shook his head in warning when Dan moved to rise from his chair.
âVanessa?â Peter left his chair and offered it to her. âWonât you sit down?â
âNo.â
âPlease, take my chair.â
She hesitated for what seemed like hours, before finally sitting down. Harry eased himself out of his seat. Peter took it and faced Vanessa.
âVanessa, you told me that I didnât care enough to give the body in the garden a decent burial. I promise you, I do care. And I care about the other one as well. Wonât you tell us where we can find it, so we can bury that one too?â
âItâs in the garden.â
âItâs a big garden, Vanessa.â
She whirled around and pointed at Dan. âHe knows. He buried them. Ask him.â
Peter reined in his irritation. âVanessa, thatâs Inspector Evans. Heâs a police officer.â
âHe did it. And Iâm not going to tell you any more.â Vanessa turned her face to the wall.
Harry touched Peterâs shoulder and shook his head.
Peter left his chair. âIâm going now, Vanessa.â He stood in front of her, but she refused to look at him. âIâll come back and see you later.â
âSergeant Collins is going now, Vanessa, but you can stay and have a chat with me, if you like,â Harry suggested. âShall I send for tea and biscuits?â
âIâm tired.â She closed her eyes.
âLater perhaps?â
âI want to go to bed.â
Lyn nodded to the porter, who wheeled the chair forward.
Dan followed Peter out of the door. âRing the Station and tell them to call out the helicopter and heat-seeking cameras. I want every inch of the grounds photographed,â Dan ordered as soon as they were out of earshot of Harryâs office. He fell silent as the porter pushed Vanessaâs wheelchair up the corridor.
Harry joined them. âYou canât believe what Vanessa said about a second body being buried in the garden. Sheâs had so much attention lavished on her since this morning I suspect sheâs simply seeking more. You wouldnât be doing her any favours by paying credence to anything she said.â
âThe problem is, Mr Goldman,â Dan turned to Harry, âafter what we uncovered following her last bout of attention seeking, we dare not ignore any information she volunteers. Iâm afraid the risk of not âdoing her any favoursâ is one we have to take.â
Trevor stood poised in the doorway that separated the familiar, secure world of his ward from the frightening, unknown world of the outside. He closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and put one foot on the doorstep. Leaning on his stick he dragged his other foot forward. Stepping down on to the path, he opened his eyes again.
He swayed, overwhelmed by the noise and people rushing around. He shrank back, afraid they were on a collision course with him, although the nearest person was over ten yards away. Fighting nausea, he struggled to take another step, sideways this time, so he could remain close to the building. An officer ran past from behind, so close, Trevor could smell the sweat from his serge uniform. A group of patients walked towards him, heading for the screened-off area on the lawn. Panic stricken, he froze.
He felt as though he were surrounded by uniformed police and people in white coats â although there were less than a dozen within sight. He heard a screech and turned. Alison Bevan was leaning out of a window in the therapy block, laughing at a porter whoâd dropped a sandwich into a flowerbed.
He took another breath, and turned away from the police activity to the rest of the garden. But the normally tranquil grounds were full of lines of officers, beating the bushes and combing the lawns. The drive was strewn with police cars, ambulances, and the overflow from the car parks which were jam-packed with television journalistsâ and