In Too Deep (Knight & Culverhouse Book 5) (16 page)

A
s far as
Xav could tell, each of the songs being played in the restaurant sounded identical. They were all the same sort of traditional faux-Italian songs, middle-aged crooners singing the usual numbers:
Volare
;
Mambo Italiano
;
Arrivederci, Roma
. He tapped the bottom of his wine glass gently on the table in time to the music, watching the purplish liquid dance around the bowl of the glass, leaving a clear trail behind it.

He was only on his second glass of wine. The first had been because he was slightly nervous, plus he knew Wendy was likely to be late. She had a big case she was working on — that was fair enough — but dinner tonight had been her idea, and he had expected her to at least stick to that. Maybe he’d been right all along; maybe this wasn’t something worth pursuing. But he’d bought the bottle of wine now, so he was going to at least give her the time that it took for him to drink it before he did anything daft.

A waiter floated over to the table. ‘Can I get you anything at all, sir? Some bread and olives, perhaps?’

Xav went to wave him away, but then had a change of heart. ‘Yeah, yeah some bread and olives would be lovely. Thanks.’ He might as well get some food out of this, he thought.

He chastised himself for being too quick to jump to conclusions. She’d suggested the dinner, so there was no way she wasn’t going to turn up. There might have been a breakthrough in the case, for all he knew. After all, some things were more important than dinner, but she only needed to let him know. Sure, he would’ve been disappointed — gutted, even — but at least he would have known, and he would have understood. Being sat on your own in a romantic restaurant was hardly a brilliant way to spend the evening, even if there was wine and food.

The waiter smiled at him as he placed the bread and olives on the table. It was a smile of pity, a smile that said
I’m sure she’ll turn up soon
and
Let me know if you want to sneak out the fire door
at the same time.

The bread was still warm, and it smelled delicious. He took a bite, savouring the flavour, then washed it down with another mouthful of wine. If nothing else, he was enjoying the food and the drink, but he couldn’t deny there was something missing.

He glanced at his watch. Eight-thirty. That was plenty late enough for him to be justified in calling her for an update, he thought. He took his phone out of his pocket and called her.

W
endy cursed
at the unusually heavy traffic as she made her way along the high street, heading out of town towards the hospital. The roadworks for the new bypass were causing havoc in this area of town, especially when she really needed to get somewhere quickly. If Culverhouse had been here, he would’ve had the siren slapped on the roof and he’d be bombing down the wrong side of the road, overtaking the lot of them. But, being single-crewed and leading the way with Steve, Debbie, and Ryan in the car behind, she couldn’t afford to be quite so maverick. However, a little bit of ‘improvisation’ wouldn’t go amiss.

Approaching a roundabout, she got into the left-hand lane — a left-turn-only lane — and undertook a line of cars waiting patiently to enter the roundabout. Straddling the white lines, she managed to nip in front of a van that was going straight on, cutting into its lane and upsetting the driver, who responded with a long hard honk on the horn and a few choice hand gestures. Wendy raised her own hand in apology and kept her eyes on the road in front of her.

Her phone rang in the coin tray next to her and, glancing down, she could just about make out Xav’s name flashing up on the screen.

‘Damnit, Xav,’ she said to herself, knowing she couldn’t answer while she was driving. The hospital was only a mile away now. She’d call him when she got there.

A
fter the seventh
or eighth ring, the call went through to voicemail. He had no intention of leaving a voicemail. After all, what would he say? If she wasn’t here, she wasn’t here. She couldn’t enjoy the ambience or eat a meal through her answerphone.

He didn’t know whether to feel angry or disappointed. He felt a mixture of both.

He’d heard it a number of times — don’t get into a relationship with a police officer. And although he’d always known what they meant, he’d also hoped it wouldn’t matter. He thought things might be different with him, different with Wendy. In many ways, she wasn’t the same as a lot of the others. But in some ways, it seemed, she was.

‘Any luck?’ the waiter said, approaching his table.

Xav looked down at his phone.

‘No. No luck.’

J
ack Culverhouse had
his pedal to the metal, too, although he wasn’t heading in the direction of Mildenheath Hospital. He’d told the others he wanted to head over on his own as he had to quickly do something first. Once they’d left, he’d got in his car and started off towards the town Helen’s parents lived in.

