The next day started promisingly enough. I’d slept well, with no further call-outs from Mears to disturb my night. I’d gone to bed in a better frame of mind anyway, after receiving an unexpected call from Rachel. The research boat had made an unscheduled stop at an island due to bad weather. The mobile coverage was non-existent so she was calling from a public landline.
My mood had instantly brightened at hearing her voice. There was a hollowness to the line and a slight delay.
‘How is it over there?’ I asked.
‘Well, yesterday we were tagging a pod of bottle-nosed dolphins and spent the night anchored off an uninhabited island. Then this afternoon there was a terrific thunderstorm, so we’ve been in a taverna most of the evening.’
‘Sounds awful.’
‘It’s a nightmare. How about you?’
‘Oh, the usual.’
‘The usual,’ she echoed. ‘There’s no internet out here, but Dimitri picked up a two-day old Times this afternoon. I read they’d found more bodies in that old hospital. That’s the case you’re working on, isn’t it?’
‘We’re coming to the end of it.’ I didn’t want to talk about St Jude’s. Dimitri? ‘Do you know how much longer you’ll be out for?’
‘Another three weeks at least before we’re due back at the mainland. But we’ll be making stops at a couple of bigger islands, so I won’t be out of touch all the time. Honestly, we have to come out here sometime. I can’t tell you how blue the sea is…’
She tried, all the same. I was content to listen, enjoying hearing her. All too soon I heard someone calling her in the background. ‘Yeah, coming,’ she said to whoever it was. ‘Got to go. I’ll call you in a day or two. Just be careful, OK?’
‘You’re the one in the middle of the Aegean. I’m stuck in London.’
‘I know, but… Let someone else take the risks this time, OK?’
I knew she was thinking back to what had happened earlier that year, when her sister had been murdered and Rachel and her surviving family had almost lost their lives. That sort of trauma didn’t just disappear, regardless of how blue the sea was.
‘I’m surrounded by police. The only risk is catching cold from standing around all day,’ I told her.
There was a pause. I could almost see the pensive ‘v’ between her eyes. ‘OK, but—’
The same voice as before called something in the background. I couldn’t make out what, but it was male, deep and richly accented.
‘If that’s Dimitri, tell him to wait,’ I said.
Rachel laughed, the mood of a moment ago apparently lifted. ‘No, that’s Alain.’
‘There’s an Alain and a Dimitri?’
‘What can I say? It’s a multinational crew,’ she said, still laughing. ‘And some of them are waiting to use the phone, so I really have to go. I’ll speak to you soon.’
Buoyed up by talking to her, I’d celebrated with a glass of bourbon to make up for the one I’d missed the night before. Warmed by the phone call and the drink, I could have believed that what I’d told Rachel was true, that the St Jude investigation was coming to an end. The fingertip search hadn’t uncovered evidence of any more victims, and there wasn’t much more of the basement left to check. While the warren of narrow passages and ducting would take the cadaver dog longer to work through, another couple of days should see us finished as well. When I went to bed that night, I was already letting myself think that there was nothing else to find, that the old hospital had relinquished the last of its secrets.
As though encouraging that view, the sun was back out next morning. It had the thin, hard-edged quality of autumn rather than the summer heat of little more than a week before, but it was a welcome change after the recent grey clouds and rain. I actually felt optimistic as I drove to St Jude’s. Pulling up at the cordon by the gates, I saw that the bus stop across the road was empty. It seemed a sign that things were going to run more smoothly from now on, and as I parked outside the hospital even the sight of the bleak walls and boarded-up windows failed to dim my mood.
It didn’t last.
Whelan was waiting as I pulled up. ‘Don’t bother getting changed. The SIO wants to see you.’
What have I done now? ‘Why, has something happened?’
‘I’ll let her tell you herself.’
He still hadn’t forgiven me for catching him out with the mannequin’s arm. The hospital cast long shadows across the tarmac as I went to the same trailer where I’d had the conversation with Ward the previous day. A briefing had just finished. Officers were filing out, along with people in casual clothes who clearly weren’t police. I stopped outside and waited for Ward to emerge. She did, business-like in her flapping mackintosh and shoulder-strapped briefcase. Seeing me, she motioned for me to walk with her.
