The Celibate Mouse (14 page)

‘Are you okay? Do you want help?’

‘No thanks, David. I need to go to the loo. And no, I’m not frightened to go alone, thank you both. He won’t dare come back here tonight.’

She staggered a moment, but waved them off as they attempted to range either side of her. They watched anxiously as she tottered out of the lounge room. Maguire put his notebook in his briefcase, satisfied he’d brokered a suitable arrangement between them.

Marli collected the empty glass, mugs and tea cup. ‘Do you think she’ll be all right?’ she asked her father.

‘Your mother’s a tough old bird, love,’ he replied with a smile.

‘Old bird?’ Marli feigned indignation. ‘You’ve got to be joking! Half the force was in love with her when she was in Brisbane, even the young ones!’ That’ll show him.

She trekked to the kitchen, placed the tray on the sideboard, turned on the hot tap and rinsed out the crockery.

David followed, knowing his daughter had a romantic fantasy about getting her parents back together.
That just isn’t going to happen.
His thoughts flicked to Donna, his ex-lover, with whom he’d broken up a fortnight prior to arriving back in the southeast corner of the state, but these were interrupted by a gnawing sound.

‘Where’s that coming from?’

‘Somewhere under the sink. We’ve searched and searched for it,’ Marli replied, opening the cupboard door to reveal a humane mouse trap nestling beside the garbage bin.

‘What’s your mother going to do with a mouse if she catches it?’

Marli giggled. ‘Probably put it outside!’

‘It’ll just come back again to join its family and friends,’ he objected lightly.

‘Oh no, there’s only one mouse in here.’

‘Marli, I’ve got news for you both, there’s no such thing as a celibate mouse!’

‘Oh yes, there is!’ She gave a shaky laugh and bent over to stroke Fat Albert, who had emerged from under the grand piano where he fled when her mother was attacked. Marli quickly closed the cupboard door and reached for a packet of dry food, which she proceeded to shake into his bowl. ‘What about Granny and Harry and Mary? You know ...?’ How could she refer to Harry as “dad” when her biological father was standing beside her?

‘It might be better to keep that between us for a day or so, while I think about it and to give your mum time to recover from tonight. I’ll put a report in about this attack and we can get forensics out here discreetly to search for evidence, but there won’t be any. This bloke’s thought of everything, but he won’t know what we’re going to do about it. Sooner or later he’ll slip up and we’ll get him. So, no mentioning it to anyone, understand? Stay away from that part of the verandah and keep the dogs off it. No wandering about the place on your own, either!’

Glowing with joy at sharing a conspiracy with David, Marli would have promised anything. Susan came into the kitchen, her face tight and pale. Shadows lurked under her eyes; she’d changed her clothes and buttoned her shirt right up the top. Marli went over, put her arms around her mother’s waist and buried her head in the soft breast. ‘Mummy, can I sleep with you tonight?’ she begged childishly, tightening her hold as she felt tremors course through her mother’s body.

‘Yes, of course you can. I’ll be glad of the company.’

David watched them, memories of the past crowding into his mind, recalling the Susan of almost seventeen years ago, clutching two black-haired bundles at her beautiful, engorged breasts. A memory of the warm, sweet smell of milk, mingled with freshly bathed and powdered baby filled his nostrils as strongly as if it were yesterday.
That fucking bastard Harry and her old cow of a mother.

An unwelcome reminder that he had generously contributed to the breakup, crept into his mind, and anger, compounded by his own guilt coursed through him as he thought of the wasted years. Without a shadow of a doubt, if he caught the bastard who tried to hurt Susan, he’d shoot to kill. Having missed getting her tonight, there was nothing surer in Maguire’s mind than that the murderer of Harlow and Edna Robinson would be back, for who else could it be? He straightened purposefully and walked to the kitchen door where he stopped, turned and glared at the women.

‘Well, you’re going to have more company. I’m moving in.’

CHAPTER 20

Before Dawn

Detective Inspector David Maguire

Thursday: 4.30am.

‘
M
aguire. Yes?
What?
Wasn’t he being guarded?’

Stereophonic squawks announced that the hospital was on fire; Senior Constable Glenwood had been attacked in ICU and the constable on guard missing.

