‘What about food – shopping? Do you do that too?’
‘When they took his driving licence away I got a local elderly charity to organize him a regular supermarket delivery. That was about eighteen months ago. There’s a standing order back to his bank account. He has plenty of money. Well, not “plenty” perhaps, but enough.’
‘Why doesn’t he move out? That house must be worth a fortune. Even in that state.’
Ross makes a face. ‘The tosser next door paid over three million. But Bill refuses to go into a home. Even though his arthritis has got worse the last month or so, and the doctor’s going to put him on medication for the Alzheimer’s and he’ll need to be monitored to make sure he’s taking it properly. There’s no way I can do that. If he stays in that house on his own it’s only a matter of time before there’s some sort of an accident. Like I said, he’s already burned himself once.’
‘Did he know you wanted him to move?’
Derek takes a deep breath. ‘Yes, he did. I sat down with him about six weeks ago and tried to explain it all. I’m afraid he didn’t take it at all well. He got violent – started yelling at me, throwing things. So I backed off. I was planning to talk to him again this week. A place has just become available at Newstead House, in Witney. It’s one of the better ones. But God only knows what’s going to happen now.’
There’s a pause. He finishes his water. I pour him more.
‘Has it occurred to you,’ I say, carefully, ‘that one reason why he didn’t want to move is because of the girl?’
Ross’s face goes white and he puts the water down.
‘He couldn’t leave that house with her still there, because she’d be found. And he couldn’t let her go, for exactly the same reason.’
‘So what was he going to do?’
I shrug. ‘I don’t know. I was hoping you might –’
There’s a commotion suddenly, in the corridor outside, and Gislingham bangs the door open.
‘Boss,’ he says, ‘I think –’
But I’m already pushing past him.
In the room next door, two constables are trying to restrain Harper. It’s scarcely believable it’s the same man – he’s clawing at their faces, kicking out, yelling at a female officer.
‘Cunt!’
The woman is visibly shaken. And I know her – she’s no rookie. There’s a scratch on her cheek and the front of her uniform is soaked.
‘I just gave him a cup of tea,’ she stammers. ‘He said it was too hot – that I was trying to burn him – I wasn’t – really, I wasn’t –’
‘I know. Look, go and sit down for a bit. And get someone to look at that cut.’
Her hand goes to her face. ‘I didn’t even realize –’
‘I think it’s just a scratch. But get it looked at anyway.’
She nods, and as I follow her out of the room, Harper lurches at her again. ‘Cunt! It’s her you should be arresting, you moron – tried to fucking scald me. Evil cow!’
*
Ross is staring at the screen when I go back next door, and I stand there for a moment, watching him watching.
‘So which is the real Bill Harper?’ I ask at last. ‘The one who was cowering like a frightened child or the one who just attacked one of my officers?’
Ross shakes his head. ‘It’s the disease. That’s what it does.’
‘Perhaps. Or perhaps all the disease is doing is breaking down the self-control he used to have. Perhaps he always was angry but he didn’t let it get out of hand. He knew how to manage it. Hide it, even.’
Ross had turned to look at me, but suddenly he’s not meeting my gaze. There’s something going on here – something he’s not telling me.
I let the silence lengthen. Then take a step closer. ‘What is it, Derek?’
He glances at me, then away. His face is flushed.
‘What else is William Harper hiding?’
***
At the John Radcliffe hospital, DC Verity Everett has been waiting for over two hours. Most people hate hospitals, but she trained as a nurse before switching to the police, and places like this never unnerve her. She actually finds the atmosphere rather comforting – even in an emergency, people here know what they’re supposed to do, where they’re supposed to be. The white coats, the white noise, it’s all strangely soothing. And what with the slightly overheated corridor and how badly she’s been sleeping lately, it’s no surprise she’s struggling to stay awake, even on the hard plastic chair. In fact, she must have been nodding because the touch on her arm lurches her head backwards and she jolts upright.
‘DC Everett?’
She opens her eyes. The doctor’s face is kind. Concerned.
‘Are you OK?’
She shakes herself awake. Her neck is aching.
‘Yes, I’m fine. Sorry. Must have dozed off for a minute.’
The doctor smiles. He’s very good-looking. Think Idris Elba with a stethoscope.
‘Rather more than a minute, I think. But there was no reason to disturb you.’
‘How is she?’
‘I don’t have much news, I’m afraid. As the paramedics suspected, she’s badly dehydrated and very undernourished. I don’t think there’s anything else seriously wrong, but she became very distressed earlier, so we decided not to do a full examination just yet. It might do more harm than good at this stage. We sedated her, so she can sleep.’
Everett gets up stiffly from the plastic chair and walks the few steps to the window giving on to the girl’s room. She feels about a hundred years old. In the room beyond the glass, the girl is lying still on the bed, her long dark hair tangled across the pillow and the blanket clutched in her hand. There are deep shadows round her eyes and her features have shrunk against the bone, but Everett can tell she was pretty. Is pretty.
‘And the boy?’ she asks, turning back to the doctor.
‘The paediatrician is with him now. As far as we can tell he’s in surprisingly good shape. Considering.’
Everett looks back at the girl. ‘Did she say anything? A name? How long she’d been there? Anything at all?’
He shakes his head. ‘Sorry.’
‘When will I be able to talk to her? It’s really important.’
‘I know. But my patient’s well-being has to be my first priority. We’re just going to have to wait.’
‘But she’s going to be all right?’
He comes to the window and looks at Everett’s anxious face. ‘To be honest, it’s her mental health I’m more worried about. After what that girl’s been through, sleep is the best thing she can possibly have. After that, well, we’ll just have to see.’
***
‘Derek – talk to me – if there’s something you saw, something that could help us –’
He glances up at me. He’s gripping the cup so hard the plastic suddenly snaps. Water lurches over his hands and down his trousers.
‘OK,’ he says eventually, wiping himself down. ‘It was about six months ago. December, I think. One of the neighbours said she’d seen him in the street with only his slippers so I had a look round to see if I could find his shoes. He’d started losing things, putting them down and forgetting where they were – I assumed they were probably under the bed.’
‘And were they?’
He shakes his head. ‘No. But I did find a box. Magazines, mostly.’
I don’t need a hint. ‘Porn?’
He hesitates, then nods. ‘Hard stuff. Bondage. SM. Torture. Or at least that’s what it looked like. I wasn’t exactly poring over it.’
Читать дальше