“Whatever there was, it would have also gone toward her care.”
“How long had she been here?”
“About three months.”
“Where did she come here from?”
“A hospital called Grey Oaks, just outside Nottingham. Specializes in spinal injuries.”
“How did she end up here? What’s the pro cess?”
“It varies,” said Grace. “Sometimes it’s people’s families who’ve heard of us. Sometimes it comes through social services. Karen’s stay in the hospital was up—there was nothing more they could do for her there, and they need all the beds they can get—so the social services helped and came up with us. We had a room available, and the details were worked out.”
“Do you know the name of the social worker involved?”
“It should be in the file.”
“Does Karen have any relatives?”
“None that I know of,” said Grace. “I’d have to check the files for the information you want.”
“I’d like to take those files.”
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Grace paused, then said, “Of course. Look, do you seriously think the motive was money?”
“I don’t know what it was,” said Annie. “I’m just covering all the possibilities. We need to know a lot more about Karen Drew and the life she lived before she ended up here if we hope to get any further.
As nobody seems to be able to help us very much on that score, perhaps we’d better concentrate our efforts elsewhere.”
“We’ve told you all we can,” said Grace. “You should find more information in her files.”
“Maybe.” Annie looked at Mel, who seemed to have pulled herself together and was nibbling on a digestive biscuit. “We’ll need a description of this Mary as soon as possible. Someone might have seen her locally. Mel, do you think you could work with a police artist on this? I don’t know how quickly we can get someone here at such short notice, but we’ll do our best.”
“I think so,” said Mel. “I mean, I’ve never done it before, but I’ll have a try. But like I said, I never got a good look at her face.”
Annie gave her a reassuring smile. “The artist’s very good,” she said.
“Just do your best. He’ll help steer you in the right direction.” Annie stood up and said to Grace, “We’ll be sending some officers over to take statements from as many staff members and patients as possible.
DS Naylor will be picking up the files before we leave. I hope you’ll be cooperative.”
“Of course,” said Grace.
Annie remained in the conference room and ate a potted meat sandwich, washed down with a glass of water, until Tommy Naylor came in with the files, then they left together. “What do you think?”
she asked Naylor when they got outside.
“I think we’ve got our work cut out,” he said, waving a file folder about half an inch thick. “I’ve had a quick glance, and there’s not a lot here except medical mumbo jumbo, and we don’t even have a next of kin to go on.”
Annie sighed. “These things are sent to try us. See if you can get the artist orga nized, not that it’ll do much good, by the sound of things, and I’ll find out if DS McCullough and the SOCOs have anything for us.”
3
WINSOME WONDERED IF SHE WAS DOING THE RIGHT
thing as she parked outside the Faversham Hotel that afternoon. She had told Donna McCarthy that Geoff was at a meeting and unavailable over the telephone. Rather than try to reach him later, leave a message, or wait for him to come back to Swainshead, she said she would go to find him and break the news herself. Donna had been grateful and relieved that someone else was going to tell Geoff about his daughter. Winsome had tried his mobile and the hotel switchboard a couple more times on her way to Skipton, but with no luck.
The hotel lay just outside the town, not far from where the wild millstone grit of the Bronte moorland metamorphosed into the limestone hills and valleys of the Dales National Park. Winsome knew the area reasonably well, as she had been potholing with the club in the Malham area on several occasions, but she didn’t know the Faversham.
It resembled a big old manor house with a few additions tacked on. A stream ran by the back, and Winsome could hear it burbling over the rocks as she went in the front door. Very rustic and romantic, she thought, and not at all the sort of place for a convention of used- car salesmen.
She showed her warrant card at the front desk and explained that she needed to talk to Mr. Daniels. The receptionist rang the room, but got no answer. “He must be out,” she said.
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“What’s his room number?”
“I can’t—”
“This is police business,” Winsome said. “He forgot to bring his medicine, and without it he could die. Bad heart.” It was a quick improvisation, but the word “die” did the trick. You didn’t have to see
