Later that day, Emad messaged Gemma to say he wanted to run something by her, so they agreed to meet for a quick drink at 7.30 p.m., in the pub round the corner from the station. The Prince of Wales was not usually frequented by cops because it was generally deemed too upmarket, with its ostentatious flower arrangements, coir matting floors and uniformed bar staff, but, as Gemma said, eyeing the tweedy clientele, ‘We can go posh just for one. At least we can hear ourselves think in here. Meredith’s been spending the day with Pete’s neighbours at the marina. I’m picking her up about nine and we’ll go back to her place together.’
Emad wished it wasn’t just the one. He wished they were going out for a romantic dinner, followed by a cosy nightcap, followed by going back to Gemma’s flat and a night of passion. It was the second time they’d had a drink after work, just the two of them, and each time they met they got a little more relaxed and jokey with each other. He tried not to wonder if her heart skipped a beat whenever she saw him. He suspected not. And she looked particularly stressed today.
‘So, what’s so urgent?’ she asked, when they were settled at a table with a pint of IPA for him and a Diet Coke for her.
Emad was bursting to tell her. ‘I just got back from a call-out to Ashworth – you know, the mental institution near the A3?’
‘Oh yeah? Natives revolting, are they?’
Emad took a gulp of his pint, swallowing a hiccup and putting a hand over his mouth, embarrassed. Gemma laughed, but not meanly.
‘Not exactly, but someone escaped this morning.’
‘It’s low security, that place, isn’t it? Can’t they pretty much come and go as they please anyway?’
‘Medium security. And they definitely can’t. Anyway, this one did, and she’s not the sort of woman we want on the outside, not if she’s not taking her meds.’
‘Well, surely she can’t be that dangerous if she’s in Ashworth?’
‘The governor told me that she’d calmed down massively in the past couple of years; that’s why she was moved over there from Rampton. Long-term inmate – first went in when she was in her twenties. History of extreme violence, manipulation, coercion, you name it. Has tried to kill other staff and inmates on several occasions over the years, but not recently. Several suicide attempts – the most recent five years ago when she made a swallow dive head first off her bunk onto the concrete floor. Smashed her nose in and gave herself severe concussion.’
‘Ouch. How old is she now?’
‘Mid-fifties.’
‘No spring chicken, then.’
‘No, but she managed to knock out a nurse with no difficulty – the woman’s in hospital. The nurse had taken her for a dentist’s appointment, and the prisoner did a runner in the car park. She had a getaway driver.’
Gemma didn’t seem overly interested, so Emad thought it was time to play his trump card: ‘Thing is, Gemma, there’s a connection to Meredith Vincent.’
‘What? How?’ Gemma had a slight habit, Emad had noticed, of not concentrating on what he was saying, looking over his shoulder or, occasionally, fiddling with her phone – but he had her full attention now.
‘I went to look at the woman’s room in Ashworth, and when I got in there, one wall had bits of Blu Tack all over it. When I asked what she’d had up there, the nurse who took me in said – and you won’t believe it – “Oh she was obsessed with some band from the eighties … Funny, she must have taken all the pictures with her”.’
Gemma’s glass stopped en route to her mouth. Her jaw dropped. ‘You’re not going to tell me it was Meredith’s band? Cohen?’
‘Yup. Took the nurse a few minutes to remember, but when she did, she was sure. And she said that it was a bit weird, because Catherine had a few CDs on a shelf as well – but none of Cohen’s. The nurse said it was a bit of a joke because Catherine had loads of pics of the band, particularly the lead singer, and yet she couldn’t stand their music. They said they used to think it was funny – not that they’d ever have dared say that to her face.’
‘Oh my God. Have you called it in yet? Catherine … Her name’s Catherine? Catherine what?’ Gemma had whipped out her phone and was already dialling.
Then she stopped. ‘Wait. You said Catherine’s been in institutions for decades? It couldn’t be her, then. When did she escape?’
‘This morning. Catherine Brown. And, no, I haven’t told Mavis yet. I wanted to run it past you first.’
‘So if Pete Vincent’s been kidnapped, it couldn’t have been her, because it happened last night. Was she locked up in 1995 when Meredith was abducted?’
Emad shook his head, then turned it into a nod. ‘That’s the thing. She was in Rampton for years, all of the nineties. Couldn’t have been her; not unless she’s got someone on the outside working for her. That’s why I didn’t want to bother Mavis and Lincoln with it – in case they thought I was wasting their time.’
He was still having flashbacks to the humiliation he’d felt at the station, both when his wheelbarrow suggestion had been pooh-poohed in the meeting, and the look of withering contempt Mavis shot him when he’d queried why Pete had cycled up to Minstead when the twins were meant to be going for a drink.
Gemma put the phone to her ear. ‘Damn, it’s gone to answerphone,’ she said to Emad. Then, into the phone: ‘Hi – Meredith, it’s me, Gemma. Quick question: have you ever known anybody in a mental institution; a woman called Catherine? Call me back and I’ll explain. I’m coming to get you from Trevor and Johnny’s a bit earlier – I’m in Guildford at the moment so I guess I’ll be about an hour. I don’t want to alarm you or them, but please don’t open the door to anyone except me, OK? It might be nothing, but just to be on the safe side…’
Emad downed the rest of his pint as Gemma stood up, her Coke abandoned. ‘Should I have told Mavis?’
‘Could you do it now? Sorry to cut our drink short. Did you already know about her twin brother going missing?’
Emad was momentarily hurt that Gemma didn’t even remember he’d been present at the morning meeting. ‘Yeah, I was at the briefing. I was just about to ask about that. No news today, I assume? She’s either having a run of right bad luck, or someone really is after her.’
‘I know.’ Gemma opened her mouth as if to say something else, then thought better of it. She stood up and gathered her things.
‘I’ll come with you,’ Emad said.
‘No – it’s fine, you’re not on duty. Just please call Mavis and tell him and Lincoln what you found out about Catherine Brown. I want to get over to Meredith’s pronto, she sent me away earlier, and I thought she’d be OK with those two guys at the marina, but she could be in danger.’
‘Well, OK. But…’ Emad paused. They were colleagues, and friends, but he didn’t want to sound patronising.
‘What?’ Gemma made a face at him.
‘Just be careful. Will you call me when you get there?’
‘Sure,’ she said. ‘Oh, by the way, you know in that meeting the other day, when you picked up on why Pete had cycled up to Minstead House when they were meant to be going to the pub in the village, the night Ralph Allerton went missing?’
‘Yes,’ said Emad cautiously.
‘When I asked Meredith about it, she got all flustered and couldn’t answer. It’s what prompted her to ’fess up about shagging Ralph then ringing Pete for help. Nice work, my friend. That was a massive help.’
Emad sank his chin into the collar of his jacket, to hide the big smile on his face.