Eyes of the Wicked Page 12

  Rowena looked from him to the journalists but said nothing.

  He got out and walked across the car park to the exit, fixing a smile on his face. The cameras turned in his direction as he approached.

  One of the journalists, a woman with a hand-held recorder that she shoved in Battle’s face, said, “Chief Inspector Battle, what can you tell us about Tanya Ward’s body being nailed to a cross. Is there a madman loose on the streets?”

  “Mrs Ward’s body was not fixed to a cross,” he said firmly.

  “Is her husband a suspect?” Someone else asked.

  “He’s not a suspect, no.”

  Dozens of questions were thrown at him. Battle held up his hands to calm everyone down, remembering to keep the smile fixed on his face even though he felt like shouting at the lot of them to bugger off. Didn’t they have better things to do on Christmas Eve than harass him and his wife?

  “I’ll take one question,” he said, “but then I have to get on with my day.”

  Again, a jumble of words spilled from the journalists’ mouths.

  Battle pointed at a woman he recognised from the BBC. She held a microphone and was accompanied by a burly cameraman.

  “You,” Battle said. “What’s your question?”

  “What will happen now that Abigail Newton is going back to Derbyshire later today? Shouldn’t she be kept here, in the area where she was found, in case she has vital evidence that might lead to an arrest?”

  That took Battle aback slightly. He had no idea Abigail was going home today. It made sense, of course; her parents would want to take her home and try to get on with their lives.

  He gave an answer of which he was sure Gallow would approve. “If this were being handled by two separate police forces, it might present some logistical problems. But Murder Force operates across the country so there won’t be an issue.”

  More questions were asked but he held up his hand. “I’m afraid that’s all I have time for right now. If you need any more information, go through the proper channels instead of following police officers around. Have a good Christmas.” He turned and walked back to his car, still keeping the smile on his face. He was determined to keep it there until he was out of the car park and away from the cameras.

  When he got back in the car, Rowena asked, “How did it go?”

  “Not too bad,” he said, getting his phone out of his pocket. He found the number for Tony Sheridan, the Murder Force psychologist, and rang it.

  Sheridan answered immediately. “Hi, boss.”

  “Tony, I need you to get to the hospital and visit Abigail. She’s going home today.”

  “Going home?” the psychologist said. “I haven’t even spoken to her yet.”

  “I know. That’s why you need to get over there right now.”

  “I’m on my way. If she’s leaving, this will be our last chance to talk to her while everything is still fresh in her mind. Once she gets home, details will be repressed. That’s good for her but bad for us.”

  “Let me know if she says anything,” Battle said.

  “No problem, boss. Leave it with me.”

  Battle hung up and put the phone back into his pocket before starting the engine. The reporters were still milling around at the car park exit so he gave them a cheery wave as he drove past them. No one could say he wasn’t being media friendly.

  “Do you think Abigail Newton will talk to your man?” Rowena asked as they left the car park behind.

  “I’m not holding out much hope,” Battle said truthfully. “But we have to try. The key to this entire investigation is probably locked away inside her head.”

  Chapter Eighteen

  When Dani got back to the cottage, she let the dogs out and made herself a quick lunch of beans on toast. While she ate, she mentally reconstructed the events of the night Tanya disappeared. The nurse had arrived at Larkmoor House at 6 p.m. and left her car in the car park.

  Dani had seen that car park with her own eyes and knew it wasn’t exactly large. If someone had been messing around with the Volkswagen Beetle’s wheel, surely they’d have been seen. If not by the staff in the building, then at least by the CCTV camera that pointed into the car park its position just above the entrance door.

  She closed her eyes and tried to recall if she’d seen any lights in the car park. At this time of year, sunset was around 4 p.m. so Tanya would have arrived in the dark. If the car park wasn’t adequately lit, maybe someone could have crept around, unseen by the security guard or even the camera.

