He reached the door to the bedroom and knocked gently.
‘Martin?’
No answer. Opening the door, David could see straight away that the room was empty. Turning to check the other rooms and the bathroom, David called once more.
‘Martin!’
Again there was no answer and no sign of his brother-in-law anywhere. David started to panic. Moving downstairs now, he entered the kitchen. The back door was slightly ajar. He opened it fully and entered the garden. There was still no sign of Martin. It was then David heard the low throb of a car engine coming from within the garage. Three strides and he found himself frantically trying to turn the handle of the garage door. It was locked.
‘Martin!’
He gave himself a short run-up and attempted to shoulder-barge the door open. The hinges gave only a couple of inches, and only for a split second, but it was enough to reveal the horror of what was taking place inside.
‘Shit. Martin! Martin!’
Stepping back, David kicked full-force at the door, taking it clean off its hinges.
Broderick had managed to acquire a larger room on the second floor of the police HQ. Operations would now be run from there. Somewhat grudgingly, Massetti had given the nod to continue the Bryant/Ferra investigations, as well providing a few more officers to work it. Sullivan sat listening to her boss. Calbot meanwhile was back in the office and working the phones in pursuit of Gerald Gregson. It would appear that for now, Sullivan was going to be working both cases.
‘So basically, that means it’s not Martin Tavares,’ Broderick explained to the room. ‘At least not on his own. Check and cross-check anyone who might have had a grudge against these officers, starting with the brother-in-law.’
‘David Green?’ Sullivan asked.
‘Well, he’s been as upset as anyone over this. Where does he work?’
‘At St. Bernard’s Hospital,’ Sullivan explained. ‘He’s a porter. He was there when they brought Jennifer Tavares in.’
At that moment, the door to the ops room opened and Sergeant Aldarino entered with a flushed look on his face.
‘Sorry to interrupt, sir. It’s Martin Tavares. He’s tried to kill himself.’
17
Doctor Budrani and Broderick stood in the corridor leading to the A&E Department of the hospital. Budrani exuded the air of gravitas that most doctors perfect as part of their medical training. Sullivan and Calbot stood a respectable distance away, allowing Broderick to take the brunt of the news.
‘Mr Tavares was fortunate to have been discovered when he was, Chief Inspector. A few more minutes and he would most definitely have been dead. As it is, he’s suffering from severe carbon monoxide poisoning.’
‘Can I see him?’
‘Oh no, he’s far too weak for that.’
‘But he’ll be okay?’ Broderick enquired.
‘There, uh, might be some long-term effects.’ Budrani answered.
‘Like what?’
‘Well, it’s hard to tell. Some forms of neurological or psychological abnormalities may develop. These can take time to present, so very difficult to pinpoint. He’s got age on his side, but he did fall unconscious whilst breathing the fumes, so that will increase the likelihood of developing delayed symptoms.’
‘So he’s going to be a vegetable?’
‘Oh, no, I shouldn’t say so. It’s possible that short-term memory loss, amnesia, even dementia may result. Physically speaking, there may be the possibility of some speech abnormalities due to the oxygen starvation, but it really is far too early to tell.’
‘Christ, that bad?’
‘Well, the fire service detected just over nine thousand parts per million of carbon monoxide in the cockpit of the car. Put it this way – six thousand will see you dead within twenty minutes, twelve thousand within three minutes.’
‘So his brother-in-law really did save his life at the eleventh hour.’
‘Eleventh hour, fifty-ninth minute, fifty-ninth second, if you ask me.’ Budrani concluded.
‘Tavares’ brother-in-law came in with him, apparently. Where is David Green?’
‘No idea,’ Dr Budrani replied. ‘Said he was going to contact family and friends.’
‘Right,’ said Broderick, turning to address Calbot and Sullivan. ‘Can you two...?’
Broderick realised that only Calbot now stood in attendance.
‘Where’s Sullivan?’ he questioned.
‘Probably gone for a waz, guv,’ Calbot replied crudely.
‘’Powder her nose’ would have done the job, Calbot. Humour me. I’m an old-fashioned sort of chap.’
‘If you say so, sir,’ Calbot replied hiding a smirk.
Broderick took off down the corridor.
‘Come with me,’ he ordered. ‘We need to find David Green.’
The real reason for Sullivan’s disappearance had not been a call of nature. With that evening’s impending “date” lying heavily on her mind and having asked Calbot to cover for her, she had taken the opportunity to head downstairs to pathology. The time had come to let Laytham know that, romantically speaking, things were definitely a ‘no go’.
Finding the department a little easier than on her previous attempt, she arrived at the Cutting Room. Glancing through the portholes of the door, she could see the pathologist hard at work. Tiptoeing past, she entered the professor’s office. Finding a piece of paper and a pen on his desk, Sullivan resolved to take the coward’s way out and write him a note.
‘Ah-ha. Making good your escape, Detective Sergeant Sullivan?’
Sullivan perceptibly jumped with surprise. The professor stood in the doorway wearing his full surgical gown.
‘Jesus Christ, Laytham!’ Sullivan blurted out.
‘Sorry, I certainly didn’t mean to make you jump. Is everything all right?’
Sullivan composed herself. She realised how furtive she must look, but knew she had to somehow bite the bullet.
‘Fine. I was... just leaving you a little note. I’m sorry, but I’ll probably not manage to get away tonight.’
‘Well you’ve certainly gone out of your way to tell me. A text message would have sufficed.’
‘Ah, well I was over here anyway. Thought it was the least I could do, really.’
‘Oh? Visiting the hospital?’ Laytham asked.
‘Some enquiries. About the Bryant-Ferra case.
Laytham smiled. ‘Ah, yes. I’m working on your Mrs Brooks right now. Quite a mess. Old bones fracture so easily. I’ll be finished shortly, though, if you fancy hanging around.’
‘Uh... no, I think I’d better help Chief Inspector Broderick out. Thanks all the same.’
‘Right. Well, I’ll call you tomorrow, Detective Sergeant.’
Laytham returned to the Cutting Room, leaving Sullivan to wonder why she had failed so miserably in her attempt to give the professor the brush off.
‘Mr Green’s an excellent worker, Inspector,’ the General Manager explained to Broderick as they stood in the main reception area of the hospital.
‘Hugely over-qualified, actually.’ she continued. ‘He took early retirement from the civil service and decided to devote his time to the hospital. He’s also a leading fundraiser for our building fund. The fact is, in a rather short space of time, David’s become quite indispensable.’
‘That’s very commendable,’ Broderick replied.
‘His sister’s death came as a huge shock to him, though. They were very, very close.’
‘Yes, I believe so.’ Broderick confirmed.
The manager continued.
‘I made some enquiries and his colleagues tell me they are a little concerned about him. He’s become somewhat withdrawn. To be expected, I suppose. I’ve let him know that we don’t expect him to come in to work untill he feels absolutely fully able to do so. He won’t hear of it though.’