by Lisa Cutts
But his guard was back up. ‘Anyone could have buried a box in Andy’s garden.’
‘OK, Leonard.’ I smiled, but not out of kindness – because I felt smug. ‘Here’s a colour photograph of you holding the metal box.’ I took an A4 still from my notebook and pushed it across the desk. I looked at him and not the picture – I’d already seen it.
Curiosity won and he peered at the photo. ‘Proves nothing. It’s me with a box. So what?’
‘It doesn’t stop there. Here are some more, showing you putting the box in the hole.’ I showed him another four stills, reading out the exhibit references, although no one in the room was listening at this point. I watched his face studying the photos, trying to work out how they’d come to be taken and who had done it. I knew he’d get there eventually.
‘I remember now,’ he said, ‘my great-grandson’s hamster died and Andy asked me to bury it. That was months ago. Anyone could have dug up the box I buried and put heroin in it. There is no logical reason for me burying heroin in my son’s back garden. You know that and I know that. Someone’s stitching me up. Even someone as dim-witted as you can see that. They must have dug the box back up again.’
Even if it hadn’t been a necessary part of the interview procedure, I took so much delight in saying, ‘These stills were taken by your son, Andy. He gave them to police officers today. He also gave us dated video footage of you digging the hole and burying the box, so there’s not much chance of anyone else having buried it. And whose fingerprints will we find on the drugs’ wrappings? Anything you want to say about the box or its contents now?’
Rumbly had gone very grey and had started to slip down the chair. He put his hand to his chest and said, ‘I don’t feel very well.’
Within seconds he had fallen to the floor. I left Mark with him, while I ran to the Custody desk to call for an ambulance.
66
Truth? The only reason I wanted Leonard Rumbly to live was because I didn’t want to be associated with his death. It meant a lot of paperwork and an investigation. I couldn’t face being suspended after spending so long at home on sick leave. And I wanted him to go to prison.
Grateful that a custody nurse was also on the station, I stood in the interview room a few feet away from Rumbly prone on the floor, willing him to live. I couldn’t see his face just the back of the nurse’s blue uniform as he attended to our prisoner.
I’d also left the DVDs running. If he did die, it was better to have it recorded. I was nothing if not practical in a crisis. I also knew that my actions and demeanour might end up being scrutinised by the Professional Standards Department, and possibly even at an inquest or by a court. I pulled my concerned look on to my face, not giving a jot for his welfare, only my reputation.
The paramedics arrived within a couple of minutes. It was time I gave them room and left them to do their job.
Mark and I went back upstairs, not speaking one word about what had just happened. We reached the office where earlier we had spoken to Janice Freeman. She was still sitting where we’d left her but she’d now been joined by Clint. ‘That was some interview technique, Nina,’ Clint said, laughing.
‘Funny, Clint, funny.’ This earned me a look from the DCI. ‘I didn’t do anything – he collapsed.’
‘Probably nothing to worry about,’ said Janice. ‘I’ve seen heart attacks and that looked very mild, if it was even genuine. We’ll know when he gets to hospital. And that’s a point: he’s still under arrest, so which one of you is going with him?’
‘Not really appropriate, is it, ma’am, one of us going? What if he makes allegations?’ Mark said. He was thinking on his feet, and clearly didn’t want to spend hours at the hospital either.
‘Um, good point,’ she said. I started to relax. It didn’t last long. ‘You both go. It’ll be both of your words against his. There’s no one else and we’ve already depleted the uniform officers on the arrests and warrants for this. Call me when you’ve got an update.’
That was that, then. We were dismissed to the hospital with Rumbly. We went back down to Custody where he was about to be stretchered to the ambulance. I made a stop to get the DVDs from the machine and then went to join Mark in the car for a stint beside Rumbly’s sick bed.
‘He’s still under arrest,’ said Mark from the driver’s seat, when I opened the car door.
‘Oh, good,’ I sighed, ‘a ride in an ambulance. Exactly what my day was missing.’
I climbed in behind the paramedics and watched Leonard Rumbly’s ashen face and shallow breaths all the way to the Accident and Emergency department.
