Midnight Murders (15 page)

‘What's the obvious in this case?'

‘I wish to God I knew.' Dan gazed at all the police activity. ‘But it's there somewhere, waiting for us to spot it.'

* * *

Lyn tossed restlessly on her bed in the nurses' hostel. She had never slept well when she'd been on night shift. Her body-clock simply refused to adjust to hospital requirements. She turned over, and pulled the pillow over her head.

She listened to a minute tick by on the clock, then another. She lifted her pillow and stared at the electronic alarm clock. Ten-fifteen. She was due back on duty at seven-thirty, only eight hours away, and she'd promised to meet her friend Miriam for tea at five. Miriam had been in school with her, and had recently taken the post of junior mortgage advisor to the largest bank in town. Being Miriam, she hated it. But then Miriam hated everything – her job, the town, the people she worked with. And Lyn was beginning to wonder if Miriam's sole joy in life was moaning about her lot over tea and cream cakes in the most expensive patisserie the town had to offer.

Lyn closed her eyes again and cursed the daylight filtering into the room despite the thick curtains. All she could hope for was six hours sleep, and she hadn't slept for twenty-four hours as it was.

Thoughts raced through her mind. Vanessa Hedley? Where was she now? She was fond of Vanessa, despite all the upset she caused. She was a character and, unlike one or two of the other patients, not an unpleasant one. What was it her father said? “A product of circumstances.” That was it; Vanessa was a product of circumstances. If her husband hadn't fooled around and if she hadn't decided to follow him that night, her whole life would have turned out very differently. She'd probably still be queening it in the hotel on the front.

Lyn heard the engines of the staff's cars as they queued at the gates. How much longer before Vanessa would be found? And when she was, would it be at the bottom of a pit like the others? Suffocated by a ton or more of earth shovelled on top of her.

The buzz of a police helicopter hovering overhead reminded her of the heat-seeking cameras used to find the others. Was Vanessa already out there in the earth? Decay raising the temperature of her cold flesh? Lyn turned on to her stomach and pulled the pillow over her ears. It was useless. What would help? A warm shower? She'd had one an hour ago. Hot chocolate? Cocoa? She'd drunk two cups that morning; any more and she'd spend half the day going back and forth to the bathroom at the end of the corridor.

The radio? A book? A boring – boring book. Had to be a nursing textbook. She left the bed and went to her book-shelf. She was poised, holding the book, when she heard a noise outside her door. A cleaner pushing a polishing mop over the floor? She stood stock still. The noise was overlaid by the quiet hiss of breathing. Was she listening to her own intake of air? She held her breath to be sure.

A thud sent her scurrying back to the safety of her bed.

The key, which had been nesting securely in the lock of the door, had fallen, pushed out on to the doormat. She stared at it for a split second. Then she screamed.

Nerves ragged with fear, she recalled the details of the murders rumoured around the hospital, and she continued to scream as she grabbed her green and purple silk dressing gown from the foot of her bed. She tried to pull it over her shoulders, only to get it hopelessly tangled. ‘Lyn! Are you all right?' Above the hammering on her door she heard the voice of Alan, one of the charge nurses who had a room down the hall.

‘Someone was at my door. The key… ' she finally managed to get her gown on properly and tied the belt, Hands shaking, she picked the key up from the mat. Keeping the chain fixed across the door, she tentatively opened it. Three nurses were standing outside, all in dressing gowns.

‘What happened?' Alan asked. ‘You're shaking like a leaf.'

She unfastened the chain and he walked in.

‘I was lying in bed and I heard a noise. When I looked up the key was being pushed out of the lock. Someone was at the door… '

‘Richard, go downstairs and dial 999,' Alan ordered their colleague.

‘With all the police hanging around the building, it would be quicker to walk to the main block and find one.' Without stopping to pick up shoes or slippers, Richard ran down the stairs. A door banged outside, somewhere above them.

‘The fire escape.' Alan rushed out through the door.

‘For God's sake be careful,' Mary, a second-year student nurse, called after him.

‘Wait for Richard to fetch the police,' Lyn shouted.

Both pleas fell on deaf ears.

Mary looked nervously at Lyn. ‘Do you really think someone was there?' she whispered.

Lyn went to her window and opened her curtains.

