Markham had never quite fathomed the psychic affinity between his ethereal girlfriend and the lumbering subordinate who put backs up wherever he went. But Noakes was as devoted to her as any medieval troubadour to his mistress, much to the irritation of Mrs Noakes who was wont to declare that her husband was ‘bewitched’. Equally impervious to his wife’s tart asides and the ribbing of colleagues, Noakes’s enthralment never wavered. As though this secret passion represented the poetry of his sergeant’s existence, Markham half suspected he would be content to make a figure before Olivia and expire in a haze of chivalric bliss. Now he said quietly, ‘I’m ashamed I forgot about that, Liv. You’re right, it must have hit Noakes hard.’
To lighten the mood, he recounted the meeting with Slimy Sid.
‘God, that man’s a real weasel,’ she said feelingly. ‘I don’t know how you manage not to punch his lights out.’
‘I went to Doggie Dickerson’s straight afterwards.’ Markham grinned.
Olivia chuckled. ‘Good for you, love. The DCI’ll never know how much he owes Doggie.’
They sat companionably, savouring the other’s nearness.
‘So, you’re going to run a dummy investigation for Sidney while secretly doing your own thing.’
‘Yes.’
He hesitated, torn between the desire to keep their home life untainted by his work and the need to unburden himself.
‘Go on, Gil. It’s all right.’
‘There’s an ongoing investigation into malpractice at the Newman.’
‘Oh yes, I remember seeing something in the Gazette about it.’
‘The DCC’s asked me to look into something potentially a great deal more sinister … patients who went into the Newman and never came out.’
‘As in they died there,’ Olivia said faintly.
‘As in they vanished … no death certificate … nobody appearing to know their whereabouts.’
‘You mean they’ve just gone?’ His girlfriend looked at him in horror. ‘But how?’
‘That’s what I need to find out,’ Markham said grimly. ‘Doctor Warr was involved in psychosurgery – lobotomies – in the past. The answer may lie there.’
‘I’ve heard of that.’ Olivia sounded both repelled and fascinated. ‘It’s when they cut into fibres at the front of the brain … .to reduce the sex drive and make women more manageable.’
Markham was surprised. ‘Well, not just women.’
Scarlet spots burned on his girlfriend’s pale cheeks and she gave a queer little laugh. Then she looked at Markham remorsefully, slipping down on the rug beside his chair and laying her head on his arm. ‘I should have told you, Gil. I’m thinking of signing up for out-patient therapy at the Newman. Leslie who runs the Women’s Group at the university reckons it’d be a good idea.’
Markham felt disagreeably jarred but did his best not to show it. He knew there was something in Olivia’s past that she hadn’t yet shared with him. He had told himself that it didn’t matter, that he had his own secrets, that she would tell him when she was ready. But increasingly he had begun to wonder if the time would ever come.
Suddenly, there came into his mind the image of Anna Sladen and the way her clear blue eyes had looked at him. The spirit of the sea personified.
Just as quickly, the image was gone.
He felt a pang of compunction, as though he had somehow been unfaithful.
Gently, he laid his hand on the tousled red head.
‘Just stay safe, dearest.’ He laughed ruefully. ‘I can’t wrap you in cotton wool, however much I might like to. But there’s a killer at large.’ Maybe two. ‘The Newman is a dangerous place.’
‘I’ll be careful, scout’s honour.’
Lightly, but with something of a creepy sensation in the region of her spine, Olivia swatted away his fears.
They began to talk of other things. The red embers glowed upon the hearth and the sense of furtive evil, watching from the shadows with hostile eyes, was gone.
7. Diminishing Returns
‘FEELING BETTER, GUV?’
Noakes looked sideways at Markham as the DI drove them to the Newman on Wednesday morning.
‘Well, I worked off some of the aggro at Doggie’s, that’s for sure.’
He hoped the DS wouldn’t notice that he hadn’t given a straight answer.
In truth, he was feeling curiously unsettled. He had always thought of himself and Olivia as soulmates, so it hurt to know that there was an area of her life he couldn’t enter or understand, and that she had erected some kind of cordon sanitaire aimed at keeping him out.
