Blood-Tied

  She composed herself and looked at the time. Twenty to. He was ten minutes late. She casually walked along the concourse to a shoe shop and peered through the window. Glancing across to her right she realised that she could see the reflection of Sergeant Morris on the opposite side of the concourse. She let out another long sigh and decided she wasn’t the right type for covert surveillance. She kept forgetting to breathe.

  By quarter past, when she had studied every shop window several times over, without actually registering a single item, she felt a presence next to her.

  ‘We meet again,’ said Sergeant Morris.

  ‘You still here?’ asked Esme. ‘You must have a long lunch hour.’

  The sergeant grinned. ‘There can be a lot of standing around in this job, you know.’

  ‘Really? Looking out for pickpockets, are you?’

  ‘Something like that, though I think we’re wasting our time today.’

  Esme instinctively glanced towards the cafe only to see Mary marching off at a brisk pace. Her body language said it all. Don’t think I’m doing that again in a hurry.

  A young woman came over and spoke to the sergeant. ‘Shall we call it a day, Sarge?’

  The policeman shrugged his large shoulders. ‘Yeah, I think so, don’t you?’ He turned back to Esme. ‘I’ll be off, then, Mrs Quentin. Happy shopping.’ She nodded and she watched the pair leave the building.

  So, Nicholson hadn’t shown. Why not? Had he been tipped off? But by whom? Mary? She surely had no loyalty to him after she had heard what he was accused of. Anyway, Mary hadn’t been able to complete her part of the deal, so she had nothing to lose by exposing him.

  But then she’d nothing to gain either. And she might have persuaded him that he owed her something for not giving him up to the authorities.

  If Mary was behind his non-appearance, he would know by now that the police were aware of his activities. Esme wondered what his reaction might be to that piece of information. From what she’d heard about him she didn’t think it would be good.

  29

  Esme walked through the hospital reception area and into the lift on her regular visit to Elizabeth. Early afternoons had become the pattern, recently. Gemma generally called in later so the two of them had still not seen one another since their confrontation. Esme thought it was time that they tackled their differences. What was to be gained by prolonging their estrangement at a time when support was most needed? Surely Gemma must feel that she had made her point by now. Esme decided she must leave a message on Gemma’s answering machine suggesting she dropped into the hospital one evening when Gemma was there, and see what response she got.

  The lift doors opened. Esme stepped out and walked along the corridor towards Elizabeth’s ward. Helen was on duty at the desk. They exchanged a few words about Elizabeth’s progress.

  ‘Is Gemma not well?’ asked Helen.

  ‘No idea,’ confessed Esme. ‘Haven’t spoken to her for a while. Why?’

  ‘I haven’t seen her today, that’s all. She always says if she can’t make it.’

  ‘She’ll still be in theatre, won’t she?’

  Helen shook her head. ‘Day off.’

  ‘Perhaps she’s planning to come in later. I was going to give her a call when I get back anyway. I’ll see if she’s OK.’

  ‘I’ve already tried phoning her home number but there was no reply. Though if she’s ill, she might have been asleep, I suppose.’

  Esme wasn’t particularly concerned. Gemma was quite capable of looking after herself, as Gemma had tersely declared to Esme when she’d accused her of fussing.

  ‘Did you try her mobile?’ asked Esme.

  ‘Switched off.’

  ‘Odd. It’s usually only off when she’s working in theatre. How long ago did you try?’

  Helen looked up at the clock and pulled a face. ‘About an hour ago, I suppose.’ She leant over the counter of the nurses’ station and reached for the telephone. She turned it around and placed it on the shelf next to Esme. ‘Do you want to try her?’

  Helen left the station and disappeared towards the other end of the ward. Esme dropped her coat and bag on the chair and picked up the receiver. She punched in the numbers and listened. The line was connected and the ringing tone echoed in her ear. No immediate response. She hung on, becoming mesmerised by the monotony of the sound. How long should she let it ring? Twenty rings? Thirty? On the one hand she didn’t want to drag Gemma out of bed if she wasn’t well, but on the other there were the beginnings of anxiety stirring in her head and she would rather be assured that Gemma wasn’t suffering from something.