  The footage would reveal more when she reviewed it with Battle tomorrow. If the images were grainy or showed shadowy areas near Tanya’s Beetle, it was likely that someone had used the cover of darkness to sabotage the car.

  Every member of staff had agreed that there were no strange vehicles at the hospital that night so the perpetrator must have entered the car park on foot. The woods were the most logical access point.

  The killer had a vehicle, though, because he’d used it to follow Tanya from Larkmoor House along the road where her car would inevitably break down. Had he followed at a safe distance, waiting for the wheel to fall off?

  Perhaps he hadn’t sabotaged the car at the hospital. In America in 1970, the Zodiac had flashed his headlights at a woman on a highway and, after she’d pulled over, had told her that she had a loose rear wheel and he could fix it. While she waited in the car, he went through the charade of tightening the wheel but actually loosened it. After the woman drove away, the wheel fell off and the Zodiac was waiting to pick her up.

  Dani was sure that hadn’t happened to Tanya Ward. She found it hard to believe that Tanya—a woman driving alone across the moors on a winter’s night—would pull over if a man in the car behind her flashed his headlights.

  What if it was a woman in the car behind her? Would she have pulled over then? There was no concrete evidence to categorically conclude that the perpetrator was a man. Statistically, it was unlikely, but Dani wasn’t willing to discount anything at this stage.

  She finished eating and loaded the plates and cutlery into the dishwasher. Her phone rang. Wondering if Battle was calling her to relay the news of another break in the case, she rushed to the table, where she’d left the phone, and picked it up.

  The name on the screen wasn’t Battle’s at all, or any of her work colleagues’ for that matter.

  Liz Summers, Shaun’s mother, was video calling her.

  Dani missed her husband all year round, but this time of year was particularly difficult. She had fond memories of past Christmas times, memories that would never be added to. And each Christmas marked the passing of time since Shaun’s death, pushing the memories back yet another year. It was for that reason that Dani didn’t care for the holidays.

  She guessed that Liz felt exactly the same way. They’d had a good relationship in happier times and Dani, Shaun and Charlie had sometimes spent this time of year in Edinburgh, where Liz and Rob—Shaun’s dad—lived. Now, they barely spoke, and Dani was sure the reason for that was that Liz cherished those past Christmas times and seeing Dani and Charlie without Shaun reminded her that those times were gone and were never coming back.

  Dani answered the call and Liz’s face appeared on the screen. She looked older than Dani remembered but, of course, she was older. Dani had spoken to the woman on Charlie’s birthday a few months but hadn’t actually seen her for a couple of years.

  “Dani,” Liz said, smiling gently, “How are you?”

  “Keeping busy,” Dan said. “How are you and Rob?”

  Liz’s faces fell slightly. “Well, you know we don’t like this time of year. We put a brave face on, I suppose, but it isn’t like it used to be. Oh, here’s Rob.”

  Rob leaned into shot and waved. “Hello, Dani. How are you and Charlie?”

  “We’re fine, Rob.”

  “Is she there?”

  “No, she’s spending Christmas with her boyfriend’s family.”

  “Boyfriend?” He looked su
rprised.

  Dani nodded.

  “So you’ll be on your own?” Liz said. “You could have come up here. We’re not doing anything special but you’re very welcome.”

  “Thank you,” Dani said, “but I’m working tomorrow.”

  “Aye, we saw you on the telly,” Rob said. “You’re part of that new police team. The Murder Squad.”

  Dani didn’t correct him.

  “Terrible business with that woman,” Liz said, shaking her head in disgust. “How could anyone do that to another human being? I don’t know what the world is coming to.”

  “Yes, it is terrible,” Dani agreed.

  “Well he’d better watch out now that you’re on the case,” Rob said. “He won’t know what’s hit him once you get your hands on him.”

  Dani smiled. “I’ve got to find him first.”

