Grace Smith Investigates

by Liz Evans

  The paramedic turned round to look through the gap between the driver’s section and the patients’ area. ‘Lie down, Grace. We’ll be there in minutes.’ And in a quieter voice, ‘She’s hallucinating. Use the siren.’

  ‘I’m not …’ I looked back. Cappuccino had gone. Oh God, he was right. I was seeing rabbits.

  When they pulled me in through the A & E doors, there was another trolley being trundled just ahead of us. Their patient suddenly shot upright, threw himself off the side of the trolley and charged through a door. My first theory was that Jonathon was trying to escape. Then I saw the ‘Gents’ sign on the door.

  ‘He’s got the same as me,’ I told my paramedic.

  *

  They put me in a cubicle, stuck me to monitors and took blood. Doctors came and prodded, looked at my tongue, my eyes, my palms, the soles of my feet. The only thing they prescribed was a saline drip. A policewoman took a load of notes and told me I’d have to make a formal statement later. I kept expecting to collapse in the terminal stage of whatever poisoning I was suffering from.

  ‘I was talking to the docs,’ Annie said. ‘The police recovered some tablets from Jonathon’s house. They’re analysing them now. Rush job.’ She ripped off the wrapping from a chocolate bar with her teeth and took a sip of coffee.

  ‘Do you have to eat that in front of me?’

  ‘Yes.’ She took a large bite and said, ‘You don’t look too bad. Well, no worse than you did.’

  ‘I don’t feel any worse,’ I admitted. While I still felt like crap, I didn’t feel any crappier than I had an hour ago. ‘Have they found Clemency?’

  ‘No. She wasn’t at the house. She was supposed to be filming this evening apparently, but she hasn’t turned up. They’re trying to find out if she has a car.’

  ‘She has. Mine.’

  I’d only just realised. If she’d driven me and Bianca out to River End in it, she must have used it to leave again.

  Annie left to relay this fact to the police. I lay back — and experienced an overwhelming rush of panic. The cellar smell — sewage, decay, death — filled my nose. I ripped out the drip and fled to the loo. I scrubbed my hands, face, and then as much as I could reach, snatching paper towels from the dispensers and squirting the vile smelling antiseptic soap all over them. The smell was still there; my heart was thumping so fast I thought I was going to black out. Desperately I filled the washbasin and dunked my hair, rubbing soap into my scalp.

  When I got back to the cubicle, Jerry Jackson had moved my folded clothes from the plastic chair on to the bed and had taken their place.

  ‘How are you, Grace?’

  ‘I think I may live, thanks. You found Heidi?’

  ‘Yes. But we won’t be making any official announcement until we have a positive identification.’

  I hauled myself back onto the mattress and lay back on propped pillows and the cold dampness of my partially dried hair. I felt totally drained. And I probably was. ‘Her parents will hear the rumours.’

  ‘I know. I’m on my way to see them now.’

  ‘She — Ellie Walkinshaw — thought Heidi might be alive somewhere. Married. Kids. You know. I mean, I think she knew really … but …’

  Jerry nodded. His brown eyes said he understood. He’d be kind, because he always was, but there was no way to make this easier for the Walkinshaws. ‘Is your friend Mr O’Hara here?’

  ‘Nope. Haven’t seen him all day. Been a bit busy: zapped; poisoned, walled up alive. Just haven’t had a moment to socialise.’

  ‘Good. I mean, perhaps it would be best to keep it like that.’

  I looked into Jerry’s face and read nothing. Detective Chief Inspectors learn how to keep their feelings hidden in interviews. ‘Why? What is it with you and O’Hara?’

  ‘I have to go now. I’m glad you’re feeling better, Grace. Let me know if you need anything.’ He pressed my hand briefly.

  Annie kept delivering updates. Bianca was in a side ward with a police guard and Jonathon was in another one with officers waiting to take his statement. ‘How come he isn’t under guard?’

  ‘What for? Attempted suicide is no longer illegal in this country.’

  ‘There’s his script.’

  ‘That bad, is it?’

  ‘No, listen …’ So much had gone on in the past day, that I kept thinking everyone ought to know about it, but everyone else’s lives had just trundled down their usual routes, untouched by my near-death experience. It was frightening how easily you could cease to be and the world would go on much as before. I told Annie about the script on the computer. ‘Clemency was going to destroy it, but she may not have had time yet. It’s not evidence as such, but the police should read it.’