‘Glad you made it in time. You can ride with me.’
‘Ride where?’ Now I really was confused.
She didn’t slow, keeping up a brisk pace towards the parked police vehicles. ‘Didn’t Jack tell you? We’re going to arrest Gary Lennox.’
Ward gave me the details in the car. After our conversation, she’d had her team dig into Lola’s son’s background.
‘You were right about Lennox,’ she told me, as we pulled away from the kerb. ‘He worked as a porter at St Jude’s from when he was eighteen. He was sacked the year before it closed, but he’d know the hospital layout like the back of his hand. Before that he took a City and Guilds in Construction. He struggled with the classroom side of things so he didn’t finish, but he scored high marks on the practical aspects. He’d certainly have the skills to build and plaster a breezeblock wall.’
I remembered Lola proudly telling me how her son could turn his hand to anything. Perhaps more than she knew. ‘Why was he sacked?’
‘The details are pretty sketchy, but it was some sort of trouble over drugs disappearing from the hospital pharmacy. Painkillers, tranquillizers, steroids, all the sort of stuff there’s a ready market for. No criminal complaint was made, but it caused enough of a stink for him to be fired. Which ties in with the theory that the murders might be drug-related. Maybe he had some sort of scam going selling pilfered drugs from St Jude’s and set up shop in his old stomping ground when the hospital closed. It’s only circumstantial at his stage, but however you look at it Lennox is starting to tick a lot of boxes.’
He did, but I still felt uncomfortable about this. ‘How are you going to question him if he can’t talk?’
‘We’ll have to get him medically assessed and take it from there. If we find enough evidence to charge him, we can see if his fingerprints match the ones from the paint tins and mortar. If they do, then it won’t matter whether he can talk or not. We can tie him to two of the murders, and his building background potentially connects him to the tarpaulin Christine Gorski’s body was wrapped in. If his DNA matches the hair we found on that, we’ve got him for her murder as well.’ She looked at me quizzically. ‘What’s wrong? You don’t seem very happy about it.’
I didn’t know how I felt. Even though I’d been the one to bring Gary Lennox to Ward’s attention, I hadn’t really believed there was anything to it. While I wanted whoever was responsible for the atrocities at the abandoned hospital to be caught, I was uncomfortable with the idea of bringing yet more trouble into the lives of Lola and her son.
‘I wasn’t expecting things to happen so fast,’ I admitted.
‘Neither was I, but I’ll take it. And I’ve not told you the best part yet.’ Ward tried not to show it, but I could hear her excitement. ‘We got a positive ID on the fingerprints Mears took from the male victim. His name’s Darren Crossly. Thirty-six years old, had a conviction for possession of cannabis when he was eighteen, otherwise a clean record. But he used to be a porter at St Jude’s as well, right until it shut. He’d have known Gary Lennox.’
Christ. I fell quiet, trying to take it in. When I’d told Ward about Lennox I’d been worried I was wasting her time. I hadn’t expected this.
‘Well, say something,’ Ward said. ‘I didn’t expect you to punch the air but I thought you’d be a bit more enthusiastic.’
‘What about the woman who was walled up with him?’ I asked.
‘Nothing on her yet. We haven’t come up with a match for her fingerprints, so it doesn’t look like she had a criminal record. We’re still waiting on DNA and dental, but now we’ve identified Crossly we can start looking into his friends and associates. See if she was someone he knew.’
‘When did he go missing?’
Ward hesitated. ‘It was reported thirteen months ago.’
I looked at her. ‘Lola told me her son had his stroke eighteen months ago. That’s five months before Darren Crossly went missing.’
