“Because we just took a phone call from Sister Thomas in intensive care. She said would you please go back directly?”
Diamond saw the flash of alarm in Hen’s eyes. Tragedy had leapt into his mind as well. No words were exchanged. They got up from the table and moved fast to the exit.
The sister was waiting for them outside the intensive care unit.
“Thank God you’re still here.”
“Bad news, Sister?”
“We had a man here.”
“What?” Neither of them had anticipated this.
“Just a few minutes ago. He came to the desk insisting he was the patient’s husband, and I think he was, because she seemed to recognise him. We were very alarmed, knowing the circumstances.”
“Couldn’t you stop him?” Hen said.
“I tried. I told him visitors weren’t allowed. He didn’t get really close to her. There was a bit of a scuffle as he tried to go past me. He shouted her name from the door and then he left. I called Crawley police, and then I thought you might still be here, because I heard you say something about tea as you were leaving.”
“What’s he like?” Diamond asked.
“Dark-haired, thirtyish. He could do with a shave.”
“He went which way?”
She pointed along the corridor. “And he’s in a rather crumpled black or grey striped suit.”
“Can he get to the car park that way?”
“Yes.”
Diamond started running.
The big man in quick motion was a danger to the public. In his rugby-playing days faint-hearted defenders had been known to step aside claiming they were sold a dummy when he charged at them. In a hospital corridor he was a potentially lethal force, dodging wheelchairs and trolleys and patients on crutches. Convincing himself this was for the greater good, and he was in control, he powered ahead, bursting through swing doors and around corners trusting to God he wouldn’t meet a freshly plastered leg-case being wheeled towards him like a scene out of a Charlie Chaplin classic.
By good fortune he made it to the main exit without mishap and dashed along a covered walkway towards what looked like one of the main car parks. Michael Smith had the use of a car, and it was likely he’d driven here after hearing that his wife was in intensive care.
Three hundred or more cars were parked in neat rows and others were in the aisles waiting for spaces. It was the time late in the afternoon when out-patients were leaving and visitors arriving. A few pedestrians were visible, but nobody remotely like the tall, mean-looking man Diamond knew he ought to recognise from the photo in his pocket.
He slowed to a walk and stopped altogether, catching his breath. The chase was over. The sister’s estimate of a few minutes must have been unreliable. Or Smith had slipped out by some other route.
More cars were streaming in on the far side, through a gate system that seemed unable to prevent the congestion. Diamond watched the striped arm go up and down a couple of times before realising it could be his salvation. A pay system was in operation here. Each driver had to pay something at the automatic exit. So there was only one way out-and it was possible Smith hadn’t got there yet.
Another dash, this time across the car park among slow moving, but still hazardous vehicles. Twice he had to swerve around a reversing car as if he was handing off a tackle. But it was worth the risk. At the exit was a queue of five or six waiting to pay, and the fourth in line was a white Honda Civic. Heart and lungs pounding, he approached the driver. Definitely the man in the photo. And the car couldn’t move out of line.
Smith had his window down. One look at Diamond’s warrant card said it all. He knew he was caught. Without any conviction he said, “What’s up?”
Diamond told him to switch off the engine and step out.
The questioning took place in a room normally used by the hospital almoner, with flowers on the desk and holiday posters on the walls-a distinct improvement on the average police interview room. This was a coup for Diamond and Hen. They would hand the prisoner over to Crawley police at the end of the day, but they had first crack at him.
Tired and scruffy, Smith now appeared not so mean, or guarded, as he had in the photographs. He’d evidently slept in the suit. But to his credit he seemed to have some concern about his wife’s condition.
“Is she going to be all right?”
“They think so,” Hen said.
“She fell and cracked her head, didn’t she? Do they know she’s epileptic? You can never tell when a fit is going to happen.”
“She’s going to be fine,” Diamond said. “But you’re under strong suspicion.”
“Of what?”
“Attacking her.”
His eyes stood out like cuckoo eggs. “
“You were seen at the house yesterday afternoon. She was found there later when your daughter came home from school.”
“I’m not violent, I tell you.”
“You’ve got to tell us a whole lot more than that. Where were you last night?”
“Does it matter what I was doing? You’re way off beam if you think I had anything to do with this.”
“Answer the question, Mr Smith.”
He sighed as if all this were too tedious to relate. “I drove miles, and slept in the car. Salisbury Plain, I think. When I turned on the radio about midday I heard someone say Olga was injured and in Crawley General and they were looking for me. I drove here to try and see her.”
“Why were you on the run if you’re innocent?”
“That’s something else.”
“Come on. We’re not arsing about here.”
“I panicked. That’s all.”
“Why? What is there to panic about?”
“She told me on the phone the police had been to the house.”
“Is that so scary? What’s the scam, Mr Smith? What have you been up to?”
He shook his head. Suddenly the eyes were more defiant than panic-stricken. It was obvious he wasn’t going to roll over easily.
Diamond gave Hen an enquiring look, a slight lift of the eyebrows that said, in effect, shall we pursue this? Whatever racket Smith is in, banking large amounts of cash, there are more urgent matters to discuss before DI Bradley arrives.
Hen nodded. They had a good understanding already.
Diamond said, “You know there’s a lot of interest in the dead woman who was found on Wightview Sands beach?”
Smith stared back in alarm.
“We’re in charge of that investigation.”
“You’re not trying to swing that on me?”
“You’re a key witness. You called the lifeguard, I understand.”
“Yes.”
“And then you quit the scene. And you haven’t responded to any of the calls for help.”
“I couldn’t tell you anything. I didn’t want to get involved.”
“For the same reason you spent last night on the run?”
“Well, yes.” He held out his hands in appeal. “But what do you expect from me? All I did was tell the lifeguard guy she was down there and helped him lift her off the beach and into a hut, and then I left.”
The next logical step was to remind him that he’d been requested to remain until the police arrived, but this wasn’t a blame session. They needed cooperation.
“Now we’ve got you here, can you tell us anything else about the dead woman? Did you notice her before
