Free Midnight Murders by Katherine John

shook his head in warning when Dan moved to rise from his chair.
    â€˜Vanessa?’ Peter left his chair and offered it to her. ‘Won’t you sit down?’
    â€˜No.’
    â€˜Please, take my chair.’
    She hesitated for what seemed like hours, before finally sitting down. Harry eased himself out of his seat. Peter took it and faced Vanessa.
    â€˜Vanessa, you told me that I didn’t 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. Won’t you tell us where we can find it, so we can bury that one too?’
    â€˜It’s in the garden.’
    â€˜It’s a big garden, Vanessa.’
    She whirled around and pointed at Dan. ‘He knows. He buried them. Ask him.’
    Peter reined in his irritation. ‘Vanessa, that’s Inspector Evans. He’s a police officer.’
    â€˜He did it. And I’m not going to tell you any more.’ Vanessa turned her face to the wall.
    Harry touched Peter’s shoulder and shook his head.
    Peter left his chair. ‘I’m going now, Vanessa.’ He stood in front of her, but she refused to look at him. ‘I’ll come back and see you later.’
    â€˜Sergeant Collins is going now, Vanessa, but you can stay and have a chat with me, if you like,’ Harry suggested. ‘Shall I send for tea and biscuits?’
    â€˜I’m tired.’ She closed her eyes.
    â€˜Later perhaps?’
    â€˜I want to go to bed.’
    Lyn nodded to the porter, who wheeled the chair forward.
    Dan followed Peter out of the door. ‘Ring the Station and tell them to call out the helicopter and heat-seeking cameras. I want every inch of the grounds photographed,’ Dan ordered as soon as they were out of earshot of Harry’s office. He fell silent as the porter pushed Vanessa’s wheelchair up the corridor.
    Harry joined them. ‘You can’t believe what Vanessa said about a second body being buried in the garden. She’s had so much attention lavished on her since this morning I suspect she’s simply seeking more. You wouldn’t be doing her any favours by paying credence to anything she said.’
    â€˜The problem is, Mr Goldman,’ Dan turned to Harry, ‘after what we uncovered following her last bout of attention seeking, we dare not ignore any information she volunteers. I’m afraid the risk of not “doing her any favours” is one we have to take.’
    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 – 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 who’d 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 journalists’ and