Sleepwalk

by Ros Seddon

  ‘Did you press the call button?’

  ‘Oh about half an hour ago yes, but no one came. A person could quite easily die in this place and none of you lot would be any the wiser.’

  ‘I’m sorry. We’ve just changed shifts and we are all very busy.’ The girl came to her side, checked her saline drip and began to press buttons on its stem until it began to make an infernal bleeping sound which wouldn’t stop. Every time the girl walked away it bleeped and she would go and push more buttons until it stopped. By the fourth attempt she actually made it to the end of Vanessa’s bed and picked up her chart, studying it with a puzzled expression as if it were an algebraic equation. She looked like she didn’t have a clue.

  ‘I want to make a telephone call.’ Vanessa Gordon snapped at her.

  ‘I’m afraid that’s not possible Mrs Gordon.’

  ‘It’s Miss Gordon and what do you mean it’s not possible? Of course it’s possible you silly little girl. Now please bring me a telephone.’ Vanessa had done too much talking and now she began to cough violently and uncontrollably and her chest began to rattle and a sharp pain in her chest struck her like a lightening bolt.

  ‘Mrs Gordon. You have just undergone surgery on your leg. You have quite a bad chest and throat infection and we cannot have you breathing down the receiver and then some other poor soul using it and catching your virus. We pride ourselves here on our clean, infection free environment; and anyway, you need to rest. Now please ………. do not talk anymore. We’ll bring you the telephone when you’re showing signs of improvement; maybe tomorrow.’

  Vanessa couldn’t talk if she’d wanted to right now because her mouth was full of saliva. She moaned and gestured to the silly girl who passed her a cardboard bowl to relieve herself.

  ‘Now, I’ll call in on you shortly; see if you can sip some water. Ok?’ She left the room. Vanessa opened her mouth to call after her,

  ‘Call DI Carter…… East Barton police station……..It’s urgent…….’ but her words came out as a whisper and the coughing ensued………. with a vengeance. She picked up the cardboard bowl and spat in it. Was that blood? Oh sweet Mary, mother of Jesus she was coughing up blood! She wiped the tears from beneath her eyes and laid back on the pillows. She wasn’t crying; she had just coughed so much it had made her eyes water. Vanessa Gordon closed her eyes then and drifted off to sleep.

  Claire Peters had been to Knapp to talk to Felicity who seemed to have calmed down now. She was upstairs painting on her own. David had apparently taken his son, Oliver to meet with his mother, she’d said. Claire asked her about Tom Baines and Felicity told her that when she’d first moved to the cottage it’s possible he was sweet on her for a while but that she’d been straight with him from the start and he’d given up on her long ago. She certainly didn’t suspect him as her aggressor she’d said. Claire kept her opinions to herself but she was inclined to agree with Felicity. Tom Baines wasn’t at the top of her list of suspects. She asked Felicity about the builders and who had approached who. She had known Bob Croft for years she said. He’d done some work for her parents. He was an odd sort, Felicity told her, but a good builder and he always gave her a fair rate. She had approached him to renovate the cottage.

  Then Claire asked her about Ollie’s mother.

  ‘I’ve never met her. I saw her once; in town talking to David. She’s incredibly pretty.’

  ‘I understand she went off with …… another woman.’

  ‘Yes. Each to his own I suppose.’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘I could never ………..’

  ‘Nor me.’

  They both laughed and it sort of broke the ice between them. Then Claire began to ask questions about Ellie; where she lived; how often she saw her son; whether she had ever caused any problems between them.

  ‘I can see where you’re coming from DC Peters, but; apart from an abrupt telephone conversation with her, I’ve never really known much about Ellie, apart from her sleepwalking problem which David told me about but he never really elaborated on the subject and we don’t really talk about her unless she phones or something.’

  ‘Sleepwalking? Ellie walks in her sleep?’

  ‘Walked out the bedroom window actually, to be precise; about eighteen months ago. David had to put special window locks and alarms all over the house. It scared him to death at the time I think. I know he’s been through a lot where that girl is concerned. He says she’s not his problem any more and I think he’s right. He did his best by her and she threw it all in his face and ran off with that…….. other woman.’

