02 Blue Murder (26 page)

“
Cheers, mate.” Taking a
deep drag, Bhar smiled at the genial, rather spotty-faced young
man. He wore blue jeans and cheap trainers that had seen better
days. No visitor’s badge was clipped to his white
T-shirt.

“
My pleasure.” The young man
ambled away, settling contentedly into a deck chair as Bhar
watched. The resident seemed well-adjusted and friendly, too. Did
he dare hope Tessa had undergone such a transformation?

Scanning the lawn, Bhar caught sight of Kate
on the far side. Two striped deck chairs faced an empty garden bed,
already cleared for winter. Ensconced in one chair, a woman sat
smoking. Kate, looking far less comfortable, had to perch sideways
to face her sister.

Bhar approached slowly, uncertain if Kate
truly wanted him within earshot during the conversation. If she was
aware of him, she gave no sign. It was Maura Wakefield who looked
up suddenly, eyeing him from head to toe.

“
Well, if it ain’t Paki the
Blackie. You banging my sis?”

“
Maura.” Kate’s tone was
dangerous.

“
Not meaning it racist or
nothing.” Maura pronounced the last word “nuffink.” “Been out with
Pakis, I have. Got an all-round appreciation for the male species.
You a copper, too?”

“
DS Paul Bhar,” he said,
leaning down to offer his hand. Taking it eagerly, Maura gave him a
bold smile. A missing canine and molar left a gap in that smile’s
upper left side. Maura was heavier than Kate by two or three stone,
with deep grooves along each side of her mouth. Her hair was more
gray than blond, and her forehead was stacked with lines.
Nevertheless, Bhar could see the shadow of Kate in her sister’s
face.

“
My Henry’s mentioned you.”
Pronouncing her son’s name without the H, Maura wagged a finger at
Bhar. “Forgot to say you were dead gorgeous. Maybe you’ll be round
to pick up the pieces when Katie’s sugar daddy gives her the
push?”

Kate sat up straighter. “That’s exactly what
I’ve come to discuss with you, Maura. I realize Henry’s your son,
but you have to be careful what you say to him. If he tells you
about my friends, or my boyfriends, you shouldn’t make comments
that would upset an adult, much less a young boy.”

“
Will you listen at that?”
Maura winked at Bhar. “Miz Poshie Received Pronunciation come to
tell me I better watch meself. Like enough people aren’t running my
life at present, thank you very much. Like I don’t have to follow a
hundred bleeding rules if I ever hope to get out of here. And now
me little sis has come to tell me what to say to me own son. Just
what sent him into a bloody tailspin this time?”

“
I don’t know,” Kate said
stiffly. “He won’t tell me. The last couple of visits, he went
straight to his room, locked the door and cried. It was days before
he was back to his old self again.”

“
Because
he misses me,” Maura roared, sitting up so suddenly Bhar took an
involuntary step back. “Because he only gets his mum,
his real mum
, for an hour
a month! Then it’s back to limbo with the paid nurse and that
retard and you, when you aren’t shagging your wrinkly old
toff!”

“
That retard is our
brother.” Kate’s voice was cold.

“
Think he knows that? Think
he knows his cock from a peat bog? He should be in an institution.
Heaven knows, if there was any justice, he’d be here and I’d be
living with you till I was back on me feet. But for that to happen,
you’d have to give two shits about me, wouldn’t you? You’d have to
sponsor me, not leave me to claw me own way up. But I won’t be sick
forever, Katie! I’ll be out soon, just you wait!”

Kate stood up. “I hope so, Maura. I hope
so.”

“
Katie
always did think she was better than the rest of us,” Maura told
Bhar. “Kissing the teacher’s ass, hoarding money and dreaming up
ways to leave us behind. Now she’s turning me own son against me.
Katie! You think you’re helping Henry with
fencing lessons
while some rich old
man vacations in your knickers? You’re giving Henry a taste of all
the things he can never have! Ruining him for life in the real
world!”

“
I’m sorry.” Kate was
backing away. “I’ll still come and see you. And I’ll let Henry come
back someday. When you’re better.”

