The Night Stalker (4 page)

U
niversity Hospital Lewisham
was a sprawling mix of buildings in old brick and futuristic glass, with a new wing of blue and yellow plastic. The car park was busy, and a steady stream of ambulances was pulling up at the Accident and Emergency department. Erika, Moss and Peterson parked the car and made their way on foot to the main entrance, a large glass and steel box opposite A&E. As they approached, they saw an elderly lady parked outside in a wheelchair, shouting at a nurse crouching down beside her.

‘It’s disgusting!’ she was saying, stabbing at the nurse with a gnarled finger topped with red nail varnish. ‘You keep me waiting, and when you finally discharge me I’m sat here for over an hour in the heat! I don’t have my handbag, or my phone, and you’re doing nothing!’

Several people coming out of the main entrance took notice of this, but a group of nurses on their way in didn’t bat an eyelid.

‘That’s her – Estelle Munro, Gregory Munro’s mother,’ said Moss. As they drew level, the nurse noticed them and stood up. She was in her late forties, with a kind but tired face. Erika, Moss and Peterson introduced themselves, holding up their ID.

‘Is everything all right here?’ asked Erika. Estelle squinted up at them from the wheelchair. She looked to be in her mid-sixties and she seemed to be an elegant dresser, but after a night in hospital her pale slacks and floral blouse were crumpled, most of her make-up had sweated off and her short auburn hair was sticking up in tufts. On her lap was a plastic bag containing a pair of black patent leather court shoes.

‘No! Everything is not all right
here
…’ started Estelle.

The nurse put her hands on her broad hips, interrupting: ‘Estelle was offered a lift home by the police officers who came to take her statement this morning, but she declined.’

‘Of course I declined! I’m not pulling up outside my house in a police car! I would like to be taken home in a taxi… I know how this works. I am entitled to a taxi. You people just want to cut corners…’

In Erika’s experience, grief and shock affected people in different ways. Some crumpled in a heap of tears, some went numb and couldn’t speak, and others became angry. She could see Estelle Munro was in the latter category.

‘I’ve been kept prisoner all night in that God-awful hell-hole called A&E. I just had a funny turn, that’s all. But, no – I had to queue up, and the drunks and drug addicts were seen first!’ Estelle turned her attention to Erika, Moss and Peterson. ‘Then your lot asked me endless questions. You’d think I was the criminal! What are the three of you doing here, anyway? My boy is lying dead… He was murdered!’

At this point, Estelle broke down. She clutched the armrests of the wheelchair and gritted her teeth. ‘Stop crowding me, all of you!’ she shouted.

‘We’ve got an unmarked car. We can take you home right now, Mrs Munro,’ said Peterson kindly, crouching down and offering her a tissue from a small pack in his pocket.

She looked up at him with tears in her eyes. ‘You can?’

Peterson nodded.

‘Then please, take me home. I just want to be at home, on my own,’ she said, taking a tissue and holding it to her face.

Thank you
, mouthed the nurse.

Peterson took the brake off the wheelchair and started to push Estelle towards the car park.

‘She was admitted in a bad way, extremely dehydrated and in severe shock,’ said the nurse to Moss and Erika. ‘She didn’t want to call anyone. I don’t know if there is a neighbour, or a daughter perhaps? She needs to remain calm and get some rest when she’s home.’

‘Peterson will work his magic, he’s always a hit with the old dears,’ said Moss, as they watched him manoeuvre the wheelchair down the kerb and across the car park. The nurse smiled and went back through the main entrance.

‘Shit, I’ve got the car keys, come on!’ said Erika. They hurried across to catch up with Peterson.

‘
O
h
, this heat…’ said Estelle, despairingly, when they were all inside the baking hot car. ‘It’s been going on for days!’ She was in the front beside Erika, and Moss and Peterson were seated in the back.

Erika leant across and helped Estelle with her seatbelt, then started the engine. ‘The air conditioning will kick in any moment now.’

‘How long have you been parked here?’ asked Estelle, when Erika showed her ID to the man working at the barrier. He waved them through.

‘Fifteen minutes,’ said Erika.

‘If you weren’t police, you’d have to pay one pound fifty. Even if you don’t use the full hour. I kept asking Gregory if he could do anything about patients having to pay. He said he would write to our Member of Parliament. He’s met her, you know, several times – at official luncheons…’ Estelle’s voice trailed off and she searched around in her lap for the tissue, and dabbed at her eyes.

‘Would you like some water, Estelle?’ asked Moss, who had bought some bottles from the vending machine at Lewisham Row.

‘Yes, please. And it’s Mrs Munro, if you don’t mind.’

