Dead of night, p.20
Dead of Night, page 20
part #7 of D.I. Tom Mariner Series
‘Are we making any progress with finding out where the necklaces might have been bought?’ Mariner asked Jesson.
‘Only the worst kind,’ she said. ‘They’re cheap and mass-produced, sold in hundreds of outlets, online and on market stalls all over the country.’
Mariner went to see Superintendent Sharp.
‘Everything we have is purely circumstantial,’ he said. ‘We’re going to have to let Paddy Henderson go. I wondered about possible surveillance.’
‘We can’t afford it,’ said Sharp, as Mariner had known she would.
‘We could assign him an FLO,’ said Mariner. ‘It would amount to the same thing.’
‘Do you think he’ll accept one, after all this?’
‘It’s worth a try, isn’t it?’
‘I’ll think about it,’ said Sharp.
‘I’m going to need to get away for a couple of hours,’ said Mariner. Sharp arched an eyebrow. ‘I’ve managed to get Jamie back into full-time residential care, but there are some things I need to sort out.’
‘That sounds like good news, doesn’t it?’ said Sharp.
‘I haven’t told Mercy, the woman who helps me out.’
‘But surely she must have known that it was a temporary arrangement?’
‘I suppose so,’ said Mariner. ‘But I worry about her.’
‘Oh, I’m sure she’ll survive, Tom,’ said Sharp. ‘She has done up until now.’
‘I want to give her something, like a parting gift, though, and I know the most useful thing for her would be money. But I can’t trust that Carlton won’t get his hands all over it instead of her.’
‘That’s her decision, though, isn’t it?’ said Sharp and Mariner couldn’t disagree.
Mary Sutor was back at her CAD station on Wednesday morning when a previously seen name popped up on her monitor with an incoming call: William Alder. ‘My cleaner hasn’t come again this morning,’ he grumbled. ‘She didn’t come last Friday and she hasn’t come again today.’
‘Perhaps she’s unwell?’ Mary suggested.
‘I told you last week,’ he insisted. ‘This is most unlike her. I’m worried about her, what with these other young women who have been killed …’
Mary rolled her eyes at Linda. ‘All right then, sir. Let me take some details and I’ll see what we can do.’
Mary was about to contact an Area car, when she thought about Charlie Glover. They attended the same church, so she knew him a bit, and also knew that he was part of the Grace Clifton investigation. She’d sound him out first. When Mary’s call came, Charlie was just beginning his third hour of CCTV and was consequently desperate for any kind of distraction. ‘What can I do for you, Mary?’
‘We’ve had a couple of calls from an old boy whose cleaner hasn’t turned up. I’ve tried telling him that’s not what we’re here for, but he’s a persistent old bugger. I’m sure it’s something of nothing, but she is potentially a missing woman, and with what’s going on at the moment—’
‘Where is he?’ asked Glover.
‘Not far,’ said Mary. ‘Just up the road in Bournville.’
It was the excuse Glover was looking for. ‘OK,’ he said. ‘Give me the details and I’ll go and talk to him.’
When Mariner returned to the incident room, Vicky Jesson called him over to her desk. ‘Have you seen this, Tom?’ Under the banner ‘Phantom Surgeon?’ it was a jokey article posted on the Internet by a worker at the Salvation Army clothing depot. ‘They’ve been getting matching sets of green surgical scrubs left in clothing banks around the city.’
‘And?’
‘Well, we’re looking at this possible hospital connection, and we know that our man’s probably forensically aware, so what better way to cover up than with scrubs? Anyway, I gave them a call. Turns out they’ve had three lots turn up in the south of the city over the last three weeks, all identical.’
‘I thought scrubs were all the same anyway, so identical in what sense?’ asked Mariner.
‘In the sense that they are all freshly laundered and neatly pressed, even down to the hat and face mask. If our guy knows his way around the hospital laundry, perhaps he can help himself to those too.’
Mariner felt the elusive tingle between his shoulders that suggested they might be closing in. ‘I’ve got to go out anyway,’ he said. ‘What’s the postcode for the depot?’
