by Coles, Linda
Eighty
As Will steered his car into Greenwood Road, he marvelled at the fact that, apart from a quick drop off on Friday, it had been a whole week since he’d last pulled up outside the young man’s brick terraced house to take him to the hospital for his session. It’d been the day after the exhumation, tiredness the reason he’d had fallen asleep waiting for Sanjeev and the reason why the lad had wandered off on his own. Will had then experienced the wrath of Sanjeev’s father. And Dr Kumar had been clear about what would happen if it ever occurred again. There was no reason why it would, but it played on Will’s mind as he waited outside the young man’s house.
Will knew what would be taking place on the other side of the front door, that it would be at least another five or six minutes before he saw the whites of Sanjeev’s eyes and then there would be several more minutes waiting as Sanjeev checked and double-checked and checked again that the front door was locked properly. Will hoped that Sanjeev was having one of his better days. After a full five minutes, Sanjeev finally made his way away from the front door towards the car. Will quickly jumped out to open the back door for him – anything to speed up the mission to get Sanjeev to his hospital appointment. As usual the young man wiped the seat three times with a cloth which he carried in his manbag before deciding it was safe to sit down. Thinking back, Will couldn’t remember seeing him do that when they were all in the car together on Friday, though he didn’t ask about it. The last thing he wanted was to upset him about why he might or might not have done something in the recent past. It was Will’s task to deliver Sanjeev to his therapy session as close to on time as he possibly could, and they set off towards the general hospital. Remembering his own mental note to engage the young man in more conversation, he made a start.
“So, Sanjeev,” he said. “What did you do over the weekend?”
“Same as usual, nothing,” came the reply.
“Did you go out at all?” Will asked.
“Only to Aldi.”
Will debated whether to tell him about what had been going on in his world, and since the conversation was falling flat with the questions he’d already asked, he figured it might be a way of engaging him.
“Well, I had quite an interesting weekend,” he started. He waited to see if Sanjeev would enquire about it, but he didn’t, so Will pressed on anyway. “Did you hear about the third death in the town, by chance?” He looked in his rear-view mirror, searching Sanjeev’s dark eyes, but nothing seemed to register, and Will wondered if he kept abreast of local news. Maybe he wasn’t interested or had missed the story. A couple of beats passed before Sanjeev answered.
“Tell me.”
Will smiled and told the story of what he knew of each of the three deaths, in case Sanjeev hadn’t been aware, and particularly of the visit to St Sep’s on Friday afternoon, after they’d dropped Sanjeev back home. He drew the line at telling him about the tunnels and their adventures down there and what they’d found, and kept it to specifics that he might have read in the newspaper. He chanced another question, “Did you know there were supposed to be tunnels underneath the church?”
“Yes, I know of the tunnels,” said Sanjeev bluntly. “I’ve been down there once.”
That surprised Will, because it wouldn’t be clean, not in the way that Sanjeev liked things.
“When was that? Can you remember?”
But Sanjeev had gone, his mind on something else, and Will never did get an answer to his question. He tried again with a different subject, reverting back to the weather. It was every British person’s fallback conversation starter, but in this case Will got nowhere. By the time he pulled up in front of the hospital doors that Sanjeev needed, his mouth was dry from talking, mainly to himself. Sanjeev had stayed silent for the most part, but Will hoped the young man appreciated his trying.
“I’ll wait for you,” he said. “And I won’t fall asleep on you this time, I promise. I’ll be right over there.” He pointed to an empty space, hoping he could get to it while Sanjeev made his way into the unit and that no one pulled into it in the meantime. He was in luck. As Sanjeev’s glossy black hair vanished inside the building, Will reversed into the space so he was pointing in the right direction, ready for the off, when Sanjeev returned. Not risking a nap, he pulled out his phone and flicked through the apps, trying to find something to amuse him before finally giving up and deciding on people watching for the remainder of the time. In his head, he tossed around what they had done over the weekend, what they’d discovered, though there wasn’t a great deal of anything that was concrete evidence, it was all assumption. He wondered how DI Mason and the rest of her unit were faring. They certainly had greater resources at their fingertips than he, Birdie and Stanley ever would. He checked the clock. Another five minutes and Sanjeev would be making his way out.
As he sat there watching the door, he saw a familiar face leaving the building, though it wasn’t Sanjeev’s. Could it be…? He sat up taller in his seat, straining to double-check who he was looking at through the windscreen. There in front of him was Katherine Spencer holding a youngster’s hand. The two paused for a moment and Will watched as Katherine turned as if she was waiting for someone else to come through the door. A couple of seconds later, she was joined by a woman that Will had only just recently become acquainted with, Veronica Lauder. She also held the hand of a child. As Will looked at the four of them, from one face to the next, he realised something else the two women had in common, apart from their matching Chequered coats. It pulled at his chest and he sighed loudly at the injustice of it all. Yes, the two women knew one another from the church, but there was something else, maybe something even more special that bound them together. Beside each of them stood a young child, each wearing a smile as big as a boomerang, and both using crutches. As Will looked closer, there was no mistaking who their mothers were – they were holding hands with them. As the group slowly moved away, Will watched the children, their legs moving awkwardly compared to their mothers’, their disability clear for all to see.
