by JANICE FROST
Chapter 12
“Marcus Collins and Caitlin Forest were going out together?” Ava stared at PJ.
“Have Marcus brought in for questioning,” Neal said. Then PC Winters knocked on the door.
“Sir, I thought you’d like to know that a patrol car answered a disturbance call from Leon Warrior’s neighbour about an hour ago. Laurence Brand’s been arrested for chucking a brick through Warrior’s window and assaulting him. Both Brand and Warrior were injured. They’ve been taken to the county hospital for treatment.”
“It’s all happening,” PJ said cheerfully. “I take it you two are off to the hospital? I’ll arrange for Marcus Collins to be brought in.”
“Thanks, Peej,” Ava said, and reached for her coat.
The county hospital lay to the north-east of the city on a sprawling site that had housed a hospital in one form or another since the eighteenth century.
Ava parked in the visitor car park. She and Neal entered the accident-and-emergency waiting area. Both had been here many times before and the receptionist recognised them.
“Mr Warrior and Mr Brand are both in treatment rooms,” the receptionist informed them. “I’m sorry, I don’t have any information on their condition, but if you take a seat I’ll find out for you.”
“Let’s sit over there away from the TV screen,” Neal said. He pointed to a row of chairs off the main seating area. Ava was happy to follow him. The screen was showing one of those property programmes that seemed to be on all the time. Further from the TV screen, they had a little bit of privacy.
They sat waiting. A couple of paramedics wheeled past a young woman on a stretcher. There had been little time to talk on the short journey to the hospital.
“I just can’t picture Laurence Brand chucking a brick through Leon’s window and attacking him,” Ava said. “He seems such a mild-mannered person, gentle almost. Not that you can ever really tell, of course.”
“You’re right though. Brand didn’t seem as though he’d have it in him to run amok. Mind you, he does seem a nervous type. Perhaps there’s some underlying condition we don’t know about,” said Neal.
“You mean a mental health issue?”
Neal nodded.
“If so, something must have pushed him over the edge. Grief over Mitchell’s death? They were good friends, Brand and Mitchell. You don’t think Laurence Brand thinks Warrior killed Mitchell, do you?”
"Mmm . . .”
“Fancy a coffee?” Ava asked. “There’s a little WRVS café just along the corridor.”
“No thanks. But you go ahead.”
“I won’t bother. Probably only got instant.”
“How is it working out, having your brother to stay?”
Neal’s question took Ava by surprise. In the past couple of days all their conversations had focused on work. Neal seemed to be awkward with her, and it wasn’t all to do with her behaviour on their last case.
“All good, so far. Ollie’s pretty easy going. He went through a bad time at his last school and living with Mum was getting to him a bit. Now that he’s less uptight about things, he’s really coming on.”
“What school is he in?”
“Er . . . actually, he’s at Montgomery Carstairs — you know, the grammar school out on Burnley Road.”
“Ah.”
“I know you’re not keen on grammar schools, sir. It’s just . . . Ollie’s really bright and . . .”
“Who said I was against grammar schools?”
Ava coloured. “Well, it’s just that you’re always going on about private education and how unfair it is. And everyone knows your views on the Tories, sir.”
Neal actually laughed. “Everyone seems to know my views on a lot of things. Perhaps I should be more careful about airing my opinions.”
“Well, you are Scottish, sir. Maybe people just make assumptions. A Scottish Tory’s a bit of an oxymoron, isn’t it?”
“It’s certainly that. For the record, if your brother is happy and thriving at his choice of school, that’s all you need to be concerned about.”
“He is.”
“Good.” They were quiet for a few moments, then Neal said, “Ava, there’s something I’ve been meaning to ask . . .”
Ava tensed.
At that moment, a young doctor walked towards them and held out his hand. “Dr Joel Agard. I’ve been looking after Mr Warrior and Mr Brand. Would you like to come with me? There’s a room where we can talk privately.”
Dr Agard led them to a small consulting room. He perched on the edge of a trolley bed, leaving two seats free for Neal and Ava. Ava thought he was very easy on the eye, as PJ might say. He was a tall man, dark-skinned and well-toned in his crisp white shirt and tailored trousers.
