Ask Me No Questions Page 5

  There had been other women, of course. All through his twenties he’d met women, slept with women; nice women, but nothing about them ever stuck. Something always stopped him getting too close. It was hard to form a connection with someone new when your heart belonged to the girl that had known you all your life.

  And now she was back, and had been for a while. She’d been home but she hadn’t got in touch. Not one call, not one visit. He felt the rejection like a blow, almost physically winding him every time he thought about it. She had made it clear what she thought about him now.

  He needed to forget about Gabi. Perhaps this was what he needed to end his obsession for good. But something in Harry knew: this wasn’t it. This wasn’t how their story would end.

  Tuesday

  9

  She could hear the rain pounding her window, the wind whipping around the house. It was dark, and Kate pushed herself up on her pillow to get a glimpse of the clock – 5.38 a.m., twenty minutes before it was due to wake her up. She felt rough: her stomach acidic and her hands shaky. That damn wine, she thought.

  She raised herself up out of the warmth of her duvet and wrapped her arms around herself. It was too sodding cold and too sodding wet; she was almost tempted to go back to bed and sod them all. But she had work to do and a case to solve. The sooner she could work out what had happened to Gabriella Patterson, the sooner she could get some sleep. And a social life. Hey, maybe even a boyfriend.

  Showered and dressed, she headed to the police station, her route taking her past the hospital. She hesitated, then indicated left and pulled down the side roads. They hadn’t been able to track down the doctor yesterday, and it was starting to get on Kate’s nerves. They needed to know more about what had happened to Gabriella.

  She showed her identification as she arrived, the nurse on duty greeting her with a welcoming smile.

  ‘Is Doctor Riley around?’ Kate asked as nicely as she could, which, given the time in the morning and the fact she hadn’t yet had a coffee, wasn’t very.

  ‘I’ll page him,’ the nurse said.

  Kate loitered round the reception desk, absent-mindedly tapping on her phone.

  ‘How can I help?’

  ‘Doctor Riley?’ The man nodded and Kate held out her hand. ‘DS Kate Munro.’

  ‘I’ve been expecting you. Sorry I haven’t returned your calls; it’s been a manic few days.’ Doctor Riley was tall and slim with thinning grey hair and long fingers. He looked tired but moved with a bright spring in his step, energetic and wiry. Kate would have put his age anywhere between forty-five and sixty – it was that hard to tell. He gestured to the small office next to the reception desk and closed the door behind them.

  She got out her notebook, pen poised. ‘What more can you tell me about Gabriella’s injuries?’ she asked.

  The doctor got straight to the point. ‘As you already know, Gabriella sustained serious head trauma when she was hit on Saturday night. She was knocked unconscious and suffered severe hypothermia.’ He glanced at the chart in his hand. ‘Now we’ve had a chance to properly examine her, as well as the head injuries she has a large amount of bruising on the outside of her right forearm and wrist, as well as a fractured proximal and middle phalanx on both her right ring finger and little finger.’ He pointed to the middle and top of his fingers. ‘Here.’

  ‘Caused by?’ Kate asked.

  ‘That’s not for me to say.’

  ‘But if you were pushed?’

  The doctor smiled. ‘Don’t quote me on this, but in my experience you only get injuries like those when someone’s put up a bit of a fight.’ He lifted his left hand and mimed a strike down on Kate’s head. Slowly, she put up her right hand to defend herself.

  ‘Defensive injuries. Consistent with her attacker being left-handed?’ Kate asked.

  The doctor nodded. ‘In my opinion.’

  ‘Was there any evidence of sexual assault?’

  ‘We did an Early Evidence Kit and full work-up as soon as you obtained consent from the sister. Your SOCO took that away yesterday with her clothes, but was she sexually assaulted? Can’t say.’ Kate went to say something and he stopped her. ‘Even if I was pushed.’ He smiled apologetically. ‘These things are impossible to distinguish from medical evidence alone – there was nothing I could find that would indicate it one way or another.’ His bleeper went off at his waist and Doctor Riley pulled it off to look at it. ‘Sorry, I’m going to have to go. Duty calls.’

  ‘How’s she doing now?’

