DI Jones nods towards me and I gratefully sink into the chair beside Pat. DI Jones plucks a plastic chair from a stacked pile at the side of the sink.
“I just want you to catch him. If he knows I’ve got out of the basement, he’ll come after me. I know he will.”
“He won’t get anywhere near you. This ward is locked.” I point to the officer at the entrance to the ward. “And if he did manage to get anyway near the main door, our colleague who’s patrolling knows exactly what he looks like.”
“I would imagine he’s hiding somewhere by now,” DI Jones says, looking thoughtful. “Have you any idea of anyone who might harbour him Pat? Someone, by some fluke, who doesn’t know what’s going on? An elderly relative perhaps?”
“Absolutely no one,” she replies. “He’s got a sister, but they haven’t spoken for years. He was such a loner. I didn’t mind at first. Eventually, the lack of anyone else in his life made him really controlling. Turned me to drinking for a time, it did. Which is why our relationship faltered.” She says the last sentence more to herself than us.
“Can you think of anywhere else he might have gone?” I ask. “Some kind of bolthole somewhere?”
She shakes her head. “I’m sorry. I really don’t know of anywhere.” She looks at me closer. “What’s happened to you? Your other half must be having kittens knowing you’re still out there working, looking like that. You look like you should swap places with me.”
“I was attacked by your ex as well. Both me and my sister had a lucky escape from him two days ago. My fiancée Lauren wasn’t so fortunate.”
“Lauren? You don’t mean the news reporter, do you? Is she your fiancé?” She shrinks back into her pillows and stares at me. “What do you mean, she wasn’t so fortunate?”
“He killed her.” I close my eyes for a moment.
The silence hangs between us for a few moments and she stares at me, open-mouthed. “I had no idea. Why?”
“That’s what we’re trying to find out.”
“You have been locked in your cellar for nearly two weeks,” DI Jones says softly. “You’re not going to know what’s happened during that time.”
“I’m fortunate you found me when you did.”
I swallow. “It’s all part of the service.”
“How could I have been with him for so many years and not known how evil he is?”
“I’m surprised he brought you food and drink.” DI Jones sounds more as though he’s asking a question than making a statement.
“I’m not sure he knew what to do with me. I guess on some level, he felt responsible – we were married for a long time.” She rubs her eyes.
“Are you OK?”
“Just tired. There’s not much sleep to be had when you’re handcuffed to a pipe in a cold cellar.”
“What you’ve been through doesn’t bear thinking about and you’ve still made the effort to speak to us,” DI Jones says. “We appreciate it.”
“You won’t be in awe of me when you know the full story. I didn’t realise you were Lauren’s partner.”
“What full story?”
A nurse smiles as she walks in and begins checking Pat’s obs. “You won’t be telling any stories today Pat. We said five minutes.”
I continue. I must continue. “When we found you, you said your ex-husband is involved in the river deaths. What do you know Pat?”
“He turned up at my house on Saturday evening. Of course, I didn’t let him in. I shouted from the window for him to go away. He could probably hear it in my voice that I’d had more than a couple of glasses of wine. He stood outside ranting again about me being a drunk, then drove off.”
“Go on.” DI Jones leans forwards.
“He came back a few hours later, in the early hours of Sunday morning. I recognised the sound of his car’s engine. He started carrying on again when I wouldn’t open the door. Making threats to me about something that happened many years ago. He was on the verge of waking the whole street. So, like an idiot, I opened the door.
Anyway, he told me what he’d done. Said that it was because of women like me and women like his mother had made him do what he has done. It was our fault, he said. We had driven him to do it. Then he said he was doing the world a favour, covering for him.”
“Covering for who?”
“To use his words – the man who has been getting rid of drunk bitches with no control over themselves.”
“What do you mean, covering?”
“Apparently someone had been blackmailing him.”
“Ingham? Who?”
She looks at me and a strange expression passes over her face. All fight seems to drain from her. “I’m really tired.”
