The Danger Within

Twenty-Five

Rather to everyone’s surprise the man injured in the Tide Reach shooting regained consciousness within hours of his arrival at the North Devon District Hospital. It seemed that both bullet wounds had somewhat miraculously failed to penetrate any major organs.

Photo ID documents found in the wallet he was carrying in his jacket pocket had confirmed his identity. The man was, as Vogel had so strongly suspected, Thomas Quinn’s thirty-seven-year-old business partner, Jason Patel.

As soon as they heard the news of his at least partial recovery, in spite of it being almost midnight, Vogel and Saslow set off for the NDDH. They had been told they could have just a few minutes with Patel, who was not considered to be out of danger, and remained in the intensive care unit.

DI Peters had earlier allocated a team to find out all they could about Patel and his background. It seemed his grandfather, Ali, had been a Ugandan refugee, expelled from his country of birth by the despot Idi Amin back in 1972. Unusually, the Patels had settled in North Devon. They were a hard-working family who integrated well into the local community. Ali, in the way that was to become something of a tradition amongst Asian immigrants, opened a small general store, selling everything from newspapers to hot bacon rolls. Ali’s son Rohit, Jason’s father, married an English girl, hence Jason’s name. Rohit became an accountant, opening his own successful business in Bideford, which Jason, who also trained as an accountant, took over upon his father’s unexpected death from an aneurism several years earlier. Also like his father, Jason married an English girl, from whom it was believed he was divorced.

When Jason had suddenly sold the family business three years previously and gone into partnership with Thomas Quinn, it had apparently been a big surprise to the local business community. Not least because the seemingly solid accountant had entered a much less certain world.

In his hospital bed, Patel was propped into an almost sitting position with a nasal drip, tubes out of his arm, and all the usual paraphernalia of a specialist ICU, when Vogel and Saslow arrived at his bedside.

His eyes were closed when the two officers entered the room. But after Vogel spoke his name loudly a couple of times, Patel slowly opened them. It seemed to take him a few seconds to focus.

Vogel introduced himself and Saslow. Looking at Patel he did not think they were likely to glean a great deal yet. Nonetheless he began to ask questions, starting with an obvious one which would help him to judge the man’s mental condition.

‘Do you know where you are, Mr Patel?’ he asked.

‘Yes,’ responded Jason Patel. ‘I’m in hospital.’

‘Do you know which hospital?’

‘No...’ Patel paused. ‘Well, I’d guess the NDDH.’

‘Do you know why you are here?’

‘Yes. I’ve been shot.’

Patel’s voice was weak, but he seemed lucid enough. So far.

‘Do you know who shot you?’

Patel looked uneasy. Or perhaps just bewildered. He shook his head.

‘Mr Patel, I’m going to ask you that question again, and this time I would be grateful if you could answer in words. Do you know who shot you?’

‘N-no. I don’t.’

‘But last night, after you were told that Thomas Quinn had been killed, you asked for police protection. Who were you afraid of, Mr Patel?’

‘I don’t know. I w-was in shock. I couldn’t believe Thomas was dead...’

‘We believe there were armed men in your office when you arrived there today. Do you remember how many of them there were, and did you recognize any of them?’

‘No. I d-don’t... I don’t know what happened. Only what I’ve been told...’

‘Why’s that, Mr Patel?’

‘I don’t remember anything. I don’t remember anything before I woke up here.’

‘Do you remember where you were when you were shot?’

‘N-no. I remember leaving my house this afternoon. I think I was going to the office...’

‘On a Sunday?’

‘Is it Sunday? Well, y-yes. Sometimes... And because of Thomas. There were things to do...’

Patel slumped backwards, sinking more deeply into the pillows. His voice had become even weaker. His face was grey and sweaty looking. Vogel suspected the nurse standing by would not allow this interview to continue for long. In any case it was not getting them very far. Nonetheless he decided to continue until he was asked to stop.

‘Mr Patel, have you any idea why anybody would want to shoot you?’

Patel shook his head again. He looked as if he might no longer have the strength to speak. Vogel did not press him. On cue the nurse stepped forward and placed a hand lightly on the DCI’s arm.

‘I think that will have to be enough for now, Mr Vogel,’ she said.

‘I understand,’ said Vogel. ‘When do you think we’d be able to try again?’

‘Some time tomorrow, hopefully,’ said the nurse. ‘If all goes well.’

Jason Patel was clearly seriously hurt. But Vogel couldn’t help wondering how much of his amnesia was genuine.

