And None Shall Sleep (18 page)

‘What did you do?' Joanna spoke softly.

‘I went runnin' to the bathroom too,' O'Sullivan said. ‘As fast as I could.'

Mike leaned closer and locked his eyes into O'Sullivan's. ‘You're a nurse,' he said. ‘Why did you go there? Why didn't you ring for help or go down to the patient?'

O'Sullivan was leaning as far back in his chair as was possible without falling.

‘Because,' he said slowly, ‘I was wonderin' about her. What she was up to.'

‘But you didn't see him jump?'

O'Sullivan shook his head. ‘I was in the main ward,' he said. ‘Frost must have jumped from the bathroom.'

‘Why?' said Mike.

‘Because the bathroom windows are the only ones that open wide enough to let a person through. All the rest either have bars across or only open a few inches. It was a psychiatric ward.'

‘What did you expect to see in the bathroom?'

O'Sullivan's face grew meaner and thinner and there was gloating revenge in his eyes. ‘It was quite a climb to get out of that window.'

The two detectives exchanged puzzled glances.

‘You still don't understand, do you? In fact, no one did. No one ever did, except me. And I wasn't sayin'.'

‘Come on, O'Sullivan.' Mike was losing patience with the game.

Joanna lifted her plastered arm and rested it on the desk. It was beginning to ache. ‘Did you tell all this to the inquiry?'

O'Sullivan gave her a shrewd glance. ‘I did.' There was a short pause before he added, ‘It wasn't my fault if they didn't know what I meant.'

‘And what did you mean?'

‘That man should have been on enough drugs to keep him asleep for hours,' he said.

Joanna was just beginning to understand. ‘Go on,' she said softly.

But O'Sullivan wasn't ready to tell all yet. ‘I thought she was goin' to follow him out the exact same way, until she saw me and stopped screamin'.'

‘And when she saw you?'

‘When she saw me she started to cry. She said she'd been counsellin' him.' He gave a look of disgust. ‘I don't know who she thought she was – counsellin'. She'd had no trainin'.'

‘Get on with the story,' Mike growled.

‘He'd told her his life story,' he said. ‘She'd listened and thought he was better and thought he didn't need his drugs. That's amateurs for you. And so Michael Frost – instead of being zonked out like a zombie – was awake enough to take a chair and climb out of the bathroom window. Because some stupid little nurse thought by listenin' she had made him better.' He leaned closer. ‘I should have told the authorities there and then.'

‘Was she aware that you knew what had gone on?'

‘Well ...' O'Sullivan was enjoying himself. ‘I did comment he seemed very awake for a man on such sedation. It set her off screamin' again. Then I went to phone. When I saw her a few minutes later she was returnin' the chair to its rightful place beside one of the beds. Tamperin' with evidence, I suppose you'd call it. Unless ...'

Joanna was shocked. ‘You're surely not suggesting she assisted in the suicide?'

O'Sullivan's eyes darted from one to the other. ‘That's for you to decide.'

‘Did she give you any idea what they had been talking about?'

‘Family trouble,' O'Sullivan said casually. ‘She'd been tryin' to help him. But whatever she said to him made him worse because it wasn't very long after that he was doin' the highboard dive into the bloody car park.'

Joanna winced. ‘Did Frost leave a suicide letter?'

O'Sullivan folded his arms. ‘Well, that's another thing,' he said, obviously enjoying the attention. ‘At the inquest they said there was no note. But I distinctly saw her pocketing an envelope from the top of his locker.'

‘And you revealed none of this at the inquest?'

‘Well, I wasn't goin' to spout my mouth and land myself in trouble.'

‘So this is the first anyone knows about it?'

O'Sullivan was unexpectedly silent and they guessed the rest.

‘Apart from Yolande Prince,' Joanna said sweetly. ‘Whom I suppose you threatened.'

‘Bloody cow.' O'Sullivan was back to his usual insults. ‘Told me I couldn't prove a thing. But I could have made trouble. If I'd wanted to.'

‘How did Yolande seem on Monday night?'

