by Ellis, Tim
‘We’ll show ourselves round then shall we?’
‘That would be a good idea.’
Parish opened the boot and gave one of the two torches to Catherine. ‘Camera?’ he said to Richards.
‘Check,’ she said, patting her bag.
After squeezing through a gap in the fencing, they headed for the main entrance, which was situated on the ground floor between a five storey block and another red and glass building attached at the front.
‘‘This is a big hospital,’ Catherine said. ‘It’ll take us until Christmas to walk round everywhere.’
‘Have you got somewhere else you’d rather be?’
‘Well no, but what are we looking for?’
‘To start with, we’re looking for the mortuary.’
Richards began taking photographs like Ansel Adams: ‘Smile, Sir.’
It wasn’t necessary to force a way in because one of the boards covering the main entrance had already been prised open and they walked inside the main reception area.
‘Look for signs pointing to the mortuary,’ Parish said, shining his torch all around. The vandals had obviously gained access to the buildings and left their graffiti tags on the walls. Paper and other rubbish littered the floor, and a wheelchair lying on its side gave the impression that the occupants had left in a hurry.
‘Here,’ Catherine called.
Parish and Richards moved to their left and walked through an arch into a corridor. A sign on the wall facing them with an arrow for the mortuary pointed to their right.
Catherine had already made a head start. ‘Down here,’ echoed along the corridor.
‘Wait for us,’ Parish shouted.
It was as black as ink, and the torchlight didn’t seem to penetrate the gloom as they made their way cautiously along the passageway.
They reached a set of stairs to their right, and eventually found the sign with a downward-pointing arrow directing them to descend into the bowels of the hospital.
‘Why do mortuaries always have to be in the basement?’ Richards whispered.
‘Why are you whispering?’ he whispered back.
‘I don’t know,’ she whispered again. ‘Well?’
‘Are you comfortable with dead bodies?’
‘Well, I wouldn’t say comfortable, but I’m not afraid of them.’
‘Most people are. The dead remind them of their own mortality, and that’s not something they like to think about.’
‘I suppose.’
‘And because of that, they hide the mortuary – and as such, the dead bodies – in the basement. If you find the mortuary it means you came down here looking for it, you didn’t come across it by accident.’
The flash of the camera blinded him as Richards took another photograph. ‘I never thought of it before, but the living come through the front door and the dead are delivered to the back door.’
‘Exactly. Hold onto me,’ he said putting out his arm, so that she could grip it to steady herself as they descended the stairs. ‘Where the hell’s Catherine got to?’
‘Maybe the bogeyman got her.’
‘Maybe you need to stop watching so much late night television.’
Richards gave a laugh.
‘Catherine?’ he shouted, and it ricocheted down the stairwell, but he got no answer.
They reached the bottom of the stairs and went through a pair of swing-doors into the basement corridor. Another wall sign with an arrow pointed them right again.
‘Catherine?’ he shouted again.
‘Down here,’ came back at them.
‘Do you think the ghosts of all those who died in the hospital over the years are here?’
‘Now you’re getting weird, Richards. The more fundamental question is: do I believe in life after death?’
‘Do you?’
‘No.’
‘Oh!’
‘You do, I suppose?’
‘I like to think my dad is watching over me.’
He squeezed her arm. ‘I’m sure he is, but that’s not the same...’
A female scream pierced the silence, followed by two pairs of feet running on the concrete floor away from them.
He looked at Richards. ‘What the hell?’
They ran towards the scream.
‘Catherine?’
There was no reply.
He shouted again, louder. ‘Catherine?’
Silence.
They reached the mortuary, and Parish barged through the swing doors into a large room. On the right was a long line of built-in freezers, some of the doors were open, some were closed. On the far wall was a row of boarded-up windows. Three stainless steel post-mortem tables were fixed to the floor in a line in the middle of the room. Electric cables and lights hung from the ceiling, and there were large dark stains on the white tiled floor.
‘Open the freezer doors and look inside.’
‘Me...? I haven’t got a torch, remember. I’ve got a camera, but I haven’t got a torch. You could give me your torch, then I’d have a camera and a torch, or I could give you the cam...’
He began opening the freezer doors himself and peering inside. ‘You’re not taking this seriously, are you?’
‘The bitch is playing games. She’s probably found a room along the corridor, taken all her clothes off, and is lying on the floor with her legs open waiting for you.’
‘Richards! Don’t be disgusting. I didn’t think you knew about things like that.’
‘I know a manipulating bitch when I meet one.’
‘Well, how do you explain the two sets of running feet?’
‘She probably had a spare pair of shoes on her hands to make it sound like two people.’
‘Don’t be ridiculous. You’re letting your personal feelings cloud your judgement. Come on, she’s not in here.’
They went back out into the corridor. Parish kept calling Catherine’s name, but she didn’t reply. What’s going on? Was Catherine playing games? Surely the killer couldn’t have followed them down here. Maybe he was already here, waiting for her. Maybe it was somebody else entirely, but whom?
