He gives me the eye. ‘No one told me about a doctor paying a late call.’
I quirk a brow. ‘Perhaps the information was above your pay grade?’
That doesn’t go down well, but he keeps his objections to himself. ‘Do you need any help?’
‘I think we’ve seen enough.’
We have seen enough. Whoever cleared this place upstairs did a thorough job, the building is wiped clean. The guard tugs on his dog’s lead. ‘Apparently, they’re finally selling off Doctor Frankenstein’s Castle, ain’t they? Probably selling it cheap on account of idiots swearing on their mother’s grave it’s haunted.’
Now he has my full attention. ‘Doctor Frankenstein? Haunted?’
The guard’s chest fills with self-importance. ‘That’s what Arthur the old boy who used to do the security here would say. Apparently after it closed in ’94, you could hear screaming in the night. Or so Arthur said.’ 1994 makes its presence known again. ‘’Course, Arthur was dead from the drink in his fifties so you can probably leave that out of the seller’s details. Ha! Ha!’ His large, front teeth take over his whole face.
I draw closer to him. ‘Do you know what type of work went on in there?’
The guard becomes suspicious again. ‘All I know is downstairs was a hospital for, you know.’ He taps his temple, which I’m assuming means mental health issues.
‘Upstairs?’ I persist.
He straightens. ‘It’s time for you ladies to leave.’
Once we’re back in my car the full horror of what we found in that hospital block hits me. What we found there is the reek of death. I stare haplessly at Ronnie.
‘My mother . . .’ An anguished cry bursts out of me. ‘My mother is dead. She’s gone.’
She draws me quickly into her arms. And I weep, my heart cracking apart because Hope, Amina and Sheryl, they’re all gone. I know they didn’t come out of there alive. A place of screams, cold slabs and broken dolls’ eyes.
I can’t breathe. Lord above help me! The noise that growls up from my gut is feral, demented, another level of agony. I think I’m going mad.
Even though it’s been nearly three decades a small part of me clung to the hope my mother was still alive. That I would one day take her hand in mine. It doesn’t matter if I’m twenty-eight, fifty-eight, or seventy-eight; to have my mum by my side would have been the highest blessing possible.
Ronnie tells me with staunch conviction, ‘Don’t get sad, get mad. I’m going to go into Sugar’s room to see if he’s got the police reports. I won’t stop searching until I find them. Then I’ll bring them to you.’
CHAPTER 37
‘That will be Ronnie,’ I call out to Joe when the bell goes. ‘Can you let her in and take her into the kitchen?’
I’m upstairs in my office, two days later, creating a space large enough for us to spread out the police reports she’s taken from Sugar’s room. She’s put a heck of a lot on the line for me. To finally see the police investigation’s missing-persons reports fills me with nervous anticipation. I pray it tells me about Pretty Lanes and maybe about the old medical block.
I race into the kitchen and stumble to a halt. It’s not Ronnie I find waiting for me. It’s Sugar. There’s a bag at his feet and a terrible, exhausted expression in his eyes that seeps into his whole face.
‘Don’t blame Ronnie.’ His tone is matter-of-fact. ‘I caught her in my office with these.’ He taps the bag.
I retort, ‘Is that what you’re calling it now, your office? A room you keep locked all the time—’
Joe cuts in with his accountant’s voice. ‘Perhaps we might think about ways we can progress the situation rather than dwelling on what has happened in the recent past. How about potentially devising a strategy that creates a less stressful way forward?’ He hates confrontations or displays of people losing control.
Perhaps. Progress. Potentially. Joe is full of hopeful ‘P’ words. I know he means well but I’ve got my own ‘P’ word – pissed.
So, I inform him, never taking my eyes off Sugar, ‘Can you give us some space please, Joe?’
Once he’s gone, Sugar doesn’t waste any more time. ‘Has someone been whispering in your ear about me being a bent cop when I was in the force?’
My nerves are suddenly on edge. Bloody Ronnie must have broken her word and told Sugar the lot.
‘Don’t put this on Ronnie.’ Sugar must be reading my mind. ‘She kept this’ – he touches his lips – ‘zipped. Well, most of the time.’