by Kate Ellis
They were nearing the hospital now and the traffic was heavy. He concentrated on his driving, keeping his eyes on the road. There were a lot of idiots about. He indicated left and swung the unmarked police car into the hospital entrance.
They had locked Gloria Simpson’s strange room up again, glad to leave it behind. And their search of the flat had revealed an address book which Emily now had in her handbag. One of the people listed in it was bound to be their mystery woman’s next of kin. Someone had to be told about the state she was in.
‘Now we know her name, do you think she’ll talk?’ Emily asked as he parked in the only available space.
‘Who knows?’ was Joe’s reply. Nothing was predictable in this case.
‘Is it worth calling in on John Wendal?’
‘Doubt it. He’s still unconscious. Someone’s going to let us know if he comes round.’
They made their way down the hospital corridors to the ward where they had last seen Gloria Simpson.
‘I don’t like hospitals,’ Emily announced with a shudder as they walked. ‘I had all my kids at home.’
‘Really.’ Joe was uncertain how to react to this snippet of personal information but it hardly surprised him. He was learning that Emily wasn’t a woman who would be ordered about by any powers-that-be. And that included their superiors.
When they reached the ward there was no sign of Gloria Simpson. An elderly lady lying in the bed she had occupied eyed them suspiciously as they stared at her for a few seconds before scanning the other beds for Gloria’s familiar blond head. It wasn’t long before a nurse put them out of their misery. Gloria had been moved to one of the psychiatric wards. There was nothing really wrong with her physically, the nurse told them in a whisper, but she wasn’t fit to be allowed home.
Hospitals are always well signposted and Eborby General was no exception. They found the Psychiatry Department housed in a modern, box-like building set apart from the main hospital. Its architecture was calculated to induce depression, even in the most cheerful of souls. Perhaps, Joe thought fleetingly, they were touting for business.
The doors were locked and they had to gain admission by means of an intercom. Once they were inside they were met by a burly male nurse who told them he’d inform Dr Oakley that they’d arrived. They were left waiting in a shabby room that stank of cigarette smoke. The décor, pink and pale green, was scuffed and dirty and there was a hotchpotch of chairs scattered around the edge of the room, worn and broken in places. His eyes met Emily’s and he knew she was thinking the same thing. The place made their spirits sink so goodness only knew what effect it would have on vulnerable patients.
The building seemed silent apart from the occasional sound of distant raised voices and it seemed like a long time before they were summoned by a middle-aged woman with an aura of efficiency. She introduced herself as Dr Oakley’s secretary and led them through bleak corridors to the doctor’s office.
Somehow Dr Oakley didn’t seem to fit in with his surroundings. He was a large man with a small beard, a shaved head and a permanent expression of semi-amusement as if he was enjoying some private joke. His blue eyes twinkled as he invited them to sit.
‘What can I do for you?’ he began, talking to them as though they were seeking medical help.
It was Emily who spoke. ‘We believe a patient called Gloria Simpson has been transferred here.’
‘That’s right. Although she’s still refusing to confirm that that’s her name. Are you sure about her identity?’
‘Quite sure. We’ve been to her address. It’s her all right. What can you tell us about her?’
The doctor smiled. ‘I was hoping you’d be able to tell me. All she’ll say is that someone called Jack Wendal’s after her. She seems genuinely afraid and she’s still under sedation. My tentative diagnosis is that she’s having some sort of paranoid delusions. I’m told the driver of the car she was in was a John Wendal.’
‘That’s right. He’s John Wendal but he’s known to his friends and family as Jack. He’s in a coma. We’ve talked to his wife and she claims he’s a model husband and father. Works for a building society. No history of violence. No sexual deviance.’
‘A regular guy as they say in the States.’ Oakley smiled. ‘Think she’s telling the truth?’
Joe caught Emily’s eye and they both nodded in unison.
‘Unless she’s an extremely good actress, yes,’ Joe answered.
‘There is another possibility, Doctor,’ said Emily, sounding a little unsure of herself. ‘It’s only a theory, you understand.’
