Midnight Murders (22 page)

‘I thought it was a stray.'

‘It was.'

‘Could it have attacked the killer as he was burying one of the victims?'

‘We'll probably never know,' Peter walked on.

They paused outside the ward block. Trevor looked up into the clear, star-studded night sky.

‘You coming back to join us, then?' Peter asked.

‘I am back,' Trevor corrected.

‘So you are,' Peter smiled. ‘How long before you're back to normal?'

‘What's normal?'

‘You snapping at me like now,' Peter grinned. ‘I suppose if nothing more happens here in the next two weeks, you can pack and go back to your flat.'

Trevor recalled the empty, grubby, dismal rooms, the lonely workaholic life he'd led before he'd been injured. And he knew that he didn't want his life to continue like that. Not any more. He had a mental image of Jean Marshall's apartment, and he suddenly knew that he didn't want that either. Then he remembered a woman with long dark hair and sad eyes –

‘Trevor!' Peter shook his head. ‘You can't even stay awake when someone's talking to you.'

‘Sorry, just thinking about something.'

‘Save it until the morning, you need to be on the ball tonight.'

Tony Waters was in the ward office with Lyn and an auxiliary nurse. Trevor could see them through the glass window between the office and the corridor. Lyn's dark head was bent close to Tony's fair one, as they studied a sheaf of papers.

‘The hospital has come up with new security arrangements for the wards,' Andrew Murphy waylaid Trevor and handed him a file.

‘Any good?' Trevor asked.

‘How should a mere constable know?'

‘I suppose any measure has to be an improvement,' Trevor said hopefully.

‘Especially on the ward that live women are spirited out of and dead ones spirited back in.'

‘Sergeant Joseph, I take it you're back on duty?' Tony walked out of the office.

‘No,' Trevor opened the door to his room. ‘I'm just being used as an extra pair of eyes.'

‘I've arranged for one extra nurse to work on this ward. Day and night.'

‘That's good,' Trevor glanced at Lyn through the glass.

‘The Trust held a meeting this afternoon. They passed a resolution ordering that outside doors will be kept locked at night and all qualified nurses to hold keys, in case of emergency. Also a headcount of patients will be carried out every two hours.'

A woman's high-pitched screaming pierced the air.

‘Lucy Craig again,' Lyn left the office and ran down the corridor.

‘It's a problem keeping the security low-key, so it doesn't upset our patients,' Tony watched Lyn enter Lucy's room.

‘Better an upset patient than a dead one, like Vanessa Hedley.' It was the sort of cheap remark Peter would have tossed off without a second thought, but the hostile glare Tony sent his way lingered afterwards in Trevor's mind.

‘This is ridiculous,' Jean Marshall poured herself a brandy after handing Michelle a cup of coffee.

‘What's ridiculous?' Overawed by the opulence of Jean's apartment, Michelle was perched on the edge of her chair.

‘You being here.' Jean had begun to realise just how much this female bodyguard was going cramp her style. ‘There's a porter on duty downstairs, electronically-activated doors and safety devices, so there's no way anyone could get up here without my permission or the doorman knowing.' She conveniently omitted to mention the fire escape. While Michelle Grady was dogging her movements, there was no way she'd find the privacy to telephone, let alone see her lover.

‘Just remember what happened to Vanessa Hedley and the others.'

‘They were taken from the hospital.'

‘Vanessa certainly, but we can't be sure of the others.'

‘I suppose you can't,' Jean agreed. ‘Well, take your pick of the spare bedrooms. There's clean towels and soap in all the bathrooms, help yourself to whatever you need. I'll go to bed with this,' she lifted the brandy bottle.

‘You have your personal alarm to hand?' Michelle asked.

‘Never go anywhere without it.' Jean lifted her arm and Michelle saw it dangling from her wrist.

‘The first all-night shift I worked, I thought it would stay dark forever,' Lyn walked into the ward kitchen to see Trevor standing next to the kettle.

‘The first night I worked,' Trevor smiled, ‘I learned that a new day always dawns, no matter what happens during the night.' He held up a jar of instant coffee.

‘Please. It's a way of killing another ten minutes. I've checked everyone, extra staff as well as patients, and all's quiet. God, I hate nights. Roll on tomorrow.'

‘Back on days?'

‘Not for two whole weeks.'

‘Holiday?'

