‘Well, yes, of course . . . yes, there’s that,’ Laura admitted.
I relaxed as the evening went on and the booze went down — mostly mine and Simon’s work, given that Laura was pregnant and Cate driving. It made it easier to cope with the embarrassment when Laura started singing my praises, as she always did, especially to her female friends.
‘Though I wish you’d get a job with a proper law firm,’ Laura said, as she did on a regular basis. She didn’t mean it.
‘I like working for Jake,’ I reminded her. ‘And your memory is short. Think back to what things were like when I was looking for a job. There wasn’t a great deal of choice.’ With an unsteady hand, I refilled Cate’s glass.
‘What is this?’ She held it up for inspection. ‘It’s good.’
‘It’s wine,’ Laura said. ‘Beyond that, I have no idea. Stefan brought it.’
‘Excellent choice,’ said Cate.
I didn’t like to tell her it was a purely random selection.
‘He’s a connoisseur of the well-rolled spliff too,’ Laura added with a wink.
‘For therapeutic purposes,’ I added quickly.
‘It’s a good relaxant,’ Cate agreed, without missing a beat. ‘I’m not sure that outlawing it has ever been a good idea.’
‘Would you prescribe it then?’ asked Simon.
‘I’m not allowed to. But if it’s what works . . .’ She shrugged.
‘Nothing better,’ I told her. ‘That and swimming. Though I won’t be doing much of that for a while. I’d scare everyone out of the pool.’
‘I’ll dig out Grace’s paddling pool for you,’ Laura offered.
‘You could come and use mine,’ said Cate.
‘You’ve got your own swimming pool?’ Even Simon was impressed.
Cate laughed. ‘Not exactly. But there’s a residents’ pool in the basement of my building.’ She turned to me. ‘You could come as my guest. It’s generally pretty quiet in the evenings.’
I could see that she meant it. ‘Thanks.’
It was just after one in the morning when Cate offered to drive me home and while I mostly prefer to assert my independence, at that time of night it would have been foolhardy not to accept.
‘Thanks for the lift,’ I said, as we drew to a halt outside my building.
‘No problem.’ She turned off the engine. ‘I’ve really enjoyed meeting you and I’m glad for the chance to apologise.’
‘For what?’
‘Being so over the top to begin with. I didn’t know what to expect.’
‘I get that a lot.’
‘No, that’s not what I mean. It’s just that Laura has done this to me before — ”Why don’t you come for lunch or dinner?” Followed by the phone call a week later . . . “Oh, by the way Tom/Dick/Harry will be there. I don’t think you’ve met him. You two will really hit it off.” And somehow I always feel I have to “perform”.’
I couldn’t help laughing. ‘She does that to you too?’
‘God, yes. Let me think . . . this must be at least the fourth time.’
‘She’s getting desperate, then, if she’s down to me.’
‘Oh no, quite the reverse. I got the feeling I had to get through the preliminary rounds before I was deemed to be good enough for you.’ She seemed sincere. ‘But I’m glad we got there in the end.’
‘Me too.’ Buoyed by the alcohol, I leaned over, intending to give her a chaste kiss on the cheek, but at the last instant she turned towards me so that our lips made contact. Nothing heavy. Just a couple of seconds. Just a kiss, but it was definitely deliberate. ‘Goodnight, Cate,’ I managed to stammer.
‘Goodnight, Stefan.’ She placed a hand on my arm. ‘And don’t forget that swim. I meant it.’
‘I’d like that.’ I clambered out of the car.
‘How about Friday?’ she called after me. ‘We could have dinner afterwards?’
‘That would be great.’
‘Come over at about eight.’ She recited her address.
If I could have managed a hop, skip and jump into my apartment, I would have, but instead I had to content myself with enjoying a warm inner glow. Maybe Laura’s efforts were finally going to pay off.