They saw a light up ahead and quickened their pace.
‘Crap,’ he said, picking up Catherine’s torch and giving it to Richards.
‘Okay, maybe I was a little bit wrong.’
‘A little bit?’
They reached another set of stairs, and Parish started down them.
‘You’re not thinking of going down there, are you?’
‘She’s not up here, is she?’
‘But... what’s down there?’
‘We won’t find out standing here,’ and he moved down a few more stairs.
Richards followed, and when he stopped at the bottom of the stairs to open the door she banged into him.
‘Don’t walk so close behind me.’
‘I wasn’t.’
‘If you get any closer you’ll be sitting on my shoulders.’
‘I’m scared.’
‘Policemen aren’t supposed to be scared.’
‘We’re people like everyone else, and I don’t like the dark. I especially don’t like the dark this far underground.’
‘Ssshhh...’
‘What?’ she whispered.
‘I thought I heard the Gates of Hell opening to welcome you.’
‘You’re so mean, Sir.’
‘Catherine?’ he bellowed.
‘Do you have to shout so loud?’ Richards whispered behind him.
They were in a corridor with large bore pipes running the length of the ceiling. The floor was covered with an inch of water, and they could hear dripping and the ‘splish splash’ of their own feet as they turned left and made their way along the dank corridor.
‘Catherine?’
‘Here.’ A pitiful voice came back at them out of the blackness.
Parish quickened his pace. ‘Where are you?’
‘Here.’
They reached a boiler room that had five enormous round blue-p
ainted boilers, multicoloured spaghetti of electric wiring, buttons, knobs and gauges, and enough piping to send oil to Siberia.
‘Catherine?’
She appeared from behind one of the boilers. ‘Oh God, thank goodness you’re here,’ she sobbed as she ran to him.
‘Huh!’ Richards said, shining her torch around.
‘What the hell happened?’
‘I was waiting outside the mortuary for you to catch up, and a man came up behind me, touched the side of my face and said, “You’re on my list, Catherine.” I screamed and began running. I could hear him chasing me. Then I dropped the torch and couldn’t see anything. I found the set of stairs and came down here to hide.’ She hugged him and started crying again. ‘I was so frightened.’
‘As if. We don’t live up coconut trees, you know.’
‘What are you mumbling about, Richards?’
‘Oh nothing- just admiring the workmanship of these magnificent boilers.’
‘Come on,’ Parish said. ‘Let’s get out of here.’
‘Don’t let go of me,’ Catherine said.
Richards stifled a laugh.
‘Stop laughing, Mary. Everything I’m telling you is the truth; you have to believe me. Only the killer knew about me being on his list.’ She began crying again. ‘He was here, and he knew it was me.’
‘Where is he now then? And why didn’t he kill you, or abduct you while he had the chance? You’re making it all up to get DI Parish to feel sorry for you and cuddle you.’
‘I am not.’ She turned to Parish. ‘You believe me, don’t you?’
‘Yes, I believe you. Richards has always been a bit sceptical when it comes to evidence. She likes to see blood dripping from the knife, don’t you, Richards?’
‘And there’s no knife and no blood, only the ramblings of a love-struck trollop.’
Catherine began sobbing again.
Richards led the way back up the corridor towards the stairs.
‘What’s that?’ Richards said, directing the beam of her torch at the ceiling to a gap between the wall and one of the pipes. A small red light blinked at them.
‘It’s a camera,’ Parish said. ‘Why is there a camera down here?’
‘Security?’ Richards suggested.
‘A knife with blood dripping from it,’ Catherine said. ‘You’ll believe me if it’s all on tape, won’t you?’
‘There’s no light down here,’ Parish said. ‘It must be an infrared camera, and those are expensive.’
Richards turned to look at him and shone her torch in his face. ‘What do you mean?’
He put his arm up to shield his eyes, but too late. ‘Thanks for that, I’ve just lost my night vision.’
‘Oops, sorry.’
‘What I mean is that who would put an IR camera down here? What’s to protect? You say security, Richards, but I didn’t see any evidence of security when we came in.’
‘It’s a big site; maybe the security people are somewhere else.’
‘Maybe,’ Parish said, but he wasn’t convinced.
As they made their way out of the building, they saw more cameras attached high up on the ceiling, the red activation light blinking at them.
Outside, Catherine said, ‘I feel as though I’ve just made it out of a labyrinth full of monsters.’
Richards grinned. ‘Yeah, it sounded like a fairy story.’
‘You keep making fun, but you’ll have to eat your words and apologise to me when you see the killer on tape.’
‘As if.’
Parish swivelled round and grunted. ‘In an ideal world we’d be able to obtain the tape, but where do the cameras feed back to? Do you see a security office or any signs? Or men in uniform with slavering German Shepherds walking round? And, more importantly, if the cameras were activated, why has nobody come to see what’s going on?’
‘See,’ Richards said. ‘There’s your evidence. Nothing happened, so no one came.’
‘No, you’re missing the point, Richards,’ Parish said. ‘Three people have been walking about tripping cameras inside a secure site, but nobody has come to see what we’re doing.’