‘My parents have a house in Brittany.'

‘Lucky you.'

‘It's not luxurious, just a cottage on the beach, but we had some super times there when I was a kid. Beachcombing, finding mussels, crabs and winkles for tea, learning to speak French – and how to drink wine.' She took the coffee he handed her. ‘When I get back you'll have left, won't you?'

‘Probably. I don't suppose I'll be able to spin out my stay longer, although I may still be on this case. With all this activity, our people in the grounds and the corridors, extra staff drafted on to the wards, our killer is likely to lie low for a time.'

‘But you think he'll strike again?'

‘If he conforms to serial killer pattern, but we'll get him in the end,' Trevor said, with more confidence than he felt. But all he could think of as he looked into her eyes was; before or after another murder?

CHAPTER TWENTY-
TWO

‘You were right, Sergeant Joseph. The dawn did come after all.' Lyn set a cup of coffee on the desk in front of Trevor.

He opened his eyes, blinked and tried to focus, but remained disorientated.

‘Don't worry, I won't tell anyone you slept,' she whispered as he rubbed his hands through his hair.

‘Oh God, I'm – '

‘In the ward office and everyone is safe. I've just counted them; staff and patients.' She put her own coffee next to his, sat in the chair behind the desk and snapped open the blind. The cold clear light of a new day was stealing through the ragged border of trees that fringed the lawns.

‘Did anyone come round to check after half-past four?' his voice was thick with sleep. Half-past four was the last thing he remembered, and it was now – he glanced at his watch – seven o'clock.

‘Only Constable Murphy and I told him you were interviewing the night staff.'

‘Bless you,' he said gratefully. ‘Just as well it wasn't Bill; if he'd seen me he would have put me back on the sick.'

‘Where you should be, considering the state of your head and legs. And who's Bill?' she asked.

‘The super who thought I was fit enough to sit up all night.' Trevor wrapped his fingers around his coffee cup. ‘I don't think I'm going to be much use to the force for a while.' He smiled. ‘I'm too accustomed to getting my eight hours every night.'

‘And two hours in the afternoon?' she teased.

‘And two hours in the afternoon,' he echoed. ‘Thanks for the coffee.' He rose from his chair, walked to the window and stretched his arms.

‘I don't envy you trying to sleep today.' She picked up both their cups. ‘Not with all the extra activity on the ward.'

‘If it's noisy I'll go – ' he faltered. He'd almost said “home”. His flat wasn't home. ‘To my place,' he amended. ‘I'll get the car out of the garage. It might come in useful now I'm working again.'

‘If you bring it up here, leave it in the staff not the visitors' car park,' she warned. ‘Neither is safe, but you're more likely to find your car jacked up on bricks in the visitors' car park.'

‘Thanks for the tip, but no car thief would want to take mine, and even the joy riders would give it a wide berth.'

‘You haven't seen some of the cars that have disappeared from here.'

‘No, I haven't.' He smiled at her. ‘Right, I'm for a shower and then, if you've finished your shift I'll walk you to your hostel.'

‘Is that really necessary, with half the town's police force lining the garden?'

‘Call it a thank you for not snitching on me last night.'

‘What's snitching?'

‘A word that was probably in vogue before you were born.'

‘You sound like my grandfather.'

‘At the moment,' he picked up his stick and hobbled to the door, ‘I feel like him.'

* * *

‘Nothing, bloody nothing,' Peter swung his feet down from the bench seat and reached for the coffee pot.

‘Did you really expect something to happen last night?' Dan dropped two plastic cups in front of him.

‘I believed in Santa Claus until I was ten.' Peter raised his eyebrows as a scuffling sound resounded outside the door of the inner office, but neither of them felt energetic enough to move out of their seats to investigate.

Trevor walked in.

‘You look like I feel.' Peter moved along the bench so Trevor could sit down. Trevor parked his stick in the corner of the room and dropped down next to him.

‘Nothing?' Trevor looked from Peter to Dan.

‘Sweet nothing,' Dan repeated. ‘And, as the day-shift is about to take over, I'm for home and bath.'

‘Be careful,' Trevor warned. ‘You look tired enough to fall asleep and drown.'

‘There might be baths big enough, but I don't possess one. I can either soak my legs or my back. It's not big enough for both.'

‘Have you ever thought it's not the bath that's the wrong size?' Peter pushed a cup towards Trevor. ‘Coffee?'