‘Lazy old bag,' O'Sullivan said. ‘Skiving off all the rest of the week.' He stared insolently at Joanna. ‘Do you know we haven't seen her since you found Selkirk's body all shot up?'

Soft little alarm bells began ringing in Joanna's head. But murder cases were like that. You saw corpses lurking behind every atypical statement.

‘What was she like on Monday?'

‘Forgetful,' O'Sullivan said spitefully. ‘But then she always was a bit of a scatterbrain.'

‘Did she seem – on edge?' Joanna hated doing this, putting words into witnesses' mouths.

‘Yes, come to think on it,' he said, ‘she was – a bit.'

‘In what way?' Mike obviously did not believe this sudden surge of memory.

‘Kept lookin' at her watch. As though she was waitin' for somethin' to happen.'

‘Did she have any phone calls that night?'

‘No, but she jumped like a Mexican jumping bean every time the phone rang.'

They glanced at each other, still sceptical.

‘Do you know much about her private life?' Mike pressed.

O'Sullivan gave a loud expletive. ‘What bloody private life?'

‘Just tell us what you do know, O'Sullivan.'

‘She lives in a little maisonette on the edge of the town. A tiny wee place with no room to swing a cat, but fairly near the hospital ‘'He glowered at Mike. ‘She walks into work every day. Just a bit of a loner. I don't think she has that many friends.' He stood up and laughed. ‘Just a budgerigar.'

‘Anything else you want to tell us?'

O'Sullivan shook his head and grinned. ‘I'd stay here talkin' all day long if it would get me out of takin' bedpans round to incontinent geriatrics. But I don't know any more.' He leaned across the desk, his blue eyes flashing at Joanna. ‘I think you're wasting your time interviewing me. Looks like it's Yolande Prince is the one you should be talkin' to.'

Joanna let the phone ring for five minutes before putting it down. The nursing officer met her eyes. ‘I didn't really think she would be there,' she said. ‘Yolande is the sort of girl to go home to Mother when she's poorly.'

‘Where do her parents live?'

‘Meir'

‘I don't suppose you have their number?'

‘Of course ...'

This time the phone was picked up on the second ring and a woman's voice said hesitantly, ‘Hello?' She sounded elderly, a bit querulous.

‘I'm ringing from the hospital,' Joanna said. ‘I wonder – Yolande there, please?'

‘She should be at work,' her mother said happily. ‘She's just finished on nights. She's back on days now.' She paused before asking curiously, ‘Who is this, please?'

That was when the alarm bells became deafening.

Mike chauffered Joanna the half-mile to Yolande's maisonette.

‘I still fail to see what earthly connection Frost's suicide could possibly have with Selkirk's murder,' she exclaimed as they drew close.

Mike shot down a side road. ‘Maybe nothing,' he said.

‘I sincerely hope so,' she replied with a sudden shiver, ‘or I wouldn't give tuppence for the life of Yolande Prince.'

Mike pressed his foot hard down on the accelerator and screeched to a halt in front of a neat four-storied building.

The maisonette where Yolande lived was a small, purpose-built block, imaginatively set around a central grassy area which had been planted with miniature trees. There was a swing and a roundabout, but no children. Maybe they were all inside, watching TV or eating their tea or, more likely, both. Washing hung out across the balconies fluttered in the light breeze. They climbed the steps, passing clusters of milk bottles, and stopped outside a door with an accumulation of full bottles. Two had turned sour.

Mike battered the door with his ham fist. ‘She should be in,' he said, ‘if she's sick.'

‘So why isn't she answering?'

They peered through the tiny window but could see little through the crack in the drawn curtains. Mike rapped on the window pane and waited. There was deathly silence.

They knew the flat was empty.

Joanna stood back. ‘We have to find her. She could be a key witness.'

‘Or a chief suspect,' Mike said firmly.

She closed her eyes. Either was a more attractive prospect than ...

Mike caught her panic. He hammered on the door again and bellowed through the letterbox.

Joanna touched his arm. ‘It's no good. The flat's empty. She isn't here.'

Mike surveyed the door with resentment. Neither of them mentioned the bottles of milk.

‘We're going to have to have a warrant, Joanna.'

