Gregson's smile was tinged with melancholy. "You keep that optimism, Haskell, if it's what helps you sleep at night. But I've seen too many happy endings soured by reality to be so naïve. I'll still call this a win if we manage to bring this boy back to his parents so they can at least say goodbye."
Drew fought back the desire to ask his boss just what he was talking about. They were all too aware of the many sad cases of missing children who were never returned alive to their loved ones. Their names were seared into the memories of everyone who had ever heard a whisper of their cases, their smiling faces instantly recognisable every time they appeared on a true crime documentary about predators. Gregson might consider it to be naïve optimism that allowed him to sleep at night, but as far as Drew was concerned, to think of it any other way was too much like giving up. And that was something he wasn't willing to do.
Stepping out into the main office, Drew headed toward a vivid-red-haired woman who seemed to be in charge of the others who had arrived with her.
"DI Drew Haskell, we're glad to have you here," he said, holding his hand out toward her. She glanced down at it, before returning her attention to his face. She took his hand swiftly, her grip fleeting before she withdrew her hand and curled her fingers into a fist at her side.
"My name is Jodie Meakin. I'm an analyst with the NCA." She paused and surveyed the space. "Is there somewhere we can set up our computers? Perhaps somewhere a little more private?" She raised an eyebrow at him speculatively. Her rich brown eyes sparkled with intelligence behind her blue framed glasses.
Drew nodded and gestured for her and the others to follow him across the hall. The floor they'd been assigned as part of the new task force came with extra square footage that they hadn't found any use for, but Drew had a feeling that Jodie and her cohorts would appreciate it.
She appraised the room on the opposite side of the corridor. "We can use this entire space?" The question was framed casually, but Drew could sense the underlying tension that coloured her words.
"Of course. Like I said, we're grateful for your assistance. We want to bring Oliver home as quickly as possible, and I know we'll do that all the more smoothly with your help."
She gave him a once over, but seemed almost disappointed when she couldn't find the least hint of dis-ingenuity in his demeanour. "I'll be in charge of the others here, at least until our boss can make his way over from headquarters." Drew noted the way she said the word boss, as though in that one word alone she could adequately describe her loathing for the person she worked for.
"And they'll be here when?"
"He'll be here in about an hour, and he'll expect us to have set everything up here." Her gaze flickered shyly to Drew's face, but she never met his gaze. "If you could have someone send over all the files we need to get a head start on, I can put everyone to work on this end."
"Of course," Drew amicably. He gave Jodie a wide smile, which seemed to cause a bright flush to spread beneath her tawny complexion. He paused in the doorway, watching her work to organise the desks and space to her particular liking. When she caught him studying them, the flush returned, spreading up the back of her neck before it crept into her cheeks and she ducked her attention back to a large black box she'd opened.
Leaving them to prepare, Drew returned to his own office. "Olivia," Drew called the DC over to his side. "Can you liaise with the NCA analysts that are setting up in the spare conference room? Get them everything they need to get started."
She nodded, her smile brightening as she caught sight of the hive of activity in the room opposite. “Got it, Guv. Oh, and we’ve got some people coming in later for a chat.” She glanced down at a notepad in her hand. “A Mr Andrews, he’s a teacher from the local school where Oliver goes. According to Mrs Poole he has quite a good rapport with the boy. And we’ve got a Tilly Mayhew due in the next hour. She works with the scouts and Oliver was a member of the troop.”
“That’s good work,” Drew said. “Think you and Green can handle it?”
Olivia’s grin grew wider. “Of course, Guv.”
"Sir, I've got the name of the caretaker from Oliver's school," Maz's voice tugged Drew’s attention from Olivia with a jolt.
"Then we should pay him a visit, see what he's been up to."
“Sir, what should I do with the people coming in for interview?”
“I’m sure you can handle them,” Drew said. “Get some background on them and bring Green with you.” Olivia nodded and took off towards the NCA group.