‘No ,thanks. I came to see if I could beg a lift back to my place. I've decided to bring my car back here.'

‘Tell a man he can crawl, and he tries to run a marathon. Sure you're up to driving with that leg of yours? Peter asked.

‘I can but try. How about it?'

‘You're on,' Peter agreed. ‘But only if you buy me breakfast in that transport cafe on the docks.'

‘All you ever think about is your stomach,' Trevor complained. He reached for his stick and followed Peter out of HQ.

With Peter's help, Trevor managed to push his car from the lock-up Peter had rented. He left the battery on charge in the back room of Frank's shop and went upstairs and lay on his bed, intending to catnap for an hour or two. Nothing was going to happen in daylight, not with every inch of the hospital grounds under surveillance by the largest force Bill had assembled to work on a single case.

He took off his jacket and stretched out, but was too restless to sleep. A line of suspects kept intruding into his mind's eye. Spencer Jordan – Tony Waters – Harry Goldman – Adam Hayter – he visualised them, and tried to match them to Vanessa's description of a big man with evil eyes. But no matter how he tried, he couldn't make any of them fit the profile of a serial killer who buried his victims alive.

He pictured the girls lying conscious and helpless in a pit while someone slowly, infinitely slowly, shovelled earth over them, covering every visible inch; heard the dry patter of dried earth and the dull thuds of damp, sticky clods as they fell. Saw a small rectangle of night sky as they must have seen it. The face of the moon shining behind the silhouette of their killer.

Did he take time to study his victims' features as he covered them? Had they known who he was before they died?

Trevor closed his eyes, but the images refused to disappear. He saw Jean Marshall, her auburn hair spread out like a halo behind her head just as it had been on the cushion of the sofa the night he'd made love to her. Her eyes round, terrified, the irises crimson with bursting blood vessels as earth fell…

He woke in a sweat, and realised he'd slept. He went into the bathroom and splashed cold water over his head. The battery should be charged by now. He'd get Frank to help him lift it back into his car, and then talk to him. He looked around his flat before he locked the door. It was a talk that was long overdue.

‘I was wondering where you'd got to,' Jean greeted Trevor when he returned to the ward at midday. ‘You couldn't cope with the food outside so you've come back for a delicious hospital lunch?'

‘I bought sandwiches.' Trevor tossed a plastic carrier bag on to his bed.

‘Everything's quiet, and I'm well protected. Constable Grady is in the kitchen making coffee.'

Trevor walked over to the door and closed it behind her.

‘Why, Sergeant Joseph.' She batted her eyelashes theatrically.

‘Do you have any idea of the risk you're running?' he asked, on edge after his nightmare.

‘Someone had to do something. Besides, what can happen to me? I've a round-the-clock female dogging my every step, which is more of a bind than I thought it would be. And a man outside the door of every building I'm in, whether it's here, the canteen, or my flat. A mouse couldn't creep near me without being flattened, but thank you for your concern,' she said sincerely. ‘It's nice to know that someone cares about me.'

‘I'm worried about the whole hospital.'

‘You really are concerned, aren't you?'

‘There's a killer on the loose, and you ask if I'm concerned?'

With the memory of their evening's lovemaking lying between them, he couldn't meet the searching look in her eyes. He picked up the carrier bag, and took out the sandwiches he'd scrounged off Frank. He heard laughter and he looked outside. A group of policemen were standing in front of his window smoking, and drinking coffee from disposable cups.

He didn't have to say any more. Jean was sensitive enough to read embarrassment in his sudden preoccupation with his sandwiches.

‘About the other night,' she said briskly. ‘It was a one-off – you do know that, don't you?'

‘I'd still like to thank you for it. You showed me that there was life outside these four walls.'

‘Call it part of the recovery process.' She managed to keep the bitterness from her voice.

‘You leaving us, Lyn?' Dressed in his bathrobe, and clutching his toilet bag, Alan peered through the open door of her room on his way from the bathroom.

‘Holiday. I booked these two weeks last Christmas. My brother and I are going to join our parents in the cottage in Brittany.'

‘Lucky you. Want a hand to carry your case downstairs?'

‘It's not as heavy as it looks, but thanks anyway.' She lifted her case into the corridor, picked up her handbag, and locked the door behind her. ‘It's mainly washing; I still keep most of my things at home.'