As they left the room, Vogel turned to discuss the matter with Saslow, but was interrupted before he’d begun by a woman who had been sitting on one of the row of green plastic chairs outside the ICU. As soon as she saw Saslow and Vogel step into the corridor she stood up and approached them. She looked red-eyed and upset.

‘Are you the police?’ she asked.

Vogel agreed that they were.

‘Have you been to see Jason, Jason Patel?’ she continued.

Vogel did not answer that, instead he asked his own question.

‘Would you please tell me who you are, madam?’ he said.

‘I’m Jason’s wife,’ said the woman. ‘Maureen Patel. Well, his ex-wife actually.’

‘I see,’ said Vogel, who then introduced himself and Saslow. He thought the woman looked rather more distraught than one might expect an ex-wife to be. It seemed that she read his mind.

‘We were married for thirteen years,’ she said. ‘Together for almost fifteen. Jason is the father of my children. In the end I could not stay with him. I just couldn’t take any more. But I suppose I will always love him. In a way.’

‘May I ask when you last saw your ex-husband?’

‘Yes. Last Sunday. He usually takes the kids on a Sunday. Or visits them, at any rate. He didn’t turn up today. I was just angry, at first. They get so disappointed, you see. He’s usually a good father. But lately...’

Her voice tailed off.

‘Lately what, Mrs Patel?’ queried Saslow.

‘Lately he’s been all over the place. Totally unreliable. It’s been building up for a couple of years. Why we split up, actually.’

‘What exactly has been building up?’ persisted Vogel.

‘Look. He’s not been the man I married, since... well, since he got involved with that Thomas Quinn.’

Well, she’s blunt, thought Vogel. And that suited him well. He liked a witness who got to the point.

‘Mrs Patel, do you know that Thomas Quinn is dead, that he has been murdered?’ he asked.

‘Yes, I do.’

‘When did you learn that?’

‘On the news, a few hours ago. They named him on the BBC. I was sitting in the waiting room. I’d only just arrived. The TV was on. I couldn’t believe my ears. That was the pair of them. Thomas killed yesterday, and my Jason shot this afternoon. I can’t understand it. I’ve been here ever since. They let me see Jason for a few minutes earlier, but I couldn’t get any sense out of him...’

That makes two of us, thought Vogel, who then reminded himself that he was dealing with a gravely injured man. He really shouldn’t be so cynical. Cynicism was, after all, the copper’s curse, in Vogel’s opinion. All too often it clouded your judgement and prevented you from seeing what was right in front of your eyes.

‘You indicated that you’ve been here for several hours, Mrs Patel?’ Vogel continued. ‘How did you know your ex-husband had been shot.’

‘I didn’t. Not at first. They just told me there’d been a serious incident, Jason was injured, and he’d been taken here.’

‘Who’s they, Mrs Patel?’

‘I don’t know exactly. Whoever answered Jason’s phone when I called it this afternoon. A man. I assumed afterwards that it was a nurse or a paramedic. Or I suppose it could have been a policeman.’

If it was, Vogel considered, that policeman was going to get a rollicking for not reporting up the chain of command that he’d spoken to Patel’s ex-wife. Either that or he’d filed a report which hadn’t been properly passed on. Either way, somebody was in trouble, because the SIO had not been told. He had a feeling Maureen Patel was going to prove to be a very interesting witness. She would have been found in the end, of course, but it was only chance that he and Saslow had stumbled upon her so early in the investigation.

‘Why did you call your husband?’ he asked. ‘Were you worried about him because he didn’t turn up?’

‘No. Not a bit. I told you, Jason’s become unpredictable. Careless. It was because of the children, him letting them down, and not for the first time. They’re teenagers now, or very nearly, twelve and thirteen. They don’t admit it, either of them, but they get so upset. That’s why I called Jason. To give him a roasting, I suppose, but also to see if I could make him come over, even if he was going to be hours late. I had the shock of my life when that fella answered and told me Jason had been hurt badly enough to be on his way to hospital, I can tell you.’

‘Mrs Patel, you’ve indicated that your ex-husband’s business partnership with Thomas Quinn played a part in the break-up of your marriage,’ he continued. ‘Why was that?’

