The Glass Wall (13 page)

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Authors: Clare Curzon

BOOK: The Glass Wall
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It was recall of the white, dead face that condemned her. Micky hadn't deserved to end as he did, and from the first she'd recognized him as vulnerable. She'd felt shame, staring down at the sodden flesh already puffed from immersion, that she had forgotten the little brown mole at the corner of his mouth. If she'd had to describe him it would have escaped her. But she recognized it again in death, an inch to the right of the sharply sculpted gutter with its childlike up-tilt above cupid's-bow lips.
Within hours she would have to face his parents in their grief, and she hated what she must tell them.
Someone should pay for this. Herself, yes, but she hadn't been the one who'd made the decision and acted on it, taking the young life as if it had no worth. If that was Allbright – and she was more than half convinced that he was at least involved – then he should be pursued until he had nowhere to run, and prosecuted as heartlessly as he'd used the boy. Even then she'd not have atoned for it herself.
 
Towards the end of her shift Alyson Orme caught herself clock-watching. She'd been uncomfortably conscious of Bernice's raised eyebrows as she folded the blue silk dress into her locker together with the evening shoes. ‘A night out with the girls,' she'd lied.
‘Good for you. It's more than time you broke out. All work and no play makes Jacqueline a right old fart.'
‘Thanks, I'll take that to heart!'
And when it came to a little short of 8 p.m. Bernice nodded to her to get going. She changed quickly then rang through to the penthouse. Ramón was already there and answered calmly. Emily was fine, he assured her. She seemed to have enjoyed the pureed rice and apple for her supper.
There was sleet on the wind as Alyson ran out huddled in her overcoat, and she felt the shock of puddled mush strike through the toes of her kitten-heeled shoes. But a flash of headlights showed Keith already waiting. He drove across the car park and flung the passenger door wide. The car was warm inside. The scent of his sharp aftershave blended with the pine air-freshener that dangled over the windscreen making her think of retsina and tossed Greek salad.
‘I can't quite believe this,' he said, smiling into her eyes as she got in.
‘Nor can I actually.' Then she laughed, leaned over and pinched his arm hard through the cloth of his jacket. ‘But feel that! It's real.'
Immediately her earlier nervousness was gone. She had feared they would have nothing to say, both tongue-tied by the enormity of what they were doing, both so over-inhibited by a long-established sense of duty. But it was going to be all right. They should feel no disloyalty to anyone from an evening spent in each other's company. Good friends; simply that. Nothing must be allowed to spoil these special hours together.
 
Superintendent Yeadings confirmed that DI Salmon would be running the general enquiry into Micky Kane's death. Even before it was officially declared as unlawful killing he was making arrangements for setting up an Incident Room.
The facts they had so far were few enough. That morning, fifteen minutes before the police had been alerted, a pair of scullers from the college had seen the body lying face down under a few inches of water at the river's edge, as they went down to drop their shell in. The leather coat had weighed Micky down as the bulky trousers became snagged on a submerged tree root. The brutally crushed back of his head had floated, just visible beneath the surface like some grotesque Halloween mask.
A dog being walked on the towpath was attracted by the scullers' sudden interest, barked and threatened to plunge in after the body. Its woman owner recoiled, retching and, when her shuddering had steadied, rang the police on her mobile phone. All three witnesses had been driven to the nick to give an account of what they'd seen. Not a lot to work on, but it was a start.
Prof Littlejohn had already agreed a time for the post mortem. In the meantime they had Z's information on the boy to interpolate.
 