Chapter Nineteen
Despite Superintendent Bowers’ encouragement to take a few days off, I couldn’t stay away. I needed to be doing something useful. I’d braced myself for the snide remarks I expected to come my way when I returned to the station, but as it turned out it was almost worse. People all but ignored me. I couldn’t really blame them — had I been in their position, I wouldn’t have known what to say to me either. A pall hung over Fulford Road. In my limited experience it was always the same when a fellow copper died. Most people were busy out looking for Liam Archer or gathering statements pertaining to Denny’s murder. I wasn’t allowed to be in on the action, of course. Instead I was put on ‘light duties’, as if I was ill or something.
My intention was to do more work on the Stefan Greaves case, but in reality, I spent most of the morning gazing out of the window, watching the frequent comings and goings in the car park below and tuning in and out of the conversation going on around me.
It was only when I looked up and caught Bowers on the far side of the room watching me that I was able to galvanise myself into actually doing something, to avoid being sent home again. Denny had been an experienced copper, but despite the fact that the last few days had elevated him to sainthood, it was important to remember that he wasn’t infallible. And while he didn’t think a mugging was worth the effort, some of us did. The only other possible witness to Greaves’ attack was via Keeley Moynihan. Although she’d been the one to find him, she hadn’t yet been asked to make a statement, further indication of Denny’s apparent complete lack of interest. But I hadn’t talked to her properly yet either. I didn’t have her address to hand but had made a note of her mobile number. When I called it, her voice came at me from a hubbub of background noise.
‘Would it be convenient for me to call round for a chat?’ I asked.
‘I’m out shopping,’ she explained. ‘But I’m not far from the police station. You’re at Fulford Road, right? I could stop by there when I’ve finished, in about an hour, if you like?’
‘That would be great.’ My stomach had started to growl and this arrangement would allow me time to make inroads into the sandwiches Sonia had made for me. I was sitting at my desk trying to not spill crumbs all over the computer keyboard when I had the call up from reception, pretty much at the time Keeley had promised.
‘Someone to see you, Mick,’ Ed Farlow said. ‘Though looking at her, I think she must have got the wrong bloke.’
I went down to meet her.
‘PC Mick Fraser,’ I reminded her, as we shook hands.
‘Yes, we met at the hospital, didn’t we?’ She was dressed in fake fur today, a short jacket that finished just above the hips, topping off long legs that were encased in skintight leather stiletto boots. Not many women could carry off that look with class, but she was one of them.
‘That’s right. Thanks for coming in, I appreciate it.’
‘Anything I can do to help catch the bastards who hurt Stefan.’
All along the corridor and across the office to my desk, I felt eyes swivel in our direction, and I was fairly sure they weren’t looking at me.
Once we were settled in one of the informal interview rooms, which was light and tastefully decorated with low furniture, I took her back to the night of the attack. ‘So you didn’t see or hear anything after Mr Greaves went out?’ I checked again.
‘No. We had been . . . occupied for a couple of hours and were getting ready to go out to dinner. I was in the shower when Stefan left the flat. I dried off, put on my make-up and did my hair. I mean, I heard voices at one point — a group of lads going past, laughing and talking. But it was the start of the weekend, it’s what people do.’
‘So what time was this?’
‘By the time I was ready, it was
about ten. I remember looking at the clock and thinking Stefan had been gone quite a while. But then the queues at the cashpoint on a Friday night can be horrendous, and of course everything takes him a little longer, so I waited another ten minutes, then I went out to the main entrance hall to see if I could see him. I had to be discreet. He’d have hated the idea that I was checking up on him, and even then, I nearly didn’t notice him. It was dark and I was looking out to the street, but then a movement caught my eye and I realised there was something on the ground. I didn’t think it would be Stefan. I rushed out and he was just lying there, sort of curled up and by then he was completely still.’ She paused to catch her breath. ‘That scared me — he’s never completely still, even when he’s asleep — but when I leaned over, I could hear him breathing. I had to run back inside to get my mobile and call for an ambulance, then I came back and sat with him, talking to him, until the medics and then you came.’
‘And you didn’t notice anything else, anyone hanging about?’
‘No. I suppose I was too preoccupied with looking out for the paramedics to notice much else.’ She closed her eyes briefly. ‘There was actually a moment when I thought he might be . . .’ She shivered.
