Divided House (Dark Yorkshire Book 1) Page 7

  “Mrs Vickers?” he enquired, as he walked in.

  The room was lit by a single bedside lamp, was of a reasonable size and had two double-aspect sash windows on adjacent exterior walls. The curtains were open and Caslin could see a rising moon in the evening sky. Sylvia Vickers lay in bed with arms to her side, palms down, the sheets tucked firmly in place. Her eyes were open but she seemed lost in thought, staring straight ahead. Her breathing appeared shallow, in her skeletally thin frame, and was aided by an oxygen tube supplied via the bottle cradled next to her bed. On the far side, her left arm was attached to an intravenous drip.

  “Mrs Vickers?” Caslin asked again, purely out of courtesy, as he stepped further into the room. The elderly lady not only failed to acknowledge his presence but appeared to be completely unaware of her surroundings.

  “Now you will understand why I cannot believe that Sylvia is a part of your investigation, Inspector.”

  Caslin indicated the still form of the woman and then he spoke in a hushed tone.

  “Is she always… I mean, is she aware of us at all?”

  Dr Oliver shook his head and came to stand at the foot of the bed, crossing his arms before him and tilting his head slightly to one side.

  “Her condition has not deteriorated, though. That at least is the good news. Sadly, she has been like this for some time now. We keep her as comfortable as we can and she has days that are better than others.”

  “How long?” Caslin asked whilst trying to locate his notebook in his coat pockets, concluding that he had probably left it in the car.

  “As long as she has been resident here, more or less. She was brought to us seven or so, years ago and sadly, I don’t think that she has ever clicked on as to where she is.”

  “Who brought her to you, a relative?”

  Dr Oliver shrugged, a gesture that could be interpreted as indicative that he couldn’t remember, rather than he didn’t care.

  “I can take a look in her file but as far as I can recall, she has no relatives. She certainly has never had a visitor that I am aware of.”

  “Not one?”

  “Again, I’ll check her file, but no.”

  “So, who pays for her care?” Caslin was determined to leave there with something useful.

  “The State. She had some funds when she first arrived but they were drained rather quickly. Shall we go back to my office and I’ll see what else I can give you?”

  Caslin nodded and they retreated from the room. He was disheartened, but hopeful that there may still be something fruitful in her records. A family member, or at the least another lead to follow, however tenuous, would count in this case. Caslin thought that ignorance of her own predicament may well have been a blessing in disguise. When an elderly person reached this stage and condition of life, it was conceivable that family might choose not to visit for fear of upset or, which was often more likely, being unduly inconvenienced. After all, if the relative was effectively in a coma and totally unaware, then what was the point? Heartless, uncaring and selfish, perhaps but as Caslin frequently found in his line of work, these were common traits in people.

  The sound of the rain drumming on the rooftop matched Caslin’s mood as he sat in his car. The storm had shattered the clear, frosty landscape that had been forming only an hour previously. The engine was running and soon enough the heater would be blowing warm air, rather than cold, onto the windscreen. Giving in to his impatience he pulled the sleeve of his coat down over his hand and leant forward, wiping the glass before him.

  The case file for Sylvia Vickers had proved to be useless. She had been transferred to the home in Goldsborough eight years ago, along with several other residents, from another care home that had been due to close down, its owners having gone under. The chances of finding records from there would be non-existent. The disappointment was intense, for the details that now remained were incredibly limited. The basic information of date and place of birth, along with medical status and prior conditions notwithstanding, Caslin was leaving with almost nothing. No visitors had been recorded coming or going and the bedridden lady inside had outlived her husband by twenty-two years.

  Caslin shuddered at the thought of the life that she had and couldn’t help but wonder what his future had in store, would his own children make time for him or was he destined to sit alone, staring at somebody else’s wall? Fortunately, he was still some way off it. Turning his thoughts to other lines of inquiry he was hopeful that Harman would be able to shake something out of the bank accounts. The Horsvedts were paying rent for the farmhouse and if the money wasn’t going to Sylvia Vickers, it was certainly going elsewhere.