‘I said that’s when it was reported,’ Ward said, with a touch of irritation. ‘Crossly doesn’t have any family and he’d been out of work since St Jude’s closed, so we can’t say exactly how long he’s been gone. We only found out when we did because he was claiming benefit and his landlord reported him for falling behind on his rent. But we think he probably disappeared closer to fifteen months ago, which puts it around the same sort of time as Christine Gorski was last seen. And we’ve only got the word of Lennox’s mother for when her son actually had his stroke.’
‘You think she’s covering for him?’
Ward gave a shrug. ‘We’ve applied for a court order to access his health records, so we’ll see then. But in view of everything else, we didn’t want to wait. Mothers have been known to lie, and she hasn’t got an unblemished record herself. We checked into what the neighbour told you about a patient death. Lola Lennox used to work at the old Royal Infirmary in South London. It’s gone now, but twenty-two years ago a fourteen-year-old boy died from an insulin overdose while she was the nurse on duty.’
‘It was true?’ Even though I’d felt obliged to tell Ward about it, I’d never really believed the neighbour’s story.
‘Well, the basics are. The hospital’s internal investigation ruled it was an accident but Lola was dismissed and never worked as a nurse again. Getting sacked from hospitals seems to run in the family.’
Leaving me with that thought, Ward fell silent as the car turned on to Lola’s street. Still absorbing the news, I felt my stomach knot at the thought of what was to come.
‘You haven’t told me yet what I’m doing here,’ I said.
‘Apart from you starting the whole thing off, you mean?’ She gave a dry smile. ‘Don’t worry, it’s not a punishment. Lennox’s mother knows you, so I thought it wouldn’t hurt to have a familiar face along.’
‘I’m not sure that’ll make any difference.’
‘Maybe not, but it’s better than a house full of strangers. She seems to trust you, anyway.’
Not after this, I thought.
We pulled up outside the house, along with several other cars and an ambulance. Gary Lennox might be a suspect, but he was also a vulnerable adult. Social services were accompanying the police, as well as an ambulance and paramedics to check on Lennox’s physical condition and transport him to hospital. I felt a weight of responsibility on my shoulders as I got out of the car. I’d wanted to get help for Lola and her son. I hadn’t anticipated this.
Car doors slammed as the police entourage climbed out on to the pavement. Drawn by the commotion, faces were appearing in windows of the houses that weren’t boarded up. A few people had emerged into the street to watch, staring with undisguised curiosity at the unexpected entertainment.
Whelan had been in one of the other cars. Now he went to the front door and knocked. I kept my eyes on the blind in the window, watching for a movement that would betray Lola’s presence. It stayed still. Whelan waited a few seconds then knocked again, harder this time.
‘She’s gone out.’
It was the same neighbour who’d spoken to me on a previous visit. She stood watching from her doorway, a bathrobe wrapped around her and another cigarette in hand. It looked as though she’d only just got out of bed, and without the thick make-up her face appeared older and unfinished.
‘Do you know where she is?’ Whelan asked.
She shrugged a shoulder. ‘How should I know?’
‘Do you know how long she’s been gone?’
‘I don’t know. Hour, hour and a half.’ Taking a drag on her cigarette, she gave me a faintly mocking smile. ‘Brought reinforcements, did you?’
Whelan turned back to Ward. ‘What do you think, ma’am? Shall we—’
‘Sir.’
One of the uniformed PCs was looking further up the street. A forlorn woman was trudging towards us on the pavement. She carried shopping bags in both hands, limping along with her head bowed. Lost in the effort of walking, she hadn’t noticed us, but then something must have registered. She looked up, stopping dead at the sight of the police outside her house. For a second or two she didn’t move. Her eyes rested briefly on me. Then, mouth set in a determined line, she hoisted her carrier bags and continued towards us with the same unhurried pace as before.
Ward stepped to meet her. ‘Lola Lennox? My name’s DCI Sharon Ward. We’re here about Gary.’
Lola ignored her, walking past Ward and everyone else as though none of us were there.
‘Did you hear me, Mrs Lennox? I said we’d like to speak with you about—’
‘I heard. You can piss off.’
‘Mrs Lennox, we have a warrant for your son’s arrest.’
‘Shove it up your arse.’
