by David Hodges
For the first time Hennessey looked totally flummoxed, glancing quickly at both Roscoe and Kate, as if seeking some sort of support from them.
Their visitor gave a triumphant little smile. ‘So, there it is, Chief Inspector. You either go along with my proposal or risk the public outcry that will follow if I suffer the same fate as my two sisters as a result of your intransigence.’
‘Which could still happen if I were to agree to such an impossible madcap scheme,’ the DCI retorted.
‘It wouldn’t if you were to set up an effective – what is it they call it? Oh yes, “stake-out”, that’s the phrase.’
‘You’ve been reading too many detective stories, Mrs Naylor,’ Kate put in grimly.
The old woman smiled. ‘Maybe I have, Sergeant, but I do believe the three of you have reached one of those fait accompli moments and while you have a little chat about my suggestion, I think I would like to try some lunch in your police canteen, which I’m told is upstairs. I’ve had rather a long journey on the train, you see, and I am quite peckish.’
CHAPTER 22
Roscoe pulled out a packet of cigarettes. Then, under the DCI’s admonishing frown and conscious of her meaningful glance at the ‘No Smoking’ notice on the wall, he slid them back into his pocket and selected a strip of chewing gum instead.
‘So, where do we go from here?’ he growled. ‘Four bleedin’ corpses in the local morgue, a dead shrink in another morgue up north, the killer still on the loose and the press camped outside the nick, demanding answers we can’t give ’em – and now, just when we thought it couldn’t get any worse, that old biddy pops up like a bad smell to give the screw another turn.’
Hennessey made a face. ‘Well, that “old biddy” is out of luck if she thinks I’m going to agree to what she proposes,’ she said. ‘First, I don’t have the manpower resources for such a labour-intensive commitment and secondly, if she imagines for one moment that I would ever agree to the sort of insane scheme she has come up with, then she’s even more senile than she appears.’
‘She’s hardly senile,’ Roscoe corrected. ‘Strikes me she’s a pretty tough cookie who couldn’t be more switched on than she already is and whether we like to admit it or not, she’s got us by the short and curlies. If we go along with her daft plan and that nutter manages to get past a surveillance team to stiff her, we’ll be hung out to dry for using a frail old woman as bait. If we turn her down and she gets totalled anyway, we’ll be pilloried for denying a vulnerable pensioner proper protection. It’s a lose-lose situation.’
‘Maybe Lupin wouldn’t take the bait anyway?’ Hennessey went on. ‘After all, the whole thing is a bit obvious, isn’t it? She’s bound to smell a rat.’
‘She can’t afford not to take it,’ Kate said. ‘She’s put too much effort into her bloody vendetta already and she’s unlikely to pass up on the opportunity of one last hit, even if she does suspect she might be walking into a trap.’
‘So, what do we do?’ Roscoe snarled. ‘Seems to me that whichever way we jump, we’re right up shit creek without a paddle!’
Kate pursed her lips thoughtfully for a moment before commenting further.
‘Maybe not,’ she said. ‘Maybe there is a way we could set a trap for Lupin baited with Iris Naylor, but at the same time minimize our exposure to any criticism that might result afterwards.’
‘I’m all ears,’ Hennessey encouraged cautiously.
Kate smiled. ‘The media will, of course, be certain to release the information they have been given by Mrs Naylor,’ she pointed out, ‘especially after the double murder at the farmhouse, which has really raised the temperature of the water. But if we were quick enough with a general press release, naming Lupin as a person of interest to the inquiry and asking the public to report any sightings of her, the local media would be sure to marry that up with their own story. That means we wouldn’t actually be the ones disclosing the information about Iris Naylor – thereby running the risk of being seen as deliberately placing her in jeopardy – but simply doing our duty by warning the public about Lupin being at large.’
‘Bit dodgy giving out a suspect’s details before we nail them, isn’t it?’ Roscoe cautioned. ‘Could cost us a prosecution on the grounds of pre-trial prejudice.’