Part of him knew that his resentment was illogical and unfair. Having been abused by his stepfather in childhood while his mother looked the other way, Markham was apt to shrink from any contact with the hidden wound. Inwardly wrapping himself in iron-clad reserve, his famously austere professional persona kept the demons at bay. He knew what colleagues said. ‘Markham’s a cold bastard.’ Yes, like ice, he thought grimly. You touch it and it burns you. Even with Noakes, whatever the DS may have guessed, the subject was never broached.
One of the reasons Markham fell in love with Olivia was her exquisite sensitivity – the fact that she never stooped to poke nor pry, but simply listened with generous sympathy to whatever he chose to share. He knew he ought to reciprocate in kind. But somehow he could not, and the awareness that there was an area of her life declared ‘out of bounds’ gnawed at him like a canker and marred the delight of their comradeship. At other times, he was almost able to forget. But increasingly he felt the hidden sting, sharp and insistent like a burr against his skin.
She was no longer his rose without a thorn …
Summat’s up, Noakes thought. The guvnor’s got that bruised look round the eyes, but not from any punch thrown at Doggie’s.
Olivia. Olivia.
All heaven opened before Noakes when he thought of the boss’s girlfriend with her ethereal delicacy and look of another world. He never sought to know the source of this dumb reverence. He only knew that it was as much a part of him as the air he breathed.
Whatever was amiss, he’d be there. What did they call it? An honest broker. Well, that’s what he’d be. A friend to them both.
Fortified by thoughts of the faithful service he meant to render, Noakes settled back for a quick snooze.
It was another misty morning, fog clinging to familiar landmarks which peered wraith-like through a grey veil. The vaporous light shrouded the Newman too, making the hospital seem to recede like a stage set behind a screen.
Markham felt a curious reluctance to go in.
As they sat looking at the building, sunlight suddenly glowed through the fog, turning its greyness crimson, like the throbbing blood-red thoughts of those confined inside.
Slowly, reluctantly, they headed to reception and another round of security checks.
Kate Burton was already at her post in the Incident Room. DC Doyle exchanged a long-suffering look with Noakes who winked as if to say, ‘don’t worry, lad, you can tell me all about it over a pint later.’ On reflection, judging by the look on his colleague’s face, several pints.
‘The autopsy report on Hayley’s through, sir.’
‘And?’
‘She was strangled.’
‘Any sexual interference?’
‘No, sir.’
‘Unusual features?’
‘None, sir.’
Suddenly Noakes spoke.
‘Someone must’ve closed her eyes.’
‘Your point, Sergeant?’
‘Well, when we found her in that … hatch thing…’ For a moment the DS sounded choked, then he continued. ‘It looked like the lass had been posed … kinda like she was tucked up in bed. She had her eyes shut like she was sleeping … like in a Disney film…. Snow White …’ His voice tailed off.
Markham remembered what Olivia had said about Noakes’s daughter. He was the only parent in the team.
‘Well observed, Noakesy,’ he said warml
y.
‘So whoever killed Hayley could’ve felt bad about it … could’ve cared about her in some twisted way … is that what you’re saying?’ Burton looked longingly at her array of alienists’ almanacs, visibly itching to look up Modus Operandi: Signature, Staging and Posing.
‘Correct, Kate.’
‘Not like what happened with Doctor Warr, then?’
‘No,’ replied Markham, thinking of the mutilation to which their first victim’s corpse had been subjected.
The DI turned to DC Doyle. ‘Where are we up to with staff and patients?’
The young DC’s frank open face looked what Noakes would have called kerflummoxed.
‘Don’t worry, Detective,’ the DI said hastily as he reached for a pile of spreadsheets. ‘The abridged version’s fine.’
‘Well, it looks as though everyone was where they were supposed to be. None of the patients off the wards or anything like that.’
‘Any chance the security systems could’ve been bypassed?’
