by Helen Oliver
Akpata said, “If your daughter had searched properly, she’d have found you. Instead of which she made a panicky phone call to DS Burns and got her here on a wild goose chase.” Diana Bloom frowned, and Akpata continued, “Don’t you think it odd, Mrs Bloom, that you were found safe and well in your own garden?” Her dark eyes lingered on the woman’s face. “And DS Burns is later discovered, brutally attacked – left for dead in fact – close to where you take Leo for a walk in his buggy?”
Diana Bloom didn’t answer.
“Do you not?”
“To be honest,” Mrs Bloom said, “I don’t see the connection between this wicked attack and my walks with Leo.”
Akpata waited a few seconds. “When did your daughter first hear about the cancellation of her interview?”
The neat brows met for a moment. “I don’t think it has actually been cancelled.”
Akpata made notes, looked at Diana Bloom. “Did your daughter seem upset yesterday?”
“She didn’t talk about the interview. She only mentioned having time off for more preparation.” She swallowed. “First though, she said she was seeing DCI Hammond and DS Burns.” She looked straight at Akpata. “Harriet being so close to April, they were hoping she could be of further help.”
“So when she came back” said Akpata, “you were expecting her to continue working on her presentation? Because, of course, you had no idea her interview had been cancelled. At her meeting yesterday morning, with DCI Hammond and DS Burns, your daughter didn’t give any indication that her interview had been cancelled. In fact she was quite chatty about it. Why do you think she took that line?”
Diana Bloom sat up straight. “She must be in denial.” She frowned, “Look at her this morning, she’s gone to pieces. She’s never like this.” She closed her eyes for a second. “Is DS Burns seriously injured?”
“Yes. She’s had an operation on her brain, and she’s in an induced coma.” Akpata stood up. “We’ll leave you in peace now, Mrs Bloom. But, please, if you have anything to add that you think would help our investigation into the attack on DS Burns, let us know.”
“Of course.” She looked perplexed. “But why am I more likely to be privy to that sort of information than the next person?”
Nolan raised his eyebrows. “Because you live nearer the crime scene than the next person?”
*
Hammond adjusted the rear-view mirror, took a moment to look at the Order of Service, at Judi Fox smiling into the camera. He opened the glove box and slid it inside. The little Norman church had been full, the service touchingly simple.
*
The woman made a note of Detective Sergeant Burns’s room number in Intensive Care, put her phone away, washed her face and slipped her raincoat on.
51
Umbrellas dodged each other in the hospital car park and headlights split the downpour. The woman slid a mint green Beetle into a space. She opened her door, pushed out an umbrella and shot it up before she climbed out. In a long raincoat, ankle boots and headscarf she kept dry as she walked towards the entrance. Having made her way steadily past Reception, she waited for the lift and stood aside as a group exited. Stepping out on the second floor she stood for a moment, reinforcing what she knew already, that it would have been better if she’d been able to come earlier when more people were around.
Hearing more than one set of footsteps behind her she stood still, as if checking arrows pointing to a list of wards, including, to her right, Intensive Care. As the footsteps passed, she turned to follow. The two young women reached the door of the ward and pressed the intercom button. She followed as close as she dared and smiled at the one who glanced at her. Her luck was in: the nurse assumed the three of them were together. Mustering up a smile appropriate for visiting the very sick, she slipped inside.
*
Shaking the rain from his suit jacket and hanging it up, Hammond thought about Akpata and Nolan’s visit to Wychwood. He trusted Akpata to judge the situation, and considered Nolan a good back-up. It still amazed him that Bloom had already been suspended when she turned up, bold as brass, to talk to them yesterday. What was the woman made of? Strong poison, presumably.
*
She watched the two women follow the nurse into a room where their friend or relative lay. As she approached Room 3, a young policeman rose to his feet, gave her a look that indicated he was dying – but only for a pee – and raised three fingers. She nodded a smile. Just three minutes. She slipped into the room. Three minutes. She wouldn’t need more.