Kate shook her head. ‘There is a precedent for this kind of release where it is considered that the risk to the public that a killer represents outweighs the usual legal considerations.’
Hennessey considered her comments, then nodded slowly. ‘It could work too, Sergeant, but it would mean confirming the identities of Elsie Norman and Mabel Strong to the media prior to formal identification.’
‘Yes, but that would be more of a technical breach of procedure than anything else at this stage as there is no doubt as to who they are and Iris Naylor is obviously their sole surviving relative, so no one else has to be informed first. Furthermore, the old woman will almost certainly be able to carry out formal ID for us shortly anyway, so the whole issue is now academic.’
‘Okay, but what about the rest of what Mrs Naylor suggests? We still have to find a way out of that.’
‘We could always adopt a halfway-house position.’
‘And what’s that when it’s at home?’
Kate hesitated, conscious of Roscoe’s narrowed gaze. ‘Put a plainclothes officer in the bungalow with her,’ she suggested. ‘Another woman perhaps – a sort of companion – who would remain hidden from view the whole time and be ready to call in on a dedicated radio channel if she spotted anything suspicious.’
‘That’s just another sort of surveillance,’ Roscoe growled dismissively. ‘No difference.’
Kate shook her head. ‘I disagree. This would be an observation role and could be set up without risking the kind of attention that a full surveillance operation would attract.’
Hennessey frowned. ‘That would put one hell of a responsibility on your obs officer and place her in considerable danger.’
Kate shrugged. ‘That’s the name of the game for all of us, isn’t it?’ she said. ‘But I would assume that the officer in question would be armed anyway, just in case, so the danger would be minimized.’
The DCI shook her head firmly. ‘An armed officer would be out of the question – ACC Operations would never agree to it under the circumstances. Too much risk to Iris Naylor and other local residents, which couldn’t be justified, especially as the target in this case is not thought to be armed.’
‘She was armed with a shotgun at the farmhouse where I was held.’
‘Yes, but she abandoned the weapon and we have no reason to believe that she has got hold of another one.’
Kate capitulated with a resigned nod. ‘The important thing is that Mrs Naylor would be provided with a measure of protection, while at the same time we couldn’t be accused of deliberately using her to ensnare our killer – which is, in fact, exactly what we would be doing.’
Hennessey treated her to a grim smile. ‘Overall, what you are suggesting seems to be a good compromise, Sergeant,’ she said. ‘And to satisfy your other concerns, I will arrange for a back-up team to be deployed at a suitable location close to but not actually at the scene.’
Her smile broadened. ‘So, a press release first then and, while I’m on to the Press Office about that, I suggest you nip home to get your toothbrush and nightie, ready for when Mrs Naylor is about to leave.’
‘Me?’
‘Who better to be her companion than the brains behind it all?’
Roscoe chuckled. ‘You know what they say, Kate,’ he taunted. ‘When in a hole, stop digging – but think of this as a plus. At least you won’t have to spend another night at home with dear old hubby.’
Hennessey threw him a curious glance, but Kate cut in before he could qualify his comment.
‘Don’t ask, ma’am,’ she said tightly. ‘Don’t even ask.’
*
Georgina Lupin heard the news on local radio as she was buying a burger and a Coke from a
van parked on a factory estate just outside Highbridge. The chubby man inside the vehicle had his radio on beside the fat fryer and it had been blasting out pop music until this was interrupted by the broadcast, and she wouldn’t have paid much attention to it had the newscaster not come out with her name. When he did, she froze with the bun halfway to her mouth, the juices from the meat and fried onions running down the back of her hand on to her wrist as she listened intently to the news flash.
