‘Hey, ain’t that the Bates Motel character — y’know, the caretaker fellow?’
The patrol officer Dave Elson was marching towards them with Chris Burt at his side, the latter almost with an air of having already been taken into custody.
‘Evening, sir. Noakes.’ Elson stood smartly to attention. ‘I was doing a drive-by every twenty minutes, sir.’ A sideways glance at the caretaker. ‘Fancied I saw something moving round the side of the building, so I went in for a closer look. Clocked a broken window and figured there’d been an intruder though the alarm hadn’t gone off.’
The DI looked interrogatively at Chris Burt. ‘Good evening, sir,’ he said with impenetrable courtesy. ‘Were you on the premises tonight?’
Typical Markham. Duchess or dustbin man, it made no odds. He treated everyone with the same gracious ease. Personally, Noakes favoured putting dodgy characters like Burt in a persuasive armlock prior to a friendly chat, but this cut no ice with his boss.
‘I live over the way.’
‘Mr Burt lives in a studio flat at the rear of the building, sir,’ Elson said heavily, looking as though he too would like to twist Burt’s arm up his back but was reluctantly playing it by the book. ‘He was standing in the car park when I arrived.’
‘I thought I heard something.’
Talk about a lame dick excuse. The bloke had ‘furtive’ and ‘shifty’ written all over him. More like he was up to something and got caught out.
‘Perhaps you would care to accompany PC Elson into the building, Mr Burt. Check things out . . . See what’s been disturbed.’
It was clear from the expression on Elson’s face that this didn’t exactly accord with his sense of the fitness of things, but one glance at the DI told him that to hear was to obey. Noakes did his best to convey sympathy with an eloquent shrug of the shoulders, and the ill-assorted couple disappeared.
‘Bit of a coincidence Norman Bates being here jus’ when there’s a break-in, guv.’
‘Noakes.’
‘Oh c’mon, boss. You’ve gotta admit there’s something up with that guy. He’s a mentalist for a start.’
‘The correct term is “someone with learning difficulties”, Sergeant.’ The DI looked at his subordinate levelly. ‘I was rather hoping you had evolved somewhat since our investigation at the Newman.’
Noakes had the grace to look abashed. ‘I don’ mean ter have a down on him jus’ cos he’s not all there, guv. But there’s summat . . .’ he shook his head, ‘summat off.’
‘I agree, we need to look at him carefully.’
The DS looked mollified. ‘Yeah, cos Elford obviously bossed him around something chronic,’ he stared intently at the building in front of them, ‘an’ he could’ve been . . . oh, I dunno . . . stalking Shawcross or being a sex pest an’ things got out of hand so he snapped . . .’
‘Mr Elford would have turned him in had he discovered anything incriminating, Sergeant.’
‘Not necessarily, guv.’ Noakes was not to be denied. ‘Not if Burt had summat on Elford.’
‘Whoever murdered Elford was calm and clinical about it — not to say forensically aware, Noakes. Do you honestly mean to tell me you can see Chris Burt putting that kind of scheme into operation?’
‘Well, mebbe someone else is pulling the strings, guv. Wouldn’t be the first time.’
‘True.’ A shiver ran up Markham’s spine at the thought of a shared psychosis.
‘Or p’raps the two murders ain’t connected, guv. Burt could’ve done the first while some other nutcase did for Elford.’
‘I don’t see it, Sergeant. Too much of a coincidence.’
Gloomily, Noakes nodded. ‘You c’n bet Sidney’ll plump for the two nutters theory every time,’ he added by way of Parthian shot.
‘Which is why I’ve got Carstairs and Kate plying him with intel on local misfits.’
The DS grunted.
The two men leaned against Noakes’s souped-up Fiesta lost in their own thoughts.
In what seemed like no time at all, Elson reappeared with the caretaker.
‘What have you got to report, gentlemen?’ Markham asked.
Elson swallowed, clearly not at all happy about being lumped in with a prime suspect. ‘Mr Burt says nothing appears to have been disturbed, sir. Just a couple of appointment books missing . . .’
Markham was suddenly alert. ‘Appointment books?’
He turned to the caretaker whose upper lip was beaded with sweat.
‘Which appointment books were taken, sir?’ he asked gently.
Noakes was blessed if he could see where this was leading, but the guvnor definitely looked interested.
‘Most of ’em. Doctor Troughton’s an’ the rest . . .’ Clearly reassured by something in Markham’s kind, steady gaze, the man was anxious to please. ‘Nurse Thornley and Miss Stanley . . . the therapists. Jayne — that’s the healthcare assistant girl — she doesn’t have one yet cos she’s in training.’
‘Wouldn’t they put appointments on the computer?’
‘Yeah, that’s right.’ Burt looked more vacant than ever but somehow managed to gather his wandering wits. ‘But they write ’em in longhand too . . . like a backup. Thelma says that way there’s no mistakes.’
Markham nodded encouragingly. ‘What about the other people in the building? Was everyone’s diary taken?’
Dave Elson interposed. ‘Yes, sir. Looks like they were just snatched off the desks in a hurry.’
Markham pondered the significance of the thefts.
‘I s’pose folk write personal things down in the diaries, do they? Like their own private stuff?’ Somehow Noakes subdued his usual cantankerous growl and addressed the caretaker with a clumsy approximation of Markham’s gentleness.
‘’S right.’ Burt was keen to propitiate Markham’s rottweiler. ‘The midwife says it’s like her bible . . . got her whole life in it.’
‘What about the study annexe upstairs, Mr Burt? Was anything missing from there?’
‘The library lady’s book . . . that was
