“My grandad has to come here every Thursday, for chemo,” said Connie.
“Sorry to hear about that.”
“Thanks. But I know my way around. I try and bring him, when I can.”
“That’s why you always ask for Thursday as your day off.”
“Yeah.”
“Right. Direct me, then.”
They wove their way through the maze surrounding the hospital, and eventually found a car park which was probably further away than if they’d walked from the station. Zoe drummed her fingers on the steering wheel as the queue inched forwards.
“This is useless,” she muttered. “I wish they’d give us priority.”
“I’ve seen police cars parked up with the ambulances.”
“Those are squad cars. This thing’s just mine. No way they’ll let me park there.”
“It’s nice. Your car.”
Zoe glanced in the rearview mirror. The woman in the car behind stared back at her. “Thanks. Not many people say that. It’s another reminder of my dad.”
“Sounds like you loved him a lot.”
“I did. He worked at the old Longbridge plant, back when it was the beating heart of the British car industry. This is my connection to him.”
“My dad works in a coffee shop.”
“You’re the first person I’ve met whose dad’s a barista.”
“He was laid off from his job at the council last year. He actually quite likes it.”
“Good for him.” Zoe looked at Connie. “You live at home?”
“I can’t exactly afford my own place on a police salary.”
“No.” Zoe remembered what it had been like when she was a pregnant DC with a boyfriend who’d turned out to be married and a mum who wanted nothing to do with her or her ‘bastard’. The house in Tiverton Road had been rundown and she’d only made ends meet with the help of a succession of lodgers. But it had been home for her and Nicholas. And she’d enjoyed having the students with them; it was a distraction from the job. Not to mention a source of free babysitting for night shifts.
“Here we are.” The barrier opened and they entered the car park. A space opened up next to them.
“That’s lucky,” said Connie.
Zoe parked and headed for the main entrance. The DC had no problem keeping up. She was fitter than her straining jacket would have you believe.
At the front desk, Zoe asked for Irina Hamm. The receptionist shook her head. “You’ll have to be more specific than that.”
“All I know is she was brought in here overnight. She was attacked.”
The receptionist shrugged. “That doesn’t help me, I’m afraid. Which ward is she on?”
Zoe turned to Connie. “Why didn’t Lesley tell me?”
“She’d have gone to A&E first,” said Connie. “Maybe they’ll know.”
“OK. Where the hell is A&E?”
“Follow me.”
Chapter Forty-Four
Irina Hamm turned out to be in the trauma ward, back in the building where they’d started. At the nurse’s station they waited for the skinny Sister to come off the phone.
At last she hung up. “What can I do for you?”
Zoe flashed her warrant card. “Detective Inspector Zoe Finch, Detective Constable Connie Williams. We’re here to see Irina Hamm.”
The nurse sucked her teeth. “Poor girl. Someone gave her quite a workup. She’ll be going home once Mr Jakes has signed her off.”
“Who’s Mr Jakes?”
“The consultant. He’s doing his rounds. He doesn’t like it when he’s interrupted.”
“How long will he be?”
“Could be five minutes, could be thirty.”
“This is about a murder investigation. We have to speak to her now.”
“I’m sure you do. But we have to look after her. I’ll tell him you’re here. He might be lenient.”
Zoe ground her teeth as she watched the nurse push through a set of doors. Lenient. What was this, primary school?
“Come on,” she muttered. She grabbed Connie’s sleeve and pulled her towards the doors.
“What are you doing?”
“Interviewing a witness.”
“But they said—”
“D’you know what consultants do on their rounds?”
Connie shook her head.
“They stroll around the ward, dishing out jokes and inane comments like they’re some kind of demi-god. It can take hours. I went out with a junior doctor once. Come to think of it, he’s probably a consultant now. Might even work here…” She shook her head. “No. It didn’t end well. Keep your head down and we’ll be in and out before they’ve noticed.”
Connie spluttered as Zoe half-dragged her through the doors. The nurse they’d spoken to was halfway along the ward, opening a door. She went inside and closed it behind her. Zoe hoped that wasn’t Irina’s room.
“How do we find her?” hissed Connie.
“There’s eight rooms in this ward. I checked the board at the nurses’ station. Six beds in each room. Three of the rooms have got men in them, so that leaves five. I’ll take the three this side, you take those two. Don’t go in if the consultant and his entourage are in there.”
“What if we get caught?”
“What are they going to do, anaesthetise us and take our appendixes out? It’ll be fine.”
Connie didn’t look convinced.
“Very well. You stay behind me.”
They crept along the corridor. Zoe peered into the first room. Four beds were occupied, one empty and the other had its curtains drawn. All the women she could see were too old.
“Next one.”
They scooted to the next door, Connie’s breath loud in Zoe’s ear. She looked through the glass.
“Someone’s coming,” whispered Connie. Zoe turned to see a nurse coming out of a door they hadn’t checked yet.
“Quick, in here.”
She yanked Connie into the room and closed the door behind them.
In front of them were six beds. Two were empty and two held middle-aged Asian women, both watching TV.
“Let’s check the curtains.”