67
Several hours later, when I thought the day would never end, our relief arrived to take over for the night. I never expected to feel pleased to see Jim Sullivan but I even managed a smile at him when he arrived with Jemma. She and Mark said a quick hello and goodbye in private out of our earshot, while I told Jim what little I knew about Rumbly’s condition.
‘You’re like the kiss of death at the moment, aren’t you, Nina?’ he said.
‘And you’re a dickhead. He hasn’t really woken up, but that’s mostly due to the medication they’ve given him here. There’s not really much of an update for you, except he’s stable and should be awake later on tonight, or first thing in the morning.’
‘When Jemma and I left, the brief from Freeman was to bail him whenever he wakes up and is coherent enough to know what’s going on. He’s an old man and we haven’t got enough to charge him at the moment for the train crash.’
I led Jim away from Rumbly’s bedside in case he could hear, despite the nurse’s reassurance that, even if he was able to hear what was going on, he wouldn’t remember it when he woke up.
Keeping my voice very low for the sake of the other patients in the ward, I asked Jim, ‘Anything else turn up so far?’
He shook his head. ‘Still early days – don’t give up. I know you’ve put a lot of work into this one. We’ll get there.’
I thought perhaps I’d misjudged my colleague – that was, until he added, ‘Try not to put anyone else in the back of an ambulance today. You’ll get a reputation.’
Too tired to spar any longer, I gave Mark a wave and told him I’d meet him in the car park. He gave Jemma a kiss goodbye and followed me out of the ward.
Once we were in the car, I gave myself a few minutes to calm down before I tried to talk. Mark seemed to realise I wasn’t really in the mood to chat, as he made no attempt to speak to me either. He might simply have been thinking about his wife, whom he wasn’t likely to see for another day or so. Whatever the reason, I was glad of the quiet.
‘Some day,’ I said when the hospital was well behind us.
‘You could say that.’
‘Early morning warrant, followed by arrest and heart attack.’
‘At least he’s going to be OK,’ said Mark. ‘Well enough to answer a few more questions at a later date. I’d like to see how he’s going to get out of the drugs, even if the stuff we have on the train crash is a little shaky.’
‘We can find more out in the morning, at the briefing. In the meantime, I’m glad to be out of the hospital. I seem to spend far too much of my time in there lately.’
‘Sorry, I should have asked if you’re OK,’ said Mark, glancing away from the road to look at my profile. I didn’t want to turn towards him. It was getting dark so I hoped he couldn’t read my expression, and I wanted it to stay that way. It wasn’t something I wanted to talk about, especially with Mark. I didn’t know him that well and, despite being sure he was only asking out of politeness or perhaps even genuine concern, I wanted to pretend it hadn’t happened. I couldn’t do that if I talked about it. I would have to address it and not cover it up with jokes or drinking to excess and carrying lumps of chicken home in my handbag.
‘Yeah, I’m OK. So tell me where you and Jemma went on honeymoon.’
‘We went to St Lucia. It was beautiful. We combined it with spending a couple of days with my mum.’
‘Oh, is she from St Lucia?’
‘No, she’s from Margate. She moved out there a couple of years ago.’
‘Sorry, Mark. I assumed. There’s definitely a diversity course with my name on it.’
‘You should get yourself off somewhere sunny. I mean somewhere like St Lucia rather than Margate. You could probably do with a break. Get Bill to spend some of his overtime on you.’
That gave me something to think about for the rest of the journey back to the police station. It was probably what our relationship was missing: something relaxing and enjoyable, like a holiday. Or simply fewer dead bodies and visits to the hospital.
68
I arrived at work the next day, tired but optimistic about how the previous twenty-four hours had gone. I made my way to the temporary Incident Room via the deserted Cold Case office. Stacked ‘in’ and ‘out’ trays were strewn all over the conference room where the investigation team had housed themselves. Exhibits were piled up in the corner and a mass of staff from Headquarters had arrived and taken up all available space. Several officers and civilian employees had found themselves computers in offices both sides of the corridor, and the entire floor had a hum about it that I hadn’t been a part of since my stint on a murder investigation the previous year.