“Tell us what you know Pat. Please.”
As I watch and wait, I remember what Paula said earlier in the week in the staff room, about Ingham’s mother and wife having a drink problem. And his own aversion to alcohol.
DI Jones changes tack. “How long was Jonathan there? At your house?”
“I didn’t let him in. Like I said, I opened the door but I had the chain on. Kept him on the doorstep. He said what he had to say, then left. But I didn’t sleep after that. I haven’t known what to do, to be honest.” She swallows and her eyes look watery. “I wanted to ring the police but didn’t think I’d be believed. He’s a DCI, for goodness sake. I was scared you’d think it was sour grapes. And if I’m totally honest,” she looks from me to DI Jones, then back again, “I was worried he’d intercept me somehow. I had no idea when he was on shift, or what information might get passed on to him. Not to mention the repercussions for me after all these years after something I did.”
“What do you mean, repercussions?” She’s talking in riddles. Guilt is written all over her face. About what, I don’t know. But we’ll get to the bottom of it.
“Why did you arrange to meet Lauren?” It hurts like hell to say her name out loud. I can’t help but blame Patricia for involving Lauren. I wrestle with the feeling. Lauren wouldn’t have taken much persuasion.
“I’d been reading her articles.” Pat closes her eyes and shakes her head.
“What happened next?” DI Jones asks.
“I nipped out for a Sunday paper when I woke up and must have forgotten to lock the front door when I came back in. What an idiot.”
“Are you OK Pat?” Another nurse puts her head around the door.
“Yes. I think so. If only I’d have done a simple thing like lock the door – especially after what he had told me. He will have sneaked in whilst I was on the phone to your Lauren. I was going to tell her everything, and I mean, everything. Then, as soon as I put the phone down, he whacked me over the head and got me into the basement. I was out of it for a little while.”
“And then he’s obviously gone to meet Lauren himself, knowing where she was heading after hearing you on the phone,” I say. “She would never have just left it if you hadn’t turned up you know. If DCI Ingham hadn’t got to her first.” I smile slightly, recalling her feistiness. “She’d have come looking for you.”
“So we know he was responsible for the attacks at the stream,” I begin, “but are you saying that someone else is responsible for the river deaths?”
“Yes. He’s been blackmailing Jonathan.”
“Who? With what?”
“He had something on him.” Her voice rises. “It’s all been my fault. I should have said at the time.”
“Who had what on who?”
Tears are rolling down her face. “I can’t tell you. I need to speak to someone else. A different officer. You shouldn’t be here. I thought I could do this. But I can’t. I just can’t.”
“Pat!” The nurse comes hurrying over. “What’s the matter?”
“I can’t do this. I can’t do it! He shouldn’t be here.” She’s becoming hysterical and is pointing at me. She was OK with me a few minutes ago.
“I’m going to have to ask you to leave,” says the ward sister, running in. “She was only admit
ted a little while ago. Clearly she’s not up to this yet.”
“We need to finish these questions. I’m sorry. Her husband killed my fiancé.”
“I can’t talk to you. I need to speak to someone else. Not you.”
“Why not? What’s the problem here?”
“Perhaps you should wait outside.” DI Jones jerks his head in the direction of the door. “I’ll talk to her.”
“No. No. No. I’m going to be locked up again.”
“Can you come back tomorrow? This isn’t the time. Pat needs to recover.” The ward sister looks at us both whilst the other nurse appears to be trying to calm Pat down.
“Can we take a full statement from you when you’re feeling up to it?” I ask, my fists balling in frustration inside my pockets.
“I’m so sorry,” Pat sobs as we step away from her bedside. “I really am.”
Chapter Forty Five
I’m dozing off in the comfy chair next to the heater when DI Jones bursts into the staff room. “They’ve found him. He’s been squatting in a derelict house.”
I jump up so fast, I go dizzy and have to sit down again. “Really? Is he being brought in?” Wait till I get my hands round his weaselly, evil neck.
