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I keep my distance, pulling the camera up on my phone ready to take a picture when the opportunity arises. The opportunity doesn’t come. The woman turns the wheelchair into a gated complex, and I lose sight of them. ‘Shit.’ Picking up my pace, I make it to the gate, just seeing the glass automatic doors close behind them. The sign on one of the pillars says wild orchard care home.
The woman stops in the reception area and takes a pen, writing something down in a book on the desk. A visitor log? She sets the pen down and carries on her way, pushing the wheelchair through some double doors that open after she waits a few seconds.
And then they’re gone.
I move to the side and think for a few moments, spinning my phone in my grasp. I’ve got to know who they are. I make a quick assessment of the reception area as people come and go. A woman at the desk, security cameras at every corner. The doors off the reception area are all locked, opened only by a code entered into the keypad or by the receptionist releasing them with a button under the desk.
A nurse wanders out of the building on her phone, a medical case in her other hand. ‘I’m dropping off the urine samples for Dereck Walters and then I’ll be back.’ She looks up at me and smiles when I open the gate for her before getting back to her call.
I wait for the perfect moment before I make my move. Tucking my phone in my pocket, I walk up the path and through the automatic doors. The woman on reception looks up at me, and I smile my friendliest smile. ‘Can I help you?’ she asks, returning my smile.
‘Visiting Dereck Walters,’ I say coolly, reaching for the visitor log and pulling it close, like I know the drill. I look down at the list of names who have signed in recently. It also details who they’re visiting.
‘Oh?’ she says. ‘I’m sorry, I don’t recognize you.’
I have to think on my feet, just buy myself enough time to memorize the names in the visitor log. ‘I’m sorry, it’s a bit of a spur-of-the-moment visit. I don’t live locally. Do you need to call someone to authorize?’
‘I’m afraid so,’ she says, reaching for the phone. ‘Can I take your name, sir?’
I look up when the doors across the room open, and the woman who was pushing the wheelchair appears, her attention focused on her mobile as she taps away at the screen. She approaches, coming to a stop right next to me and looking up for the book. Her eyes meet mine, and she smiles, pulling it closer to her and taking the pen. And I watch as she signs herself out.
‘Thanks, Vera,’ she says, waving at the woman behind the desk before moving past me and leaving. My eyes fall to the book. Philippa Maxwell visiting Dolly Blake.
‘Sir?’
I look up blankly.
‘Name, please?’ She points to the phone in her hand on a smile.
‘Don’t worry.’ I turn and leave, pulling by mobile out and calling Lucinda as I walk back to my truck. ‘Philippa Maxwell and Dolly Blake. The former is mid-thirties, maybe. Must live in or around Grange. The latter, late sixties, early seventies, resident of Wild Orchard Care Home in Grange. See what you can get me on both of them.’
‘You sound stressed,’ Lucinda says, rather observantly. ‘I hear you had a visitor last night.’
‘You spying on me?’
‘No,’ she laughs. ‘I spoke to Jake this morning to see when his paternity leave is done. He said they were on their way home from yours. Nice evening?’
Since when has Lucinda given two shits about whether or not I’ve had a nice evening? ‘Lovely, thanks.’ I drift off. ‘What do you care?’
‘I like to know what my boys are up to,’ she muses. ‘It’s in my interest.’
‘How’s it in your interest?’
‘Your well-being is in my interest. And frankly, you’re sounding a bit off lately.’
‘I don’t work for you anymore, Lucinda,’ I remind her, ignoring her huff of displeasure and getting back to the matter at hand. ‘The names I mentioned . . .’ I don’t mention them again. I know they’ll already be stored in her elephant memory. ‘See what you can find out.’
‘When are you going to tell what this is all about?’ she asks.
‘When I know what the fuck is going on,’ I answer truthfully. ‘Did you dig any deeper on Hannah Bright?’
‘Yep. And hit a rock. Dead end after dead end.’
I reach my truck and let my forehead rest on the door. ‘Maybe the two names I gave you might shed some light.’
I don’t know if she hears my despondency, or whether she’s just feeling unusually amenable today, but she sighs, and I know Lucinda well enough to know that it’s not an exasperated sigh. It’s a worried sigh. ‘Ryan, whatever shit you’re getting yourself into, please be careful, okay?’
