Payback Page 23

  The two officers watched her quick exit with raised eyebrows.

  Within the hour, a distressed PC Susan Vine, who had been put on hospital watch, was on the phone to Charley. As she spoke, Susan carried on watching the newcomer, as one of the staff gestured him to sit in a chair beside the desk while he waited to be seen. He stretched his long legs in front of him, chatting amiably to the nurse who’d supplied him with the chair.

  ‘I’m really sorry to bother you, ma’am,’ she said in a hushed voice, ‘but a journalist by the name of Danny Ray is at the nurses’ station making enquiries about Wilkie Connor’s whereabouts, and he has informed them that you’ve given him permission to see him and take pictures?’

  Charley felt parts of her body tingling. ‘No one has my permission to take pictures of DC Connor without his permission. Do I make myself clear?’

  ‘Yes, ma’am.’

  ‘And Susan…’

  ‘Yes, ma’am?’

  ‘Would you do me a favour? When you get back to the office, come and see me.’

  ‘I will, ma’am,’ she said.

  Charley was sitting with her office door open, looking at the telephone receiver in her hand, when Mike walked in. ‘What an utter bastard,’ she said, shaking her head in disbelief.

  Mike ignored the expletives, but stood waiting in anticipation of an explanation.

  ‘That prize pillock has only gone to the hospital and told the staff that I said he could take pictures of Wilkie! Luckily the police officer on security wasn’t naïve enough to allow him to without asking me first.’

  A glimpse of a smile crossed his face. ‘You can’t blame him for trying.’

  ‘Can’t I?’ she said, angrily. ‘We tell him nothing from now on, do you understand? And I’ll have a word with Connie.’ Charley’s nose flared at the nostrils. The thought of Danny sitting at the nurses’ station, chatting them up and looking like butter wouldn’t melt, made her stomach churn. That cool, polished exterior hid a squirming wormfest of nastiness that could be unleashed at a moment’s notice.

  Mike looked at her in exasperation. ‘What did you once tell me? Don’t let things get personal: it blurs your vision?’

  Danny Ray confidently approached PC Vine, who continued to sit, as ordered, in the chair outside Wilkie Connor’s room. She stood to block his entrance. He looked into her expressionless eyes, a self-assured smile forming on his lips, as he spoke confidently to the young woman.

  ‘OK, darling. I’m here to take the pictures. You’ll have seen me before. I’m from the Chronicle, you don’t need to worry your pretty little head about anything,’ he said in a determined voice. ‘I’ve cleared it with Detective Inspector Charley Mann and the staff over there,’ he said, looking over his shoulder at the nurse he’d been speaking to, who was now engaged with a patient. ‘I promised her it won’t take a minute.’ His voiced lowered to a hushed tone as he tried to peer nonchalantly round her into the darkened hospital room.

  ‘Actually, it won’t take any time at all,’ she said, taking a step forward. She had taken him unawares and he stumbled backwards. Susan suppressed a smile. ‘Because you’re going nowhere near the officer.’

  ‘Come on, stop messing. Your boss, she’s an old friend of mine. I’m writing a story about your mate in there.’ He raised his eyes to the ceiling. ‘For God’s sake, love. I’m trying to do something nice here to help you guys! Let me in, will you?’

  ‘No one has permission to take photographs. I heard you talking to the nurse and I checked with DI Mann.’ Susan’s face was devoid of emotion.

  His eyes glazed over and narrowed, his face turned pale. The corridor that had been busy not two minutes ago was now empty. A shiver ran down Susan’s back.

  ‘You’re going to regret this. You’ve no idea who you’re dealing with. I’m Danny Ray,’ he declared.

  Shoulders back, heart pounding against her ribcage, Susan returned his stare. ‘I hope you’re not threatening me, sir?’ She looked down towards her belt and put her hand on her pepper spray. ‘I haven’t used this yet – this week, that is.’

  ‘Oh, I don’t make idle threats,’ he said, his words riding on a throaty laugh. ‘I’ll be seeing you.’ He turned and headed for the exit. Susan let out a sigh of relief, but, as Danny reached the door, he turned and took her photograph.

