The Scent of Death

Chapter 15

The afternoon’s search started in the same way as the morning’s. After lunch, the team assembled once more on the hospital’s steps. The rain had started again, not heavily, although the dark clouds promised that could soon change. We sheltered underneath the faux-Grecian portico, its fluted columns streaked with bird droppings and graffiti. Not for the first time, it struck me how much the entrance to St Jude’s resembled that of a mausoleum. Standing under the shadowed gloom of the portico’s roof, with the heavy doors opening into the dark interior, was like being on the threshold of a tomb.

It wasn’t the best association for a hospital.

Once again, we found ourselves waiting for Jessop. The contractor had taken himself off when we’d broken for lunch and had failed to come back. In a reprise of that morning, Whelan looked at his watch with barely suppressed irritation.

‘Bugger this. We’ll start without him.’

But he’d no sooner said it than the contractor appeared, strolling with an almost insulting lack of urgency from the direction of the portable toilets. He was still fastening his overalls, frowning as he struggled to zip them over his gut.

‘We’ve been waiting for you,’ Whelan said, tight-lipped.

Jessop wriggled his thick fingers into a tight glove. ‘I was taking a dump.’

‘We were supposed to be starting ten minutes ago.’

‘Yeah, well, I’m here now, aren’t I?’

Whelan studied him expressionlessly, then spoke to the rest of us. ‘You all go on up. Mr Jessop and I will be there in a minute.’

It took them slightly longer than that. We’d trooped back up to the top floor and were standing around at the top of the stairs. No one spoke, and only the Labrador was oblivious to the uncomfortable atmosphere. Footsteps echoing up the stairwell announced Whelan and Jessop’s arrival, the big man lagging behind the DI like a reprimanded schoolboy.

‘Right, let’s get to it,’ Whelan said, setting off down the floodlit corridor.

Pausing at the top for breath, Jessop stared after him sullenly but said nothing.

I can count on the fingers of one hand how often time has dragged while I’ve been working on an investigation. More often than not the opposite holds true, and I’ll emerge from some task to realize the day’s gone by without my noticing. Inside St Jude’s, though, time seemed to congeal. There was nothing to do except slowly follow the dog along one endless corridor after another, searching empty rooms that all seemed to merge. I’d glance at my watch, convinced that an hour or more had passed, only to find that the hands had hardly moved at all.

But at least Jessop was behaving himself. Whatever Whelan had said to him seemed to have worked, although as the afternoon wore on his truculence began to reassert itself. There were several more false alarms that came to nothing, each one prompting mutterings and impatient sighs from the contractor. When the last one produced the fur and bones of another dead rat, his restraint finally broke.

‘I thought these things were supposed to be trained?’ he burst out, as the Labrador’s handler rewarded it with the tennis ball again. ‘My own dog’d do a better job than this! Can’t it tell the difference between a dead body and a bloody rodent?’

‘No, can you?’ its handler shot back. She straightened, staring at Jessop as though daring him to criticize her dog again. The contractor appealed to Whelan instead.

‘This is bollocks! How much longer are we going to spend farting around like this?’

The police officer spoke without looking at him. ‘As long as it takes.’

‘Oh, come on, we’re just wasting time. There’s nothing here!’

‘Then the sooner we confirm that, the sooner you can bring your bulldozers back and start breaking things.’

‘You think it’s funny?’ Jessop’s bloodshot eyes seemed to bulge over his mask. ‘While you all stand around with your thumbs up your arse, this is costing me money!’

Whelan regarded him. ‘No, I don’t think it’s funny, Mr Jessop. I’m sorry if it inconveniences you but this is a murder inquiry. That takes precedence over your profit margin.’

‘Profit…?’ Jessop gave a bitter laugh, shaking his head. ‘Jesus. You’ve no idea, have you?’

Whelan was saved from responding by his radio. Giving Jessop a baleful stare, he moved off to answer it.

Silence fell. The SOCOs exchanged glances with each other, and one of them looked at me and rolled his eyes. Indifferent to it all, the big contractor stood with his head bowed and shoulders slumped. He was shaking his head, grumbling to himself under his breath.

‘You know what? Fuck it.’

Abruptly, he yanked down his hood and took off his mask. His face was flushed and sweating, thinning hair plastered to his head. His cheeks bore red lines where the mask straps had dug in.

‘Whoa, you can’t do that,’ one of the SOCOs told him.

‘No? Watch me. I’ve wasted enough time on this fucking place.’

He started back down the corridor towards the main stairs. Whelan’s voice stopped him.

‘Mr Jessop!’

The contractor slowed, then turned. His face was sullen and angry as the DI came over.

‘That was the PolSA. Looks like one of the other search teams has found asbestos in the basement. You wouldn’t know anything about that, would you?’

A change came over Jessop’s features. He blinked, his mouth working as though silently trying out words. ‘What? No, I didn’t… I haven’t…’

He trailed off. Whelan stared at him, then turned to the rest of us.

‘OK, let’s take a break.’