At a few minutes before midnight Alyson had been decanted from Keith's car at her door. He came round to steady her stepping down, clutching her coat about her with both hands. They had already thanked each other and there was nothing left to say. Just a quick pressure on her upper arms and then he watched her key in the number to gain entry to the building. She looked back before disappearing behind the smoked glass of the double doors. He put the car in gear to draw away.
He looked at his wristwatch. She was on time to relieve Ramón as arranged.
In the apartment all was still. Ramón stood up and padded out from the kitchen as he heard her come in, dropping her keys on the hall table by the ebony carving of the Three Monkeys.
He gave a slight bow, his flat face impassive as ever. ‘All is well here,' he told her in a way that sounded old-fashioned.
‘Of course it is.' She gave him a brilliant smile. ‘That's neither less nor more than I'd expected. Thank you so much for stepping in like that at such short notice.'
‘It happened that I was free. Perhaps I can be of use again.'
Alyson doubted there would be a need. Certainly no repetition of tonight, since Audrey Stanford would be going home in two days. But Ramón deserved encouraging. Now that she'd broken out once, perhaps she'd really organize a night on the town for the girls. Some of the nurses she saw in the canteen were worth knowing better. It wasn't good that they should see her as aloof.
‘Perhaps,' she told him. ‘Well, goodnight.'
She saw him out, then went, still in her overcoat, to look in on Emily who was sleeping with a little smile on her face. Alyson
bent to kiss her forehead. ‘Goodnight, Great-aunt. Sweet dreams.'
She didn't feel ready for bed herself, still too wound up by the excitement of the evening. Instead she poured herself fruit juice and went to drink it in the dark by the glass wall. Below, the town's guardian orange lights burned on. The occasional home-going car swept round the main island and disappeared between shadowed buildings.
Everything was normal, secure in a very wonderful world.
On Monday 4th February the Major Crimes team met early to discuss the death of Micky Kane. Computer printouts were already available covering the paperwork. A note from uniform branch on finding him slumped unconscious led to Zyczynski's report on his stay in hospital and was joined by versions of the body's riverbank retrieval from DI Salmon and DS Beaumont. The hospital had not, as yet, issued an official analysis of drugs the boy had originally ingested nor anything regarding his treatment there and state of health at the time he discharged himself. Superintendent Yeadings understood that an internal inquiry was being held to decide responsibility for his escape, also theft of clothing from an aggrieved patient undergoing X-ray treatment.
‘Bloody careless. They've a lot to answer for,' DI Salmon declared sourly. ‘Patients have a right to expect due care and vigilance once they're taken in.'
Yeadings wasn't going to let him get away with that. ‘You'll find the hospital's responsibility ends when a patient discharges himself, with or without signing the disclaimer. Anything before that remains at present an internal matter and will not affect the conduct of our investigation. It's much to be regretted that the boy's decision resulted in his death.
‘Uniform branch are calling house-to-house between the hospital and where the body was found. River Conservancy experts are to report on the most likely point the body would have been dropped in, but we shan't get far with their results until we have some idea of the time scan. Micky was reported missing from the hospital at 5.15 p.m. on Saturday, but that wasn't until corridors and nearby wards had already been searched. Their Security notified us at 5.40, by which time it was dark and the streets were filling with Saturday shoppers going home. From then until those scullers spotted him in the river yesterday morning, we have no witnesses, and so far no official time of death or estimated duration of being in the water. Merely the assumption that he was killed between dusk and dawn.
