall, somewhere above Charlotte’s head.
When the needle appeared, Charlotte saw stars. She perched on the end of the bed as the blood began to rush in her ears.
“You all right, my love?” the phlebotomist asked.
“I’m fine, absolutely fine,” Charlotte said.
Nan looked at her and shook her head, as if she found it unbelievable that Charlotte was making such a fuss, when it wasn’t her who had a needle sticking out of her arm.
> She had a point.
After the blood had been taken and they sat in the waiting room for five minutes until Charlotte felt better, they headed towards the clinical trial department.
They took the route through the hospital to avoid the rain outside. They had just passed Orthopaedics’ day patients when Charlotte gasped and stopped walking. She pulled Nan into a store cupboard on their left, so they were out of sight.
“What on earth?” Nan started to say, before Charlotte put a finger to her lips.
Charlotte waited, keeping a tight grip on Nan’s arm as she watched a man and woman walk past. Nan kept quiet, but looked at Charlotte as if she were totally deranged.
Charlotte released Nan’s arm and stepped out of the cupboard. “It’s okay now.”
A porter, pushing a trolley loaded with white bed linen, spotted them emerging from the cupboard. His eyes widened.
“Sorry. We took a wrong turn,” said Nan, putting a hand in the small of Charlotte’s back and pushing her along the corridor.
They left the porter behind them, spluttering something about that area of the hospital being out of bounds.
“What on earth is wrong with you today? Have you taken too many of your pills?” Nan asked. Nan had made it clear on numerous occasions that she did not believe in antidepressants or “happy-pills,” as she called them.
Charlotte turned to her and opened her mouth to reply, then closed it again.
It didn’t make sense.
Nan sighed as if she had given up hope of ever working out what made her granddaughter act so strangely.
“You look like you’ve seen a ghost,” Nan said.
Funnily enough, that was just what Charlotte was thinking.
87
Mackinnon picked up Charlotte’s call on the first ring. When she asked how he was, Mackinnon said he was fine. He didn’t mention the fact that he had moved out of Chloe’s place.
After he asked about her grandmother and got a similar response, she got to the point.
“The thing is, Jack, and I know this is going to sound crazy, I’m at the John Radcliffe Hospital today, for Nan’s appointment, and I could have sworn I saw Linda Gilmore and a man who looked very like Gus.”
Mackinnon was quiet for a moment while he processed this information.
After a pause, Charlotte continued. “But of course, it can’t be Gus because he is still in custody, isn’t he?”
Mackinnon nodded, despite the fact Charlotte couldn’t see him on the other end of the phone.
“Jack?”
“Sorry, just thinking it through. It could be another relative?”
“I wondered whether it might be important. I thought I better mention it to Brookbank, but he isn’t answering his mobile. I think he might be at the gold meeting.”
Mackinnon got up, paced around the room and checked his watch. “I want to check something out first. Can you hold off telling Brookbank until I call you back?”
“Why’s that?”
He could hear the confusion in her voice. “Just want to double check something with Ruby Wei. I will call you back in about an hour, okay?”
Mackinnon hung up before she asked anymore questions he didn’t have the answers to.
*
Mackinnon found Ruby Wei in the chemistry library. She didn’t hear him approach. He slipped into the seat next to her.
“Hi,” he whispered.
She turned, startled. “Oh, it’s you again.”
Mackinnon feigned hurt. “You don’t seem too happy to see me.”
She frowned. “Why are you whispering?”
“Because we are in a library, obviously.”
“But there’s no one else here.”
“That’s not the point. Come on, you look like you could do with a break. I’ll buy you a coffee.”
Ruby folded her arms across her chest and shook her head. “You’re here because you want something, not because you’re worried I might be working too hard.”
Mackinnon stood. “I can stretch to a bit of cake, too?”
She still didn’t budge.
“I’ve got some news about Gus.”
She stood up. “Okay, you win.”
In the atrium cafe, underneath its glass ceiling, they sat opposite each other cradling cups of coffee; neither of them had fancied the cake after all.
“I still can’t believe Gus has been arrested. I’ve been trying to phone him, but his mobile is switched off. It’s crazy.” Ruby shook her head.
Mackinnon stirred his coffee. “You didn’t know about the emails then?”
“No.”
“But you did know his father and his brother died of Huntington’s?”
Ruby looked up from her coffee. “What?” She stared at him. “Greg isn’t dead.”
“Mrs. Gilmore said...” Mackinnon thought back. What exactly had she said? “...She said it was just her and Gus now.”
Ruby shrugged. “It is just her and Gus at home. Greg lives in sheltered housing, in Headington. I saw him just a few weeks ago.”