  In every investigation there would be a moment when he felt lost and at that point he would believe that he wasn’t doing his job properly. He wasn’t quite there yet but was certainly well on the way. Events always left a trail, no matter how slight. Caslin firmly believed that a crime scene would talk, provided the investigator was prepared to listen. A brief search of his car had failed to turn up his notebook and he wanted to review what he had written down. There was something in there that deserved more credence than he had given it but he hadn’t been able to bring it forward. Caslin hated that and it was happening too often.

  A moment of clarity came to mind, an image of him tossing his notebook to the kitchen table at Radford Farm. He swore. The last thing he wanted to do was to head back there, but it would be far less inconvenient to do so on his way home than making a new journey the following day.

  Caslin sighed and glanced back at the care home, the darkness punctuated by the occasional room lit from within. Turning his thoughts to the forthcoming weekend, he knew he had to address a problem. Belatedly acknowledging that his workload had suddenly increased, alongside a realisation that his one-bedroom apartment was too small for the visit of his two children, he had logistical issues that he could no longer ignore. There was a solution but he found it less than palatable. Taking out his phone he scrolled through his phonebook, located the number and dialled it. The phone rang a couple of times before it was picked up. Caslin smiled as he spoke, lightening his voice as best he could.

  “Dad?” he asked casually, “Here’s the thing…”

  It was after 9 p.m. when Caslin pulled up again at Radford Farm. The rain had ceased but the cloud cover lent the building a deeply foreboding appearance in the darkness, the illumination from his headlights doing little to pierce the eerie façade. Turning off the engine, he spent the next ten minutes rummaging through the boot of the car for a more substantial light source, before giving up and instead using the screen of his phone as a makeshift solution.

  Rounding the corner to the rear of the house, he picked his way up the path and momentarily felt the hairs on the back of his neck prickle, stopping him in his tracks. Had he heard something or seen it in the corner of his eye? Was it primeval fear preying on him in the darkness? He listened intently but other than the breeze passing through the nearby copse of trees, there was nothing to focus on. Accidentally glancing at the screen of his phone he cursed, the bright light further ruining his limited visual acuity. As a child he had been afraid of the dark, not unusual in itself and adults could often attest to the same, although most would never admit it. It was nature’s way of keeping you alert.

  The longer he remained still, the more ridiculous he began to feel. Telling himself that his mind was definitely playing tricks, he resumed his course. Stepping up to the rear door to the kitchen, Caslin knelt by the plant pot and lit up the area as he reached for the hidden key. Standing, he placed the key in the lock and turned it. The key held firm. It took a moment for him to realise why. Slowly moving his free hand from key to handle, he twisted it and the door cracked open. There was a brief moment of confusion as possibilities entered his mind. Had he left the door unlocked earlier?

  For the life of him he couldn’t remember. He had had his phone in his hand when the call came through just as he was leaving, the call from Terry Holt with
the Vickers information. The key had been in his hand when he shut the door. Once more he paused and listened intently, but again he could barely hear anything apart from the wind and the light traffic noise emanating from the distant road. Even that soon died away.

  Gently he eased the door open, immediately regretting doing so as the hinges creaked, sounds that he was sure would carry. Peering into the gloom he strained to make out the interior, remembering the various locations of the furniture, and brought his phone to bear. All seemed to be as he had left it and he caught sight of his notebook on the table. There was that feeling again. He took a deep breath and exhaled slowly, tentatively taking a few steps into the kitchen. If there was anyone there, they would most certainly have seen him arrive, the headlights from the car would have given him up in seconds. The car. There was no other car in the driveway and equally no lights on in the house as sure as they would’ve seen him coming the same could be said for them. Any light from within would have been easily visible upon approach.