*
Typing ‘Harriet Bloom’, Hammond re-read his latest notes. It was pointless wasting time on prior evidence collected against the woman. It was a no-brainer. Brain. Cally. He couldn’t remember when induced comas were introduced. Waiting was agonizing. It was the not knowing: whether she would come back with her memory intact, or if she would come back at all. No way could they hope to rely on her remembering events leading up to the attack. If she did remember, he could only hope it wouldn’t make her recovery harder.
Priority. Find the Focus and have forensics go over it to within an inch of its life. Bloom, he thought, given the time between her first and last phone call on Tuesday, wouldn’t have had long enough to set fire to it.
*
The woman looked down at Detective Sergeant Burns, at the saline drip in place, at the tubes and wires. She observed the monitor with its line rising and falling across the screen. Digits flashed, changing from moment to moment. Vital signs for those caring for the patient. She looked at a socket, eye level on the wall, at the plug with a bright red light. She bent over the patient. “I’m so sorry.”
As she left the room, a nurse hurried up to her. “What were you doing in there?”
“Looking for a nurse.”
“Well, you’ve found one.” Clocking the empty chair beside the door, she said, “Where’s that bloody copper gone?”
The woman gave a little smile. “I think he needed a comfort break.”
“I’ll give him comfort break!”
The policeman appeared and in the ensuing tirade from the nurse the woman, deciding on the stairs, hurried past the lift and disappeared. Reaching the first floor and slowing to a sedate walk, she heard bells ringing on the floor above, and the running of feet.
*
Eileen made arrangements for Tom and Lou to stay with Prue in Norwich for a week, or longer if necessary, and booked train tickets for her and the kids. Tom sensed something wasn’t right. Hating the lie, Eileen told them their mum was away on a job, and spun a tale of how Auntie Prue hadn’t been well and that she needed to know she was recovering. Tom and Lou, she said, would be the best tonic their auntie could wish for.
52
Friday. Hammond called on Greg and was surprised to be offered coffee. He was further surprised when Greg asked if he’d like to visit Cally. “Are you sure?”
Greg nodded. “You’re as desperate as I am to know who did this to her.” He hesitated. “Suppose they decide to bring her out of the coma? You might be there. Suppose she were able to let you know who …” He trailed off and leaned over the sink, shoulders heaving.
Hammond put a hand on his arm. “I know. It’s unbearable.”
“I’m sorry.” Greg turned. “You work with her. You know what she’s like. She’s unbelievable.”
“We’ll have her back.”
“God, I hope so.”
Hammond nodded slowly, looked at his watch and said, “I could manage to see her now, if that’s all right with you.”
Greg nodded. “Please. Tell her we need her.”
*
Hammond showed his ID to the nurse. “I’ve spoken to Greg Burns. He’d be glad if I look in on his wife.”
She smiled. “There’s no change, but that’s not unexpected.”
At the door to Room 3, the PC rose and opened the door for him. Hammond said, “Morning, Gibbons,” and walked slowly towards the bed. Oh, Cally. So still. Her bandaged face so calm.
Wires, cables, a canula in her hand. He let his hand rest on the bed, watched the bars on the monitor. He leaned an inch closer. “We all need you.”
His phone vibrated, he would look later.
The same nurse approached. “May I have a word outside?” He followed her to the nurse’s station. “What can I do for you?”
She opened the ward day-book. “It didn’t turn out to be anything,” she said,” but I thought I ought to mention it.” She looked awkward. “Yesterday, towards the end of afternoon visiting, a woman found her way into Mrs Burns’s room.”
“How the hell did that happen?”
Prepared, she said quickly, “No harm done, he’s a good lad.” She looked towards Gibbons. “Not him, the other one.” She raised a quick eyebrow. “No name, no pack drill?”
“I can’t guarantee it. Did you see this woman?”
“Just for a moment or two.”
“Can you describe her?”
“Sixty-ish? Taller than me.” She frowned. “I’d be able to tell you more if we’d not had an emergency. There was a bleed-out in Room 5, all hands to the pump.” She sighed. “We lost him.”
“I’m sorry.” Hammond paused. “CCTV?”
