After the Fire (27 page)

‘Me? Annoying?’ But I did as I was told. There was a time to push Derwent and there was a time to back away slowly. This was definitely the latter. ‘I’ll try to find Debbie Bellew.’

‘Text me when you track her down.’

I slammed the door and watched him drive off, the tyres complaining as he took the turn to the ramp too fast. Any traffic officer would have pulled him over for driving like that. I was tempted to do it myself. Then again, if driving while angry was an offence, Derwent would be on a permanent ban.

I was halfway across the reception area when I noticed a bald head I recognised: Young Kevin. He was sitting on a low chair, his head in his hands. I went over to him.

‘Sorry, I hope you don’t mind me asking if everything is all right. Is Mrs Hearn okay?’

He lifted his head to show me eyes swimming with tears. ‘What?’ He seemed dazed and there was no recognition in his eyes.

‘I’m the police officer who spoke to Mrs Hearn yesterday. Is she all right?’

‘She’s had a stroke.’

‘Oh no.’ I sat down on the chair beside his, genuinely upset. ‘When?’

‘Last night. I’ve only just found out. I came to see her and they said I couldn’t at the moment because she has to go for a scan. They’re doing tests …’ He trailed off and shook his head. ‘I don’t even know. I don’t understand half of the words they used. And they won’t tell me much anyway because I’m not family, although you’d have a job to find anyone closer to her than me.’

‘I remember,’ I said. ‘But she’ll be all right, I’m sure. She’s in the best place, isn’t she? Quick treatment helps a lot with a stroke, as far as I understand it.’

‘She can’t talk at the moment. They don’t know if she’ll be able to speak again. They said it was maybe the stress from the fire, or it could have been something that was going to happen all along.’ He wiped his eyes again. ‘At least she wasn’t on her own in her flat. Who knows when she’d have been found? Small mercies.’

‘Absolutely.’ I patted his arm consolingly. ‘You know, I’m sure she’ll recover very quickly. I’ll find out what I can for you when I’m upstairs.’

‘Thanks. I appreciate it.’ He gulped. ‘It just hit me so hard. Reminds me of my own parents all over again.’

I looked up to see Derwent striding towards the lifts. He was taking the quickest possible route to Melissa Pell’s room, I thought. There was tension in every move he made. ‘Look, I have to go. Will you be here for a while?’

‘I’m not going anywhere until I know she’s all right.’

‘Then I’ll see you later.’ I hared across the lobby and caught up with Derwent just before he disappeared through the lift doors. He frowned, making space for me to join him.

‘Why aren’t you upstairs?’

I filled him in on Mrs Hearn and what had happened to her. He listened, still frowning. ‘Good thing you got a statement from her yesterday, isn’t it? Interviewing a cabbage isn’t much fun. And we wouldn’t know anything about Armstrong’s girlfriend.’

‘Is that it? No “poor lady”?’

He looked around the lift with elaborate care. ‘She’s not here. And neither is anyone who cares about her. So no, I’m not going to pretend I care about someone I’ve never met.’

‘God forbid you should waste a molecule of oxygen on being pleasant.’

‘My thoughts exactly.’

The lift stopped at the sixth floor and Derwent pressed the button to hold the doors open. ‘This is you. Intensive care. Go and talk to Debbie.’

‘What about you?’

‘I’m going to see Melissa Pell on the floor below.’

‘Hold on a second. What about Carl Bellew?’

‘What about him?’

‘You said you wanted to talk to him.’

Derwent shrugged. ‘Wanted is too strong a word.’

‘Excuse me,’ I said, addressing Derwent’s crotch. ‘I want to talk to Inspector Derwent, please. Could you let him use his brain again?’

‘Kerrigan, do as you’re told.’ This time he didn’t sound amused.

‘No.’ I took his elbow and dragged him out of the lift. ‘Quite seriously, if Una Burt finds out you’ve abandoned the Bellews to sniff around Melissa Pell, she will start disciplinary proceedings. And I can’t blame her.’

‘I think Melissa is the reason the fire happened in the first place.’

‘If that’s the case, Pettifer and Mal will find that out.’

‘They couldn’t find their arses with both hands.’

‘That’s not true. They are good police officers and they work hard. They’ve gone up to Lincolnshire today to interview Mark Pell.’

‘I looked him up.’

‘Where? You didn’t run him through the box, did you?’ If Derwent had used the police national computer database illegally, for his own purposes, he would be in serious trouble.

