No Smoke Without Fire (A DCI Warren Jones Novel - Book 2) (45 page)

The ringing of his telephone jerked him back to reality.

“DCI Jones.”

“It’s Yvonne Fairweather.” Warren took a moment to place the name — the PC working vice.

“Yes, Constable, go ahead.”

“Melanie Clearwater came round a few hours ago and she wants to talk.”

Chapter 56

The call from the hospital had taken Warren by surprise. Melanie Clearwater had not only regained consciousness, she apparently had some hazy memories from the night of her attack. Realising that she might be able to shed some light on who had beaten her so badly, Warren lost no time driving over to Cambridge.

Warren felt a little guilty. With all of the focus on the four murders, the attack on Melanie Clearwater had been put on the back burner. It wasn’t that she had been forgotten about — far from it, teams of specialist officers had been questioning the working girls down on Truman Street night after night and Warren had read their reports daily — but a random assault on a prostitute had definitely been a lower priority. Nevertheless, progress in her case could lead to an arrest and the removal of another dangerous predator from the streets of Middlesbury.

Introducing himself to the doctor in charge of the intensive care unit, Warren was told that the young woman was very agitated and that the only reason he was being allowed to speak to her was because they felt it might calm her down if she knew that the police were taking her seriously.

Entering the room, Warren was shocked again at the appearance of the young woman. Small-framed and very underweight, she was swallowed up by the large bed. The mismatch made her seem even more childlike. Because of that, the huge swellings, visible even under the bandages, seemed all the more horrific.

Sitting down at her bedside, Warren introduced himself. PC Yvonne Fairweather had just left and so she knew who Warren was and why he was there. Clearwater’s speech was slurred, a combination of her badly swollen mouth — she had lost several teeth — her pain medication and whatever damage had happened to her brain during the beating. Nevertheless, she appeared lucid and the gaze through her puffed-up eyes seemed steady.

“You say that you remember the attack and the events that led up to it?”

Clearwater nodded slowly, her voice raspy but coherent. “Remember it all. Have seen man before. Was why I went down alley with him.”

Warren’s heart skipped a beat.

“You know the man? Do you have a name?”

“Yes.” She shook her head at the same time. Warren interpreted this as yes, she knew him, but no, she didn’t have a name.

“How do you know him?”

“Went with him a few days ago.” Melanie had been in Intensive Care for two and a half weeks and probably had little idea of how much time had passed, so Warren interpreted this as some days before the attack. About three weeks ago, he estimated.

“He was a former client?”

She shook her head. “Hired me. Somebody else client.” Her voice shook slightly and Warren could plainly see that she was fighting sleep. He frantically tried to work out what she meant. “Do you mean that he hired you — but on behalf of somebody else?”

She nodded her head slowly; already her eyes were closing. “Birthday.”

“Melanie? Are you still awake, Melanie?” There was no response.

“You will have to come back tomorrow.” The nurse in charge of the unit had appeared silently beside the bed.

“Can’t you wake her up, just for a moment?”

The nurse’s tone was firm. “Absolutely not. You saw how exhausting just that short conversation was for the poor girl.”

A wave of frustration swept over Warren as he stood up. “You don’t understand. She was about to tell us who attacked her.”

The nurse’s voice became harder. “I know, Detective, I was listening. We all want to know what animal did this to her, but you can’t rush her. It’s an absolute miracle that she’s awake, let alone speaking and remembering the incident.”

Warren glared at the nurse for a few seconds, before letting out the breath he’d been holding. “You’re absolutely right, of course. I’m sorry.”

The nurse smiled at him reassuringly. “I fully understand. I’ll contact you as soon as she is ready to speak again. And if she says anything, I’ll make a note of it.”

Warren nodded his thanks, recognising that the busy nurse was trying to be as helpful as possible. Picking up his coat, he cast one last glance at the battered young woman. Even when asleep, she looked stressed and tired. He got the impression that she had looked like that before the attack. I hope you get the help you need, he whispered silently as he left the ward.

