A Place of Hiding (Inspector Lynley, #12)(206)
“I was looking for Baby Ruths or Butterfingers.” China patted her capacious shoulder bag in which she’d apparently stowed the sweets.
“Those’re his favourites. But they don’t have them anywhere, so I got him what I could. I’m hoping they’ll let me see him.”
They hadn’t done on her first visit to Hospital Lane, China told her. She’d gone directly to the police station when she’d left Deborah and her husband earlier, but she’d been refused access to her brother. During a suspect’s interrogation period, she’d been told, they allowed only his advocate inside to see him. She should have known this, naturally, having been held for questioning herself. She’d phoned Holberry. He’d said he would do what he could to make arrangements for her to see her brother, which was what had led her to go out and about looking for the chocolate bars. She was on her way to deliver them. She glanced towards the plaza and the junction of streets a short distance above them. “Want to come with?”
Deborah said that she did. So they walked together to the police station, a mere two minutes from the point at which they’d met. At the reception counter, they learned from an unfriendly special constable that Miss River would not be allowed to see her brother. When China said that Roger Holberry had made specific arrangements for her to be admitted, the special informed her that he personally knew nothing about anything from Roger Holberry, so if the ladies didn’t mind, he’d be getting on with his work.
“Call the guy in charge,” China told him. “The investigator. Le Gallez. Holberry probably got in touch with him. He said he’d make arrangements...Look. I’d just like to see my brother, okay?”
The man was immovable. If arrangements had been made, he informed China, by Roger Holberry via anyone, then that person—be it DCI Le Gallez or the Queen of Sheba—would have made certain that reception had access to that information. Barring that occurrence, no one save the suspect’s advocate was allowed inside to see him.
“But Holberry is his advocate,” China protested. The man smiled in perfect unfriendliness. “I don’t see him with you,”
he replied, making much of looking over her shoulder. China began to make a hot remark which started with “Listen, you little—” when Deborah intervened. She said calmly to the special, “Perhaps you can just take some sweets to Mr. River...?” at which poi nt Chi na said abruptly, “Forget it,” and stalked out of the station, her delivery unmade. In the courtyard that served as the car park, Deborah found her sitting on the edge of a planter, savagely tearing at the shrubbery it held. As Deborah approached, China said, “Bastards. What d’they think I’m going to do? Break him out?”
“Perhaps we can get through to Le Gallez ourselves.”
“I’m sure he’d be thrilled to give us a break.” China threw her handful of leaves to the ground.
“Did you ask the advocate how he’s coping?”
“ ‘As well as can be expected, considering the circumstances,’ ” China replied. “Which was supposed to make me feel better but which could mean anything, and don’t I know it. There’s jack shit in those cells, Deborah. Bare walls, bare floor, a wooden bench that they’ll only too cooperatively make up into a bed if you’re forced to be there overnight. A stainless steel toilet. A stainless steel sink. And that big blue immovable door. Not a magazine in sight, not a book, not a poster, not a radio, not a crossword puzzle, not a deck of cards. It’ll make him nuts. He’s not prepared...he i sn’t the type...God. I was so glad to get out. I couldn’t breathe in there. Even the prison was better. And no way can he...” She seemed to force herself to slow down. “I need to get Mom over here. He’d want her here, and if I do that much, I can feel less guilty about being relieved that someone else is inside and I’m not. Jesus. What does that make me?”
“Feeling relieved to be out is human nature,” Deborah said.
“If I could just get in to see him, to find out he’s okay.”
She stirred on the planter’s edge and Deborah thought she intended to attack the fortress of the police station another time. But Deborah knew it would be useless, so she stood. “Let’s walk.”
She headed back the way they’d come, dipping to the far side of the war memorial and taking the direct route to the Queen Margaret Apartments. Too late Deborah realised that this route would curve directly in front of the Royal Court House, at whose steps China hesitated, gazing up at the imposing front of the building that housed all the legal machinery of the island. High above it flew Guernsey’s flag, three lions on red, snapping in the breeze.
Before Deborah could suggest that they move on, China was climbing the steps to the front doors of the building. She went inside, so there was nothing for Deborah to do but to follow, which she hurriedly did. She found China in the lobby, consulting a directory. When joined, she said, “You don’t have to stay with me. I’ll be okay. Simon’s probably waiting for you anyway.”
“I want to stay with you,” Deborah said. “China, it’s going to be all right.”
China said, “Is it.” She strode across the lobby, past the doors of wood and translucent glass on which were printed the various departments to be found within. She headed for a dramatic stairway that climbed past an oak wall holding the gilt-painted names of old island families, and on the floor above the entry she found what she was apparently looking for: the chamber in which trials were held. This didn’t seem the best place for China to go to lighten her spirits, and her choice of it served to underscore the differences between her and her brother. In the same position, with a sibling innocent of a crime but still under arrest, Cherokee had been all action in keeping with his restless nature: the ultimate man with the ultimate plan. Deborah could see that despite its being the despair of his sister, Cherokee’s scheming character had its advantages, one of which was never to give in to disheartenment.