Chapter 15
Turney looked up and saw one window illuminated from inside. He was also pleased to see from the angle of reflection of the light that the window was ajar. He climbed up a drainpipe and then looked in through the window; a uniformed officer sat across from the bed, which he could not see. A strut held the window partly open; if he could manage to lift it off without being heard, he could probably be on top of the man before he could raise the alarm. It was a chance he had to take.
He was waiting for the officer to show signs of tiredness, when Anderson came into the room. That was enough; he began to slide quietly down the drainpipe. He would have to try another time — if he ever got another chance. Then he heard a woman’s voice from above and stopped. He heaved himself up and saw that Fielding was in the room with Anderson. She was dressed in a hospital night-gown. Turney understood immediately what had happened: Anderson must have expected him and put the policewoman in the bed instead of Clarissa. He had not been as inconspicuous earlier as he had hoped.
Down on the ground, he slipped out of his outside clothing. Then, dressed in hospital greens, he went into the Private Wing through the basement and walked up the internal stairs until he was on the right floor. He looked down the corridor so that he could see the door outside of which sat a uniformed policeman. He was in time to see the three police officers come out of the room. He heard Anderson send Fielding – now dressed – and the two uniformed officers arrange a search of the grounds. Anderson then went into another room across the corridor from the first.
Now Turney knew where Clarissa was and, better still, there was no one outside her room. He walked along until he was beside her door and glanced through the glass panel set into it. Anderson had settled himself into a chair opposite to the bed half way between the door and the window. Turney appreciated his caution — he wouldn’t want to be surprised from either direction. Then Turney put on a surgeon’s facemask and crouched below the level of the window before reaching for the door handle.
The light went off almost immediately after Anderson heard the door open. Then time slowed. He wondered whether he could honestly say he recognised Turney in the half-light with a hospital mask over his face. And if he did, whether it would stand up in court. Before he could decide, he was thrown to the floor and felt the sweet smell of chloroform engulf him. It was tempting to give in to its charms but deep down he knew that Turney could not allow him to live. A jury might believe his identification. Now he had two very good reasons for fighting.
He relaxed and, because the chair was half under him, his body tipped over. Turney rolled with him and couldn’t resist the momentum as Anderson continued the roll until he was on top. Turney no longer had his weight to keep the rag in place and Anderson lent back far enough so that Turney had to stretch to reach him. Anderson knocked Turney’s arm aside and breathed in fresh air — if dry hot hospital air could ever be fresh.
Then Anderson made a grab for Turney’s mask but he shouldn’t have done so, because it gave the man time to throw a punch at his face. Anderson jerked back to ride the blow and this gave Turney the opportunity to push him aside. Turney was quickly on to his feet and Anderson felt the power of the man’s legs yet again as Turney kicked him in the ribs. But, just like last time at the house, his feet in trainers couldn’t do too much damage and Anderson rolled aside and was up on his feet as Turney launched himself. The two men landed on top of the bed and Anderson felt Clarissa squirm beneath him.
On another occasion, Anderson would have been pleased to feel signs of life coming from the woman. But the pressure of two men on top of her made him think that her revival might be short lived. He grasped Turney and rolled with him on to the floor. Turney was on top and heavier. Anderson felt the breath being squeezed from him and then felt his chin forced upwards by Turney’s head. He tried to force the man’s head away with his hands but then had to grasp Turney’s wrists as the man’s hands encircled his unguarded neck. Turney used his weight and his head to push Anderson’s chin up, so that he could dig his fingers deep into Anderson’s windpipe. Anderson began to lose hope.
Then, just as Anderson felt he was about to lose consciousness, Turney jumped up and away from him and was across the room and out of the door before he could recover. Over him stood a shape and, when he regained proper vision, he saw it was Clarissa. She fell on top of him. He helped her back to bed and called for a nurse, then he called Fielding on her mobile.
As he ran, he felt with his right hand over his left shoulder. He didn’t seem to be bleeding much, so Clarissa had not hit an artery. Turney knew that must be so otherwise he would be dead. An inch or two higher and to the right and he would have been badly hurt but luckily for him, she had only hit the muscles above his shoulder blade. It hurt but he made himself hold the scissors in place to reduce the bleeding. He wouldn’t want his own blood spattered in a trail leading from her room.
