Head in the Sand (15 page)

‘He didn’t know.’

Dixon took his iPhone out of his jacket pocket. He opened the web browser and navigated to Google. He typed in ‘exeter hospital’. The Royal Devon and Exeter Hospital was the first result. He wrote the telephone number down on the corner of the napkin and then proceeded to dial it. When he had finished dialling, he got up and walked outside to make the call in the comparative privacy of the car park. It was dark but the lights from the hotel lit up the car park. Dixon stood by the bay window.

‘Dyball Ward, please.’

He waited for the click.

‘Dyball Ward.’

‘This is Detective Inspector Nick Dixon of Avon and Somerset Police. Can you tell me whether you have a Mrs Cromwell on the ward?’

‘Well I...?’

‘Who am I speaking to?’

‘Staff nurse Julie Pritchard.’

‘Listen to me very carefully, Julie, I am who I say I am and this is a murder investigation. Now, do you...?’

‘Yes.’

‘Is she in a fit state to answer questions?’

‘No. She’s not long out of recovery. She only had her op late afternoon so she’s very groggy still.’

‘When do you think...?’

‘It’s unlikely to be until tomorrow, really. She’ll be on morphine over night.’

‘Do you have her next of kin’s contact details in her records?’

‘Yes, it’s her son, I think. I’ll check. Hold on.’

Dixon’s heart was racing. He could hear papers rustling.

‘Yes, it’s her son, Martin Cromwell. We’ve only got a mobile number though...’

Dixon opened his mouth to speak but Julie continued.

‘...Do you want to speak to him now? He’s sitting by her bed.’

Dixon banged on the window of the Dunstan House and waved at Jane Winter to come outside.

‘Where are you, Julie?’

‘I’m out by the nurse’s station. Is there a problem?’

‘This is very important, Julie. I need you to act as if nothing has happened. Do you understand?’

‘Yes.’

‘Don’t speak to anyone about this conversation and most of all do not approach Martin Cromwell. Is that clear?’

‘Yes. What’s going on?’

‘Just let him sit there as long as he wants. We’ll be there as quick as we can.’

‘Visiting time finishes at 8.00pm’

Dixon looked at his watch. Twenty minutes.

‘Don’t ask him to leave whatever you do, Julie. Let him sit there. We’re on our way.’

‘He’s not a murderer is he?’ There was panic in Julie’s voice.

‘We just need to speak to him that’s all. Just go about your business in the usual way and forget he’s there. Ok?’

‘Yes, ok.’

Dixon rang off just as Jane Winter’s phone rang. She answered it.

‘Hello.’

‘Three months...ok, thank you for that...’

Dixon interrupted. ‘Is that Exmouth?’

‘Yes.’

Dixon snatched Jane’s phone from her hand.

‘This is Detective Inspector Nick Dixon. Who am I speaking to?’

‘PC Venables, Sir. Exmouth.’

‘Right then, constable Venables, we have a situation and I need your help.’

‘Yes, Sir.’

‘The suspect in a triple murder investigation, one Martin Cromwell, is currently sitting by his mother’s bedside in Dyball Ward at the Royal Devon and Exeter Hospital. We are on our way now but it will take us at least an hour to get there. I need you to get on the radio and get any and every officer within a ten mile radius to converge on Dyball Ward now. Can you do that?’

‘Leave it to me, Sir.’

‘Visiting time finishes at 8.00pm so he’ll be leaving soon.’

‘I understand.’

‘We are leaving now and will get there as quick as we can. Please keep us abreast of developments on this number.’

‘Will do, Sir.’

Dixon rang off and handed the phone back to Jane Winter.

‘He’s at the hospital now?’ asked Jane.

‘He is.’

‘Bloody hell.’

‘Quite,’ said Dixon. ‘C’mon, we need to get going.’

‘Have you settled up for the food?’

‘I’ll ring ‘em from the car and tell them we’ll pop back later. You drive.’

