Nameless Kill (15 page)

“McDone. Fancy seeing you here.”

Brian looked away from the boards and saw DS Carter leaning against the closed white door of Ward 32 with her arms folded. She smiled at him, the mole above her lip the first thing Brian noticed‌—‌the first thing he always bloody noticed. Her dark hair dangled down onto her shoulders, usually tied back behind her ears.

“Carter,” Brian said, nodding as he approached the closed door of Ward 32. “You on door duty?”

Carter shrugged. “Waiting for you or your lazy deputy to get down here since about eight. Believe it or not, hospitals aren’t as entertaining as they should be.”

Brian let this comment hang in the air a little. Clearly, if Carter thought hospitals were supposed to be entertaining, she had some sort of problem.

That said, the nurses could be pretty fit.

“How’s our patient doing?” Brian peeked in through the lined glass of the window and saw Wayne Jenkins lying back against the bed, a white bandage around his head, blue pyjamas replacing his usual uniform of hoodies and trackies.

“A bit of pain,” Carter said, joining Brian as he peeked through the window. “Few broken ribs. Fractured arm, fractured leg. Just enough pain to cause him enough discomfort but keep him sane for questioning.”

“Perfect. Just how I like ‘um,” Brian said, squirting the wet, smelly disinfectant on his hands before entering Ward 32. The stench of it made his stomach hang, and the greasiness didn’t help. He struggled from clammy hands as it was, he didn’t need some stupid pointless disinfectant to make him feel even grubbier.

“You should probably remember that this isn’t technically by the book,” Carter said, stretching out the “technically.” She lowered her eyes and looked up and down the corridor. “So don’t go too hard, y’know? Just find out what you need to know and get the hell out of here before he starts reciting his rights, or something.”

Brian sniggered. “Have you seen this guy? He doesn’t even know he has any rights.”

Carter lifted her hands like she was accepting arrest. “Fair point. Be as rough as you please.”

Brian felt himself grinning. It was the warmest he’d felt all morning to be honest. Carter had a way of saying nothing particularly funny, flirty, or anything like that, and making him smile. He guessed she reminded him of someone. Someone from a long time ago.

Cassy.

He felt his cheeks flushing and brought his fingers to his lips, immediately regretting it as the bitter taste of the disinfectant on his hands seeped into his mouth.

“Where is the harbinger of doom anyway?” Carter asked, thankfully not noticing Brian’s puckering of his lips as he tried his best to eliminate the synthetic taste lingering there.

He knew who she was referring to right away, too. “I dunno. Probably in a pub somewhere. Tried calling him but can’t get through.”

“Heard you had some kind of scuffle,” Carter said. She bit her lip and raised her eyebrows. “Didn’t know you were one for rough and tumble.”

Okay, so maybe Carter didn’t
always
act completely innocently, but human beings were human beings.

“Yeah, well,” Brian said, wiping his forehead as it got hot, the heat of his body underneath his thick layers of police uniform not helping. “He can get in touch with me. Left him to sulk. He’ll get over it.”

“He better had,” Carter said. “Like a married couple, you two.”

Brian wanted to tell Carter that he wished people saw him and her that way, but fast realised it would be wholly inappropriate.

“Time’s ticking,” Carter said, raising her leather-strapped watch and tapping on the glass.

“Yeah. Right.” Brian cleared his throat. He took a lengthy breath of the Dettol stinking air and turned to the door of Ward 32, where Wayne Jenkins lay behind.

He didn’t have long, but he had time. Time to question Wayne Jenkins. Time to work out what he knew about the mystery dead girl at Avenham Park, why his semen and fingerprints were all over her, and why he’d done a runner when Brian got so close.

He had time to find out what Wayne Jenkins was hiding.

And he was perfectly capable of finding out alone.

He lowered the cold metal handle and opened the door.

He didn’t need Brad. He didn’t need anybody.

He could solve this. Just him.

Chapter Twenty Five

Wayne Jenkins looked at Brian with a resigned detachment that suggested he’d just about given up.

Ward 32‌—‌or rather, a private room for high-security patients‌—‌stunk of weed already even though Wayne had barely been in here a day. And he hadn’t brought any weed in. Well, not that Brian knew of anyway. Brian ignored the stench as well as he could and approached Wayne, keeping his shoulders back and his neck tall, acting as if he and Wayne had never met despite their chase just yesterday.