Maz's expression was eager as he pushed up from his chair, and slipped his jacket on, and Drew didn't have the heart to tell him he'd have preferred to bring Harriet along for the conversation. He tossed the keys to Maz, who had beat him to the door. "I want to pick up Dr Quinn." The irritation that flashed across Maz's face wasn't lost on Drew, but he chose to ignore it. Arya was a good cop, but he still had a lot to learn, and some things you could only learn through experience. The more time he got to see Harriet in action, the more he would benefit from her astute observations, and if that made him a better detective then Drew could see no downsides to the situation.
Chapter Twenty-Four
Fat snowflakes had started to fall, coating everything in their path in a fluffy white blanket. Harriet sat behind the steering wheel of her car, watching as the flakes gathered on the windscreen, obscuring her view of The Hermitage Hospital where her mother resided. The last time she'd called to see her, she'd been turned away on Dr Connors’ orders.
But that was then. She wasn’t going to allow him to keep her at arm’s length. Pushing open the car door, she discarded her phone on the passenger seat before she dropped her paperwork on top to conceal it. Clutching her bag to her chest, she paused, allowing the heavy flakes to settle on her face and in her eyelashes, as she scanned the windows of the white building before her. Apprehension caused her heart to pick up its pace in her chest. The building had always reminded her of a prison rather than the hospital it was. The more times she was forced to return here, the image became cemented deeper into her mind.
Of course, it wasn't just a prison for those who lingered within its walls. For Harriet it was just as much a mental prison, as it was a physical one to those who were forced to stay against their will; for no matter how often Harriet left, she couldn't shake the feeling that she was leaving little pieces of herself inside the walls to linger with the lonely souls trapped inside.
It would be easier to turn away now. To simply slide back in behind the wheel and drive away from here. But that would only make it all the more difficult to come back. Over the years, she'd slid into a kind of routine in visiting her mother. It was easier to do something when you didn't have to think about it first. And she'd spent a lot of time not thinking about her mother, and all the traumatic baggage that her existence inevitably brought to the surface in Harriet's mind.
Some people found solace in abandoning all ties with those from their past who had hurt them; both physically and emotionally. Others felt it was necessary to their recovery to face their tormentors. So which category did she fall into? The mere fact that she stood here precluded her from being in the first group, but Harriet was also fairly certain she didn't belong to the second set either.
Sucking in a deep breath, she tucked a strand of dark hair behind her ear before she started up toward the front door. The reception was empty when she pushed inside, Harriet wasn't sure if she should feel relieved or disappointed by this fact. Perhaps if there had been others around it would have made it easier to slip away under the pretence that she would be disrupting the hard won equilibrium in the hospital.
The door behind the reception desk clicked open and a familiar woman appeared with a cup of steaming tea clutched in her hands. The receptionist glanced up, and Harriet noted the way in which the familiar woman's expression hardened.
"I didn't think you'd come back here," Clara said, her voice abrupt.
"Why would you think that?" The question slipped out
before Harriet could stop it. There were all manner of possible answers, but Harriet had the sneaking suspicion that whatever Clara's reasoning happened to be, it wouldn't be something pleasant.
"You know he's been suspended because of your lies?"
Harriet shook her head and squared her shoulders. "I hadn’t heard."
"He never did anything but good in this place. It's not just the staff who miss him, but the patients do as well. You're supposed to be a doctor, you should know the damage that can be done to such fragile mental states."
"I'm here to see Allison. I didn't come here to debate whether Dr Connors was fit for purpose or not."
"She's not here," Clara said. There was a cold glint in her eyes that suggested she was more than happy to be the bearer of such shocking news.
"I don't understand," Harriet stumbled over the words. Dr Connors had threatened to have her mother moved, but she'd never thought he would genuinely achieve his goals. "If she's not here, then where is she? And why wasn't I informed?"
