‘What’s that supposed to mean?’
‘Nothing,’ I said, taken aback. ‘I just meant… there’s nothing for you to worry about.’
‘Seriously? I get to hear on the news that you might have been blown up, and then have to wait hours to find out you’re OK? You call that nothing to worry about?’
I massaged the back of my neck, amazed at how quickly this had turned into a row. ‘Look, I’m sorry you were worried. But it wasn’t something I could do anything about.’
It sounded feeble even to me. I could hear Rachel breathing on the other end of the line. The silence grew awkward, but I couldn’t think of anything to say that wouldn’t make it worse.
‘I didn’t mean to bite your head off,’ she said more quietly. ‘This just isn’t… I’ll phone you later, OK?’
The line went dead.
Sleep was out of the question after that. The sky was lightening as I stared through the window at the apartments’ tree-covered grounds below. From up here it was possible to see how well screened the place was, isolated from its neighbours by its high fence and electric gates. There and then, I made up my mind that I would move back into my own flat as soon as I could arrange it. It had been a mistake coming here, and there was no point in staying any longer.
I’d had enough of hiding from ghosts.
A hot shower and breakfast helped me feel more human, although the conversation with Rachel still preyed on my mind. My restless mood wasn’t helped by lack of sleep, or the feeling of being in limbo. I’d been expecting to continue with the cadaver dog search at St Jude’s for a day or two yet, but obviously that wasn’t going to happen now. It left me with nothing planned, and nothing to do. I wasn’t good at down-time and, while there was always work for me to do at the department, for once I didn’t feel like going there either.
You really do need a change.
I’d made myself another coffee when my phone rang. This time it was Whelan, and my first thought was that something had happened to Ward or the baby.
I needn’t have worried. ‘They’re fine,’ the DI told me. ‘They’re talking about discharging her later today. Like I told you, she’s a tough one.’
He sounded back to his no-nonsense self, the emotions he’d let slip the night before stowed safely out of sight again.
‘Are you going to be around later?’ he asked.
‘I can be,’ I said, trying not to sound too eager. ‘Why?’
‘There’s something I wanted to ask you about. Might be nothing, just something the boss said that got me thinking.’
Now I was intrigued. ‘About what?’
‘Tell you later. There’s a couple of things I want to do first. Let’s say two o’clock at St Jude’s. Don’t bother checking in, I’ll see you by the main gates.’
‘You want to meet at the hospital?’
I couldn’t keep the dismay from my voice. I thought I’d seen the last of that place, and I couldn’t see any reason to go back now it was destroyed.
But Whelan was giving nothing away. ‘I’ll explain later. Do me a favour and keep it under your hat for now. Like I say, it might come to nothing.’
My restlessness was forgotten as I put my phone away. With Jessop dead and the crime scenes buried under tons of rubble, I’d assumed the investigation would start winding down. I couldn’t imagine why Whelan would want to go to St Jude’s again. Or why he needed to meet me there.
I looked at my watch, impatient at having to wait to find out. I still had a few hours to kill, but now I thought about it I could put the time to good use.
There was something I had to do as well.
Chapter 30
A bin lorry was blocking the street. I told the taxi driver to let me out at the corner, paid and got out to walk the rest of the way. The weather was as mercurial as ever, bright and sunny again after the morning’s early rain. I unfastened my jacket, enjoying the thin sunlight on my face. The phone call with Rachel still cast a shadow, but I told myself it was what happened when people were tired, stressed and in different time zones.
Now, though, Ward’s miraculous escape the night before made it hard not to feel a sense of optimism in the daylight and fresh air. Well, not so fresh. The sweet stink of the bin lorry accompanied me as it made its slow progress, hissing and clanking, down the street.
The handles of the brown-paper carrier bag dug into my palms as I approached Lola’s house. There was no sign of life. The window shutters were still closed, grime and cobwebs adding a dirty film to the glass. Even the glossy finish on the front door seemed dulled. I still wasn’t sure what good coming here would do, except perhaps appease my conscience. I was under no illusions about how Lola would feel after the disruption I’d brought into her life. Thanks to me, she’d been questioned by the police and seen her invalid son treated as a suspect in a murder inquiry. Even though the crime-scene fingerprints had cleared him, he’d still been taken from her care, and I didn’t think she’d be the forgiving sort.
But now it was over I had to see how she was. I knocked on the door. There was no response. Halting a few houses away, the bin lorry’s hydraulics groaned as it accepted another load. I knocked again, but I was already beginning to think I was wasting my time. Even if Lola was home, I was the last person she’d want to see. One of the refuse collectors shouted and banged on the side of the lorry. As it began rumbling along the road again, I caught a movement as the blinds shifted in Lola’s window. Well, she’s in at least. I raised the paper bag so she could see it.
‘Lola, can you open the door?’
Nothing. I lowered the bag, feeling stupid for making such a cheap gesture. I’d known it would take more than another roast chicken to make up for my guilt, but I’d hoped it might persuade her to speak to me, at least. The bin lorry’s brakes hissed as it pulled up to a halt at my back, blocking out the sun. I could hear more banging as bins were collected from the occupied houses across the road. I set the paper bag down on the front step and turned to leave.
The door was opened. Lola stared out at me, her face a cold mask. Her eyes flicked to the bin lorry looming behind me, then she moved back.
‘You’d better come in.’
Well, that was easier than I thought. I picked up the carrier and stepped inside. The bin lorry blocked even more of the light from the shuttered window. In the dimness I saw that the medical supplies that had cluttered the room before were gone. But the bed was still there and, while the stained mattress had been stripped of its sheets, a smell of faeces and urine still lingered.
The noise from the bin lorry was muted as Lola shut the door and turned to face me.
‘What do you want?’
‘I came to find out how you were.’
‘Why?’
I couldn’t blame her for being hostile. The shrine-like cabinet with its photographs of a young Gary Lennox faced the empty bed, even though there was no longer anyone in it to see them.
‘I wanted to see if there was anything I could do—’
‘Haven’t you done enough? You’ve taken everything I had left — what more do you want?’
I was still holding the carrier bag with the roast chicken. It seemed a pathetic peace offering now.
‘I’m sorry, I know you’re—’
‘Sorry? Oh, that’s all right then! You waltz around, acting like your shit don’t stink, and all the time you’re planning this.’ She flung a hand towards the empty bed. ‘Happy now, are you?’
Lola glared at me, her chest rising and falling. Coming here was a mistake, I realized, wondering how I’d thought it could be anything else. There was a hiss from outside as the bin lorry pulled away from the window, letting daylight back into the room. I was about to leave when something seemed to shift in the deep-set eyes. She held out her hand.