William Alder’s bungalow was part of a low-rise sheltered housing complex, about a dozen dwellings connected by covered walkways, and separated by small gardens. Glover parked in a bay beside number sixteen and got out of his car as a woman walked past, carrying a tray. ‘Hello,’ she said. ‘Are you here to see William?’
Glover showed her his identification. ‘Apparently he’s worried about his cleaner.’
‘Well, I hope you haven’t had a wasted journey,’ she said, cheerfully. ‘He can be a bit of a fusspot, our William.’
‘Well, it doesn’t do any harm to check things out,’ said Glover diplomatically.
There was a considerable wait when Glover rang the doorbell of William Alder’s bungalow, but it was explained as Glover followed him through to the living room. The old man lurched to one side as he shuffled along and held his left arm tucked in close to his body. He’d had a stroke. His slacks and a sleeveless sweater hung loosely on his emaciated frame.
‘And you haven’t seen Coral since last week,’ said Glover, sitting down on the chintz two-seater sofa, opposite Alder’s matching arm-chair.
‘That’s right,’ Alder said. ‘She should have been here last Friday and again today.’ His speech was slurred and sibilant, so that Glover needed to lean in a little to catch everything he said. ‘It’s very unlike her,’ William went on. ‘If she can’t come she would let me know. Since I’ve been ill I rely on her to get some shopping in for me. The managers are too busy to do much.’ He dabbed at the corner of his mouth with a handkerchief.
‘And Coral cleans for you twice a week?’ asked Glover. ‘Does she clean for anyone else in the complex?’
‘I don’t think so. She was already helping me out when I came to live here and it suited us both to carry on the arrangement. She had other people she cleans for, of course: Miss James and Mr Pearson – he lives next door to my old house. And she has a new chap on Thursdays: a medical man.’ He said the name but Charlie didn’t quite catch it.
‘Haine?’ he said.
‘No, Haydn,’ said Alder, making an effort to enunciate. ‘Like the composer.’
Leaving Granville Lane, Mariner drove across to Harborne High Street to his appointment with Paul Jenner, the Barham family solicitor, and administrator of Jamie’s trust fund. It was he who had first informed Mariner, on the day of Anna’s funeral, that he was Jamie’s legal guardian and now Mariner needed Jenner’s authorization to set up the standing orders with Manor Park. It could have all been arranged via phone and email, but the initial elation at the prospect of getting his life back was beginning to wear off a little now, and it seemed only right that there should be a face to face conversation about it.
Jenner saw no issue. ‘Financially Jamie has been very well provided for. We’ve always known that,’ he said, as the two men sat facing each other in his cramped and untidy office. The first time Mariner had come here was following a burglary, and it was hard today to see any discernable difference. Even Jenner himself looked a little neglected, his receding snow-white hair seeming to slide off the back of his head and down over his collar. ‘As the sole surviving family member, Jamie has inherited from his siblings and parents and the money is carefully invested, thanks to mechanisms that Eddie, Anna and now you yourself have put in place. He can very easily be financially supported to live at Manor Park, or somewhere like it, for many years to come. In fact, I would say ’til the end of his natural life. So I’m not sure what else I can help you with.’
‘It’s not just a financial decision, though, is it?’ said Mariner. ‘It’s about the quality of Jamie’s life too. It’s a big decision that I’m making on his behalf.’
Jenner looked surprised. ‘You want me to tell you that you’re doing the right thing?’
‘I suppose I do,’ Mariner admitted. ‘You’ve known Jamie and his family for much longer than I have.’
Jenner leaned back in his chair, steepling his hands in front of him. ‘Are you satisfied that Manor Park will meet Jamie’s needs?’
‘Absolutely,’ said Mariner with confidence.
‘Then you’re only doing what Anna herself had already done,’ Jenner pointed out. ‘She had intended that Jamie’s place at Towyn would be a long-term arrangement. You were concerned about the quality of care he was receiving there, so you removed him. But like Anna, you have a demanding job. What’s the one thing Jamie needs above all else?’
