The Sleeping and the Dead (30 page)

Collier was a red-headed Scot with freckles and blue eyes. He ran marathons and looked horribly fit.

‘Peter. You’re looking very well.’

Despite himself he felt pleased. Collier had always been honest. If he looked lousy he’d have said so. This meant he must be doing OK.

‘I’m not here for me. Didn’t they say?’

‘Yeah. There’s a note somewhere.’ He scrabbled through a pile of scrap paper. Porteous would have loved the opportunity to go through the desk, to reduce it to a series of neat
piles. ‘And I had a phone call,’ the psychiatrist continued. ‘From Mr Gillespie.’ He lay back in his chair. ‘What you might call a warning shot across my
bows.’

‘Oh?’

‘Oh aye. I’m to respect Melanie’s confidentiality although she’s dead. The cheek of the man. You’d think he was paying me.’

‘Isn’t that odd? I mean Melanie being treated on the NHS. He must have private health insurance.’

‘I’m the best,’ Collier said, quite seriously. ‘If he’d asked around he’d have been told that. And I don’t do private.’

‘I do know. That you’re the best.’

Collier grinned. ‘And they might have gone private before they came here. They said not, but I wouldn’t have been surprised if they’d tried something else. Herbal remedies.
Acupuncture. Hypnosis. Any damn thing to avoid having to face what was going on. You’d be surprised by the number of patients who’ve been fooled by some quack but who’re too
embarrassed to admit it.’

‘So,’ Porteous said cautiously. ‘There’s nothing you’re prepared to tell me. You’ve been warned off.’

‘I can’t tell you about the lassie’s illness.’

‘When did you last see her?’

Collier opened a desk diary. The pages were covered in scribbled notes and crossing out. The lack of order made Porteous wince.

‘A week ago. It was a house call.’ He paused, frowned. ‘Oh bugger Gillespie! But just be discreet. He says he’ll sue. He couldn’t, of course, but he could make
things awkward. Eleanor, the mother, phoned up in a state. She said Melanie was delusional, in the middle of some sort of crisis. She needed to be in hospital. I offered to send in a community
nurse but that wouldn’t do. By the time I could get there Gillespie had turned up. He said the same as his wife but more forcefully. I had to treat the girl as an inpatient.’

‘But you didn’t admit her?’

‘No. I wasn’t going to be bullied. I’d have liked to talk to Melanie alone but the parents weren’t having any of it and I didn’t think I could insist. It was an
awkward situation. I was on my own. Sod’s law. I’d been trailing a female student around with me the rest of the week.’

‘How was Melanie?’

‘Angry. She’d had some sort of tantrum, throwing furniture around, smashing plates. It was over by the time I got there but I presume that was why Eleanor phoned.’

‘The anger was directed at her parents?’

‘That was the impression I had.’

‘Was it about the anorexia?’

‘Melanie used food as a weapon in every situation. But as to what triggered the scene . . .’ He shrugged.

‘Could it have had anything to do with her natural father?’

Collier looked up at him sharply then shrugged again.

‘I don’t know. By the time I arrived Melanie was very controlled and she wasn’t giving anything away. She insisted she didn’t want to be in hospital and I don’t
have the beds to admit every young person who causes their parents grief. She was perfectly rational and I didn’t think she was suicidal. No grounds for sectioning. I made her an outpatient
appointment.’

‘When for?’

‘I would have liked to have seen her immediately. Get her here, away from home territory. I felt there’d been some sort of breakthrough, that, you know, she trusted me for standing
up to her father. But I couldn’t make it for a couple of days. I was speaking at a conference in Edinburgh. I gave her a chance to see a colleague but she wasn’t happy about
that.’

‘When was the appointment?’

‘The morning her body was found in the cemetery.’

There was a pause. Porteous was aware of the patients in the waiting-room, their nerves twisting to breaking point as the minutes ticked on. He knew Collier was thinking of them too.

‘Had she ever been in Redwood?’

‘The assessment centre? Alice Cornish’s place? Not so far as I know. Why?’

‘One of our suspects was a social worker there. It would be a link. And that’s privileged information too, even if I can’t sue.’

