‘Relatively speaking, no, he isn’t,’ McBriar agreed. ‘However, his Alzheimer’s changes that. It affects his spatial awareness and his ability to judge distances. You have already witnessed his memory loss but he also suffers from poor judgement. His cognitive and behavioural patterns are not what they were.’
‘All the more reason to look after him.’
‘I agree, Miss Narey. We monitor all our residents round the clock but unfortunately these things can still happen.’
‘I want to take my father out of here. I will look after him myself.’
The care home owner looked out of the window for a few moments before turning back to face her.
‘I understand that you are a police officer, Miss Narey. Long hours, I’d imagine. Shifts too.’
‘I can change that.’
‘Can you? I know that your father was in the force for thirty years. He didn’t change it and I’m not sure you would find it easy to do so either.’
‘Don’t presume to know me.’
‘I don’t but I do know how exacting it is to look after elderly people, particularly those with degenerative conditions.’
‘Look after him properly then,’ she retorted.
The woman looked back at her quietly and Narey cursed herself for losing her temper. It was bad enough they had let her dad hurt himself but even worse was that this woman was right. She couldn’t look after him, not the way things were right now. At least three things needed to be sorted before she could even think about it: she had to find out who Lily was, who had killed her and who had killed her killer. And then there was Tony…
‘Look after him properly,’ she repeated as she got to her feet. ‘I don’t have time for you right now but I do have time for him. I’ll be back soon and we’ll talk again. Don’t tell me I can’t look after him.’
She regretted slamming the office door behind her almost as soon as she had done it. It felt good but even as she fleetingly enjoyed the sound of it banging shut, she knew it wasn’t McBriar she was angry at but herself.
CHAPTER 33
They’d driven round Victoria Park several times, giving them plenty of opportunities to see people coming and going from the white house with the snowy garden. Winter was in the passenger seat. They’d timed it right, and had seen a man going down the path muffled up in coat, hat and scarf and letting himself in with a key. After another circuit, they saw that a car had appeared and parked directly in front of the house when there was plenty of space on either side of it. They looked at each other and Narey nodded. It was time.
They pulled in in front of the red Ford, Narey reversing until the bumper of her Megane was all but touching the car behind. They pushed the car doors open against the force of the wind and hurried down the path towards the front door. Narey stopped long enough to pull out her identity card and held it by her side as she knocked briskly on the door. She could hear voices inside and said a silent prayer that it was the husband who lost the argument and had to see who was disturbing their peace.
As the door was pulled back, she saw that her prayer had been answered. Better still, as she raised her ID card, she saw the look that crossed Deans’ face and knew immediately they had come to the right house. No one was ever too happy to see police officers on their doorstep but for those with nothing to hide the overriding reaction was surprise. The principal look she’d seen on the face of Greg Deans was fear. Oh, he pulled it back pretty quickly but she’d seen it and he knew she had.
Winter had seen it too. A widening of the eyes and a fleeting dropping of the jaw, muscles tightening, the merest suggestion of a backward step. Winter stood six inches taller than Rachel and watched over her head as Deans’ eyes flashed from the card to her and then finally to him. The man had regained his composure by the time he got round to Winter, his gaze level and his mouth relaxed. But he was rattled and they all knew it.
‘Yes?’
‘Mr Deans? I am Detective Sergeant Narey and this is Anthony Winter of the SPSA. May we talk to you please, sir?’
‘Well, yes. Of course. But may I ask what it is in connection with?’
‘I think we all know the answer to that, Mr Deans. May we come in? It’s rather cold out here on the doorstep.’
‘You can come in, Sergeant, but I have to say that I don’t know what you’re talking about.’
Narey smiled widely and Winter mimicked her gesture, knowing it was designed to keep the man off guard. They stamped their feet on the doormat, leaving as much of the snow behind as they could before entering the house.
‘Through here.’ It was as much an order as an invitation and the reason became clear as he led them into the sitting room and promptly left them, saying he was going to speak to his wife.
As soon as he left, Winter was back on his feet, camera in hand. Rachel smiled as he stalked the room, quickly and quietly capturing the images of Deans’ family life. It was a comfortable room, one for living in rather than adorning the pages of some interiors magazine. The two sofas, a three-seater and a two, looked well used compared to the single armchair, which sat in splendid isolation to the side. A hooded sweatshirt hung casually over the back of the two-seater and a pair of slippers peeped out from under it. A maze of framed photographs was dotted along a mantelpiece and Winter swooped on them, snapping the snaps and stealing the Deans’ history. There were what he assumed to be grandparents and nephews and nieces in various group shots — Christmases, graduations, birthdays and the like — but in the main there were the three of them: Greg Deans, his attractive blonde wife and a flame-haired daughter in her late teens. Winter focused, literally, on what he took to be the most recent photograph of them together.
They were at a wedding, squeezed together in a happy grouping, Deans in the middle. He was in a light grey suit with striped pink tie, his arms around the women in his life. Mrs Deans wore a red pillar box hat above her heavily styled hair and a beaming smile below it. The daughter had a feathery fascinator in her red hair and a heart-shaped rhinestone necklace that reflected the sunshine. They were clearly at ease in each other’s company, not even a sulky teen embarrassed by being with her parents.
Footsteps signalled Deans’ return and Winter stepped away from the sideboard towards the window, making a show of studying the snow-laden garden. As he closed the door behind him, Deans eyed Winter suspiciously, letting his stare linger long enough to let him know he was on to him. Narey caught the play within the play and revelled in it, relishing anything that kept Deans guessing. She wanted him off balance and would cheerfully kick one leg away if that was what it took to achieve it.
Deans had a full head of light red hair and pale, freckled skin. He stood about five foot ten with a stocky build and looked slightly younger than his forty-two years. He was also obviously nervous, his hands popping in and out of his pockets and tugging at his sleeve as he threw edgy glances towards the door, presumably keeping a wary eye out in case his wife came through it.
He clearly wanted Narey to speak first but she wasn’t willing to indulge him. Instead, she just sat and looked at him, letting a heavy silence settle in the room, waiting for it to smother Deans’ nerve. He pulled at his sleeve some more, wrenched his eyes from hers and looked impatiently out of the window at the falling snow.
‘Well?’ he asked her at last.
She smiled. It was her way of telling him she’d won the first round.
‘It can’t be easy to keep an old house like this warm in such weather.’
‘What?’
‘Places as old as this tend to leak heat like a sieve. You must need to have your heating on day and night.’
‘What is it that you think I can help you with, Sergeant?’