“Mr. Jenkins,” Brian said. He offered a hand to Wayne, sarcastically more than anything. Wayne was lying back in the hospital bed with his right arm in a sling. There was a bandage around his forehead too, and judging by the elevation of the blue sheets, his legs as well. He’d taken quite a hit. Quite a hit, but not hard enough to kill him.

Which, for Brian, was a godsend.

“I’d like to apologise for what happened to‌—‌”

“Just get the fuck to it,” Wayne said. He coughed as he spoke; a heavy, raspy cough, like one you did when you had a lot of mucus on your chest. “Stormin’ into my house sayin’ all this shit. Chasin’ me down a street and gettin’ me knocked over.” Wayne’s cheeks grew redder. The vein on his temple surfaced.

Brian cleared his throat. He had to do his best not to piss Wayne off, not with this opportunity he had. Sure, they’d get Wayne in an interview room and ask him questions left right and centre as soon as he was on his feet again.

But Brian was going on holiday on Saturday. It was Wednesday. Wayne might not be fit by Saturday. And Brian wanted this case now. He knew he had it. He had it right where he wanted it. He just needed to ask the right questions‌—‌the right questions that would give him the answers he wanted to hear.

Needed to hear.

Brian grabbed a blue plastic chair at the side of Wayne’s bed and screeched its metal legs across the floor, making Wayne cringe. Brian plonked himself down on it and leaned forward, placing his hands together, still greasy and alien-feeling from the smelly disinfectant. “Mr. Jenkins, my partner and I came to your house to ask a few questions about the dead girl at Avenham Park. Blonde. Hands tied up. Wearing a little pink hat, some imitation sheep’s wool rug and a nice pair of antlers. Oh, that’s right‌—‌she had traces of your semen on her too. And a fingerprint. Do you know the odds of finding a fingerprint on a dead body, Wayne?”

Wayne’s jaw shook. He lay there in the bed, mouth shut, eyes peering at Brian.

“Well I’ll tell you. The odds are high. High odds means unlikely, in case you don’t know. But yeah, a fingerprint. All the things that could rub a fingerprint away‌—‌perspiration, contact with something else, even the water we found her face down in. But this one lone fingerprint…” Brian lifted his finger and tapped his spongy temple. “One lone fingerprint right here on her temple. All yours.” He brought his hands back down to his knees. “So are you going to tell me who this girl is and why you did what you did to her?”

Wayne’s lips joined his jaw in the shaking. His eyes had welled up, tearful. Outside the room, Brian could hear a bleeping sound like a bell, repeatedly going off every five seconds, and it was getting right on his nerves.

“Wayne,” Brian said, growing agitated with a combination of the annoying bell sound and Wayne’s reluctance to talk. He edged forward in the chair, which was hard against his ass. “These are questions you’re‌—‌”

“I din’t kill ‘er,” Wayne said. His mouth sealed shut again. His lips shook.

Brian felt a twinge of recognition from Wayne in those words. Excitement seeped through his body. Right there was an admission that Wayne knew who the girl was. It was a start. And it’d come much easier than Brian had expected it to.

“Well,” Brian said, taking a few deep breaths of the weed and sweat-smelling air and composing himself. “That might be the case. And to be honest pal, I believe you. Promise. But y’see, I dunno what my mates at the station will think. The fingerprint, that’s bad. The fact it’s still on her head means you were with her pretty recently. And then the sperm…‌well. Conclusive proof right there. You’re going to have to‌—‌”

“I din’t kill ‘er,” Wayne repeated, raising his voice. Brian saw his muscles tense, the bed creaking with the shift of weight, which caused Wayne to wince.

Brian took another deep gulp of air. Leaned further forward. He could hear sounds outside the room. Footsteps. Chatting and giggling. If the nurses came in here and saw Brian like this, they’d almost definitely kick him out. He wasn’t breaking the law by being here, but questioning‌—‌harassing a patient, wasn’t standard procedure.

“Then who is she?” Brian said, more stern in his speech. He peered at Wayne in his watering eyes. “Because you’ve bullshitted me for long enough. Almost got yourself killed in the process. And believe me, if you don’t start talking, I’ll personally make sure you get a rougher ride in prison next time around. I know a few prison guards with availabilities in cells. Big blokes looking for scrawny little teddy bears to cuddle up to. How would you like it, hmm?” Brian placed a hand on Wayne’s leg, which flinched underneath the blue bedsheets. “How the fuck would you like it if someone fucked you without your consent?”

Wayne clenched his teeth together, wincing and breathing shakily as Brian applied gentle pressure to his tensing leg.