‘It must be nice to have a real home in the same town you work in.'

‘As opposed to travelling all of fifty miles away,' she joked.

‘Unlike yours, my mother doesn't do my washing. Have a good time, and don't go drinking too much wine.'

She gave him a sideways look.

‘Stupid thing to say. Do drink too much wine.'

‘There won't be anything else to do. I'll send you a postcard if I can find one rude enough.'

‘Rotten sod,' he grinned as he went into his own room.

Lyn heard Mary's high-pitched giggle from behind Alan's closed door, and she smiled. It was good to know that someone was still in love and happy in Compton Castle.

After Jean left Trevor, he rummaged in the bottom of his wardrobe for the cans of beer Peter had given him. He found half a dozen, all lukewarm. He opened one and picked up a book from his locker to read as he ate his sandwiches. The hands on the bedside clock pointed to two-thirty. The usual hum of hospital noises, interspersed with voices he recalled from the force buzzed around him. Strange how little he'd thought of work all the time he'd been ill, yet how easily he'd slipped back into the routine of take-aways, long shifts, and caustic exchanges with his colleagues.

He woke at five, the sandwiches still in their packet on his lap, the book unopened. Then he heard it again, the crashing thud that had woken him. He was out of the chair in seconds. He wrenched open the door and looked into the corridor. White-faced, Michelle was outside the ward office, watching Jean grapple with dark-suited figure behind the glass window.

‘He's locked the door.'

‘Phone for help!' He picked up a lightweight stacking chair from the corridor and threw it at the glass window. It bounced back, the legs falling away from the moulded plastic seat. While Michelle spoke urgently into her phone, he picked up the chair legs. Hitting the window hard on its corner, he succeeded in cracking the glass, but not shattering it.

Andrew Murphy dashed through the door, followed by Chris Brooke. They sized up the situation and put the full weight of their shoulders to the office door. There was a snapping, splintering sound and the lock gave way.

Jean was pinned against the wall, her face red, her eyes bulging. Roland was in front of her, one hand around her throat, the other wielding a syringe perilously close to her eyes. Andrew nodded to Chris. They took Roland's arms and dragged him out of the office. When he was in the corridor, Andrew kneed him in the back, and pinned him to the floor.

‘Cuffs!' he held out his hand. Chris gave him his.

The door at the end of the corridor flew open. Dan, Peter and Tony Waters burst in.

‘Who is it?' Peter shouted, as Trevor fought his way past Roland, Chris and Andrew and went into the office.

Jean gasped as Trevor helped her on to a chair. ‘Roland, I was working in here when he came in, slammed the door and pulled out a syringe.'

‘Where did he get that from?' Tony demanded from the corridor.

‘You tell me.' Jean leaned against the back of the chair.

‘They've taken Roland to the secure ward,' Peter announced as he walked into Trevor's room ten minutes later. Trevor and Dan were sitting drinking warm beer straight from the can. ‘That's my beer.'

‘You gave it to me.' Trevor tossed him a can.

‘For you to drink, not hoard.'

‘We're drinking it now.'

‘Is Roland our killer?' Dan voiced the question uppermost in all of their minds.

‘I checked his record with Bill,' Peter opened his can. ‘He's an alcoholic; he's been here six months – '

‘Long enough to have carried out all four murders.'

‘And he's a private patient. His family, his doting aged parents that is, have money enough to pay his bills here. If they didn't, he would have been out of this place long ago.'

‘That explains why the staff are prepared to put up with his drinking and letching.' Trevor sat on the edge of his seat. ‘But I didn't realise there were private patients here.'

‘Your room is paid for by medical insurance,' Peter said pointedly.

‘Is it?' Trevor asked in surprise.

‘Tell that man what time of day it is, Dan.' Peter wiped the beer froth from his mouth, and sat on the bed next to Dan.

‘So he had the time, the knowledge – ' Dan began to mull it over.

‘What was in the syringe?' Trevor asked.

‘Initial diagnosis is probably water, but they're checking that now, along with all the medical stores, for signs of theft or tampering. I managed to talk to Roland briefly before Tony Waters took over. Damned man sent for a lawyer, and won't let us question Roland until he comes.'

‘Accused's legal right,' Dan reminded.

‘Tony Waters is covering his backside against the flak that's beginning to fly.' Peter finished his can and held out his hand for another.