‘Relax. Open source search only. I found some local news reports about him and his business. Smiling smug fucker.’

‘You have absolutely no reason to be jealous.’

‘I’m not.’

‘She hates him.’

‘I know.’

‘And she wouldn’t look at you twice. She’s not keen on men in general and policemen in particular.’

His eyebrows drew together. ‘I know that too.’

‘I realise your technique is to pick off the sick and the slow but cruising hospital wards for sexual partners is a new low.’

‘That’s not— look, just leave it, Kerrigan. You’ve made your point.’ He walked off, in the direction of intensive care and Debbie Bellew.

I knew I’d hurt his feelings. I also knew that he was pushing his luck with Una Burt and he needed me to save him from himself. The end justified the means, as Derwent himself would have said. I had only treated him the way he would treat me in similar circumstances.

But I wondered if it made him feel sick when he did the wrong thing for the right reasons, or if that was just me.

We ran into a brick wall in intensive care, in the shape of a nurse at the reception desk who was adamant that we couldn’t speak to Debbie Bellew.

‘She’s with her daughter and I’m not going to interrupt. The poor woman is exhausted.’

‘Okay.’ Derwent wheeled around and started to walk off, but I grabbed him. I wasn’t going to give up so easily.

‘It’s a police matter. We wouldn’t ask if it wasn’t important.’

‘I can’t.’ She leaned forward, dropping her voice. ‘I had to get the doctor to prescribe Mrs Bellew some Valium earlier. She’s in no condition to talk to anyone.’

‘Why is she so upset? Is it Becky?’

The nurse nodded. Her good, honest face was troubled. ‘We’ll know more in a few hours but it doesn’t look good.’

Derwent’s mouth tightened. I felt it too. There was something awful about a child dying, something sharp that never seemed to lose its edge for any of us. There was no tragedy like it. That was a wrong we could never put right. There was no such thing as justice for someone whose child had died in violent circumstances, no punishment harsh enough for the person responsible for that death.

‘What about Carl Bellew?’ Derwent asked. ‘Is he here?’

‘He’s been here today.’ The nurse looked disapproving. ‘He didn’t stay very long.’

‘Do you have an address for him?’

She looked through the papers on the desk until she found it on a sheet of paper. Derwent checked it against his notebook and handed it back with a nod of thanks to the nurse. We walked out of intensive care together, past the PC on duty. It wasn’t either of the two we’d encountered before but a solid, useful-looking man in his thirties who had, pleasantly, checked our IDs before he allowed us in. I had no doubt that Debbie and her daughter were safe, but then the damage was done already. And I wondered how long it would be before we ran out of man-hours to spend on guarding the patients who were left in the hospital. It was the kind of thing that Una Burt did – thorough, dogged professionalism – but it was expensive and hard to justify when there wasn’t an obvious threat.

‘The address she had for Carl Bellew is the brother’s,’ Derwent said. ‘He must be staying there. Presumably his kid and his mum are there too.’

‘Poor Louise,’ I murmured.

‘Who?’

‘The other daughter-in-law. She didn’t seem all that happy with Nina Bellew.’

‘Who would be?’ Derwent rubbed his chin thoughtfully. ‘Maybe Louise would be a good person to talk to.’

‘I’ll put her on the list.’

Derwent pushed open the door to the stairs and we walked down one flight together. He stopped beside the door but didn’t open it. He was looking down at his feet, mutely miserable. It wasn’t something I was used to seeing on his face. I sighed, despising myself for being a soft touch.

‘Look, I want to go and check on Mrs Hearn. I told her neighbour I’d find out what I could. So if you wanted to come with me, I don’t suppose it would be a bad idea for us to drop in on Melissa Pell too. I did interview her before. She might have remembered something useful.’

It was like rattling a dog’s lead when it’s given up on being taken for a walk. He straightened up and looked at me with surprise.

‘I thought—’

‘It just seems to make sense, that’s all.’ I opened the door and went through it quickly, not wanting to be thanked. Derwent was right behind me.

‘If you go—’ He broke off and I glanced at him to see he was staring at a man who was walking past us, hands in his pockets, head down. A man who was utterly unremarkable, at least to me. Derwent was giving him a good long look, a police officer’s glare, turning as the man was level with us, not even trying to be subtle about it. The man was past us, he was gone, and I took a breath to ask Derwent what was wrong.

Too late.

Without any warning, Derwent grabbed the man by the collar of his jacket, dragged him off balance and slammed him into the wall, face first.