‘They’re pretty much foolproof, sir. Claire Holder got the electronic geeks, er, facilities guys, to explain all the protocols. And we had the full tour, all the bells and whistles.’ Bloody literally, he thought sourly. That was three hours of his life he’d never get back. And as for Burton, the silly cow behaved like all her Christmases had come at once. One frigging question after another.
‘Fascinating,’ the DI said coolly, leaving Doyle with the uneasy feeling that the guvnor had read his mind.
Markham turned to Burton. ‘How about Ted Cartwright, Kate? Have those records come yet?’
‘Faxed through earlier this morning, sir.’
‘Right, I suppose that’s something.’ Markham began to pace up and down restlessly before catching himself up short. God, he was like one of those animals in captivity, weaving and circling, up and down, up and down. There must be some malignant germ in the air of the place which had infected his bloodstream.
Unobtrusively, he forced himself to breathe deeply.
‘Okay, this is the drill. Noakes and I are going to pay a visit to the intensive care ward. I want to speak to Mikey Belcher … hear what he’s got to say about patients disappearing.’
Burton looked disappointed. Thank Christ the guvnor had ruled her out of the ward round, thought Noakes. If she started yakkety-yakking about ‘isms’ and the like, they’d get sweet FA out of Belcher.
‘Kate, I’d like you and Doyle to get started in the archives room,’ the DI said. ‘Data checks on the names Cartwright’s given us. Get that nice volunteer Linda Harelock to give you a hand. I don’t know if there’s an archivist, but Claire Holder should be able to find you some help.’
‘That woman’s an alkie,’ Doyle said glumly. ‘Always dashing off to “see to something”,’ he air quoted sardonically, ‘then comes back smelling of extra strength mints.’
‘She was having it away with the good doctor.’
The DC’s eyebrows shot up. ‘You’re kidding me!’
‘That’s pure supposition, Noakes,’ Markham put it mildly. ‘But it’s true she was definitely overwrought when we talked to her about Doctor Warr.’
‘David Belcher said Holder was up to summat with Warr, Guv.’
‘Hearsay, Noakes. And remember, the man has an axe to grind against the hospital authorities for keeping him away from Mikey.’
But Markham was thoughtful. There had been something frightened, almost furtive, in Claire Holder’s face and manner, as though she was hanging on by a thread.
‘She spoke of Doctor Warr’s dedication,’ he said musingly. ‘I wonder how much she knew about those ice pick operations and any extra-curricular research.’
‘If there was some sort of cover-up, she could’ve been part of it.’ Clearly, the conspiracy theory was gaining ground with Burton.
‘Watch her, Kate … unobtrusively, of course.’
Burton nodded vigorously.
‘And keep her away from any data search.’
A little knowledge is a dangerous thing.
Having briefed the other two, Markham and Noakes headed off in the direction of the intensive care ward.
‘I hate these scanners and air lock thingies,’ Noakes muttered as he plodded along like a disgruntled shire horse.
‘Be thankful for small mercies, Sergeant. In some places, we wouldn’t be able to go anywhere without an escort. With this place being relatively small-scale and mostly medium secure, it’s not so oppressive. Stabbuck House on the other side of Medway is a whole different ball game. More like a prison.’
The DS was clearly not much reassured by this philosophical response.
‘Poor little Hayley was right impressed by it,’ he said. ‘Mebbe she was thinking about going in for nursing.’ He looked wrathfully at the CCTV above their heads. ‘What a fucking waste.’
Suddenly, Markham spotted the head porter Ernie Roberts trundling his trolley along the other side of the corridor while giving instructions to a spotty youth at his side.
‘Morning, Mr Roberts,’ he said cordially, hoping the encounter would jolt Noakes out of his ill humour. The spotty youth apparently had no appetite for conversation with the police, contenting himself with an awkward bob of the head before scuttling off.
Ernie smiled like a pleased child at the greeting, but close up the DI noticed a curiously lost expression in his eyes and an irresolute trembling of the lips. Although the porter looked like the kind of man to dread most women, Markham remembered Linda Harelock having mentioned that he was close to the murdered girl. Her death must have knocked him sideways, especially following so close on the grisly discovery in Bromgrove Woods.