Clara glanced down at the keyboard in front of her; her fingers moved quickly over the keys, her merlot gel-nails reflected the overhead lighting and served only to enhance the sensation of nausea that grew within Harriet. A couple of keystrokes later, and Clara glanced up at her. "She's in the hospital for a routine appointment."
Relief flooded through Harriet's body, and her shoulders sagged as she leaned against the edge of the reception desk. "And when is she due back?"
"It doesn't say here," Clara said. "But you know how these things are."
Harriet nodded. "I still don't understand why I wasn't informed of her appointment."
"She opted not to inform you," Clara said smartly. "The patients here are entitled to their privacy, and you are not a physician on staff here."
"Can I have the name of the doctor in charge of her care now that Dr Connors has been suspended?"
Clara's expression soured, and for a brief moment Harriet wondered if perhaps the other woman would refuse to give her the information she'd asked for. Instead, Clara sighed dramatically, and her fingers flew over the keyboard a second time. "Dr Joseph Parvin." Clara leaned back in the chair and eyed Harriet over the top of the desk. "Would you like me to arrange an appointment for you to see him?"
Harriet nodded and held her bag a little tighter as she waited for Clara to pass the information over to her. "Fine. Friday afternoon at 2pm. He'll see you here, in his office. I've sent the relevant information to you in an email."
"Thank you," Harriet said, feeling somewhat at a loss now that she knew she wouldn't be getting in to see Allison. Dejected, Harriet made her way from The Hermitage. As she stepped out into the cold, brisk December air, she drew her coat in around her body tightly as the snowflakes fell steadily around her. She hurried across the car park and slipped into the driver's seat in time to hear the last pathetic bleep of her phone as a message came through.
Ignoring the sound, she chaffed her hands together in an attempt to bring some warmth back to her icy fingers. It seemed Dr Connors’ wish to keep her from her mother had--at least for now--been granted.
Reaching over to the passenger seat, she scooped her phone up and without looking at the screen she hit redial.
The phone rang for a moment before Drew's gruff voice greeted her. "Where are you?"
Harriet felt a smile tugging at the corner of her lips as she watched her footprints disappearing steadily beneath the snowfall. "I'm out at The Hermitage Hospital," she said, slipping smoothly into the flow of conversation.
“How long will it take you to make it to Darkby?” There was an eagerness in Drew’s voice that caught Harriet’s attention.
“You’ve found something?”
He sighed, the sound drifting down the line. “We don’t know yet, but it’s definitely something worth looking into. I’d like your opinion if you’re up for it?”
“Of course,” Harriet said, sliding the keys into the ignition. “I might take a little longer because of the snow, but I’ll be there as fast as I can. Can you send me the postcode?” Her phone bleeped as she spoke.
“Already done,” Drew said briskly. “We’ll wait for you.” The line went dead. Harriet scrolled through the messages, her emotions electrified as she typed the postcode into her SatNav. Perhaps she was wrong to be so sceptical about finding the Poole boy safe. With that in mind, she pulled out of the car space and turned the car in the direction of Darkby.
An hour later, Harriet parked in front of a small house on the outskirts of Darkby. Drew stepped out of the car ahead of her as she killed the engine and gathered her belongings from the passenger seat. His expression was grim as she stepped out of the car and met him on the road.
"Are you going to tell me what we're doing here?"
Maz had followed Drew's lead, and he stood back from them, his hands behind his back. Despite being the picture of ease, Harriet could feel the tension that rolled off him like mist rolling off a lake in the summer heat.
"This is the last known address we've got for a John Taylor."
Harriet raised an eyebrow at Drew. "Should I know who that is?"
"The caretaker from Oliver's school," Drew said. "He used to look after the grounds surrounding Darkby Primary school."
"I was under the impression from Mrs Poole that he was in prison." Harriet couldn't keep the surprise from her voice.
Shaking his head, Drew glanced up at the house. "No. Maz checked it up, he never served any jail time. He received a community order, mandatory therapy, and was placed on the register for ten years."
