Requiem

by David Hodges

  Kate had been refused admission to her room in the hospital’s critical care unit and forced to look at her key witness through an internal window, supervised by a staff nurse.

  ‘How is she?’ Kate asked.

  ‘Not good,’ the other replied. ‘Multiple injuries, including a suspected fractured skull, and spinal damage – she’s heavily sedated at present.’

  ‘Has she said anything?’

  A quick, almost dismissive shake of the head. ‘Not as far as I know. She was brought in unconscious – as I told the other lady.’

  Kate turned her head quickly to look at her. ‘Other lady?’ she echoed. ‘What other lady?’

  The staff nurse shrugged. ‘Said she was a close friend. Can’t remember her name. Too busy.’

  ‘What did she look like?’

  The nurse thought for a moment, plainly surprised at the question. ‘Thin, forties, black hair, dark eyes, rather severe face.’ She frowned. ‘She was leaning on a walking stick.’

  ‘Callow,’ Kate breathed. ‘When was she here?’

  Sudden alarm in the young woman’s eyes. ‘About … about an hour ago. Are you saying she wasn’t who … who she said she was?’

  Kate grimaced, but didn’t answer the question. ‘From now on,’ she said, ‘you must not let anyone in to see this patient, apart from medical staff, OK? And I mean anyone. She is at great risk. I’ll get a uniformed police guard here as soon as I can.’

  The staff nurse stiffened and her eyes flashed angrily. ‘Will you indeed?’ she snapped tartly. ‘Well, I suggest you get the Hospital Administrator’s permission first.’

  Kate took a deep breath, inwardly cursing her own lack of tact. ‘Listen to me,’ she said heavily. ‘The lady in that bed has been the target of a psychopathic killer. He has already tried to kill her once and he will almost certainly try again. Do you understand?’

  The nurse didn’t answer, but continued to glare at her with obvious hostility. In resignation, Kate produced a business card and handed it to her. ‘Look, just let me know if there are any developments – particularly if she says anything – OK?’

  The other gave a curt nod, reluctantly accepting the card from her to study it for a moment, and Kate saw that she was still far from convinced. Losing patience with her, Kate emitted a hiss of frustration, and jerking a pen from her pocket, wrote something on the back of it.

  ‘That’s my home telephone number,’ she explained, returning the card to her. ‘You can ring me at any time – day or night. Now, will you do that?’

  The nurse gave her a tight smile. ‘I’ll pass your request on to my colleagues,’ she said.

  Kate returned her smile with a brief humourless one of her own and, throwing one last look at Naomi Betjeman, she marched off along the corridor, knowing full well that the chances of her request being passed on in a busy critical care unit were almost nil.

  She stared round the hospital entrance foyer as she headed for the exit doors to the car-park, looking for…? She had no idea what. She was getting jittery again, sensing a presence that she knew instinctively was not there. She realized she probably wouldn’t be able to pick out Larry Wadman after all this time anyway and the psychopath was hardly likely to report to the reception desk, even if he did pay a visit to the hospital.

  Her personal mobile rang as she climbed into her car and, glancing at the phone’s illuminated display, she smiled when she saw it was Hayden Lewis’s number. She’d wondered how long it would be before someone rang her to query her whereabouts. It was well past the time for the incident-room briefing, which by now must almost certainly have gone on without her. Certain people would not be at all happy about it and no doubt poor old Hayden was trying to warn her of the fact.

  She should have answered the call, but she chose not to; the last thing she wanted was a row with Hayden over the phone and she would soon be back at the nick to face the music anyway. So instead, she put her foot down hard on the accelerator and took off with a screech of rubber that was fully in tune with her current mood.

