The Murder Wall (13 page)

The sign directly above her head pointed to the chaplaincy.

Disorientated, she walked on to a ward . . .

A priest was standing over a bed, administering the last rites. The person in the bed was a sick, pale version of Daniels herself.

‘Mum?’

The priest spoke softly: ‘Cleanse in thine own blood the sinners of the whole world who are now in their agony, and are to die this day.’

Daniels let out a scream, ‘NO!’

But all she could hear was silence.

The priest didn’t lift his head or stop praying. Her mother appeared to be sleeping peacefully. Daniels didn’t want
him
there, neither of them did. They weren’t ready
for the end. Never would be. She grabbed the priest by the lapels, physically ejecting him from the room. His God allowed the innocent to die . . .

‘D
etective Chief Inspector Daniels?’ When she got no response, Nurse Baker repeated herself. ‘DCI Daniels?’

Daniels was staring at an empty bed, faintly aware of a woman’s voice. She turned towards it as echoes of the past slowly began to subside. She could breathe again, pulled herself together
and held out a trembling hand.

‘That was quick!’ the nurse said, shaking hands. ‘I hardly had time to put the phone down. Come this way.’

They entered a room no bigger than a police cell. As they walked in, Daniels eyed a pile of case notes on the desk, got out her notebook and wafted it in front of her face.

‘Do you think I could have a glass of water?’ she said. ‘It’s really hot in here.’

‘Tell you what,’ the nurse said, ‘how about a nice refreshing cup of tea instead?’

Daniels nodded. ‘That would be great, thanks.’

‘I’ll let Mr Thorburn know you’ve arrived.’ Nurse Baker left the room.

The moment the door closed behind her, Daniels was on her feet searching the case notes, but the file she wanted wasn’t there. Cursing, she sat back down and waited impatiently for the
nurse to return, her eyes eventually coming to rest on a tray of case notes stacked neatly on a shelf by the door, the name of the consultant pinned to the wall above it. Daniels leapt to her feet.
Jo Soulsby’s file was on top. Reaching for it, she stepped away again when suddenly the door opened and the nurse backed into the room with a tray of tea and digestive biscuits.

‘Sorry it took so long,’ she said. ‘No milk, as usual. Had to borrow some from the canteen. Mr Thorburn is with a patient. He’ll be along shortly.’ She handed
Daniels a mug of steaming tea. ‘Can I help in the meantime?’

Daniels sat back down. ‘How badly injured is Jo Soulsby?’

‘Hard to say. She sustained a nasty bang to the head.’

‘Can I see her?’

‘If it was up to me, you could . . .’ Baker looked unsure. ‘I think you’d better speak to her consultant first.’

Daniels cleared her throat. ‘She will survive?’

‘Oh, she’ll live, all right.’ The nurse teased her hair round her index finger, dropping her voice to a conspiratorial whisper. ‘CT scan shows no permanent damage. She
has a convenient loss of memory, if you know what I mean.’

Daniels was irritated. The woman was acting like a newspaper hack protecting an exclusive. She half expected her to wink and tap the side of her nose.

‘What makes you say that?’

The nurse was off again, leaning forward, dropping her voice a touch, hyping up the intrigue. ‘They all do it.’

Daniels brow creased. ‘Excuse me?’

‘Drunk drivers,’ Baker said curtly. ‘Want my opinion, you should lock her up and throw away the key.’

Now Daniels was really rattled. ‘So, you’re not only a nurse but judge and jury too – very impressive. Well, for your information, Jo Soulsby is a colleague and a friend, so
maybe you’d like to keep your opinions to yourself.’

Before the nurse had time to back-pedal, Daniels’ mobile began to vibrate. She took it from her pocket, flipped it open and stood up.

Baker bristled. ‘You’re not really supposed to—’

Daniels held her hand up to silence her. ‘What is it, Andy?’

Brown sounded excited on the other end of the line. ‘I found her,’ he said.

‘Hang on a minute . . .’ Daniels left the office and shut the door behind her. ‘OK, go ahead. But hurry up, I’m busy.’

‘Jo’s vehicle was involved in an accident yesterday afternoon. She’s in the General. I’m on my way over there now.’

Daniels stopped dead in her tracks. ‘No! Stay put, I’m in the area. Anyway, it might be more appropriate for a female to respond.’

Brown sounded deflated. ‘You sure?’

‘Yeah, I’m on it.’

Silence.