“Mr Brand’s injuries were not serious. He required three stitches to a cut on his cheek and stitches to cuts on his hands. There were also a number of other minor cuts to his hands, which we’ve cleaned and dressed. As for his mental condition, he’s told us that he suffers from a mild form of bipolar disorder — his description, not mine — and that sometimes he gets things out of proportion. I’m not really qualified to comment on that, but we can have a psych evaluation carried out if it proves necessary.”
Neal nodded.
“Mr Warrior’s condition is not serious either. Again it’s a case of cuts and scratches from crawling over broken glass, but he did take a nasty blow to the face from the brick thrown by Mr Brand. Additionally, Mr Warrior suffered an asthma attack and we’d like to see him stabilised prior to discharge. He’ll probably be in overnight.”
“We’d like to question them both as soon as possible,” Neal said. “Is that convenient?”
“You can speak with Mr Brand now. One of your officers is still with him. Apparently Mr Warrior has said that he doesn’t intend to press charges. He said it was all a misunderstanding.”
“Right,” Neal said. “Shame their ‘misunderstanding’ couldn’t have been resolved without resorting to violence.” He turned to Ava. “Let’s speak to Brand now.”
Dr Agard took them to the emergency treatment room. In a curtained cubicle Laurence Brand was sitting up in bed, looking drowsy. A police constable was standing nearby, chatting with a nurse. Neal and Ava gave him a nod as they entered the cubicle.
Brand looked like he had been in a bare knuckle fight. His face was cut and bruised, his hands bandaged and he was clearly woozy from the effect of painkillers. Ava felt a stab of sympathy for him. She was still unable to reconcile her impression of this soft-spoken man with the brick-wielding menace he had become.
“Mr Brand,” she said. He opened his eyes. “DS Ava Merry and DI Neal. We’d like to ask you a few questions.”
“I’m ashamed,” said Brand quietly.
“We’re aware that you have a . . . mental health condition,” Ava began.
“That doesn’t excuse my behaviour. I don’t know what came over me. You must believe me, officers. I’m not a violent man.”
“Mr Warrior isn’t going to press charges,” Ava said, “but we’d like to know what was behind your actions this morning. Have they anything to do with Mr Mitchell’s murder?”
“I . . . I made a discovery about Leon this morning that upset me greatly. What I don’t understand is why it made me act the way I did.” Brand sighed. “Leon betrayed Gray. That dear, gentle man who thought Leon loved him as much as he loved Leon. Gray left his career and his country to be with Leon . . .”
“Are you saying Leon was seeing someone else?” said Ava.
Brand nodded. “A young man. I saw him at Leon’s bedroom window this morning. He was quite obviously naked. He was hiding behind the curtain, but I saw him plain as day. And Leon . . . when he answered the door, he looked so . . . guilty.”
“Do you have any idea how long Leon had been seeing this young man?”
Brand shook his head. “I don’t know. But it hardly matters, does it? Gray’s hardly been dead a fortnight. It’s . . . it’s shameful.”
>
“It’s possible it was a one-off, that Mr Warrior was seeking solace.”
“You’re very young, Sergeant. Perhaps you don’t understand what it is to love . . .”
“Love isn’t the issue here,” Ava said, briskly. “I’m old enough to have seen that love can very easily turn to hate. I’m not a naïve young girl, Mr Brand. You can’t be in my line of work.”
Brand looked utterly miserable. His eyelids drooped. “Marcus . . .” he suddenly said, as if awakening from a dream.
“What about Marcus?” Ava looked at Neal.
“Nothing. I was dreaming,” Brand answered.
“Is there something you need to tell us, Mr Brand?” Neal asked. “Was Marcus Collins the young man you saw at Mr Warrior’s window?”
Brand stared at Neal. “Of course not. Marcus isn’t gay. As a matter of fact, he was seeing . . .”
Neal completed the sentence, “. . . Caitlin Forest.”
“How did you know that? I thought I was the only one who knew.”
