Midnight Murders (25 page)

He crawled around the walls and began to study every clump, every pile of earth…

‘Sergeant Joseph what?' Peter bellowed down the radio.

‘He went into the tunnel fifteen minutes ago, sir, and we can't see or reach him. We can't even see a light. The tunnel is in darkness.'

‘Where are you?'

‘Cellar, sir. Close to the sub station.'

‘Stay there. Don't move. Don't do anything. I'm on my way.' Peter left his seat and broke into a run.

‘Where's he going?' Bill bellowed as he watched Peter disappear out through the door.

‘Over here, sir,' the constable called, as Peter charged down the cellar steps.

‘What happened?' Peter demanded.

‘Sergeant Joseph ordered us to break through the cement plug into an old tunnel… '

‘He went in there and you didn't try to stop him?' Peter stared at the square that they had hacked in the concrete plug.

‘We did try, sir,' the dog-handler protested.

Peter squinted at the girl wearing a rookie's uniform. ‘But he wouldn't listen, would he? The stupid bloody hero,' he muttered under his breath.

‘Sir?' she questioned.

‘Nothing.' He took off his jacket and thrust his radio into his shirt pocket. Was he getting old, or was the force picking up recruits from junior comprehensives these days? The girl looked about fifteen years old. ‘Right, I'm going in.'

‘You'll get caught in a fall, too,' Jimmy said. ‘I'm warning you.'

‘Get some rope,' Peter ordered the dog-handler. ‘I'll tie it around my waist. If there's a problem, I'll shout out and you can pull me back.'

Unlike Trevor, Peter didn't need any help to climb into the tunnel. He pushed himself forward, stretched out full-length with a torch carefully poised in front of him, dug his toes into the soft earth and propelled his body into the inky blackness ahead. It took him only ten minutes of hard, and despite the temperature, sweating work to reach the earth wall at the end of the tunnel. He prodded it gingerly and a shower of earth fell over him. He sheltered his face in his arms as it continued to fall. Even after he dared to raise his eyes, he could still hear the soft thud of damp clods falling too close for comfort.

He shone his torch around the top and sides of the tunnel looking for an exit that he might have missed. Seeing nothing, he yelled at the top of his voice.

He held his breath, and waited a few moments. Had he heard an answering cry – or was it only wishful thinking? He called out again and shielding his head with his arms, dug his toes in and charged.

Trevor sat on the stone floor, thinking what a complete and utter fool he'd been to rush in and play Sir Galahad. It went against all his training. How often had it been drummed into him that simple, boring, routine legwork caught villains – not heroics – or climbing blindly into underground passages.

A black mass hurtled out of the wall, and fell on top of him. Thick clouds of dirt filled the air.

‘Trevor, you bloody idiot, are you there?'

Too shocked to be grateful, it was as much as Trevor could do to whisper; ‘Yes.'

‘If you can see me, grab hold. I'll rope us together, so they can heave us out of this mess.'

CHAPTER TWENTY-
FIVE

‘See anything?' Peter demanded as he and Trevor were dragged head-first out into the cellar.

Trevor shook his head. He coughed violently to clear his lungs.

‘Nothing?' Peter pressed.

‘No one's been down there in years,' Trevor croaked.

‘I told you so,' Jimmy chanted.

‘Haven't you gardening to do, Jimmy?' Peter bent down to help Trevor to his feet.

Jimmy moved towards the door. Peter looked ruefully at his torn, filthy shirt and muddy trousers ‘Right bloody predicament you got us into this time, Trevor.'

‘Thought I was on to something,' He groped for his stick.

‘You.' Peter turned to the rookie. ‘Report to the duty officer on the gate. They need every body they can lay their hands on. Even ones as small as yours.'

Too intimidated by Peter's air of authority to quote equal opportunities act, she disappeared up the cellar steps.

‘If you can manage without me, sir, I'll show her the way,' the dog-handler suggested.

‘Always got to play the cowboy in the white hat, haven't you?' Peter complained as soon as he and Trevor were alone. ‘And now I suppose you expect me to help you back to your room?'

‘Thanks,' Trevor limped forward, glanced at Peter and for one blissful moment they forgot the urgency of the search and burst out laughing.

* * *

Despite Peter's pleadings, Trevor refused to stay in his room a minute longer than it took him to strip off his filthy clothes, shower and change. Peter followed Trevor into the shower and borrowed a clean shirt and sweater but as his waist was considerably larger than Trevor's he had to content himself with wiping off his muddy trousers.

They went to the mobile HQ and found Sarah Merchant sitting alone in the outer office loading discs into a computer.

‘The wanderers return,' Bill looked at Peter. ‘Been for a mud bath?'

‘Something like that.'

‘Tell me.' Bill pressed.

‘We didn't find anything in the cellar.' Trevor stumbled towards a chair. He felt weak, impotent and exhausted. And there was no prospect of rest in the near future. Not until Lyn had been found – one way or another. ‘We found the tunnels. But they hadn't been used in years.'

‘So your little trip was a complete waste of police time.'