For the first time since the young woman’s attack, he actually felt the first stirrings of hope that he might actually solve this crime. Now if only they could get a lead on the other murders, then he would be able to rest a bit more easily himself.

Saturday 31
^st
December

Chapter 57

December the thirty-first. The last day of the year and Warren couldn’t help a bit of introspection. The past twelve months had been a roller coaster to say the least. This time last year, he and Susan had been living in a rented flat in Birmingham. He’d been a detective inspector with West Midlands Police and Susan had been enjoying her job as a teacher in a Birmingham comprehensive. They’d celebrated Christmas with Bernice and Dennis and Felicity was just starting to show the early signs of her third pregnancy. They’d spent a night at Granddad Jack’s and Nana Betty’s and were preparing to attend a New Year’s Eve fancy dress party with some friends of Susan.

Fast forward twelve months and Nana Betty was gone and the couple were in their own house a hundred miles away. Warren was now a DCI in charge of catching a serial killer and Susan was busy trying to turn around the science department of a failing school. At this precise moment, Warren couldn’t decide if the pluses of the last twelve months outweighed the negatives. At least they had a party to go to that night, he thought.

Warren’s first job when he got in that morning was to ring the hospital to see how Melanie Clearwater was doing. The news wasn’t good.

“She’s been up all night vomiting and has a fever. We’re doing tests but it looks as though the winter vomiting bug has struck the ward.”

“How long do you think it’ll be until she’s well enough to talk again?”

The pause was ominous.

“She’s a very poorly young woman. It really is touch and go at the moment. Besides which, even if she does pull through, we’re about to initiate a lock-down of the ward to stop it spreading any further. No visitors for forty-eight hours at least whilst we do a deep clean and get the patients stabilised.”

Forty-eight hours. Warren fought a surge of frustration. He managed to keep his voice calm as he thanked the nurse. It wasn’t her fault and the stress in her voice suggested that she was having at least as bad a day as he was.

The rest of the day passed in an equally frustrating manner. Although New Year’s Eve wasn’t technically a bank holiday, this year it fell on a weekend and so the CID team’s phone calls were as often as not redirected to voicemail. By six o’clock it became clear to Warren that he was just wasting time in the office. He’d all but cleared his paperwork backlog, which was something at least. The thought of coming back to that on January the third was too depressing. Strictly speaking he was off-shift until after the bank holiday, but his team knew that he would be immediately contactable and he insisted on being copied in on each day’s briefing notes, no matter how threadbare.

Arriving home, he tried his best to put work out of his mind. They were going to a party thrown by one of Susan’s colleagues and when he arrived, Susan was just about to get changed. The last few days had been stressful and the couple had spent little quality time together, so it didn’t take much persuasion on Warren’s part for her to relent and invite him into the shower with her.

Warren decided that the likelihood of any major breaking leads that night was pretty slim and so decided to splash out on a taxi to the party. He certainly wasn’t going to get drunk, but he doubted he’d be in a fit state to drive, especially in the icy conditions.

Warren had expected a small intimate gathering with people crammed into a living room and kitchen, whilst somebody with a musical bent commandeered the stereo system. He was not expecting a humongous country pile sitting on its own acre of land. It was at least twice the size of Bernice and Dennis’ not insubstantial residence.

“My God,” he breathed, “all this on a teacher’s salary?” He pecked Susan on the cheek. “I married better than I thought.”

“Don’t get your hopes up, Chief Inspector. It was Clare that married well in this case. Her husband, Mark, founded a profitable pharmaceutical firm in Cambridge. He employed her as a researcher. When they got married, she decided bench-work wasn’t for her and retrained as a chemistry teacher.”

“So why is she still teaching?”

Susan shrugged. “As hard as it is to imagine some days, there are still those who teach for the love of it. She’s turned down several promotions. She just wants to teach chemistry and be a form tutor. She’s bloody good at it too, from what I’ve observed.”

The wide, curved driveway was filled with the best part of a dozen cars, suggesting that not everybody was so bothered about driving home. Susan shrugged. “The house has at least four guest bedrooms and Clare loves hosting. I imagine at least a few people are staying over. Plus Ravvi doesn’t drink and Phil’s partner is a paramedic, so she may not be drinking.” She turned to him impishly. “So no need to get your notebook out, DCI.”