Feeling very much at home, I went over to the person dealing with the exhibits, who was desperately trying to put them into some sort of order. I recognised her as Karen Pickering and asked her if she could point me in the direction of the paperwork taken from Rumbly’s house.
‘I can do more than that,’ she replied, opening a box file. ‘I’ve already photocopied everything and put it in here. Just put it back on the desk when you’re done.’
I left her rummaging through plastic and brown paper bags, holding what looked like several hundred items of personal belongings from Andy and Leonard Rumbly’s homes. I left her to it and found myself a quiet corner to leaf through the paperwork my prisoner had seemed unable to stop himself from looking at.
An hour later, I gave up. I knew I was looking at the right stuff, but it was general household bills, leaflets that had fallen out of magazines, and mailshots. Disappointed, not to mention bored, I went off in search of Wingsy to brighten his day with an update on my own morning so far.
I tracked him down to the canteen.
‘Morning,’ I said, taking the seat opposite him.
‘Alright?’
‘You don’t look very pleased to see me.’
‘I was enjoying the peace and quiet.’
‘How did you get on yesterday?’ I asked, watching him remove the teabag from his mug.
‘Pierre and I ended up interviewing Andy Rumbly.’ He paused, squeezing the water from the bag suspended by its string. Just as he finished, he dropped it and the bag hit the drink again, splashing brown water up the front of his white shirt.
‘I’m surprised Mel doesn’t make you wear a bib.’
‘What happened to your prisoner, then? I heard he ended up in hospital. I know you’d taken a dislike to him. I hope you didn’t bring on his medical condition.’
‘I’m not as stupid as I look.’
‘Thank fuck for that.’
‘Don’t get annoyed with me just because you’ve started the day with tea down your shirt.’
I’d sought out my friend because I wanted him to come with me to Worthing to visit Tommy Ross. Wingsy and I had made frequent contact with Marilyn and Charles Fitzhubert for updates about Tommy Ross’s welfare. The news was always the same: he was awake for short periods of time and was very weak when he was. The only thing I did insist on was that the Fitzhuberts collect Tommy’s door keys, which I had taken to the hospital, and rescue his cat. Tommy owed the cat, and our ineptitude, his life. It seemed to be the least I could do.
I didn’t fancy the long drive by myself but I had some idea of what might greet me when I got there, and I certainly didn’t relish the idea of the long, silent journey back with only my own thoughts for company. I wasn’t sure whether he would agree to come with me, though, or whether Harry would allow it. Something seemed to be troubling Wingsy and, as work didn’t often affect him, I guessed it was personal. It was unlikely that he would ever tell me, but I stayed in my seat on the off-chance that he wanted to talk.
‘What are your plans today, then?’ he asked after a few seconds of silence.
‘I was thinking of visiting Tommy in hospital.’
Wingsy nodded, picked up his tea and before taking a sip said, ‘Be easier if you phoned. Long way to go by yourself.’
That seemed to be as much as I was going to get from my friend today. I made to get up. As I hovered above my seat, though, he said, ‘Unless you fancy some company?’
‘I’ll let Harry know. We can drop in and see Charles and Marilyn on the way back. Justify the journey and all that.’ I hesitated. ‘Wings, are you OK? You don’t seem to be yourself today.’
‘I’ve got a few things on my mind.’
‘Can I help?’
‘Not really, girl. But thanks.’
I left it there and strode off to find Harry to tell him our plans, but he already had his hands full. He was dealing with staffing issues and was mid-row with the DI over why we needed more officers in Cold Case. I signed out in the diary, making a note that there was a briefing at six o’clock that evening for everyone to get together with their updates on what had happened during the arrest and interview phases. I wasn’t sure if we’d be back in time, but I’d already picked up most of what I needed to know from speaking to Mark Russell and others who had been working the last couple of days.