  He paused, one hand on the door. ‘Better. We’re gradually reducing the sedation and hoping she’ll respond positively. Time will tell,’ he said cryptically, and rushed out, back into the hubbub of the main hospital.

  Kate went to leave, then paused, looking down the corridor towards the room where she knew Gabriella lay. Kate herself had never been to visit, and she was curious about the girl she had seen in the photographs.

  Visiting time hadn’t yet kicked in, so she was surprised to see a hunched figure by the bedside.

  ‘Can I help you?’ she said. He turned and stood up, towering above her, dressed in a smart shirt and tie, the blue bringing out the sparkle in his eyes. He held out his hand and smiled.

  ‘Harry Becker,’ he said.

  ‘Detective Sergeant Kate Munro,’ she replied, shaking his hand and matching his firm grip. His name triggered a moment of recognition somewhere in her brain, but she couldn’t think where from. She’d certainly never seen him before. She would have remembered that.

  ‘You must be the copper Thea was telling me about.’

  ‘Must I?’

  ‘Confident, woman in charge, working on Gabriella’s case, otherwise why would you be here?’ He paused. ‘Pretty. That’s how Thea described you.’ He looked at her closely. ‘Sounds about right.’

  Kate was caught off guard. She could feel her face becoming red, and she pulled at the collar of her shirt. ‘If you say so,’ she said gruffly, and turned away to look at Gabriella. ‘The doctor said she was doing better?’

  ‘Apparently so. Not that you can tell. The nurse said they want to take her for a scan today and have another look.’

  ‘Right. And how did you get in this morning before visiting hours?’

  Harry smiled again – a disarming grin that Kate could see would make women go weak at the knees. Not her though, no – certainly not her. ‘I’m family. Nurses thought it would be okay to make an exception.’

  ‘Except you’re not, are you?’

  He looked away and sat back down on the chair next to Gabriella. ‘As good as,’ he said, and turned away from Kate, dismissing her.

  Kate frowned at his back. She looked at the bed where Gabriella lay mute, then marched away down the corridor. At the end, she glanced back: Harry had turned and was watching her through the doorway. He waved, a sarcastic flick of the fingers, and she scowled in response.

  ‘Arrogant prick,’ she muttered to herself as she rushed back to the car park, her cheeks red and back sweaty.

  She drove to the police station in a shitty mood, made worse by forgetting to pick up a coffee on the way out of the hospital, distracted by bloody Harry whatever his name was. She had encountered enough overconfident men in her time and was annoyed with herself for letting this one get to her.

  Yates and Briggs regarded her cautiously as she threw her coat and bag down at her desk.

  ‘Good night?’ Briggs asked.

  ‘Just been to the hospital. I managed to see the doc.’

  Kate started writing on the whiteboard, listing the injuries Gabriella had sustained. Head injury/brain damage, bruising to right arm/wrist/fractured fingers. Caused by left-handed attacker?

  Briggs watched her as she wrote. ‘The nurses phoned this morning, said the brother was there again – did you see him?’

  ‘Yes, I met him, supercilious bastard. And stop calling him the brother. They’re not related.’

  Briggs stood next to her in front of the board, running
his finger across the wide blank space where the list of suspects should have been. The big white void made Kate feel shit. Day three and nothing concrete – it was crappy progress, by anyone’s standards.

  ‘So who is he then?’ Briggs asked.

  ‘Harry something. Began with B. Why don’t you find out?’ Kate barked, and then regretted it. ‘Thanks, Jamie,’ she added, more gently.

  Briggs slouched down at the computer and typed for a bit, clicking round articles and photos as Kate watched. ‘There,’ she said, pointing at the screen. ‘That’s him.’

  ‘Harry Becker,’ Briggs read out. ‘Son of Harrison Becker, currently in prison serving life for double homicide. Whoa!’ He looked up at Kate. ‘Did you know this?’

  So that was where she recognised his name. She nodded. ‘It was a massive case about fifteen years ago.’

  ‘Do we think it’s linked to our attack?’ Briggs asked. He leaned closer to the screen, studying Harry’s face. ‘Pretty hot, if you like that sort of thing,’ he said.