Noakes too noticed how strangely drawn and grey the man looked.
‘How’re you bearing up, Mr Roberts?’
‘Work’s the best medicine for me, sir.’ But the shaking hands told another story.
‘Ex-army, ain’tcha?’ the DS enquired respectfully.
‘That’s right, sir. South Lancashire.’
The shy face was aglow with pleasure.
‘You can allus tell. Youngsters’ll make a ruddy fuss, but your mob just get on with the job.’
Under Noakes’s approving gaze, the ungainly stooping figure seemed to grow three inches.
With a smart little salute, the porter smiled at them and went on his way.
‘Sound fella that.’
Markham suppressed a smile. That was Noakes. Beneath the cantankerous, crusty exterior, he understood the language of the heart. Perhaps that was why he and Olivia were fast friends before a word had passed between them.
Shortly, they found themselves in the passage which led to the forensic unit.
Noakes’s apprehension had returned.
‘Gives me the creeps big time,’ he growled. ‘All this happyclappy artwork.’ He gestured to the over bright seaside paintings. ‘Then once you get through there, it’s those big steel doors with peepholes. Jus’ like One Flew Over The Cuckoo’s Nest.’
‘Well, do your best to stay relaxed, Noakes,’ Markham said absently, his mind running on the photograph that had vanished from the wall between their first and second visits to the corridor. The one with the sinister little villas like desolate hives in a lonely landscape. The one signed with the words Your Friend.
Did Hayley think she was meeting a friend when she went to her death?
Did she realize too late that she had backed herself into a corner?
Did she scream and struggle and fight for her life…?
‘You coming or what?’ Noakes wanted to get it over.
The intensive care ward was as much like an underwater tank as ever.
Markham felt as though they were moving in slow motion.
He noticed that Noakes averted his eyes from the heavy-duty steel doors which marked off the living quarters of the most dangerously disturbed. It was true, he thought, the sight of them possessed a quality to freeze the blood.
This forbidding impression was momentarily dis
pelled when Doctor Lopez came towards them, toothpaste smile bright against the dark complexion, his vitality in marked contrast to the various vacant-eyed figures who shuffled dog-like around the nursing station.
The DI couldn’t decide if he liked him or not. A stocky middle-aged woman introduced as Sister Appleton clearly resented their presence on the ward, but the young consultant seemed unfazed. It probably helped that Claire Holder had not accompanied them.
‘Let me take you to Mikey,’ he said, leading the two men to the primrose-coloured recreation area. ‘I would ask you not to say anything about the murders. For obvious reasons, we haven’t shared that information with service users.’
David Belcher’s brother sat in an easy chair at the far end of the room, his gaze resting listlessly on a little group of patients and staff playing cards at one of the pine tables which ran along the walls. Short, dark and scrawny, he had the compact build of a boxer. Bantamweight, thought Markham, visualizing his sparring partners at Doggie’s.
But, for all that his wiry frame hinted at power, there was something defeated and hopeless about him, as though some inner spark had been quenched, snuffed out by experiences far beyond the visitors’ power to comprehend.
Compassion flared in Noakes’s eyes.
‘Okay if we sit down, mate?’
‘Be my guest.’ Softly spoken, like his brother, there was the faint trace of a northern accent.
‘How about a cuppa?’ the DS said. ‘Mine’s white with three sugars, luv.’ He smiled beatifically at Sister Appleton, ignoring the way she bristled at her demotion to tea lady.
Mikey smiled. It was the first real sign of animation he had shown.
‘There’s some vending machines round the corner,’ he said. ‘Next to the therapy room.’
‘We’ll do the honours,’ Doctor Lopez said with a meaningful glance at his colleague who simpered in a way that turned Markham’s stomach.
‘She didn’t like that,’ Mikey said once they were dispatched on their errand.
‘I know,’ returned Noakes happily.
The simple exchange broke the tension, as though Mikey had recognized a kindred spirit in the stumpy sergeant.
Detective Markham Mysteries Box Set Page 67