Midnight Murders (26 page)

Peter smiled at Trevor. ‘Got the bastard.'

‘But not Lyn,' Trevor said bleakly. ‘We're still no nearer to finding her.'

Peter put a call out for a woman police constable to take care of Carol Ashford.

‘I would like to go home,' Carol pleaded, through her tears. ‘I'd like to shower, change my clothes.'

‘We may need you again,' Peter said. ‘And I'm reluctant to let you go until we've finished questioning your husband. There may be something else you know… ' The telephone rang and he picked it up. ‘That was Michelle,' he turned to Trevor. ‘Bill's suggesting Sister Ashford could join Jean Marshall and Michelle in a hospital flat. Spencer Jordan has volunteered his.'

‘How long do you intend to keep me, Sergeant?' Carol Ashford demanded.

‘Just as long as it takes to get your husband to tell us where he's hidden Lyn Sullivan,' Trevor answered.

Tony Waters was stunned. ‘Superintendent, the whole idea is bizarre, the fabrications of an insane mind. You simply can't believe… '

‘The mind is your wife's,' Bill broke in. ‘You had the means, the opportunity. On your own admission, you know this place inside out.'

‘Where have you hidden Lyn Sullivan?' Peter stopped pacing around the room and loomed threateningly over the table where Tony was sitting.

‘Nowhere! I haven't even seen the girl. I want to call my solicitor – now.'

Bill picked up the telephone, and slammed it down in front of Tony. ‘But I warn you; make that call and we're charging you.'

‘With what?'

‘Four counts of murder and five of kidnapping.'

‘That's absurd. You have no proof. If you did, you'd have taken me to the police station.'

‘To all intents and purposes this is a police station. And the reason we haven't moved you is a six-foot, slim, attractive black-haired nurse you've hidden somewhere on these premises. Is she still alive?'

‘I wish I could help you, Superintendent. But I know nothing.'

Peter produced the statement Carol had signed before Michelle had taken her to Spencer's apartment. ‘Do you deny having affairs with Claire Moon, Elizabeth Moore, and Rosie Twyford – and receiving phone calls from them at your home?'

‘I might have received one or two calls from them, but… '

‘Go on' Bill pressed.

‘Receiving phone calls is not a crime. And even if they did call me, the chances are that those calls were connected with business.'

‘Like the affairs you had with them?'

‘Affairs, like phone calls, are not crimes,' Tony countered.

‘And the bruises you inflicted on your wife?'

‘Carol enjoys rough lovemaking.'

‘Lovemaking?' Peter sneered. ‘From a man who fires blanks.'

‘What the devil do you mean?' Waters turned crimson and Peter knew he'd hit a raw nerve.

‘You can't have children.'

‘Whether I can father children or not is none of your damned business!' Tony Waters turned purple with rage.

‘Where is Lyn Sullivan?' Peter thrust his face close to Tony's.

‘I swear, I haven't seen her since yesterday.'

‘You didn't take her?' Bill asked sceptically. ‘You didn't grab her from the hostel?'

‘No.'

‘That's not what your wife told us.'

‘Carol? But she knows – she – '

‘Knows what?' Peter asked.

Tony remained silent.

‘Your wife has made a statement.' Peter waved it in front of Tony. ‘She confirmed that you had affairs with all three women.'

‘That doesn't make me a murderer.'

‘No, but it doesn't mean you're able to engage in normal lovemaking either.' Peter stabbed at Tony's Achilles heel.

‘For pity's sake, I'm normal. Just ask Jean Marshall.'

An eerie silence fell over the room. Trevor rose from his chair and slammed the door on his way out.

CHAPTER TWENTY-
SIX

Trevor stumbled as he flung himself down the steps. Peter, who was running close on his heels, reached out and steadied him.

‘You're going to see Jean Marshall?'

‘You thinking what I'm thinking?' Trevor asked.

‘Either our esteemed administrator or his wife is lying,' Peter replied. ‘The question is which one. Taxi?' he shouted to the driver of a police car, who was standing nearby, chatting to the constable on duty. ‘To the halfway houses, and step on it.' He dived into the back of the car.