She tweaked the first curtain to find an elderly woman snoring inside. She wrinkled her nose, remembering her mum’s snoring that had kept her awake as a child.
“I think I’ve found her.” Connie stood by to the next bed, her hand on the curtain. She was trembling.
“Good work, Connie.” Zoe flicked the curtain aside and looked in.
The woman in the bed was young and skinny. She had head and face injuries that looked twice as bad in the flesh as they had onscreen in the meeting room.
“Jeez. They’re planning on sending her home?” Zoe whispered. She closed the curtain behind her and felt Connie stumble into her back. Irina looked up. Her eyes widened.
Zoe held up her warrant card. “It’s OK. Don’t worry. We’re police. We’re here to ask you some questions.”
Irina nodded, her mouth open. She flicked her gaze towards the curtains.
“Can you keep a look out?” Zoe asked Connie. Connie made a tiny gap in the curtains and put her eye to it.
Zoe grabbed the metal chair next to the bed and pulled it closer to Irina. She tried not to show her reaction to those injuries. The poor woman would have bad scarring.
“Hello Irina. My name’s Zoe. I hope you don’t mind me coming and chatting to you like this?”
“Hi, Zoe.”
“Do you speak English?”
A crease formed above Irina’s nose. “Of course.”
“Good. I need to ask you about the break-in at your flat. The person who did this to you.” She gestured at Irina’s face then regretted it.
Irina brought a finger up to touch her cheek. She tensed. Zoe could almost feel the pain.
“Can you tell me what happened?” She looked at Connie, who nodded. “Quick as you can, please.”
“Yes. Of course. I was at the flat, cooking dinner. Stroganoff. It�
��s Trevor’s favourite. I cook it in batch when he’s not home.”
Zoe clenched her fists. This was going to take too long.
“There was a knock at the door. We live five floors up, in the penthouse. Is a very good view. Of the city.”
“Nice. Did you go to the door?”
“No. Of course not. We have camera.”
“So you checked the camera, and…?”
“It was a man. I did not know him. I told him to go away.”
“And did he?”
“I didn’t wait to find out. I go, I went, back to my stroganoff. Beef was burning.”
“Then what?”
“Then I hear noises. Banging. I went to investigate, and next thing I know I’m on the floor being hit around head.”
“Did you see who was doing it?”
“Two men. Wearing hoods. I not see any more.” She raised a finger again, then stopped before making contact with her skin.
“Do you know if they took anything? Any artwork?”
Irina shook her head and paled. “Ow. I don’t know.”
“Uh-oh,” said Connie. “Someone’s coming.”
“I’ve got to go,” said Zoe. “How can I contact your husband?”
“Why?”
“He might know about the paintings. He’ll want to know what’s happened to you.”
“We had, how do you say it, row. He has gone away on business.”
“When was that?” Zoe asked.
“Thursday? I think Thursday, yes.”
“And you haven’t seen him since.”
“Just on Facetime. He tell me he’s in Scotland”
“D’you know where in Scotland?” Zoe whispered. She heard a voice from somewhere beyond the curtain. A woman.
Irina shook her head. “Am I in trouble?”
“No. Of course not. Here’s my card.”
“Force CID. I know that.”
“How?”
A shrug. “I saw card like this before.”
“Has one of my colleagues been to see you?”
“No. In apartment. I was tidying Trevor’s desk.”
The voice outside the curtain grew louder. Two women were having a conversation. One was asking the other what medicine she needed.
Connie was next to her now, her eyes wide. She gripped Zoe’s shoulder.
“Do you remember a name, on the card?” Zoe asked Irina.
“No.” Irina narrowed her eyes. “Yes. It was David something.”
“David?”
“Or Donald. No, it was David. I remember because I am a fan of Craig David.”
“Thank you. Did you know why your husband had it?”
“No. It was gone next time I looked.”
“Thank you.”
“I told you to wait until rounds were over.”
Zoe turned to the nurse, pasting on her most confident smile. “Your colleague let us in. She said that Mr Jakes had already finished in this room.”
Doubt flickered across her face. “Which colleague?”
Zoe stood up. “I didn’t get her name, sorry. But we’re done here. Thank you for your help.”
“I didn’t—”
“I know,” said Zoe. She put a hand in the small of Connie’s back and guided her out of the room.
Chapter Forty-Five
Zoe clattered back into the police station, Connie right behind her.
“Thanks,” she muttered to the constable. “You go back to the office. I’ll be right with you.”
First there was the letter, then Carl’s allegations about Randle being linked to Canary. Now this. She couldn’t keep this to herself any longer.
She made her way to Lesley’s office. She was stopped by Trish Bright halfway there.
“Ma’am.”
“Hello, PC Bright. Not at the Jackson house?”
“Just on my way there. I wanted to say thank you for putting me forward for the FLO role.”
“I didn’t.”
“Oh. Detective Chief Inspector Randle said you did.”
“Well, that’s nice of him. And I’m sure it was a good choice.”
“Yes, ma’am.” Bright hurried forward, looking as if she wished she was somewhere else.
“Hang on. Trish?”
“Yes?”
“You’ve been at the house. Has he got you watching Margaret Jackson?”