Daniels could almost hear him sulking on the other end. Before he had a chance to start whining, she ended the call and walked back to the nurse’s station. Baker still had a face like a
smacked arse. There was no time for small talk.

‘I need to speak with Jo Soulsby’s consultant now,’ Daniels said. ‘Can you get him for me please?’

Baker was just reaching for the phone when the door opened and a doctor in a white coat entered. Thorburn was an unattractive man, at least a foot shorter than Daniels, arrogant and with an
unfriendly attitude. He was standing ever so slightly on his toes to gain a little height.

‘Mark Thorburn, neurologist. You wanted to see me?’

‘DCI Daniels.’ Thorburn’s palm was cold and clammy. ‘Thank you for seeing me at such short notice. I know you must be busy.’

‘How can I be of assistance?’

Daniels wiped her hand on the side of her jacket, hoping he hadn’t noticed.

‘I need your assessment of Josephine Soulsby’s condition,’ she said.

‘I’m afraid I can’t divulge that.’ Thorburn folded his arms across his chest. ‘I have to respect patient confidentiality, Detective Chief Inspector. And not just
because of the compensation culture in this country – though clearly patients feel justified in suing doctors if they so much as breathe on them these days – but because it’s
written clearly in black and white in hospital regulations. Much like the rules that bind you, I imagine.’

Here we go
. Daniels fought the temptation to grab the pompous arsehole by the lapels and do him for wasting police time. ‘So you’ve no objection to me telling Ms Soulsby that
her ex-husband and father of her children is now a murder statistic.’

Thorburn raised his bushy eyebrows a notch, pushing his specs a little further up the bridge of his nose. He glanced sideways at Baker, who looked as though she was having more fun than
she’d had in years. Daniels wondered how long it would take her to spread the word.

‘That doesn’t change things,’ Thorburn said.

‘I beg to differ. It changes things considerably. Nurse Baker here tells me Ms Soulsby has suffered memory loss.’

Thorburn’s reaction was predictable. He scowled at Baker, who immediately went scarlet and began examining the floor tiles. Daniels didn’t give a damn that she’d dropped the
nurse right in it. She had her own job to do.

‘Will she get it back?’ she asked.

‘She regained consciousness within hours, so that’s always a good sign.’

‘You didn’t answer my question.’

‘The prognosis is favourable,’ he intoned, adding that he could never guarantee a full recovery. He spoke in terms Daniels didn’t fully understand. It was like hearing a
medical science lecture. As her eyes glazed over, he took the hint and stopped talking.

‘Thank you. Now, is your patient fit to be informed of the death or not?’

The neurologist wound his neck in. ‘I assume you’ve spoken to her sons?’

‘We’re still trying to locate them. I understand that neither is in the area just now.’

‘Then your intelligence is flawed.’ A smug, almost triumphant, expression flashed across Thorburn’s face as he spewed out the last word: ‘They just left.’

30

T
here was a slight lull in proceedings in the incident room. The majority of MIT were out tracing potential witnesses, a few others were assisting with the house-to-house. All
were engaged one way or another in finding new pieces of the jigsaw that was Stephens’ murder.

As statement reader, Robson remained anchored to the office. It was his job to ensure continuity as information came in. He was taking a well-earned break by the coffee machine when he noticed
DC Brown sulking at his desk.

‘What’s up? Robson asked. ‘You look like you’re about to spit the dummy.’

‘I just traced Jo to the General Hospital,’ Brown said. ‘Car crash, according to Traffic.’

‘Is she OK?’

‘Dunno, do I?’

Robson dunked a biscuit in his coffee and lost the end of it in the cup. ‘Bugger!’ he said. ‘Shouldn’t you be out there, following it up?’

Brown looked at him. ‘You’d think so, wouldn’t you? Only, when I rang to tell the boss I was on my way over there, she told me to stay put, said she was in the area and would
deal with it herself.’

‘So? She’s got a lot riding on this one.’

‘Yeah, well, Eddie just came on duty. He saw her screaming into the General like a bloody tornado over fifteen minutes ago.’

At a nearby desk, Gormley’s ears pricked up. ‘And your point is?’

‘My point is, she was obviously already there when I rang, though she never said so.’ Brown flicked a paperclip off his desk. ‘Instead she made some poxy excuse about it being
preferable for a woman to attend.’

Robson spooned a sodden biscuit from his mug, dumping it in the bin. ‘Like I said, she wants to get it right. This case could mean a crown on her shoulder.’