‘What the—’ I began and abandoned it because Derwent wasn’t going to answer me, not when he was growling threats into the man’s ear.

‘What are you doing?’ It was a doctor, outraged in scrubs. ‘You can’t behave that way here. I’m calling the police.’

‘We are the police,’ I said, because I had to give the impression that I trusted Derwent and this was all completely professional and above board. ‘It’s all right, sir.’ And to the visitors, patients and staff who were slowing, staring, starting to gather into a crowd, I uttered the immortal line, ‘Move along, please. Go on about your business.’

They did, but with much muttering and curious, greedy looks in our direction. The man was spreadeagled against the wall, hands flat on the plaster, his face still pressed against it with the full force of Derwent’s weight on the side of his head. He wasn’t fighting. He wasn’t resisting. He was waiting.

‘What are you doing?’ I whispered and got an irritable hunch of Derwent’s shoulders as an answer. When the corridor was empty, or as close to it as it was going to get, Derwent released his hold on the man but stayed right in front of him, watchful. He looked as if he was hoping the man would give him an excuse to hit him.

‘Turn around. Slowly.’

The man did as he was told, holding his hands up at shoulder height. He looked amused, wary and – strangely – unsurprised. He was neatly, boringly dressed in a navy jacket, a red jumper and jeans. They were expensive clothes, though, and the watch on his wrist was a heavy stainless steel one. He wore a platinum wedding band and his hands weren’t shaking, which was remarkable, because mine were and I’d just been watching what had happened to him. A red mark on one cheek showed where he’d hit the wall hard. He was square-jawed and handsome, with blue eyes and a smirk I knew Derwent was itching to smack off his face.

‘What’s the problem?’ he asked.

‘What are you doing here?’

‘Visiting my wife. I didn’t know that was against the law.’

I stepped forward and patted him down, retrieving his wallet and checking his driver’s licence. ‘Mark Pell.’ And it made sense as soon as I read his name: why he looked familiar, why Derwent had reacted with such violence. His eyes were just like his son’s.

‘Your turn,’ Pell said. ‘I’d like to see some ID.’

Derwent took out his wallet and flashed his warrant card in Pell’s face for the briefest moment. ‘How did you know she was here?’

‘Your colleagues told me.’

‘You mean the two detectives who’ve gone up to Lincolnshire to interview you today?’ I said.

‘Oh dear.’ Mark Pell didn’t look remotely perturbed. ‘I seem to have got the dates confused. I hope I haven’t inconvenienced anyone.’

A muscle was flickering in Derwent’s jaw, a sure sign of trouble. ‘Did you see her? Your wife? Did you bother her?’

He frowned. ‘No. Your officer wouldn’t let me in. Apparently I’m not on the list.’

I raised a silent cheer for whatever PC had sent him packing.

‘So why are you still here?’ Derwent asked.

‘I want to see my son.’ Pell let his arms fall to his sides. For the first time, there was an edge to his voice. ‘I have a right to see him. His mother took him away from me three months ago and I haven’t laid eyes on him since.’

‘Stay away from him.’ Derwent leaned a little closer. ‘I mean it.’

‘You don’t get to say that to me unless you’re enforcing a court order I don’t know about.’ Pell blinked at Derwent, all innocence. ‘And there’s no reason for there to be a court order. Whatever Melissa told you about me, don’t believe it. I’m sorry to say she’s a liar. Unreliable. I’ve been investigated time and time again and no one has ever charged me with anything. I’ve been in custody three times and they let me go immediately because there was no evidence I’d done anything wrong.’

‘Except Melissa’s statements to the police,’ I said.

‘Except those.’ He sighed. ‘I understand that you have to take it seriously. I hate the thought of domestic violence. I know you must investigate it, but really, Melissa just wasted police time and precious resources. She’s a fantasist. Paranoid. I’ve been very concerned for her welfare and for my son since she left me.’

‘Did you try to find her?’

‘I hired two private investigators, one after another, and they came up with nothing.’ He frowned. ‘I wanted the police to help me but they wouldn’t. It wasn’t a priority for them, they said, because there was no evidence that either Melissa or Thomas had come to harm. Never mind the fact that Melissa is a few sandwiches short of a picnic. And then I find out she’s in London, living in a sink estate. God knows what Thomas saw while he was living there. If anyone needed proof Melissa was insane, that’s it, surely. Leaving a good life, a beautiful house and a loving husband to hide out in a dangerous, drugin fested sewer.’