The drive seemed to happen on autopilot, a thousand and one thoughts flitting around in his head as he tried to keep his emotions in check. There was still something at the back of his mind that told him this wasn’t really happening, that Helen had lied again or fed him another red herring, but none of that mattered. All that mattered was that there was a possibility, a small chance, a tiny ray of hope. If he was willing to get on a flight to Spain because someone he’d never heard of reckoned he’d spotted someone who might have looked a bit like Emily, then he was perfectly happy to make the short drive up the road to a skate park.

His sat nav told him there were just two miles to go, and he could feel his heart rate increasing every time that distance dropped. 1.9 miles. 1.8. 1.7. He could feel his love for his daughter growing the closer he got. In that regard, time hadn’t changed a thing.

He hadn’t thought about what he was going to say; he didn’t even know if he was going to say anything. He might just park up and watch, see if it was her. He didn’t know what he was going to do if it was. He’d just play it by ear. Sometimes things are better left unplanned. After all, a parent knows instinctively what to do at times of stress. It’s an inbuilt, ingrained ability.

As the miles remaining turned into yards, Jack felt his knees quivering with every gear change, his leg starting to shake as he applied the brake and pulled over into a parking bay near the skate park.

He could just about see people in there, skating, but while it was floodlit, it was still impossible to see anything at this distance.

Opening the car door, he got out, the fresh air hitting him like a ton of bricks. He suddenly felt very queasy, but he managed to just about hold it in. His legs struggling to carry him, he made his way over to the line of trees that surrounded three sides of the skatepark, locking the car behind him.

The trees were fairly new, as was the skatepark, so they provided decent cover whilst still allowing him to see through. As he got closer, he began to walk more slowly, mentally discounting the skaters one by one as he saw them. Most of them were boys. Four of them were skating, one with his long hair tucked under a beanie cap, turning a kick flip on the halfpipe as Culverhouse watched him soar gracefully through the air.

And that’s when he saw her.

She couldn’t have looked any more different from the girl he remembered. Her hair was dark now, almost black, and the amount of makeup she was wearing — visible even at this distance — made her look as if she was at least eighteen. The cute little girl in pigtails was gone, replaced by a dress code Jack could only describe as something in between gothic and burlesque.

She rested her head on the shoulder of the boy next to her, a boy who looked much older than she was, and who had his arm around her, his hand resting on her knee.

Jack got closer, and before he realised it he’d entered the skatepark and was walking over towards her.

The closer he got, the more certain he was. It was her. Even with all the time that had passed, he would still have recognised her a mile off. There was no way he couldn’t have.

He was now maybe fifty feet away, and he felt sure she’d look up and see him soon.

His legs turned to jelly again, and he stopped walking, breathing deeply and trying to control his heart rate.

He called out. ‘Emily?’

She looked up, the smile dropping from her face as she saw him. She stared for a few moments, whispered something to her boyfriend, then stood up, walking over to him with purpose.

Another boy called out from the left, ‘You alright, Jet?’

She raised a hand to him, as if to tell him she had it all under control.

Jack was speaking before he’d even realised he’d opened his mouth. ‘Jet? Who’s Jet?’

When she was about twenty feet away, she slowed, as if she couldn’t bring herself to move any closer.

Culverhouse stared at her, now completely unable to speak.

‘Dad? What the fuck are you doing here?’

W
endy walked
onto the ward alone, asking the nurse at the desk if she could see Julian Mills.

‘Yeah, I think he’s still here,’ the nurse said. Wendy didn’t doubt it. ‘I’ll just check for you.’

Wendy thanked her and sat down on one of the chairs, looking again at her watch. She knew she ought to call Xav back, or at least fire him a quick text, but by now she was almost three quarters of an hour late and whatever she said wasn’t going to do any good. She would just have to grovel again tomorrow. She convinced herself he’d understand.

Steve, Debbie and Ryan were all waiting exactly where she’d asked them to wait — or where Culverhouse had asked them to wait, anyway. After all, this was meant to be his operation, and he was meant to have met them here. Steve had received an odd call from him shortly after they’d left, telling him he wouldn’t be going over to the hospital as he had to be elsewhere. Something more important had come up, he’d said.