‘Well, maybe the recorded images are relayed to a remote site?’
‘And they would have phoned someone and said...’
‘...Get over there and see what’s going on,’ Richards finished for him. ‘Okay, so maybe nobody is watching the monitors; maybe the man who’s meant to be watching them has had a heart attack, has fallen asleep, is watching football, or...'
‘Stop guessing. What we need to do is find out for sure.’
‘Why? You’re not going to take her word for what happened in there, are you?’
‘Yes I am, Richards, and you’re the one who’s going to find out.’
‘Me? You’re mistaking me for someone who cares.’
‘Are you refusing a direct order from your superior officer?’
‘Well no, but...’
‘There we are then, problem solved. We’ll walk around the rest of the site and see if there are any obvious answers, but when we get back home you can do some research.’
‘Huh!’
Chapter Fourteen
They walked around the rest of the Harold Wood Hospital site, but saw no evidence of a security presence.
‘I’d like to know where those CCTV cameras terminated,’ Parish said.
‘We’re not going back inside, are we?’ Catherine said with a look of concern on her face.
‘No, I don’t see much point in wandering about aimlessly. The cameras could terminate anywhere; it’s too dark; we haven’t got the right equipment or manpower, and if there is someone in there...’
‘If? I thought you believed me?’
‘I do- it was merely a figure of speech.’
Richards snorted. ‘Of course he doesn’t believe you. He was humouring you before.’
‘Stop stirring things, Richards.’
‘I wouldn’t know how, Sir.’
‘Let’s go,’ Parish said. ‘There’s nothing more we can do here.’
As they made their way back to the car, and Richards and Catherine sniped at each other, Parish thought about Harold Wood Hospital. Running an illegal investigation was really hampering him. If he hadn’t been suspended he would have called in Sergeant Jackson’s troops to find out where those CCTV cameras terminated, brought in high-powered lights and forensics, searched the place from top to bottom. Was Catherine telling the truth? If she wasn’t, then she had serious issues and should seek counselling. If she was, then the killer had been in there with them. There was definitely something odd about the hospital. The CCTV cameras must belong to a security company employed by the developers, but what if they weren’t? The killer needed somewhere to keep his victims between abducting them and killing them, and the hospital was an ideal location.
Once they were back at the car the two women got inside, but he paced outside and rang Kowalski. ‘What’s the news on that traffic camera?’
‘Yeah, we’ve got both of them leaving the club, but the light’s not good. I’m checking nearby cameras and trying to identify him arriving, his car and so forth.’
‘Do you think forensics can enhance the image?’
‘What for? We’ve already got a picture of him. What we need is something more, like a number plate.’
‘I’ll leave you to it, Ray. Listen, Countryside Properties acquired the site of Harold Wood Hospital. Can you contact them and find out if they’ve employed a security company to look after the place? If they have, get their name and telephone number, ring them and ask if someone can meet me at five o’clock outside the main hospital reception to show me round.’
‘I thought that’s where you were going this morning?’
‘I’m there now; I’ll tell you about it later.’
‘Okay, no problem. Anything else, seeing as I’m now your personal assistant?’
‘You should be so lucky. Speak to you later.’
He ended the call and c
limbed into the car. If there was no security company looking after the site then he knew he had to return and have a proper look around, bring Kowalski and Ed, and maybe Toadstone – no, not Toadstone, but the other two; wear proper clothing; bring high-powered torches and probably a baseball bat each, just in case.
‘Who were you ringing?’
‘You tell me who I was ringing. You’re always far too quick to ask questions instead of using your “little grey cells”’. He tapped the side of his head and used his foreign accent for the last three words.
Richards laughed. ‘You don’t even sound anything like Miss Marple.’
‘Hercule Poirot,’ Catherine corrected her.
‘I know, I was teasing. You knew I was teasing, didn’t you?’
Parish smiled. ‘Yes, I knew.’
‘See, Little Miss Know-it-All.’
‘Right, I think it’s time we went to talk to Arnold Royston.’
‘But...?’
‘Work it out. Think of it as a game. Who was the Inspector ringing, and why? In fact, you can both play. It’ll keep you occupied during the journey instead of taunting each other.’
‘You rang Mum...?’
‘Don’t start throwing names at me... You have one guess only. Here’s a clue: What went before? And there’s a prize.’
Richard’s eyes opened wide. ‘A prize? I love prizes. What type of prize? It’s not something stupid, is it?’
‘How about a weekend away at a health spa?’
‘Oh God, Sir! It’ll cost... a lot of money.’
‘Only if one of you wins, and I don’t think either of you will be able to work out the right answer.’
Catherine leaned forward. ‘So, you’re offering the prize only because you think neither of us will win it?’
Parish grinned. ‘I wouldn’t do something like that.’
‘That’s exactly the type of thing you’d do,’ Richards said.
‘I think we should put our differences aside, Mary, and work together.’
‘I don’t know. What if we win? There’s only one prize.’