‘Avon and Somerset Police have confirmed that they are currently investigating the deaths of a local farmer and his daughter whose bodies were found in a slurry pit on their farm last night. At present the names of these deceased are not being revealed, but we understand that their deaths are being treated as murder and that, in connection with the crime, a police manhunt is currently in progress to locate the whereabouts of a missing mental patient whom police have taken the unusual step of naming as Georgina Lupin. Lupin apparently escaped from the Larchfield Secure Psychiatric Hospital in Lancashire several days ago. She is also wanted for questioning in connection with the brutal murder of a senior hospital psychiatrist, Dr Emrys Jones, and the murders of two elderly sisters from the Highbridge area, who have now been named as Elsie Norman and Mabel Strong. A police spokeswoman has warned that Lupin, who is understood to be suffering from a serious mental illness, is extremely dangerous and should not be approached under any circumstances …’
There followed a description of the wanted patient and the usual emergency telephone number for the public to call in the event of a sighting, but George was no longer interested in the broadcast. Moving casually away from the van to avoid attracting unwelcome attention, she sat down on a low wall nearby, close to the bicycle she had stolen from outside Highbridge railway station. But she was still within earshot of the radio and the next instant some of the bun she was eating jammed momentarily in her gullet as the newscaster added to his broadcast.
‘In a further twist to this case, crime correspondent for this channel, Jason Durrell, has this morning interviewed a Mrs Iris Naylor, who is apparently the sister of the late Elsie Norman and Mabel Strong. Despite her age and infirmity, she has come forward to try to help the police bring this tragic case to a successful conclusion. Here is what she had to say …’
George’s lip curled as she listened to the short interview, in which her aunt pleaded with her to give herself up. ‘God will forgive,’ the old lady promised, but Patient 174 was less interested in the Almighty’s forgiveness than the revelation that the ‘old bitch’ would be staying on at Elsie Norman’s home until she had sorted out her sisters’ affairs.
George finally managed to swallow the remains of her bun and wipe her mouth on the back of her hand. So, Iris was back, was she? And staying in Aunt Elsie’s home just a couple of miles away? Couldn’t be better – or was there more to it than that? She frowned as she flicked open the tab of the Coke can. The whole thing smelled like rancid meat. It was as if it had been deliberately rigged. Maybe there was no Iris at all and the police had colluded with the radio station simply to set a trap for her to walk into? After all, she had not heard her aunt’s voice since she was a child, so how could she know whether or not the speaker was the genuine article?
She took a long pull on the Coke can and idly watched a couple of workmen walk away from the burger van, clutching their dripping buns as they headed for one of the factories on the far side of the concrete apron that the burger van had chosen for its parking place.
But what if Iris really was back and staying at her sister’s house? What if the news broadcast was just a case of the media getting a bit too cute on things? In any event, an opportunity had presented itself that was too good to miss. It had to be pursued, whatever her suspicious. She smiled grimly. Yes, but not without a very careful reconnoitre first. Draining the Coke can, she crushed it between both hands before dropping it over the wall. Then, picking up the bicycle, she pedalled out of the site towards the main road.
*
The stars were out, but the full moon was now partially obscured by scudding clouds. Not for the first time since commencing her observation duty, Kate peered through a chink in the curtains of the unlit front room, looking for any sign of movement outside. But the street beyond the tiny front garden was deserted and the windows of the other bungalows in immediate view were either displaying dim, ghostly lights behind their heavy curtains or were blacked out completely.
That was hardly surprising under the circumstances, since it was already well after eleven and most of the residents on this small development were known to be elderly and, like Iris Naylor herself, habitually turned in early. Nevertheless, it left Kate with a strange sense of isolation and a keen awareness of her own vulnerability. This was in spite of the fact that a second woman officer, Jenny Grey, was sleeping in the spare room upstairs. Unlike Kate, Grey was Taser trained and equipped, and had been reluctantly assigned to the OP at the last minute by Hennessey to provide a measure of additional protection, plus the four hours on-off cover necessary on such operations.
‘Babysitting’ Iris Naylor was not one of the easiest jobs Kate had been given and she felt that she had been handed a real poisoned chalice this time – especially as the old woman had been bristling with hostility from the first moment the DS had been assigned to protect her.