Arms outstretched like a crucifixion, face squashed and distorted against the glass, the thin figure of a man stared back at her, dark eyes gleaming. He reminded Lyn of a spider, a black venomous spider. His fingers clawed at the eaves above him, his toes retained a tenuous grip on the window ledge. His open mouth leered, its breath fogging his features as he pitched alarmingly close to Lyn.

Mary screamed. The figure hovered for what seemed like an eternity, then swayed. His face jerked backwards. He fell.

A cry echoed, lingering in the sweet spring air as he landed with a dull thud on the flowerbed three floors below.

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

The woman in the wheelchair was hunched forward, her face practically resting in her lap, her features half hidden by the blanket that had been draped over her head and drooped shoulders.

‘Aren't they just the lucky ones? What I wouldn't give for a kip right now,' Mark Manners, a brash young porter, shouted to his fellow porter as he wheeled past a chair that contained another comatose geriatric.

He received only a curt nod from the white-coated, baseball-capped figure that wheeled the other chair. Someone new, Mark thought. Given the meagre wages porters received there was a constant and rapid turnover of staff. He no sooner got to know someone than they moved on; but hopefully one day he'd be doing the same.

‘Soon be there, love,' he murmured reassuringly to the elderly patient in the chair when she stirred restlessly.

‘I want to go home. Want to go home – now!'

‘I am taking you home, love,' he promised rashly. As he was dumping the old dear off on Dotty Clyne, her problems would soon no longer be his. Five minutes more and he could take a break, steal a cup of tea, and chat up Mandy in the kitchen. He wondered how much longer it would be before he could talk Mandy into letting him take her out, and, what was more to the point, into dropping her knickers. One week? Two? Or would his lucky star make tonight the night?

The figure in the baseball cap pushed the wheelchair into Observation and Depression. The ward was usually deserted during the day. The patients were bundled off to therapy or clinic after breakfast; or if they were astute enough to know, and demand, their rights, the garden for an unsupervised walk.

Laughter rang in the ward kitchen. The clock pointed to ten forty-five. Coffee break had just begun. Head down, the figure pushed the wheelchair swiftly on down the corridor. At the end of the passage, close to the fire- escape, was a single room. Traditionally the last bed allocated for use on every ward, the staff kept it for emergencies or those privileged enough to warrant a private room.

The figure pushed the wheelchair into the room and closed the door softly. It was broad daylight, closed blinds would attract attention, but the chance of being seen through the window was minimal at this time of day. People were too busy to stand and stare, and there was no glow of artificial light to highlight untoward movement.

Easy – take it easy, slowly, calmly. No noise. No haste, lest mistakes be made. Steady, deliberate, determined action. A moment to wheel the chair next to the bed. Another to pull back the pristine sheet, single blanket and beige cotton bedcover. Ease the limbs forward. Hands locked around a slim, cold waistline, warm breathing face next to chill, leaden one. A lift, a push – tuck the small stiffening figure between the sheets. On its side lest the knees remain upright with the onset of rigor. Raise the blonde head on to the pillow. Brush the ruffled hair forward, to hide the face.

A shudder, as a lifeless arm rolled out and dangled, the fingers inches above the floor. Pick it up. Push it beneath the sheets and between the knees to hold it fast.

The chair! Fold it. Place it next to the bed. A quick glance in the mirror. Pull the baseball cap lower. Listen at the door. The voices were still chattering in the kitchen. A few seconds was all it took to slip out through the fire door, muffling the bar with a rubber-gloved hand lest its click be heard. Head down and then into the garden, fresh air. Pass one block, then another, and another. Easy – so easy. And done!

‘Do you know him?'

Lyn nodded and sank her teeth into her lower lip in an effort to stop herself from crying. Peter saw shock registering on her face, and accorded her grudging respect. Shaken, upset by her ordeal, her slender and – he noticed lustfully – shapely body trembling beneath her thin robe, she hadn't protested when he'd asked her to follow him outside to identify the body. But she was a nurse, and all nurses had seen corpses, even psychiatric nurses – although possibly not those of people they had known in life.

‘Lyn, I've just heard. Are you all right?' Karl Lane, dark hair combed away from his face, jumped the fence and strode towards her and Peter through the flowerbeds.

‘Perfectly,' she replied too forcefully.

