Dead of Night, page 11
part #7 of D.I. Tom Mariner Series
‘You know whose partner Vicky was?’ asked Mariner.
‘Ah, right,’ said Glover. ‘Is Lea Green where Riddell was based?’
‘I’m not sure,’ said Mariner. ‘But it was somewhere up in the north. If it’s not where he was at the time he died, he probably worked out of it at some point.’
‘I keep forgetting about all that,’ said Glover. ‘She copes with it so well, doesn’t she?’
‘Yes.’ Mariner didn’t like to admit that he hadn’t managed to work it out for himself. ‘I suppose she has to in some respects, for the sake of the kids.’
‘And how are you doing?’ Glover asked.
It took Mariner a moment to grasp what Glover meant. ‘Oh, I’m fine,’ he said, when he did. The question had caught him off guard. Although there was rarely a day when Anna didn’t pass through his mind, those visits were, he realized, becoming more transient and less painful.
‘Well, if ever you feel the need for further support, you know the Lord—’
‘Yes, thanks, Charlie. I’ll be sure to let you know,’ Mariner said. He should have seen that one coming. It was going too far to describe Charlie as a ‘bible-basher’, but at the same time he rarely missed an opportunity to remind his colleagues of the Lord’s presence in any hour of need. In this situation Mariner was tempted to ask Charlie what the Lord’s reasoning might be in taking two young women from their families and putting their loved ones through hell, but he knew from experience that the answer would be entirely unsatisfactory, so he let it be. But he did also wonder if Charlie had made a similar offer to Vicky, and if this had given rise to the apparent tension between them.
Lea Green was one of the few remaining Victorian city police stations, brick-built with the original arched windows and Gothic-style entrance. The reception area had, for security reasons, been modernized, but the history of the place was ingrained in the atmosphere and the smell. The interview rooms were of the formal questioning variety, with high, frosted windows and the harsh strip-lighting gave Paddy Henderson a washed-out pallor. Small and muscular, his shaven head masked male-pattern baldness and a livid scar about two inches long ran along the left underside of his jaw.
‘I thought she must have stayed over at the hospital, like,’ said Henderson, of his partner. He spoke quickly, with a hint of an East Midlands accent: Derby or Nottingham, Mariner thought. ‘When she’s working late shifts, she sometimes doesn’t want to trail all the way back over here. So if I can’t get over to pick her up, she stays in the nurses’ home overnight, like. But she always texts me to let me know that’s what she’s doing. When I called her mobile this morning to find out if she wanted picking up tonight, her phone went straight to voicemail. I rang the ward where she works and they said she left at the usual time last night to come home.’
‘And she’s a nurse?’ Mariner checked.
‘Yes, on the critical care ward.’
‘So when did you last see her?’
‘Yesterday morning before I went to work. She was going out soon after. She doesn’t drive, you see. I mean, she tried learning, like, but she never passed her test, so she’s on public transport. She gets the train into town and walks through the city centre to get the bus from there. I don’t like her doing it but taxis are too expensive all the time. I try to get over and pick her up when I can, but what with work and the kids, I can’t always get away. And she’s careful, like. She’d only take the main streets that are brightly lit, and where there are folk about.’ Reaching into his trouser pocket Henderson got out a packet of cigarettes and a lighter.
‘I’m sorry,’ said Glover. ‘You can’t …’
‘Oh, right.’ His face fell.
‘Do you want to step outside for a bit?’ Mariner asked.
‘Nah, it’s OK.’ But the pack remained in his hand, turning over and over in his fingers as they talked.
‘So Dee would be in the city centre at what, about half past ten?’ said Glover.
‘Yeah, if she’s managed to get the train all right.’
‘How long have you been married?’ Mariner asked.
‘Oh, we’re not married, not yet.’ Henderson grinned. ‘Had to wait for the divorces to come through first of all and then what with the little ’un coming along we haven’t got round to it. But we’ve been together five years now, and Dee decided to take my name.’