  Esme had lost count of the number of rings when the telephone clicked at the other end and a woman’s voice answered.

  ‘Gemma?’ It didn’t sound like Gemma but then if she wasn’t feeling well…

  ‘No, she’s not here. Who is that?’

  Esme explained.

  ‘I’m Annie,’ said the woman. ‘I live next door. I called in to feed Gemma’s cat. I sometimes do if Gemma has to work late. I wouldn’t normally answer the phone but it kept ringing and I thought it must be important if they were so persistent.’

  ‘Gemma’s not there then?’ said Esme.

  ‘No, of course not.’ She obviously thought Esme was stupid to ask such an obvious question. ‘Otherwise…’

  ‘Otherwise you wouldn’t be there. Yes, I see that. You don’t know where Gemma is?’

  ‘I assumed she’d stayed over at the hospital,’ said Annie. ‘She sometimes does.’

  ‘No one’s seen her today and we were concerned she wasn’t well.’ Esme tried not to sound alarmist. ‘Perhaps she’s gone to the supermarket or something. Sorry to trouble you…’

  ‘She did that yesterday,’ interrupted Annie. ‘Saw her unloading her car. But I told you, I thought she must have stayed at the hospital. She never came home last night, see.’

  ‘But she didn’t phone you to tell you she wasn’t coming home?’

  ‘No but then if she’s in theatre late, she can’t always. I keep an eye out usually.’

  Esme glanced up and saw Helen striding down the corridor at speed. She looked agitated. Patient problems, probably.

  ‘I must go, Annie. Thanks for your help. I expect she’ll turn up in a minute. If you do see, her perhaps you’d let her know I’ve called. Bye now.’ She dropped the receiver on to the cradle with a sigh and looked up at Helen who was looking decidedly anxious.

  ‘What’s up?’

  ‘Peter, one of the nurses, saw Gemma’s car when he came on duty yesterday.’

  ‘Where?’

  ‘Here, in the hospital car park. He’s just gone down to see if it’s still there.’

  ‘Her next-door neighbour says she didn’t go home last night,’ said Esme. They stared at one another, working out what they should make of it, thinking of possible scenarios.

  Helen grabbed the phone. ‘I’ll get on to security and see if anyone noticed her leave last night. She arrived just as I was going off duty yesterday. I was on a late so it would have been about 9.45 I suppose. Hello?’

  Esme switched off from Helen’s conversation as she tried to fathom out what this meant. Was she being unnecessarily edgy about this? Wasn’t Gemma capable of organising her own life, visiting friends, staying over in whatever way she wanted? She had a good arrangement with Annie which meant that she didn’t have to worry too much about telling her if she wanted to stay out, so didn’t that suggest that it was her usual way of operating? But Annie had said she didn’t bother to phone if she was in theatre and couldn’t make the call. But she hadn’t been in theatre, she had been here with Elizabeth. If she had intended to go elsewhere, surely Gemma would have let Annie know her movements.

  Helen put down the phone and looked across at Esme.

  ‘She definitely left the building.
Tom Christie saw her in the lobby and said goodnight.’

  ‘So she didn’t stay here, then. Perhaps she went to a friend’s.’

  ‘At midnight?’

  ‘Is that when she left?’

  Helen nodded. ‘Apparently.’

  They heard the door to the stairs swing open and a male nurse, whom Esme assumed to be Peter, came hurrying up the corridor out of breath.

  ‘It’s still there, in the same place.’

  ‘She could have parked in the same place again when she came back,’ suggested Esme.

  ‘Are you kidding?’ said Helen. ‘It’s a nightmare finding a parking space at the best of times. What are the odds of getting the same one two days on the trot?’

  ‘No, she never,’ wheezed Peter. ‘The car’s not been moved.’