  And as she swung out of the car-park on to the hospital’s service road, the big black saloon which had been concealed behind a bush in another bay, pulled out after her, the powerful car easily catching her up on the main road, but keeping back a satisfactory distance to avoid attracting suspicion. Behind the wheel, dark hate-filled eyes focused on Kate’s profile through the rear window of the CID car as Roz Callow slipped another extra-strong mint between bared teeth and tried to ignore the intense pain building in her gammy leg.

  chapter 26

  THERE WERE THREE of them in the SIO’s office when Kate entered the incident-room – Ansell, Roscoe and Norton – and their eyes seemed to laser her through the internal window as she walked towards them. Two of her colleagues sitting at their workstations, gave her weak smiles as soon as she appeared, then quickly turned back to their computer screens, hunching their shoulders as if trying to pretend they weren’t there. Bad news certainly travelled fast, she mused with a cynical grimace – as did the smell of a load of whatnot that was about to drop on her head.

  ‘How nice of you to join us,’ Ansell said with an icy smile as she stepped into the room, his eyes resembling the black muzzles of twin pistols.

  Roscoe, parked as usual half on and half off the window sill, directed a characteristic scowl in her direction, while Norton, leaning against the wall in the corner of the room simply smiled at her – although she couldn’t tell whether it was a smile of sympathy or one of mockery.

  ‘Sorry about the briefing, Guv,’ she faltered, ‘but I had to check on something.’

  ‘So I believe,’ Ansell said, his tone brittle. ‘I have just had my ear bent by the DCI at Bridgwater, complaining about our interference in his investigation. Our last acrimonious conversation was over the blast at the block of flats on his manor, so he’s not a particularly happy man.’

  Kate reddened. ‘If I hadn’t interfered this time, the whole Naomi Betjeman thing would have been cuffed as a bloody accident,’ she blurted angrily, forgetting for a moment who she was talking to, ‘and it’s pretty obvious that it was anything but.’

  ‘Is that so?’ Ansell rasped. ‘Well, maybe you’d like to share this new found information with us. After all, we only happen to be running the inquiry.’

  So Kate did just that and by the time she had finished, the atmosphere in the room had noticeably changed.

  ‘I’ll get a plod over to the hospital straightaway,’ Roscoe growled and headed out into the incident-room.

  Ansell sat back in his chair, for the first time the anxiety that was weighing him down clearly visible in his pale haunted expression. Kate found herself feeling almost sorry for him. ‘It gets worse and worse,’ he murmured wearily, then, biting his lip, raised his head to study her for a moment. ‘And I have something else to put to you, too.’

  Kate made a face. ‘Sounds a bit ominous, Guv,’ she said.

  His elbows were on the table again, fingers steepled under his chin in a characteristically thoughtful pose. ‘Doctor Norton has come up with an idea, Kate,’ he said. ‘I don’t like it and I’ve told him so, but …’ and he waved an arm towards the psychologist. ‘Perhaps you’ll explain, Doctor.’

  Roscoe returned to the room as Norton began and he scowled his own disapproval as he caught the drift of what was going on.

  ‘I’ve come to a conclusion, Kate,’ Norton said, ‘and not a very nice one either.’

  Kate raised an eyebrow, but said nothing and he went on slowly and deliberately. ‘It suddenly dawned on me, looking at the original Operation Firetrap files last night, that the murder of the two police officers in the surveillance van took place exactly two years ago tomorrow night. I don’t know why it’s never occurred to us before.’ He paused for a moment to let the effect of his words sink in and when he spoke again, his face wore a much more sober expression. ‘Which means that tomorrow night will be the anniversary of their deaths and of your own miraculous escape.’
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  Kate was already ahead of him and she felt the muscles knotting in her stomach. ‘You’re saying Twister plans to waste me tomorrow night?’ she said in a voice that did not sound like her own.

  Norton shrugged. ‘His so-called game must end sometime and it is significant that he returned here just days before the infamous night in question.’

  ‘So why didn’t he come back last year then?’ Roscoe cut in. ‘Why leave it two years?’

  Norton smiled, as if addressing a tiresome child. ‘That would have been stupid, with the police manhunt still in full swing – and anyway, if he was suffering from a serious stab wound, perhaps it was quite a few months before he achieved full recovery.’

  ‘So you’re saying I have to stay under lock and key until after the anniversary?’ Kate said.

  Norton quickly shook his head. ‘Anything but. That would only delay the inevitable. He would still come after you, whether it was on the night of the anniversary or days or weeks later. You would be forever at risk, not knowing when he might strike. We need to bring this thing to a close now – to be in control of events.’