‘Okay, fill me in when I get there.’ Maguire cut the call short and pocketed his phone. Then he grabbed a piece of toast, threw on his jacket and sprinted for his car, shouting for Susan and Marli to lock the doors. Seething, he put his foot down hard on the accelerator, confident that he wouldn’t be pulled up by traffic colleagues at this time of the morning. If it wasn’t bad enough Susan being attacked, he was now faced with a second murder attempt on a fellow police officer. He was afraid to speculate on what might have happened to the young constable guarding him.

‘Fucking hell,’ he growled, as he tyre-squealed a tight bend in the road and was brought to an abrupt halt as a fire truck stormed toward him then cut across in front of his car and turned into the hospital driveway. Numerous black and fluorescent-yellow figures scurried between two other fire engines and the back of the hospital, manipulating gleaming water hoses. Maguire pulled into the far corner of the car park, and pressed the speed-dial on his mobile. His partner, Detective Senior Sergeant Peter Hansen answered.

‘Dave?’

‘What’s going on up there, Pete?’ He climbed out of his car and squinted into the glare of the emergency lighting.

‘The bastard set fire to one of the offices and then threw a smoke bomb. That’s how he got to Smenton and Glenwood.’

‘Christ! No sign of Smenton?’

‘No, not yet. I’ll meet you around at the morgue, Dave, we can talk there.’

Maguire snapped off the phone and edged his way between the vehicles, aiming for the narrow alleyway between the main building and the separate unit which served as the morgue. The stink of wet ashes invaded his nostrils. As he drew closer, he saw his colleague picking his way by torchlight.

As Hansen came up to him, Maguire took a deep breath. ‘Tell me, from the start, Pete.’

‘It’s up the shit, mate. The nurse on duty at this end of the hospital was running past the ICU after the sirens went off, heard the alarms on his monitors, but couldn’t see Smenton. Then she found Glenwood in a coma. All hell broke loose. The fire was lit at the other end of the building, obviously to draw attention away from this end. The brigade took the call at 4.20.’

He nodded toward the engines. ‘It was a pile of newspapers and cardboard boxes, nothing serious, and they evacuated the patients into the gardens. The team’s inside hunting for Smenton ...’ Maguire realised the situation was getting out of control. Not only did they not have a motive for the killings, the murderer was doing whatever he wanted–no, not strictly true. The bastard had been foiled last night, and John Glenwood was apparently still alive, for the moment.

‘We’ve got to find Ken Smenton ...’ His voice trailed away as Constable Loy Ng raced out of the building and came up to them.

‘We found Ken, sir, knocked out in one of the visitor’s toilets.’

‘How badly is he hurt?’ asked Maguire.

‘Head wound. They’ve got him in A & E.’

‘Where’s Senior Sergeant Harris?’

‘Inside waiting to see how Ken is.’ The young constable was breathing hard.

‘Okay, can we get in there now?’

‘I’ll ask the chief,’ Hansen offered and headed in the direction of the fire crew.

‘You all right?’ Maguire asked Ng.

‘Yes, thank you, fine sir. I got some information about what happened to John while we were searching for Ken. Somehow he got an overdose of insulin. The nurse who found him has a sister who’s a diabetic. She recognised the symptoms, took a chance and injected him with glucose. ’

‘Thanks, Constable. We’ve got a right one here, that’s for sure,’ Maguire answered grimly, as he watched the fire chief supervising the rolling of hoses and stacking away of equipment.

‘We can go in, Dave,’ called Hansen. They all headed into the hospital where an ashen-faced Director Eams, lips folded in a thin line, met them outside the ICU. ‘Mr Glenwood was given insulin, Inspector. When the nurse answered the monitor alarm, she found his bedclothes were disturbed. Blood was seeping out from under the nail of his left big toe. It would be the work of a moment to whip the sheet up and inject him. I have no idea how this happened, but in view of Edna’s murder, I assume whoever did it has a key to an outside door, or some other way of getting in.’

Mrs Eams leaned back against the wall, her face white and strained, hands pressed to the front of her smoke-black-ened clothes. She looked as though she was about to collapse.

‘The bastard thinks of everything, but we now know he has access to insulin,’ replied Maguire.

‘Are all your patients safe, Mrs Eams?’ asked Hansen.