I sat in my car with the door open. A polystyrene cup of stewed tea steamed on the dashboard, slowly cooling. It was almost an hour since we’d come out of the hospital, and I was yet to hear when — or if — we were going back in again. A fine mist of rain speckled the windscreen as I took a drink of tea. Taking my time.

Something told me it could be a long wait.

Jessop had looked haggard as we emerged from the hospital into daylight, his face ashen beneath the whiskers. All his bluster had deserted him, as much an admission of guilt as any confession. His firm was supposed to have carried out a survey at St Jude’s before any demolition work started. That should have included checking for any asbestos in the antiquated hospital, which, if found, would have to be safely removed. That was time-consuming and expensive and could only be carried out by a licensed company. At best, Jessop was guilty of negligence for missing it. At worst, he knew it was there and deliberately said nothing, which could mean criminal charges.

No wonder he’d been so desperate to knock the place down.

It left the police search of St Jude’s in limbo, at least until the risk had been assessed. And possibly even longer, if the operation was suspended until the place had been made safe. Either way, it meant more delays until a decision was reached.

I climbed out of the car and stretched, debating if it was even worth staying any longer. I couldn’t see anyone being allowed back inside for the rest of the day, and there were more interesting ways of passing an afternoon than sitting in a car park. I’d decided to try and find Whelan when I saw someone come out from one of the police trailers.

It was Jessop.

If anything, he looked even worse than before, as though he’d aged ten years in the space of an hour. I didn’t want to talk to him, but I needn’t have worried about him seeing me. He wasn’t in any state to notice anyone just then. His walk was slightly stumbling, as though he’d lost coordination, and his face had a dazed expression. Watching him, I wondered if he was in shock. The question was answered a moment later. As he passed a line of police cars his legs suddenly buckled. He tried to support himself against one but only slid down it, sitting with a thump on to the wet tarmac.

I ran over. He made no attempt to get up, just stayed where he was with one arm draped along the car.

‘Are you OK?’ I asked. He stared at me without answering, blinking owlishly. It could be more than shock, I thought, looking around for help. ‘All right, stay here. I’ll go and get—’

‘No!’ Colour was coming back to his face now, a red flush starting in his cheeks. ‘I don’t want anything to do with those bastards.’

He started trying to haul himself up, leaning against the car for support. I hesitated, then put my arm underneath his to help him.

‘Get off me,’ he said dully.

But there was no feeling behind the words, and he didn’t try to shrug me off. He was every bit as heavy as he looked, too heavy for me to lift on my own. He was already recovering, though. His grip on my shoulder was strong as he pushed himself upright, and after a brief wobble his balance was good. Probably just shock, then, I thought, as he let go of me and straightened on his own.

‘Where are you parked?’ I asked.

‘I can manage,’ he muttered, before adding, ‘Over there.’

His car was an old Mercedes that in better condition might have been a collector’s item. As it was, like its owner it looked like it was barely hanging on. Jessop could walk under his own steam now, but I stayed with him while he searched for his car keys and then unlocked it.

‘You shouldn’t drive yet,’ I told him, hoping he wouldn’t try. I didn’t relish trying to get the keys off him.

‘I’m all right.’

He made no attempt to get into his car, though. I was wondering if I should leave or stay with him when his shoulders started heaving.

‘They’ve got rid of me,’ he said, tears rolling down his grey-stubbled cheeks. ‘Bastards have thrown me out. Said they’re going to look at charging me.’

He’d been threatening to walk out anyway and done nothing but complain since we’d been there. And even if he hadn’t known about the asbestos, his negligence had still put his own employees, as well as other people, at risk. But even though Jessop might have brought this on himself, he cut a pathetic figure now. As much as he might deserve it, I couldn’t leave him in this state.

‘Here, sit down.’

Opening the car door, the first thing I saw was a plastic container of orange juice in the passenger footwell. Lying next to it was a half-empty bottle of vodka. I’d already had Jessop down as a drinker. He’d smelled of alcohol that morning, and I’d noticed it still clung to him as I’d helped him to the car. I’d assumed it was in his system from the night before, never thinking he’d be stupid enough to drink in the middle of a police operation. Whatever pity I’d had for the contractor dried up. This wasn’t just about making sure Jessop was all right any more. My wife and daughter had been killed by a drunk driver. I wasn’t about to let one behind the wheel now.

The contractor sank heavily on to the car seat, facing outwards with his feet planted on the ground. He sat limply, his big hands dangling between his knees and a lost expression on his face.

‘That’s it. I’m fucked.’ He’d stopped crying, at least. ‘It’s all gone. Everything. All of it, up in smoke.’

There was a beaten air about him. Then his expression hardened as he looked up at St Jude’s.

‘This fucking place. I wish I’d never set eyes on it. All that time and money, buying new plant, taking on more men. Jesus. I should’ve blown the fucker up weeks ago.’

I was looking round, half hoping to catch sight of Whelan or someone else who could intervene. There were a few white-clad figures at the far end of the car park, but none of them was looking this way.

‘Why don’t I call a taxi…?’ I said, already knowing how that would go down.

He squinted up at me. ‘What the fuck are you talking about? I don’t want a taxi, I’ve got a car.’