  ‘I see.’

  ‘DC Peters?’

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘Please, don’t tell David that I’ve told you about his wife. He still has to have contact with her; obviously because of Ollie, and he has a kind of ….. amicable relationship with her and Abi; you know? They meet in the park and the three of them make small talk; and it must be hard enough for him, without me ………’

  ‘Don’t worry Flick. You haven’t told me anything I couldn’t have found out myself from the hospital records etc. Look….. I’ll leave you to get on with your painting. You’re doing a grand job.’

  ‘Thanks.’

  Claire went back to the station to file her report. Paperwork; it was the most tedious part of her job.

  ‘Hi Claire. Good news on the hit & run trilogy isn’t it?’ Brian gave her a knowing look and seemed just a little too pleased at her obviously shocked expression.

  ‘Oh. Didn’t you know? There was a witness to this last one; got part of the car reg too. Traffic are on a mission to get the guy before sundown tonight. How are you doing with the arson thing?’

  Claire wanted to slap him but she’d probably be up before the judge on an assault charge.

  ‘I’d hardly call it good news that a young girl has lost her life, would you Brian? Let’s hope they do find the person responsible eh?’ She walked away quickly, went into her office and began to type her report, then her phone beeped.

  ‘Claire, can you come into my office a minute?’ Carter sounded a little peeved and she hoped it wasn’t due to her lack of answers. She knocked and pushed the door open.

  ‘Sir?’

  ‘Come in Claire.’ He’d called her by her first name. That was a good sign. ‘I think we may have a lead on the hit & run’s’

  ‘Yes Sir. DC Miller just took great pride in informing me.’

  ‘And I think there may be a connection to the Breen case. You’d better sit down.’ He gestured to the chair opposite and she sat down.

  ‘The girl that was killed last night; there was a witness. He managed to get the first and last three digits of the registration number. Traffic have come up with a list of possibles but only two are local. One of them is registered to an Eleanor Wilson of 2 North Barton Court, East Barton; and get this; the car is a dark blue Ford Fiesta and was only re-registered less than two weeks ago when it was registered in her husbands name….. David Wilson of 9 Rose Lane, East Barton. It’s on the list pending charges for tax evasion.’ Carter sat back in his chair and watched her expression change from one of shock to one of confusion.

  ‘I’m on my way over to North Barton Court now if you’d like to accompany me.’

  Claire was on her feet and was waiting at his office door before he had chance to switch his answering machine on.

  Chapter Eight

  Slim sat in his bucket seat; Bits jumping around impatiently at his feet. He knew the bag between his masters feet contained his dinner because he could smell it. He began to bark at him excitedly but his master made no attempt to move. He ran under the bridge, found a broken twig and deposited it at Slim’s feet. There was still no reaction and Bits knew there was something wrong with his master. He began to chew the twig and he chewed until there was nothing left of it but a pile of shavings. He lay quietly then and watched him through his big soulful eyes, almost silent but for an occasional whimper and he rested his long pointed nose on his paws an
d began to close his eyes, feigning sympathy. Only yesterday Slim had fed Jonquil breakfast and she had smiled weakly back at him through those pale thin lips of hers, the yellow flames dancing and leaping through the barrel grating, reflecting like fireflies in her pretty green eyes; and now she was dead; killed by her angel of death. He took her sketch pad from his pocket and flicked through it again. She was a talented artist. She could have really become something. What a waste of life. He flipped the pages over. There were sketches of the ducks on the river; children playing in the park; people shopping in the high street and there was one in particular that he really liked. It was a sketch of the viaduct showing a little of the wasteland and the bridge; and him sitting under it, his knees drawn up to his chest. Beside him the barrel; its flames flickering away; smoke drifting out from under the bridge and Bits dancing around in the half light, rearing up like a little wild horse. She must have done this one quite recently he thought, but before he’d found his beloved car seat because that wasn’t in it. He turned some more pages and then he came to the last five sketches in her book. It was as though they had been drawn by someone else. All five were abstract images. They were dark and frightening; intense and gothic ……… almost evil looking. It was as though he were seeing another side to Jonquil. She had seemed almost obsessed with her angel of death; ironic that she should die at the hands of her subject. The character was stern faced with long bedraggled blonde hair and those eyes; those staring mad eyes that he could not get out of his mind. He closed the book and put it back in his pocket. But the eyes were still there haunting him; as they had haunted her. She should have had police protection. They had witness protection programmes didn’t they? He should have been there. He should have protected her himself. If it hadn’t been for Vanguard he may have been able to. If she hadn’t turned up and hadn’t taken a fall, and if he hadn’t had to look out for her, he would have still been looking out for Jonquil. They would still have been there under the bridge, side by side by the fire. Maybe this time she would have stayed the whole day; perhaps even the whole night as well. Then she would still be alive. He would have made sure of it, wouldn’t he? Course he would.