“Yes, but it’s not been working up here for a couple of days.”
“What about the rest of the hospital?”
“Fine,” she said, “as far as I know.”
Pulling out his phone, Hammond moved towards the stairs. Read the text. Focus found. Leeds Bradford Airport. JN. He texted Nolan: Good work. Well done, and ran down the stairs.
Back in the office, he called Akpata. “DS Burns’s Focus has been found -”
“Oh, brilliant, sir! Sorry, I didn’t mean to interrupt. Where, sir?”
“Leeds-Bradford Airport. Check out an approved garage, try Gale’s Motors in Horsforth first, ask them to collect the Focus. They’ll keep it covered until forensic get to work on it.”
“Straight away, sir.”
Hammond fed details of the find into the system and thought about Wednesday’s timeline. Bloom must have left Cally for dead, driven the Focus to the airport and taken a taxi back to Myker. He called Stoppard in. “Contact taxi firms Bloom could have used to drive her back late afternoon.”
“Will do, sir.”
Hammond stopped him at the door. “Send Smales in, please.”
Three minutes later, already in a sweat, the PC entered. “Sir?”
Hammond leaned back. “Not quite sure, Smales, if you’ve cottoned on…” He paused, let him sweat some more. “…that you were put in a position of trust.”
“Sir.”
“You know what I’m talking about.”
“Yesterday, sir.” He chewed his lip. “I was bursting, sir.”
“It could have been disastrous, Smales, and I’m not referring to your bladder.” The PC said nothing and Hammond continued. “What did this woman look like?”
“She wore a raincoat, sir. Headscarf, and had an umbrella.”
“Colour of the umbrella?”
“Sorry, sir. I can’t remember. The raincoat was kind of fawn. Beige, whatever.”
“Age? Of the woman?”
“Middle-aged to old.”
“Did she speak to you?”
“No, but she smiled.”
Hammond rolled his eyes. “Listen, Smales. You never, ever leave any post unless you’re completely sure someone’s covering for you.”
“Sir.”
“Understood?”
“Sir.”
“There won’t be a next time.”
“No, sir.”
“You can go.”
Smales left the room faster than he’d come in. Hammond called Nolan and gave him Smales’s sketchy description of Room 3’s intruder. “Get over to The General, check yesterday’s CCTV. Intensive Care’s wasn’t working, so check the rest of the hospital CCTV. Stairs, lifts, etc.”
“Now, sir?”
“Yes.” Hammond put the phone down and went to the window. Part of the car park lay below him. Two PCs climbed into a Fiesta; a girl hurried into the pharmacy opposite; a woman chose flowers outside a greengrocers. He registered all this, but saw only Cally.
*
Asking Gale’s Motors to pick up the Focus as soon as possible, Akpata made it clear that DNA could lead to solving a serious local crime. The guy at the other end assured her she was top of the list. “Always glad to help our boys in blue,” he said, “and girls, of course.”
*
Eileen called Hammond to say she’d let Greg know she was coming back. It hadn’t rained yet in Norfolk. They were all envious of the downpours in Yorkshire, and Prue put in a request for some to be sent down their way. Tom and Lou were okay, and attending the local primary school for the time being. Hammond let her know he’d seen Greg, and, on his say-so, had visited Cally. “Give him my love,” she said, “if you’re in touch.”
“I will be. I’m about to let him know Cally’s car’s been found.”
*
Hammond wished he could be in more than one place at once: near the hospital and in Horsforth in case forensics turned up something strong enough to convict Harriet Bloom. All that was needed – all? – was one piece of incontrovertible evidence that would put her away for life.
Rutter pulled rank and called Hammond. “Forensics are on it. So far, no fingerprints. It’s been wiped clean.”
“How the hell did she have time for that?”
Rutter gave a dry laugh. “Amazing what you’ll do if your life depends on it.”
Hammond said, “I’m putting my faith in DNA. Forensics have a comb. Akpata took it from Bloom’s bedroom.”
“Fingers crossed then.” Rutter hesitated. “How’s the patient today?”