“Never mind. Mr Brand, are you aware that this morning Caitlin Forest was found dead outside the building she lived in?”
“Yes, I heard. Poor girl,” Brand said. Then he looked from Neal to Ava. “No . . . you’re not thinking Marcus had anything to do with that! That’s preposterous. I’m teaching him Latin!”
Ava tried to suppress her smile.
“Marcus only told me last night. He kept getting his declensions muddled up. I knew something was on his mind and when I asked, he told me about Caitlin. She’d broken up with him earlier in the day and he was taking it badly. I told him there were plenty of other fish in the sea, but I think I upset him.”
Ava looked at Neal. Laurence Brand was obviously exhausted and emotionally wrung-out. Perhaps it was time to leave.
“Was there anything else you’d omitted to tell us, Mr Brand?” Neal asked.
Brand bowed his head, shaking it slightly. He was beginning to drift off again.
“Maxine . . .” he whispered, and then he was asleep.
“Let’s go,” Neal said. “We’re clearly not going to get anything more out of him.”
Outside the cubicle, Neal went to speak with one of the PCs who had brought Brand and Warrior to the hospital. Dr Agard joined Ava as soon as Neal left her side.
“Mr Brand’s wife just phoned to say she’s on her way here,” he said. Ava thanked him. “Did everything go OK in there?” Agard asked, nodding at the cubicle.
“He was pretty spaced out,” Ava said. “What have you been giving him?”
“Painkillers and some tranquilisers. He needed to calm down. I’ve checked with my boss and he’s advised doing a psychiatric assessment. It looks like Mr Brand will be staying in after all, just until we verify his diagnosis and reassess him.”
This seemed like a sensible precaution to Ava. There was no real reason for Agard to linger, but he seemed reluctant to move away. Ava could tell he was attracted to her. She wasn’t in any hurry for him to leave either. She glanced over at Neal. He was still talking to the PC but he looked up and caught her eye, then looked at Agard. Then he looked away. Ava felt conflicted for an instant, but she didn’t feel like analysing her feelings. Neal was her colleague. Agard was not, and he was clearly interested.
“Are you working the late shift?” she asked him, pointedly.
“No. I’ve been on for more hours than I can remember. I should be off by nine.”
“I guess you’ll be pretty tired by then, but if you’re not, I know a great place to unwind,” Ava said.
Predictably, he greeted her words with a smile of pleasure.
“The Cock and Spire? It’s on Maitland Street,” she said and tore a sheet from her notebook. “Call me when you’re free.” A quick glance in Neal’s direction told her he had not missed any of this.
Neal finished his conversation with the PC and strode back to join Ava and Agard. Agard looked embarrassed. He turned over a sheet on his clipboard, stammered something about having a patient to see and headed off towards an empty cubicle.
“See you later?” Ava called after him and the flustered doctor smiled and nodded. He hot-footed it in the direction of the treatment board.
“When you’ve finished sorting out your social life, we have Leon Warrior to question,” Neal said, dry as dust.
Ava followed behind him to a side ward, where Warrior was sitting up in bed. He was patched up just like his attacker. A nebuliser mask covered his nose and mouth, puffs of white mist clouding around his face.
Leon lifted it up. “Can you give me a couple of minutes? It’s almost finished.”
Ava brought a couple of orange plastic chairs from the corridor, and then disappeared again, returning with two cups of machine coffee. “Better than nothing,” she said to Neal.
Warrior removed the mask and flicked a switch beside his bed, and the hissing sound from the nebuliser stopped.
“That’s better. Got my breath again.”
“Take your time, Mr Warrior,” Neal said. “You’ve been through an unpleasant experience. May I ask why you decided not to press charges against Mr Brand?”
Warrior sighed. “It was a frightening experience, I’ll grant you. I’ve never seen Laurie like that before. He was like a man possessed. He and Gray were close and he thought I had been cheating on Gray. That and . . . well, I was thinking of Maxine.”
“Were you?” Ava asked. “Cheating on Gray?”
“DS Merry, always a pleasure.” Then, quietly, “Yes, I was seeing someone else. I suppose you’ll want his name?”