  This time when she came back, she was carrying a large packet of Maltesers and a coffee refill.

  ‘Bitch.’

  ‘Mmm …’ She tucked in.

  I had to wait two hours before they got the results of the toxicology tests. The doctor who summarised the results had a big grin on that he was desperately trying to hide. ‘It’s a weird one. Basically what you’ve swallowed is a concoction of salt, laxatives and yellow food colouring. First street drug the lab’s come across with that ingredient list; they’re wondering what to call it.’

  ‘Tell them it’s called Vince’s revenge.’ I should have guessed he wouldn’t have let the five hundred pounds go. The plan, I’m sure, was to hope that Jonathon would hand out the supposed happy pills as freebies at the next luvvie party, and ruin forever his chances of making any useful contacts. I didn’t know whether to be grateful to the little scrot or go kick him to death.

  The doctor unhooked me from the saline drip. ‘I’m going to write you a prescription for some Loperamide and rehydrating sachets. Just take it easy for the next forty-eight hours, drink plenty of water and come back if you get any problems. But you should be fine.’

  ‘I passed out,’ I grumbled to Annie. ‘How come I passed out on salt and laxatives?’ I wriggled off the hospital gown.

  ‘It’ll be the whisky. I told you, you can’t take it any more at your age.’

  ‘If you don’t shut up I’m gonna hit you with my zimmer frame.’ Annie grinned and shook out my jeans. The contents fell out of the pockets. She stooped to retrieve them and jumped back. ‘There’s the biggest rabbit I’ve ever seen under this bed.’

  I crouched. Cappuccino twitched an ear in greeting and then bounded straight past me and pounced on my change purse.

  ‘Thank heavens for that. I thought I was seeing things in the ambulance. He must have sneaked a ride.’ I gave my death-cell buddy a friendly scratch behind his ears. We had passed through a near-fatal experience together. It was a bond for life. He obviously thought so too; he’d tracked me down in the hospital.

  Annie picked up the purse he was nuzzling. Cappy squealed and rose on his hind legs, placing the fore ones on Annie’s stomach. Annie sniffed the purse and recoiled. ‘This is that stink I smelt in my office the other day. What the hell is it?’

  ‘A purse. It was a present from the fur-fetish guy. He makes them himself.’

  ‘It’s rabbit fur. And it hasn’t been cured properly. You smell like a rabbit.’ She flicked the purse on to the floor. Cappy promptly dived after it.

  ‘You mean, it’s not me he fancies?’

  ‘Try not to sound so disappointed.’

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  The terror came in the night; pressing down and suffocating me in the darkness. I thrashed against it, struggling for air. Something crashed to the floor.

  Annie replaced the bedside lamp I’d just sent flying back on to the cabinet. It was still on. As were all the other lights in the flat.

  ‘Sorry.’ It was the fourth time I’d woken her. As soon as I managed to get to sleep the nightmares started and I was trapped inside the cellar coffin.

  Annie had insisted on spending the night just in case the doctors had missed some rare poison and I passed out later. Now she climbed wearily
off the spare mattress on my floor. ‘Tea?’

  While she brewed up I rang O’Hara’s mobile. ‘Voicemail again.’ We’d driven here via the office so I could check the phone messages there. There had been none from O’Hara. Neither had he left any on the phone at my flat.

  Annie handed me a mug, set the biscuit tin on the duvet, and perched on the end of my bed. ‘He’s not exactly the type to report in, is he?’

  ‘No, but … none of this makes sense. Why can’t they find Clemency?’ I dunked a quarter of custard cream and ate hungrily. Now the medicine was starting to work, I had a great big hole in the middle that was demanding some serious filling. ‘I told her O’Hara knew I was going to her house. Supposing she ran into him … she’s got a taser … if she knocked him out long enough to tie him up say …’

  I helped myself to more biscuit bits. The supermarket had had a penny-a-pack sale on a carton that had fallen from the fork-lift, so the tin contents looked like a big biscuit jigsaw. An angry thumping from the spare-room cupboard announced my other house guest was awake and kicking. With Bianca and Jonathon both in custody, I’d felt obliged to foster the lop-eared one. ‘Can you switch the telly on? We can catch the local news.’

