“We’re in,” Caslin explained. “Grey had a text conversation during the day.”
“Who with?” Hunter asked, pulling up a chair and rubbing her cheeks to freshen her face. The clock ticked past midnight but there was no sign of anyone looking to go home.
“It’s an unknown number,” Holt clarified, “but they know each other. That much is clear.”
“Put it up,” Caslin said, pointing to the large screen. Holt did so, bringing up the conversation with a couple of clicks. “The first one was received by Grey before eight this morning.” Hunter turned her attention to the thread.
07:52
We need to talk.
07:57
I know… it’s been a while. Things been manic.
08:00
Arriving today. I expect to see you.
08:20
York? When?
08:22
Will call. I want an answer.
08:43
Not easy. Working on it.
“The number’s unknown but where does it originate?” Hunter asked. Meeting Holt’s questioning glance, she continued, “The international code?”
Holt looked at the number, “It’s +7. Where’s that?”
“Russia,” Caslin stated, even further intrigued by the revelation. “Run the number through the system and see if we can track where it’s been and where it is now. If the carrier’s passed through an airport today, it might help us pin down a name to go with it or at least, narrow the list.
“Interesting that Grey knew who it was despite not having the number saved,” Hunter added. “When do they communicate further?”
Holt scrolled down, “Around lunchtime.”
13:30
Checking in. You’d better be worth my time. They’re pushing.
13:34
I’m on my way. I’m trying.
13:36
No excuses. No time.
“Is there any more?” Caslin asked.
Holt shook his head, “Not in this thread. They haven’t communicated before either.”
“Not on this number,” Hunter clarified. Holt shot her a dark look. She ignored him.
“What would we give to have been a fly-on-the-wall in that meeting? What are they talking about do you think?” Caslin said aloud.
“Money,” Holt said. “Got to be. Grey’s into property and that’s all about money at the end of the day.”
“Go through the emails and other text threads to see if you can grant us a steer,” Caslin said to Holt. Turning to Hunter, he continued, “Track the number. Find out where it is and where it’s been.”
“You think this person has a hand in Grey’s disappearance?” she asked.
“I think it’s related but too early to say in what way. He left his office shortly after two, I recall. It’s reasonable to suggest he was on his way to that meeting. Track Grey’s phone at the same time and see if the two intersect. Then we’ll have a location. You never know, we may find Grey himself.”
“I’ll get on it,” Hunter said, rising from her seat. Caslin returned his gaze to the text thread up on the screen. Whoever the newcomer was, reading between the lines, Thomas Grey was giving them the run-around to such an extent that they’d travelled to York to confront him. Whether Grey had an appropriate answer could well determine the condition in which they would him. That is, if they could find him.
“Sir,” Hunter called from across the squad room. Caslin turned to see her with a phone pressed to her ear and an excited expression upon her face. “We’ve got him.” Caslin jumped up, grabbed his coat and hurried across the room, shouting over his shoulder to Holt.
“Terry, take over from Sarah and map their paths. I’ll give you a call later.”
“Will do, sir,” Holt replied. If he was annoyed at being passed Hunter’s tasks as well as his own, he didn’t show it. A reaction that didn’t go unnoticed by his senior officer. Such was the team’s determination to get a result.
“Where is he?” Caslin asked as Hunter left the room alongside him.
“Here, in York. He’s at Bootham Park,” Hunter stated. Caslin stopped and turned to her.
“The psychiatric hospital?” he asked, looking puzzled. “I thought that’d been declared unfit and closed down.”
“It was,” Hunter confirmed. “Then they realised there was nowhere else to take people and reopened it.”
“Bootham borders Clifton. Grey’s car was abandoned… what… a quarter of a mile away?”
“If that,” Hunter concurred.
“Come on. Let’s get over there.”
***
Bootham Park Hospital was sited adjacent to York’s main hospital on the northern edge of the city centre. In order to reach it, Caslin had to cross the River Ouse twice when navigating the city centre but fortunately, in the early hours, their journey took less than fifteen minutes.