‘There's a backlog of cases at the mortuary, due to the severe
weather and a traffic pile-up on the M40 near Holtspur, but Professor Littlejohn will come in for this one himself. The first slot he can make is this afternoon at 3 p.m. Meanwhile DS Zyczynski, with a WPC, will be speaking to the boy's parents.'
‘I'll go with her myself,' Salmon overrode abruptly.
There was a short embarrassed silence. Discretion and gentleness were not among the DI's notable talents. Yeadings intervened. ‘I have another enquiry that's more pressing,' he said firmly. ‘This debit card connection with the man Allbright. He needs to be kept uneasy. Take Beaumont and go over all the points of his story. He implies he knows nothing of the boy, so drop in the name Micky when he's least expecting it.'
‘Do a Colombo,' said Beaumont brightly. ‘Flasher's raincoat and all.'
‘I've been to see him,' Z admitted. ‘I'd come across his name from Uniform. As reported, his debit card was found in Micky's clothing when he was picked up unconscious. Apart from the card the boy had only a ten pound note and some silver on him. But the note was freshly issued. It could have been straight from a cash machine. When the card was returned to Allbright he checked his balance and claimed fifty pounds were missing. He took it very calmly.' She gave them the man's explanation of where and how he thought it had been lost.
‘Your Micky Kane was a little thief,' Salmon said with a curl of the lip that implied the world wasn't worse off without him.
‘What DS Zyczynski is questioning,' said Yeadings, already informed on the matter, ‘is whether and how the boy acquired access to the bank's cashpoint. Either Micky had Allbright with him to key in the number – in which case the man would surely have retained the card; or Allbright had lent him the card and told him the number. In either case the man had a part in the boy's recent actions. He must come into the frame, if we find this is a murder case. We have to query every statement he makes.'
‘There's something else,' Z went on . ‘When I saw Allbright it was ostensibly to check he was satisfied with police handling of his loss. I did mention it was curious the boy had happened on the right access number, and he flashed the excuse he'd written it
down, and the paper could have been along with the card in his jacket.'
‘So the boy had picked his pocket for both?'
‘If indeed Micky was a thief. Allbright had previously claimed he'd dropped the card, but the idea of theft seemed a quite acceptable alternative to him. Yet he still didn't want Micky charged.'
The DI appeared to be digesting this. ‘Where's your report on that interview?' he demanded, scowling.
‘Gone to computer. You should be getting it any time now.'
Salmon looked to Yeadings for a lead.
‘There's the matter of the key,' the superintendent reminded Z.
‘Which is still with his unclaimed possessions at the hospital, under the lining of his trainer. As we know, he escaped in clothes belonging to a male outpatient undergoing abdominal X-ray, because he couldn't get to his own in a locker at ITU. It's an unusual-looking key with a number on it, and could belong to a safety deposit box.'
‘Also Allbright's?' the DI almost shouted.
‘I wouldn't know. I thought better not to mention it to him, in case valuables were involved.'
‘So, for all we know, this boy could have been running a Fagin's kitchen business all over the town in the time he's been with us. Why haven't Uniform picked up on this? And where has he been hiding up?'
Z fell silent, treating the questions as purely hypothetical. Salmon glared challengingly round the circle of faces for inspiration.
‘Look, I'd better go and meet the boy's parents,' Zyczynski said, rising. ‘I hope to make it for the post mortem afterwards.'
 
