The Visitor (#3 - The Craig Modern Thriller Series) (7 page)

A soft tap on Katy’s back made her jump “God, Rowan, you scared me. What are you doing here? Is this your audit meeting as well?”

Rowan Jones’ handsome strong-boned face smiled down at her. He answered her in a welsh accent that contrasted sweetly with the Belfast background chatter. “No, but everyone’s been summoned to the two to three bit. I’m not sure why.”

He’d started at the trust in November, two months before her. And he was really friendly. Although, as Natalie said, ‘I bet he’d like to get a lot friendlier’. The way she’d twirled an imaginary moustache had made them both laugh.

They wandered down the long main corridor together. It was fluorescent and wide, with wards on either side, like shops on a village high-street. There was so much traffic at times that it needed stop-lights. Scaffolding loomed above a small newsagents halfway down, and a pile of leaking sandbags leaned untidily against a door. The whole Trust was being refurbished, and there was dust flying everywhere, here and at the M.P.E. complex.

After five minutes banter they reached their destination. The lecture hall was an old, high-ceilinged theatre, with wooden tiers sweeping down towards the front. Katy sat where she always had as a student; second row from the back, at the right-hand end. Far enough back to be cool, but not in the back row with the rugby boys. She’d never done any work when she’d sat near them.

She ran her hand under the wooden seat, checking for her initials. They were still there! At least the developers hadn’t stripped away that little bit of history. She’d carved them through tears after Adrian Hughes had dumped her. It had been a brief romantic trauma and he was fat and bald now. She’d allowed herself a small smile when she’d spotted him in the canteen last week. Schadenfreude.

A woman turned around from the next row and smiled a warm hello, holding out her hand to shake. Katy reciprocated, vaguely recognising her.

“Hi. I’m Mary Hinton, Radiology. You two are new, aren’t you?”

Rowan leaned in, introducing them both. “Do you know what this meeting’s about then?”

“The new Chief Exec called it about the building programme. Apparently it’ll be going on until 2015. The building-work that is, not this meeting. Although I’m sure it’ll feel like it.”

They all laughed, but Katy groaned inwardly. The M.P.E.’s building work had already been going on for months. She’d been at St Arthurs in London during theirs, and spent years sneezing out concrete dust.

She noticed Iain Lewes, one of the paediatricians she worked with at the M.P.E., sitting near the front. She felt really sorry for him. He’d had a terrible time over the past few years. She started to text him to meet for lunch when the hall’s lights dimmed. After a few seconds darkness accompanied by childish whoops, a white screen lit up at the front. It highlighted a tall, round man of about forty. He was standing behind a lectern tapping at a laptop, while a technician fussed around him with some wires and a mouse.

“That’s the new Chief Exec. He was brought in from Manchester last year, after the last one was sacked. I wonder how long he’ll last.”

The man at the front held his hand up for silence and started to speak. “Good afternoon everyone, I’m Charles McAllister. Some of you will already know me from committee. My apologies to those of you who don’t. I haven’t managed to meet all our new Consultants yet, but I promise that I will.”

Rowan whispered. “Deep joy, I can ‘ardly wait.” Katy elbowed him in the side and Mary smiled at him over her shoulder, for longer than Katy thought strictly necessary.

“I know you’re all very busy, and this is time out from your work with patients. So we’ll keep it brief and let you get on with your audit meeting.” He turned the screen quickly to a schematic of the St Marys’ site.

“In a minute I’ll hand you over to Ted Greenwood, our Project Director for the building work. He’ll take you through the next phase of the refurbishment, and then I’ll tell you exactly what it will mean for you. As you’ll know, the M.P.E. complex has already had a great deal of work done, and we complete things there on the 26
^th
. That’s when the work here really begins. So you’ll soon see Ted and his team wandering around in their hard hats.”

Someone groaned loudly and McAllister jokingly said, “I heard that”, earning him a quick laugh. Ted Greenwood stepped into the screen’s light and Katy assessed him quickly, before the overheads dimmed again. He was a tall, good-looking man, with the arty look that trendy building types often had. He wore designer rimmed ‘Clark Kent’ glasses, and a blue shirt without a tie. She recognised the look as American-preppy, although she thought she might be alone in that. The sartorial interest of most Belfast consultants stopped at early ‘James Herriot’.