  Perplexed, but knowing that there was nothing she could do about it, she sat back down. She wasn’t about to leave her post to go after him and if that was what he’d been hoping for, then he would be sadly mistaken. She pondered his veiled threat, but she had dealt with stronger, younger, far more violent men on a weekend in the town when alcohol was in and brains out. They thought that because she was female, she wouldn’t be able to do much to protect herself. How wrong were they? Susan smiled to herself. A black belt in karate, quick on the baton and, if it was necessary, always happy to use her pepper spray, one thing Susan Vine was known for was not backing off. What a slime ball that reporter was! What was his name, Danny Ray? That wasn’t hard to remember, but in any case, she would make a note of it in her pocket book for future reference.

  The woman at the nurses’ station headed towards her with a cup of tea. ‘He loves himself, doesn’t he? A charmer if ever I saw one,’ she said.

  Susan smiled politely, took the cup and saucer from her and thanked her. ‘Just what I needed,’ she said. ‘A nice cuppa char, as my ma used to say. They come in all shapes and sizes: wolves in sheep’s clothing,’ she continued.

  The nurse frowned. ‘They do.’

  ‘And just so you’re aware, Danny Ray isn’t allowed to go anywhere near the patient for an interview, picture or anything else,’ said Susan.

  ‘Thanks for the heads up,’ said the nurse. ‘I’ll let the others know. He tried to get one of the young ones to make him a coffee, as if we have nothing better to do.’ She sniggered. ‘He wasn’t happy when she told him there’s a cafe on the ground floor.’

  Chapter 18

  Charley had arranged with her deputy SIO on the enquiries, DS Mike Blake, that she would be finishing early. It would mean he’d have to take the afternoon debrief.

  ‘A night on the tiles?’ asked Ricky-Lee. For a fleeting moment there appeared to be a knowing behind his eyes.

  ‘Can I come too?’ asked Annie, flopping dramatically onto folded arms on her desk. ‘It’s ages since I got wasted.’

  There was a softening, gentle touch about the wafting fingers of the evening breeze. Charley let herself into the busy stable yard and was greeted with the sight of Wilson at his stable door. Ears pointed forward, lips pulled back, he nibbled at Charley’s pocket as she opened the door and let herself in. ‘Fancy a hack?’ she asked as she ran her fingers through his mane.

  ‘As long as he can call at the Old Moor Cock for a crafty sweet cider!’ interjected a voice from the yard, one that she knew well.

  ‘I’m sure that can be arranged, can’t it mate?’ she said, as she forced the bit between his teeth. ‘And they’ve got tables outside, enabling me, the little short arse with a giant horse, to get back in the saddle for him to carry me home.’

  ‘As if! You’ve the longest legs I know.’ Kristine’s smile turned into a titter. ‘Amuses the locals no end when he drinks his pint, smacks his lips together and looks towards the bar as if to say, “I could do with another!”’

  ‘Good job you’re not still in the job, mate,’ Charley said fondly as she fastened the straps of Wilson’s halter. ‘It’d be a problem getting you through Huddersfield town centre with all them pubs en-route to the town ground on match days.’

  Kristine came with them through the stable yard, with Bwyan on a leash. They stopped at the gate. ‘Won’t be long now before you’re back in this saddle,’ said Charley.

  ‘I can’t wait. And I can’t wait to be back at work on the case of the little bastard who caused our Eddie to lose his life.’

  Wilson pawed the ground and lifted his head, eager to be off.

  Kristine slapped Wilson
on the rear. He never flinched. ‘This boy, thank the Lord, is bomb-proof, in fact you two make a good pair. I know you never give up and that’s why I was so glad when I knew you were coming back to help me. We will find the one who flew that drone that fateful day…’

  A sadness crossed Kristine’s face and Charley didn’t miss the stray tear her friend wiped swiftly away from her cheek.

  Her own throat clogged. A lump rose and she swallowed it down. She opened her mouth to tell Kristine about the note that Wilkie had left for her, but the last thing she wanted was to get her friend’s hopes up, when she didn’t even know if Wilkie would pull through, let alone be able to remember his proclamation that he had information about Eddie’s death.

