by Clare Curzon
‘Well, that’s all I know. I must have passed out. I don’t remember anything else.’
‘You can start with your address. We have to inform your family. How many Ts in Wilmott?’
‘Two, I suppose. Why? What’s that got to do …?’
‘Jeff Wilmott. That’s you, isn’t it?’ The patrolman regarded him with suspicion. If the lad remembered the skid and the fox, he surely hadn’t forgotten his own name.
Now he was staring back, wide-eyed and ashen faced. ‘No. my name’s Danny. I’m Daniel Hoad. I live at Fordham Manor in Bucks. But I know a Jeff Wilmott. He’s a friend. It’s his leathers I was wearing.’
‘Which happened to have his licence in a pocket.’ Miff Smith sighed. Now the little stinker would have the whole flaming book thrown at him. And the name Hoad clanged a very loud bell. It had been banner headlines in the national press for the past few days.
This was the missing member of the slaughtered family. The sole survivor. He’d need to report in pdq to HQ Control.
Salmon growled low in his throat, suppressing his excitement. ‘I’ll send someone over,’ he grunted, making it sound like a threat. He slammed the receiver back on the phone.
They’d been scouring the whole country to find him and the bloody boy was off sowing his wild oats. It seemed the girl in question wasn’t going to make it. In which case young Hoad could end up facing a manslaughter charge. And it was a dead cert that some bleeding-heart jury would let him off, because of what happened to the rest of his family.
He waddled into the corridor, stuck his head in the CID office and snarled, ‘Beaumont!’
‘Out, sir,’ DC Silver answered instantly, adding ‘following up a lead.’ The white lie should be good for a pint.
‘It’ll have to be you then. Get down to Ascot hospital. The Hoad boy’s there, RTA casualty under a false identity. I want your report on my desk by 4 p.m. Details of everything he’s been up to since Friday. Name and address of his girlfriend; length of the relationship; where they met; the lot. Oh, and try for witnesses to the accident. We need to know how he was behaving beforehand.’
It could be that the boy wasn’t vital to the investigation, except to supply background to the family. He’d left home – as if for scouts, being an Explorer, some newfangled rank that hadn’t existed in Salmon’s own youth – well before the storm began, and now it appeared that, with the camp cancelled, he’d gone womanising.
Salmon wouldn’t exactly have wished the accident on him, but his puritan cast of mind suggested a hint of justice in it.
He supposed he’d better wise up the superintendent on this latest development. With this in mind he made for Yeadings’ office where the Boss, immersed in paperwork, shot a glance of exaggerated patience over his half-moon reading lenses. ‘DCI Salmon,’ he sighed.
‘We’ve located Daniel Hoad, sir.’
‘Alive?’ Yeadings’ back straightened.
Salmon explained.
‘Have you notified his grandmother?’
‘I was about to, sir.’
‘Best leave it to Z. She can run the lady down to Ascot and double on interviewing the lad as soon as he’s fit enough.’
‘Silver’s on his way there now, sir. And there’s a girl injured too, Hoad’s pillion passenger. They don’t rate her chances high.’
‘That’s bad. Well, Silver and Z can cover it between them. What’s afoot nearer home?’
‘This man Jay, the other little girl’s father. Seems he’s a QC and he’s throwing his weight about.’
‘Yes. I’ve already heard of him from the Chief Constable. We have a meeting set up for this afternoon, at the man’s home. I’ll be taking a WPC along. You can leave the Jay family to us, Salmon. It’s a wretched business altogether, and they’re naturally very upset.’
‘There are leads to follow up there, sir. Their little girl, Monica, supplied the eats and drinks.’ His tone indicated the hard line he’d have taken with them himself.
‘For the “midnight feast”? Yes, I’ll be mentioning that. It’s possible the mother was a party to it and provided the goodies – apart from the sherry perhaps.’
Salmon’s mouth had tightened into a single line. He bridled every time the superintendent abandoned his desk to grab some action by rights in his own remit. But with the Chief Constable drawn in, there could be flak flying. So, just as well this time if Yeadings’ broad shoulders were on the receiving end. That’s what a super was paid for.