‘No,' Peter broke in. ‘Now we know that the tunnels exist, and there's nothing in them, we can forget about them.'

‘Something coming up on screen, sir,' Sarah Merchant interrupted, as the VDU began to flash.

‘What are you doing?' Bill barked.

‘Cross-checking and cross-referencing the alibis. Any that don't match will come up.'

‘What time-scan have you programmed?'

‘Ten to twelve o'clock this morning, sir.'

‘There's bound to be some discrepancies,' Bill commented. ‘If only in the way people remember things.'

‘You do realise there are no patients on this list?' Peter reminded.

‘Obviously not, since we haven't interviewed any,' Bill retorted.

‘For my money, our villain has to be a patient.'

‘One thing at a time, Peter.'

The first name flashed up on to the screen.

‘Angela Morgan?' Dan read.

Sarah pressed the return key on the computer, and Angela Morgan's statement flashed on screen.

‘Worked alone in her office between ten and eleven and then went for break eleven to eleven-twenty in canteen. Returned to office, where worked alone until twelve,' Dan read.

‘You can't think our killer's Angela Morgan!' Peter exclaimed.

‘No,' Bill said flatly.

‘But if she was alone, where was Tony Waters?' Dan asked.

‘Check Tony Waters' alibi,' Bill ordered Sarah.

Sarah keyed in Tony Waters' name. The information appeared on screen.

Slept alone at home until twelve. Entered hospital at twelve-forty-five. Saw no one. Alibi unsubstantiated.

Bill left his chair and tapped Dan on the shoulder. ‘Bring him in.'

Before Dan had time to respond, Michelle knocked and opened the outer door.

‘Mr Waters to see you, sir.'

‘Superintendent, I've only just discovered that your officers have knocked a hole in the wall of the cellar. I'm surprised that I have to remind you of our previous conversations regarding the age and condition of this building. They could have undermined the foundations…'

Bill opened the door to the inner office. ‘Shall we discuss this in private? Inspector Evans, please join us.'

Dan followed Bill and Tony into the room, and closed the door behind him.

‘Is there an intercom in here?' Peter asked.

‘They'd hear if I switched it on,' Sarah replied.

‘Got a glass?'

‘If there's anything we'll find out about it soon enough. How about you carry on running that programme.' Trevor pulled up a chair alongside Sarah's.

‘You weren't in the hospital this morning?' Bill asked Tony.

‘No, but I've come here to… '

‘Complain? We'll get around to that later. Right now we'd like to verify your movements this morning.'

‘As I said to Constable Grady,' Tony continued testily. ‘I was at home asleep until twelve o'clock.'

‘Because you worked late last night?' Bill asked.

‘Because I've worked late several nights. What is this?'

‘This is one of several interviews of hospital staff who cannot account for their movements during the time Lyn Sullivan disappeared.'

‘That's ridiculous. You can't suspect me… '

‘We suspect everyone, Mr Waters,' Bill said formally. ‘What time did you get home last night? What time did you go to bed? Would any of your neighbours have seen your car…? '

Trevor and Peter were staring intently at the screen, watching the computer cross-match alibis, when Dan walked into the outer office.

‘Can't break his story.'

‘Try booking him?' Peter suggested.

‘On what charge?'

‘Make one up.'

‘This isn't a dropout that we've picked up with a pocketful of hash. He's educated, he has connections, we haven't enough to pin a parking ticket on him. And, unfortunately, he knows it. He's already shouting for his solicitor.'

‘Does any part of his alibi check out?'

‘No one to check it with. When he got home last night his wife was asleep. She left before he woke this morning. He has an alarm clock, not a wake-up call. No one telephoned him. He has no neighbours near enough to see his car coming or going. This morning he saw no milkman, no postman – no one. Even his daily cleaner called in sick last night so she didn't work this morning.'

‘So where do we go from here?' Trevor said, impatience making him angry.

‘I was wondering if it's worth tackling this from a different angle,' Bill suggested. ‘You two could have a chat with Tony Waters' wife. Chances are, if there is any funny business, Carol Ashford would know about it.'

‘You know what they say about wives.' Peter left his chair and looked around at the mud smears left by his trousers. ‘They're always the last to know when the husband goes a wandering.'

‘We'd like to talk to Sister Ashford,' Trevor said to the trainee nurse who walked out into the ward corridor to meet them.

The girl looked at her watch. ‘She's just about to finish her shift.'

‘This won't take a moment.' Peter stepped past the nurse, and Trevor followed.

‘I'll get her, if you'd like to wait.' The girl opened the office door.

Peter walked in and looked through the glass window that overlooked the corridor. He pulled down a roller-blind, screening the room from the rest of the ward. The click of high heels on vinyl tiles echoed down the corridor. The door opened.

‘Sergeant Collins, Sergeant Joseph.' Carol Ashford entered the office. ‘Staff said you wished to speak to me?'

‘We do,' Peter answered.

‘Then you won't mind if I sit down. I've been on my feet all day.' She sat behind the desk, and waited for them to speak.

‘We'd like to ask you a few questions about your husband,' Peter began.