Greenwood contemplated his audience warily, knowing that they were expecting to be bored. Then he shrugged slightly as if to say ‘tough’ and started to speak in a flat accent, with an inflection that Katy recognised as London.

The mix of 3-D artwork, computer animation, and physical models he brought out, surprised and engaged nearly everyone. And at the end, several of the men, including Rowan, went down to the front excitedly, for a closer look at where their new offices would be. Greenwood seemed indifferent to their interest, but McAllister was buoyed, answering every nerdy question gleefully.

“It’s great to see everybody so enthused. Keep that going when Ted needs to meet you. We need your help refining the designs. After all, we can’t un-build it when it’s done!” He paused for effect and was rewarded by a single weak laugh from the cynical audience, signalling his cue to leave.

“Thank you for your attention. I’ll hand you over to Dr Bain now for your audit meeting. That’s just for the medical teams, I believe.”

It was the signal for everyone else to bolt for the door, while George Bain, the Director of Medicine, stepped forward, to start the purgatory of the monthly audit. Rowan took the stairs two at a time and winked at Katy, as he and Mary escaped through the back door for coffee. She gazed longingly after them, thinking about slipping out in the dark, but too guilt-ridden to skive as usual.

Katy’d just resigned herself to ‘death by statistics’ when her pager vibrated. It was the M.P.E. She left swiftly through the back door to ring her young P.A.

“Shauna, you must be psychic! You’ve rescued me from hours of charts.”

“When you hear why, you’ll prefer to stay in your meeting. It’s bad news I’m afraid.”

“What’s wrong?”

“It’s that lady you saw yesterday. Mrs Murray-Hill. Katy, she’s dead.”

“NO! How? When did it happen? I saw her last night and she was fine - her operation’s scheduled for tomorrow.”

“It was very sudden. In the middle of the night. The police…” She hesitated, wondering how to say it. “I’m really sorry Katy, but the police need to speak to you. A D.C.I. Craig. They want to see you at High Street station tomorrow. I’ve booked you in at three. Is that OK?”

“The police? But why?” Her mind replayed every decision she’d taken on Evie’s care. Then she remembered Tommy Hill’s threatening presence and didn’t wait for an answer. “Don’t worry, three is fine. What about the baby?”

“The baby’s fine. A healthy little girl. But it’s so sad - she was only four years older than me.”

“Yes, it is.” Katy felt like weeping. Partly for herself.

“Katy, her father ...”

“Yes?” She felt a sudden fear, and droplets of cold sweat trickled down her back.

“Well it’s just...he rang about an hour ago, yelling about getting all of us. Do you think he really meant it?”

Katy thought that he probably did, but she didn’t want to frighten her secretary so she lied.

“No, no, I’m sure he didn’t. He was just upset. Go home now Shauna and we’ll talk tomorrow. Leave her notes for me before you go, please. And don’t worry, it will be fine.” She sounded far more optimistic than she felt.

***

Tommy Hill was leaning over the table when they entered High Street’s interview room. His eyes were closed tight and Craig thought that he saw tears on his cheek, but the neon light overhead was throwing strange shapes. He didn’t move. Not when they entered. Not when they scraped the hard chairs out and sat down opposite him. And not now, five minutes later. Craig matched his silence, word for absent word, until eventually he reached across and pressed the button on the tape machine.

“For the benefit of the tape, this is Tuesday the 9
^th
of April 2013. Interview commencing at 2.30pm. Present is D.C.I. Marc Craig…”

“D.I. Liam Cullen.”

“And…”

Hill sat in silence, ignoring his cue. After a few seconds Craig filled in the details for him.

“Mr Thomas Hill, of 17a, Holchester Road Belfast 14. Please acknowledge your presence for the tape, Mr Hill.”

There was silence for another moment while Hill opened his red, shot eyes, and stared slowly across at Craig. Finally he croaked. “Aye, Tommy Hill” in his rasping baritone.