‘You've been on duty since Constable Grady escorted the two women inside?'

‘Yes, sir.'

‘Our little bird is still cooped up,' Peter gave Trevor a grim smile.

‘If this little bird proves to be the one I think it is, I won't be buying any birdseed until I see her for myself.' Trevor led the way into the building.

The Trust had tried and failed to turn the communal area on the ground floor of the halfway house into something resembling a private home. Still life prints of fruits and dead pheasants that no one would willingly chose to hang on their walls were the only ornaments in the beige-carpeted and magnolia-painted rooms. The coat rack in the hall was bare, as though no one dared to use it. All the adjoining doors were open, including one to the cupboard under the stairs, which held a neat display of cleaning tools; vacuum cleaner, brushes and mops. The kitchen surfaces were bare, and the spotless stove had a disused air.

Peter and Trevor saw Spencer sitting on the edge of an uncomfortable upright chair in the lounge, playing chess with a slim young man Trevor recognised as a past inmate of his ward.

‘You're here to see Jean and Carol,' Spencer guessed. ‘I'll take you up.'

‘Don't disturb yourself.' Peter went to the foot of the stairs. ‘Just point us in the right direction.'

‘Top floor, it's the door facing you at the top of the stairs.'

‘Thanks.' With Trevor lagging behind, Peter climbed the first flight of stairs. Five closed doors greeted him, all fitted with Yale locks. As he began on the next flight of stairs, a man rose to his feet from the top step.

‘Slacking on the job, Andrew?' Peter asked.

‘Resting my feet before you dump the next load on me,' Andrew replied.

‘Anyone gone in or out?'

‘No. And apart from some classical music, it's been as quiet as the grave.' Andrew pushed a coffee cup into the corner behind him.

‘When did they give you coffee?' Trevor winced in pain as he tried to put his right foot on the floor.

Andrew glanced at his watch. ‘About an hour and a half ago.'

As there was no bell, Peter banged on the door. There was no response. ‘Constable Grady, it's Peter Collins. Open up.'

The silence that fell after his frenzied banging hung heavy with foreboding.

‘Got a key for this door?' Peter asked Murphy.

‘No.'

‘Run downstairs and get Spencer's,' Trevor suggested.

‘No time.' Peter put his shoulder to the door and heaved. The wood splintered and the door swung inwards, its lock hanging free. He barged through the tiny hall into the living room, tripping over Michelle Grady, who lay on the floor, still holding a coffee cup in her right hand. The dregs had spilled over the beige carpet, staining the area around her head. Jean Marshall was lying on the sofa.

Peter knelt between them. ‘They're both breathing, hopefully just tranquillised. Call an ambulance.'

Spencer superintended the evacuation of the hostel before the paramedics dashed upstairs.

‘What I can't understand,' Murphy said, ‘is how she got out. I was in touch with our man at the back and our man downstairs every ten minutes and neither reported any unusual sightings.'

Peter opened the window and leaned out. ‘There's barely four foot between this building and the next. If she climbed up instead of down, she could have… '

‘Jumped across?' Trevor suggested.

‘I don't know if you noticed, but she's an athletic-looking girl.'

‘I noticed,' Trevor rested on the arm of an easy chair.

‘Can I come in?' Spencer hovered in front of the splintered wood that had once been his front door.

‘The bird's flown the coop, so there's no need to ask,' Peter replied.

‘One of the girls in the house next door saw the commotion and came round. She says she hung her Mac on the rack by the door, but now it's gone.'

‘What colour was it?' Trevor asked.

‘Green. She'd only just bought it… '

Trevor didn't wait for the rest of the sentence. He turned to Peter. ‘Car park?'

‘I'm ahead of you'

An officer had been on duty in the car park since six o'clock. He insisted nothing out of the ordinary had occurred; only the usual staff had come and gone.

‘Sister Ashford?' Peter asked.

The man gazed at him vacantly.

