Taste of Blood

Chapter Twenty-Two

Jane rested for two further days with her parents. She was feeling a lot better, especially since she’d managed to avoid any further conversations about Eddie. She had a follow-up appointment with Mr Halifax at the hospital on Saturday, so decided it was time to return home. She packed her suitcase and her father put it in the hall. ‘You know what I’d like before I go? Maybe a little walk along the canal to feed the ducks?’ she said.

‘Your mother’s out grocery shopping. Do you want to wait for her to come with us?’

‘No, just you and me, Dad, then I’ll get off home. I’ll be going back to work on Monday.’

Jane had her arm hooked into her father’s as they made the short walk from their block of flats down to the canal towpath.

‘You know this case I have been working on... about a boundary dispute... I think I mentioned a bit about it last night.’

They reached a bench and sat down.

‘Yes, what about it?’ he asked.

‘Well, I spent some time with a really nice woman who was looking for her son. She told me she had been seeing this medium.’

‘Oh, yes.’

‘Well, I went to see her and it was actually fascinating. She claims to be able to communicate with the dead, and of course I was very sceptical about it, but then when she said something to me...’

Mr Tennison leaned forwards as if concentrating on the ducks, while Jane tried to think how to put it into words. He opened the paper bag he’d brought with him and started tossing pieces of stale bread into the canal.

‘Go on, I’m listening,’ he said as several ducks swam towards them.

‘She... brought up Michael. It was impossible for her to have known anything about him... but do you want to hear what she said to me?’

He didn’t look at her as the ducks circled in the water with more swimming to join them.

‘She said he is at peace; he is a beautiful boy and that there is no reason to feel guilty about what happened.’

Jane tried to reach for his hand, but he stood up abruptly and shook out the rest of the bread from the bag before he crumpled it into a ball and stuffed it into his pocket.

‘That’s not quite right, Jane, I’m afraid. There will always be guilt. He was alone in the garden, wanting me to come out. I had made him a little fishing rod, with a loop at the end of it. I had taken him to the fair, and he had stood on tiptoe with one of their rods over a paddling pool filled with water and yellow plastic ducks. I helped him scoop one up to win a prize. I filled an old dustbin lid in the garden, and we brought out a couple of plastic ducks he played with at bath time. It was a hot sunny day, and the bin had no water left. The next-door garden had a big pond. He somehow squeezed through the hedge with the two little ducks and the fishing rod...’ He paused, trying to control his emotions. ‘They found him face down in the water.’

Jane wanted to put her arms around him, but he remained staring at the canal. Then he turned and said quietly that they should go back as her mother would be worried. She walked beside him, and he eventually allowed her to slip her hand into his.

‘There is guilt, Jane, always was, always will be; it is a wound in our hearts that will never heal.’

When they got back to the flat, Jane’s mother was putting portions of shepherd’s pie into freezer containers, to heat up when she got home. Jane didn’t say anything more about Michael or what Vera James had told her.

Driving off, she saw the way they stood together, their arms entwined, and it brought tears to her eyes. They had never hinted at the wound they still felt. They had shown such love and pride in their two daughters Jane and Pam, but their beloved first-born little boy Michael occupied a part of their hearts that neither daughter could touch.

Her house felt empty. She went into the kitchen, put the shepherd’s pie in the freezer, and filled the kettle to make herself a cup of tea. She was carrying her suitcase up the stairs when the phone rang. She hurried into the bedroom, tossing her case onto the bed, and reached for the phone.

‘Jane? It’s Fiona. I was just calling to see how you’re doing.’

‘Oh, it was not that much of an emergency. Grumbling appendix but very unpleasant and probably if it occurs again, I will have to have it removed.’

‘Let’s hope that won’t happen,’ Hutton said. ‘In the meantime, take all the time you need to get fully fit.’

‘Thank you, but I have the weekend and I will be in on Monday.’

‘Well, as long as you feel fully recovered, we’ve certainly got our hands full here. Things have escalated, as it looks like those youngsters were mixed up in a drug gangs feud.’

‘I’ll be up for anything needed,’ Jane said.