I produced the mug shots of Bostwick and Phelps, placing them on the table in front of her. ‘Do you know either of these two men? Have you seen them hanging around that area at all?’
She studied both, her gaze lingering a little longer on Phelps. ‘I’m not sure. He does look a little familiar, but I couldn’t tell you where I’ve seen him. Do you think it was them?’
‘They’ve been picked out by the owner of the supermarket Mr Greaves went to, but I don’t know for sure yet.’
She took a surreptitious glance at her watch. ‘Is there anything else? I’m really sorry but I’m going out tonight, so I should be getting on.’
‘No, that’s fine. Thank you. You’ve been really helpful.’
* * *
Plum had continued to spend the morning, almost non-stop, trying to get through to Rita Todd.
‘Look, I’m due at the hospital for a check-up later today,’ I told her. ‘Why don’t you come with me?’
She looked at me as if I’d gone mad. ‘You want me to hold your hand?’
‘Not exactly. It’s been over a week, so Rita must be back at work by now. We could stop by her ward, see if she’s there. See? Two birds, one stone.’
‘Great,’ she said, with all the enthusiasm I’d come to expect. ‘I’ll sharpen my pencil.’
It’s hard to say which of us attracted the most attention as we sat in the outpatients’ waiting area, and the inevitable lengthy wait meant that we were subjected to the public gaze for quite a while. Plum was fidgety and uncomfortable.
‘You don’t like hospitals?’ I surmised.
She visibly shuddered. ‘Hate them.’
‘I’ve never understood that,’ I said, knowing at the same time that she was far from alone. ‘They’re places of healing.’
‘Not always. Sometimes they’re just dumping places for the damaged,’ she said.
I looked at her.
‘I spent a bit of time in hospital when I was a kid,’ she said, as if that was in the far distant past.
‘I didn’t know that.’
Without taking her eyes off mine, Plum began, wordlessly, to roll up the sleeve of her jumper. It hadn’t occurred to me until that moment that I had only ever seen Plum in long-sleeved garments, usually hanging way down over her hands. The reason soon became clear. Just above her pale wrist were a dozen or so delicate, thread-like scars that disappeared up under her cuff.
‘Bad karma,’ she said. ‘Jake saved my life,’ she added. ‘I mean, literally, man.’ Had we been cartoon characters, hearts and chirruping bluebirds would have been circling her head.
Not for the first time, I didn’t know what to say to her. Instead, for some reason, I slipped an arm awkwardly round her shoulders and squeezed. ‘We’re only visiting this time,’ I said. And Plum did something I’ve never seen her do before. She blushed, as dark as her name.
This effectively, if somewhat awkwardly, ended the conversation, so it was something of a relief when just a couple of minutes later my name was called. I was subjected to all the usual checks: blood pressure, reflexes, eyes and ears. It was a different doctor, of course, but for once, he’d read my notes.
‘Have you had any further seizures?’ he asked.
‘No.’ To tell the truth, I’d forgotten all about them.
‘And how do you feel in yourself?’ he asked finally.
‘I’m OK,’ I said. It was true. Apart from those wobbly couple of days immediately afterwards, I felt pretty normal again.
‘And you’re taking it easy?’
‘Oh, yes.’
Afterwards, I went back out to Plum in the waiting room.
‘Wonderful news, darling,’ I said. ‘I’m going to live.’
She forced a weak and mirthless smile. ‘Can we go now?’
‘Of course, after we’ve stopped off at Rita Todd’s department.’
‘Which is what?’ she asked, walking over to the ubiquitous multicoloured wall plan.
‘The neonatal unit.’
Plum wrinkled her nose. ‘What’s that when it’s at home?’
‘Sick babies.’
