As soon as they heard the news of his at least partial recovery, in spite of it being almost midnight, Vogel and Saslow set off for the NDDH. They had been told they could have just a few minutes with Patel, who was not considered to be out of danger, and remained in the intensive care unit.
DI Peters had earlier allocated a team to find out all they could about Patel and his background. It seemed his grandfather, Ali, had been a Ugandan refugee, expelled from his country of birth by the despot Idi Amin back in 1972. Unusually, the Patels had settled in North Devon. They were a hard-working family who integrated well into the local community. Ali, in the way that was to become something of a tradition amongst Asian immigrants, opened a small general store, selling everything from newspapers to hot bacon rolls. Ali’s son Rohit, Jason’s father, married an English girl, hence Jason’s name. Rohit became an accountant, opening his own successful business in Bideford, which Jason, who also trained as an accountant, took over upon his father’s unexpected death from an aneurism several years earlier. Also like his father, Jason married an English girl, from whom it was believed he was divorced.
When Jason had suddenly sold the family business three years previously and gone into partnership with Thomas Quinn, it had apparently been a big surprise to the local business community. Not least because the seemingly solid accountant had entered a much less certain world.
In his hospital bed, Patel was propped into an almost sitting position with a nasal drip, tubes out of his arm, and all the usual paraphernalia of a specialist ICU, when Vogel and Saslow arrived at his bedside.
His eyes were closed when the two officers entered the room. But after Vogel spoke his name loudly a couple of times, Patel slowly opened them. It seemed to take him a few seconds to focus.
Vogel introduced himself and Saslow. Looking at Patel he did not think they were likely to glean a great deal yet. Nonetheless he began to ask questions, starting with an obvious one which would help him to judge the man’s mental condition.
‘Do you know where you are, Mr Patel?’ he asked.
‘Yes,’ responded Jason Patel. ‘I’m in hospital.’
‘Do you know which hospital?’
‘No...’ Patel paused. ‘Well, I’d guess the NDDH.’
‘Do you know why you are here?’
‘Yes. I’ve been shot.’
Patel’s voice was weak, but he seemed lucid enough. So far.
‘Do you know who shot you?’
Patel looked uneasy. Or perhaps just bewildered. He shook his head.
‘Mr Patel, I’m going to ask you that question again, and this time I would be grateful if you could answer in words. Do you know who shot you?’
‘N-no. I don’t.’
‘But last night, after you were told that Thomas Quinn had been killed, you asked for police protection. Who were you afraid of, Mr Patel?’
‘I don’t know. I w-was in shock. I couldn’t believe Thomas was dead...’
‘We believe there were armed men in your office when you arrived there today. Do you remember how many of them there were, and did you recognize any of them?’
‘No. I d-don’t... I don’t know what happened. Only what I’ve been told...’
‘Why’s that, Mr Patel?’
‘I don’t remember anything. I don’t remember anything before I woke up here.’
‘Do you remember where you were when you were shot?’
‘N-no. I remember leaving my house this afternoon. I think I was going to the office...’
‘On a Sunday?’
‘Is it Sunday? Well, y-yes. Sometimes... And because of Thomas. There were things to do...’
Patel slumped backwards, sinking more deeply into the pillows. His voice had become even weaker. His face was grey and sweaty looking. Vogel suspected the nurse standing by would not allow this interview to continue for long. In any case it was not getting them very far. Nonetheless he decided to continue until he was asked to stop.
‘Mr Patel, have you any idea why anybody would want to shoot you?’
Patel shook his head again. He looked as if he might no longer have the strength to speak. Vogel did not press him. On cue the nurse stepped forward and placed a hand lightly on the DCI’s arm.
‘I think that will have to be enough for now, Mr Vogel,’ she said.
‘I understand,’ said Vogel. ‘When do you think we’d be able to try again?’
‘Some time tomorrow, hopefully,’ said the nurse. ‘If all goes well.’
Jason Patel was clearly seriously hurt. But Vogel couldn’t help wondering how much of his amnesia was genuine.
As they left the room, Vogel turned to discuss the matter with Saslow, but was interrupted before he’d begun by a woman who had been sitting on one of the row of green plastic chairs outside the ICU. As soon as she saw Saslow and Vogel step into the corridor she stood up and approached them. She looked red-eyed and upset.
‘Are you the police?’ she asked.
Vogel agreed that they were.
‘Have you been to see Jason, Jason Patel?’ she continued.
Vogel did not answer that, instead he asked his own question.
‘Would you please tell me who you are, madam?’ he said.
‘I’m Jason’s wife,’ said the woman. ‘Maureen Patel. Well, his ex-wife actually.’
‘I see,’ said Vogel, who then introduced himself and Saslow. He thought the woman looked rather more distraught than one might expect an ex-wife to be. It seemed that she read his mind.
‘We were married for thirteen years,’ she said. ‘Together for almost fifteen. Jason is the father of my children. In the end I could not stay with him. I just couldn’t take any more. But I suppose I will always love him. In a way.’
‘May I ask when you last saw your ex-husband?’
‘Yes. Last Sunday. He usually takes the kids on a Sunday. Or visits them, at any rate. He didn’t turn up today. I was just angry, at first. They get so disappointed, you see. He’s usually a good father. But lately...’
Her voice tailed off.
‘Lately what, Mrs Patel?’ queried Saslow.
‘Lately he’s been all over the place. Totally unreliable. It’s been building up for a couple of years. Why we split up, actually.’
‘What exactly has been building up?’ persisted Vogel.
‘Look. He’s not been the man I married, since... well, since he got involved with that Thomas Quinn.’
Well, she’s blunt, thought Vogel. And that suited him well. He liked a witness who got to the point.
‘Mrs Patel, do you know that Thomas Quinn is dead, that he has been murdered?’ he asked.
‘Yes, I do.’
‘When did you learn that?’
‘On the news, a few hours ago. They named him on the BBC. I was sitting in the waiting room. I’d only just arrived. The TV was on. I couldn’t believe my ears. That was the pair of them. Thomas killed yesterday, and my Jason shot this afternoon. I can’t understand it. I’ve been here ever since. They let me see Jason for a few minutes earlier, but I couldn’t get any sense out of him...’
That makes two of us, thought Vogel, who then reminded himself that he was dealing with a gravely injured man. He really shouldn’t be so cynical. Cynicism was, after all, the copper’s curse, in Vogel’s opinion. All too often it clouded your judgement and prevented you from seeing what was right in front of your eyes.
‘You indicated that you’ve been here for several hours, Mrs Patel?’ Vogel continued. ‘How did you know your ex-husband had been shot.’
‘I didn’t. Not at first. They just told me there’d been a serious incident, Jason was injured, and he’d been taken here.’
‘Who’s they, Mrs Patel?’
‘I don’t know exactly. Whoever answered Jason’s phone when I called it this afternoon. A man. I assumed afterwards that it was a nurse or a paramedic. Or I suppose it could have been a policeman.’