“Doing what’s expected. In other words, nothing.”
“Chin up, mate.”
*
Hammond forced down a late lunch: half a Cornish pasty and two mugs of coffee. He reached for his mobile. Dialled and waited. The voice was cheery. “How’re you doing, Dad?”
“Busy. Just wanted to know how things are. Y’know, with the play?”
“Good so far. I’ve not dried.”
Hammond said, “Did you think you would?”
He laughed. “Terrified!”
“Did your mother come, with…what’s the guy’s name?”
“Geoffrey. Yes. He’s okay. Loaded.”
Hammond laughed. “Useful.”
“We had a good review this morning. Not a lot about me. More about Prospero and Miranda. She’s a sweetie. She’s moving in.”
Hammond waited, as if more were to come. “And what’s her name, apart from Miranda?”
“Grace.”
“That’s nice.”
“Everything all right with you, Dad?”
“Not exactly. My partner, side-kick you’d call her, is in hospital after an attack.”
“That’s bad luck.”
“Yeah, well, better go. Just wanted to touch base.”
“You’re so funny, Dad.” The phone went dead and Hammond switched off. He made for the door, met Stoppard about to knock. “Sir, looks like Excel Cabs brought Bloom back to Myker on Wednesday.”
“See if you can talk to the driver.”
“On it, sir. Guy called Dean Fawcett.” Stoppard paused. “Any news of DS Burns?”
“Nothing we weren’t expecting.”
“Waiting’s hard, isn’t it, sir.” He turned, said over his shoulder. “I’m meeting Fawcett in Yeadon.”
Hammond watched Stoppard stride off. He was half considering a Bounty Bar, when his phone buzzed. “DCI Hammond, how can I help?”
“Martin Hill, forensics.”
“Hi, have you got something for me?”
“Laurel Quinn. Moroccan Lights.”
“Come again?”
“It’s a lipstick. Rolled out from under a seat.” He paused. “Could be Burns’s DNA, of course. Have you any way of finding out if she used that particular lipstick? Laurel Qu
inn’s the brand name.”
Did Moroccan Lights sound like Cally? He’d be surprised if Greg knew what she used.
Martin Hill said, “You still there?”
“Sorry, yes. Can’t ask DS Burns, of course. How long will it take to check it against Bloom’s DNA?”
“The fastest we can do, and we will if we can, is twenty-four hours. Seventy-two is a general rule, but in the circumstances…”
“Do your best?”
“Will do. You want the car returned to the station?”
“Please.”
Hill signed off, and Hammond dialled Kerridge. “They’ve found a lipstick, Pat. Could be Bloom’s. Could be Cally’s, of course. If they can hurry it through, we’ll know in 24 hours.”
“Hope for the best, then. Any news on Cally?”
“No further developments, but that’s not unexpected. I’ll keep you up-to-date.”
Kerridge ended the call and Hammond headed for the Incident Room. A group of DCs, discussing the guilt or otherwise of Ged Sparks in the Lockwell stabbing case, parted as he approached. He stopped beside Akpata. “Is there news, sir?”
“Possibly. Does Morrocan Lights mean anything to you?”
She frowned. “In what respect?”
“There was a lipstick found in the Focus.”
“Oh gosh. If it’s Bloom’s DNA would it be enough to charge her?” She hesitated. “Without DS Burns’s evidence?”
“Yes”
Her brown eyes saddened. “If only we could ask her. About the lipstick, I mean.”
53
Hammond asked himself how it was that twenty-four hours could pass in a flash, yet at other times crawl at a snail’s pace, despite the mounds of paperwork he needed to deal with. He visited Cally; as did Eileen who was home again and baking like there was no tomorrow. She looked through Cally’s dressing-table drawer and found nothing made by Laurel Quinn. She called Hammond, told him she didn’t know a lot about cosmetic brands, but realized Laurel Quinn was expensive and Cally was unlikely to spend that sort of money. Greg visited once, then went home to bed. On Sunday, Hammond exercised at the gym because Cally had said he should; then, feeling stiff, went into the station.