“Who is she, Wayne? You could help us. And if you did it, you can save yourself the ordeal of thinking you’re going to get away. Because you’re not. Not over my dying‌—‌”

“She was just‌—‌just some girl,” Wayne cried. Tears seeped down his cheeks. He blubbered, unrecognisable from the stubborn little shite Brian had grown so used to.

Brian nodded. Nodded and took another breath as his stomach tingled with more anticipation. Outside, he could hear the voices getting closer. The footsteps. Nurses. He didn’t have long. He had to do this. He had to make it quick.

“This girl. Who was she? Tell me, Wayne. I need to know. What was her name? Where was she‌—‌”

“I don’t‌—‌I don’t know her name,” Wayne said, eyes peering at Brian’s hand as it rested on his fractured, bony leg, ready to squeeze once more.

Brian bit his lip. Got a tang of disinfectant in his mouth again, which pissed him off just enough to warrant giving Wayne’s leg another squeeze.

Wayne let out a high-pitched squeal as Brian clenched harder.

“Her name, Wayne. Who the fuck is she and where the fuck did you‌—‌”

“I don’t fucking know her name!” Wayne shouted. “I‌—‌Please, just‌—‌arrgh!”

Brian loosened his grip on Wayne’s leg. He had him rolling around on the bed and writhing in just enough pain to get another straight answer from him. Besides, he could hear commotion outside. He could hear DS Carter’s voice muffled behind the door. Obviously the nurses were trying to get in upon hearing Wayne’s shriek.

He maybe had thirty seconds. Maybe less.

“Wayne,” Brian said, standing up and peering over Wayne as he dribbled a green blob of phlegm down his cheek. “I need to know why the fuck you did what you did to this girl. Going back to your old ways, was it? Hmm? Pick on an innocent girl and something went wrong? Well fuck you,” Brian said, his chest burning, his cheeks boiling. “But at least have the decency to‌—‌”

“Officer! Step away immediately. This is a private ward.”

The whiny sound of the nurse wasn’t enough to make Brian move. He peered down at Wayne. Peered down at Wayne’s terrified, wide-eyed face. He was so close he could smell his breath, like a rotting creature.

“Who is she, Wayne? Do yourself a favour. Do us all a favour‌—‌”

“Just some‌—‌just some whore I fucked when I was stoned. Around‌—‌around Avenham. Please. I did nothing. She‌—‌she was chained up but I did nothing. Just how I got her. We just‌—‌we just shagged and‌—‌and that’s all.”

Before Brian could process Wayne’s words, he felt hands on his back and arms, tugging him away.

“Chained up?” He added Wayne’s words up in his head. Remembered what he knew about Yemi Moya and his child slaves. But no‌—‌Yemi Moya was dead. And besides, this girl wasn’t a child. She was…

And then it clicked. Clicked hard in Brian’s head. His muscles slackened. His stomach did a flip, and he allowed himself to be escorted out of Ward 32.

The girl wasn’t a child.

But she might’ve been a child when she was abducted.

Unable to speak, unable to process the words being said to him or the jumbled mash of thoughts and theories in his head as the door to Wayne Jenkins’s room slammed shut, Brian lifted his phone out of his pocket with his shaky hand.

He needed to ring Brad. He needed Brad to know. He needed Brad to join him down at African Connection as soon as possible.

But then something struck him as he held his phone to his ear. He was outside the ward now, DS Carter in front of him.

Except she looked shocked. Concerned. And her eyes, were they…?

As the dialling tone rang and rang, Brian didn’t catch many of the words being said to him by the nurses and DS Carter and the other officers that he could place but couldn’t name.

But he did catch a few. Just a few.

“Brad’s overdosed. He’s in critical condition. Brian, Brad’s overdosed.”

Chapter Twenty Six

Brad’s ward was similar to the one Wayne Jenkins was in. Lonely. The ward to himself.

Only difference was that it didn’t reek of weed.

Oh, and Wayne Jenkins wasn’t unconscious, either, unlike Brad.

Brian stared down at Brad as he lay on the hospital bed. The first thing Brian noticed about him was just how pale and putty-like his skin looked. He was wearing a clear mask over his mouth. A machine beside him puffed oxygen through a tube that went right the way down his throat. Brian wasn’t so sure of the technicalities. Preferred to stay ignorant to this kind of stuff‌—‌the more he knew about doctors and their methods, the more their methods scared the shit out of him.