‘Bollocks!’ Brown said. ‘She never pulls the sex card, ever!’

Gormley dropped his head, sifted the papers on his desk, acting as if it was business as usual when really his mind was elsewhere. He could smell a rat from a mile away and was deeply troubled
by what he’d heard.

31

A
t six twenty-five on the dot, two young men re-entered Newcastle General Hospital and joined the queue for the lift that would take them back to their mother’s private
room. If anyone cared to notice, Tom Stephens was the more troubled of the two. He was staring intently at the floor indicator as the lift made its descent, anxiety and impatience getting the
better of him.

James nudged him in the ribs. ‘You know her?’

Following his brother’s gaze, Tom turned his head to the left where a woman standing a short distance away, someone James said he felt sure he’d seen before but right at that moment
couldn’t place.

The woman ignored their interest.

‘She doesn’t seem to know you,’ Tom said.

James gave a little shrug – but still he continued to wrack his brains.

They entered the same lift, travelled up in silence and got out on the same floor, the familiar woman heading for the nurse’s station, the two brothers peeling off towards the female
surgical ward, never suspecting what catastrophe lay ahead. Mark Thorburn intercepted them before they had a chance to reach their destination and they were now eyeing him suspiciously in a quiet
relatives’ room.

The neurologist hadn’t even got started when James noticed the woman from the lift approaching. She stopped short of the door and hung around in the corridor outside. Then, suddenly, his
brain made the connection and his imagination went into overdrive.

‘She’s a copper!’ James announced suddenly. ‘She works with Mum.’ He looked accusingly at Thorburn, putting two and two together, making five. ‘Shit! Mum
isn’t . . .’ He couldn’t bring himself to finish the question.

Thorburn rushed to reassure him. ‘No, no, nothing like that. Your mother is making steady progress. In fact, we’ve moved her from high-dependency.’

‘What then?’ Tom asked. ‘Why can’t we see her?’

There was definitely something Thorburn wasn’t telling them. He shifted in his seat as if he had something awful to say but didn’t quite know how to start.

‘She is a police officer and she is here to see you,’ he said, eventually.

Tom and James exchanged glances.

James felt in his pocket. Brown’s police calling card was still there.

‘Concerning what?’ he said.

‘She’d better tell you herself . . .’

Thorburn went to the door and invited Daniels in. As she entered the room, both brothers stood up. Thorburn fluffed the introductions, but it mattered not. Neither lad was remotely interested in
a word he had to say. They were both too busy searching Daniels’ face for answers.

James tackled her head on: ‘Is my mother in trouble?’

‘I hope not.’

‘What the fuck does that mean?’ he said.

‘I have some bad news,’ Daniels said softly. ‘I’m afraid your father is dead.’

Tom’s reaction was immediate. He began to sob uncontrollably. The sound of a tea trolley passing the room was an incongruous intrusion on his grief. As it moved off, clattering along the
corridor, Thorburn caught Daniels’ angry expression. He got up, closed the internal window blinds and slipped quietly from the room, shutting the door behind him.

Daniels gave them a moment, then said, ‘I’d like to tell your mother now—’

‘No! I’ll do it,’ James cut in.

‘I’m sorry, James. But, under the circumstances, I can’t allow that.’

‘Why not?’

‘What circumstances?’ Tom asked. ‘And what’s it got to do with the police?’

‘Your father didn’t die of natural causes . . .’ Daniels paused, making absolutely sure the two men understood. ‘Nor was it an accident. I’m sorry to have to tell
you, but we’ve launched a murder enquiry.’

As Tom’s hand went to his mouth, James’ expression hardened. He bit his lip, fighting to keep his emotions in check. The DCI’s words had stunned both brothers into silence.
They sat down.

‘There must be some mistake,’ Tom said.

Daniels shook her head. ‘There’s no mistake.’

She’d seen the same reaction countless times. Denial was often the first response in situations like these. In the coming days he would process the information – eventually come to
accept it.

Tom looked up. ‘Does Monica know?’

The mention of their stepmother’s name made Daniels’ ears prick up.

James looked at his brother with disgust, his eyes cold and disbelieving. He rounded on him. ‘Who gives a shit about Monica? It’s Mum I’m concerned about.’ Then, to
Daniels: ‘She’ll be devastated. There was a lot of unfinished business when our parents split up. I don’t think she ever really got over it.’