“He lives on his own?”
“It’s just a bedsit, but it is his own place, you know? He’s very independent. I don’t think it’s easy for him, but he wants to have it now, before... Well, before he can’t live alone anymore.”
“How old is he now?”
“Two years older than Gus, so I guess that makes him twenty five now.”
“How sick is he?”
“Not so bad. I mean, he can get really angry at times. I think it’s down to frustration more than anything else,” Ruby said. “He’s never been angry with me; Usually Gus bears the brunt of it. I think sometimes Gus feels guilty; He is twenty three now and he’s fine. Greg has the juvenile form of the disease, the worst one.”
Mackinnon nodded to encourage her to continue, but was thinking of the tremor he’d noticed when DI Tyler had arrested Gus.
“Greg can be a bit clumsy at times, and his arms and legs get stiff. He’s had seizures too, but I’ve never witnessed them.”
“How often do you see him?” Mackinnon asked.
“I used to see him every weekend; you know, when Gus and I were together. Now, not so much. I probably see him once every couple of months or so. Mostly with Gus. We tend to go to the cinema. He loves films.” Ruby smiled.
Ruby rummaged in her bag and pulled out her mobile. “Do you think I should call Gus’ mum, or I could pop around? She must be ever so worried.”
“I doubt she’ll be up for visitors just yet. I would wait until a bit later.”
Ruby nodded.
“Although, you could probably do with a break. Could you spare me an hour, take me to see Greg?”
Ruby bit her lip. “I don’t know. I’m not sure that’s a good idea.”
Mackinnon leaned forward, closing the gap between them. “Look, I know the last thing you want to do is upset Greg, but this could be important. Gus is his brother and it could help get him released sooner rather than later.”
Ruby sighed. “All right. If you really think it will help.”
88
Mackinnon stood outside the chemistry department and dialled Charlotte’s number.
Greg was another suspect with the same motive as Gus. It was possible Greg could tell them something; maybe he even knew something about the letter.
Charlotte answered on the second ring.
He told her he’d just spoken to Ruby Wei and found out that Greg Gilmore was still alive.
At first, there was silence on the other end of the line, and then Charlotte said, “Greg? But I thought…”
“Yes, so did I. Brookbank and Tyler are going to need to know about this. Greg has exactly the same motive as Gus.”
“I know Collins was looking into the family, so it is possible they already know,” Charlotte said. “Do you think they’ll cancel the symposium? It does cast some doubt on whether Gus acted alone; surely they won’t risk it.”
“I don’t know.”
�
��What did Gus say when he was questioned? Have you heard?”
“No, I’ve not heard. They could have a full confession by now.” But Mackinnon knew if that were the case, Brookbank would have been quick to get the news out, and he hadn’t.
Mackinnon took a deep breath, the cold air felt sharp in his lungs. He reached into his pocket for an antacid. The burning was getting worse. The Indian takeaway last night probably hadn’t helped.
Mackinnon waited, considering his words carefully. “Look, I’m going to see Greg now. Ruby’s taking me.”
“Greg? But …”
Mackinnon cut her off. “I shouldn’t go and neither should you. You could report me. But I thought I’d take the chance. I need to talk to him first, just to see if he knows anything about the letter, then I will tell Brookbank.”
“Letter?”
“I got an anonymous note, promising to tell me where Sarah was if I told them about the investigation. It’s bullshit. I know it is. Sarah is safe at home. But I...” The words died in his throat.
He heard Charlotte take a deep breath on the other end of the phone before answering. “Okay, text me the address. I’ll meet you there.”
*
Charlotte was already waiting outside the low-rise block of flats in Headington when Mackinnon and Ruby arrived. The weather had turned to drizzle and beads of moisture settled on their hair and clothes as soon as they got out of the car.
Charlotte told them she’d left her grandmother in the car, listening to Radio 4.
Ruby set off. “It’s this way. He is in number thirty.”
“Is he expecting us?” Charlotte asked, falling in step behind her as the three of them entered the stairwell.
Ruby nodded. “I called him. I thought it would be better if he knew we were coming.”
“How sick is he?” Mackinnon asked when they reached the third floor.
Ruby led them out of the stairwell, along a corridor and rang the doorbell before answering. “You’ll see for yourself in a minute.”
Greg answered the door. There was no doubt he was Gus’ brother. They looked alike and had the same dark, wavy hair and dark brown eyes.
“Hi Greg,” Ruby said, reaching up on tiptoes to kiss Greg on the cheek. “This is DS Mackinnon and DC Brown.”