  Yates looked up for the first time that morning and Briggs pointed to the computer. ‘Hmm, not my type, too good-looking.’

  ‘Too good-looking? Is there such a thing?’ Briggs asked.

  ‘Oh yes,’ Yates and Kate replied simultaneously. ‘Especially if he knows it, like this guy,’ Kate added.

  ‘Pity,’ Briggs muttered. ‘Perhaps I’ll have him then.’

  Kate looked at the blank board and thought about the list of possibles, growing by the day. Thea Patterson, Steve Morgan and now Harry Becker. They needed to do something to actually stick some evidence and motives next to these people, she thought, rather than working off speculation.

  ‘Jamie, could you take a look at the rest of the CCTV from the street?’ she asked, suddenly remembering her viewing the night before, distracted by everything that had happened at the hospital. She pulled her laptop out of her bag and typed in her password; Briggs took the computer and settled down to look.

  Kate heard the phone ring and watched as Yates answered it. She spoke for a moment, then waved the handset in Kate’s direction.

  ‘Front desk,’ she called. ‘A guy called Ryan Holmes is here to see you. Says he has the CCTV from the club.’

  Kate raised her eyebrows. ‘Tell them to put him in an interview room,’ she said, eager to make the most of the opportunity. ‘Let’s have a little chat with Mr Holmes.’

  After meeting Steve Morgan, Ryan Holmes wasn’t at all what Kate had expected. He was dressed casually in jeans, trainers and a creased shirt. He pushed his glasses up on his nose as Kate and Yates came into the interview room, then stood up and offered his hand. They made their introductions and sat down opposite him.

  ‘I’m a little surprised to be in here,’ he said. He was well spoken; he matched their eye contact without hesitation.

  ‘How well did you know Gabriella Patterson?’ Kate asked.

  He took a deep breath in. ‘We were dating,’ he said.

  Yates nodded. ‘We heard,’ she said, and Ryan looked surprised. ‘Your boss mentioned it,’ she added.

  ‘My boss? You mean Steve?’ Ryan chuckled. ‘He’s not my boss. We own Heaven together. Equal partners.’

  ‘And how long had you been with Gabriella?’ Kate asked, keen to get back to the topic.

  ‘Not long, about two weeks?’ He took off his glasses, wiping them on his shirtsleeve. ‘I’ve known her since she worked at the club, but it’s only been the past fortnight that anything happened.’

  ‘Tell us about her,’ Kate asked, curious. There wasn’t much Kate had heard about Gabriella that sounded like girlfriend material. ‘What’s she like? As a person? Paint us a picture.’

  Ryan Holmes frowned and pushed his glasses back up his nose. ‘Gabriella’s a bit of a free spirit. When she first started working for us, she was hard to get to know. She was carefree, chatty, but you always got the feeling she was playing a game. Showing the side of her she wanted you to see, nothing else. I’d see her around at the club, having fun with various guys, and I liked her, but I prefer relationships a little more, I don’t know, straightforward.’ He smiled. ‘The party girls, well, they’re more Steve’s type.’ He stopped and Kate waited, holding the silence to encourage him to carry on.

  ‘So what changed?’ Yates asked, when he wasn’t forthcoming.

  ‘I don’t know. A few weeks ago she showed up and she seemed quieter, more introspective.’ Ryan Holmes carried on, his voice considered. ‘She was just …’ He shrugged. ‘Nicer. We had a proper conversation. We got on. I looked forward to seeing her again.’

  ‘You slept with her?’ Kate said.

  Ryan’s face hardened at the personal question. ‘Yes,’ he replied, after a pause.

  ‘On Saturday night?’

  ‘No. The week before.’

  ‘Do you think you were the only person she was seeing?’ Kate asked.

  Ryan shook his head. ‘I’m not so stupid as to think she didn’t have other men around. In fact I know she did. One confronted me about her. Dark, brooding type. Said he was her husband.’

  Yates started next to her and Kate gave her a look.

  ‘What happened?’