His belligerence was back. I knew there was little chance of convincing him, and before I could try one of the trailer doors across the car park opened. With relief I saw Ward emerge with a group of uniformed senior officers. I recognized Ainsley, but it was only when I saw the civilians with them that I realized what was going on.

Oh, Christ.

I’d forgotten about Christine Gorski’s family visiting St Jude’s that afternoon. Her mother and father were leaning together for support as they walked, faces shell-shocked and etched with grief. They were smartly dressed, as though for church or a formal event. Their son was separate from them and off to one side. He wore jeans and walked with his head down and his hands thrust into his pockets, a noticeable distance between him and his parents.

The fourth civilian was Adam Oduya.

Even in his casual clothes, the activist still stood out more than the senior police officers around him in their crisp dark uniforms. The visit was clearly at an end. I was too far away to hear, but there were handshakes and earnest nods from the police officials. Then the group was breaking up, most of the police splintering off back to their cars. Ward and Ainsley stayed with Oduya and Christine Gorski’s family, accompanying them as they walked away from the trailer.

Towards where I stood with Jessop.

They hadn’t noticed us yet, and the contractor was facing away from them. Even so, it was only a matter of time. I looked around desperately, searching for some way to avoid what was about to happen. Their voices grew clearer as they approached, with Oduya’s distinctive baritone carrying above the rest. Jessop’s head came up as he heard it. He rose to his feet, his thick eyebrows knitting together as he saw the group.

‘What’s that bastard doing here?’

Until then I’d only been worried about the grieving family encountering the contractor. It hadn’t occurred to me that Jessop would know Oduya. But the activist had been leading the campaign to save St Jude’s, had been responsible for its stay of execution over the bats. And, after producing Christine Gorski’s family in front of the press, his face had been all over the TV and news sites for the past twenty-four hours.

Jessop would definitely recognize the man responsible for the delays.

I put a restraining hand on his shoulder. ‘You should get back in the car…’

‘That fucker,’ he breathed, glaring at Oduya.

I tried to block his path as he started towards them, but he pushed past me. His earlier weakness had been forgotten, replaced by adrenaline and anger. Knowing we were making exactly the sort of scene I’d wanted to avoid, I made one last attempt to stop him.

‘Don’t, that’s her family…’ I began, but he wasn’t listening. Jessop was a big man, accustomed to using his bulk, and he shrugged me off as he strode out from behind his car.

‘You!’

He stabbed a finger at Oduya. The group were already looking over, drawn by the disturbance. I saw Ward’s eyes widen, while a look of cold fury compressed Ainsley’s features. The others stared at us, confused. Including Oduya. Jessop might have good reason to know him, but the recognition was one-sided: the activist had probably never set eyes on the demolition contractor before.

‘This is your fault!’ Jessop spat, still closing the distance between them. ‘Are you fucking happy now? Eh?’

Oduya looked bewildered. ‘I’m sorry, do I know you…?’

‘All right, that’s enough.’

Ainsley came towards Jessop, athletic and impressive in his police uniform and peaked cap. The contractor ignored him.

‘Do you know what you’ve fucking done?’ he snarled at Oduya. ‘All the grief you’ve caused? Who gives a fuck about a few bats or some junkie whore who—’

‘I said that’s enough!’ Ainsley stepped in front of him, taking hold of his arm. ‘DCI Ward, I want this man—’

I don’t think Jessop intended to hit him, but the big contractor was past caring. He jerked free from Ainsley’s grip, his arm flying up and striking the uniformed commander in the face. Ainsley’s head snapped back, his cap falling off as he stumbled backwards. I could hear footsteps as police belatedly raced towards us. I ran to restrain Jessop, seeing Ward doing the same as Christine Gorski’s family watched in shock.

But Oduya was closest of all of us. There was a look of concentration on his face as he stepped out to meet Jessop. As the bigger man lunged, the activist sidestepped and gripped his outstretched arm. Letting the bigger man’s momentum carry him past, he swept the arm up and behind Jessop’s back, locking it rigid. With an oath, the contractor stumbled, dropping to one knee with his arm extended painfully backwards.

‘You need to calm down,’ Oduya told him.

‘Bastard! Get off!’ Jessop gasped, trying to wrench free. In response Oduya twisted his arm higher.

‘Don’t make me hurt you.’

Ainsley had recovered from the glancing blow, but the police commander had lost his cap and his nose was bleeding. His face was tight with anger as he went to them. ‘All right, we’ve got him.’

Other officers were rushing over as well. Oduya stepped back as Jessop was swamped by uniforms. He gave me a nod, not even breathing heavily.

‘Hello, Dr Hunter.’

I returned the nod, still shaken. Whelan ran up, out of breath, as the bedraggled contractor was hauled to his feet. ‘What the hell…?’

‘Later,’ Ward told him. She gave me a furious look before turning away. ‘Mr and Mrs Gorski, I am so sorry…’

She was interrupted by a splashing noise. Standing in the background, forgotten by everyone, Christine Gorski’s teenage brother bent double as he vomited noisily on to the broken tarmac. His face was chalk white as he slowly straightened. For a second he seemed on the point of saying something.

Then his legs folded from under him and he collapsed.