A blush. “I’m not spying on her, if that’s what you mean.”
“Course not. But part of the FLO job is to watch for odd behaviour in the family. Have you seen anything odd?”
“Apart from her sleeping in the spare room, no.”
“Why would she do that?”
“Not sure. Maybe she can’t face sleeping in the bed that the Assistant Chief Constable slept in.”
“Maybe. Nothing else odd? She hasn’t been looking for anything, hiding anything?”
“She went up to the box room. The one you were going through.”
“Did she find anything up there?”
“It was empty. You had all the boxes brought here.”
Zoe wondered if the room had any hiding places she hadn’t spotted. An eaves room like that could.
“OK. Thanks, PC Bright.”
“Pleasure.”
She reached Lesley’s office and pushed the door open.
“Zoe. What brings you here?”
Randle was in the centre of the room, standing next to Lesley. Sitting to one side of the solitary desk behind them was Carl. He looked at Zoe, his eyes sharp.
“I, er, I wanted to report back to Lesley on my conversation with Irina Hamm.”
“Good.” Randle perched on the desk. Lesley sniffed but said nothing. “Let’s all hear it,” he said.
“OK.” Zoe brushed her hands down her jeans. “Well, she didn’t say much. Someone came to her door, she told them to go away, then next thing she heard noises and they were on her.”
“Did she see her attacker?” asked Lesley.
“There were two of them, faces hidden.” Zoe wished she’d stopped to take notes. She’d have to confer with Connie later. “But she didn’t know anything about any artwork.”
“We’ve checked the flat,” said Lesley. “There’s a painting missing, from what we can tell. But there’s another one in its place.”
“What?”
“The spaces, on the wall. A picture leaves a shadow, when it’s been there long enough,” said Carl. Zoe gave him an I knew that look. “The new one is too small.”
“So maybe she liked moving her artwork around.”
“The new one was a Diebenkorn,” said Carl.
“The one from the Jacksons’?” Zoe wished Connie was with her.
“We don’t know. We’re comparing measurements now.”
“Good. But I don’t see how someone breaking into the Hamm apartment would relate to Simon Adams stealing the painting for Hamm.”
“Maybe the break-in was staged,” said Lesley. “Maybe it wasn’t an art theft at all, but an attack on Irina. If Hamm was in on it, who knows? Did she say where he is?”
Zoe eyed Randle. He was unusually quiet.
“She said they’d had a row. He’d gone away on business.”
“Then we need to track him down,” said Lesley. She moved around the desk and sat down. “Carl, I want you to access credit card records. Find out if he has any other phones. If he’s used an airport or a railway station, we’ll find him.”
“Er, Lesley,” said David. “I think you’re forgetting something.”
“What? Let’s find out what Adams’s movements were in the last week, too. That might help.”
“Adams has an alibi for Saturday night,” said Carl. “He was at the bookies on Corporation Street. He’s got receipts.”
“Damn. But I doubt he works alone.”
Randle folded his arms across his chest. “Lesley.”
“What?”
“I’m SIO on this case. Are you planning on consulting me before you start allocating resources wi
lly-nilly?”
Lesley cocked her head. “David, do I have your approval to get DC Whaley to investigate Trevor Hamm and Simon Adams?”
David eyeballed her. He glanced at Zoe, then at Carl. Carl stared back.
“Yes, Lesley. Just for today. But don’t take it too far, alright?”
Chapter Forty-Six
Zoe left Lesley’s office, heading back for her own team.
“Zoe. Stop.”
Carl was behind her, a hand on the door to the office.
“What now?”
“What was all that about?”
“What was all what about?”
“You didn’t come running in there just to tell Lesley that you’d talked to Irina Hamm. I could see it in your eyes.”
“Just leave me alone, will you.” She picked up pace.
He followed. They passed two admin staff, laughing between themselves. Zoe gave them a smile.
“In here.” Carl dived into an empty office. Zoe stood in the doorway.
“No,” she said. “I’m not doing this. Skulking around, acting like a couple of school kids. Just let me get on with my job.”
“You were going to tell Lesley something, weren’t you?”
“No.”
“You were. You brushed your eye with your hand when you said that. You do it when you’re nervous.”
“Have you been watching me?”
“I’m a detective. It’s my job to observe behaviour.”
“Well, stop observing mine.” She closed the door and headed along the corridor.
“You know where I am, if you change your mind,” he called, as she rounded a corner. Mo was coming the other way. He gave her a look of surprise then peered round the corner.
“Carl Whaley?” he said.
“It’s nothing. Has Connie been in?”
“Yes. I was looking for you. I think we should go back to the Jackson house.”
“Why?”
“That box room. It was in the eaves, you said.”
“Yes.”
“Did you notice any hidden doors? Any extra storage under the roofline?”
“No.” Zoe tried to remember but she’d been too focused on the boxes, and on her surprise at finding Margaret up there.
“I’ve been looking at the photos,” Mo said. “There’s a door. Two of them. Built into the panelling in the eaves. I think we should check them.”
Deadly Wishes (Detective Zoe Finch Book 1) Page 15