Salmon returned to his own office, soon to be further piqued by sight from his window of both Yeadings and Z leaving the building and separating to reach their respective cars. Beaumont was still missing, off on some scent of his own and leaving no hint of his whereabouts. When Salmon tried to raise him on his mobile it was still turned off.
One point continued to niggle at the DCI like a touch of tinnitus: the recurrence of the word ‘Swindon’. Hoad’s partner-manager Bertie Fallon, who once worked there, had denied knowing Mrs Bellinger, a resident, but no cross-checking had been done. He would drive down there and question the woman himself.
Passing Reception he observed several large open-topped cartons stuffed with crumpled paper being carried in. ‘Who’s that for?’ he demanded.
‘Superintendent Yeadings, sir. At his request. Recovered from Fordham Manor’s recyclable waste, sir.’
Salmon’s lip curled. He wished Yeadings joy of it when he returned from his outing, especially the large, tangled bundle of shredded typescript spilling over the edge of one carton like drunken party streamers. Gumming that back together could be more exercising for the mind, he reckoned, than a Sunday newspaper’s puzzle section. For himself he’d rather hunt in Swindon for a connection between Hoad’s business partner and the woman his housekeeper had been weekending with.
When Z broke it to Anna Plumley that Daniel had been located, injured in a biking accident, the elderly woman closed her eyes. ‘Thank God he’s alive. Has he been told how things stand here?’
‘I’m hoping that will be left to us. A DC is already on his way to question him about the accident. I’ve tried ringing him to hold back, but his mobile’s turned off. I’ll try again on the way down, if you’re ready to leave now.’
In the passenger seat Anna sat silent, hands clasped in her lap. Only when Z darted a sideways glance at her did she catch the little wobble of her chin as she fought against tears.
‘He’s been conscious for several hours now. There’s no call to imagine he’s in real danger. But he’d had a passenger on the pillion, and she’s in Intense Therapy. I haven’t heard what her name is or if her parents have been notified.’
‘We should visit her too,’ Anna decided.
Despite Salmon’s instructions Silver was determined to confine his interview with Daniel Hoad to the RTA which had landed him in Ascot hospital, but he discovered that once the Traffic officer had had the name on the patient’s clipboard corrected from Wilmott some unutterable oaf in the same ward had blabbed information on the family disaster. By the time he reached him the young man had become hysterical and been given sedation. With Daniel beyond questioning for the present, he found his way to ITU, tapped at the door, showed his warrant card and was admitted.
He sat alongside the unconscious girl, listening to the soft sigh and clunk of the ventilator that was breathing for her, and keeping his eyes off the gruesome assembly of equipment connected by tubes and wires to the comatose figure in the bed.
A nurse, mistaking him for a relative, brought him tea. When again he produced his warrant card she raised no objection to showing him the girl’s personal effects.
The clipboard at the foot of her bed named her as Charleen Jenkins. Her clothes had consisted of flimsy underwear smelling strongly of perfume, a short black leather skirt, black knee-boots, a red and white horizontally striped sweater with a low neckline and a navy hip-length reefer jacket. All were stiff with dried-out mud and black grease. There was a rather scruffy red plastic handbag on a lo
ng strap which had snapped. Inside he found make-up, contraceptives, a mock-leather cover for a filofax which was empty and a Sainsbury’s credit card from which the hospital had learnt her name. There was no address.
It wasn’t lost on him that there was considerably more activity taking place around the other curtained beds than at this one, although a nurse checked every fifteen minutes and made a note of her readings. Eventually she turned to Silver and said, ‘I’m afraid you’re wasting your time. I can’t say more until we’ve traced next of kin for her, you understand. And her doctor won’t tell you anything definite.’
Which sounded pretty dire. They could be waiting for family to authorise switching off the life support equipment.
‘No hope then?’ he ventured. She said nothing, just tilted her head, eyebrows raised. Horribly discreet.