‘Tall, slim, blonde, blue-eyed, beautiful,' Trevor elaborated.

‘The one married to the chief administrator?'

‘That's her,' Peter confirmed.

‘She took her husband's BMW. She said her Peugeot was giving her trouble, so he'd offered to take it to the garage.'

‘Take us to mobile HQ,' Collins ordered the police driver he'd commandeered.

‘Why not follow her?' Trevor demanded urgently.

‘Because she could be anywhere.' Peter snapped. ‘And because, if we're going to find Lyn Sullivan before it's too late, we'll need all the help we can get. And in my opinion we should begin with the person who knows the killer best. Tony Waters.'

Tony Waters was still sitting at the conference table at HQ. Dan was thumbing through computer printouts of the interview reports and Bill was bawling down the phone at the officer who'd been manning the gate when Carol Ashford had driven out of the hospital.

‘Don't tell me that you didn't know she was a suspect – every person in this hospital is a suspect… '

‘Mr Waters?' Trevor pulled out a chair alongside Waters. ‘Have you any idea where you wife could have gone?'

He stared at Trevor through hollow eyes. ‘I don't know. She didn't keep in contact with anyone from her past, and she didn't have many friends. Lots of acquaintances; people she met through clubs, charity committees – that sort of thing. But no real friends.'

‘The house. You think she might have gone back there?' Trevor pressed.

‘I don't know.'

‘Do you keep money and your passports in the house?' Peter took the chair opposite Trevor's.

‘There's money in the safe. Our passports too.'

‘She has the key to the safe?' Peter asked.

‘It's a combination lock, she knows the number.'

‘There's no point in both of us going.' Peter said when Trevor rose stiffly to his feet. ‘You'd slow me down. As Lyn wasn't in the car Carol drove out, carry on looking for her here. I'll keep in touch. Mr Waters, you'd better come with me. We may need you. Dan?'

‘I'm with you.'

‘All cars leaving the hospital have been searched thoroughly for days. Lyn Sullivan
must
be hidden somewhere in this hospital,' Trevor stressed to Tony. ‘Please. You know this building better than anyone. Do you have any idea where Lyn could be hidden?'

‘Do you think I didn't think of that when Vanessa Hedley disappeared?' Tony retorted acidly. ‘Everywhere, absolutely everywhere has been thoroughly searched by your people and mine.' He followed Peter and Dan out of the door.

* * *

Tony gave the police driver precise directions to his farm, but the driver twice missed turnings in the winding country lanes, and they lost frantic minutes while he manoeuvred turns in impossibly narrow spaces.

When they finally reached the farmyard, it was floodlit, with two large Dobermans barking and circling crazily by the front door.

Tony climbed out of the car and called to the dogs. They stopped barking and ran over to him. He pulled out his keys and shut them in the conservatory. Peter walked to the front door. He held out his hand.

‘Keys,' he said to Tony.

‘I'll open it.' Tony seemed strangely reluctant to hand them over.

‘Stand back,' Peter ordered. ‘I can smell gas.'

‘Then shouldn't I… '

Tony didn't have the chance to say another word. Dan lifted him off his feet, and yanked him back while Peter inserted the key gingerly into the lock. He pushed the door open tentatively with his fingertips.

‘You on mains or Calor gas?' Dan asked Tony. But he never heard the reply to his question.

A deafening explosion ripped through the house, blasting the front door off its hinges. It caught Peter's shoulder as it hurtled back, carrying him to the centre of the yard in a hurricane of shattering glass and shooting flames that blew the windows, roof and walls outwards. For five full minutes all Dan could do was lie flat on the ground, his nose buried in the dirt, as he watched flames lick out of the building into a strange, red unnaturally silent world. He saw Peter was lying, eyes wide open, as he lay half buried beneath a heap of smouldering debris.

Covered in shards of glass, their driver had managed to stagger back to the car. Dan saw his mouth move as he yelled down the radio phone for the fire brigade, back-up units, and ambulances.