‘Yes, thank you, we got them out safely. And the bedridden ones haven’t appeared to suffer any smoke inhalation, no thanks to your murderer!’ She straightened her back, nodded abruptly and then returned to the ICU. Maguire poked his head around the door, but couldn’t see Glenwood for the staff hovering over him.

‘How’s Smenton?’

‘He’s still in Emergency, sir.’ replied Loy Ng. ‘Senior Sergeant Harris was there, but–here he is now, sir.’

Harris barrelled toward them, his face tight with anger. ‘This fucker’s got to be found, Dave. Ken got a massive blow over the right side of his head. I’ve got to let his parents know, so I’ll see you back at the station. I sent someone to get the CCTV footage. Don’t suppose we’ll find anything useful. This bastard’s too clever by half.’

They watched in gloomy silence as Harris, followed by Constable Ng, charged through the doors at the end of the hall. Maguire looked around, surprised to see dawn breaking outside the windows. He glanced at his watch; 5am. Time to explore the scene of the crime.

Each took a side of the long, L-shaped building. There didn’t appear to be a door through which someone could have come without being seen, except for that which led to the outside from the boardroom, where they’d determined the killer had gone after he killed Edna. It was supposed to be locked unless the hospital board met. So how had the perpetrator gotten a key? Could one of the board members be a murderer? Or the hospital staff –cleaners, visiting doctors, casual staff, kitchen–even the hospital auxiliary. Maguire considered the logistics of interviewing them all again and shuddered.

‘Pete, looks like we’re going to have to check the board members again and get alibis from everyone,’ he said tiredly. ‘Uniform’s collecting the tapes from the security cameras, for all the good it will do us. Advise Mrs Eams to get all the locks changed. I suppose she’ll have to go through the Health Department to do that.’ They shared a look of commiseration. The chances of finding anything incriminating were minimal, but there was a possibility of confirming whether the same person who killed Edna had attacked Glenwood and Smenton.

Hansen left to talk to the director and Maguire headed for his car for the short drive to the motel. He could guarantee the killer would be back for another try. Had Glenwood confided in
anyone?
He certainly hadn’t told his wife who he was going to see that night. ‘Stupid old fart. If he’d shared his suspicions, instead of heading off to see the bastard, he wouldn’t be half dead in ICU!’ muttered Maguire, as he opened the door to his unit. How totally naïve to go and talk to someone you think might be a killer. But perhaps he’d only been on an inquiry and inadvertently picked on the actual murderer.

As he stood under the shower, for what seemed to be the thousandth time, Maguire sifted the sequence of events through his mind. Why didn’t Glenwood tell one of his fellow officers what he was going to do? Why hadn’t the man come and told him? But as he reached for a towel, he was seized by the unwelcome suspicion that his own reputation for not suffering fools, might well have led to Glenwood wanting to verify his facts before he spoke up.
Bloody hell.

Maguire finished drying himself, wrapped the towel around his waist and started shaving. His tired face stared back at him from the mirror. A fresh wave of anger at Glenwood’s supposed stupidity began to roll in, but was replaced by the knowledge that indeed it was his, Maguire’s, fault. He was well aware of his formidable reputation for perfection. No one was allowed to make a mistake on
his
team.

He finished shaving and swiped cologne around his cheeks, thoughts straying into uncomfortable territory. How many times had he bulldozed his way through investigations and his life? Unaccountably, a picture of a young Susan, clutching their babies to her breasts, all of them crying, flashed in his mind, followed by one of his immediate superior’s calm measured tones, trying to explain post-natal depression and his own voice snapping in pig-headed denial.

So just how much of the debacle of his first marriage had been his own fault? He’d always dismissed the notion of himself fleeing the situation, leaving Susan to cope on her own. She’d had her sister and mother, hadn’t she? But Melanie had been in New South Wales at the time and Susan’s parents overseas. He also recalled telling his own mother and sisters–who didn’t like Susan and were intimidated by her–that his wife didn’t need their help. He’d hoped Susan would have learned her lesson and come crawling to him for help, so he could return without losing face. So, what lesson? She had been a struggling mum with twins and he’d thrown it all up and opted out. She’d had to rely on her elderly Aunt Beryl, who’d tried so hard to get them back together.