‘Good to hear. We’ll get you up to speed at the Monday-morning briefing. Until then, I hope you have a restful weekend.’

‘I’ll be there, and thank you, ma’am, for calling.’

Jane replaced the receiver and sat on the edge of the bed, then lay back, staring at the ceiling. There was no way she was going to tell Hutton the real reason she’d been in hospital, and she had the next two days to get her energy back. After unpacking, she couldn’t face any of the shepherd’s pie, so instead took a big mug of tea up to the bedroom. She left her file on Sebastian Hoffman on her dressing table, deciding that perhaps Stanley was right, she should just forget about it. She drew the bedroom curtains closed, then opened the bottle of sleeping tablets, took three, and swallowed them with half the mug of tea. After washing her face and cleaning her teeth, she pulled off the plaster on the right side of her abdomen — the only indication that she had undergone any surgery. She dabbed the area with disinfectant and put a fresh plaster on it, then returned to the bedroom. She soon felt the effects of the sleeping tablets, her eyelids heavy, and with the comforting duvet wrapping her naked body, she quickly sank into the darkness.

Saturday was a bright sunny day, and drawing back the curtains, Jane already felt refreshed. She put on a soft, grey tracksuit and white T-shirt, with a pair of cleanish trainers, planning to have her eight thirty appointment with Mr Halifax at the hospital and then go and do a grocery shop, return home and get down to giving the house a thorough clean and hoover.

Mr Halifax’s appointment was in the gynaecological and maternity section of the hospital. It was situated near to the wards, but off a corridor with various examination rooms. At eight fifteen Jane was the only person waiting, having reported in at the reception desk on the ground floor.

A nurse opened Mr Halifax’s door.

‘Jane? Please come in.’

Mr Halifax gave Jane a noncommittal glance, as he looked over her notes from a plastic clipboard. ‘How are you feeling?’

‘Fine, no real pain or discomfort,’ Jane said.

He nodded, indicating for Jane to lie down on the white paper-covered examination bed.

The nurse asked Jane to remove her tracksuit bottoms and drew her top up to her breasts. Mr Halifax put on a pair of surgical gloves, then eased off the plaster, gently feeling Jane’s pelvic area and abdomen. He took her temperature, then asked the nurse to take her blood pressure and went back to his desk.

Fifteen minutes later Jane left the hospital. Mr Halifax had given her a letter to give to her GP, and no further prescription was necessary. He had also given her his private practice card and address in Harley Street should she wish to contact him directly.

Jane decided she would have breakfast in the little cafe she remembered Stanley had recommended, enthusing about their pastries and coffee. She ordered a cappuccino and a hot bacon and egg roll and sat at the nearest table. The young waitress was having a spot of trouble with the hot milk contraption that was frothing and gurgling.

‘Morning, Cheryl. Still not got the hang of it, have you. Don’t press it down so hard, just tickle the lever. I’ll have my usual with three caramel lattes, one with no sugar.’

Jane recognised Dr Wilde, with his rumpled white coat and biro-stained pocket.

‘Good morning,’ she said pleasantly.

He turned towards her, and after a moment’s confusion raised his hand, smiling.

‘Hello there, I thought I’d given your inspector all the information my little grey cells could recall.’

There was a yelp from behind the counter as the frothing milk overflowed. A middle-aged woman wearing the cafe logo apron appeared and hurried towards the machine. ‘Now what have you done? How many times have I told you that if you press two levers at the same time it overloads. If anyone is waiting for their orders, give them our apologies because it’ll be another few minutes. Get a mop, Cheryl... now!’

Cheryl went off to get a mop and bucket as Jane gestured to the empty chair at her table. Dr Wilde sat down. ‘You know, it was such an odd coincidence because your colleague was asking me about... er, name’s gone.’

‘Georgina Larsson?’

‘Right, and last night I had another patient with sepsis. Young boy had been self-harming.’

‘What exactly is sepsis?’ Jane asked.

‘Normally the body releases chemicals into the bloodstream that help fight an infection, but then when the body’s response to these infection-fighting chemicals gets out of control, like it’s out of balance, then sepsis occurs. This can then trigger a chain reaction throughout the body, resulting in a cascade of bodily changes that eventually leads to organ failure.’