  ‘He wants to use you as bait,’ Roscoe put in. ‘Set up a sting, with you as the prize.’

  ‘Thank you, Inspector,’ Norton snapped and it was plain that he was furious at the interruption.

  He got no support from Ansell, however. ‘Thing is, Kate,’ the DCI said, ‘how would you feel about being put in that sort of risky position?’

  Kate smiled faintly. ‘Not exactly overjoyed,’ she replied, ‘but how would it work? After all, Doctor Norton’s theory could be wrong.’

  Norton nodded. ‘Quite so, but it’s all we’ve got at present and it’s a little bit too much of a coincidence that our killer embarked on his murderous campaign at this particular time. It is also logical and fully in line with the profile I have drawn up on him that he would arrange things this way. Remember, I’ve already said that he is a meticulous planner. He doesn’t rush into things – OK, so a bit of improvisation along the way when absolutely necessary, like the murder of PC Taylor, for instance – but overall, he is someone who doesn’t leave things to chance and who knows exactly when and where the endgame will be.’

  ‘Which could be at any time tomorrow then?’ Kate responded.

  Norton shook his head. ‘If I know our adversary, he will want to make his hit on you as close as possible to the time of the original murder of your two colleagues two years ago, otherwise it will lose its significance. I am quite certain you will be safe until then.’

  ‘So you’re saying he will have planned it for around midnight tomorrow?’ Kate summarized. ‘Assuming you are right, what’s our next move?’

  Norton smiled again. ‘We offer you up to him on a plate,’ he replied, ‘and see if he bites!’

  ‘Are you crazy?’ Hayden Lewis was angrier than Kate had ever seen him before – more so even than he had been with Phil Sharp – although he did look faintly ridiculous dressed in his striped apron, with the frying pan in one hand and the egg spatula in the other.

  En route to see the president of a local bird-watching group, armed with a SOCO photograph of the flask she had found in the hide, Kate had suggested they first stopped off at home for a snack, having already missed lunch and while they ate, she had broached the subject of Norton’s plan there.

  ‘It’s the only way,’ she said defensively. ‘At least we will be in control and the troops will be right there, watching my back.’

  Lewis returned the frying pan to the unlit hob and slammed the spatula down on the work-surface. ‘Out of the question,’ he exclaimed. ‘I won’t hear of it!’

  Her eyes blazed. ‘You won’t hear of it? It’s not about you, Hayden, it’s about me and I do as I please.’

  Lewis just stared at her for a moment, his face red and his mouth compressed into a familiar truculent line. ‘Then you’re a bloody fool!’ he shouted.

  She gaped at him. Lewis was so old school that he was regarded as comically eccentric by most of his colleagues and she had never heard him use abusive language in all the time that she had known him – especially not in front of a woman.

  ‘So what’s the alternative, eh?’ she demanded with equal passion. ‘Wait until he catches me on my own? And when is that likely to be – in two days, three days, a month? Are we going to spend our lives looking over our shoulders, just in case he is out there, waiting?’

  The flush started to leave his face and he studied her for a moment, the logic of what she was saying obviously getting through to him in spite of his instinctive opposition.

  ‘So tell me in detail,’ he said, ‘what lunatic scheme you have signed up to. All you’ve told me so far is that you are going to be used as the bait in a trap.’

  She sighed and leaned back against a tall kitchen cupboard. ‘We going to eat those eggs raw?’ she queried.

  He hesitated, then abruptly turned back to the cooker, switched it on and broke the four eggs on the side of the pan before carefully dropping them into the sunflower oil he had already poured into it. ‘I’m listening,’ he said tightly, still with his back towards her.

  She filled the kettle and switched it on before loading the toaster with four slices of white bread. ‘Quite simple really,’ she said, snapping the lever down on the toaster. ‘HQ Press Office will be leaking a story to the local media later tonight to say that I have been over the side with Clement Norton—’

  He swung round quickly again, dripping oil from the spatula on to the kitchen floor. ‘You what?’