“Mr Hill has agreed to have an informal chat with us. No charges have been brought and he has waived his right to counsel or companion. Could you confirm that you’re happy to have this meeting recorded, Mr Hill?”

“Aye. I’ve done nothin’ wrong, so I don’t need no solicitor. But let’s be real clear. I want the bastard who killed our Evie found an’ done for. An’ if you lot don’t find them quick, I fuckin’ well will.”

“OK, Mr Hill.”

“Tommy.”

“All right then, Tommy. We all want the same thing. To find out what happened to your daughter. And if a crime has been committed, to catch the person responsible, try and convict them. Agreed?”

“Aye, agreed. But it’d better happen sharpish or I’ll go an’ find them mysel’. Then they won’t be worryin’ about no trial.”

Liam leaned across the table, booming. “Is that a threat?”

Hill turned to stare at him with a curious look, as if he’d just noticed him sitting there. “No threat. Trust me, I’ll do it. No bother.” He smiled maliciously, as if imagining the happy scene.

“Look Tommy, we know you’re angry and you’ve every right to be. But if you go around threatening people, it won’t go well for you. And no-one wants that, do they? Mr Murdock is already considering pressing charges against you for assault, so don’t make matters any worse for yourself. Just let us do our job, and give us the information to help us do it.” Craig’s voice hardened. “Don’t muddy the waters, Tommy, or get in our way. For Evie and your granddaughter’s sake.” He paused to let his words sink in, not holding out much hope of their impact. Hill didn’t move.

“This is just an informal conversation, but we need to find out everything you know or noticed. So please give Inspector Cullen here a statement. And then go and see your granddaughter, Mr Hill, and get some rest. The D.I. will take you to the hospital and stay with you.”

Craig nodded to Liam and rose to leave the room. Then he stopped at the door and turned, motioning Liam to switch off the tape.

He walked back to the table and considered Hill sadly, hesitating for a moment, before putting a hand on his shoulder. “I’m sorry this happened to your daughter, Tommy, genuinely sorry. We will get them.” Then he was out of the room before the other man could see his face, the door closing hard behind him.

***

Templepatrick was so well kept that it reminded Craig of Trumpton, one of his favourite childhood TV programmes. It basked in the honour of ‘Best Kept Small Town of 1991’, a title commemorated by a small plaque at the village boundary. It was quiet and sedate, the only noise disturbing the peace the traffic heading for the International airport. As he drove in past the Mausoleum, Craig was sure that even the town’s ‘dearly-departed’ would have passed away neatly. It just seemed like that sort of place.

Evie’s mother and step-father lived in a manse attached to one of the town’s many churches. He found it easily, set at the top of a long side road. Its driveway was short and pebbled, edging a neat lawn filled with flowers of lilac and blue. Two trees stood by the garden-fence, one a glowing copper beech and the other an elderly willow, nodding down sleepily. The whole place was lovely. Evie Hill had lived her short life far, far away from her father’s violent world.

As the church bell struck three, Craig parked outside an imposing grey-brick house. A tall, tired-looking man came to the door to greet him, extending his hand warmly. “Mr Craig, thank you for coming all this way. I was sorry to have to ask you, I know how busy you must be. But Miriam is so distressed that I couldn’t take her from the house.”

Everything about the Reverend Geoffrey Kerr was gentle, grey and ageless. Craig guessed him at somewhere in his forties, but his hair was already snow white, matched by grey eyes set below dark grey brows. His neutral jumper and trousers completed the modest picture. Nothing about the man was showy.

They walked through the porch into a square tiled entrance-hall, with glass fanlights that dated it as Victorian. Geoffrey Kerr ushered him into a cosy study, already laid out with a tray of coffee and cake.

“Please help yourself, Mr Craig. The ladies of the parish keep us well supplied with pastries. I wonder if we might have a quiet word - before I fetch Miriam?”

“Of course. I don’t have another appointment until late, so we have whatever time you need. May I ask you some questions as well?” Kerr nodded, deferring to Craig.