  “Oh, you’ll find him,” he said. “You got that bastard who was killing all those women in the snow and you’ll get this one as well.” A sadness crossed his face and he added, “It’s just a shame Shaun isn’t here to see how well you’re doing.” He wiped his eye and said, “Anyway, you have a good Christmas.” With that, he moved out of shot. Dani heard a door close and Liz’s gaze moved away from the camera.

  “He’s gone out to the garden,” she told Dani. “He often goes out there when he wants to be on his own. But I’m going to have to take his coat out to him. It’s freezing out there and there’s more snow on the way.”

  “All right, I’ll let you go,” Dani said. “Thanks for calling.”

  “Just remember you’re always welcome if you want to come up here,” Liz said. “Anytime you want, just let us know and we’ll make up the spare bed for you in Shaun’s old room.”

  “Thank you, I appreciate it.”

  The screen went blank as Liz disconnected from the call.

  Dani pondered the open invitation to stay in Edinburgh. Perhaps her theory about Liz avoiding her because she didn’t want to be reminded of the happy times was wrong. Or Liz had changed her outlook and now wanted to remember those times.

  She got up from the table and wandered over to the sofa, checking the weather report on her phone. The forecast said there was a 100% chance of snow today and probably tomorrow as well.

  Dani sat on the sofa and closed her eyes, the phone in her lap. Her premonition a couple of days ago that the snow was a harbinger of death had been correct.

  She wondered if this new, approaching snowstorm was also bringing something terrible with it.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Tony Sheridan sat inside his Mini in the hospital car park, staring at the building and feeling the tight grip of terror in his gut. It felt as if a huge hand had reached inside him and was squeezing his vital organs.

  A light flurry of snow had begun to fall over the car park, but he barely noticed it; his focus was on the hospital. The rest of the world seemed blurry in his peripheral vision. Only that building dominated his sight and his thoughts.

  “Get a hold of yourself, Tony,” he chastised himself.

  He tried to control his breathing—a technique he often taught to his patients—but it did nothing to calm his racing heart and mind. Since his rehabilitation—both mental and physical—in various medical facilities in Canada, he’d managed to avoid such places, fearing that they’d bring back the memories he tried every day to lock away behind a door in his mind.

  The fact that he was sitting here in his car like a scared mouse in its hole proved that he’d been right to have such a fear.

  His hand instinctively went to his side and his fingers traced over the raised scar he could feel under his shirt. That scar was the only visible souvenir of his encounter with the Lake Erie Ripper, but he had many mental mementos to go along with it.

  Sometimes, when he closed his eyes at night, memories of the house where he’d found the girls flashed into his head. His remembrances weren’t limited to images, either. Smells, sounds, and even emotions accompanied the visions.

  He knew, from a clinical perspective, that he was suffering from PTSD but knowing that didn’t help to alleviate it.

  He also knew that the aversion therapy he’d prescribed himself—avoiding all hospitals—wasn’t practical, especially in his line of work. Battle had sent him here to talk to Abigail Newton because there was one last chance to do so before she returned home to Derbyshire. The DCI had put his trust in him, and Tony wasn’t going to let his boss down now.

  Attempting to focus purely on the task at hand and ignore all of the emotional baggage that came with it, he got out of the Mini and walked around to the boot, where he’d stowed his padded jacket and hat.

  He put them on and immediately felt swamped by the jacket. He’d bought it in Canada, to stay warm while he worked on the Lake Erie case, but he’d lost a lot of weight since then and now it looked ridiculous on him. At least the beanie still fit his head.

  His briefcase was also in the boot, but he left it there; he didn’t want to appear as a figure of authority or “part of the system” to Abigail when he met her. He wanted her to identify with him and something as innocuous as a briefcase could be a barrier to that process.

  Locking the car, he took a few tentative steps towards the hospital entrance, his hands shoved in his pockets.

  A constant stream of people entered and exited through the automatic doors and Tony knew that if he was going to speak to Abigail, he had to do the same. It seemed so simple and easy.

  But it wasn’t. Not for him.