‘He changed. He was on edge all the time. He was hardly ever home. They used to go off clubbing, for God’s sake. Or that’s what Jason told me. And he’d come home with lipstick on his collar, that sort of thing. I never thought that was for real. I mean, it even sounds like something out of fiction. But he actually did come home with a lipstick smudge on his collar on more than one occasion. Although he always denied there was another woman. To begin with, I believed him. He’d always been a good husband before. And I’d always trusted him. But I didn’t understand what was happening. It wasn’t like Jason. Sometimes he behaved almost as if he were afraid of Thomas. If Thomas clicked his fingers, Jason jumped. That’s how it was from the beginning. Once or twice I thought drugs might be involved. But Jason denied that too.’

‘Did he offer any sort of explanation?’ asked Saslow.

‘He just said they had some big business deals going on, and he couldn’t think about anything else. It was all going to be over soon, then we’d reap the reward. But that never happened, of course. Things just got worse and worse.’

‘In what way?’ queried Saslow.

‘I said before. He wasn’t the man I married. There was a new hardness about him. If I told him how unhappy I was, he’d just get up and go out. And I never knew where he went, or when he’d be back. And then he started staying out all night. Without a word of explanation. Even when I told him I couldn’t stand it any more, that I wanted us to split up, that I no longer wanted to share my life with him, he just shrugged his shoulders and walked out the door. The kids could see what was happening, of course. Can’t they always? More than you, half the time. And they were getting affected by it all. Bad marks at school. Bad behaviour. Particularly our Jennifer, the thirteen-year-old. Girls grow up quicker than boys, don’t they? You can’t believe there’s only a year between them sometimes. Paul is still a little boy. Jennifer’s fast becoming a young woman. But she’s always been a proper Daddy’s girl. I could see it was breaking her heart.

‘One night we were watching telly and Invasion of the Body Snatchers came on. Paul said, “Do you think that’s what’s happened to Daddy, Mum? Has he been invaded by an alien?” We all had a laugh. And goodness knows we needed it. It was funny after all. But Paul had only been half joking. I really think it seemed to him like an alien had taken over his father and come to live with us.’

‘When did you split up, and was there an incident which brought things to a head?’ asked Vogel.

‘About eighteen months ago. There was nothing special. Just more of the same, really. Finally, one day I told Jason he had to go. I wanted him out. He didn’t argue. Barely said anything. Just went upstairs and came back down ten minutes later with a bag. The sort of bag you’d take on a week’s holiday, not something you’d even start to pack your belongings in if you were leaving home. Then he left. And he barely said goodbye. We got divorced as soon as possible after. He cooperated with everything.’

‘Where did he go?’

‘I found out that he’d gone straight to this flash new apartment overlooking the estuary, just outside Instow. It almost seemed as if he had it there waiting.’

‘So presumably he and Thomas Quinn were successful in their business venture, if he could afford an apartment like that as well as running the family home?’ Vogel continued. ‘Or were you doing that, Mrs Patel?’

‘No, I didn’t work. Not at all when Jason and I were together. He never wanted me to. He wasn’t a chauvinist. We both thought bringing up children was a full-time job. And I never needed to work. Or I didn’t think I did. But I always suspected that it was because of money that he set up the partnership with Thomas. Not that he ever consulted me about that either. And that wasn’t like him.’

‘Does he pay you maintenance for the children?’

‘Yes. Although come to think of it I noticed a couple of days ago that this month’s payment was overdue. I was going to ask him about it. He gave me the house too, by the way. Just signed it over. Didn’t bring in a solicitor or anything to argue the toss.’

‘Did that surprise you?’

‘Not really. That was more like the old Jason. Kind, and generous to a fault. There was a mortgage on it though, much bigger than I thought, but he’s carried on paying the instalments.’

‘Clearly you still care about him., Mrs Patel.’

‘Always. For the kids’ sake, if nothing else. But I have been driven to distraction. And now this... well! You know, it’s strange, but it seems almost inevitable that something horrendous was going to happen. And I tell you this, if Jason survives, and it looks like he’s going to, you lot needn’t worry about interviewing the truth out of him. I’m going to get the full story from him, if I have to stick a hot poker in his wounds.’

Vogel winced. Mrs Patel had used a very graphic turn of phrase. Vogel didn’t like the picture her words conjured up. Extreme violence, even in the abstract, always disturbed him. Vogel wasn’t sure whether that was a good or bad thing for a police officer with almost twenty-five years’ service behind him. He did know it was unusual.

‘He will tell me the truth now,’ continued Mrs Patel, in much the same vein. ‘He darned well will. Or he’ll end up wishing he had died in that shooting.’