Dixon and Jane raced out of Burnham towards the M5. Jane managed to get Dixon’s old Land Rover up to seventy five miles per hour on the long straight before the railway bridge but the noise made conversation difficult. Dixon was sitting in the passenger seat shouting into his phone.

‘We’ll call in later to settle the bill...yes...police...yes....emergency...possibly tomorrow...sorry.’

He rang off.

‘That’s the Dunstan House sorted out. They’re fine.’

‘Good,’ replied Jane.

She turned onto the M5 and headed south. It was a bright moonlit night. Dixon sat with his own phone in his right hand and Jane’s in his left. He watched the traffic flashing past them in the outside lanes and began to wonder whether he had made such a wise choice of vehicle. Still, other officers were no doubt converging on Exeter hospital already and whatever vehicle they were in, Dixon and Jane could play no part in that. He looked at his watch. It would be at least 8.30pm before they got there, assuming they didn’t get lost. He could do nothing but wait. He looked at the stars in the night sky and watched the fireworks going off in Bridgwater from the bridge over the River Parrett.

‘What’s the time?’ shouted Jane.

Dixon looked at his watch again. ‘Gone eight.’

‘They must be there by now.’

‘They must.’

They drove on, listening to the roar of the Land Rover’s old diesel engine. They had reached Taunton when Jane’s phone lit up and then began ringing. Jane eased off the accelerator to reduce the engine noise. Dixon answered the call.

‘DI Dixon.’

‘This is Sergeant Hargreaves, Sir, Exeter Police. I’m afraid we missed him.’

Dixon gritted his teeth. He turned to Jane Winter and shook his head.

‘Fuck it,’ muttered Jane, but it was lost in the engine noise.

‘We’ve checked the bus stops but he’s not there either. He left about ten to eight, I’m told, Sir.’

‘What time did you get there?’ asked Dixon.

‘The first car got here just after that. They missed him by a couple of minutes at most, according to the ward staff.’

‘Is Nurse Pritchard there?’

‘She’s doing the change over, Sir. The night shift are just coming on.’

‘We’re on our way, Sergeant, and will be there in about half an hour. Can you see to it that Nurse Pritchard stays? I’ll need to speak to her.’

‘Yes, Sir.’

‘And the CCTV. We’ll need a look at that.’

‘I’ll see what I can do, Sir.’

‘Thank you, Sergeant. I’ll ring you on this number when we get there.’

Dixon turned to Jane.

‘They missed him. They bloody well missed him.’

‘By how much?’

‘A couple of minutes.’

‘Typical.’

‘Put your foot down and let’s get there as quick as we can.’

The Royal Devon and Exeter Hospital was well signposted from Junction 30 on the M5 and it was just before 8.45pm when Dixon and Jane turned off Barrack Road into the main entrance. They followed the signs for the Princess Elizabeth Orthopaedic Centre, which took them past the visitor car parks and into the hospital one-way system. They were just beginning to think they might be lost when they recognised the Orthopaedic Centre on the left.  It had two police cars parked outside and two more in the small car park opposite.

They parked in the car park next to one of the panda cars. Dixon reached into a cardboard box in the passenger foot well behind the driver’s seat. He produced a blue light and placed it on the roof of the Land Rover.

‘Cheaper than buying a parking ticket.’

The Princess Elizabeth Orthopaedic Centre was a three storey red brick and glass building attached to the main hospital. It had a large green canopy over the front doors and a small forecourt for use by ambulances and taxis. Dixon and Jane walked in to find the large reception area deserted.

‘It is Saturday night, I suppose,’ said Jane.

Dixon looked at a large map on the wall.

‘Upstairs,’ he said. He turned around looking for either the stairs or the lift.

‘Over here,’ said Jane, walking towards large double doors on the far side of the foyer.