  The sense of relief was palpable. Caslin smiled to himself and, shaking his head, sought out the light switch and in a few seconds, was bathed in neon light as the tube flickered into life. He blinked at the brightness. Smiling as he dismissed his paranoia he moved into the front room, turning the light on in there as well. There was a brief flash, accompanied by a popping sound, as the bulb blew. Instantly the circuit breaker kicked in and the house was plunged back into darkness.

  “Bollocks,” Caslin said aloud.

  His mobile was already back in his pocket. He fumbled around for it and then fumbled yet more as he tried to unlock the handset. The screen sparked into life, bathing the fireplace in indirect light as Caslin angled the device away from his eyes. Then he saw it. A brief glimpse of something before it was gone. Caslin focused his attention on where he had been looking, slightly above and to the left of the mantel but unsure of exactly what had caught his eye. He slowly passed his hand back across in an effort to recreate the movement and on the third pass he saw it again, a pinprick of bluish light, maybe a reflection.

  Taking a step towards it, not wishing to lose sight of the point on the wall, he caught his shin on the edge of the coffee table, cursing again as the distraction made him lose his focal point. He was scanning the wall once more when a scrabbling noise from behind drew his attention. Turning to see the cause, everything was plunged into darkness once more. Faint sounds came to his ear, then slowly began to fade away. Caslin thought to search for the phone that was no longer in his grasp but he didn’t, the surface of the floor felt cold against his face, firm and yet pleasant.

  The darkness was no longer something to induce fear but was somehow, strangely comforting.

  Chapter 10

  It was raining again. Caslin felt at ease. Outside it was still pitch black. The night was not yet over but other than that it was impossible to tell how long he had lain there. A little time passed before he could figure out what had happened. The surface felt rough and cold against his face. He was on the floor but where? Something was trickling slowly down the side of his neck, it was irritating. Investigating the cause with his left hand he reached up, a process that sent shooting pains through his head. It felt damp and sticky to the touch. Had he fallen? No, there was someone else here. A flash of panic came to mind, the fear that he was not alone there in the dark. The lights went out.

  Gently easing himself up on to all fours, against his body’s will, a wave of nausea swept over him and he vomited. His forearms and hands were splashed with something warm. Remaining as he was for a moment, his fear forgotten, he took in deep breaths until it passed. It was so dark that he couldn’t see anything before him but he had a vague notion that a wall was off to his right and, gingerly, he crawled towards it. With fingers outstretched he felt the textured surface of the wallpaper and levered himself into a sitting position, his back against the wall. There he sat trying to focus, his breathing ragged and coming in short, rapid gasps. The nausea had passed but his head was banging, far worse than any hangover he could remember. Applying pressure to the base of his neck seemed to help as he sought to make sense of it all.

  Listening intently to everything that may be around him, all he could focus on was the sound of the rain. If he wasn’t alone earlier, he felt confident that he was now. Had they wanted to further harm him they had ample opportunity while he was out. Perhaps they had left him for dead. Thinking on it for a moment, Caslin dismissed the notion. His head hurt, and how bad the wound was he didn’t know, but he was hopeful it would turn out to be superficial. That was a blind hope. More likely he would, at the least, have a concussion if not a fracture.

  Caslin was still groggy but he managed to locate his phone without too much drama. Looking up Harman’s mobile number, he called him. The phone rang a number of times and just as he feared the voicemail would cut in, he heard a familiar and yet monotone voice.

  “Hello.”

  “Maxim?”

  “Sir?” there was a heavy pause. “Do you know what time it is?”

  Caslin didn’t. He hadn’t looked and if the truth were known, he wouldn’t have cared if he had.

  “Yeah, it’s late. Get over to the farm.”

  There must have been something in Caslin’s voice that alerted Harman to the seriousness of the moment for he suddenly seemed wide awake, concern edged into his tone.

  “What’s happened, are you out there?”

  Caslin closed his eyes and took a deep breath before answering.