“No. He’s made a bloody run for it. There’re more units on their way and the helicopter’s going up. He won’t get far.”
I grab my jacket and get back to my feet. “Come on, let’s go.”
DI Jones pauses. “I think you should wait here Mark. After what…”
“No chance. I can’t just sit here.”
We run to his car. Within minutes we’re heading through the town centre. I can see the police helicopter, already overhead. I can’t believe we didn’t get the full story out of Pat Ingham, but I’ve no doubt we will the next time we speak to her. That’s if we don’t get it out of Ingham first. Catching him is a job only half done. Who the hell has been blackmailing him? With what? And why?
The road over the river has been blocked off. We screech up next to the police car blocking the road and hurtle towards the bridge. Blue lights are flashing against a sky darkening to dusk.
“Of all the places to corner him,” DI Jones gasps as we see what is happening. “Here. I can’t believe it.”
Ingham has climbed over the railings on the bridge, fifty feet above the river. Whether he has the guts to jump is anyone’s guess. Part of me wants him to suffer the same ghastly death he subjected others to, whether directly or indirectly. The other part of me wants him to see nothing but the inside of a prison cell for a very long time.
“Stand back,” DI Jones orders the officers. There’s a dozen standing just over arm’s length from DCI Ingham.
“You bastard.” My words are a growl. “You evil fucking bastard. Get down here and face up to what you’ve done.”
DCI Ingham turns his head and smiles, yes smiles, at me. Then he’s gone, plunging towards the darkness of the river. Moments later, there’s a sickening smack as he hits the water.
“Sir?” Chris looks at DI Jones, panic stricken. “What do you want us to do?”
“No one’s risking their life going in after him. We know what this stretch of river is like. Can one of you radio through for Underwater Search?”
“He’ll be dead by then,” one of the others says. Just as he says it, I see Ingham’s head bobbing on the surface of the river. Chris slides off his jacket and dives in.
“Chris!” DI Jones yells after him.
Simon and Tom, two of the younger officers follow Chris into the river, both disappearing under the water at the same time. I hold my breath, waiting for them to come back up, letting a jagged breath slowly back out when they do. There’s no sign of Chris though. They shouldn’t have gone in, none of them, DI Jones was right. The undercurrents here aren’t worth risking. After a few moments of ducking under the surface and coming back up, Simon and Tom make their way to the water’s edge and are hauled out by their colleagues. I grip the stone wall of the bridge. “Where the hell is Chris?” I’m more pleading with, than asking DI Jones.
“Have we sent for the underwater team yet?” I hear the desperation in his raised voice.
“On their way, Sir,” a voice calls amidst the spluttering of Simon and Tom who are being dragged up the muddy bank. “We called for their despatch when DCI Ingham climbed over the railing. Just in case.”
“Oh shit. We’ve got to do something,” I say to DI Jones. “We’ve got to get Chris out.”
“You are not going in. If you do, I will personally fire you.”
“We can’t just leave him in there.”
“What’s the ETA of the underwater team,” DI Jones shouts again, down to the river bank. I can hear sirens in the distance.
“Over there!” Paula’s voice rings out across the river and we all divert our attention to where she is pointing. At first, I expect the head of Chris to have emerged, and I once again hold my breath, looking for him. What we see, however, are security lights blinking on, and the retreating form of DCI Ingham, limping downriver along the embankment.
“Get after him!” I shout as the underwater search van screeches up beside us and four frogmen jump out. Several officers set off in Ingham’s direction.
“Who are we looking for?” One commands.
“PC Chris Canvey,” DI Jones yells. “He jumped in from here after DCI Ingham. He hasn’t resurfaced.” All four of them hurtle down to the water’s edge, one dragging a canoe behind him.
“They’re going to find his body.” I feel like throwing myself in too. “He’s got a young family. He’s not going to make it out. He’d have come back up by now.”
“Let them do their jobs Mark. He’s young, and he’s fit. In fact, he’s as tough as old boots. He might have come up further downriver. Ingham did.”