The psychiatrist crossed his legs and waited patiently, regarding Emily as though she were a patient, about to spill out her deepest secrets. ‘Go on,’ he prompted gently.
‘Well, it might be nothing but we think we might have found a tentative connection between the driver of the car, this John Wendal, and both the victims of this killer known as the Resurrection Man. I presume you’ve heard about the murders on the news?’
Dr Oakley sat silent for a second, his expression giving nothing away. ‘Of course,’ he said. ‘It’s hard to avoid it. What’s the connection?’
‘All three, the two victims and the driver, either work or have worked for the Eborby Permanent Building Society.’
Oakley shrugged. ‘It’s a big employer in Eborby. Lots of people work there.’
‘What I’m getting at, Doctor, is perhaps Gloria Simpson had a fright. Perhaps she believes Wendal’s the killer and she was next on his list as it were. Perhaps that’s the cause of her …’ He searched for the right word. ‘Condition. Is that possible?’
Oakley shook his head. ‘In my professional opinion, it’s unlikely. I think her paranoia goes a lot deeper than that. I would have thought that most people who escaped the attentions of a murderer would experience shock then relief, possibly followed by flashbacks and maybe panic attacks.’
‘We looked around her flat and we found evidence that she was involved in the occult. In black magic of some kind.’
Oakley gave a secretive smile. ‘If that’s the case it could certainly have some bearing on her condition. I’ll investigate that angle next time I see her.’
‘You think dabbling in things like that can trigger mental illness?’ Emily asked.
It was Joe who answered. ‘In some individuals, yes. Definitely. Don’t you agree, Doctor?’
‘I’ve known several cases. What starts as a bit of fun with ouija boards and what have you can get out of hand for certain people. Some people are susceptible even if they don’t realise it at first. And there are always those who like to exploit their weakness.’
Emily looked at him sharply. ‘Have you anyone in particular in mind?’
Another smile, this time wary. ‘I’m afraid I’m bound by medical confidentiality. I’m sorry. It would be wrong of me to discuss my patients with you.’
‘Can we see Gloria Simpson? We would like to talk to her.’
‘I’m sure you would, Chief Inspector, but she’s heavily sedated and she’s really not up to it at the moment. The last thing I want is for anyone to upset her, you understand. I think it’s best if you wait until I’ve had an in-depth talk with her. As you will no doubt appreciate, these things have to be taken slowly.’
‘But you will tell us if you discover anything that’s relevant to our enquiries?’
‘If it’s in her interests. If it helps you to find her next of kin, for instance or to keep her out of danger.’
‘And of course if she has some information about the Resurrection Man or about the cause of the car crash, you’ll do your best to persuade her to share it with us?’
Oakley hesitated before giving a cautious nod.
‘We have her address book so we’ll be trying to trace her next of kin as a matter of urgency,’ said Emily.
‘I wish you luck.’ The doctor stood up and stretched out his hand to Emily, avoiding her eyes. That was it. They’d had their ten minutes and were getting no more.
<
br /> Dr Oakley pressed the button on his intercom. ‘Elizabeth, would you show these officers out, please? Thank you.’
The efficient secretary, dressed neatly in a blouse and skirt, led them along the corridor towards the entrance. Joe asked her how long she’d worked there and the answer was ten years. And yes, she liked working for Dr Oakley very much and she didn’t find the environment in the least bit depressing. She saw them off the premises with a friendly smile. A breath of sanity in a disturbed world.
‘What do you reckon?’ Joe asked as they hurried towards the car park.
‘You heard what the man said, we have to wait and see.’ She looked at her watch and swore under her breath. ‘I promised Jeff I’d be back at a reasonable time. I don’t want another burned dinner.’ She quickened her pace and Joe did likewise.
When they reached the car park Joe’s heart sunk when he saw the gleam of shiny yellow metal on his front tyre. He’d been clamped.
‘I’d better get a taxi,’ Emily said through gritted teeth, staring at the offending article.
Joe reached for his mobile phone and sent up a swift prayer for patience.