Once on the second floor they followed the signs for Dyball Ward and arrived at the nurse’s station to find three uniformed police officers in conversation with two nurses, one in light blue uniform and the other dark blue. Dixon had never understood the colour coding of hospital uniforms. He produced his warrant card.

‘I’m looking for Sergeant Hargreaves and Nurse Pritchard.’

‘I’m Julie Pritchard,’ said the nurse in the dark blue uniform. She was sat back in an office chair holding a cup of tea in both hands.

‘Sergeant Hargreaves has gone to the Security Office, Sir,’ said one of the police officers.

‘CCTV?’

‘Yes, Sir.’

‘Good,’ said Dixon. He turned to Julie Pritchard. ‘Is there somewhere we can have a word?’

‘We can use the day room,’ said Julie, getting up. ‘It’ll be empty now.’

Dixon and Jane Winter followed her back along the corridor and into a room on the right. It contained a number of tables and chairs, two reclining chairs and a television, which was switched off. Dixon noticed the usual collection of two-year-old magazines and a jigsaw puzzle half done on one of the tables.

Julie Pritchard was tall and slim, with dark hair tied back into a ponytail. She wore dark blue trousers, a dark blue top and light blue crocs. She sat opposite Dixon at one the tables. Jane sat to her left.

‘I’m Nick Dixon. We spoke on the phone.’

‘We did.’

‘This is Detective Constable Jane Winter.’

Jane nodded.

‘You went off duty at eight, I gather, Julie?’ asked Dixon.

‘Yes.’

‘Thank you for staying behind.’

‘It’s fine. Is this anything to do with those murders on the news? The beheadings...?’

‘I really can’t say, Julie,’ replied Dixon.

‘Of course you can’t, sorry,’ said Julie.

‘Tell me about Mrs Cromwell.’

‘There’s not much to tell, to be honest. She only came up to the ward late so I’ve not had a chance to speak to her, really. She’s had a new hip. She’s on a morphine infusion pump at the moment and will be overnight, probably.’

‘What about the son, Martin?’

‘He’d been here all day, apparently. He waited with her until she went down and then hung around until she came out of recovery.’

‘Did you speak to him?’

‘Yes. Before you rang.’

‘What did you say?’

‘Just small talk, really. He asked if it was ok to sit with her and I said ‘fine’. It was about 5.30pm and visiting time hadn’t started officially, you see?’

‘What else?’

‘I asked him if she was his mum and he said she was. Then I assured him she’d be alright and that was about it. He seemed really nice.’

‘Describe him to me.’

Jane Winter was making notes.

‘He’s late thirties, possibly forty or so. Tall.’ Julie shrugged.

‘Hair?’ asked Dixon.

‘Brown, dark brown and short.’

‘Build?’

‘Big. He was big.’

‘What was he wearing?’

‘Blue jeans and a dark green fleece.’

‘Did he have any facial hair?’

‘No.’

‘Tattoos?’

‘No.’

‘Was he carrying anything?’

‘A waterproof coat.’

‘Colour?’

‘Dark blue.’

‘Did it have a hood?’

‘I didn’t see.’

‘Is there anything else you can tell me about him?’

‘Not that I can think of. He seemed painfully shy, I suppose, so I left him to it. Then you rang.’

‘Would you recognise him if you saw him again?’

‘Oh, yes.’

‘Would you mind staying so we can have a look at the CCTV together? You could point him out to me, perhaps?’

‘Of course. They’ve only got it in the foyer though.’

‘We’ll see him coming and going, at least. Let’s go and see if we can find Sergeant Hargreaves.’

They stood up to leave.

‘Actually while I think of it, could you point out Mrs Cromwell to me?’

‘Yes. Follow me.’

Dixon and Jane followed Julie back past the nurse’s station and into Dyball Ward itself. Eight of the beds were occupied; the first four on either side of the ward, and all of the female patients had had either a new knee or a new hip within the last few days. They stood just inside the doorway and Julie pointed to the first bed on the left.