“We need the helicopter over there.”
DI Jones tilts the radio on his shoulder towards his face. “Can the control room redirect the air search further north of the River Alder? We’ve got foot patrols after DCI Ingham. We need the helicopter over them.”
Moments later, the helicopter is passing over us, and projects its beam further downriver. I run from the bridge down the banking. Three frogmen have submerged in the dark river already, the fourth is in the boat flashing his light around. I glance across at the entrance of the Yorkshire Arms; the windows are filled with rubber neckers and two Special Constables are holding back drinkers in the doorway.
“Any sign of him?” I shout to the officer in the boat. He shakes his head. Tears are rolling down my face. The tragedy that has taken place lately is beyond anything I could ever have imagined. “Please find him.” I look up at the helicopter, watching it pass slowly along the length of the river, it’s beam reflecting from the surface of the water. “I sink to my knees, sobbing. I can’t take any more. We were so close to catching Ingham. We nearly bloody had him. And now this. And we don’t even know yet who else we are looking for.
The officers who gave chase after him come into view at the bend of the river. “He got away,” one says over the radio. “We ran out of path. He seems to have disappeared into thin air.”
DI Jones appears at my side. “We’ll get him.” His mouth set in a thin, hard line. “The infrared will pick him up. You two and you two, get in the cars and join the units combing the locality. He can’t get far on foot.”
“Mark, come with me. You’re shaking. Let’s get you in the car.” DI Jones places his hand under my arm and pulls me to my feet.
“I’m not leaving Chris.” I tug away.
“Mark. They’ll find him. They’ve got all the equipment. They know what they’re doing.”
“Yeah, but what are the chances of them pulling him out alive.” I wipe more tears and now snot away with the back of my sleeve and helplessly follow him up the steps of the bridge to the roadside. Torchlights and swirling blue lights illuminate the nearly dark sky all around. There are small crowds gathered at the roadblock in front of me.
�
�Ghouls,” I hiss as DI Jones opens the door to the car. “They’re just waiting to watch as a body is dragged out of the Alder. It should have been Ingham, not Chris.”
“There’s a hell of a lot of public interest,” DI Jones says as he sits beside me in the car. “There was always bound to be. Especially now.”
“I just want him and whoever else is involved caught, and Chris found alive.” I take the hanky DI Jones passes me. “And my Lauren back.”
“Hopefully two of those wishes will be granted within the next couple of minutes.”
“I can’t just sit here Sir. I need to be out there, helping my colleagues.”
DI Jones turns to face me. “Mark,” he begins. “Against my better judgement I let you stay on the investigation because I could see how much you wanted it, needed it even, to keep going. And I’m full of admiration for the professional way you’ve committed yourself to your work and this team whilst you’re going through what you’ve been going through. However, you’ve incurred a nasty head injury and you’ve been through enough. It would be negligent of me to let you carry on.” He puts his hand on my shoulder. “Officers are crawling all over the place, looking for DCI Ingham. Once we’ve got him and spoken again to his wife, we can start piecing it all together.”
“But Chris…”
“Leave it. There’s a team of experienced divers searching for Chris. As your supervising officer, I am ordering you to stay here and wait.”
“Yes Sir.” My voice is small. I’m beat.
We sit here for what feels like an eternity, the tears in my eyes blurring the swirling blue of the lights that come and go all around me. I want to talk about what is happening, about who else could be involved. But I can’t think straight. I close my eyes as if that will somehow shut out the pain.
Chapter Forty Six
Chris
I lie on the riverbank, shaking with fear and the cold. I don’t know how I’ve managed to get out of there. I’m not sure where I am or how far down river I’ve come. I just pray someone finds me before I freeze to death. I try to call out, but I can’t seem to find my voice. I’ve swallowed so much water. I will not die here, in a pile of stinking river mud. I’ve never felt cold like it. Please find me. Someone, please, please find me. My wife’s face floats into my mind.
The Yorkshire Dipper Page 26