‘They never said. I mean, I took a history. Schools. You know the sort of thing. But I didn’t check. Why should I?’ He paused, tilted back in his chair. ‘Redwood was an
amazing place. I did a residential placement there. One of my options. There’s no reason why the Gillespies wouldn’t have admitted to her having gone there. It was harder to get into
than Eton. Something for them to brag about.’ His eyes flicked to the clock on the wall and Porteous realized his time was up.

Outside the sun splashed off the big glass windows of the hospital and the superstore. His car, trapped between the buildings, was sweltering. He opened all the windows but
didn’t start driving. He couldn’t face Cranford and Eddie’s obsession, the rest of the team expecting answers and leadership.

When he did start it was to go up the coast towards Stavely Prison, knowing he was running away. In the low fields on the coastal plain the combine harvesters moved relentlessly over the crop,
followed by swarms of herring-gulls, as if the machines were trawlers. By the time he’d arrived he’d persuaded himself that the trip was vital. Hannah was still the best link they had
between the killings.

Because he hadn’t told the prison in advance that he intended to visit, he had to wait at the gatehouse while they found someone to take him to the library. There was a tiny room which he
shared with a nervous young solicitor, who farted loudly then blushed. The walls were posted with mission statements about racism and bullying. They weren’t as colourful as those in the
hospital but they had the same improving tone.

He’d led the officer on the gate to believe that Hannah was expecting him. ‘No. Don’t disturb her. Just get an escort to take me over.’

The escort was a stocky young woman who seemed new to the job. They walked past a group of inmates who were weeding a huge circular bed, planted with geraniums in the shape of an anchor. The
inmates whistled and shouted and the officer turned scarlet. Porteous didn’t think she’d stick it long.

The library was closed and the officer had to unlock it. Inside, an orderly sat at a desk, covering books with transparent plastic.

‘Mrs Morton about?’

‘In the office. Hannah, there’s someone to see you.’

She came out carrying a pile of new books. She seemed so shocked to see him that he thought she might drop them, but she recovered her composure well. She ignored him and spoke to the officer.
‘That’s all right, Karen. You can leave us to it. I’ll see Mr Porteous back to the gate.’

The officer went reluctantly, obviously curious about what he was doing there.

‘Do you want to go out for a smoke, Marty? Just give us a few minutes.’

When they were on their own she turned on him with a ferocity which surprised him.

‘What the hell do you think you’re doing here?’

‘I had another appointment on the coast and I thought I’d call in, see if you could spare a few minutes.’ I’m playing hookey. Hiding from my team.

‘You don’t get it, do you? In a prison a visit from the police means arrest, guilt, trouble. It’ll be around the place in minutes that you’ve been to see me.
There’ll be rumours, stories. It’s hard enough to work here as it is.’

‘I’m sorry.’

‘What do you want?’

‘Really just a few questions. Would you like Mr Lee with you?’ He would quite have liked to talk to the psychologist, get some informal advice about what might be going on with the
Gillespies.

‘Arthur can’t be here. He’s taking a class. If you’d phoned in advance we could have arranged it.’

‘Really, it’s no big deal.’

‘Yes, Inspector. It is a big deal. Two murders nearly thirty years apart are linked by the same weapon. I knew both victims. I’m not stupid. I know how it looks.’

‘I talked to your daughter yesterday.’

‘She told me.’

‘They’re nice kids. Her and Joseph.’

‘What is this about, Inspector? Marty and I have work to do. The library opens in twenty minutes.’

‘Did Theo mention anyone called Alec Reeves?’

There was moment before she reacted. He saw that she still wasn’t used to the boy’s new name. Then she shook her head. He was disappointed. If she had met him, he thought,
she’d have remembered. She remembered everything else. But he persisted.

‘He was a friend of the Brices. You might have met him at their home.’

‘I didn’t meet anyone else there. They were content with their own company.’

‘He was sitting with the Brices for the final production of
Macbeth
. In the front row. You told me you chatted to the Brices in the interval. You would have seen him
then.’

She sat with her eyes shut and he knew she was trying to re-create the scene. He had heard of photographic memory but he’d never before met anyone with such vivid recall.

‘A little man,’ she said. ‘Nondescript. Grey.’

‘Yes.’ He tried to keep the voice measured but she picked up his excitement.

‘Did he kill Michael?’

‘We want to talk to him.’

‘So you’re looking at someone else? Not just me.’

He smiled. ‘No,’ he said. ‘Not just you.’

