Wednesday 31 October, 5 p.m.
Joanna was sitting in her office with Mike, fiddling with her biro, clicking it. Mike shot a glance across at her. ‘Are you going to stop doing that, Jo? Or am I going to have to take it off you?’
‘Sorry.’ She put the pen back on her desk. ‘This case is going nowhere. He’s been missing for ten days and there’s no sign of him. I’ve interviewed all the staff who were working on the Sunday evening but they’re not talking.’ She frowned, lost in a thought. ‘There’s something behind this, Mike, but I can’t make sense of it all. It’s as though two minds are at work. Stealing an old man’s teddy bear is one thing. Abducting him and possibly keeping him prisoner is another. The one is a simple theft. The other an apparently pointless crime. Any time soon, Rush will tell me to scale down the search. It’s probably one of my last cases before this …’ she patted her bulge, ‘makes an entrance. Matthew thinks it’ll be sooner than January and we’re nearly into November. This case will stick with me, Mike. Annoy me. Infuriate me and always puzzle me if I don’t work out what’s happening and why.’ She turned round to face him. Waddling into work made her blame the pregnancy on her complete absence of bright ideas. The child, she told herself, was robbing her of her spark, her brain. And a less than flattering photo of her, side on, had appeared under the headline of: So this is our police force.
She’d seen it and ground her teeth. ‘I want to see this through, Mike,’ she said softly.
Korpanski wasn’t great at words of comfort. He gave his throat a noisy scrape and made another noncommittal sound before making an effort.
‘Have you got any leads, Jo?’
She shook her head, picked up the biro again and knew something was niggling at her.
‘I’ll get there,’ she said. ‘I will. I won’t let this case defeat me. Tomorrow I’m back to Ryland’s. At least some of the answer is hiding there along with the “devoted” nurses and the elderly residents. One of those people knows exactly where Mr Foster is, why he needed to be abducted and the true story behind the theft of his toy, because I firmly believe it was a deliberate theft. And my money is on Jubilee Watkins.’
‘OK,’ he said.
‘Mike, you may as well go home now. I’ll see you in the morning.’
‘Yeah.’ He shut his computer down and tried to change the subject. ‘As usual Ricky and I are going for a run. Then I’ll head for the gym, and after that we might just do a bit of Trick-or-Treating.’
‘Sounds fun,’ she said abstractedly.
‘See you tomorrow, Jo.’
‘Yeah.’
7 p.m.
She was still there, still clicking the biro, still trying to put her thoughts into some sort of order. Most crimes, apart from drunken brawls, stupid lash-outs and idiotic driving, have some sort of logic behind them. In general the police try to link various crimes together and match them to known criminals, search for similar MOs. Criminals are, in general, unimaginative. They commit the same crime over and over again. Ninety per cent of crimes are committed by less than five per cent of people. Most of the general public are law-abiding. She was now certain in her own mind that Zac had been deliberately abducted. He hadn’t simply stepped outside and got lost. Someone inside Ryland’s had helped him and now kept him prisoner. The next step would be to look into the home addresses of Ryland’s staff.
She should go home, shower, put her feet up, rest, have some tea, but something was biting at her, like a gnat. She stood up, slipped her coat on. She had an idea how to test her theory. And she wouldn’t have any peace of mind until she’d tested it out.
Evenings at Ryland’s appeared to consist of television and more television. And as many of the residents were apparently deaf, Joanna could hear the sound of canned laughter punctuating her steps up the corridor. Matilda Warrender had let her in, looking puzzled. ‘Inspector?’
‘I wondered if I might speak to one of your old ladies,’ she said. ‘The one who’s always knitting.’
‘Oh, you mean Shirley?’
‘Is that her name?’
What strange places these homes were, she thought, as she followed the matron along the corridor. Places to take care of those who could no longer take care of themselves. Not happy, not particularly sad. This then was Limbo Land, but at least they were cared for.
Shirley Barnstaple was still knitting; the other lady was still bad-temperedly trying to fit pieces into the jigsaw puzzle. Pieces were scattered over the floor and the old man was still walking around muttering to himself. Nothing, it seemed, had changed.
Shirley looked up. ‘Hello, Inspector,’ she said. ‘Do you know I’m almost a hundred?’
‘No, you’re not …’ One of the nurses who had been attending to another patient looked across. ‘You’re only eighty-seven.’
Shirley looked affronted. ‘Well, I’m a lot nearer a hundred than you are, my dear.’ She put her knitting down on her lap and folded her arms.
Joanna sat down beside her as the nurse burst out laughing good-naturedly. ‘I won’t argue with that, Shirley,’ she said. Then addressing Joanna, added, ‘They get you like that in here, you know.’ And she continued brushing the other patient’s hair.
‘Shirley,’ Joanna began, ‘you remember the teddy bear that Zac used to drag around with him?’
‘Yes.’ Her head turned, eyes bright as a robin’s. Curious too – intelligent and still possessing of a sharp intellect.
‘Did Zac tell you anything about the teddy?’
‘Yes,’ she said slowly. ‘He said his mother gave it to him. On account of … Now what was it on account of? Something to do with Hanley, I think.’ She looked dubious, glanced down at her knitting, as though she wanted to continue clacking away, not be bothered struggling with memory.
A nurse came in with a cup of tea and Joanna recognized Jubilee Watkins, whose eyes were flickering, her face haunted. Her hand, as she held out the cup, shook, the cup rattling on the saucer. Joanna watched the cup, then the splash of liquid. Then she looked up into Jubilee’s dark eyes with their curling lashes. Jubilee made an attempt at a smile but something had happened to change the girl. She had appeared happy at the first interview, ebullient even. Now she looked shamed. Joanna stood up. ‘Jubilee,’ she said softly, so no one else in the room could hear. ‘Is there anything you want to tell me?’
The nurse shook her head.
8 p.m.
Mill Street
Kath was waiting for a call and was annoyed to hear the noise from upstairs. The old boy was kicking out.
She released herself from the sticky couch and stuck her head out through the door. ‘Shut the fuck up there,’ she yelled. ‘I’m waiting for a call.’
Fifi stood at the top of the stairs. ‘Sorry, Kath. He’s a bit …’
‘Well, give him some of those pills that black woman sent with him.’
Fifi looked confused. ‘How many?’
‘I don’t bloody well know. I’m not a pharmacist, you know.’
‘Yeah, but if I give him too many he might …’
She needed him alive, bleating.
‘Just one then. One can’t hurt him.’
She slammed the door, bounced back on to the couch and glanced at her phone. She was nearly there.
Maybe soon, she thought, it would be time to rope another family favour.
When Eenie was out of the way it would be time for stage two. Which (she was rather pleased with this) consisted of a sighting of the ‘missing’ man from an (anonymous) member of the general public. Hayley, her stupid sister, could make the call, citing the place where she had seen him. A very unlikely place with a bad history. And then? Kath stuck her index finger in her mouth and felt the familiar sharpness of her broken tooth. Anticipating the drama ahead she smiled. God, she was enjoying this.
Her phone rang.