Harriet sucked a sharp breath in through her teeth. The work she had done when she'd started out her career in forensic psychology had put her face to face with a number of sexually motivated criminal offenders. The most complex of which had always been the paedophiles and child molesters, and those who preyed on the young and the vulnerable. The interviews she'd conducted with them still haunted her; their crimes, the stuff of nightmares. But the nature of her work dictated that she not sit in judgement, no matter how abhorrent their crimes were to her. After all, it was the duty of the legal system to pass judgement over them. But as much as she'd tried to remain neutral, she'd found it difficult to wrap her mind around the seemingly lenient sentences they received.
It seemed John Taylor was one of many to benefit from an overwrought and under funded system.
"Are you all right?" Drew's voice cut through her thoughts, pulling her back to the present.
"Sorry, I'm fine. I was miles away."
"Anything you want to share?"
Harriet shook her head. "Not right now." She smiled to soften her words.
"Right, this is just a chat," Drew said, addressing Harriet and Maz. "We don't have any evidence to suggest he knows anything regarding Oliver Poole's disappearance."
"But come on, sir. Are we supposed to just ignore his history with the victim?" Maz's interjection was something Harriet had already thought of herself. In her line of work, the experiences of the patient were vitally important. It allowed you to create an overall picture of their mental state.
"He was tried and convicted for it," Drew said. "He did his time. It's not our job to question that."
"But--"
"No buts, Maz. We're here to follow up on the current case. Sure, his past has some bearing on the situation, but we can't allow that to cloud our judgements."
Harriet could tell from Maz's expression that he was less than impressed with his SIO's orders. But if he had any other objections to the matter, he kept them to himself.
Drew led them through the small, rickety front gate. The path to the front door was strewn with weeds, and grass that sprouted up between the cracks in the paving slabs which lent the place an overall unkempt air. As she followed Maz, the familiar prickle of being watched started up, but she fought the urge to glance up at the windows at the front of the house.
Pausing next to Drew, she waited as he rapped roughly on the front door. From their position
outside, Harriet could make out the sound of a television playing some kind of daytime game show from within the bowels of the building. Drew knocked again, this time a little more forcefully so that the door rattled in its framework.
The sound of the television disappeared and a couple of moments later the net curtain covering the glass on the front door twitched aside to reveal a face creased with age. The woman's mouth turned down in a moue of distaste as she raked her gaze over Drew standing directly in front of the door.
"What do you lot want?" The irritation in her voice was only slightly muffled by the door that stood between them.
"I'm DI Drew Haskell, and these are my colleagues DS Maz Arya, and Dr Harriet Quinn," Drew said swiftly. "We're looking for John Taylor." There was no denying the note of authority in Drew's voice. Harriet admired his ability to turn it on and off as the situation dictated. Perhaps it was something they taught in police training, although Harriet had her doubts about it. As far as she was concerned, it was something entirely unique to Drew and his abilities as a police officer.
"He's not here," came the gruff reply. The net dropped back into place, and Harriet felt the tension knot in the back of her neck as Drew glanced over his shoulder at them.
"Can you tell us where he is?" Drew raised his voice, ensuring it would carry through the partially rotted door. He got his answer in the form of a bolt sliding open before the door swung inwards to reveal the woman they'd been speaking to through the door. She stood framed in the doorway, leaning heavily on a metal cane.
"What do you want with John?" She threw a cursory glance in Harriet and Maz's direction before she narrowed her watery blue eyes at Drew. "He hasn't done anything." Mrs Taylor shifted from one foot to the other and a look of discomfort passed swiftly over her face.
"We just want to speak to him," Drew said amicably.
"That's what you lot said last time, and then you destroyed his life. He lost his job, you know?"
Hunting the Silence: The Yorkshire Murders (DI Haskell & Quinn Crime Thriller Series Book 4) Page 14