Turning off Clarence Street they took another couple of left turns in quick succession before pulling into the car park of the imposing three-storey Victorian building. The car park was nigh on deserted and Caslin was grateful the rain had ceased. The breeze was ever present and he braced against the cold. The clouds had momentarily cleared revealing a crisp night, bathing the open grounds in front of them in a silver light.
Hunter got out of the passenger side and closed the door. Caslin locked the car and they headed down the path towards the entrance. Off to the right was the hospital’s chapel, cutting an eerie figure set within the surroundings of the barren trees. They reached the front door, a double door of heavy wooden construction set front and centre in the neo-classical frontage. Pressing the buzzer, they waited, illuminated only by the moonlight as the sound carried through the interior of the building.
The intercom crackled into life and they were greeted by a female voice.
“Hello, how can I help?”
“DI Caslin and DS Hunter from Fulford CID. We called ahead,” Caslin said, glancing up at the camera above and to the right of the door.
“Please come in,” the voice said and the accompanying click indicated the door was open. Hunter pushed the door inwards and they stepped through. Barely had they closed the door behind them and they were met in the lobby. Caslin watched her approach. She was in her forties, dressed in black trousers, a blouse and a pink cardigan. The photo, clipped to the cardigan, was the only indication that she was staff. “Hello, I’m Grace Anderson.”
“DI Caslin,” he said once again, showing her his warrant card. Grace eyed it briefly and then acknowledged Hunter, beckoning them to follow her. The lights in the communal area appeared to be on a timer with minimal illumination.
“You’re here to see Mr Grey, I understand?” Grace asked. “I’m sorry, I didn’t take your call.”
“That’s right,” Caslin replied. “What is his condition?”
“I’ll leave the discussion of diagnosis to the attending specialist, if you don’t mind,” she said, leading them up a staircase and onto the first floor.
“You’re not a doctor?” Hunter asked.
Grace shook her head, “No. I’m a facilitator. Dr Ashman will meet with you.”
“Thomas Grey was admitted earlier tonight,” Caslin stated.
“Yes. Shortly after 8 p.m.,” Grace confirmed. They reached a half-landing between floors and she led them to the rear and into a two-storey wing tacked on at some point in the past. “He was admitted to our acute inpatient ward for assessment.”
“Is that complete?” Hunter queried.
“I believe so, yes,” Grace replied, approaching a locked door. She swiped a pass key and the lock disengaged. Stepping aside, she allowed them to enter first. The corridor was brightly lit in stark contrast to where they’d been. It was clear they were standing in the lobby of a secure unit. A small nurse’s station was set in front of them with three doors beyond, each with the same locking system as the one behind them. From behind the desk a young man rose to greet them. Caslin was mildly surprised to find this was Dr A
shman and he was at least ten years Caslin’s junior. Although, that seemed to happen more frequently than it used to.
“Dr Ashman?” Caslin asked, offering his hand. The young man took it.
“Inspector Caslin. Pleased to meet you,” Ashman said, smiling. He then shook hands with Hunter. “Please, come through to the office.”
He led them into what was a shared office, little more than a four-metre square rectangle with a solitary desk, multiple filing cabinets and shelves. Almost everywhere they looked was stuffed full of loose paperwork, files and folders. Dr Ashman seemed to notice.
“You’ll have to forgive our apparent untidiness. We were closing, then reopened for emergency cases and now we take on outpatients as well,” he said apologetically.
“It takes time to ramp everything back up?” Hunter asked.
Ashman shook his head, “Most of the hospital is still mothballed and the latest swing of the pendulum will see us shut down pretty soon. A new unit has been given the go ahead by the planners.”
“Couldn’t make up their mind?” Caslin asked casually.