  Just then a gust of wind whistled through the barn, carrying bits of hay and straw, twigs and leaves across the yard. A nickering sound emerged from Bwyan’s quivering lips and Kristine put the palm of her hand to his nose to soothe him. Wilson threw his head up and snorted. The women looked up at the sky as thunder rumbled in the distance. Kristine shrugged her shoulders; it was still blue. Charley took the opportunity of the distraction to change the subject. ‘Do you know Wilkie Connor, the detective that got knocked down?’

  Kristine raised her eyebrows. ‘You’re not…’

  ‘No! Nothing like that,’ Charley was quick to respond. Her grin dropped instantly from her lips. ‘I gave him a right bollocking just before it happened and now I feel terrible. In fact…’ Charley looked sheepish. ‘I gave him a “dead man’s lift”, slammed him against my office wall and threatened to punch his lights out.’

  ‘You did what?’ Kristine extracted a tissue from her pocket and wiped away the tears of laughter.

  ‘It’s not funny.’

  ‘No, it’s not funny, but what is funny is that underneath that cool, calm exterior you haven’t changed a bit from the spunky young girl that used to give the lads a run for their money and yet put out a jug of milk for the Hob if she needed a bit of luck on her side.’

  Colour rose in Charley’s cheeks. She gathered the reins in her hands.

  ‘You don’t? Tell me you don’t still reward the Hob?’ Kristine watched them ride away, a smile on her face. It was good to have her friend back. Turning Bywan’s head, she ambled down the field towards the water’s edge where a flock of ducks took off with the next loud rumble, their feet trailing as they skimmed across the lake.

  It was eight o’clock when Charley arrived at the incident room the next day, revitalised and feeling more positive than she had done in a while.

  PC Susan Vine was waiting in her office, sipping a coffee. She had one of those faces that naturally showed no emotion. When Charley walked in, she stood up. ‘I’m sorry to disturb you, ma’am, but you told me to call in and make myself known, and as I had to bring in some exhibits, I thought I might as well…’

  ‘Please. Have a seat. Any more news on Wilkie this morning?’

  ‘They’re monitoring his levels of responsiveness: eye opening, verbal response, motor response. Apparently,’ she paused, ‘he’s showing signs of having to relearn the simplest of everyday tasks which we take for granted, like how to eat, use the bathroom, brush his teeth, put on his shoes. The worst part is that he’s not talking. Not to his wife, the doctors, the nurses…’

  ‘Is he allowed visitors yet?’

  Susan’s lip curled up at one side. ‘Yes, ma’am, he is. Brief visits only. I think they’re hoping that one of us might entice him to speak.’ She looked thoughtful. ‘Danny Ray, the journalist who tried to get in to see him, he said he was a friend of yours?’

  ‘He’s no friend of mine. But as far as you’re concerned, honesty, integrity and never accepting what is said as gospel, however plausible the person telling you, are the signs of a good cop. I’m impressed. I’ll be sending a Minute Sheet to your inspector and if you ever fancy a secondment to see how you’d fare in CID, just let me know.’

  Putting in a call to Nurse Rubin, she arranged a visit to see the man himself.

  ‘Do you mind if I come with you, boss?’ requested Mike.

  An hour later the two of them had the first glimpse of Wilkie, sitting up in a chair, facing the window, his back to the door. His wife saw them looking and beckoned them in. Charley gently opened the door and left it open behind her. Fran Connor’s pale face looked towards her. Dark circles surrounded her sunken eyes. ‘I wondered when you lot’d make an appearance,’ she said, sniffling into a handkerchief. ‘Maybe you can get him to speak. He won’t talk to me, but then, what’s new?’ she said irritably.

  Rubin went down on his haunches and held her swollen hand tightly. For a moment he looked at her with deep compassion. ‘I’m sure he would if he could.’ He stood directly. ‘Tell you what,’ he said, taking hold of the handles of her wheelchair. ‘Let’s go for a nice hot chocolate with cream and marshmallows, shall we, and leave these lot to talk shop?’ At the door, Rubin navigated her wheelchair’s passage expertly. He took a deep breath and gave Charley a knowing smile.

  Mrs Connor looked suspiciously at the brown paper bag in Mike’s hand.

  ‘Grapes,’ he said, opening it and offering her the fruit.

  ‘He doesn’t like grapes,’ she said, throwing a nod in Wilkie’s direction.