  If it hadn’t been for Vanguard, Jonquil could still be alive………

  Felicity had found a screwdriver and had prised the lids off three different tins of emulsion and laid them out on the bathroom floor; primrose white; cornflower blue and the inevitable magnolia. The tiles were white, but textured so any of these colours would compliment them. She looked at the existing walls which were once a pale cream but now looked dirty even after scrubbing them over and over with sugar soap. It was time for a change. With little hesitation she replaced the lids on the two discarded tins and proceeded to pour cornflower blue paint into her plastic paint tray.

  She checked her watch and wondered how David was getting on at the park. He had seemed a little preoccupied this morning and she suspected it was because he was expecting a showdown with Ellie. She climbed into the bath with her paintbrush and tray and with a remarkably steady hand began to trace a thin blue line at the top of the walls taking great care not to touch the newly painted brilliant white ceiling. Half an hour later she had progressed to using the roller and then she climbed out of the Bath and stood back to admire her handiwork.

  ‘Hello? Flick? You up there?’ called a familiar voice.

  ‘Hi Sandy. Come on up.’

  ‘The stairs look really good Flick.’

  ‘Yes. We’re going to stain them rather than paint them.’

  Sandy looked around upstairs.

  ‘Wow! Everything looks so new and clean. You must have been working really hard.

  Are you on your own then?’

  ‘Yes but David should be back in an hour or so. He’s taken Ollie to see his mum. She only sees him once every two weeks and they usually meet at Victory park if the weather’s nice so I expect that’s where they are.’

  ‘Should you really have the front door wide open then if you’re here on your own?’

  ‘Sand I can’t be worrying about that the whole time. I have to carry on as normal otherwise I’d go bonkers. Anyway, I doubt whoever it is would walk in here in broad daylight and bump me off. Everything that has happened has been at night, under the cover of darkness.’

  ‘All the same hun, you should be more vigilant until they’ve caught him.’

  ‘Hmmm….. So what do you think of the blue?’

  ‘It’s a bit dark.’

  ‘I know. It looked nice in the tin.’

  The two girls looked at each other and laughed.

  ‘Have you got any white emulsion?’

  ‘Yes. There’s a big tub downstairs in the kitchen.’

  ‘Come on then, let’s mix our own colours. We need a bucket and a big stick.’

  Felicity found a bucket in the kitchen cupboard and they took it outside and poured white and blue paint into it.

  ‘We need a stick to mix it up.’ Sandy looked around the hedges.

  ‘In the shed Sandy. As you go in the door there are some old bamboo canes in the left hand corner. Some of them are quite strong; we’ll need a strong one.’

  As Sandy stepped from the bright sunlight of the garden into the darkness of the shed her face hit something hard and furry and she instinctively recoiled, took a step back and came to face to face with two piercing green eyes and the gaping open jaw of Felicity’s dead cat swinging from a hook above her head. She screamed and backed out of the shed slamming the door behind her. Her heart was beating so fast she thought it would explode. Her face was white and the smell of decomposing flesh had made her feel nauseous.