“I think we were a knee-jerk response to the lack of mental-health provision currently available in the system,” Ashman stated, offering them both a seat. Caslin declined. For his part, Ashman leaned against the desk, folding his arms before him.
“Thomas Grey?” Caslin asked.
“Admitted last night,” Dr Ashman confirmed, reaching for a folder on the desk. Opening it, he scanned the first page. “You’ll understand I must respect patient confidentiality?”
“Of course,” Caslin confirmed. “However, this is a murder investigation and Mr Grey is a figure in our investigation.”
“He came to us exhibiting both physical and mental trauma.”
“To what extent, physical?” Hunter interrupted him.
“He has superficial cuts to both wrists. Early toxicological tests have returned evidence of amphetamine ingestion,” the doctor said. “Accident and Emergency performed a gastric lavage to remove the contents of his stomach, just in case, and then shipped him over here after their initial assessment.”
“How do you view the cuts? Are they defensive wounds?” Caslin asked. The doctor shook his head.
“Not in my opinion, no. They are more likely to be self-inflicted.”
“Is Grey suicidal?”
“That shifts me into an uncomfortable position of supposition,” Ashman said.
“Uncomfortable… how?” Caslin pressed. Ashman sucked air through his teeth before setting his expression in a frown.
“I wouldn’t suggest his heart was in it.”
“He’s faking?” Hunter asked.
“The levels of amphetamine in his blood stream would suggest otherwise,” Ashman said, “and without doubt he has been expressing levels of mania that are entirely consistent with a paranoid complex.”
“Driven by what? Recreational drugs?”
Ashman shook his head whilst scanning the file before him, “This is his third stay with us and he’s exhibited the same behaviour on each previous occasion but this is the only time drugs have come back positive in his samples.”
“Can we speak with him?” Caslin asked.
“Certainly, but you might find him somewhat erratic. I’m reluctant to prescribe any anti-psychotic medicine until I’m sure of what is currently in his system. That won’t be until mid-morning at the earliest.”
A piercing alarm sounded throughout the ward, everyone in the room jumped in shock. Dr Ashman was first to react and hotfooted it out of the office, Caslin and Hunter only a step behind. Grace Anderson met them in the lobby and responded to the doctor’s unanswered question.
“One of the patients has attacked a nurse,” she said. Caslin found her matter-of-fact tone slightly alarming. He figured it was a reasonably common occurrence.
“Which patient?” Ashman asked.
“Mr Grey,” she replied. Caslin and Hunter exchanged glances. A male nurse joined them and together they passed through the furthermost door and into the ward. The small party broke into a run and the noise level increased as they approached the scene of the disturbance.
The corridor opened out into what Caslin assumed to be a patient’s activity room. Chairs and tables were upended in every direction. Two nurses were attempting to restrain Thomas Grey on the far side of the room. For his part, Grey was resisting to such an extent that his face was a shade of deep crimson as he hurled abuse at both men. The three staggered slightly to the left and Grey managed to free an arm, striking the man to his right a downward blow with the point of his elbow.
Caslin was shocked to see such a change in the businessman. A third nurse crossed the room under instruction from Dr Ashman to try and subdue Grey. Caslin tried to follow but felt the doctor’s arm come across his chest to deter him.
“Please allow my team to do its job, Inspector,” Ashman said firmly. Regrettably, Caslin did as requested. At that moment, Grey broke free and grabbed hold of the first person he could, sinking his teeth into the man’s ear. The nurse screamed. Grey released him, spitting out a mixture of blood and saliva, gleefully screaming at the injured man.
“You bastards won’t take me!” he shouted, blood staining his teeth and lips as he was forced backwards, staring wild-eyed at those trying to subdue him. “I’ll fucking die first!” Losing his footing, or having his stability forcibly taken away, saw Grey fall to the floor. All three nurses, now with the upper hand attempted to pin Grey to the ground. Caslin’s thoughts passed to the multiple occasions where he and his colleagues had come across drunks who needed to be arrested. On some occasions, such was the ferocity and determination of their quarry, it could take six grown men to manage the situation and take the man down.