  “I’ll explain when you get here. Oh… bring a torch and…” he winced as a stabbing pain tore into his head, “a clean shirt.”

  “A clean… okay, leave it with me.”

  Harman didn’t question any further. At that time of night, Caslin was sure Harman would be making the journey in half the usual time, despite the foul weather. Caslin glanced at the time, 3:48 a.m., he still couldn’t figure out how long he had been unconscious for and was struggling with the basics. What was he doing? There had been something that got his attention but he couldn’t remember what. He was trying to stand when it came to him.

  Using the screen of his phone to illuminate the room, he cast a glance around everything before him with a renewed sense of determination. Stepping towards the fireplace, this time avoiding the coffee table, he reached the far wall. Rather than mess around trying to catch a reflection as before, he began to slowly run the flat of his hand along the wood panelling, gently stroking it as he went. It didn’t take long before Caslin found what he was looking for, a small depression in the wood. The cladding was varnished pine, smooth to the touch, allowing any inconsistencies to be clearly identifiable. There was the odd knot or two that he came across that hadn’t been filled, but this was different.

  Caslin closely examined the find, a small indentation with a rough edge to one side. The light was reflected by something metallic trapped within it. He was so intrigued that he had forgotten about the bang to the head although it still throbbed. The object was recessed by about three millimetres, and there was no chance of removing it with his fingers. Carefully he made his way into the kitchen, deciding to check the pantry for the fuse box. Maybe he could get the lights back on. The brief search proved fruitless and he returned to his original task.

  A quick search in the drawers yielded a kitchen knife with a narrow, pointed blade, probably for gutting fish. Taking it, he returned to the living room. As carefully as he could he tried to prise out the object, eventually managing to tease it out. By this point, the wall was lit by the phone held in place between his teeth. Its glow cast a bluish hue over proceedings. Before it could be examined properly he dropped it from the palm of his hand, a gentle clack-clack ensued as it bounced off the slate hearth and disappeared into the darkness. Once more Caslin found himself on his knees, searching in the gloom. Only this time he knew what he was looking for and in any event, he had easily identified it before losing it.

  Caslin caught sight of the headlights long before hea
ring Harman’s car on the driveway, thereby realising how his assailant had got the drop on him with such ease. A beam of torchlight guided the DC into the rear of the house. It had gone 4:30 a.m. as Harman stepped in, shaking off the rain as he did so, to find Caslin seated at the kitchen table using a wet hand-towel as a makeshift compress on his neck.

  “Sir? Are you alright?”

  “Find the fuse box and get the lights on, then I’ll tell you all about it.”

  It took Harman a matter of minutes to switch the lights back on. The fuse box was in the main entrance hall and easily accessed if you knew where to look. Caslin appeared far worse than he had realised, once he was able to examine his own reflection. There was a fair amount of blood that had soaked into his shirt and despite Harman’s concerns, Caslin insisted on remaining where he was, a doctor could wait. Caslin described everything that he could remember about his attack but it wasn’t much, he had heard little and seen even less. There was no sign of an intruder. The integrity of the building was still secure and, apart from a kitchen chair that seemed to have been knocked over in the darkness en route to the back door, there was nothing to indicate anyone else’s presence. That is apart from Caslin’s bleeding wound. A quick scan of the rooms made it appear that nothing had been removed, as far as it was possible to tell.

  Caslin allowed Harman to investigate whilst he remained in the kitchen, nursing his head. They had found some ice cubes in the freezer and had packed them into the towel. Once the bleeding stopped, he could clean up properly and get changed. The young DC had impressed upon arrival. Not once had he complained about being pulled out of bed in the early hours, nor had he questioned why Caslin had been at the farmhouse alone at that hour. In a perverse way, Caslin judged him to be slightly lacking in confidence for not asking. By rights, he should be read the riot act for going off half-cocked alone. That said, there was no indication that his presence there should have led to violence.