‘Mike Hampton’s injuries were not as severe as first thought, and with time he could have regained limited mobility.’
‘Fully?’
‘The man was ideally placed for a return to basic normality. Physically fit at the time of the accident, a positive attitude, determined to succeed at any cost. There was damage to some of his vertebrae, and for Mike Hampton to achieve remarkable results, there would be severe pain.’
‘Treatment, the fusing of two vertebrae, bone grafts, plates, rods, any or all of the aforementioned?’ Isaac asked, having checked on the internet the issues confronting Hampton.
‘We have inserted rods and fused two of his vertebrae. The next stage is up to him.’
‘Which is?’
‘Application, a rigorous regime of exercise and rebuilding of wasted muscles.’
‘Could Mike Hampton, unbeknown to you, have committed himself to what you’ve just said?’
‘What I’m saying, and I saw him two months ago, is that if he wanted to, he could probably walk, if not for long periods, and more than likely with the aid of one or two walking sticks.’
‘Could he in that time have recovered sufficiently, applied himself, and now be walking?’
‘Inactivity for so long causes wasting of muscle, and he had put on weight. Unless he has overcome the mental barrier, then I would say no.’
‘If he had, would others have noticed?’
‘Those near him for extended periods might have.’
‘His wife, his sister?’
‘Have you spoken to them?’
‘They deny any improvement.’
‘They could be defending him,’ Henstridge said.
What was clear, and Isaac had told Larry and Wendy back at the police station, was that Hampton could have been responsible for Tricia Warburton’s death. However, he could not have taken the shot at Simmons.
At the station, Kate Hampton, agitated and emotional, continued to say that her husband needed medical care, a stress-free environment and to be at home where he belonged.
In the interview room, Mike Hampton sat and waited. To his side, a man he had climbed with, a well-credentialled and immaculately dressed lawyer.
Isaac arrived at the station, spoke to Kate Hampton as he passed, offered the usual: following through on our enquiries, and we have sufficient to have brought your husband into the station.
Not far behind him on his entry into the station, Deb Hampton, sister of one Hampton, the antagonist of another.
‘DCI, what’s this nonsense?’ Deb Hampton bellowed.
‘Your brother is helping us with our enquiries,’ Isaac said.
‘How? The man can’t move, and even if he could, he’s not a killer. Sure, he’s difficult, but you can’t blame him.’
Isaac could, but the woman would not be waylaid by a comment from him, smart or otherwise.
Kate Hampton sat nearby, watching the interaction, not saying anything.
‘We believe he has regained mobility,’ Isaac said, waving the folder Henstridge had given him.
‘Henstridge?’ Deb said. ‘Doesn’t know what he’s talking about. He baffles everyone with medical mumbo-jumbo, gives this speech about the power of the mind.’
‘He’s an expert in his field.’
‘Do you think a person like Mike wouldn’t have tried? I was with him for a long time, so was Kate. Neither of us saw as much as a twitch.’
‘It still doesn’t obviate the fact that medically, and we have to place our trust in Dr Henstridge, your brother could possibly move to a varying degree, subject to muscle improvement, rigorous exercise and a positive frame of mind.’
‘The third one he hasn’t got.’
‘Revenge is a great motivator, as strong as love.’
Wendy came out from Homicide, made an excuse and extricated her DCI from the ire of one woman, the sneering glances of another.
‘I wasn’t prepared for that,’ Isaac said.
‘Nor are you for Hampton’s lawyer. The man’s aggressive, sharp, and he’s definitely on his client’s side.’
In the interview room, five minutes after his extrication and long enough for him to phone Chief Superintendent Goddard and update him on the current status, and the fact that they might have to release Hampton, Isaac went through the formalities.
Larry was on the left side of his DCI; on the other side of the table, Mike Hampton and Duncan Harders, the man’s lawyer.
‘Let me make it very clear at the outset,’ Harders said, leaning over the table for emphasis, ‘that bringing my client in here in his condition is a violation, and I will be filing an official complaint on his behalf.’
‘Mr Hampton is assisting us with our enquiries,’ Isaac said. ‘We did not transport him in the back of a car but an ambulance. I don’t believe that we were in error.’
‘When my client leaves here today, after this interview, I will arrange for him to have a medical to check his physical condition, to clarify the harm done to him by the incompetency of the police.’
‘That is your prerogative, Mr Harders. However, his leaving here is subject to the clarification of certain facts.’
‘If you mean proof, where is it?’
Good question, Isaac thought. He knew the evidence against Hampton was not as robust as it should have been.
‘Otto McAlister was the target of the latest murder. Fortunately for him, the cord held, but not for the next person.’
Mike Hampton sat still, his hands folded, his head down, not looking across the table.
‘A half-baked theory as to intent, coupled with no substantive evidence, gives you no option other than to release my client this instant.’
‘Mr Hampton,’ Larry said, ‘the report we have from the Royal Orthopaedic Hospital states that with sufficient application, you could gain some ability to walk. Do you agree with that?’
Hampton’s head lifted, and he placed his hands on the table. ‘Hobbling around is not walking.’
‘Most people would agree that hobbling is better than the alternatives.’
‘I’m not most people. I’m a mountaineer, plain and simple. What do you expect me to do? To pull myself up?’
‘Do you have the willpower to