‘Of course, Mrs Munro,’ said Moss, and she passed a small bottle of water dripping with condensation through the gap in the seats. Estelle managed to get the lid off and took a long drink. They drove through Ladywell, past the large park next to the hospital, where a group of young lads were playing football in the hot morning sunshine.

‘Thank goodness, that’s much better,’ said Estelle, sitting back as the cold air conditioning began to wash over them.

‘Could I please ask you a few questions?’ said Erika.

‘Can’t it wait?’

‘We’ll need you to make an official statement later, but as I said, I’d like to ask you a few things… Please, Mrs Munro, this is important.’

‘Go on, then.’

‘Gregory was due to be going on holiday?’

‘Yes, to France. He was going to make a speech for a conference of the BMA, the British Medical Association.’

‘He didn’t call to say he had arrived.’

‘Obviously not.’

‘Was that unusual?’

‘No. We weren’t in each other’s pockets. I knew he would phone me at some point during his trip.’

‘Gregory was separated from his wife?’

‘Yes,
Penny
,’ said Estelle, her lip curling nastily as she said the name.

‘Can I ask why?’

‘
Can you ask why
… You’re asking, aren’t you? Penny instigated it. She filed for divorce. If anyone was going to file for divorce, it should have been Gregory,’ said Estelle, shaking her head.

‘Why?’

‘She made his life a misery. And after all he did for her. He gave her a quality of life. Until they got married, Penny was still living with her awful mother, aged thirty-five. She had very few prospects. She was just a receptionist at Gregory’s surgery. No sooner had they started going out, she fell pregnant. She forced his hand and he had to marry her.’

‘Why did he have to marry her?’ asked Moss.

‘I know it’s the fashion these days to bring bastards into the world, but my grandson was not going to be a bastard!’

‘So you pushed them to marry?’ asked Moss.

Estelle turned to her. ‘No. It was Gregory. He did the honourable thing.’

‘Had he been married before?’ asked Erika.

‘Of course not.’

‘Penny and Gregory were married for four years. So he would have been forty-two when they got married?’ asked Moss.

‘Yes,’ said Estelle.

‘Did he have many girlfriends in the years leading up to his marriage?’ asked Peterson.

‘A few. No one I could have called serious. He was very driven, you see, with medical school and then the practice. There were some nice girls along the way. He could have had his pick, then he goes for that grasping receptionist…’

‘You didn’t like her?’ asked Peterson.

‘What do you think?’ said Estelle, eyeing him in the driver’s mirror. ‘She didn’t love him, she just wanted his money. I told him that at the beginning, but he wouldn’t listen. Then, one by one, things happened and I was proved right.’

‘What happened?’ asked Erika.

‘The ink was barely dry on the wedding certificate and she was pushing for Gregory to put things in her name. He has – had – several rental properties. He was self-made, you know, worked hard for it all. One of the properties was in my name, to give me a bit of security, and she wanted it changed to hers! Of course, he refused. She got her brother involved…’ Estelle shook her head in revulsion. ‘I tell you, the phrase “dragged up” is perfect for that family – Penny, her brother Gary. He’s a vile skinhead, always in trouble with the police. Yet Penny is devoted to him. I’m surprised you don’t know him. Gary Wilmslow.’

Erika exchanged a glance with Moss and Peterson.

Estelle went on: ‘Things came to a head last year when Gary threatened Gregory.’

‘How did he threaten him?’ asked Erika.

‘It was all about choosing a school for Peter. Gregory wanted him to board, which would have meant sending him away. Penny resorted to getting Gary round to intimidate Gregory, but Gregory stood up to him, and not many people stand up to Gary Wilmslow. Gregory gave him a good thrashing,’ said Estelle, proudly.

‘And then what happened?’

‘Then the rot set in. Gregory didn’t want anything to do with Gary, but Penny wouldn’t cut him out of her life. And Gary didn’t take kindly to losing a fight. Word got around, I’m sure. Penny and Gary had everything to gain if Gregory was no longer around. She’ll now inherit. I tell you, you’ll save yourself a lot of taxpayers’ money if you arrest her brother. Gary Wilmslow. He’s capable of murder, I’m sure of it. Only last week he was at it again, threatening Gregory. Barged into his office, in the surgery, no less – full of patients.’

‘Why did he threaten him?’

‘I never found out. I just heard about it from the practice manager. I was going to ask Gregory when he returned from holiday, but…’ Estelle began to sob again. She looked up as the Forest Hill Tavern pub came into view on the corner. ‘It’s just on the left, here, and my house is on the end,’ she said.

Erika came to a halt at a smart end-of-terrace house. She wished the drive had been longer.