‘Sergeant, do you think you should be questioning Nurse Sullivan so soon after her ordeal?' Karl stared at the body stretched out on its back about six feet away.

‘The best time to question a witness is when events are still fresh in the mind, Mr – '

‘Lane,' Karl said abruptly. ‘Senior Nurse Lane.'

‘Karl, you're not helping matters. Please go away.' Lyn directed the anger she felt at the waste of Michael's life at Karl, because he was there when she didn't want him near her. She turned her back to him. ‘That is Michael Carpenter, Sergeant Collins. He is – was – a patient in the ward I work on.'

Peter spoke to a constable who was hovering at his elbow. ‘Have you sent for the pathologist?'

‘Yes, sir.'

‘Keep everyone at bay until he arrives. And make sure no one else puts their big flat feet on those flowerbeds. There are a couple of prints there that should be cast.'

‘Yes, sir.'

‘You,' Peter called to another constable nearby. ‘Alert Inspector Evans and the super.'

The constable pulled out his mobile phone.

Peter turned to Lyn. ‘I'm sorry, but I have to ask you a few more questions. Shall we talk inside?'

Michelle Grady arrived breathlessly at the front door as Lyn and Peter were entering the hostel.

‘I came as quickly as I could, Sergeant Collins. I thought you might need a woman.'

‘You offering?' he enquired snidely.

‘Only in one sense,' she responded tartly.

He looked at her with a new respect.

Lyn showed them into a communal lounge as bleak and soulless as the day rooms in the hospital. A blank television screen stared, a sightless eye, from the corner of the room. The carpet was a vivid, clashing combination of orange and purple swirls on which islands of hard, upright gold-vinyl upholstered chairs stood uninvitingly.

After draping her dressing gown around her bare legs, Lyn sat with her back to the television opposite Peter and Michelle. Karl, who had insisted on joining them, perched on the windowsill. Peter wondered if Karl had been sent as Tony Waters' deputy until he could get away from whatever meeting was claiming his attention.

‘I'm Constable Grady.' Michelle introduced herself to Lyn and Karl, knowing she could wait forever before it occurred to Peter to carry out the common courtesy.

‘Lyn Sullivan,' Lyn responded.

‘Karl Lane,' Karl added.

Peter eyed Lyn as he held his pencil poised over his notebook. ‘I've already heard part of the story from the first officers at the scene. He glanced out of the window to the two constables who were standing guard over Michael's body. 'You were trying to sleep in your room and you heard a noise. You opened your curtains and screamed, your fellow nurses came running… '

‘Mary, Richard and Alan,' she interrupted.

Peter checked his notes again. ‘And that would have been about a quarter past ten?'

‘About that, yes.' She plucked nervously at the hem of her dressing gown. ‘I couldn't sleep, and I was looking at the clock every few minutes… '

‘Watching the clock is no good,' Michelle interrupted. ‘The only thing to do when you can't sleep is to go for a brisk jog.'

‘I thought we were interviewing witnesses, not running Auntie Michelle's advice column,' Peter cut in.

Lyn gave the policewoman a sympathetic glance. ‘Thank you for your advice. I'll try that next time.'

‘Works wonders with me,' Michelle said in defiance of Peter's mounting exasperation.

‘You couldn't sleep,' Peter reminded Lyn.

‘I heard a noise at my door,' Lyn continued.

‘What kind of a noise?'

‘A scuffling. At first I thought it was one of the cleaners with a polishing mop. Then I heard breathing… '

‘Heavy breathing?' Peter interrupted.

‘Yes. When I turned around, I saw the key fall out of the lock on to the carpet.'

‘Do you always leave your key in the door?'

‘Yes.'

‘I take it the door was locked?'

‘I always lock my door and leave the key in it when I'm sleeping. Day or night. I know it's not wise, when you consider what could happen if fire broke out, but I feel safer. There've been prowlers around.'

‘First I've heard of it.' Peter stopped writing.

‘There are always prowlers around nurses' hostels. You of all people should know that, Sergeant Collins.' Tony Waters strode into the room. ‘Sorry I couldn't get away earlier, but I had to attend a meeting.'

‘Have you reported these prowlers to the local police?' Peter asked Tony.

Tony sat in a chair next to Michelle and ran his hand through his thick, white-blond hair. ‘Not recently. The last incident was about a year ago, but I'd have to check to make sure. The man was caught and charged with disturbing the peace.'