He supposed the Area police would be trying to contact family. At least they’d a name to go on, but she needn’t be a local. Under the bandaging and bruises it was a pert little face with a tip-tilted nose. A frizzed bottle-blonde, she was young, but not as young as he knew Daniel to be. Perhaps early twenties. An older female to teach him the basic points of seduction? Prostitute or amateur; you couldn’t tell by appearances these days.
A buzzer sounded. The nurse who took the call came across to them. ‘Detective Constable Silver? Your sergeant’s in Reception asking for you.’
There was another woman with Z. Silver guessed this must be the ex-Squadron Leader. She listened in silence as he explained how news of the carnage at Fordham had already been broken to the injured boy.
‘Not your fault,’ Z said quickly. ‘How long has he been sedated? Could he be alert enough to interview?’
‘I doubt you’ll be allowed in,’ Anna Plumley interrupted. ‘I’m family. They’ll let me sit by him until he’s properly come round.’
Z considered this. Banned as a policewoman, she must leave all questioning to the other woman. But why not? She was a wise old bird and Daniel would speak more freely with her out of the way. ‘Would you rather talk to him alone?’
‘Can you trust me to report back fully? No, come in with me. To the nurses I could pass you off as my niece. You needn’t say more than hello.’
Z followed in her wake. Outside the private room to which Danny had been moved she was conscious of the woman’s pause, the stiffened shoulders, the deeper breath she took before opening the door. Her substantial figure cut off sight of the occupant in the hospital bed. As she moved to one side of the room Z glimpsed him petrified with amazement.
He made an effort to sit up, then fell back against his pillows. ‘Grananna! You?’
‘It’s some years since I heard you call me that, Daniel.’
‘Why’ve you …? But, of course.’ He swallowed desperately. His voice came out thin and uncertain. ‘There’s only us now. Have you heard?’
She nodded, sat on the visitor’s chair provided and took his hand in both her own. ‘I know.’
‘Isn’t it the most – bloody – filthy – thing? It can’t be true, can it? They’ve muddled us with someone else. Who would ever want to …?’
‘Why else would I be here?’ She sounded calm and reasonable, almost detached. ‘I’ll do whatever a grandmother can. Whatever you think I should. I’ve moved in and I’ll stay on there for a while, if that’s all right. Until you feel more settled.’
‘Settled? I’m never going back there. I couldn’t!’ His voice rose shrilly. He had torn his hand away and shook both fists in the air, white-knuckled. ‘Oh God, I wish I was dead!’
‘Don’t tempt fate. Your girlfriend nearly is.’
Z stared in disbelief. Where was the comfort in that? But it seemed to have brought the boy to his senses.
‘Charleen,’ he said in a choking voice. ‘It wasn’t my fault, Grananna. There was a fox ran out right in front. We skidded, trying not to hit it. She wasn’t dressed for biking and I had to get her home.’
‘And where would home be?’
‘Her flat in Slough. I’ve been shacked up there all weekend. She wanted to go to this rave down in Camberley. Insisted, really.’
‘When did this happen?’
‘Saturday night. Well, in the early hours actually.’
Some slight movement of Z’s made him suddenly conscious of her presence. He darted a look across to where she stood against the wall. There was a flicker of some emotion, rapid like a camera’s shutter. Then his face was prepared for her, young and pathetic. She recognised he was practised in this, conscious of his own angelic beauty, the power of his unfailing ability to charm. It didn’t necessarily mean intention to deceive; just a habitual mechanism.
‘Who’s this?’ he demanded.
‘This is Rosemary. She’s looking after me.’
‘Hello, Rosemary.’ He even smiled, a weak looping up of the lips under perfect cheekbones unscarred from the crash.
‘Were you wearing a crash helmet?’ Z asked him.
‘I – I think so.’
She was going to ask, did Charleen have one, but Anna moved between the two of them and gave a warning glance.
‘It would have been worse without one,’ Z offered limply.
He had an enchanting smile; defenceless, little-boy-lost acting brave.
‘So what do the doctors say?’ Anna Plumley demanded briskly. ‘How soon can we get you out of here and have you properly looked after?’