The map lay on the ledge next to the Guide to the Churches of Yorkshire. Even though they were evil, they should still be laid to rest in consecrated ground. It was their only chance, their only hope of avoiding the torment to come.
The killer’s excitement, his pleasure, had subsided now. It had been intense this time. The best yet. She was young … and a woman. And her face … It was almost as if she had shared his ecstasy … or had it been agony? He preferred to think the former. He’d felt close to her as he’d lifted the lid. He’d touched first her face, then her small breasts, his fingers lingering on their softness. She belonged to him now. And she wouldn’t push him away like before. She was his.
He lifted her gently from her sarcophagus and placed her on the plastic sheet. When darkness came it would be time for her last journey.
Chapter Six
Maddy Owen finished her pizza and licked her fingers delicately. They had eaten with their plates balanced on their knees, washing their meal down with a bottle of Chardonnay – the single woman’s tipple, Maddy had joked.
When Carmel had seized the moment to ask Maddy if there was a man in her life, Maddy’s normally cheerful expression had suddenly turned serious, as if a menacing cloud had momentarily blotted out the sun.
‘I did have. He died. Climbing accident.’
‘I’m so sorry,’ said Carmel.
‘That was four years ago and there hasn’t really been anyone since. Just the usual assortment of saddos, mummy’s boys and married men whose wives don’t understand them.’
‘Or understand them only too well,’ Carmel muttered under her breath. ‘What was his name?’
‘Angus.’ She smiled sadly. ‘He was Scottish, as you can imagine. We met at university and we were going to get married but …’
‘I’m sorry,’ Carmel repeated before looking at the plates in panic. ‘Look, I’ll get this lot cleared up before Joe arrives. And I’ve got some things in … crisps and stuff. Do you think that’s OK?’
Maddy looked at her and smiled sadly. ‘I’m sure it’ll be fine. What time’s he coming?’
Carmel looked at her watch. ‘Eight thirty. He’s five minutes late.’ She hurried into the kitchen with the plates and returned with dishes of crisps and nuts while Maddy cleared away the glasses.
‘Do you want me to stay or …’
Carmel nodded. ‘Please. Unless you want to get back.’
‘I’m quite happy to stay if you want me to.’ Maddy stood up and walked over to the window overlooking Vicars Green. It was still light and the fine weather had lured the tourists out of their hotels and B and Bs to roam the streets in search of a square meal. They ambled across the green towards the restaurant-lined streets off the cathedral square where diners would be sitting, chatting over their food in the glow of candles. Maddy felt a little envious at the thought of such intimate luxury. It was a long time since she’d been taken out to eat.
She spotted a man walking across the green, making straight for the house. He was probably in his twenties or early thirties at the most, with longish dark hair and the kind of mouth that smiles readily. He wore a light-coloured suit – smart, as though he’d just come from work – and the purposeful look on his face told her that he wasn’t one of the tourist throng. Maddy watched him march up to the front door and a second later the doorbell rang, the noise piercing the calm and making Carmel jump.
Carmel ran downstairs and when she flung the door open she looked flushed, her eyes shining with excitement.
Joe studied her as she ushered him into the hallway, noting the bobbed chestnut hair and the anxious eyes that gave her the appearance of a schoolgirl, eager to please a favourite teacher. The sulky teenager was gone and Kevin Hennessy’s daughter had become an attractive woman. But she still looked young and vulnerable and he suddenly felt concerned for her, although he wasn’t quite sure why.
He followed her upstairs and the first thing he noticed when he stepped into her flat was the array of snacks arranged on the coffee table. He felt almost embarrassed that she’d gone to so much trouble. But she was new in the city and perhaps she was lonely and eager for company – any company. As she asked him what he wanted to drink he was surprised when another woman emerged from the kitchen. She was a little older than Carmel – possibly near his own age – with auburn curls framing a round, freckled face. And she was carrying a half-full bottle of white wine.