  ‘Not much. He came up to me outside the club, while Gabriella was still inside. Asked who I was, what I was doing with her. I told him to back off, then Frank – the bouncer – came over and that was it. Guess he wasn’t up for a fight about it. Haven’t seen him since.’

  ‘And when was this?’

  ‘About a week ago? You can probably find it on the CCTV – I’ve included about a week’s worth for you.’ He patted the package in front of him on the desk.

  Kate looked to her left and saw Yates write HUSBAND??? in big black letters on the notepad in front of her. ‘So what happened Saturday night?’

  ‘I was at the club, with Gabriella. We hung out for a bit, but then I started to feel a bit rough so I went to lie down in the office. Must have eaten something funny because next thing I know it’s morning and I’ve spent the night on the sofa.’ He looked at his hands and two red spots appeared on his cheeks.

  ‘That’s it? You just hung out a bit?’ Kate said, echoing his words.

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Can anyone corroborate your story? Is it on CCTV?’

  ‘No, sorry,’ he said, quickly. ‘But Steve saw me, he could probably tell you.’

  ‘And Steve? Where was he?’

  ‘As far as I know, at the club.’ Ryan looked at his watch. ‘Can I go now? I’ve got a busy day and I wasn’t expecting to get dragged into an interview room.’ He got up from his chair abruptly and waited for Kate to respond.

  Kate smiled and stood up. ‘Yes, thank you Mr Holmes, you’ve been very helpful.’

  ‘Ryan, please.’ Kate shook his hand again. It was slightly sweaty.

  Kate and Yates watched him go down the corridor, escorted out by a uniform. She weighed up the brown envelope in her hand, then opened it and peered inside. There must have been more than fifteen DVDs in there, all unlabelled, all probably containing hours of CCTV footage from the club.

  ‘That’s going to keep us busy,’ Yates muttered, looking at it.

  ‘That, and finding this elusive husband,’ Kate said, shaking her head. ‘How the hell did we miss that?’

  ‘He can’t have been happy his wife was having an affair.’

  ‘No. Not at all, I would imagine. But angry enough to bash her over the head?’

  ‘If my husband had an affair, I’d kill him,’ Yates said, darkly, turning to walk back to the ops room. Kate followed her.

  Plenty of people would, she thought. Plenty of people had. Jealousy and anger were a dangerous mix, and she knew many husbands attacked their wives for a lot less than sleeping around.

  But had this one? And, more to the point, who the hell was he?

  10

  Thea wrestled with her duvet, twisting over to her back and staring at the ceiling in frustration. The hands on the clock pointed to the left; it was late,
quarter to ten in the morning, but she felt like she hadn’t had a moment of sleep.

  She thought about her sister, lying in the hospital. She thought about the machines, the doctors keeping her alive. What if she died? What then? She wasn’t sure she had the strength to bury another member of her family. And what if she did wake up? What if she had brain damage and she wasn’t the same person she had been before? Her head whirred with the possibilities and questions, none of which she could answer. She felt guilty for forcing them to be apart all these years; she should have looked after her, she was her twin. Nothing should have been more important than that. Nothing, except … except …

  With a cry of annoyance, she climbed out of bed, pulling her woollen cardigan over her pyjamas and stumbling down the stairs. She clicked the kettle on and put a tea bag into her mug, contemplating breakfast while her eyes itched and her body tried to persuade her to go back to bed.

  Around her she could feel the house spring into life as the heating woke the walls and resurrected old smells. It had a life of its own, this house; she hated it and loved it at the same time.

  She hated the cold and the draughts; she hated the gates that banged on their hinges, the cupboard doors that fell off, the window frames where the wind rushed through. She hated the history that permeated its bones; the memories that assaulted her when she least expected it.

  But she had loved it once. It was family; it was a part of her childhood. The front door creaked as it opened, releasing the smell of old wood and varnish as you went inside. The worn rugs, the bare floorboards, the beams across the low ceilings. She smiled at the memory of the secret cupboards and passageways, once an adventure playground for the twins and Harry.

  This was a house of browns and blacks, dirty white and faded colours. It was a house of smashed glass and betrayal, of withheld emotion and false smiles. It was the house where she grew up and where, incomprehensibly, she was now stuck.