‘Convicted?' Peter checked.

‘I assume so. I can't remember the details.'

‘And when was the last reported sighting of a prowler around the hostel?'

‘I really couldn't tell you off the top of my head. Karl?' He turned to the charge nurse. ‘Do you know where the incident book is kept in this hostel?'

‘I do. I'll get it.'

‘Nurse Sullivan identified the corpse of this particular peeping tom as Michael Carpenter, a patient in this hospital. Can you explain how he could have gained access to this building?' Peter asked Tony.

‘Not before checking with Michael Carpenter's ward sister, Sergeant Collins. The emphasis of modern psychiatric treatment is on rehabilitation within the community. The old notions of incarcerating the mentally ill in secure wards out of sight of the general public are no longer in vogue. If this young man was one of our patients, it could be that he was here voluntarily, in which case he would have been at liberty to come and go as he pleased, and not only within the hospital and its grounds.'

‘This particular “young man” has been convicted of arson, attempted murder and threatening behaviour towards his ex-girlfriend and her new boyfriend,' Peter tried to recall details of the two year old case. ‘In short, Mr Waters, Michael Carpenter has been convicted of crimes which marked him as a danger to the public.'

‘His doctors could have since considered him cured and of no further risk… '

‘He died prowling round a nurses' hostel. God alone knows what damage he would have done, if he hadn't been seen.'

‘Nothing is proved.'

‘The bastard is lying out there with his neck broken after falling from a windowsill!' Peter exclaimed. ‘If he is our killer, I'd say he was close to securing victim number five.'

‘We can't be sure there's a fourth victim yet.'

‘Our only witness to a murder disappears, and you're not sure she's a victim?' Peter left his chair. ‘You,' he jabbed his finger at Tony, ‘and all the bloody, do-gooding clowns like you disgust me. What the hell is the point of the likes of me working around the clock to catch the rapists, killers and villains of this world if all you do is give them the benefit of the doubt, until there's another dead victim dumped in front of you? And even then, all you give their killers as punishment is a couple of years' holiday in a camp like this, under the name of rehabilitation. Before patting them on the head and sending them out of the door to carry on in their own sweet way again.'

‘Sergeant, may I remind you just who you're speaking to,' Tony countered.

‘I know exactly who you are.' Peter pulled a cigar from his pocket. ‘That's why I'm so bloody angry. Fools like you shouldn't be given the authority to clean a latrine. And if I were in your shoes, I'd be doing a headcount of your nurses right now.'

‘He didn't get inside the hostel,' Karl observed in Tony's defence.

Peter glanced at Lyn. ‘Someone eased Lyn's door key out of the lock.'

‘You can't say for certain whether or not it was Michael Carpenter,' Tony insisted.

‘No, I can't, but as he wasn't wearing any gloves, we'll find out. And if it wasn't Michael Carpenter then there were two prowlers creeping around this hostel this morning. Which option would you prefer, Mr Waters?' Peter snatched the incident book from Karl and left the room.

‘Lyn?' Karl followed her up the stairs. ‘If you're nervous about being on your own, I can stay with you until your next shift starts.'

‘No thank you, Karl. I'm going to shower and dress.'

‘I've watched you dress before,' he reminded.

‘Cling to your memories, Karl. It's not something you're likely to see again.' She ran up the stairs away from him.

‘I caught a bus last night for the first time in years, but it wasn't a wonderful experience,' Trevor commented as Dan drove him out of the suburbs and into the town.

‘Is that why you're going to take a look at your car?' Dan asked.

‘Peter found a garage in the alleyway at the back of Frank's place. When I saw the rent he'd signed up for on my account, I wondered if the car was worth it.'

‘With all the back pay you've accumulated over the past few months, you can afford to treat yourself to a new car.'

‘I could,' Trevor agreed.

‘So what happens when this case is wrapped up? Back to the Drug Squad?'

‘Or wherever else Bill wants to put me.'

‘Are you returning to the force because you can't think of anything else to do?'

‘I like the company,' Trevor said dryly. ‘And the pension is good.'

‘You have a sense of humour. That explains a lot.'

‘What in particular?'

‘How you've put up with working with Peter Collins all these years. But, I admit I found the man better than his reputation,' Dan slowed at traffic lights.