‘Is that what happened to Georgina Larsson?’

‘Yes. She was already in shock when she was brought in. You see, any infection can trigger sepsis; it can be brought on by pneumonia, abdominal infection and so on. In her case the surgeon determined it was an abdominal infection.’

‘Could she have had a miscarriage, or an abortion?’

He spread his hands.

‘I was not privy to the details, I’m afraid. She was exceptionally underweight, though, and I was told only fifteen years old. It was tragic. She didn’t last through the next day and her life support was withdrawn.’

‘Would the coroner’s report have more details?’

He shrugged. ‘Possibly.’

‘Well, thank you for the information.’

‘My pleasure. OK... duty calls... nice to meet you again, and have a nice day.’ He turned towards the counter where Cheryl finally had his order ready.

‘Just one more thing. Would the young girl we’ve talked about be taken to the hospital mortuary, or would her parents be allowed to take her home?’

‘I’m not sure, but it would have to have a coroner’s report and all the legal stuff, then be held in the mortuary for collection... sorry, need to get these delivered, goodbye!’

Jane opened her handbag and took out a pen. She sipped her cappuccino, then began making a list on the back of her receipt. First, she wrote ‘mortuary’, then ‘crematorium’, ‘tarmac company’, and finally ‘photographs’, underlined.

It took her some time to find it, but the hospital’s mortuary building was a short distance from the main hospital. It was a plain, square, brick building with a large chimney. A sign saying NO ADMITTANCE UNLESS AUTHORISED was framed on the double entry doors. She knocked on the doors with no result, until eventually an overweight man wearing a green uniform opened them.

‘DI Tennison. I need to speak to someone who could answer some questions relating to a police enquiry,’ she said, holding up her ID.

‘That has to be me, then,’ he said with a frown. ‘It’s the weekend so we only have two members of staff on duty. My name’s Chris Morgan.’

He led her into a spartan office with a desk and a chair, and a row of grey steel cabinets along the wall.

‘Thank you,’ Jane said, perching on the edge of the desk while he sat down in the only chair. ‘First, could you talk me through what happens when a deceased patient from the hospital is brought to the mortuary?’

‘Certainly. They’d be brought in in tagged body bags, and put straight in a chilled drawer. There’s usually a fast turnaround due to having limited space.’

‘So, the body would not be kept here for a lengthy period?’

‘Usually they are removed pretty quickly by the funeral directors.’

‘Are relatives allowed in here when the body is removed?’

‘Very rarely. They have usually had time to be with their loved ones while still in the hospital, and that can sometimes be a couple of days. Again, it’s down to space; beds are always needed.’

‘Can I test your memory, Chris?’ Jane asked. ‘I’m going back about four years, four and a half, maybe.’ He laughed wryly.

‘That’s asking a lot. You’d be surprised how many we have coming and going. And I doubt it’ll still be in the records.’

‘I want to know about a fifteen-year-old girl called Georgina Larsson. She would have been brought in from the ICU department on 15th March, 1982.’

He paused. ‘You’re not going to believe this, but I do remember. Not her name, but the date, because 15th March was my mother’s birthday. I mean, she’d been gone a few years, but there was something else that makes me remember it. They bring them down here on a gurney, right, and the porter wheels it over into the chill section, and usually two of us lift and place it on the drawer, right? Anyway, the reason I remember it is because I am always affected when it’s a child, you know? The bag was so light I asked if it was a little one, but the porter told me she was a teenager. She weighed hardly anything and he lifted her into the drawer himself.’

Jane looked thoughtful for a moment. ‘That’s really helpful, Mr Morgan. Thank you for your time.’

The next on her list was the Eltham Crematorium, and it was almost eleven o’clock before she got there. She had to wait some time as there had been a service earlier, and a few mourners were still examining the array of wreaths and flowers in the garden area at the rear of the church. It was almost eleven thirty before a man called Gordon Sands took her inside the small chapel.