Ava was ready with her pen.
“Godfrey Hardy,” Leon said.
He spoke so quietly Ava had to ask him to repeat the name. “Address?” Ava asked.
He told her. “I was with him the night Gray died,” Warrior said.
“So your trip to London was an opportunity to be with this Godfrey?”
“ Yes,” Warrior said. “I met Godfrey when he came on one of my ghost tours. He was dressed as a Spacedrifters character — mine, actually. He’d read about my return to Stromford and sought me out.”
“Did Gray suspect?” Ava asked.
“I doubt it. Gray had a very trusting nature, bless him.”
“When were you planning on telling him?” Ava asked.
Warrior pulled himself up, wincing in pain. “I wasn’t. The thing with Godfrey would have run its course in a couple more weeks or months. Gray and I were for keeps. I don’t expect you to approve, but don’t judge me, Sergeant. Gay or straight, we all give into temptation.”
Ava coloured, thinking of her own indiscretions. This Leon Warrior did not seem to resemble the distraught, inconsolable man of a couple of days ago. Either his grief had been exaggerated, false even, or he was very practised at controlling his emotions. He was an actor, after all.
“One more thing, Mr Warrior . . .” Ava began.
“Are you going to ask me not to leave town?” Warrior said. His tone was one of amusement, but it was forced and he looked drained. No doubt, like Brand, he was full of pain pills.
“Were you aware that Mr Mitchell had also been seeing a young man in the weeks before his death?”
Leon Warrior looked at Neal. When Neal did not correct his sergeant, Warrior closed his eyes.
“I’ll take that as a no,” Ava said quietly.
* * *
Back in the car, Ava asked Neal for his thoughts on Warrior.
“Hard to make out, isn’t he?” Neal said. “I’m surprised he didn’t succeed better as an actor — he certainly keeps the real Leon under wraps. On Monday morning I’d have judged him a broken man. Today — well, who knows? I think he’s a vain man, certainly, self-centred, definitely. Sincere? Probably not, although he was right to point out that we are all susceptible to temptation. Some are more likely to succumb than others.”
Ava couldn’t help but take Neal’s last words personally, given her behaviour in their last case. But she suspected that Neal was also gettin
g in a dig about her encounter with Dr Agard.
“Capable of murder?” Ava said.
“Yes, but then all of us are.”
“There doesn’t seem to be any obvious motive, given that Leon probably knew nothing about Gray and the mystery man. He was clearly shaken when I told him, don’t you think? Unless Warrior stood to benefit financially from Mitchell’s death . . .”
“Hmm . . .Better add this Godfrey to the list of details to be checked out.”
“Yes, sir.” Ava risked a question. “Back when we were waiting to see Brand, you started to ask me something and then Dr Agard came over.”
“It doesn’t matter,” Neal said. “Can you drop me here? It’s closer to home than the station and it’s already late.”
Ava turned and pulled into a disabled parking space outside the library to let Neal out. With a brief nod, Neal shut the door and walked off. A passer-by shook her head at the sight of a police car parked in a disabled space.
* * *
Neal walked fast to improve his mood. It was late evening when he arrived home. Neal lived in the Uphill area of Stromford, with his ten-year-old son Archie and his younger sister, Maggie. Outside the back entrance, he kicked his feet against the wall to shake off the snow, his toes too numb to feel the impact. Archie was in the living room with a friend. Both were holding Xbox controllers and Archie gave Neal a wave as he passed the doorway. Archie’s school had been closed for a second day because of a burst pipe. Since he had received the Xbox for his birthday, it had become his son’s favourite pastime and Neal tried to limit the hours Archie spent on it. His son had already started asking to play more violent games ‘because his friends played them.’
“Dinner’s in the oven!” Neal’s sister, Maggie, called to him from upstairs.
She cooked during the week and Neal cooked at weekends, if not busy on a case. After that it was takeaways. Sometimes Neal cooked extra meals to freeze so that Maggie wasn’t unduly burdened. Maggie helped out enough with Archie. In return she lived with them rent free, but Neal was careful never to take his sister’s contribution for granted.