He was thinking fast. He needed time to dispose of his overalls and the scissors and dress in his normal clothes, then there’d be nothing but the wound to connect him with the hospital. That was the main problem. It would take him longer to get home than Anderson or the others, so they would be waiting for him. He had to have some story for them. He needed Amanda. He needed her to do something for him and he needed her to get away from the flat before the police got there.
But first his clothes. He changed and then bundled everything else into a green bag, levered open the door to the incinerator and placed the bag under the pile already there. His shoulder hurt but it hadn’t stiffened up yet. The adrenaline was flowing and that kept him going, even though the blood began to flow with the effort.
He phoned from a call box a hundred yards or so down the road from the hospital. She answered and he was in time: the police had not yet arrived. He had a chance but it was a slim one. She was surprised at his request but said she would do as he asked and meet him outside the gates to the cemetery. She was waiting when he got there.
She was holding the kitchen knife in her right hand and, before she could ask him anything, he got hold of her hand turned his back to her and dug the blade through his jacket and shirt into his wound. He reckoned he knew just where it was. He nearly fainted. Amanda screamed and tried to withdraw her hand from the blade but he kept a firm grip until the blade penetrated. Then he let go. He turned and saw Amanda’s horrified face before he dropped to the ground.
‘Have you got a handkerchief,’ he said, ‘I’m bleeding.’
She rummaged in her pocket and came out with a small dainty cloth. ‘That will have to do,’ he said and took the cloth and pressed it firmly below his neck with his left hand. Then he grasped her around the waist with his right arm and pulled himself upright. They walked off with him leaning towards her with his right arm around her shoulders. She staggered under his weight but steadied herself after a few strides.
‘Better put the knife in your pocket,’ he said.
She hadn’t said a word yet and Turney could see she was stunned, so he opened the pocket of her coat wide so that she could drop the knife into it. Then she spoke. ‘Why?’ she asked.
‘I wanted us to be together always,’ he said. She looked puzzled, so he went on. ‘I’ve done something bad or tried to but it was for us,’ he said.
‘What did you do?’
‘I tried to kill Clarissa.’
‘Did you succeed?’
‘No thank god,’ he said, then he staggered a little as though about to faint and Amanda took more of his weight. The trip round the cemetery back to the flat took half an hour. Anderson, Comben and Fielding were waiting for them when they arrived.
Fielding drove Amanda back to the station. Anderson wondered whether to take Turney to hospital but the man seemed lively enough, so he got Comben to take him back to the station in a police car. He didn’t want to use his BMW and have the man bleeding all the way on to his leather upholstery.
No one was to speak to them on the way and they couldn’t speak to each other. Anderson wanted this to be played by the book. He did not intend to allow Turney to get out of this.
At the station, he got the doctor to look at his wound. With a corpse, it would have been easier to discover what sort of sharp instrument had caused the wound but the doctor was more interested in stopping the bleeding than carrying out a forensic investigation. Still, Turney could hardly claim that he had cut his shoulder shaving. The blade had penetrated an inch into him. Anderson wondered what sort of story he would concoct to explain that.
Amanda seemed shaken and Anderson allowed Fielding to question her. She seemed confused and all they found out was that the blood on the knife in her pocket came from Turney. Outside the interview room, he discussed it with Fielding.
‘If she stands by him, we haven’t got enough,’ Anderson said.
Fielding looked puzzled. ‘But you saw him,’ she said, ’the two of you struggled with him.’
‘Mrs Downing is too ill to be a good witness. And my testimony will be made to look like jealousy. Remember he had a mask on all the time.’
‘I see,’ said Fielding, ’so he’ll say he had a fight with Amanda and she stabbed him. His wound had nothing to do with Mrs Downing.’
‘Quite and, if she backs his story, he’ll get away with it — probably.’
‘But you and Mrs Downing — no one will say anything.’
‘In court they will and remember Turney already suspects something happened between us. No one’s going to risk their career to dig me out of a hole.’
Fielding wondered whether to tell him that she would but maybe he wouldn’t like that. She said something different. ‘Let her go. No, even better, let’s get Lesley Rathbone to pick her up and take her home. She’ll be pleased to do so once we tell her what has happened.’