Without putting down her shopping bags — more incontinence pads, I saw — Lola fumbled with her keys to unlock the front door.
Ward tried again, making an effort not to lose patience. ‘We don’t want to cause you any more distress than we have to, but it’s in your own and your son’s interest for you to cooperate.’
She might as well have been speaking to a stone. Still holding her bags, Lola continued to struggle with her keys, face reddening with the effort.
Whelan went to help. ‘Here, why don’t I—’
‘Get your fucking hands off me!’ Lola snarled, turning on him.
‘All right, let’s all calm down,’ Ward said as Whelan backed off, hands raised placatingly. She beckoned me forward. ‘I think you know Dr Hunter—’
‘Keep that back-stabbing bastard away from me.’
So much for a familiar face. I took a breath. ‘I’m sorry, Lola, I didn’t want to—’
‘Fuck off!’
She’d managed to get her key into the lock but, hampered by the shopping bags, was now struggling to turn it. By now more people had emerged on the street to watch.
‘You should be ashamed of yourselves!’ a woman called from across the road. ‘She’s an old woman, leave her alone!’
I could see the indecision on Ward’s face as she tried to decide what to do. The last thing she needed was accusations of heavy-handed policing, especially towards the elderly mother of a sick man. But the longer this went on, the more danger there was of losing her authority.
Abruptly, the front door unlocked with a snick. Lola tried to squeeze through the gap while still blocking it with her bags.
‘You can’t come in!’ she yelled, trying to force the door shut. ‘This is my house, you’ve no right!’
They had, though. Abandoning the attempt to keep them out, she hurried inside, leaving the door to swing open. I let the police and social workers go in first. Whelan recoiled as he entered and the smell of the sickroom hit him.
‘Jesus,’ he muttered under his breath.
Lola was standing in front of the bed, as though to keep everyone away from her son. ‘I don’t want you in here! Go on, get out!’
One of the paramedics approached the bed, smiling reassuringly. ‘It’s all right, we just want to take a look at your son.’
‘Get away from him!’
Lola swung a carrier bag of incontinence pads at the paramedic, but Whelan got in the way and took them from her. As this went on, Gary Lennox’s eyes darted from one person to the other, the only outward sign of his agitation. The paramedic smiled down at him.
‘All right, Gary. How’re you doing? I’m Kalinda, I’m a paramedic. I’d just like to do a few tests—’
‘No!’ Lola wailed, trying to get past Whelan and a uniformed PC who were doing their best to restrain her. ‘No, you can’t, I won’t let you!’
I tried again. ‘Lola, why don’t you come with me—’
‘Fuck off!’ she spat, the small eyes glittering with rage. ‘Bloody Judas, this is your fault!’
‘Leave it, you’re making it worse,’ Whelan told me over his shoulder as he stood between us. He was right, so I moved aside to let one of the social workers try. As I did there was a commotion outside. Voices were coming from the street, and I saw a uniformed PC blocking someone from coming through the doorway.
It was Adam Oduya.
‘I’m here to see Lola and Gary Lennox.’ The activist wasn’t shouting, but he didn’t need to. ‘Let me speak to them.’
‘Oh, great,’ Ward breathed. ‘Jack, get him out of here.’
Leaving Lola to the uniformed PCs, Whelan went to the doorway. ‘This is none of your business. You need to move away.’
‘Anything to do with this community is my business,’ Oduya replied. ‘Why are you harassing an old woman in her own home?’
‘We’re not harassing anyone. This is a police operation, we’re here with social services and—’
‘You don’t call this harassment? Forcing your way mob-handed into the home of an elderly woman and her son? They have rights.’
‘You’ve been asked to move on, I won’t ask you again—’
‘Mrs Lennox?’ Oduya called into the house, trying to see past Whelan. ‘Lola Lennox! I’m a lawyer, I can help you!’
‘Right, get him out of here,’ Whelan snapped at a PC.
But the shouting had attracted Lola’s attention. ‘Who’s that?’ she demanded, turning towards the doorway as a uniformed officer tried to hustle Oduya away.