He spotted Sanjeev heading his way and debated what to do. Common sense prevailed, he could hardly run after the women and children – what would he say exactly? Plus, he had a duty to look after Sanjeev, and get him home safely. He was about to start the engine and pull forward when he spotted a taxi pull up further down, and saw the unmistakable blue hair of DI Mason as she got out the rear seat, there for her own treatment.
“I’m ready,” said Sanjeev, pulling him back to the present. “Please take me home.”
Eighty-One
Will knew by now that it would only be fifteen minutes or so before Rochelle would have had her radiotherapy and would be back outside, ready to get back to work. His quandary now was what to do with Sanjeev, because he didn’t want to miss the opportunity of ‘accidentally’ bumping into DI Mason when she returned after her session. Yes, he could ring her, but face to face was his preference, and either way there was the problem of what to do with his charge, who was waiting patiently for his lift back home. As he thought about what he’d seen only moments ago, he wondered about the greater implications and if there were indeed any. Just because two women had something in common concerning their children, did that make either of them a murderer? Through his own investigations with Birdie and Stanley, he’d deduced that the killer was someone slight who was connected to the church, and maybe the police had come to the same conclusion, but now seeing these two suspects had children with disabilities, he wondered if the motive was buried deep in either of the women. He thought about Bowie, Jonesy and Clyde, and how they’d suffered the bruises around their necks, the messages on their chests, and he struggled to find an answer as to how it all fitted together. He needed more. He needed knowledge that he wasn’t privy to rather than his own logic and that of two old people going into overdrive and coming up with something that could quite possibly be so off course it wasn’t true. As DI Mason walked into the building for her treatment, Will heard Sanjeev trying
to get through to his brain while he was ignoring him. The young man needed certainty as to what would happen next.
“Sorry, Sanjeev,” he said. “I was miles away. What was it you said?”
“Please take me home,” he said simply.
“Do you have anything else you need to do in town? Somewhere I could drop you, perhaps?” Will already knew the answer – but he’d been to the library on Friday, hadn’t he? Maybe he’d like to go again.
“No,” said Sanjeev flatly. “Please take me home.”
Will knew he couldn’t get Sanjeev back to Greenwood Road and be back at the hospital in time for DI Mason to come out. He needed something else, he needed to occupy Sanjeev in a way that he would be happy with, and preferably one that didn’t take Will too far away. Then it jumped out at him – the café! He’d been there with Birdie.
“Sanjeev, would you like a cup of coffee?”
That flummoxed him and Will could see the thought process whirring round inside his head, the young man wore it on his face.
“Perhaps I can get you a sandwich? It’s lunchtime, after all.” Will was hopeful. He’d remembered the café that he and Birdie had sipped coffee in not that long ago, and it was only around the corner. “How about if I get you a takeaway, would that be better for you?” asked Will, figuring that it would help with the cleanliness issue, that Sanjeev might be happier sipping from a cardboard cup than sitting down at an alien chair and table. Maybe he had a wet wipe in his bag?
“How about it?” Will tried again. “I’ll walk with you and you can choose, and then we can either come back to the car and eat, or we can stand over there by that bench,” Will said, pointing. “What would you prefer?”
Again, Will could see confusion as the young man sorted the words out in his head. He tried a different tack. “Let’s walk,” he said and headed slowly towards the café, hoping that Sanjeev would follow and enter without any fuss. Maybe his issues only arose when he touched something and if he didn’t need to touch anything there wouldn’t be a problem? The two entered the café and Will led the way with Sanjeev at his side, conscious that what he was doing could backfire on him big time, but hoping that it would pay off and help get Sanjeev out more and being sociable. They joined the short queue.
As they waited, side by side, to be served, Will heard a voice call out to Sanjeev. The young man turned his head at the same as time as Will to see a man now standing next to them. He was dressed in scrubs.
“Father,” said Sanjeev.
“Hello Sanjeev, what are you doing here?”
Though the question was asked of his son, the man’s eyes were directed at Will, who tried to read his expression. Was he in trouble again?
“Hello Dr Kumar,” said Will. “I’m pleased to meet you finally.” He put his hand out to shake. The man looked down at it and eventually took it.
“May I ask what you’re doing here?” he asked. His tone oozed displeasure.
“I thought Sanjeev might appreciate a coffee and a sandwich before I took him home. Is there a problem?”
“No,” he said. “Have you bought coffee for Sanjeev before?”
“Sadly, no. I thought it about time I did, though,” said Will. “We are just heading back to the car; we don’t have a lot of time.” He pulled out his best smile – Will wasn’t going to be intimidated by the man.
“Carry on,” he said, as Will picked up their order and prepared to leave. “Nice to finally meet you.”