  ‘Hey, don’t you be telling them that, they’ll eat them and there’ll be none left for us two,’ said Rubin.

  Mrs Connor sniggered conspiratorially.

  Alone in the room with Wilkie, Charley and Mike looked from him to each other, not sure what to do or say, so instead they sat on the bed opposite the patient. Both were startled to see Wilkie lift his head to look at them the minute the others had gone. The look, a quick frown of eagerness and fear, his eyes open wide. He opened his mouth as if to speak, but no words were forthcoming. And then his face changed. It clouded over with a kind of brittle sullenness. He sat very still staring at Mike for a moment. A flash of recognition sparked the raising of his lips at one corner when he looked up at Charley – then suddenly there was nothing but blankness in his eyes. It was as though many emotions moved within him, but not one of them could reach the surface and find an outlet. Or perhaps the emotions neutralised each other. His head jerked upwards. One hand, the right one, opened and closed its fingers with a slow, spasmodic jerkiness. The two were hopeful, but, instead of the communication they’d hoped for, his face took on a helpless frozen look and he turned once more to stare out of the window.

  ‘Please let me know if there is any change, will you?’ Mike asked Rubin when they left, pushing his contact details into the nurse’s hand.

  ‘I promise you,’ Rubin said, slipping the card into his top pocket and fastening the button to hold it secure.

  Back at the incident room Charley had a message to contact the Divisional Commander and decided to telephone him from her office, rather than put herself within arm’s reach.

  ‘Just to keep you in the loop, Inspector, I’ve got our local reporter coming to see me tomorrow. He’s after an update on how the investigation into Detective Connor’s accident is going. Have you something against Danny Ray? He tells me that you aren’t being co-operative?’

  ‘I can’t think why he would say that, sir. Myself and Detective Sergeant Blake have met with him.’ There was silence at the other end of the line, so Charley continued. ‘As it happens, we’ve also just returned from the hospital and although Wilkie Connor is now conscious and able to sit up in a chair, he is neither communicating with, nor recognising, even his nearest and dearest. As you can imagine, he has an awfully long way to go before he is fit to be interviewed by anyone, or to have his photograph taken, as Danny Ray requested. I said no. Maybe that’s what he means by being unco-operative? But I’m sure you can understand that the last thing I want is for the person responsible for his accident to be gloating over some photograph in the local rag.’ She could feel her blood pressure rising and she had to make a tremendous effort to keep a lid on her temper.

  ‘Yes, of course,’ Roper stut
tered. ‘I see where you’re coming from. Maybe if I tell Danny that I’ll arrange to go and visit the detective in a couple of days’ time, when he’s better, and then he can have a picture with me, too. That might suffice.’ He sounded pleased with the compromise he had come up with and paused.

  Charley didn’t speak.

  ‘Maybe you’d like to join us both in my office at about two p.m.?’

  Charley took a deep breath. ‘That’s very kind of you, and I’d like nothing better than to join you, but you know, I’m certain I have something already arranged.’ Charley shuffled a few papers on her desk. ‘Ah, yes, a strategy meeting with CSI regarding another batch of exhibits for forensic. Sadly, I’ll have to take a rain check on the tea and biscuits, sir.’

  ‘Ah, not to worry. Anything on the investigation side I can share with him?’ he said, with more than a little hope in his voice.

  ‘No, sorry. Nothing, as yet. We are still appealing for anyone with information to contact us, though. The vehicle involved in hitting Wilkie must have some bodywork damage. Maybe he could appeal for information?’

  There was a pause and Charley could hear Roper muttering to himself. ‘I’ve made a note. Right, I’ll ask my secretary to get hold of our press photographer to arrange a meet at the hospital as and when the detective is feeling better.’

  ‘The detective’s name is Wilkie Connor,’ she muttered between gritted teeth as she put the phone down. It rang instantly. She picked up. ‘Charley Mann,’ she snapped.

  A hushed voice came over the line. So hushed, she could barely hear the man on the other end of the phone. ‘It’s Rubin. I promised I’d let you know if anything changed. He’s had a seizure. He’s on his way to theatre. I’ll update you as soon as I can.’ There was a click and the phone went dead.