‘Mr Henderson, there are some questions I need to ask you that will probably feel intrusive, but I do nonetheless need to ask them,’ Mariner said. ‘How are things between you and Dee?’
‘We’re good,’ said Henderson quickly. ‘Ups and downs like everyone else and the kids keep us on our toes, but we’re OK.’ The cigarette pack swivelled at speed and he looked from Mariner to Glover and back again. ‘We have a nice life.’
‘And where were you last night?’ asked Mariner.
‘At home with the kids. We’ve got three. I mean the older two are Dee’s kids, and then we’ve got our little princess, Tia.’
‘Would the older children be able to back you up with that?’
‘Up until about half nine, when the oldest one went to bed.’
‘And after that, what did you do?’ Mariner asked.
Breaking eye contact, Henderson shifted in his seat. ‘I spent a couple of hours on the computer going through the books for the business, then I went to bed myself at about midnight.’
‘What kind of business is it?’
‘I’m a plumber, self-employed.’
So the white patches under his fingernails were probably builders caulk, thought Mariner. ‘Is it doing well?’ he asked.
‘Not too bad, as it happens. I work with a couple of regular building contractors, like, as well as doing a few domestics.’
‘Do you have a photograph of Dee?’ Mariner asked.
Henderson took out his wallet, and from it a creased snapshot of a woman with three young children. ‘It was taken a couple of years ago, like,’ said Henderson. ‘The kids are older now: eleven, nine and four.’ Dee Henderson had short brown hair and a wide, toothy smile.
‘How would you describe your wife?’ Mariner asked.
Henderson smiled. ‘Happy, friendly and outgoing,’ he said. ‘She’s a brilliant mum.’ And then he seemed to remember why he was here, and the smile died on his lips.
‘What did you think?’ Mariner asked Glover as they crawled through the Queensway tunnel on their way back to Granville Lane.
‘I’m not sure,’ said Glover. ‘It’s natural that he’d be worried about his partner, but he couldn’t sit still, could he?’
‘There was a lot of nervous energy there,’ Mariner agreed, ‘though that may have been because he wanted to smoke.’
‘If he wanted it that badly why didn’t he take up your offer? He didn’t seem very relaxed talking about his business either.’
Mariner smiled to himself. Typical of squeaky-clean Charlie to be slow on the uptake. ‘Do you think it’s possible that at that time of night, with his wife out, Henderson might have been up to something else on the computer?’
‘Oh. Yes, I suppose so.’
‘But until we can do some more digging we’ll have to take him at his word. Meanwhile it does present us with the very real possibility that we now have three women missing. We’ll know for sure if we get another parcel of clothes in the next day or two.’
‘I can’t make up my mind if that will make it better or worse,’ said Glover.
Back at Granville Lane, Mariner reported back to Superintendent Sharp before taking this latest development into the incident room. Almost ceremonially, he added the photo given him by Paddy Henderson to that of Grace Clifton alongside the e-fit of Rosa Batista on the ever-growing incident board. At least it felt as if he was doing something positive.
‘Do we think this is another one?’ Vicky Jesson asked.
‘There are enough similarities to treat it as such,’ Mariner said. ‘But there are some differences too that mean we should be cautious. Dee Henderson is petite and slim, with brown hair. But her hair is shorter and she’s significantly older than Grace and Rosa, and she’s also in a serious, long-term relationship.’
‘Perhaps our washerwoman is becoming less discerning.’
‘We’ll reserve judgement until we know more about Dee Henderson.’
‘So what’s next?’
‘We go and talk to her work colleagues,’ said Mariner.
THIRTEEN
The recently opened Queen Elizabeth hospital was as slick and clean as an airport, with easily as much foot traffic. It was white, bright and shiny, with an army of volunteers meeting and greeting, transporting patients from distant car parks and directing visitors.