Mr and Mrs Stephen Kane had checked in at the
Pheasant
on North Hill where the houses began to thin out, and open fields were still covered by snow of pristine whiteness. He was the branch manager of a jeweller in Wimbledon and she a General Science teacher at the secondary school there. As Z had expected, they appeared respectable and comfortably off. Their car, one of only three in the hotel car park, and not having a local registration,
was a dark blue BMW
Hilda Kane, matronly, with grey-streaked hair flopping from a loose French pleat, faced the two policewomen tight-lipped, as she might a pair of year-nine miscreants. Her husband was more clearly in shock and Z was glad she'd decided to visit their hotel rather than face them in a police station.
‘What can you tell us?' the man demanded nervously as soon as they were seated. The hotel had provided them with a small sitting room and now a waitress was bringing in a tray for coffee. Mrs Kane moved across to take over, while Z seated herself opposite and the WPC faded into the background.
‘We just can't believe it,' the man said wretchedly, walking up and down behind them. ‘Micky has never given us any trouble before.'
‘Not more than you'd expect from a young teenager,' his mother granted. ‘The usual sulks and fits of non-cooperation. He wasn't wild. Maybe a bit too quiet. All he wanted outside school was to take his dog for walks and to get into the tennis for the championships. He wasn't much of a one for football, although he had to play it, of course. He didn't belong to any gang or go out with other boys. He'd rather sit in his room and read or play with his computer.'
‘Never mind that, Mother,' said the husband. ‘Get her to tell us what happened.'
So Z explained how she had come across him in hospital after Uniform had found him collapsed in the street. ‘We won't know until later exactly what he'd taken, but they'd sorted him out and he was making good progress. I had a word or two with him myself, took in something for him to read, discovered he wasn't interested in football but more keen on model aircraft.'
Hilda Kane stared at her fiercely. ‘Did you say anything to upset him? He'd never had anything to do with the police before. He must have been petrified.'
‘I didn't tell him I was police. And he wasn't at all upset. Quite quiet and polite. With hindsight I think he was already planning how to make his escape.'
‘Wasn't that irregular? I mean, aren't you supposed to warn
people who you are before you question them?' The boy's father had stopped his padding up and down and turned to face her.
‘I wasn't questioning. I'd gone there as a friend to enquire after someone else who'd been brought in the same night. A nurse in ITU mentioned Micky and I went along to say hello. Perhaps you would like to meet her. She's warm and understanding. I think she felt sorry for him, so young and on his own. She could probably tell you more about him than I can.'
‘But he decided to run away? Again? And he was still unwell?'
‘His treatment had barely begun, as I understood it. He just bolted. We've yet to discover why.'
‘Nor why he left home in the first place,' his mother said tightly.
‘I was wondering,' Zyczynski said after a little pause. ‘When you run, it's either from something or to something. If everything seemed normal at home, maybe there was a compelling reason to go elsewhere. What had he taken with him? Did he expect to be away for some time or to get back before his absence was noticed? It was early morning when he was last seen, I believe.'
‘It was an ordinary school day. I left in my car just after eight,' Hilda Kane said. ‘I had some experiments to set up before assembly. Micky always walks, so I assume he left some half-hour later. It only takes twelve minutes.'
‘The police asked me,' her husband put in. ‘We left at the same time, at eight twenty-eight exactly.'
Of course, Z noted: a jeweller, he'd have a top-range watch and be a stickler for precison.
‘And was Micky carrying anything?'
‘His school bag. It seemed quite heavy, but then it almost always was. An open-topped duffel bag with a leather drawstring. I remember he swung it over his shoulder as he went past my car and I heard a buckle or something scratch against the bodywork. I called out for him to be careful. He stopped and turned round, and gave me such a – a funny look.'
The man's voice broke. He could hardly get the next words out. ‘That was the last I …'
‘Whatever else he had in his bag, he didn't take his clean gym
gear. Which he would have needed.' Hilda spoke sharply, as if to demonstrate she was made of sterner stuff.
‘So can we suppose he had already made up his mind to skip school, at least for that day?'
Micky's parents turned to look at each other, he wretched, she fiercely aggressive, almost accusing. Hilda nodded. Z assumed that their answer was ‘yes'.
‘One more question,' she said. ‘Was he wearing school uniform?'
‘Of course. Grey trousers and shirt; navy blazer with the school crest on its breast pocket; school tie with navy, turquoise and gold stripes; black lace-up shoes.'
Z recalled the clothes she had looked through in ITU: purple roll-neck sweater, jeans and slightly scuffed trainers. Clearly his own leisure clothes. So he had packed alternative gear and disposed of the uniform which could help identify him. Since he didn't have them or his bag when he was picked up unconscious, had they been taken off him or were they stashed away somewhere waiting for him to pick them up? Even having taken a change of clothes, it didn't mean he'd intended staying away. Getting rid of the uniform could have been simply the initial, normal gesture of freedom.
‘Can we take him home?' Stephen Kane had been steeling himself for this moment. His voice came out like a rush of air escaping a balloon.
‘I'm sorry. There are formalities …'
‘She means the post-mortem. And then I suppose there'll be an inquest. When will that be, Sergeant? Because we must decide whether to stay on or come again.' Hilda was forcing herself into organizing mode.
Z explained that a date had yet to be fixed for the inquest, also that they would be asked to attend the police station and sign a statement. But first someone would be needed for the formal identification.
There was a silence. The man said, ‘Oh God,' into his cupped hands.
‘That had better be me,' Hilda said, her voice softening. She
reached out and patted her husband's shoulder. ‘I'll do it, Dad. It'll be all right.'
 
Z sat in the rear with Mrs Kane, with the WPC at the wheel although it was Zyczynski's unmarked car. They left the man standing at the hotel window staring at them as they drove off. Hilda wore her buttoned-up look again. ‘Did Micky have any special interests?' Z asked. ‘Hobbies or career ambitions?'
There was no answer. She doubted Hilda had heard her. At last, ‘He never showed it,' the woman said almost absently, ‘but inside he must have been really upset. Rags getting run over. His dog. I should have talked to him, comforted him; but boys can be so prickly. I was afraid of …being repulsed.'

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