‘Is that what he used to do for a living?’ I asked, with a glance at the man lying in the bed. His sunken eyes were on me, his mouth a wet gash in the beard. The gulf between the hulking teenager and the wreck he’d become was shocking.
‘He didn’t get paid for it, if that’s what you mean. Not with all them bloody foreigners taking all the work.’ She set the photograph back in its place. ‘He could have, if he’d pushed more. But he never would. Too soft, that was his problem. I used to tell him he should stand up for himself, not let people… Well. That’s by the by.’
It had the sound of an old complaint, but by then I’d noticed something else. I’d been looking at the rest of the photographs, paying them more attention this time. In one of them her son looked to be in his late teens. He stood by the same fireplace in the room where we now were, wearing a royal-blue top over black trousers. It was a variation of a uniform I’d seen daily before I’d switched careers from medicine to forensics.
I nodded towards it. ‘Did Gary use to be a hospital porter?’
‘He had a lot of jobs,’ Lola snapped. ‘What’s it got to do with you anyway?’
‘Nothing, I was—’
‘It’s time you went.’ She stood up, her face hard. ‘I need to get him cleaned up.’
I got to my feet as she went to the door, knowing I’d gone too far. She opened it and stood back, holding it for me to go. I paused in the doorway, reluctant to leave on such a sour note.
‘Thanks for the tea. I can get you some more shopping if—’
‘I don’t want nothing.’
She was already closing the door, forcing me to step out on to the pavement. Her son gave a low moan.
‘And don’t you start…’ I heard her say before the door shut in my face with finality.
I looked around. The skinny cat was watching me indifferently from the same windowsill as before, but otherwise the street was empty. My mind was in a turmoil as I went back to my car. I had the sense of having done something irrevocable, though good or bad I’d no idea. I drove until I was a few streets away and then pulled over. I’d gone to Lola’s concerned for the welfare of an old woman and her incapacitated son, and hoping to disprove the rumour that she’d been responsible for a patient death. Instead I’d learned that Gary Lennox had been a hospital porter with a knack for DIY.
I wondered if his skills extended to building a false wall.
I told myself not to get carried away. For all I knew, he might not even have worked at St Jude’s and all this could be just a coincidence. His mother had said he’d had his stroke a year and a half ago. That would rule him out of Christine Gorski’s murder, since she’d only been missing for fifteen months when we’d found her body.
But we couldn’t say for sure when the two interred victims had died. And there was no longer any question of not wanting to waste Ward’s time: she needed to know about this.
I took my phone out to call her and jumped when it rang. It was Whelan.
‘We’re back in,’ he said.
Chapter 19
Any illusions I might have had that Ward would be pleased to hear about Gary Lennox were soon dispelled. After I’d briefly explained to Whelan, the deputy SIO had sworn under his breath.
‘She’s going to want to talk to you,’ he’d said.
It wasn’t far from where Lola lived to the hospital, but the road layout meant I had to take a meandering route. Whelan hadn’t said much, only that the cadaver dog search was being resumed. That was sooner than I’d expected, so either the asbestos scare was a false alarm or it wasn’t as bad as they’d thought. The press pack outside St Jude’s had thinned, reduced to a token presence now the investigation had slipped out of the headlines. Traffic was sparse, but as I drove up to the main gates a lone bus was coming the other way. A solitary passenger waited at the bus stop but made no attempt to flag it down as it went by. It was only as I saw his hooded top as I turned into the hospital driveway that I registered who it was.
It was the same man who’d stepped out in front of my car, too engrossed with what was happening at St Jude’s to look where he was walking.
I’d seen him at the bus stop before, I realized. Not that there was anything wrong with that, except that he’d just let the bus go past. You’re getting paranoid. After what had happened at Lola’s I was probably a little twitchy. I slowed to a stop and wound down my window as one of the police officers at the gates came over. It was the same round-faced young woman who’d been on duty the other times I’d been there.
‘Back again?’ she said cheerfully. ‘OK, go on through.’
I smiled but didn’t drive on. ‘Do you know how many buses run along here?’
She gave a nonplussed smile. ‘Just one, I think. Every hour. Why?’
Let it go. I tapped my fingers on the steering wheel, looking in the rear-view mirror. The bus stop and its sole occupant were out of sight.
‘It’s probably nothing, but I’ve seen the man across the road here before. Late teens or early twenties. He’s just let the bus go past.’
‘Probably nothing better to do. Not much else happening round here if you’re out of work.’
I nodded, wishing I’d not said anything. But now she was looking across the road, taking a few steps backwards to get a better view.
‘Can’t see from here.’ She turned to the other policeman on gate duty. He looked old for a uniformed PC, unfit and nearing retirement age. ‘Hey, Carl, mind holding the fort for a couple of minutes? I’m going to check out somebody across the road.’
‘Want me to go?’
She grinned. ‘I don’t think you can walk that far.’
I got out of the car, moving so I could see across the street. The young officer started across the road but the hooded man at the bus stop had started walking away as soon as he saw her approaching. She watched him go, then turned around and came back.
‘Doesn’t want to say hello.’ She shrugged. ‘Could be a junkie waiting for us to clear out. We’ll keep an eye out in case he comes back.’
‘Fat chance,’ the older officer said. ‘He’ll make himself scarce now you’ve scared him off.’
‘Good job he didn’t see you then, he’d have run a mile.’
The banter had an ease to it, the familiarity of people used to spending long hours in each other’s company. At least I’d broken the monotony for them, I thought, driving away from the gates.
Ward was in the trailer where the briefings had taken place. Whelan was with her, along with Jackson, the search adviser, and several other officers I didn’t recognize.
‘Come in, we’re done,’ she told me, waving me inside when I hesitated in the doorway.
Jackson nodded to me as he went out, while Whelan gave me a look I couldn’t decipher. Ward was sitting behind a table, plastic stacking chairs scattered in an uneven row around it. They weren’t designed for comfort at the best of times, and her pregnancy didn’t help. She looked cramped and awkward, but I didn’t think that was the reason for her bad mood.
‘Sit down.’ She sounded tired and irritable, her face puffy and ringed under the eyes. A disposable cup of what smelled like mint tea stood on the table in front of her, the teabag’s string still dangling down its side. She waited until I’d taken a seat. ‘Jack tells me you’ve been busy.’
I told her about Lola and her son, beginning with the accidental encounter in the woods behind St Jude’s and ending with what had happened that morning. Ward stared into her tea as I spoke. Only when I’d finished did she look across at me.