‘Pity you couldn’t do the same for Christine Gorski,’ Ward went on, stifling a yawn. ‘Might have saved us some embarrassment if we’d identified her sooner.’
‘Her finger ends had been chewed by rats. She didn’t have any viable fingerprints left,’ I said, smarting at the comparison.
‘I know, I’m not criticizing.’ She paused. ‘And there were definitely no burns on her? Nothing to suggest she might have been tortured as well?’
‘I’d have told you if I’d found anything.’
‘You’re certain?’
I bit back the retort I’d been about to make and just gave her a look. Ward knew me well enough not to ask, and must have realized it herself. She nodded, acknowledging as much.
‘OK, I was just making sure.’ She glanced at her watch. ‘I’ve got to go, but the reason I came over was to warn you there’ll be visitors later. Christine Gorski’s family want to see where their daughter was found.’
‘Is that a good idea?’ I asked, surprised.
‘It’s happening, whether it’s a good idea or not,’ Ward retorted, then sighed. ‘Look, we were caught out by them turning up like that. It didn’t exactly paint us in a good light, and now the body’s been identified as their daughter we don’t want to seem unsympathetic. They’ll just be brought here to see what we’re doing to find the people responsible for her death. We won’t be taking them inside the hospital building, so there’s no reason you should even see them. I’m just giving you prior warning so you know what to expect.’
She sounded as though she was trying to convince herself, and I could see why. Letting Christine Gorski’s family visit St Jude’s was a bad idea. They might not be under any illusions about the sordid nature of their daughter’s death, but seeing the squalor of where she’d died for themselves wouldn’t help them understand. Or bring them any comfort.
The whole thing smacked of a PR exercise. I knew Ward well enough to know she was unhappy herself, and guessed Ainsley was probably behind it. After the public debacle of her press statement, the commander would be keen to have something that would play well on TV.
It was only after Ward had left the car that I realized I’d missed the chance to tell her about Lola.
Chapter 15
The afternoon’s search started in the same way as the morning’s. After lunch, the team assembled once more on the hospital’s steps. The rain had started again, not heavily, although the dark clouds promised that could soon change. We sheltered underneath the faux-Grecian portico, its fluted columns streaked with bird droppings and graffiti. Not for the first time, it struck me how much the entrance to St Jude’s resembled that of a mausoleum. Standing under the shadowed gloom of the portico’s roof, with the heavy doors opening into the dark interior, was like being on the threshold of a tomb.
It wasn’t the best association for a hospital.
Once again, we found ourselves waiting for Jessop. The contractor had taken himself off when we’d broken for lunch and had failed to come back. In a reprise of that morning, Whelan looked at his watch with barely suppressed irritation.
‘Bugger this. We’ll start without him.’
But he’d no sooner said it than the contractor appeared, strolling with an almost insulting lack of urgency from the direction of the portable toilets. He was still fastening his overalls, frowning as he struggled to zip them over his gut.
‘We’ve been waiting for you,’ Whelan said, tight-lipped.
Jessop wriggled his thick fingers into a tight glove. ‘I was taking a dump.’
‘We were supposed to be starting ten minutes ago.’
‘Yeah, well, I’m here now, aren’t I?’
Whelan studied him expressionlessly, then spoke to the rest of us. ‘You all go on up. Mr Jessop and I will be there in a minute.’
It took them slightly longer than that. We’d trooped back up to the top floor and were standing around at the top of the stairs. No one spoke, and only the Labrador was oblivious to the uncomfortable atmosphere. Footsteps echoing up the stairwell announced Whelan and Jessop’s arrival, the big man lagging behind the DI like a reprimanded schoolboy.
‘Right, let’s get to it,’ Whelan said, setting off down the floodlit corridor.
Pausing at the top for breath, Jessop stared after him sullenly but said nothing.
I can count on the fingers of one hand how often time has dragged while I’ve been working on an investigation. More often than not the opposite holds true, and I’ll emerge from some task to realize the day’s gone by without my noticing. Inside St Jude’s, though, time seemed to congeal. There was nothing to do except slowly follow the dog along one endless corridor after another, searching empty rooms that all seemed to merge. I’d glance at my watch, convinced that an hour or more had passed, only to find that the hands had hardly moved at all.
But at least Jessop was behaving himself. Whatever Whelan had said to him seemed to have worked, although as the afternoon wore on his truculence began to reassert itself. There were several more false alarms that came to nothing, each one prompting mutterings and impatient sighs from the contractor. When the last one produced the fur and bones of another dead rat, his restraint finally broke.
‘I thought these things were supposed to be trained?’ he burst out, as the Labrador’s handler rewarded it with the tennis ball again. ‘My own dog’d do a better job than this! Can’t it tell the difference between a dead body and a bloody rodent?’
‘No, can you?’ its handler shot back. She straightened, staring at Jessop as though daring him to criticize her dog again. The contractor appealed to Whelan instead.
‘This is bollocks! How much longer are we going to spend farting around like this?’
The police officer spoke without looking at him. ‘As long as it takes.’
‘Oh, come on, we’re just wasting time. There’s nothing here!’
‘Then the sooner we confirm that, the sooner you can bring your bulldozers back and start breaking things.’
‘You think it’s funny?’ Jessop’s bloodshot eyes seemed to bulge over his mask. ‘While you all stand around with your thumbs up your arse, this is costing me money!’
Whelan regarded him. ‘No, I don’t think it’s funny, Mr Jessop. I’m sorry if it inconveniences you but this is a murder inquiry. That takes precedence over your profit margin.’
‘Profit…?’ Jessop gave a bitter laugh, shaking his head. ‘Jesus. You’ve no idea, have you?’
Whelan was saved from responding by his radio. Giving Jessop a baleful stare, he moved off to answer it.
Silence fell. The SOCOs exchanged glances with each other, and one of them looked at me and rolled his eyes. Indifferent to it all, the big contractor stood with his head bowed and shoulders slumped. He was shaking his head, grumbling to himself under his breath.
‘You know what? Fuck it.’
Abruptly, he yanked down his hood and took off his mask. His face was flushed and sweating, thinning hair plastered to his head. His cheeks bore red lines where the mask straps had dug in.
‘Whoa, you can’t do that,’ one of the SOCOs told him.
‘No? Watch me. I’ve wasted enough time on this fucking place.’
He started back down the corridor towards the main stairs. Whelan’s voice stopped him.
‘Mr Jessop!’
The contractor slowed, then turned. His face was sullen and angry as the DI came over.
‘That was the PolSA. Looks like one of the other search teams has found asbestos in the basement. You wouldn’t know anything about that, would you?’
A change came over Jessop’s features. He blinked, his mouth working as though silently trying out words. ‘What? No, I didn’t… I haven’t…’