I knew that I was taking advantage of being a temporary member of staff on Cold Case. I had slipped under the radar by being unaccountable to anyone but Harry, and he had more important things to worry about. Normally with so much going on I wouldn’t have been allowed to drive off to visit a sick witness in the Worthing hospital and drop in on a couple of other witnesses in Portsmouth on the way back. They all had to be seen again but I knew this wasn’t really the time for it.
Apart from having him along for company, I was glad that Wingsy had agreed to come with me because I wanted to find out what was bugging him. Even though I was the first to admit what a nosy person I was, it was concern and not my prying nature that made me determined to get to the bottom of it. I had never known him have a serious problem in all the years we’d known each other. If he needed my help, I would do whatever was in my capacity to fix it.
69
As we drove out of the yard, I tried to engage Wingsy in conversation but I was met with one-or two-word answers. After a few minutes, I gave up. I was even getting on my own nerves, so I was grateful for the silence. The quiet only lasted a short time, until he switched the radio on and the car was filled with sounds of the local station playing a familiar song. I thought back to when I’d last heard it and remembered it had been in the background in the mortuary when I went to Lea Hollingsworth’s post mortem. And here we were, off to see a dying man. At least the sun had come out and Wingsy had offered to drive first. I was grateful for the small mercies in life. It was just as well, really, as the major ones were often a disappointment.
The song finished and was followed by adverts. I was only half-listening and caught something about Hallowe’en. As I was thinking that ghost and witch costumes were months away, Wingsy let out a long sigh.
‘What’s the matter with you?’ I said.
‘Bloody Hallowe’en,’ he said, shaking his head. He gripped the steering wheel until his knuckles went white.
‘Alright, mate. It’s not for six months and it’s only a couple of bags of Haribos. You can always pretend you’re out and eat the sweets yourself. Don’t take it personally.’
‘No, it’s not that. It’s got me into more trouble.’
‘I’m not following you.’
‘Well, you know I got in the cack because of the email I sent to the chief constable from Jim’s computer?’ He paused
at a roundabout and glanced across at me.
‘Go on,’ I said.
‘I had to see Chief Inspector Spencer Halliday about it. I joined up with Spence and always thought he was a good old boy. I thought he could take a joke.’
‘What did you do?’
He pointed a thumb to the back seat. ‘Have a look in my file.’
As I leaned across to retrieve his file, Wingsy continued to talk. ‘He told me that I should make up for what I’d done, and put me on a neighbourhood project. It included designing community posters. One of them was for Hallowe’en, so those who didn’t want kids knocking on their door at night could display the poster and they wouldn’t get pestered.’
‘What did you do?’ I said as I opened the file.
The answer to my question was right there in front of me. I held up the A4 piece of paper.
‘Let me get this right, John. You were in trouble for messing about at work so, when asked by a chief inspector to design a poster for use in the community, you filled a page with an orange pumpkin with a cross through it and printed in bold, “Fuck off or I’ll call the police”. What’s the matter with you? If you’re going through a mid-life crisis, buy a sports car or have an affair. Don’t throw your career away.’
‘It’s Mel,’ he said. ‘She had a miscarriage a week ago.’
This halted my tirade in its tracks. ‘I’m so sorry. I didn’t know.’
He waved away my words. ‘It’s hit her really hard. She keeps crying and the kids are getting scared. She keeps taking herself off to bed when I get home in the evening. It’s not helped that she knew I didn’t want any more kids. Three are expensive enough as it is.’ He exhaled, puffing out his cheeks.
‘Is there anything I can do?’ I asked. ‘Anything at all?’ I knew it was unlikely that I could, and the offer was only the smallest of gestures.
‘You can always come round and babysit some time.’
‘Anything apart from babysit. I don’t fancy that.’
‘No.’ He smiled wanly. ‘But thanks anyway.’
We drove the rest of the way to Worthing in companionable silence. I thought about Mel and tried to imagine how wretched she was feeling but, having never been in her position, I didn’t know what else to say. Instead, I concentrated on how Tommy Ross was going to be when we got to the hospital. Unlike Mel, his physical condition was not going to be getting much better any time soon.