‘Would you like us to come in with you?’ asked Erika.

‘No, I wouldn’t. I just need some time and space, thank you. I’ve been through a great deal, as I’m sure you will appreciate… If I were you, I’d go straight over and arrest her brother. It’s Gary, I’m telling you.’ Estelle waggled a crooked finger. She undid her seatbelt with difficulty and removed the court shoes from the plastic bag.

‘Mrs Munro, we will need to send some officers over for you to make a formal statement, and we need someone to come and identify your son’s body,’ said Erika, softly.

‘I saw him once, like that… I don’t want to do it again. Ask
her
, ask Penny,’ Estelle said.

‘Of course,’ said Erika.

Peterson got out of the car and round to the passenger side. He took Estelle’s shoes and placed them on her feet, then helped her out of the car to her front door.

‘Looks like this is getting interesting,’ said Moss quietly to Erika. ‘Money, property, families at war: never bodes well.’

They watched Peterson help Estelle up the steps. She opened her front door and vanished inside.

‘No, it doesn’t,’ agreed Erika. ‘I want to talk to Penny. And I want to talk to this Gary Wilmslow.’

P
enny Munro’s
house was in Shirley, an area of south-east London just a few miles from where they’d dropped Estelle. It was a modern ex-council house, with dun-coloured pebbledashed walls and lattice work on the new PVC windows. The front garden was neat, with a strip of immaculately lush green lawn, despite the lack of rain. A small pond was covered in netting, beneath which an explosion of lily pads was in bloom. A large plastic heron, frozen with one leg drawn up, was surrounded by a collection of huge, rosy-faced gnomes.

When they rang the bell, an electronic version of ‘Land of Hope and Glory’ chimed out. Moss raised an eyebrow at Erika and Peterson. There was a long pause, enough for a whole verse to play, and then the bell fell silent. The handle waggled, and the door opened slowly – just a few inches. A tiny, dark-haired boy peered round at them with bashful brown eyes. Erika could see so much of Gregory Munro in his little face – the eyes and high, proud forehead – it was quite eerie. A television blared out from behind a closed door in the hall.

‘Hello, are you Peter?’ asked Erika. The boy nodded. ‘Hello, Peter. Is your mummy here?’

‘Yes. She’s crying upstairs,’ he said.

‘Oh, I’m sorry about that. Could you ask her if we can speak to her, please?’

His eyes travelled over Erika, Moss, and finally, Peterson. He nodded, then threw back his head and yelled,
‘Mummy, there’s people at the door!’

There was a clink and the sound of a toilet flushing, and then a young woman with red swollen eyes came down the stairs. She was thin and attractive, with shoulder-length, strawberry-blonde hair and a small pointed nose.

‘Penny Munro?’ asked Erika. The woman nodded. ‘Hello. I’m DCI Foster. This is DI Peterson and DI Moss. We’re very sorry about your hus—’

Penny began to shake her head frantically, ‘No. He doesn’t know… I haven’t…’ she whispered, pointing at the little boy, who was grinning as Peterson stuck out his tongue and crossed his large brown eyes.

‘Could we have a word, on your own, please?’ said Erika.

‘I’ve already spoken to some officers.’

‘Mrs Munro, it’s very important.’

Penny blew her nose and nodded, shouting, ‘Mum! Muuum! Jesus, she’s got that telly up again…’ She opened the door in the hallway and the sound from the television intensified. The theme tune for
This Morning
blared out, rattling the thin frame of a mirror on the wall by the door. A few moments later, a large, elderly woman with a cloud of greasy grey hair and almost comically thick-framed glasses appeared at the living room door. She wore an androgynous green jumper and trousers, the legs of which were too short. They flapped above her swollen ankles, which poured over the edges of a pair of tartan slippers. The woman peered myopically through her murky glasses.

‘WHAT DO THEY WANT NOW?’ she bellowed, looking annoyed.

‘NOTHING, JUST TAKE PETER,’ shouted Penny.

The old woman gave the police officers a suspicious look and nodded. ‘COME ON, PETEY,’ she said, her voice high and reedy. Peter took her pudgy hand and sloped off into the living room, looking back at them for a moment. The sound of the blaring television dropped when the door closed.

‘Mum’s deaf, and in a world of her own,’ said Penny. The sound of a car backfiring on the street outside made her jump and begin to tremble. She craned her head round them and looked up and down the street as an old red Fiat roared past, driven by a young man in shades and no T-shirt.

‘What is it, Mrs Munro?’ asked Erika.

‘Nothing… It’s nothing,’ she said, unconvincingly. ‘Come through to the kitchen.’