‘My name’s Adam Oduya,’ the activist called as he was herded back. ‘If the police are here against your wishes I can help you. Just tell them I represent you and you want to speak to me!’
A look of calculation passed across the old woman’s face. She turned to Whelan.
‘You heard him.’
‘Mrs Lennox, there’s no need to—’
‘I want to see him!’
Whelan gave a look of appeal at Ward. She nodded, disgusted. ‘All right, let him through.’
Reluctantly, Whelan and the PC stepped aside. Oduya took a moment to straighten his jacket before coming inside. He didn’t seem surprised to find me there.
‘Hello, Dr Hunter…’ he began, but stopped when he saw the man lying in the room’s squalor.
‘Still think we’re violating anyone’s rights?’ Whelan asked.
The activist quickly recovered his composure. He went towards Lola, extending his hand.
‘Thank you for inviting me into your home, Mrs Lennox.’
She ignored the outstretched hand, staring at him with an expression of distaste. I realized she would only have been able to hear him outside, not see him.
‘You’re one of them.’
‘I’m a lawyer, yes,’ Oduya said, smoothly reaching up with the hand he’d offered and taking out a business card from his jacket. ‘My name is Adam Oduya, and if you’ll permit me I’d like to represent you and your son.’
‘I’m not paying you.’
‘You don’t have to. I run a not-for-profit organization. We offer help to members of the community who need legal advice and representation.’
‘She doesn’t need representing,’ Whelan said irritably.
‘But her son does. Or are you denying him legal representation because he’s incapacitated?’
Ward came forward. ‘Mr Oduya, our priority is making sure Gary Lennox is in a good state of health. He would have been offered legal representation as soon as was appropriate, but now you’re here that obviously won’t be necessary. And, while we’re on the subject, why are you here? Please don’t try to tell me you were just in the neighbourhood.’
He gave her a smile. It was warm but let her see they understood each other. ‘As I’ve told you before, I have my sources. None of them present at the moment, I hasten to add.’
That was for my benefit. Nor was I the only one to realize it: I was aware that Whelan was giving me a hard look.
‘What are you standing there for?’ Lola demanded to Oduya. ‘This is my house. If you’re a lawyer, tell them to get out!’
I wondered how long it would be before the activist regretted what he’d taken on. ‘I’ll do my best, but first I have to—’
‘We need to get him to hospital.’
The paramedic’s voice cut through everyone else’s. While the argument had been going on, she’d been quietly examining Gary Lennox. His eyes were wide and frantic, darting at everyone in the room. His breathing was fluttering and rapid, loud enough to be heard now the room had fallen silent.
‘His stats are all over the place,’ the paramedic went on. She tore the Velcro blood-pressure cuff off the emaciated arm with a ripping noise. ‘His oxygen levels are way down, his BP and pulse are—’
‘No!’ Lola sounded as though she’d been struck. ‘He doesn’t need a hospital! I can look after him!’
The paramedic briskly rolled up the cuff. ‘Sorry, but he can’t stay here. He looks malnourished and dehydrated, and I think there could be liver and kidney problems. He needs proper medical attention.’
‘You’ve no right! I won’t let you!’
‘Mrs Lennox, I think perhaps you should listen to the paramedic,’ Oduya said, his tone reasonable and reassuring. ‘I’ll come to the hospital with you and—’
‘No! Please!’ Lola didn’t seem aggressive any more, just desperate. And scared. ‘Don’t take him as well! He’s all I’ve got left!’
She began to wail as an oxygen mask was strapped to her son’s face, oblivious to anything either Oduya or the social workers could say. The room was overcrowded and I was getting in the way. Unnoticed, I stepped outside as a stretcher was wheeled across the pavement from the ambulance.
‘Tell DCI Ward I’ve gone back to St Jude’s,’ I told one of the PCs stationed by the front door. Pushing through the small crowd of onlookers who’d gathered in the street, I started walking in the direction of the hospital.
I could still hear Lola’s cries behind me.