‘Tony? If you think it will help.' If she was surprised she showed no sign of it.

‘Could you tell us what time you left your house this morning?' Peter began.

‘Six forty-five, the same as usual.'

‘And your husband?'

‘He was in bed asleep.'

‘What time did he come home last night?'

‘Some time after I fell asleep. Could you give me some indication as to what this is about, Sergeant Collins?'

‘We're trying to establish his movements over the past two days.'

‘Are you saying that Tony is a suspect?'

‘What do you think?' Peter asked. When she didn't reply, he continued. ‘He's the only member of staff who can't account for his movements between the hours of ten and twelve this morning.'

‘The time when Nurse Sullivan disappeared?' She sank her face into her hands. ‘Where did he say he was?'

‘Sister Ashford, is there anything you want to tell us about your husband?' Peter probed.

When she didn't answer, Trevor pressed. ‘If you know anything, anything at all, about Lyn Sullivan's disappearance, please tell us. Otherwise we'll almost certainly have another corpse on our hands. Please, you knew Lyn… '

She dropped her hands. ‘I'll tell you everything I know, Sergeant Joseph. I only hope that it will be enough.'

Patients on geriatric wards are routinely bedded down earlier than those on other wards. In the intervals when Carol Ashford wasn't speaking, the silence was filled with small, soft noises; the quiet whirr of the electric clock on the office wall, the last tentative notes of evening birdsong in the garden, the voice of the officer stationed in the foyer making radio contact with headquarters.

Carol was speaking to Peter, but she looked at Trevor. ‘My husband was charming when I met him. I believed that he possessed every quality I'd ever looked for and wanted in a man. He was handsome, courteous, considerate; he had a marvellous sense of humour. His parents adored me, and they were wealthy on a scale I'd only dreamed about. They'd given Tony everything; the best schools, the best university, the confidence to talk to people – important people that is. He had influential and glamorous friends, he took me to the right places – you can have no idea how overwhelming that can be to someone like myself who was brought up on a slum of a council estate. When I first met Tony… '

‘In this hospital?' Peter interrupted her.

‘No, Greenways in Kent. He seemed so sophisticated, so wonderful, I couldn't believe my luck. That he'd actually chosen me to be his girlfriend.' She lowered her long, thick eyelashes. ‘The first time I went out with him, I was swept off my feet. Literally. He knows how to treat a woman. Flowers, chocolates, cards, presents. I married him eight months after I met him, and by then we were both working here, in Compton Castle. He comes from this area. We moved down soon after his mother was diagnosed with cancer. A week after her death, his father shot himself. It was – ' Tears filled her beautiful navy-blue eyes, but they didn't affect the clarity of her voice. ‘It was then that I think he became unhinged. He adored his parents. He was an only child. Or perhaps he'd been unhinged all along, and I'd simply chosen to ignore his mental state because I didn't want to confront his problems, or see any flaws in my Prince Charming.'

‘Exactly what are his problems?' Peter asked.

‘His cruelty,' she admitted. ‘He has a sadistic streak. It started when I didn't get pregnant straight after our wedding. Our sex life changed,' she whispered. ‘He started to beat me.' She rolled up the sleeve of her sweater and revealed black and purple bruises that encircled her upper and lower arms. Pulling down the roll-neck collar, she showed them multicoloured contusions on her neck. ‘And his demands increased with his brutality. Nothing I did was good enough for him. In the kitchen, our home, in bed, in work – you must have seen what a perfectionist he is. I have never managed to keep a domestic help for more than three months, although I pay double the going rate. He'd begin to criticise their work, and then they'd leave… '

‘Do you know of any links between your husband and the missing girls?' Peter pulled out his notebook.

‘With all the girls that were found dead, except Vanessa Hedley.'

‘Go on,' Peter ordered abruptly.

‘I have no proof except a couple of letters and intercepted telephone calls. But I know, Sergeant Collins,' she looked Peter in the eye. ‘I know that he had affairs with all three of them, and when Lyn disappeared this morning I feared the worst.'

‘Why?' Trevor interrupted.

‘Because I saw him talking to her yesterday afternoon in the ward office and saw the way that he was looking at her.'

Trevor had a sudden flash of memory. Tony Waters' chair pulled close to Lyn's. White-blond and black hair touching as their two heads bent over the notebook in her lap.

‘I'm afraid for Lyn and I think he took her. You know Lyn, Sergeant Joseph,' she appealed to Trevor. ‘I can't imagine her agreeing to go anywhere with Tony, not so soon after she broke up with Karl Lane. And if Tony asked, and she refused… ' tears poured down her cheeks. ‘I believe that he could have abducted her.'

‘Where do you think he's hidden her?' Trevor asked.

‘If I knew, I'd tell you. There have been nights, so many nights, when he hasn't come home at all. And there's one more thing; he's impotent.'

‘You mean he can't make love?' Peter asked bluntly.

‘He's capable of performing the physical act, after a fashion, if that's what you call “making love”. But he can't have children. And since he found out, he's resorted to… ' She burst into a paroxysm of weeping that made further questioning impossible.