‘Consistency,’ said Mariner.
‘Which is exactly what I imagine Manor Park will provide for him. It is – if I may be forgiven the vernacular – what my grandson would call a no-brainer. Now, let’s get down to the paperwork, shall we?’
Charlie Glover got back to Granville Lane ahead of Mariner, so was able to check on the case notes, and when Mariner walked in just minutes later he called him over. ‘I’ve just been out to see this old chap, William Alder,’ Charlie said. ‘CAD asked me to go and talk to him because he reported his cleaner missing.’ Glover saw Mariner’s face. ‘I know. Pointless visit, I thought too, but then he let slip that this woman, Coral Norman, also cleans for a Dr Hayden.’
‘Shit,’ said Mariner. ‘And she’s been missing since when?’
‘At least last Friday.’
‘Well that has to be more than just coincidence. Let’s see what Leo Hayden has to say for himself.’
Mariner rang through to the critical care department of the hospital and asked to speak to Ellen Kingsley. ‘Is Dr Hayden there today?’ he asked.
‘He’s at the Gannow today,’ she said. ‘The private clinic I told you about.’
‘Do you have contact details for him there?’ Mariner said. ‘We need to get hold of him urgently.’
‘Is everything all right?’ He could hear the curiosity in her voice.
‘We just need to check something out,’ Mariner said neutrally, hoping that she would be content to leave it at that. That was the risk of getting personally involved with someone related to a case. At the time of course he’d had no reason to think that she would be anything more than peripheral. He hoped that wasn’t about to change. Luckily she seemed, at least for the moment, to sense the need for professionalism.
After going off the line for a couple of minutes she returned and gave him the address of The Gannow Clinic. Mariner had never heard of it and said so.
‘It’s pretty exclusive,’ said Ellen. ‘They handle a range of mental health issues, including addiction. They have one or two quite well-known clients.’
‘It’s a rehab centre?’ said Mariner.
‘Not exactly, it’s much more than that, but just to warn you, they are likely to be cagey with giving out information.’
‘Thanks for the heads up.’
‘I hope you get it sorted,’ she said, any number of unasked questions hanging in the air.
Instructing Charlie to begin actioning the relevant search warrants, Mariner took Jesson with him and drove over to the clinic.
‘Well, this place is tucked away,’ Jesson said, as they drove in between two twelve-foot-high hedges. They had gone past it twice, once in each direction, before she’d eventually spotted the discreet Gannow Clinic sign partially concealed by the foliage that had grown around it, and which gave absolutely no indication of the nature of the establishment.
‘Same old story,’ said Mariner. ‘We like to think we’re more accepting but the reality is we still prefer to keep mental illness out of sight when we can.’
A sweeping gravel drive widened into a small parking area in front of the Victorian red-brick house that held nothing smaller than a two-litre engine and no vehicle older than last year’s registration, though the personalized plates were harder to date. ‘Staff or patients, do you think?’ said Mariner getting out of the car and eyeing up a top-of-the-range Jaguar.
Automatic doors ushered them into a thickly carpeted reception area. The lighting was low and discreet, soft music played in the background, and a small font-like sculpture held a tinkling eternal fountain. Behind a reception desk that looked like a cast-off from the Starship Enterprise was a row of 7” x 5” glossy photographs of the staff. That was something Ellen hadn’t mentioned, that Leo Hayden was a good-looking bastard.
Mariner had often thought he must give off a signal that announced exactly what he was, and true to form the girl behind the polished mahogany desk looked up from her glossy magazine with an expression of pure distaste. Or maybe it was that she’d noticed them draw up outside in a three-year-old Mondeo. They waved warrant cards in front of her. ‘We’re looking for Dr Leo Hayden,’ said Mariner. ‘We need to speak to him urgently.’
‘Can I ask what it is regarding?’ she asked, playing to type. Mariner had known highly trained guard dogs who were easier to get past than medical receptionists.