‘This is Maddy. She works with me,’ said Carmel. ‘We’ve just had a pizza and …’
‘I hope you don’t mind me intruding,’ Maddy said breathlessly. ‘But I was a bit worried about Carmel and …’
Joe smiled. ‘It’s good to meet you,’ he said, meaning every word.
He sat down opposite Maddy and caught a waft of her perfume, light and flowery – possibly the same one as Emily Thwaite habitually used. They made small talk as Carmel scurried in and out with drinks and glasses. What was it like working at the Archaeology Centre? How did Joe enjoy police work? Anything but the subjects that occupied both their minds: the Resurrection Man and Carmel’s strange message.
But, once the drinks were in front of them and the preliminary rituals had been performed, Carmel came to the point.
‘I got home from work last night and I found this message on my answering machine. Listen.’
She pressed the button and the sound of the sinister, androgynous voice filled the room. She played the message twice and awaited Joe’s verdict.
Joe glanced at Maddy and took a sip of beer before speaking. ‘Well, whoever it is doesn’t know that Janna Pyke’s moved out so he can’t be watching the house or anything like that. And he doesn’t know Janna’s movements so, if she has come to any harm – and we’ve no reason to think she has – this joker has nothing to do with it.’
‘But it must be why she left the flat. She’s hiding from him.’
‘Or her. I suppose it could be a woman’s voice disguised.’ He leaned forward. ‘Look, Carmel, I’m sure you’ve nothing to worry about. If this person does come here, as soon as they find Janna’s gone, they’ll leave you alone. It’s not you they’re interested in – it’s Janna. Don’t you agree, Maddy?’
Maddy nodded vigorously.
Joe looked Carmel in the eye. ‘Has that put your mind at rest?’
She nodded. ‘I suppose so. But that’s not all. I’ve had two letters.’ She had placed the letters in plastic bags, just like she’d seen the police do in television crime dramas, and she felt a small thrill of pride at her own efficiency as she handed them over to Joe.
He took the pair of plastic gloves that he carried round with him for such occasions from his pocket and extracted the letters from their bags.
‘Jack Wendal demands your silence,’ said the first. Then he turned to the second. ‘The price of betrayal is death. Jack Wendal will collect payment.’
As he read the letters, Carmel noticed that his eyes had widened in excitement, as though he’d made some thrilling new discovery. ‘Do you mind if I keep these?’ he asked after a few moments.
‘Please. Take them. I don’t want them.’
Carmel looked at Joe and guessed her mum had probably been right when she’d said he was a good listener.
‘There’s a man called Mr Peace in the downstairs flat,’ she said. ‘I was talking to his niece and she says that Janna Pyke was bad news … caused a lot of trouble.’
‘So she could have made enemies?’
‘From what Elizabeth said, it certainly sounds that way.’
‘Elizabeth?’
‘Mr Peace’s niece. She’s here quite a bit. She keeps an eye on her uncle.’ Carmel hesitated then she made a decision. She turned to Maddy. ‘Remember the ghost tour? The guide … the man in the top hat?’
‘What about him?’ Maddy leaned forward, listening intently.
‘Well, he called round earlier.’ She saw the alarm on Maddy’s face and thought she’d better put her mind at rest. ‘Oh don’t worry. He seems quite harmless. He’s an actor and his name’s Tavy McNair.’
Maddy saw the ghost of a smile on Carmel’s lips when she mentioned Tavy McNair’s name. She glanced at Joe Plantagenet and he raised an inquisitive eyebrow.
‘Why didn’t you tell me before?’ Maddy asked. She sounded almost hurt.
Carmel shrugged her shoulders. ‘The subject didn’t really come up, did it? And besides, I thought I’d wait till Joe was here.’
Joe leaned forward. ‘So did this Tavy McNair have anything interesting to say?’
‘Yes. It turns out he used to go out with Janna Pyke and he called because he’s not seen her for a while and he’s worried about her. She left this flat a few weeks ago without paying the rent and nobody knows where she is. He thought there was a chance I might have a forwarding address or …’
‘Could he have sent the letters?’ Joe asked.
Carmel shook her head. ‘No. I’m certain he didn’t.’