  “Get a grip,” he told himself through gritted teeth.

  He took another few steps towards the building but then found himself turning away with beads of sweat breaking out on his forehead.

  He leaned against the hospital wall and closed his eyes, breathing icy, wintry air deep into his lungs.

  “Sheridan!”

  He opened his eyes again when he heard the voice calling his name. Looking back at the car park, he saw DC Tom Ryan walking towards him, waving to get his attention.

  What did he want? When Tony had left the incident room, Ryan had been sitting at one of desks, staring at a computer screen. What was he doing here at the hospital?

  For one mortifying instant, he wondered if Battle—knowing about Tony’s PTSD—had sent Ryan to make sure he made it into the hospital. No, that was impossible; Battle didn’t know about Tony’s PTSD. No one did other than Tony’s therapist and there was no way he’d talk to the police about his patient’s condition thanks to the confidentiality rules surrounding private therapy sessions.

  So why the hell was Ryan here?

  As the ex-soldier got within earshot, Tony voiced his question. “What are you doing here?”

  “I was getting bored in the office,” Ryan said with a grin. “When I saw you take that phone call and leave, I thought you might be going somewhere interesting.”

  “So you followed me?”

  Ryan shrugged. “I suppose so.”

  “What? You can’t just follow me. You do your work and I do mine.”

  “Yeah, but my work was getting boring. I wasn’t doing anyone any good sitting there like a zombie behind a desk. I’m better at field work.” He gestured to the hospital. “What are we doing?”

  “We’re not doing anything. I’m going to see if I can get Abigail Newton to talk to me.”

  “You see,” Ryan said. “That’s much more useful than staring at computerised reports. Let’s go.” He started towards the automatic doors.

  “Wait a minute. I have to do this, not you. I’m trained to talk to patients suffering from stress. This is my speciality.”

  “All right, I’ll stand in the corner and watch.” He moved towards the doors again.

  “No,” Tony said, following him. “No, you won’t. You might scare the poor girl even further.”

  “I don’t think I’m scary.” He gave Tony a big grin.

  They were in the foyer now, walking to the lifts.

  “You’re not listening to me,” Ton
y said. “This is a very sensitive situation. It needs a professional touch.”

  “I was a professional soldier for ten years. What floor?” They’d entered the lift now and Ryan’s finger hovered over the control panel.

  “Floor two. And you know that’s not what I mean when I say professional. I’m talking about a being a professional in a profession that deals with this sort of thing.”

  “I’m sure I’ll learn simply by watching you,” Ryan said.

  “No, you won’t because you won’t be watching me. You can stay outside the room. I don’t want you in there, do you hear me?” He raised his finger to emphasise his point, but he was sure the ex-SAS soldier in front of him wasn’t intimidated in the slightest.

  As the lift door opened with a ding and they stepped out, Ryan said, “All right, doc, I’ll wait outside.”

  “Good,” Tony said. He suddenly realised where he was. Ryan had distracted him so much with his bullish attitude that Tony’s fear of entering the building had been overridden by his need to reign in the DC.

  A tremor of fear passed through his body. The last time he’d been in a hospital had been during the lowest point in his life. His mind had been so messed up and the doctors had pumped him with so many meds that he hadn’t been sure where he was, or even who he was. Being here, inside a hospital again, made him feel unstable both on his feet and in his mind.

  “Come on, doc,” Ryan said, taking Tony by the shoulders and leading him along the corridor to a room at the far end where a uniformed police officer stood guard. He flashed his warrant card at the officer and knocked on the door.

  A man’s voice within said, “Come in.”

  Ryan led Tony inside and said, “I’ll wait outside.” He went back out into the corridor and closed the door behind him.

  If Tony didn’t know better, he’d swear that Ryan somehow knew about his problem getting to this room and had just helped him every step of the way.

  He fixed a smile on his face when he saw Mr and Mrs Newton standing by the window with their daughter Abigail.