Tony had been partly shielded by Dan's massive figure when the full force of the blast had struck, so he wasn't as badly hurt as the other three men. Dan could only watch as Tony scrambled to his feet and ran towards the house. A blackened, shrivelled scarecrow, skin blistering and bubbling was crawling through where the front wall had stood only minutes before.

Tony took off his coat and flung it over the scarecrow's baked flesh.

‘I couldn't bear it.' Words left the lipless mouth.

‘Bear what, darling?' Tony cradled what was left of Carol in his arms.

‘I thought you'd leave me for one of those girls. That's why I took them from you. I didn't want to kill them – just keep them away from you. But I couldn't hide them forever, and I couldn't hurt them, so I buried them. It was easier that way – even the dog. It was always in your office… '

‘Where's Lyn?' Dan crawled over the debris in the yard towards them.

‘Vanessa saw me. I injected her with air. It's a quick way to go – I couldn't – '

‘Where's Lyn?' Dan reiterated.

Peter stumbled towards them cradling his left arm. ‘She was in the hall; she lit a match as I opened the door…'

‘She was expecting me.' Tony looked down at what was left of his wife. She was quite still, her sightless eyes staring up into his.

Peter sank to the ground. ‘Damn her for dying. She can't tell us where Lyn Sullivan is now.'

Dan put his hand on Peter's shoulder. He turned his back on Tony who continued to cradle the mutilated body of his wife. He could find no words of comfort to offer the man, but he could and did offer privacy – of a kind. ‘You're going to hospital, Peter,' he said as the first siren sounded in the distance.

‘Peter's in hospital but he's not badly hurt,' Dan reassured Trevor before turning to Bill and Harry Goldman who was visiting the mobile HQ. ‘Carol Ashford turned on all the gas appliances in the house and lit a match when Peter opened the door. Peter was blown back by the blast; his back and arms are scorched, and his collarbone broken, but after a couple of days in hospital and a few weeks' rest at home, he'll be back to normal.'

‘And you?' Bill asked.

‘Slightly deaf… '

‘Slightly pitted,' Bill commented looking at the burn marks on Dan's face.

‘They treated the driver for superficial cuts and burns. Tony Waters is in shock. They're keeping him in overnight.'

‘Damn Carol Ashford,' Trevor cursed. ‘We haven't a clue where she hid Lyn Sullivan… '

‘I've a feeling if we don't find her soon; we may as well stop looking.' Bill paced across the room. ‘We have to be missing something. All of you, think!' Bill went to the table and thumbed through the search reports before looking at the team leaders sitting around his desk. ‘Close your eyes and think back to our last search. Relive it in your mind. Crawl through it, step by step… '

Step by step – Trevor mentally inched his way around the cellar. He recalled the tunnel – the flagstone floor – Tony Waters and Jimmy Herne relating stories about the place – the bare, once padded cells that didn't offer enough shelter to conceal a fly – the room where the rubbish was kept – the mortuary – Carol Ashford in the mortuary – the dogs going wild over her perfume – the geriatric corpse with the yellowed skin and thick horny toenails – the corpse in the garden – the corpse that had been stolen because the mortuary had been left unlocked. Why had it been unlocked? Because someone had thoughtlessly left the door open. Someone who had removed a body. A body that shouldn't have been there – a body that had to be hidden in a room rarely used – Vanessa's body.

White-faced, he left his chair.

‘Where you off to?' Bill demanded.

‘The mortuary.'

Harry and Dan stared at him.

Trevor picked up his stick and hobbled as fast as he could through the door, down the outside steps, towards the rear of the building. Once he reached the corridor he raced along, Dan and Harry Goldman lapping at his heels. Switching on lights as he went, he rushed to the male mortuary, and heaved at the door.

‘Damn, it's locked.'

‘Of course it is.' Harry was close behind him.

‘Do you have the key?'

‘A master key, I'm not sure it fits these old locks.'

The two minutes it took Harry Goldman to open the door dragged an eternity. As soon as it was open, Trevor burst in. He paused and stared at the bank of drawers. Which one? The top left-hand?