Bhar followed Kate back toward the hospital
building. She moved swiftly, keeping her head up and her back
straight as Maura shrieked, “Katie! You think I like it this way?
You think I like staring at this rubbish garden every fucking day
of me worthless fucking life?”

***

T
o
Bhar’s intense relief, Kate did not want to discuss what transpired
on Parkwood’s lawn. He knew that made him a coward, but that wasn’t
exactly news. If Kate turned to him for sympathy or—God
forbid—started to cry, Bhar feared he might cry, too. And smoking,
that most soothing of bad habits, wasn’t allowed inside the
hospital proper. He had to shove his hands in his pockets again,
lest they resume shaking.

When they reached Tessa Chilcott’s unit—a
heavily secured area where residents had no cigarette machine and
no lawn to walk on—Kate approached the ward sister with warrant
card in hand. After a brief word with the unit’s medical director,
they were conducted to a waiting room. After almost half an hour, a
sister appeared to escort one or both of them to the visiting
room.

Kate turned to Bhar. “Should I stay out
here, or go in with you?” Her tone was so neutral, so devoid of
judgment, his eyes went hot and his vision blurred.

“
In,” he sighed, trying to
blink unobtrusively. “I don’t think I can do this without
you.”

Chapter Twenty-One

T
he
visitors’ room was more or less as Detective Sergeant Kate
Wakefield expected. In the last few years, there had been a
movement in public health facilities to “normalize” common areas as
much as was practical. Unfortunately, given only limited funds,
this meant little; such spaces had evolved from fluorescent-lit
rooms with stark white floors and reform school furniture into
fluorescent-lit rooms with striped lino floors and hotel-surplus
furnishings. Today, someone had gone so far as to add a watercolor
seascape (bolted to the wall) and a bowl of fake gerbera daisies.
Most visitors would still find it depressing, but Kate appreciated
the effort. At least one brave soul at Parkwood still had hope,
either that residents would recognize an attempt at hominess, or
those obligated to visit would be comforted by the
gesture.

Kate sat down at the table nearest the door.
After a moment, Bhar followed suit. He didn’t seem to trust himself
to speak. The wall clock—cage-faced like clocks in gyms and
prisons—ticked loudly. After what felt like forever, a ward sister
escorted Tessa Chilcott into the room.

Kate wasn’t surprised to find Tessa had
changed from her society-photo snap. Her cloud of dark curls had
been cut into a rather nice bob. She wore no makeup or jewelry, but
her short fingernails appeared recently manicured. Their soft petal
pink matched the color of her Velcro-fastened track suit.

“
First thing I did during my
last visit home was get a manicure,” Tessa said, noticing Kate’s
gaze and spreading her fingers for closer inspection. “Visited a
hair salon, too. You never realize how much those things mean to
you until you can’t have them. You’re from Scotland
Yard?”

“
Yes. DS Kate Wakefield.”
Kate waited for Tessa’s gaze to lift from her fingertips. “DS Paul
Bhar, you already know.”

“
Of course. Glad you didn’t
get the sack, Deepal.” Tessa’s voice had the slow, underinflected
quality Kate associated with powerful medication.

“
I was never in real danger.
Too few Asians at the Yard as it is.”

Kate leaned back in her chair, ostensibly to
get comfortable, but really to get a glimpse of Bhar’s face. He was
smiling gently. His voice sounded warm and natural.

Good on
you
, Kate thought with a surge of
admiration.
Muddle through this and I’ll
buy the first round tonight.

Tessa studied Bhar, neither believing nor
disbelieving. Despite her detached way of speaking, her body
language reminded Kate of a battered woman. During her days as a
uniformed constable, Kate had met many. Often they responded to a
male officer’s questions just as Tessa did now—slumped in pretended
nonchalance, one hand braced around the opposite forearm, awaiting
a blow that might come at any moment.

“
Deepal. I know you won’t
believe I could ask you this,” Tessa said at last, “but could I
have a fag?”

Bhar shook out a cigarette, giving the ward
sister an appealing glance. Pinched-faced and suspicious, the
sister nonetheless produced a lighter. As Bhar passed the lit
cigarette to Tessa, their fingers brushed. Bhar smiled
encouragingly. Tessa flinched.