Almost as quickly as the drama had arisen it subsided. Grey was placed into restraints, including the deployment of a spit-hood and despite his best efforts, he could no longer wreak damage on the staff. He was unceremoniously carted away, presumably to a secure private room. An eerie silence descended. Caslin found his heart was racing. A quick glance at Hunter saw her confirm similar. Grace excused herself, leaving the three of them alone.
“I’m sorry, Inspector Caslin. Your conversation with Mr Grey will have to wait,” Ashman said apologetically, tension in his voice. Caslin nodded his understanding.
“Tell me. Has Grey behaved like this on the other occasions that he’s been here?”
Ashman shook his head, “Never violently, no. He has been known to kiss other patients and there were a couple of incidents where he… how should I put it… he has wondering hands, with certain members of staff.”
“Charming,” Hunter said, raising her eyebrows.
“Not only with the women,” Ashman offered, “and I don’t see that as overtly sexual behaviour. Speaking from a purely clinical standpoint anyway.”
“Do the women see it that way?” Hunter asked.
“Not always,” Ashman replied, with a brief shake of the head, before adding, “nor do the men, by the way.” Hunter exhaled heavily, smiling, as much from the release of tension as from the doctor’s light-hearted additional comment.
“When will you let us speak with him?” Caslin asked.
“First thing in the morning,” Ashman said. You won’t get a lot of sense from him now.
“When he was admitted, did he have anything on him at all?” Caslin asked.
Dr Ashman shrugged, “Nothing, apart from the clothes he was wearing.”
“Any of these drugs you were talking about?”
“No, sorry. What is all this about?”
“That’s just what we’re trying to find out, Doctor,” Caslin said, his eyes drifting away in the direction where they had taken Grey.
Caslin’s phone began to ring and he excused himself from the conversation, stepping away to the other side of the room. It was Holt, back at Fulford Road.
“Sir, I’ve had some joy with the mobile networks,” he said excitedly.
“Go on
.”
“I tried to find out who the mystery number is registered to but what with it being a Russian company and it being the middle of the night, I’ve had no luck. However, I tracked the signals back to see which of the local transmitters the two have connected with and looked for a link. They cross paths in only one place.”
“Give me some good news, Terry,” Caslin asked, drawing Hunter’s attention to the conversation. He beckoned her over.
“South-west of York, sir,” Holt said with enthusiasm. “And seeing as our mystery caller was travelling in to the area, I thought it likely he would be staying at a hotel. There are only two that are within range of that particular repeater station.”
“Good work, Terry,” Caslin said. “Have you called them yet?”
“No, sir,” Holt replied. “I figured it’d be better to turn up unannounced.”
“Agreed. Which hotels?”
“The Windsor Garden Lodge and The Centennial. If it were me, I’d start at the latter.”
“Why?” Caslin asked.
“Judging by the circles these guys tend to move in I’d expect five-star all the way. The Windsor would be slumming it at only four.”
“Text me the address and we’ll meet you there,” Caslin replied. Hanging up, he turned to the waiting Hunter. “Looks like it’s going to be a long night, Sarah.”
Chapter 23
The lobby of The Centennial Hotel was of a noticeably higher standard than most others Caslin had frequented. His initial perception of the double-height atrium was that five stars didn’t do the building justice. The lobby opened up to reveal marble panelling to the walls, ornately decorated archways to the interior and stunning frescos that drew the eye upwards.
An open fire crackled away to his left, despite the lateness of the hour, with leather seating of the finest craftsmanship set out before it. The ambient lighting was calming and soft music played in the background. Caslin recognised the artist, a modern classical piece by Elskavon but he couldn’t recollect the title. The concierge appeared at reception from a back room, Terry Holt a step behind. He saw Caslin and Hunter, acknowledging them with a brief wave. He came from behind the desk as they approached.
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