  There were long shots of Pinchman’s Cottage and reports of a man and woman helping with enquiries, plus coy hints regarding a connection to Heidi Walkinshaw’s disappearance. Nothing about Clemency.

  I tried O’Hara again. Voicemail. ‘He definitely said he’d get back to me.’

  ‘Do you know where’s he’s staying?’

  ‘Local B and B. But I don’t know which one.’

  ‘Then I suggest breakfast; Pepi’s will be open soon.’

  There were already three customers in Pepi’s when we got there. Two of them were wearing that T-shirt. I huddled at a table by the window and tried to look as unrabbit-like as possible until Shane brought our orders over.

  ‘One scrambled eggs on toast and one full works. And a very Happy Easter from the management.’ He put down two buttered hot-cross buns on side plates. ‘I’m doing one free to every customer.’

  ‘Nice touch. Can we get them to go?’

  ‘No problem.’ He tipped the buns on the table and took the plates away.

  We started eating to the beat of Elvis crying in the chapel. ‘When did you last speak to O’Hara?’ Annie asked.

  ‘Yesterday morning. He was going to interview the galloping major. I know our theory about Roger luring Heidi into his car has turned into a pile of pants, but why hasn’t O’Hara come back to me on it?’

  ‘Maybe something important came up.’ She ate a few more mouthfuls and then offered. ‘We could try retracing his steps, if you like?’

  We checked out the office first, just in case there was a message on the phones. I thought we’d be first in, but Vetch had beaten us to it. ‘Your enthusiasm for working long hours is heart-warming, sweet thing. And Easter too, when most giant fluffy bunnies are gainfully employed elsewhere.’

  ‘Not now Vetch,’ Annie said quietly. ‘She’s had a bad night.’

  ‘She can speak for herself and she’s not deaf.’

  ‘Put your fur down, bunny girl. Were there any messages from O’Hara on the machine, Vetch?’

  ‘Nary a peep. Were you expecting one?’

  I explained that he seemed to be missing.

  ‘Have you tried his B and B?’

  ‘No address.’

  ‘Try Angleshore Road. The house with the green and white blinds.’

  ‘He told you his address?’ And he hadn’t told me.

  ‘I am an investigator. I notice things. A couple of days ago I noticed him coming out of that house. Not proof in itself, I’ll grant you, but worth a try.’

  It was the ubiquitous two-storey boarding house in a row of similar properties, but it stood out from its neighbours because the sun blinds were crisp and new, the windows sparkled, and the tubs of flowers in the tiny front garden were bursting with tulips, winter pansies, late narcissus and trailing ivy. The owner was female, darkly pretty and in her twenties. The jeans and vest were tight enough to emphasise her underwear. Unbidden, the image of that black eye and those long nail scratches on O’Hara’s neck came to mind. If Clemency wasn’t responsible …?

  ‘Haven’t seen him since yesterday morning. I’m a bit pissed off with him, tell you the truth. If he’d said he wasn’t coming back last night, I’d have put the bolts across on the front. I like to lock up proper when my husband’s away. Told him that.’ She masticated a lump of gum to the other side of her cheek. It looked like she was chewing a small mouse. O’Hara wouldn’t fancy someone who chewed mice … would he?

  ‘Next stop Roger then,’ Annie said.

  There are those who associate Easter with eggs, hot-cross buns and fluffy chicks. But for a large section of the population ’tis the season to slap French lilac over last year’s magnolia matt and lay pseudo-slate tiles where once there was beech-effect flooring. The aisles of the DIY Superstore were packed. And mostly they were packed with people wearing the Easter Bunny T-shirt.

  ‘They’re doing it in kids’ sizes,’ I hissed at Annie. ‘And different colours. It’s like a flaming uniform around here. If I ever find out who’s making them …’

  ‘You’ll slug them with your bunny basket. There’s an assistant, grab him.’

  We both pounced on the spotty kid with the ‘Here to Help’ label on his overall. ‘Do you know where we can find Roger Nesbitt?’ I asked.

  He stared, open-mouthed.

  ‘Would you like an easier question?’

  ‘Ain’t in today.’ He continued to stare.