‘It’s confidential,’ he said. ‘But it is imperative that we talk to him.’
‘I’m sorry, Dr Hayden hasn’t been here for a week or so,’ she admitted. ‘He phoned in sick early on the morning of last Thursday. He’d been up all night with stomach trouble and said he was likely to be off for a few days. He asked me to cancel all his patients. Sometimes these attacks can last a little while.’
‘This has happened before?’ said Mariner.
‘Yes, he gets these flare-ups from time to time. Some stomach problem he contracted working abroad. A few days at home and he’ll be right as rain.’
Mariner and Jesson exchanged a look. A man could do a lot in a few days. And this time Hayden had already been off the radar for a week. ‘In that case I’ll need his home address, please,’ said Mariner, frustrated by the setback.
‘I’m not sure that I can give you—’ she began.
‘Perhaps you’d be more certain if I charged you with obstructing a murder investigation,’ said Mariner, calmly.
‘I will just need to check with Mister Bloom,’ she said, flustered now.
Mariner let her go. ‘What’s he like, Dr Hayden?’ Mariner asked, when she’d returned and was looking up Hayden on their system.
Her face softened. ‘He’s nice,’ she said, handing him a printout of the address. ‘Got lovely manners, and he’s very popular, even though he hasn’t got much time for some of the clients. It’s like cats,’ she added, enigmatically.
Jesson saw Mariner’s blank face. ‘The more you try to like them the more indifferent they get?’ she speculated.
‘Yes, that’s right.’ The receptionist beamed.
‘I wonder if that’s how Leo Hayden likes his women in general,’ said Mariner, as, moments later, they left the building furnished with Leo Hayden’s address.
TWENTY-THREE
Leo Hayden lived on the edge of Solihull, where streets were wide and tree-lined and properties spread-out and large. As they drove around the outer circle to get there, Jesson dialled the phone number but there was no reply. ‘Too ill to get out of bed?’ she wondered aloud.
‘Get some uniformed back-up,’ said Mariner, ‘just in case Dr Hayden decides to put up a fight. And ask Charlie to meet us there with the search warrants.’
The house was a perfectly symmetrical rectangle, like a child’s drawing of a house might be, with a two-car garage attached to the left-hand side. It sat behind high walls, complete with wrought-iron gates and a security pad.
‘Not very welcoming,’ remarked Mariner as they parked and got out of the car. He pushed the buzzer, but it produced no response. ‘Any ideas?’ he asked Jesson, studying the rows of numbers to determine which, if any, were faded from use.
‘Shame we don’t know his date of birth,’ she said. ‘Is it worth contacting the clinic again?’
On the edge of his line of vision Mariner sensed a movement and looked up to see a middle-aged woman watching him from a ground-floor window of the house next door. He waved to her. Embarrassed at having been caught out, she seemed about to withdraw before thinking better of it and tentatively waving back. Her garden was open plan, so Mariner walked up to the front door, which opened the moment he got there. ‘Detective Chief Inspector Mariner,’ he said, showing his identification.
‘Oh.’ She hadn’t been expecting that. ‘I hope you don’t think I was being nosey …’
‘Not at all,’ said Mariner, not entirely truthfully. ‘No harm in being aware of what’s going on around you. We’re looking for your neighbour, Dr Leo Hayden.’
‘Oh, he’ll be at work,’ she said confidently.
‘Not today,’ said Mariner. ‘And we can’t seem to raise him from the house. I don’t suppose you would know his security code?’
‘You could try 2-4-7-1,’ she said. ‘It was the code Mr and Mrs Hayden senior used. They gave it to me, just in case something should happen and I needed to get in.’
‘Thank you,’ said Mariner. ‘We’ll try that.’ A thought occurred to him. ‘I don’t suppose you hold a spare key to the house too, do you?’
She went off to fetch it. ‘I did tell Dr Leo I’d still got it, when he moved back here a little while ago. I offered to give it back to him, but he said I may as well keep it for now.’