  ‘How do you know?’ demanded Esme.

  ‘Because the bugger in charge of the parking has given her a ticket.’

  *

  Esme could just imagine Gemma’s reaction if she reported her to the police as a missing person and then Gemma rolled up having spent the night with a friend. On the other hand she couldn’t ignore it. She thought of her conversation with the inspector. He had thought it completely unlikely that Elizabeth would receive any unwelcome visitors, so what was it that was making her anxious?

  She made a nervous telephone call to Inspector Barry. He was sympathetic but he cautioned her against overreacting.

  ‘She could have been collected by a friend after she left the hospital, gone out for the evening and be sleeping it off at their place,’ he said reasonably.

  ‘Yes, I’ve thought of that.’

  ‘And you say that she has this arrangement with her neighbour. So it’s not unusual for her to come home late or even not at all.’

  ‘Yes, but only when she’s at work and isn’t able to get to a phone and warn her. If she was with a friend she’d have the opportunity to let the neighbour know. She’s not a thoughtless person.’

  ‘Maybe she didn’t decide until it was too late to phone. You said she left at midnight.’

  Esme sighed. ‘That’s true. So what should I do?’

  ‘Well, it’s not twenty-four hours yet, is it? Give her chance to surface, assuming she’s had a heavy night. I’ll put an unofficial word around. Let me know if you hear anything.’

  *

  Esme updated Helen on what the inspector had said. Helen accepted the logic. After all she didn’t know the whole story so she was more inclined to be convinced than Esme. Later, on her way out, Esme asked Helen to phone her if Gemma turned up at the hospital. Esme had left a message on Gemma’s mobile to ask her to confirm that everything was all right, and of course Annie would be looking out for her too. She’d tried to keep the messages upbeat. She didn’t want Gemma giving her an earful about her private life being invaded. As things were between them at present, it would be her first reaction.

  Esme felt at a loss when she arrived home. The uncertainty of Gemma’s situation highlighted the uncertainty of Elizabeth’s. Watching Elizabeth lying there at the hospital was a strange experience at the best of times. It was like sitting in an auditorium waiting for something to happen on stage when you didn’t know what time the programme started. Was anything going to happen this time? Were there any clues that suggested something was about to change?

  It had been more intense in the early days. Now it was waning a little. Esme suspected the task was slowly becoming a routine of sitting and watching, without expecting anything. Was she losing faith that Elizabeth was going to wake up? The thought made her feel uncomfortable. She chastised herself. The hospital staff were highly optimistic. So should she be.

  When Esme got in through the front door she dumped her bag and coat on the floor and went through to the kitchen to put the kettle on. She needed a cup of tea before addressing anything else. As the kettle boiled she went over the reassuring words of the inspector in her head. Ninety-nine per cent of the time there’s a perfectly rational explanation, he’d reminded her. But she couldn’t help being concerned about that one per cent.

  She took her tea into the sitting room. The answer-phone was blinking so she pressed the ‘play’ button. Maybe there was a message from Gemma. That would be a weight off her mind. She slumped down on the armchair and sipped her tea. There was an enquiry for a research assignment which sounded quite interesting. She got up to find a pen and paper to take down the details. She put her pad on the desk and stood poised to press the replay button once the messages had played through. The next message, though, fixed her to the spot.

  It was a man’s voice, well-spoken, but there was something about its manner which set her teeth on edge before she even registered what he was saying.

  ‘Your interference has been a grave mistake, Mrs Quentin. I can assure you that Gemma is not very happy about it.’ Then there was a click. That was the end of the message.

  She replayed it. Twice.

  It was the last message. As far as she could tell, no one else had called since. There was a chance. She dialled 1471. The automatic voice began, ‘You were called…’ She knew what that meant but she listened through to the end any way. ‘The caller withheld their number.’ Of course they had. It wouldn’t be that simple.

  Shaking, she managed to dial Inspector Barry’s number.

