Their Lost Daughters (DI Jackman & DS Evans #2)(68)
*
When Jackman reached the murder room, his anger had dissipated, and he was left with a feeling of things slipping away from him.
Marie was the only person in the big room, and she looked about as cheerful as he felt.
She held out a coffee and said, ‘Max left a note to say that two more victims have been unofficially identified via the PNC. We need the lab results to be certain, but their first names and DOBs match. One is a youngster from Bristol called Corrie Anderson, and the other girl, Charlotte King, is from Hull.’
‘And neither rings a bell. Our killer always took low-profile missing persons from different locations, didn’t he? No one who was ever plastered across the tabloids or made the media in a big way.’
‘Jackman,’ Marie stared at him with a perplexed expression. ‘I’m thinking about those dates of birth. What is it about being born on a Wednesday that made them a candidate for death?’
Jackman’s head shook slowly from side to side. ‘We’ll only know that when the case is over. And right now, I think we’d better concentrate on trying to capture Mad Micah, don’t you?’ He drew in a deep breath. ‘And while we wait for the others to get in, will you ring the psychiatric hospital for me and see if Elizabeth is fit enough to interview?’
Marie went to get the number. As she flicked through her file, she said, ‘So where do you think Micah will have gone?’
The million-dollar question. ‘If Benedict Broome were free, I would have laid good money on Micah going to him, but . . .’
‘Would he go home, do you think? If he’s mentally unstable maybe he needs a familiar place?’
‘But surely he knows we’ll be watching? There are already uniformed officers at the farm. And Windrush is crawling with police and forensics.’
Jackman could still see the anger in Micah’s craggy, ugly face when they arrived to search Windrush. Maybe his anguish had been because he had known, even then, that it was the beginning of the end for the Children’s Ward.
Marie hung up. ‘You have a green light, sir. They are a bit iffy, but it’s okay as long as her doctor sits in, and we keep the interview short.’
Jackman thought for a moment. ‘I’m wondering if it might be prudent if you went, and took Rosie with you. If this woman is so fragile, perhaps having a man asking the questions is not the best strategy.’
‘You could be right, sir, and as I just saw Rosie coming in, we’ll get off before the doctors change their minds.’
*
Marie and Rosie hurried from the car park and up to the heavy glass doors of Saltern Hall Psychiatric Hospital. Marie pushed the intercom button and announced their names. The door hummed and the catch released.
There were no rattling key chains, metal locks or clanging iron doors, just pass cards and security number pads.
‘Dr Mason is expecting you. I’ll escort you down to his wing.’ The receptionist was a smartly uniformed man of around thirty. He was short-haired, tall and muscular. Not the sort you’d willingly mess with.
Elizabeth was in a private room, with two constables stationed outside. Dr Leonard Mason and a male nurse were waiting with her, and let them into the room. It was spotlessly clean, and although rather Spartan, seemed comfortable enough.
Marie had been warned that Elizabeth would be under mild sedation. She was perfectly lucid but fragile, and her psychiatrist and another medic would remain with them throughout the interview.
Marie had already decided to keep the questions to essentials only, just in case the doctors pulled the plug on them.
They introduced themselves to this possible accomplice to multiple murder in the gentlest voices they could muster.
Elizabeth looked at them with very little expression on her face, until her eyes fell on Rosie. ‘What a pretty girl,’ she said, a strange smile twisting her lips. ‘You remind me of . . . no, she was much blonder.’ The smile remained, although Elizabeth’s eyes were the saddest Marie had ever seen. She wondered who Elizabeth was thinking of.
‘Elizabeth, your employer, Benedict Broome, sends his best wishes. He said to tell you that he is fine and that you are not to worry about anything. He said that you can talk to us quite candidly. We are only here to find the truth. Do you understand?’
Again the head tilted. ‘Ah yes, Mr Broome. Benedict.’ Elizabeth tugged at her sleeves, pulling them down over her thin fingers.
Rosie added. ‘Is he a good employer? Does he treat you well?’
‘Oh yes! I couldn’t wish for better. He’s very kind. I don’t know what I’d do without him.’ They could see her hands, the fingers just protruding from her sleeves, twisting constantly. ‘But what do you want with me? Why am I here?’
‘We have something here that we’d like you to see. We were wondering if you recognise it.’ Marie placed a clear plastic evidence bag in front of her. Inside was one of the name cards from the underground chamber. Even through the film, Marie could clearly see the name, “Lucy,” written on it. ‘Is this your writing?’
‘I think so.’ She squinted as she tried to make out the neat print through the plastic. ‘I’m sure I wrote that.’
Marie heard Rosie take a breath. ‘What is it, Elizabeth? What was it for?’
There was no reply, and Marie managed to quash her overwhelming desire to lean forward and shake her. ‘Is it yours, or did someone ask you to do it for them?’