He cringed, remembering his own arrogance at the time. A fat lot of help he’d been–and Susan hadn’t come begging. So he’d hidden his own heartbreak, retained his so-called dignity and lost his marriage and children. He didn’t want to think about his second attempt at matrimony which had ended as ignominiously as the first. Now, he needed to acknowledge that he could have been a lot more accessible, particularly in this instance. Senior Constable Glenwood was not part of his team; he was George Harris’s, but he, Maguire, was responsible for the man’s situation and Smenton’s cracked skull.

He clicked on Susan’s number, feeling thoroughly chastened. On being assured that she and Marli were safe, he dressed, gathered up his belongings, stuffed them into his bags and met Hansen around the back of the unmarked police car.

‘You going back to town, Dave?’ Pete asked.

‘No. I haven’t had time to tell you, but my ex-wife and one of my daughters are staying on a farm near here. Come and have some breakfast; I need to discuss something with you.’ Ten minutes later, having checked out of the motel, he met Hansen over breakfast at the roadhouse cafe outside of town, where he brought him up to date with the happenings of the previous night. ‘So you see, we decided not to let news of the attack get out to keep the bastard guessing,’ he ended.

Hansen looked at him in surprise. ‘I didn’t know you’d been married to DSS Prescott, Dave. You said you had daughters, but I wasn’t aware your ex-wife is a police officer. Moreover, just
who
she is. I’ve seen her photos in the paper. Sad business, that.’

‘She’s on stress leave. Blames herself for the debacle over that young fool, Danny Grey.’

Hansen nodded. ‘It’s not surprising. She has a good reputation as a top class investigator. There’s plenty who’d be happy to work with her. I know I would.’

‘Well, her second marriage broke down and she’s suffering from that too, but she’s going to try and help us out.’ Maguire went on to detail Susan’s role in Edna Robinson’s last days, explain her ‘in’ with the family, including cataloguing the photographs. ‘So you see, Pete, she’s in a good position to find out what we can’t. I wonder if this arsehole knows she’s with the force? He obviously thinks she saw him when she was with Edna Robinson. I’m going out to stay at the farm, so if this bastard tries again, I’ll be right there.’ Maguire’s eyes glinted. ‘The funerals are on Saturday afternoon, Edna’s at 2 and Harlow’s at 3. Apparently they’re having a joint wake at Sir Arthur Robinson’s home. I’m hoping Susan will attend Edna’s funeral and wake.’

Back at the police station, they met the rest of the team in the Incident Room, where they stood in front of the white board looking at the time lines and faces of the major players. On the left, the women, aged sixteen up, on the right the fit men of the family, including fiancés, and Constable Adam Winslow. Hansen raised his eyebrows, saying nothing, but Maguire picked up his thoughts.

‘I have to include Winslow because he’s a close relative of the Robinsons. Almost all of the buggers came up with alibis, including Winslow who was actually on duty. But he could have sneaked away. There’s time unaccounted for, because he wasn’t answering his mobile for at least half an hour,’ growled Maguire.

‘You a bit sorry Winslow’s not a serious suspect? Since he’s after your daughter?’ He’d overheard Adam and his sidekick at the front desk enthusing over Marli Maguire.

Maguire looked sheepish for a moment. ‘Yeah, but I can’t nail every bloke who looks at my daughter. The gaols would overflow.’

They chuckled. ‘Some of these bozos only have their wives, girlfriends, husbands or whatever, to vouch for them. We can’t prove they weren’t home watching Top Gear or the footy when Edna got done,’ Hansen reminded Maguire.

‘Going on what Edna told Susan, which is all we have so far, I’m tipping it’s a family thing. Of course, I haven’t discounted Jack’s penchant for women, young ones, middle-aged. From what I can gather, even a sprightly granny probably wouldn’t have fazed him.’

He went on to bring Hansen up to scratch with Adam Winslow’s account of the family birthday party and meeting. ‘Winslow thinks someone else left just after, too.’ He screwed his face up for a moment as a fragment flashed into his mind again and fled. Something he’d heard or someone had said recently ... damn, lost it again.

After Hansen left to check alibis for the latest attack, Maguire made himself a cup of coffee and then sat down at the computer to send the Significant Event Message– Sig Event–to the Ipswich CIB. A stack of reports lurked on the table beside him. The answer had to be in there.