  ‘It’s one of the busiest weekends of the year for DIY-ers,’ Annie said. ‘He’s the manager. How can he not be in?’

  ‘’Cos he’s the manager.’ He was talking to Annie but staring at me. ‘It’s you, ain’t it?’ He handed me a felt-tipped pen and unzipped the top of his coverall. Underneath was the berserk Easter Bunny on a green T-shirt. ‘Sign it for me?’

  ‘No. I mean, it’s not me!’

  ‘Yeah, it is. Go on.’

  Other people were looking. And listening. ‘It’s not me. Let’s go, Annie.’

  *

  Roger wasn’t himself; which, with Roger, was no bad thing. The bumptious little twerp was unshaven and his clothes looked like he might have slept in them. We’d had to knock, ring and rap on the windows for several minutes before he’d let us in.

  ‘What do you want? I’m not well.’ His eyes were watching behind us. Jerry Jackson’s car was parked at the kerb outside the Walkinshaws’ house. He’d probably been tactful enough to bring a plainclothes female officer with him, but if you’re expecting police officers they’re easy enough to spot. And Roger was expecting them.

  ‘I met her sometimes, that’s all. Heidi couldn’t talk to her parents. She confided in me. She found me understanding.’

  ‘And generous.’

  ‘I gave her money. Why not? A girl that age needs things. I didn’t expect her to do anything. You must believe that. Eh-eh?’

  I did. As if it was a film running in front of me, I could see Heidi dressed in her provocative clothes and make-up, experimenting with the effect she could have on men, revelling in the ease with which she could twist the shy, awkward, Roger around her little finger.

  ‘I didn’t say anything at the time, because well, Ellie and Graham might have got the wrong idea. Misinformation, dangerous thing, eh-eh? I had nothing to do with Heidi’s disappearance.’

  ‘We know.’

  ‘You do?’ He looked between us, searching for the ambush. ‘They said on the news,’ he began tentatively. ‘That those arrests out at River End were something to do with Heidi …?’

  ‘I really couldn’t comment. We’re looking for O’Hara. Did he speak to you yesterday?’

  ‘Came to the store. Delivered same report to him.’ He marched over to the living room wall and removed a framed photograph: a celebrity I should probably recognise was cutting
a big red ribbon across the DIY Superstore’s entrance. ‘At work by five a.m. that morning. Whole team on parade. Store opening day. Big splash in papers. Preparation everything. Not possible to have met Heidi that day.’ The major straightened his shoulders and stood to attention. The news that he wasn’t being viewed as a murder suspect was restoring his self-satisfaction.

  ‘Did O’Hara say where he was going afterwards?’ Annie asked.

  ‘No. No report on movements delivered. Gone AWOL has he, eh-eh?’

  ‘You could say that,’ I admitted. ‘Well, ’bye Rog. Thanks for the info. And take my advice, don’t chat up any more teenage girls.’

  ‘Message received and understood. Er, no need to mention this to Ellie and Gray, eh-eh?’

  Jerry and his female colleague were leaving as we reached the car. We all exchanged nods that encompassed both hello and an acknowledgement of what had just happened to the Walkinshaws’ hope.

  I said, ‘Any sign of my car yet?’ And meant ‘any sign of Clemency?’

  ‘No.’ Jerry said. ‘It’s on the stolen vehicles database. We’ll let you know when we have any news.’

  ‘Did I tell you about the script on the computer? I remember babbling something about it at the hospital, but I was a bit out of it.’

  ‘Yes, thank you. We’ve recovered Mr Black’s laptop.’

  ‘Was it smashed up? Or wiped? Or whatever?’

  ‘It was in full working order, why do you ask?’

  ‘Thought I remembered someone destroying it. Memory’s a bit scrambled.’

  ‘Still? We do need you to come into the station, Grace. You’ve been the victim of a vicious assault. We need you to make a full statement. We could give you a lift back now?’

  ‘I can’t, not yet. Every time I think about it, I get these terrible panic attacks.’ I started snatching short breaths and hyperventilating.

  Jerry raised a sceptical eyebrow. ‘Any idea when these attacks might pass?’

  I shook my head. ‘Could you tell Bianca I’m looking after Cappuccino? She’ll be worried about him.’

  ‘As you wish. Twenty-four hours, Grace, and then I want that statement.’