‘What good is she going to be?’ the eighty-something year old had sneered. ‘Georgina will eat her for breakfast. I want a real policeman to watch over me, not some slip of a girl still wet behind the ears.’
Kate’s mouth tightened as she recalled the old woman’s bruising comments and Roscoe’s broad smirk in response. The barbs had not stopped there, either, but had kept coming even after they had left the police station in the CID car. Without a doubt, Iris Naylor was a proper bitch and if her sisters had been anything like her, small wonder that Georgina Lupin had developed such a pathological hatred of her aunts. So much for Christian values. It seemed that the Lupin family had been more like a witches’ coven than anything else. Kate was almost tempted to walk out on the old woman altogether and actually let her homicidal niece finish her off like she had the others. Pity that could only be a pipe dream.
Turning into the room, Kate let the curtain fall back into place, making a wry face as Iris Naylor’s snores filtered through the ceiling from the main bedroom upstairs.
She had already scrutinized the alleyway at the rear of the bungalow again and checked to make sure all the doors and windows were secure, but even though she had spotted nothing untoward, she was still uneasy, unable to shake off the feeling that the place was being watched.
Georgina Lupin was out there somewhere, she was sure of it; she had no option but to wait for her to make the first move. That ball was very firmly in George’s court.
She glanced at her watch. Another couple of hours to go and it would be her turn to get her head down while her colleague did the honours, but while she felt dog-tired already, she knew she wouldn’t be able to sleep properly. There was just too much on her mind – and not all of it related to Georgina Lupin either.
She had bumped into Hayden at lunchtime while returning to their cottage to pick up a change of clothes and some toilet requisites. He had been in the process of leaving for his late cover duty as she’d been about to turn into their driveway and his Jag was already belching smoke as it reversed out into the road. For a moment they stared at each other through closed windows and she saw his face crease into a surprised frown to see her coming home, but he made no effort to wind down his window to speak and before she could say anything, he had ducked his head and accelerated away. A man weighed down with guilt, she mused through gritted teeth, but one without the guts to face her and admit to his infidelity.
Swaying slightly, she simply stood there in the middle of the room, gripping the back of a nearby armchair and trying to hold back the tears.
*
Georgina Lupin stood up slowly and stretched the muscles of both legs to ease the pa
inful cramp in her calves. She ruefully acknowledged that taking to bicycle power again after so many years incarcerated in Larchfield and other institutions may not have been the best idea she had ever had.
The overgrown rear garden of the small, apparently empty cottage backed on to the lane behind Elsie Norman’s chalet bungalow where George had previously parked the stolen Land Rover. It provided an ideal observation point and a perfect place to conceal the stolen bicycle. From the all-embracing gloom of the broken-down gateway, she had an uninterrupted view of the bungalow opposite and had spotted the two plainclothes policewomen sneaking in via the back door just before it got dark – one she immediately recognized as the detective she had earlier held captive.
So, Iris had a couple of minders, had she? No doubt equipped with state-of-the-art personal radios, linked to the police station. She affected a sneer. Stupid bastards! Did they think she would swallow the whole rigged set-up just like that? She’d already suspected the thing was a trap, so she wasn’t surprised to have it confirmed by the arrival of the two coppers. But it wouldn’t stop her finishing what she’d started anyway, that was for sure. Aunt Iris had been the ringleader throughout George’s years of misery, influencing all the others with her poisonous religious claptrap, and there was no way she was going to escape the very special punishment the twisted brain of her psychotic niece had in store for her.
The problem was how to get to the old woman without bringing half of Avon & Somerset’s finest down on her head. George was not put off by the presence of the two policewomen. In a physical confrontation, she knew they would be easy meat and they hadn’t appeared to be armed when she’d seen them. But at the same time, it needed to be borne in mind that it would only take one press of a panic button to foul everything up and there might never be another opportunity for a crack at the old woman.