Chapter Twenty
The phrase ‘stopping off’ turned out to be something of an understatement. It felt as though we pounded mile upon mile of sterile corridor, hiking virtually the length of the hospital site to get to the right department, but eventually we came to the Neonatal Intensive Care Unit where Rita Todd worked. In the interests of simplicity, Plum approached the nurses’ station, where a harassed young auxiliary, whose name badge identified her as Shelley, was fielding phone calls with impressive efficiency. We waited our turn. At last, when there was a break in the traffic, she looked up at Plum, the disdain barely masked. It was a minimalist conversation.
‘Can I help you?’ Shelley asked.
‘Is Rita Todd at work today?’ Plum asked in response.
‘No.’
‘When will she be back?’
‘I don’t know.’
‘Who would?’
‘I’ll go and find out.’ She disappeared for more than five minutes. ‘Sorry, nobody seems to know.’
I was beginning to feel fobbed off, which made me all the more determined not to leave empty handed.
‘Do you work with Rita?’ I asked her.
‘Yes,’ she said, a touch defensively.
‘We think she may be in trouble.’ It was over-egging it a bit, but I was looking for a result and she didn’t contradict me. Maybe Andrea was closer to the mark than we’d thought. ‘Do you want to help her?’ I asked.
It took a while but eventually she nodded, which in itself was interesting.
‘Well, we’d like that too. But she’s away and if we’re going to stand any chance, it would be really useful to talk to someone who knows something about what’s going on. Is there anyone who can do that? We can wait as long as you like.’ I ignored a glare from Plum.
Shelley sighed. ‘I’ll see what I can do.’ She pointed back the way we’d come. ‘There’s a staff room down that corridor and on the right. You can wait in there.’
‘Thank you, it’s much appreciated,’ I said, though I’m not sure she got that.
* * *
Clearly the hospital personnel were not expected to enjoy much in the way of breaks. All they had was a functional box room, with steel lockers lining one wall, half a dozen stained and threadbare easy chairs surrounding a square, utilitarian coffee table, its surface covered with an untidy pile of dog-eared gossip magazines. A notice board on one wall displayed flyers for social events that had been and gone, along with a collection of faded postcards and a number of aphorisms that might, on the first reading, have been vaguely amusing: You don’t have to be mad to work here... etc. Oscar Wilde wasn’t under any threat.
Ten minutes stretc
hed out to almost half an hour, during which time my stomach and Plum’s competed to produce the loudest hunger growl. I was about to give up and go — they were taking the piss. But then the door swung open on a young woman, short and sturdily built, her mousy hair elaborately plaited around her head. She looked red-faced and flustered and barely seemed to register our presence, heading straight for one of the lockers. She opened it up to retrieve a handbag, which she rifled through fruitlessly, sniffing while she did so. I fished in my pocket and came out with a clean handkerchief.
‘Here.’ I held it out to her, and she turned and took it.
‘Thanks.’ With a wan smile, she blew her nose.
I gave Plum a meaningful look, hoping she’d pick up the cue. She did.
‘Is everything all right?’ she asked.
If this girl was being put under excess pressure too, we might be home and dry.
‘We just lost a patient,’ she said. ‘We seem to be going through a bad patch at the moment, but the frequency doesn’t really make it any easier. You have to hold it in when you’re with the parents, but—’ She dropped into one of the chairs across from Plum and me. ‘Poor little mite, she didn’t have much going for her, but it still breaks your heart.’ She blew her nose again, then, making a visible effort to shake herself out of it. ‘Sorry, what are you doing in here?’
‘It’s Ellen, right?’ I said, reading her name tag. ‘We’re waiting to talk to someone who knows Rita Todd. We wanted to see Rita herself, but I understand that she’s not back from holiday yet. Do you know her?’
‘Yes, of course. We work on the same ward together. Um, who are you again?’
‘Rita came to us for help. I’m her lawyer.’
Seemingly for the first time, she looked at me properly, taking in the suit and tie. The double take only lasted a split-second.
‘Oh, right . . .’ Too late, she recognised her reaction as insensitive and gave a helpless shrug. ‘Rita said her daughter was trying to get her to go to a lawyer. Poor Rita,’ she said, recovering. ‘I was just thinking about her this morning. How’s she getting on?’
The Truth About Murder Page 10