She nodded. ‘And Matthew's not going to be very pleased. We're supposed to be going out tonight. I think I'd better make a phone call.'

Matthew's response was predictable.

‘I'm sorry,' she said. ‘The case is turning out to be a bit more sticky than I'd thought.' She paused. ‘I have a bit of a problem. I'm not going to make it tonight.'

She could picture his face, tight and set, no cleft in his chin, no dimples, eyes heavy green like dead moss. No sparkle, no warmth, just that contained, angry look.

‘Well, I'm sorry too, actually, Joanna,' he said bitterly. ‘I'm really sorry. I'll see you when I see you.' The phone went dead.

‘He's not too pleased.' She made an attempt at a smile.

Mike didn't even look at her. ‘At some point, Joanna,' he said, ‘you're going to have to make some pretty big decisions.'

‘I know,' she said quietly. ‘I know.'

Two uniformed officers joined them to break in to the flat. She could feel Mike's eyes on her long before he spoke.

‘Have you got the same feeling as me?'

She nodded tensely. ‘Right here, in the pit of my stomach. Mike,' she added, ‘why didn't we connect her sooner with Selkirk's abduction?'

He put a restraining hand on her arm as they watched the wood splinter. ‘Hold judgement, Jo. We don't know the facts yet.'

It was a stout door, much harder to break down than the usual. In the end they had to use an axe. At last it gave way and they stepped into the dim hall, then through another door into the sitting room. The long curtains were still drawn.

Even in the dingy light they could see the shape of the nurse, slumped across the sofa. There was a faint scent of decay.

For a moment all four stood still. They'd been expecting this but it still came as a shock. Joanna broke the silence. She moved forward to touch the nurse's cheek. It was ice cold. ‘So,' she said softly, ‘our killer had to step out from behind his cheque book. This time he's had to do his dirty work himself.' She spoke into the two-way radio, rapping out the usual instructions with a horrid sense of déjà-vu.

‘Get the SOCOs round here and the pathologist.' She gave the address then turned back to the two officers. ‘The more we touch, the more evidence we risk destroying, so let's just look around the flat and leave the rest to the experts. You might just check the windows for signs of a forced entry.'

It was again to Mike that she voiced her disturbing thoughts. ‘Maybe if we'd been sharper that night we interviewed her ...'

He gave a brisk shake of his head. ‘Stop it, Jo. She's still in her uniform. At the time she was murdered we probably didn't even know Selkirk was dead. We couldn't have acted quicker.'

But she knew it would continue to haunt her – this spectre. If only they'd realized that the fire door had been opened from the inside, then they would have kept a closer watch on the three nurses.

She gave a swift glance at the swollen, dark blue face and protruding tongue. How little people knew about their colleagues. The nursing officer had vouched for this girl and yet she must have been involved in Selkirk's abduction. And not just that. She must have led Gallini to Selkirk's bed, switched off the alarm on the heart machine, torn the electrode leads off and bundled him outside. For what? Money? What other motive could there have been? Money had certainly changed hands over Selkirk's murder. How natural, then, that a little more had had to be spent on the services of a nurse because of his hospitalization.

Because of the letter. And as she wandered around the flat Joanna had a feeling of abject failure. She knew most of the facts and yet she still knew little of the mechanics for Selkirk and Yolande's murders. She had met and assessed Yolande Prince and not suspected any involvement in Selkirk's disappearance.

She forced herself to gaze again, not on the face this time but on the nurse's dark uniform, now in disarray, the thick stockings, the clumpy shoes. Why? That was the question that screamed in her mind. If she had been on her own in the flat with no colleagues she would have screamed it out loud. Why? And why was Michael Frost the only reply she could think of?

The two police constables wandered back into the sitting room. ‘Even the bloody budgie's dead,' the young PC said gloomily. ‘Must have starved.'

Mike's eyes were trained on Joanna. She stared back at him and knew he would be echoing the very same question.

‘Why did she get involved?'

He shrugged. ‘Who knows?'

The wait for the SOCOs and the pathologist always seemed endless. They could do nothing except fill the time with a second, superficial search. There was no answer to their question, few personal letters or photographs. The flat told them little.