“
Thanks.” Tessa exhaled
cigarette smoke daintily, like the socialite she’d once been.
Remembering the brutality of the murder this woman had
committed—the victim’s twenty-eight stab wounds, her nearly severed
head—Kate was surprised. Her sister Maura, who in her prediagnosis
days had been twice banged up for assaulting boyfriends, still
seemed more physically dangerous than Tessa.

“
So,” Tessa continued. “You
can’t both be here just to talk to me. What’s Duncan meant to have
done this time?”

“
There was a double murder
in Chelsea,” Paul said. “It happened in the townhouse next to Sir
Duncan’s. 14 Burnaby. Two University College students, Clive French
and Trevor Parsons, died violently. Besides the proximity to Sir
Duncan’s home, the method is similar to the presumed machete used
on Sir Duncan’s father, brother and servant.”

“
And there’s one other
detail,” Kate said. “Something we need to clear up.”

Tessa stiffened a fraction more. “Yes?”

“
The murders occurred on 20
October. Your case manager tells us you’ve made great progress in
the last several months. So much that after two brief supervised
visitations, you were allowed seven days with your family. Since
you were at liberty on 20 October, I’m afraid I must ask: where
were you between the hours of six and ten that evening?”

Tessa gave a weak laugh. “If you talked to
my case manager, I’m sure she told you. I didn’t get my full seven
days. I was packed up and sent back for bad behavior.”

Kate glanced at Bhar,
trying not to look as surprised as she felt.
That
was a detail he’d neglected to
share.

“
She told me you slipped out
of your father’s house,” Bhar said. “Took the tube to Chelsea. A
citizen found you wandering and drove you back to your family. They
rang the hospital and your therapist insisted you return to
Parkwood immediately.”

“
Yes. I broke the
behavioral contract. Dr. Feingold called it a ‘grievous breach of
trust,’” Tessa said, imitating a man’s low voice. “Have you spoken
to my dad about this?”

“
Not yet,” Bhar
said.

“
Please don’t. He was so
disappointed in me. And when he saw Duncan ...”

“
What?” Kate sat up
straighter.

Tessa took a long, triumphant drag off the
cigarette. “Oh, yes. I may be daft, but I can still get around
Chelsea blindfolded. I made it to Duncan’s house. He was furious
with me for jeopardizing my recovery.” She rolled her eyes. “Took
me back to my dad’s himself. Not that dad appreciated it. I think
he wanted to commit murder himself, from the look on his—”

“
Tessa,” the ward sister
interrupted. “You know I’ll have to report all this to Dr.
Feingold. If you’re fantasizing about seeing the gentleman again,
you need to come clean to these detectives now.”

“
The
gentleman
,” Tessa repeated. “They won’t use
Duncan’s name around me. As if that will help me forget. So to more
properly answer your question—I was on the tube around six in the
evening. Arrived at Duncan’s around sevenish, maybe, I’m not sure.
He had me back at my dad’s house by eight. Is that enough of an
alibi to take him off your list?”

“
No,” Kate said, wondering
if anything Tessa told them was true.

“
Right. Well, then, let me
see if I can help.” Tessa put on an unconvincing smile. “Start with
the victims. What did they do to Duncan?”

“
Nothing we know of,” Kate
said. “Sir Duncan denies being acquainted with either. So far we’ve
uncovered no proof to the contrary.”

Accepting the red plastic ashtray the ward
sister passed over, Tessa rested her cigarette in it, hand hovering
protectively as if someone might take it away. “Were the victims
dismembered?”

“
No. Each young man was
killed by a single blow to the head,” Bhar said. “Preliminary
forensics estimate the first murder happened sometime around six or
seven in the evening—the other, up to an hour later.”

“
Lots of blood?” Tessa asked
in that dull, medicated tone.

The ward sister scowled. Bhar looked equally
taken aback by the nonchalance of Tessa’s inquiry.

“
Not really,” Kate said.
“The victims died of shock and massive brain trauma, not blood
loss.”

“
Then it couldn’t have been
Duncan.” Tessa brought the cigarette back to her lips.