They sat in one of the chapel pews and Jane explained that her questions were of a general nature and the enquiry didn’t relate to this crematorium specifically.

Sands nodded, then straightened a prayer book on the shelf of the pew.

‘Is it possible, Mr Sands, that in a cremation service, two bodies could have been place in the coffin, if one of them was very light?’

He shook his head firmly. ‘Oh, no.’

‘Is it usual practice to check inside a coffin before it is cremated?’

‘The funeral directors might well. I have never been required to do so.’

‘So would that mean it is possible?’

He grimaced. ‘On many occasions I have been asked if it’s permissible to place items of particular meaning in the coffin with the deceased, such as jewellery, books, letters and soft toys.’

‘So, on these occasions, did you check what was in the coffin before the cremation?’

‘No, I did not. But I think that’s beside the point; the thing is, if two bodies had been place in the coffin, the extra weight of the ashes would be quite noticeable.’

‘How much would the ashes normally weigh?’

‘Well, it varies of course, but something around four pounds.’

Jane nodded. ‘I see. Well, thank you for your help.’

Mr Sands stood up, then gestured for her to leave the chapel. She could feel his eyes on her as she walked out.

After doing a big grocery shop, she returned home, filling up her freezer and preparing a salad for her lunch. She was going to wait until two o’clock to call Angelica Martinez as she remembered that she worked half days. She needed to persuade her to provide a photograph of her son. The original idea about giving the house a good clean had gone out the window.

Jane was just rinsing her salad bowl and coffee mug when she heard hammering from the back garden. She looked out of the kitchen window and then dodged back as she could see Eddie’s father working on Gerry’s fence, removing the makeshift bits of wood that had been fixed up by one of Eddie’s boys. She hesitated, then thought he might have seen her at the window, so went out into the garden.

‘Hi there... I heard the hammering and saw you... just wondered how you are.’

He looked rather embarrassed. ‘Sorry if it’s disturbing you. Eddie asked me to come over to make this more secure. Their little dog squeezed through and did a bit of a runner.’

‘Oh, you are not disturbing me at all, and it’s very kind of you. How is Lynette? I suppose by now her wrist must be out of plaster.’

‘She’s fine, had it off a few days ago. So how are you keeping?’

‘Oh, I’m fine too. Give Eddie my best when you see him.’

She was about to return to her kitchen when she stopped in her tracks. ‘Can I ask you something. It’s about a case I’m working on. You remember the time you worked at Clarendon Court?’

He was rolling some hard twine around a fence post, nodding but not looking at her.

‘I’d like to know which company laid the tarmac on the courtyard.’

‘Funny you should ask me that, but I was doing a job over in Orpington last week, and I saw their wagon. Well, it’s an old, converted lorry they use to boil up the tar. I mean, I’m not slagging them off, but I would have to call them a bunch of cowboys. They go round knocking on doors for business, and the reason I remembered them was they’d done a job on two old-age pensioners’ bungalow, just to tarmac their drive, and hit ’em for a few hundred quid. I made a note to be certain not to ever use them.’

Jane frowned. ‘They sound very dodgy. You wouldn’t have their details, would you?’

He dug into the back pocket of his dungarees and took out a notebook. He thumbed through it.

‘Patrick Kelly and Sons, out of St Mary Cray in Orpington. They didn’t have a phone number on their lorry but if you try making contact with them, you be careful. Like I said, they’re a rough outfit.’

‘Thanks.’ Jane smiled and turned back towards the house.

‘Sorry it didn’t work out with you and Eddie,’ he said. ‘He’s a good lad really.’

‘I’m sorry too. Thank you again for the information.’

In the kitchen, Jane thumbed through the phone book but couldn’t find Patrick Kelly and Sons.

Jane rang Angelica Martinez again and she agreed to see her at three o’clock. Jane used the time before seeing her to go to an arts and crafts shop. She bought some thick coloured pens and a big sheet of white cardboard as well as a smaller black sheet and some thin red ribbon. It was a little after three when she parked up outside Angelica’s flat.

Angelica welcomed her in with a smile, but Jane sensed a new reserve.