  ‘Well, everyone in the nick knows he has been trying to get into my knickers—’

  ‘Do you have to be so crude?’ he interjected.

  ‘Watch the eggs,’ she warned and continued as he returned to the pan. ‘And there was that incident with Phil Sharp over the chocolates too – a pretty public thing – which means the story will be easily believed.’

  The kettle boiled and switched off and, as she crossed the room to fill the pot, the buzzer went on the toaster.

  ‘So far as everyone is concerned,’ she continued, ‘you and I will have had a monumental row over the issue, resulting in you belting me in a jealous rage, being arrested for ABH and detained in custody.’ She finished filling the tea pot and crossed to the toaster, removing the toast and starting to butter it. ‘No one except the top team and those directly involved, such as the firearms unit, must know what’s going on. Guv’nor obviously doesn’t want any leaks getting to the ears of the press or being picked up by Twister, which would scupper the whole thing.’

  He snorted. ‘Thanks a lot,’ he retorted, dumping rather than easing the eggs on to the toast and ripping off his apron and tossing it into a corner as Kate took the plates over to the breakfast bar. ‘This will do wonders for my reputation.’

  She ignored his indignation and sat down at the table, tucking into her meal. ‘The story will obviously hit local radio first and be broadcast tonight, and this will be followed by gleeful reports in the newspapers in the morning. With the coverage expected, it is almost certain that Twister will hear about it.’

  ‘The crucial thing,’ she emphasized, ‘is to create a situation where our man is encouraged to believe I will be left on my own in your cottage when I return here tomorrow night, providing him with the very opportunity he needs. Armed teams will be deployed all round the place, using hi-tech surveillance kit, and I will be wearing a wire, so the risk will be minimal.’

  ‘I don’t like it,’ he said after swallowing a mouthful of egg. ‘I wasn’t even consulted before this thing went ahead.’

  ‘You don’t have to like it,’ she replied. ‘Just cooperate – and that means staying at the nick throughout the operation. If you’re seen near the cottage, it will blow the whole thing apart.’

  ‘I’ll think about it,’ he replied sullenly.

  ‘Just don’t think too long,’ she finished. ‘Now it’s time to hit the road again – we’ll leave the dishes for you to wash up before you beat me up t
onight. OK?’

  chapter 27

  PHIL SHARP STOOD for a long time in the shower, feeling the hot water streaming down his body and trying to relax his tense muscles. He needed time to think. Already in the cart for drink-driving and with his job right on the line, he couldn’t afford any indiscreet revelations by Naomi Betjeman while she was semi-conscious in the CCU. OK, so she might not make it – and that was a pleasing thought in itself as far as he was concerned – or she could be in a coma without the ability to communicate to anyone, but he couldn’t afford to chance it. He had to get to her somehow to see what the state of play was and, if she was conscious, impress on her the need to keep shtum before Ansell or one of his minions got to her.

  He could still drive – at least he could until the drink driving court case, but with his own car in a terminal condition at the garage pound, he could do nothing until he got hold of a replacement motor, so that had to be his first move.

  Dressing in a neat, dark suit – people tended to be swayed by someone who was smartly turned out – he headed for the nearest bus stop and took a local service to a garage just out of town. As a CID man, he knew this crowd – they tended to be less than particular about hiring out vehicles, and within half an hour he was pulling away from their forecourt in a six-year-old Peugeot with around 80,000 miles on the clock.

  So far so good then, but deep down he knew that, while hiring the car might have been relatively easy, getting into the hospital’s critical care unit was likely to be a lot more difficult and, when he finally left the Peugeot in the large car-park and headed for the main building, he did so with more than a little trepidation.

  Surprisingly enough, however, he attracted little interest from hospital staff all the way up to the top floor where the CCU was located – maybe his luck was changing – and gaining entry to the unit itself, with its security coded access control box, proved to be just as much of a breeze. The young man in the white coat, wearing a name tag and a badge labelled ‘Red Cell Serology’, was coming out through the double doors, carrying a cardboard box lid containing a number of glass phials, as he approached and even he made no attempt to challenge him.