Still thinking about Xav, Wendy changed her mind and decided to send him a text — just a quick update to apologise profusely and to let him know she’d explain all tomorrow. Before she could, however, the familiar but charming voice of Julian Mills came echoing down the corridor.

‘Detective Sergeant Knight, you’re working late.’

‘Overtime,’ she replied. ‘Comes in handy sometimes.’

‘I bet. So what can I do for you?’

‘I was just wondering if I might be able to ask you a few questions. Can we?’ she said, gesturing to the private room beside them.

Julian Mills nodded, and they entered.

‘Firstly, do you have any idea what Tanya Henderson meant when she said “Pevensey Park”?’

His facial expression looked well-rehearsed; almost too perfect. ‘Pevensey Park?’ he repeated.

‘Yes. We were told that just before she was put back into an induced coma, she said the words “Pevensey Park” a few times over. Do you know what they mean?’

‘No, I’m afraid not. Should I?’

Wendy broke eye contact with Mills as she said, ‘I’ll get straight to the point. Where were you on the night Tanya Henderson was attacked?’ It was a far more direct approach than she’d use in any other situation, but she had her reasons.

‘Me? Well, I was here, working.’

‘What time did you sign in?’

‘About six o’clock that evening. I was rostered on until six the next morning.’

‘And did you leave the hospital at all during your shift?’

‘No, not at all. I barely leave the ward. We don’t exactly get lunch breaks in this job, you know.’

Wendy nodded, looking at him again. ‘And what do you know about the plans to close this hospital and build a housing estate on the land?’

Julian Mills smiled, before letting out a nervous laugh. ‘What is this? Are you accusing me of something?’

‘Just answer the question please, Mr Mills.’

He sighed, rubbing his chin before speaking. ‘I’m on the board for the hospital trust. Our job is to discuss the future of the hospital and decide on strategies for saving money and delivering the best possible patient care.’ It sounded like a well-rehearsed line, almost a sales pitch.

‘In which case you’ll be able to tell me all about the plans, won’t you?’ Wendy said, as politely as she could.

Mills sat down on the arm of a chair, looking up at her. It seemed like a well-rehearsed piece of body language too: get lower, make the other person feel like they’re in control. ‘What more do you want me to say? Like all hospitals, we’re struggling for funding, and there is a proposal on the table for merging primary care treatments into other local hospitals to make sure we can keep treating patients to a high standard during difficult times.’

‘Because of the shortage of money?’

‘Indeed.’

‘And how much money do you stand to make from the sale of the hospital?’ Wendy asked.

Mills laughed; a deep, guttural belly laugh. ‘Me? Absolutely nothing. This may come as a surprise to you, but I don’t own the hospital. I’m simply one of the appointed officials who helps decide its future.’

Wendy nodded. ‘So you’re not in receipt of any financial benefits or payments which might have influenced your decision at all?’

The consultant’s eyes narrowed. ‘Are you accusing me of corruption, Detective Sergeant Knight? Because that’s a very serious allegation.’

‘I’m simply asking questions, Mr Mills. That’s my job.’

‘And my job is to help steer the future of this hospital and ensure the best possible treatment for our patients, whatever the means to that end may be.’

To Wendy, Julian Mills had the patter of an experienced politician — and he was just as slippery and evasive, too. That relaxed Scottish charm had suddenly begun to seem very sinister indeed, and she started to feel rather uncomfortable in his presence.

‘Thank you, Mr Mills. I’m sure we’ll be in touch very soon,’ she said, holding eye contact for longer than was necessary, and far longer than she felt comfortable with.

Leaving the room, she headed back down the corridor before pressing the button for the lift. She couldn’t wait to get out of there.

J
ulian Mills looked
out of the window, watching the policewoman make her way across the car park towards her car. He didn’t quite know what she was playing at, but he knew the net was closing. If he was going to be caught, however, he was going to make sure he went down fighting.

Everything was coincidental. Everything was pure conjecture. There was nothing they could prove, else he’d be walking across that car park with her, in handcuffs. And there was only one way they were going to be able to obtain any evidence. If that source of evidence were gone...

In that moment, he knew that control was fully in his hands. And he knew exactly how to exercise it.