A woman, whose blue polo shirt asked ‘Can I help you?’, pointed them the way of the first-floor critical care wards. Perversely it seemed, the more serious the damage and urgent the care needs, the more controlled everything was, and from the hustle and bustle of the ground-floor outpatients departments they rose into an atmosphere of calm. What few staff there were, were quietly getting on with their work. One or two of these seemed to be in uniform and at one point they were passed by what looked like a couple of military police. Mariner wasn’t sure how welcome they would be in the clinical environment, but once they produced their warrant cards, there was no issue.
Arriving at the department, they entered a central space around which were arranged a number of smaller rooms, partitioned off by glass. On most of these the blinds were closed, but in the cubicle directly ahead they could just about make out, amid banks of electronic equipment, a human form. Behind a workstation to their left, a nurse seemed to be hunting around for something, lifting papers and opening and closing drawers. Eventually she glanced up. ‘I’m sorry, are you looking for someone?’ The photo ID clipped to her jacket said: Doctor Ellen Kingsley. After identifying himself, Mariner asked to speak to the person in charge.
Her smile was distracted. ‘Oh, well, that would be me,’ she said. ‘If you could give me a couple of minutes?’ Without waiting for an answer she resumed her search, then with an ‘Aha, at last,’ she disappeared briefly through a door behind her, and returned shortly afterwards, coming out from behind the workstation. Tall and slender, she looked to Mariner relatively young to carry the responsibility of running this department; forties, at most. There was a row of chairs to the side of the desk and she indicated that they should sit down. ‘Sorry, I’d take you through to my office, but I could be paged at any time.’ Reminded of this, she checked the device at her hip.
‘That’s fine,’ said Mariner. ‘I appreciate you talking to us. We’ll try not to keep you too long.’
Her fair hair was tied back but several fine wisps escaped, clinging to her dampened face. Her skin was pale, but her cheeks flushed, a rosy pink. And her concern about Dee Henderson’s whereabouts seemed more than simply professional. ‘I want to help,’ she said. ‘We’re a tight team here and Dee’s an important part of that. Is there any news?’
‘Sorry, no,’ said Mariner. ‘We’re trying to build up a picture of her movements yesterday evening. When did you last see her?’
‘When she left last night at the end of her shift,’ she said, ‘although as always, Dee was late getting away. It wasn’t until Paddy phoned this morning that we knew anything was wrong.’
‘What time did she leave?’
‘I suppose it was about twenty past ten, by the time she’d got her things.’
‘And as far as you know she was going straight home.’
‘If you can call it that. It’s a pig of a journey, especially at that time of night. It’s not quite so bad when she’s on earlies. Paddy always tries to pick her up when he can, but with the children …’ She broke off. ‘Oh, no. Actually Dee might not have gone straight to the bus stop yesterday. She said she was going to see if she could book some tickets at the Town Hall. I wasn’t sure that the box office would be open at that time but—’
‘So she was taking a detour,’ Mariner checked.
‘That’s what she said.’
‘And how did Dee seem yesterday?’
‘Fine, her usual cheerful self. I don’t know how she does it after an eight-hour shift, but somehow she does.’
‘Anything bothering her, any problems at home, do you know?’ Jesson asked.
‘I can’t imagine so, aside from the usual niggles of everyday life. It wasn’t easy for Dee and Paddy to get together in the first place. They had some hurdles to overcome, and I think that’s made them strong.’
‘What kind of hurdles?’
‘Well, Paddy’s injuries for one thing.’ She stopped suddenly. ‘He didn’t tell you all this?’
‘It wasn’t something he mentioned,’ Mariner said, ‘though he did say they’d both been married before.’
‘If we’re to get a clear picture of what has happened to Dee it would be helpful to get as much background information as we can,’ Jesson added encouragingly.
Ellen Kingsley was dubious but continued just the same. ‘Paddy was injured in Afghanistan. Dee looked after him when he came back to this country. It’s how they met. They got to know each other and one thing led to another.’
‘So Paddy was here, at the QE?’
‘No, this was what, about five or six years ago, when the military hospital was based on the old site, the other side of Selly Oak.’