  30

  The techno-wizards had been let loose on Esme’s phone, the police told her, as Leonard Nicholson would need to call her again to make his demands. They hoped to establish his location. Inspector Barry also arranged for a uniformed constable to be on hand at Esme’s cottage. Esme called Lucy for moral support. She came over immediately.

  Esme found herself explaining to Inspector Barry what she knew about the cottage and its connections with the Monkleigh family. Not surprisingly the inspector was annoyed that she hadn’t passed on the entire information before. Given the circumstances, Esme almost agreed with him. Maybe Gemma wouldn’t have been a target if she had done so. Esme gave a reasoned defence that the police would have only seen it as a petty family disagreement over an inheritance, but she had to admit that once she had discovered the unsavoury truth about Leonard Nicholson she ought to have realised that there might be more to the situation than a family squabble. She openly acknowledged her misjudgement, and she and Lucy proceeded to tell the inspector almost everything they had uncovered.

  However Esme chose not to mention the added complication of Polly and the unauthorised ‘adoption’. She couldn’t see how it could be seen as relevant. She sensed that Inspector Barry suspected her of not being completely candid but he didn’t press the point. She envisaged a conversation sometime in the future, she justifying her decision and being told ‘I’ll be the judge of what’s relevant, Mrs Quentin.’ Esme would have to disagree. Leonard Nicholson wanted that land; he had failed with his first plan and now he had an insane idea that he was going to get it through Gemma. There was nothing more to know that was going to alter that state of affairs.

  *

  Three hours passed and there was nothing. They had one false alarm when the telephone had shrilled and panicked them all. Esme had snatched up the receiver without allowing herself to think about who might be on the other end. In the event it was the bookshop in town to tell Esme that the book she’d ordered had arrived. Esme thanked the shop assistant and replaced the phone. They all breathed again.

  The clock ticked soothingly in the silence. Esme concentrated on it, trying to use its rhythm to calm her nerves. It was only part successful. She got up and began pacing. If the others were irritated by it, they kept their thoughts to themselves. Waiting for anything disagreeable was worse than the actual event but the strain of this was agonising. Esme remembered a similar feeling when watching Elizabeth and dealing with the uncertainty of when or whether she would wake up.

  The constable, a young man by the name of Harris, off
ered to make yet another cup of tea. Esme declined but Lucy accepted. He went off to the kitchen for the umpteenth time. Lucy watched him go and then took Esme on one side.

  ‘Surely he isn’t holding Gemma so that Polly will sign that document,’ she said in a low voice. ‘It wouldn’t be legally valid, under those circumstances. He must have something else up his sleeve.’

  They heard the constable’s radio crackle in the kitchen and his voice answering. Esme and Lucy exchanged glances and anxiously turned towards the kitchen. Constable Harris emerged but without the smiling face that the women had hoped for. At least he didn’t look distraught.

  ‘Any news?’ asked Esme.

  ‘CCTV footage at the hospital shows Miss Holland getting in to a car after she left the building.’

  An idea flashed into Esme’s head. ‘What sort of car was it?’

  P.C. Harris consulted his notebook. ‘Black Audi A6.’

  ‘With tinted windows?’

  The constable nodded. ‘That’s right.’

  ‘What is it?’ asked Lucy urgently.

  ‘I’ve seen it around here a few times recently. That’s if it’s the same one.’

  ‘You didn’t report it?’ said the constable.

  ‘What was there to report? I thought it was the new people down the lane.’ Esme thought about the black car which had tried to ram her as she was coming out of Wisteria House but there didn’t seem much point in mentioning it now. She had nothing to add, no registration number, no driver description. She shuddered at the thought that she might have been so close to Leonard Nicholson.

  ‘Did Gemma get in to this car of her own accord?’ she asked the policeman.

  ‘Nothing to suggest otherwise.’

  Esme frowned. ‘Why would she get into his car?’

  ‘Perhaps he spun her a line?’ suggested Lucy.