As Barnaby started to speak, Dr Miller eased the two policemen out of the room, saying that, at least as far as he was concerned, the theory that unconscious patients heard and understood nothing was far from proven.
‘So what are her chances?’ said Barnaby.
‘Too early to say.’ He stood there on the balls of his feet, a busy man, ready to run. ‘She’s got a deep cut across the head and massive bruising which could mean brain trauma. We’ll know more when we’ve done a scan. We’ve got her stabilised, which is the first step.’
‘I see.’
‘The big danger is a subdural haemorrhage.’ He tugged on his stethoscope. ‘This means draining off blood beneath the outer membrane - always risky.’
‘Yes.’ Barnaby, his stomach playing pitch and toss, swallowed hard. ‘Thank you, Dr Miller. We do know who she is, by the way.’
‘Excellent.’ He was already striding off. ‘Tell admin. on your way out.’
There were quite a lot of bad-tempered motorists hanging around the multi-storey car park waiting for their vehicles as uniformed officers made a note of each and every registration.
There was also a police presence on the top level under the direction of Colin Willoughby. Barnaby did not like Inspector Willoughby. He was a rigid man. A toady and a snob without imagination, sensitivity or a shred of human understanding. The last sort of person, to the chief inspector’s thinking, to make a good police officer.
‘Good heavens,’ said Willoughby as they approached. He sounded so amazed they could have been visitors from another planet. ‘What are you doing here? Sir.’
‘The woman who’s been attacked is involved in a case I’m currently investigating. Charlie Leathers’ murder.’
‘An identification already?’ He was plainly more resentful than relieved.
‘Ann Lawrence,’ said Sergeant Troy. ‘The Old Rectory, Ferne Basset.’
‘Hm.’
‘I’ve just come from Stoke Mandeville,’ said Barnaby.
‘Popped her clogs, has she?’
The DCI’s lips tightened with distaste. ‘Do you have an accurate time on the assault?’
‘Five to three the bloke found her.’
‘I see.’ Barnaby looked about him. ‘So, what stage are you at here?’
‘Oh, we’re doing everything by the book. No need to worry. Sir.’
‘I’m not worried. I’m just asking a straightforward question.’
‘All the numbers are being noted. And we’re—’
‘Who let those people up here?’ Barnaby jerked his head angrily towards a man and women stepping out of the lift. ‘Don’t you know enough to protect a scene where a savage assault has taken place?’
‘Go back down,’ shouted Inspector Willoughby at the top of his voice. He waved his arms furiously at the couple. ‘Go away! Now!’
They leapt back into the lift.
‘This approach, this whole level should have been taped off. And the stairs, which is how he escaped. What the hell are you playing at, man?’
‘It’s all happening. Sir.’
‘It’s not happening fast enough, is it?’
‘Her car’s a Humber Hawk, by the way,’ said Sergeant Troy. ‘Very old.’
Willoughby glared. He did not like being interrupted, even by someone of his own rank. As for this plain-clothes upstart ...
‘It’s just down there,’ nodded Troy, compounding his insolence.
‘I’ve got eyes, Sergeant. Thank you.’
‘I’d like it roped off,’ said Barnaby. ‘And gone over by SOCO. Every inch.’
‘What?’
He may have eyes, thought Sergeant Troy, but his ears don’t seem to be up to much.
‘I’m not in the habit of repeating myself, Willoughby. Just see to it.’
‘Sir.’
‘Where was she found?’
‘Over here.’ Willoughby led the way towards a scarlet Megane. ‘Lying in front of the car. I’d say a couple of feet from the radiator grille.’
Barnaby looked more closely at the car. There was a slight but definite indentation on the rim of the bonnet. Vividly he saw Ann Lawrence’s head being swung down against it with tremendous force and felt sick again. Then told himself not to run with such vivid fantasies. She could have been coshed by anything. But then why bother to drag her over to the car? Also the wound was high. Partly on the forehead but also on the front section of the skull. In any case, how often do attackers walk up to their mark, look them in the face and strike? They creep and sidle and slink. They pad up silently behind and let them have it. Barnaby looked about him.
‘She got as far as here,’ he stood in the aisle between the cars some distance away, ‘presumably making for the lift. He followed and jumped her, dragging her over to the Renault. You can see the heel marks through this oily tyre track. And nearer the car as well.’
‘I had made a note of that, actually, sir.’
‘Good for you, Willoughby,’ said the chief inspector, disbelief sticking to the words like toffee. ‘So we’ll have to hang on to the Megane, get it properly examined.’
‘Absolutely.’
There was an exquisite pause which Barnaby delighted in extending. It was plain that Willoughby did not know exactly why the red car had to be tested. Fear of being thought stupid meant he could not bring himself to ask. But if he didn’t ask, when SOCO asked him if they were looking for anything specific, he wouldn’t know. It was moments like this, sighed the chief inspector contentedly to himself, that made what was often a mundane job really worthwhile.
Sergeant Troy said, ‘Look here.’
‘What?’ Inspector Willoughby moved quickly to the car, pushing Troy aside.
‘How d’you get a dent in a place like that?’ Troy, having nodded at the bonnet, spoke over his shoulder to the DCI. ‘Not from a collision, that’s for sure.’
‘That’s right.’ Barnaby smiled. ‘Well spotted, Sergeant.’
Willoughby, ferociously envious and annoyed, stared at the car with burning eyes. He’ll melt the paint, thought Barnaby, if he keeps that up.
‘Make sure everything she was wearing goes to SOCO.’
‘Naturally, Chief Inspector.’
‘And I’ll want a tape of the interview with the man who found her. Right,’ he turned away, ‘that seems to be it. For now.’
‘I’ll check the pay ticket on the Humber, sir. It’ll give us Mrs Lawrence’s exact time of arrival.’
‘You’re on form today, Sergeant, and no mistake.’
And Troy made his way towards the Humber with a swing and a swagger, the tips of his ears glowing with pleasure.
As both men were leaving the building, Barnaby’s mobile rang. It was Sergeant Brierley ringing from the incident room to inform him that the tape of the anonymous 999 call on the night of Carlotta Ryan’s disappearance had finally arrived.
After she had finished speaking, Barnaby asked if she would get a further matter sorted. Troy listened in some bewilderment. He did not ask for an explanation, he had his pride. In any case it would probably be, ‘Work it out, Sergeant,’ then, when he couldn’t, he’d feel twice as bad as if he’d never asked in the first place. But bicycles?