‘You’re right. He was staying with the Brices. He
had
been a member of the church but he’d been working away. There was a special service on the Sunday – a
confirmation, I think. He’d come back for that and they’d persuaded him to stay the whole weekend.’

‘What did Theo think of him?’

‘He said he was boring. Boring but worthy.’

‘He wasn’t frightened of him? You said Theo phoned you on the Sunday to say he was scared and he needed to talk to you. Could he have been frightened of Alec Reeves?’

‘I don’t know. If he was, he didn’t say.’

‘Mr Reeves worked at a place called Redwood. Did Theo ever mention that to you?’

‘Wasn’t that the name of his school in Yorkshire?’

‘No,’ Porteous said gently. He didn’t want to do anything to stifle her memory. ‘I don’t think it was.’

‘Yes. I’m almost certain. Isn’t it strange? I’d been trying so hard to remember if he ever told me the name and couldn’t come up with a thing. Then you mentioned
Redwood and the conversation’s come back to me almost word for word.’

‘Could you tell me? It is important.’

‘It was the George Eliot essay.’ She looked at him. She’d told him so many details of her time with Michael that she thought he knew it all. ‘He was a George Eliot fan.
As was I. There was a teacher who inspired him. When I reran the conversation in my head first he talked about “someone in the old place”. But that wasn’t what he said. Not at
first. He corrected himself straight away but what he first said was “someone in Redwood”.’

She beamed at him, delighted to have got it right. He could see why the fat psychologist fancied her.

So, Porteous thought, after the fire and Emily’s death, Theo was sent to Redwood. He’d attended Marwood Grange as a day boy. That’s why Hillier the housemaster hadn’t
remembered him. He must have lived at Redwood for years, until he moved to live with the Brices. Why? Because it was a place of safety and Randle had thought he was in danger from his stepmother?
Or because he was so traumatized by the death of his sister, that he needed long-term help? If they could establish that Melanie had been there too, they’d have their link between both
teenagers and Alec Reeves.

Hannah walked with him back to the gate. Marty was sitting outside on the grass. As they walked past him the orderly gave her a look which was almost protective.

When he returned to the station Stout wasn’t there. Claire Wright had sent him home to get a bite to eat.

‘He was bushed,’ she said. ‘He was here most of the night again and then he went over to the old folks’ bungalow to talk to Charlie Luke. And spent the rest of the
morning mooching around town.’

‘Looking out for Reeves?’

‘What do you think?’

Porteous thought Stout was driven, losing it, but he didn’t answer.

‘Ray Scully’s been on the phone.’

‘And?’

‘He’s here. At the coast. He came up last night to stay at his mum’s.’

‘Can you go to see him? Check out his alibi of course, but let him talk. Anything Melanie might have told him. Did she write? Has he kept the letters? Find out if there’s any
possible connection between him and the Randles. Any gossip on the Gillespies would be useful too.’

‘Sure.’

From his office Porteous phoned Carver. The pathologist was out and nobody else seemed willing to tell him if the report on Melanie Gillespie had been sent. He sat at his desk for a moment then
felt the old restlessness creeping up on him and went out.

He found Eddie Stout asleep in his garden. Bet opened the door to him. She’d been washing up and had on big yellow gloves like motorcycle gauntlets.

‘Look at him.’ She pointed through the open kitchen window to a neat patio, sheltered with a trellis covered by clematis and honeysuckle. Eddie sat in the shade in a green garden
chair. His head was tilted back and his mouth was slightly open. He was snoring. ‘I came in to make him a sandwich and when I went out he was off. He’s still not eaten.’

‘Leave him.’ Porteous could smell the honeysuckle. ‘He’s been doing too much. It’s not urgent.’

‘No. He’d never forgive me if he knew you’d been and I’d not told him.’

Eddie woke with a start like a small boy startled from a dream. Bet left them. In the kitchen they heard her singing along to Classic FM, the sound of water running into a kettle. Eddie moved
stiffly, easing the stiffness from his body.

‘It looks as if you’re right,’ Porteous said. ‘About Alec Reeves.’ But even as he spoke he was trying to make sense of it. What had the Brices been playing at? They
must have heard the rumours about Reeves but they’d invited him into a house where a young kid was staying. Then he thought – No, it was the other way round. Theo knew Reeves before he
came to live with the Brices. Reeves must have introduced them.