‘I really won’t take up any of your time,’ Jane said. ‘But it would be really useful to have a photograph of Sebastian.’

Angelica frowned. ‘What for?’

‘We’re still looking into his whereabouts,’ Jane explained.

Angelica signalled for Jane to follow her out of the small sitting room, passing her bedroom and opening the door to a little box room beside the bathroom.

Angelica stood back for Jane to enter. ‘This room is for Sebastian when he returns,’ she said. The small room had a single bed, a dressing table and a wardrobe. The walls were covered in photographs of Sebastian as a child, in Germany, in school uniform and then as the young teenager. Jane was taken aback, looking from one photograph to the next. She then moved closer to one wall.

‘When did you take these?’

‘Just before he left for Mexico.’

The photographs were of Sebastian with Georgina Larsson, the pair laughing with their arms wrapped around each other.

‘She was so sweet, so gentle, and they adored each other,’ Angelica said sadly. ‘I know her parents accused him of being perverted, which is a horrible accusation. I didn’t know how young she was, but he was just a child himself.’

‘May I have one of the photographs of Sebastian?’ Jane asked.

Angelica went over to the small single bed and pulled out a drawer beneath it.

‘I have many copies, so choose which ones you would like to take.’

Jane sat on the bed and selected two of the teenage Sebastian, and then one of him with Georgina Larsson. She was easing them out of the plastic folder when she saw another photograph.

‘What is this one?’

‘Oh, I took that when I was waiting for him to come home. I used to walk around the courtyard, but then Mrs Larsson told me I was not allowed to be on their property.’

The black and white photograph was of the lorry laying the tarmac, and beside it a white van. Clearly printed on the side in thick black letters was ‘Kelly and Sons’ with their phone number.

Jane jotted down the number in her notebook. ‘Can I just clarify that after Sebastian left for Mexico, your husband sold the courtyard to the Larssons, and the house was sold around the same time?’

‘Yes, but in all honesty, Victor was under such pressure as they threatened to have Sebastian arrested. He not only sold the house at a huge loss because of the fire, he virtually gave them the courtyard as we needed to get it fixed, but we had no money.’

Jane thanked Angelica for the photographs, promising she would contact her as soon as she had any news of Sebastian. She had caught the haunted look in Angelica’s eyes, and felt bad, because by now Jane truly believed her son was never coming home.

Returning to the house, Jane called the number for Kelly and Sons but it appeared to be disconnected. She called the operator to ask if there was another number for them but there didn’t seem to be. She tried to track them down through other companies advertising the same type of business, such as tarmac, roof repairs, paving stones or garden maintenance, but no one could recall Kelly and Sons.

As a last resort, Jane called David Caplan, and he couldn’t wait to tell her that they had a second buyer interested in the house. ‘Hopefully Alice and I will be leaving soon. The gates and wall are almost finished and look really good. That wretched woman Mrs Larsson virtually spent all her time watching their every move.’

‘That’s great news. I was just calling to check something: when the posts for your new gates were installed, did you need to replace any of the tarmac?’

‘Yes, as a matter of fact we did.’

‘Was it the same company that originally tarmacked the courtyard?’

‘I believe so. I offered to pay them, but Mrs Larsson insisted that she settle it. They seemed a bit aggressive towards her, to be honest, but I wasn’t going to get involved.’

‘Do you have their contact details?’

‘I do, just in case I needed them for any other project, but they were a scruffy lot, so I doubt I ever would.’

Mr Caplan asked her to hold on while he went up to his office and he would put the call through from there. She could hear Buster barking at full throttle and a doorbell ringing before he came back on the line. ‘Right, apparently they were Kelly and Sons, but the card they gave me had that crossed out and replaced with ‘Patrick McGregor, Orpington...’

Jane jotted down the name and phone number, thanking Mr Caplan again and hoping the sale of their house went through. As soon as she hung up, she dialled the new number. It rang five times before it was answered. The young girl’s voice sounded bored as Jane asked if she could speak to Mr McGregor.

‘He’s out on a job. He might be back after six.’

‘My name is Jane Tennison, I would really like to talk...’

The phone went dead.