Warren grinned sheepishly. Message understood.

The party was even more impressive once they got inside. The house had a huge living room and dining room, both of which opened onto a kitchen big enough to serve a small hotel. French doors led into a large spacious conservatory and, as if that weren’t enough space for the hundred or so revellers, the conservatory opened into a marquee with a dance floor and DJ. Gas-powered heaters kept the marquee nice and toasty.

Warren immediately recognised Clare from the school Christmas party and she greeted him like a long-lost friend, taking the proffered bottles of wine and adding them to the already groaning drinks table.

“You have a lovely home and I must say I’m impressed with the marquee.”

She flapped her hand dismissively. “Between you and me, I’ll be glad to see the back of it. Mark uses it for corporate entertaining. He was going to have it taken down last week, but I said ‘I’ve put up with it for the past month, I want to at least get something out of it!’ It’ll be gone by the time I go back to school and I can finally see the back garden again.”

After accepting a glass of wine each, Susan took him around the party, reintroducing him to largely the same people he’d met two weeks before. By ten o’clock the party was in full swing, with the DJ playing an eclectic mix of tracks that kept the dance floor heaving.

At a quarter to midnight, the revellers left the cosiness of the marquee and went into the impressive garden. The DJ was streaming BBC radio over the speakers and everyone raised a glass as they counted down to midnight. Then, as the unmistakeable chimes of Big Ben rang out fireworks exploded into the air. As he kissed his wife and then took hold of the nearest hands for the singing of ‘Auld Lang Syne’ Warren reflected that perhaps the next year would be better.

* * *

Sitting in the back of the cab some time after three a.m., Warren decided it was a good job that he hadn’t been called out. Without intending to, he’d drunk a fair bit more than he’d planned. Susan, for her part, had fallen asleep the moment the taxi had pulled away from the house.

Looking out of the window, he watched as a group of scantily dressed twenty-something girls wobbled and giggled their way down the road. His thoughts turned dark. New Year’s Eve was the biggest party night of the year. How many young women fitting Richard Cameron’s tastes were walking home alone right at this very minute? And where was Cameron? Was he cruising around in whatever vehicle he now drove looking for victims? At Warren’s suggestion the traffic police, busy looking for drink drivers, had all been given a copy of Cameron’s photograph and asked to keep an eye out for anybody suspicious. It was a long shot, but maybe the predator would be unable to resist the temptation of so many young women out and about.

Regardless, Warren knew that for the next few nights he would be sleeping with one ear open, waiting for a call to tell him that another young woman hadn’t made it home.

New Year

Chapter 58

Much to Warren’s surprise and relief, the first two days of the new year passed by relatively peacefully. No new reports came in of either missing young women or dead bodies. Unfortunately, the briefing notes emailed to him were similarly uneventful with no significant new leads. Traffic continued to plod away at the CCTV analysis but there was nothing to report as yet.

Warren and Susan had made the effort to go to church on New Year’s Day, before driving out to a local carvery for a Sunday lunch. After a brisk, bracing walk followed by steaming hot chocolate in a quaint country pub, the couple headed back home.

Before settling down for the evening Warren phoned the hospital to check on the progress of Melanie Clearwater. The nurse answering recognised his voice and informed him that she was stable, but the ward would be closed to visitors for at least another twenty-four hours.

The following day was a bank holiday, since the New Year had fallen over the weekend. Warren and Susan spent the day in the traditional manner: queuing to get into B&Q in Cambridge, then painting the spare bedroom. By early evening, Susan had settled down to plan for the coming week and so Warren phoned the hospital again.

This time, the ward nurse put him through to Melanie’s consultant.

“Ah, Chief Inspector. Melanie has made considerable progress. Her temperature is down and she is quite lucid. In fact she is quite stressed about not being able to speak to you. Strictly speaking, the ward is under quarantine for the next twelve to twenty-four hours, but I am somewhat concerned that Melanie is making herself ill through worry.”