“Likewise,” said Will. The pair said their goodbyes and hurried back outside to the car. He was pleased neither Sanjeev nor his father had been an issue in the moment, and that he’d been able to finally meet the surgeon, but he also hoped he wouldn’t later find himself in trouble for digressing from the usual plan. Back outside, Will waited patiently with Sanjeev as he sipped his drink and they waited for Rochelle to leave the hospital. He knew that while he had Sanjeev on board it would be difficult to drive her back himself, but still the plan was to accidentally-on-purpose bump into her and he was going to do his damnedest to make that happen. He was about at the bottom of his coffee when the door finally opened, and DI Mason locked eyes with him. He pretended to look surprised, told Sanjeev to stay put, and walked the three or four paces across to her.
“Am I supposed to believe this is a coincidence?” she asked testily.
“It is indeed fortuitous,” he said, “because I have something you might be interested in.”
“What’s that, Will?” she said, looking for her phone, no doubt to organise her taxi back.
“I suspect you’ve come to the same conclusion as I, that it may be between two women, Veronica and Katherine, and I guess you’ve already done your background, but I just wanted to inform you of something you may or may not already know. It might help.”
“And what’s that?”
“They both have disabled children who have difficulty walking unaided. I’m no doctor, but maybe something like muscular dystrophy? I don’t know, you’d have to check.”
“What’s that got to do with anything?”
“It could be a reason, another commonality. I’m saying, if you didn’t already know, it might be another lead for you.”
“I thought I’d told you to stop playing Sherlock.”
“I can’t help it,” he said, pasting his best smile on his face. “Anyway, it’s over to you, I just thought you might like to know.” He held up his hand in a light wave as he returned to a waiting Sanjeev and the two went back to the car. He didn’t bother to offer her a lift back this time.
Once back at the station, she headed for the office of DCI Karen Miller, and filled her in what she’d learned. Something told her to throw in the titbit that Will had shared with her, what Katherine and Veronica had in common other than the church. She’d learned early on in her career not to leave the slightest thing out; nobody knew the level of importance that any one piece of information could have on a case.
She’d sent the original Jiffy bag, which was now safely enclosed in an evidence bag along with the documents, on to forensics for further analysis. She doubted if there’d be much to look at, but they might get lucky.
“I’ve got DC Flint putting pressure on the phone company,” Rochelle said. “We need to know where they called in from. I just hope it wasn’t a damn disposable again.”
“Have you seen the footage from the newspaper’s cameras as yet?” Miller asked.
“Not yet, ma’am, though the editor says there’s nothing to see.”
“Doctored?”
“Doubt it. Why would they? Apparently, a shape can be seen, but no detail. Perhaps when we add the other local businesses’ footage to it, we’ll see more. Fingers crossed for a slip up on the killer’s part. We need so much more to be able to charge anyone at this stage and we’re not even close.”
“Boss!”
The two women turned to where DC Flint was frantically waving his arms in the air.
“You’ll want to hear this,” he shouted as he made his way over.
“Go on.”
“The phone call was made from a disposable again, but tech have managed to narrow the location right down to Bridge Street.”
“Excellent!” DCI Miller said. “I want that camera footage.”
“Ordered it, off to get it now,” said Flint. His smile couldn’t have been any wider, his excitement at the breakthrough on full display. It was well overdue.
“I’ll come with you,” said Rochelle, suddenly feeling a lot less tired than she had been only minutes ago. Would they finally see the face of their killer?
Eighty-Two
As the pair pored over the screen, the caller could be clearly seen at the allotted hour. Flint slammed his fist down hard on the desk.
“Got you!”
Over his shoulder, Rochelle looked at the surrounding details of what else was going on as the male made the call.
“Not so fast,” she advised as she pointed to the screen. “It’s obvious he’s read
ing from that piece of paper in his hands, and that fits with what we’ve been told, that the call sounded stilted, but who is the woman? She moves away quickly after the call, as if she doesn’t want to be there.”
“We need to follow both of them, see who they are.”
“Get the dots joined up with local camera footage and see if you trace either person back to a vehicle. Either or both had to get to that spot somehow. Let’s hope it was with their own car. Then cross-check that with ANPR. Start that back from the beginning again,” she said. “You take the male and I’ll take the female, and we’ll jot down everything we can see.”
After half a dozen more playbacks, there wasn’t much more of note.
“Female. Long, dark, straight hair and I’d say around five-five. Chequered coat. Could it be the deputy mayor? Fits her profile more than Veronica’s, though it’s almost impossible to confirm yet, way too grainy.”
“Male. Unkempt, slim, collar-length hair, maybe five-nine? Hoodie and parka-style jacket. Popular with street people. Another homeless person?”
“It’s something to consider, isn’t it? Three deaths, all of them rough sleepers. Are we looking at our next victim, do you think? I was hoping the ‘checkmate’ message was the end of it.”
“A game of a different kind, like we talked about?”
“Perhaps.”
“The killer sent those images and documents to the newspaper. Surely nobody else would have access to the torso pictures.”
“Agreed.”
“Our mayor hasn’t coughed up the cash, so they’ve given the story to the Chronicle to expose him – at great personal risk to themselves, I might add.”