  ‘What is it?’ Felicity cried. ‘What is it Sandy?’ She rushed toward the shed but Sandy stood in her way.

  ‘Don’t……… Flick. Don’t go in there.’

  ‘It’s the cat isn’t it?’

  Sandy nodded.

  ‘Oh God I can smell it.’

  Sandy took her arm and led her into the house.

  ‘Come on hun. I’m phoning the police.’

  DI Carter and DC Peters were about to leave North Barton Court after receiving no answer from no 2 and there being no sign of a blue Fiesta. Claire informed Carter that she was probably still with her son and David Wilson who met fortnightly; and then Carter got the call.

  ‘What is it Steve?’

  ‘Sorry to bother you when you’re on call outs Sir but we’ve just had a call from a friend of the Breen girl. The cat has turned up; hanging from a hook in her garden shed apparently. Told her we’d get someone over there ASAP. Shall I send a unit over there?’

  ‘No Steve. DC Peters and I will take it. We’re on our way.’

  On the way to Knapp Claire told him about David’s estranged wife and how she had once sleepwalked right out of her bedroom window.

  ‘Don’t be daft. How could anyone sleepwalk out of their bedroom window for Christ’s sake? She must have been pushed.’

  ‘You still suspect Wilson don’t you Sir?’

  ‘Don’t you?’

  ‘No. No I don’t believe I do. For a start he shows genuine signs of shock. I like him; and he obviously dotes on the Breen girl. You can see it in his eyes. No; Wilson is as foxed by all this as we are; I’m sure of it.’

  ‘Genuine signs of shock, eh? That what they taught you to look for at Detective University was it? The thought hadn’t occurred to you that Wilson may be a bloody good actor?’

  ‘Of course; but I have this woman’s intuition thing to help me sniff out the good actors from the bad.’

  Carter smiled to himself then. ‘I remember my old Uncle Teddy used to sleepwalk; but a fair proportion of his nocturnal activities were drink induced. He used to come back from the pub and wander about the house in his birthday suit. My Aunt used to give him some stick. ‘Put some clothes on you dirty old goat…..’ she used to say….. ‘No one wants to look at that old thing’. There was many a folk saw his old thing though; used to go wandering off down the street in the nuddy. N
ever used to get very far though and then he’d wake up, realise where he was and he’d go home and find he couldn’t get back in because everyone was asleep in bed.’

  They pulled into the lay by at Knapp and climbed the steps to Felicity’s cottage. They could both smell the dead cat as they approached the shed on which the door was swinging back and fourth in the summer breeze and flies swarmed around the doorway. DC Peters went to the back kitchen door, knocked and went inside. Carter put on some surgical gloves; put a handkerchief over his mouth and looked inside the shed. The cat was hanging from a steel S-shaped hook. The kind used in the meat trade by butchers and abattoirs. Its belly had been sliced open and the hook was tucked neatly inside its intestines. He looked around to see if there were any other signs of the intruder but could see nothing obvious. He closed the shed door, took off his gloves and placed them inside a plastic bag, then radioed through to the station to get a forensic team over to check for prints and went to join his colleague in the house. Claire Peters was asking Felicity about the Ford Fiesta. Had she ever seen David driving it?

  ‘No. It’s her car; although David did have a visit from the police a couple of weeks ago about it. We joked about it because he’d said he was in trouble for not sending the log book off and I said I might have to rethink our relationship.’ She smiled then and Claire smiled with her. Carter stayed in the shadows and observed. DC Peters was doing fine on her own; building up the rapport…… and she was good at it.

  Felicity went on…… ‘He’d given the car to her when they split up, which under the circumstances I think was really good of him because he said he’d had to buy another one and that was when he got the Audi. He’d signed his part of the log book and she’d promised to send it in to change the ownership and address, but she obviously didn’t keep her word because apparently it was still registered in his name. He said he would ask her about it the next time he saw her. I mean, she’d had it for about a year you know.’