‘Oh, it’s all right here. They’ve been good to me.’
‘Hospital’s unreal. Fine as a brief interval, but you need to get your feet firmly on the ground again.’
Z marvelled at her callousness. That would have been part of Anna’s received Air Force discipline: patch up the crash victims, send them up straight afterwards. She’d been treated the same way herself after a bad fall from a horse as a child. No truck with self-pity. Maybe that was right. It had worked with herself.
But this had to be different. Did Anna truly intend returning the boy to the house where his whole family had been wiped out?
‘They want me to see a shrink,’ he said in a weak voice. ‘For counselling.’
‘Nothing wrong with that,’ his grandmother allowed. ‘You don’t have to stay here for it. There are excellent consultants in London.’
‘London,’ he said wonderingly. But she’d implied he had to go home. He frowned, seeming confused.
‘Gran, do you mind? I think I need a rest just now. You will come again, won’t you? I’d like you with me when the police come asking questions. They do badger a guy so, and I could get muddled.’
‘We’ll stay around,’ she assured him. ‘You can be certain of that; we’ll both be coming back.’
As they left they passed a uniformed constable seated outside the door. Area, it seemed, were taking no chances.
‘Coffee,’ Anna briskly ordained. In the cafeteria Z pointed to a vacant table. ‘I’ll get the tray.’ She queued for two apricot Danish, a cappuccino and a double espresso to cover all eventualities, guessing that the older woman would be grateful for a few minutes alone to adjust.
‘He’s just the same,’ Anna said, as Z unloaded their crockery on the table. ‘Only perhaps more so. Horribly spoilt.’
Why not? Z asked herself. He’d so many advantages that others hadn’t: gifted with a secure family life, expensive education, a lovely home, moneyed background, good health and a talent to charm.
‘Which makes it that much harder to confront the sort of thing that’s happened. So much to lose at one blow, poor boy,’ she offered.
‘Yes. It’s as he said. Now he’s just got himself. And me, for all that’s worth.’ She sounded downcast. ‘Maybe I shouldn’t have come. It’s taking on too much.’
‘But he needs you, your strength. To know he’s not entirely alone. Even his girlfriend – it’s not certain she’ll pull through.’
Anna stiffened, suddenly determined again. ‘Yes. We must do something about her. Speak to her family?’
‘DC Silver said the
y hadn’t been able to contact anyone. No address was found on her. Nothing but a building society credit card made out to Charleen Jenkins. We’d need to ask Daniel. He mentioned a flat in Slough. He may know more of her background.’
‘You’re right.’ Anna grimly surveyed the coffee and pastry as the next challenge before her, picked up her knife and tackled the Danish with aggression. ‘As soon as Daniel has had his little nap we must set about tracing the girl’s family.’
Chapter Ten
The WPC Yeadings took along with him wouldn’t have been his choice, but Marion Peel was the only one available according to the uniformed inspector. She was a stout party in a tight uniform and with a bad complexion. Motherly she might prove, and therefore ideal for most dealings with a bereaved family, but Yeadings had misgivings about the Jays’ immediate requirements.
He would be a channel for their denial and anger: their daughter’s tragic death had no part in their successful lives. Grieving must come later. His present role was to bow his head and take what came. There was no call for invasive questioning, since the child’s inclusion in the Hoad family slaughter had surely been accidental.
He found he was mistaken in considering only the man’s anger already displayed in confronting the Chief Constable. There was the mother too. He hadn’t quite speculated on her reaction. Mrs Jay opened the door to them herself, although a uniformed maid hovered in the background.
Her eyes were puffy and red with weeping. ‘It’s good of you to come, Superintendent,’ she said, ‘although God only knows what good it can do. Nothing will bring our darling back.’
She was a strongly built woman with an open face framed in wildly curling auburn hair. And humanly vulnerable, so that Yeadings had a natural urge to put an arm about her and gently rub her back for comfort. But she plunged away and they’d no choice but to follow, through the large, square hall and into an elegant sitting room. There was no sign of her husband.