‘This is the military hospital?’ said Mariner, looking around him. ‘I knew it was here, but I suppose I thought it operated separately.’ Somehow he had assumed it to be in its own distinct building.
‘Oh, it used to, but here we’re integrated with the main hospital,’ said Kingsley. ‘We treat both civilian patients and military personnel.’ As if to underline the point, the door swung open, and a young man in military uniform crossed the room in front of them, nodding an acknowledgement to Kingsley before disappearing into a door opposite. ‘We have the most up-to-date equipment for managing critical care up here. Some of it is stuff that’s so expensive the hospital couldn’t afford to duplicate it just for the sake of keeping the departments separate. Also, we have the most highly skilled and qualified staff, so it makes sense to concentrate all the specialist skills in one department, regardless of who it is we’re treating.’
‘That sounds like progress,’ said Mariner.
‘It is. Having a separate unit made it much harder to share resources and expertise. This way, we don’t differentiate, which is how it should be.’
‘So you’re …?’
‘I’m civilian, but we have a combination of military and civilian staff. Many of our patients at the moment are soldiers, so we run certain wards along the lines of a military hospital. When the soldiers regain consciousness it’s important that they have that structure and familiarity.’
‘Aren’t the civilian patients intimidated by the uniforms?’ asked Jesson.
Kingsley smiled. ‘Most of the time when they’re in our care they’re pretty out of it, to be honest.’
‘How serious were Paddy Henderson’s injuries?’ Mariner asked.
‘Physically I don’t think he was in too bad shape, not like some of the boys we have coming through here, but Paddy did suffer psychologically. I wasn’t here then, so I only know what Dee has told me, but I think it was a bit tricky. Even now, from what Dee says, there are times when he’s not that easy to live with. But she understands and knows how to handle him. It’s one of the strongest marriages I’ve come across. Scares the life out of me. Occasionally we have socials that partners get invited to and they seem to have a really close bond. I mean, I know that’s never the full story, but there always seems to be genuine warmth and affection between them, you know? Paddy’s very protective. And they’re devoted to the kids.’
‘And being part of the military hospital, does that cause any tensions?’
‘You mean between the civilian and non-civilian staff?’ Kingsley gave Mariner a withering look, and, standing up, walked him and Jesson over to the windows of the one visible cubicle. ‘This is what we’re dealing with, day in day out, Inspector. If you think we have time for petty rivalries, then you’re very much mistaken.’
They looked in on the figure lying in the bed, wired up to the machinery and swathed in bandages. ‘What happened to him?’ Mariner asked, hesitantly. It was hard to tell whether the person underneath was male or female, young or old.
‘Private Craig Lomax,’ she said. ‘Aged nineteen. An improvised explosive device has blown away his lower legs and part of his body.’
‘What are his chances?’ asked Jesson.
‘It’s really hard to say,’ said Kingsley. ‘They had to keep him at Camp Bastion for two weeks because he was too fragile to move. And since he came in here a couple of weeks ago he’s had two nasty episodes, though each time so far we’ve managed to stabilize him again. There was a glimmer of hope yesterday afternoon when he actually began to regain consciousness, and for an hour or so things were beginning to look promising, but it was too soon.’
‘Meaning what?’ Jesson couldn’t tear her eyes away from him.
‘He wasn’t ready emotionally to confront what had happened to him. It’s a common reaction. When he finally came round he became very distressed. It happens. The shock and the pain are too much for them and they get overwhelmed. We got the psychiatrist here straight away to try and see if we could bring him through it, but in the end we were forced to put Lomax back into a medically induced coma. It was touch and go for about an hour. It’s why Dee was a bit late leaving.’
‘She spends a lot of time with him?’ asked Mariner.
‘She’s Lomax’s designated ICU nurse.’
‘It all sounds incredibly stressful,’ said Jesson.
‘For Lomax certainly, and for his visitor. We had to send him away while we sorted things out. But for us?’ She shrugged. ‘It’s part of what we do. I don’t imagine your job is a barrel of laughs all the time.’
‘How does Dee cope with it?’ asked Jesson.
