Chapter Twenty-One
Barbara was at the front door before they knocked. ‘You must come and see the TV. Something terrible has happened.’
Stevie, Kim and Edward had come back without David Marner, who had said he would be along later. Barbara sat them down.
The broadcast had a live feel about it, unusual for a Sunday, with a grid of reporters in different locations, including one at Exeter General and another by the promenade.
Edward had the sudden feeling he would have to go into the radio station without delay.
The TV flashed the caption APOLOGIES THAT YOUR NORMAL PROGRAMMES ARE DELAYED, and showed press gathering outside the hospital.
Nina Lopez’s photo was in one corner of the screen.
As they watched, the rolling headline appeared.
TOPPINGS CRASH: LITTLE GIRL DEAD.
Everyone in the room gasped. Even Barbara put her hand over her mouth, despite having evidently seen the broadcast earlier. ‘That poor little scrap of a thing.’
‘Oh no, no, no,’ Stevie cried. ‘I saw the mother yesterday. This will break her. Oh God, this is so awful.’ She fell back onto the sofa, shoulders heaving.
The presenter handed over to a reporter on the promenade, who explained.
After Andrea Lopez had posted about the ‘attack’ yesterday, the vicar at the couple’s church had circulated a WhatsApp message asking the congregation to pray for Nina.
But about an hour ago, Gabriel had called him again: it was too late.
Nina had died, with her parents by her side, holding her hands.
The vicar put five words on the church WhatsApp group:
NINA DEAD. PRAY FOR THEM
News of the tragedy spread like wildfire. One of the parishioners was a journalist with the website Coast Live, and the devastating development was public before the police could offer any information to stop people panicking.
On the TV, Jordan Callintree introduced himself.
Edward noted Kim giving him a sidelong glance.
There were three television cameras, a photographer and two reporters with phones or pads.
It was a hot day, and they had found a spot of shade outside the hospital.
They bristled, moving as a single organism.
Callintree had nothing to say about the circumstances of the child’s death, he told them, because the news had come from the parents and not the police and he was not authorized to add to it. There would need to be a full investigation.
It did not stop the questions. Stevie’s weeping almost drowned out the television. Barbara turned up the volume. The reporters were off-mic but could just about be heard.
‘Did the girl die as a result of the crash on Friday?’
‘Did the little girl get burned or was she hit by the motorbike?’
He could reply to that. ‘Neither.’
‘So what was she actually taken into hospital for?’
‘How are the parents?’
‘I can’t even imagine her pain,’ gulped Stevie from the sofa.
Then came a stream of words from a reedy young man on the screen who held his phone with a wrist so relaxed it looked as if it was about to slide out of his hand.
‘If it’s connected to the Friday crash, what is your message?
Was the crash deliberate? Why did Andrea Lopez refer to an “attack” on the pizza place? What is your message?’
The policeman said: ‘I haven’t got the latest medical details. There is no evidence as yet that anything happened to Nina Lopez as a result of her presence in the pizza parlour. She was taken ill yesterday and sadly that led to her demise.’
‘That sounds like a cover-up,’ said Barbara.
Callintree added: ‘It will be up to the parents and the hospital whether anything is said publicly about the little girl’s condition when she passed.’
The reporters were all about to ask questions, and Callintree held up a hand as the live camera nosed closer to his face.
‘We do need to check on the welfare of others who were at the pizza parlour. There may have been as many as five families in there, along with one or two individual customers. We need to speak to them all, and I urge anyone watching who was there or knows anyone who was there to contact the police right away.’
‘Why?’
The question turned out not to be from a reporter, but a patient who had come out of the hospital attached to a drip and was smoking. The camera found him and panned quickly away.
‘He hasn’t got any more to say,’ Edward murmured. Barbara shut the TV down. Kim shot her mother a reproachful glance as if to say, Edward didn’t mean he wanted you to turn it off completely.
Stevie suddenly said, ‘I know a lot about this.’
They all turned to her.
‘I was at the hospital yesterday. I saw Jordan, went to speak to him, up comes the mum. Just furious. She’d just put out the “pray for Nina” post. He said it could be terrorism by Russia.’
Edward jumped up, head spinning. ‘Why didn’t you mention this sooner? Anything else?’
‘She ate a capsule that she picked up at the scene,’ said Stevie.
‘Who?’ asked Barbara.
‘The dead girl. She ate a capsule of some sort, something that had fallen out of the motorbike’s pannier. That’s all I know. Her mum was proper raging, shouting “Do you know what was in those capsules?” to Jordan.’
‘Did she now?’ Barbara was fascinated.
‘Mum …’ Kim started, but desisted. She could hardly tell Barbara to be less involved.
‘You didn’t think of telling me this earlier?’ asked Edward.
‘“Can it wait?”’
‘Sorry?’
‘That’s what you said when I tried to tell you, mister. And Kim, you just said “Later” when I mentioned it.’
‘Oops,’ said Kim.
‘Anyway, Jordan wanted it secret, so I respected that.’ Stevie went on: ‘He was there because of the capsules, the hospital had called him in, and it was right before they made the statement about the biker being Russian, so he must have made some kind of connection there because the last thing he said to me was about the Salisbury poisoning. Like he was worried it was another similar attack. He looked as if the life had gone out of him, poor fucking sausage.’
Barbara put in, ‘We’ll have less effing sausages in this house, please.’
Edward gripped his hair and pulled in frustration. The biggest scoop yet and he’d brushed Stevie off hours ago! ‘Come with me to the radio station now, Stevie.’
‘In whose car?’ Kim asked Edward.
‘Oh God, Kim, do you mind driving?’ Edward asked. But then he stopped. ‘I need to ring Callintree.’
He punched the contact into his smartphone. They all fell silent.
‘Voicemail?’ asked Kim, hearing the merest squeak of the taped message.
‘Stands to reason,’ said Edward. ‘What a bloody day he’s having. Okay, then I have to ring Aspinall.’
They all fell silent again. This time the phone rang out.
‘Nobody’s in,’ said Barbara unnecessarily. ‘Except me. I’m always in.’
‘To the radio station now?’ Stevie said.
‘No, wait,’ said Edward, lifting a hand like a traffic policeman, his mind going a million miles a minute. ‘I’ve got an idea of someone we need to see who might be able to help us.’
‘Who?’ asked Barbara. ‘There’s no one interesting around here.’
‘I can say, can’t I?’ Edward asked Kim.
‘You haven’t told me yet.’
‘Of course you can say,’ said Stevie, who was crying again. ‘I’m sorry, I don’t cry often, I’m just gutted for the mum. That poor, wee girl.’
‘Tell us.’ Barbara directed the words at Edward. Her tone was flat. She, too, appeared teary.
‘The biker spilled something that Nina then ate. Or maybe the “something” was part of a deliberate attack. Whatever it was, they have to test it – the obvious place is the government labs. We can’t get anywhere near that.
But there’s an old scientist who might just be in the loop.
She’s in Sidmouth, pretty much retired, but does overflow forensic services for the police, low-key stuff, prints and blood testing when they need it done fast and they can’t do it themselves.
I’ve interviewed Flo a couple of times for my show.
I’m pretty sure we passed her house on the way here. Let’s go.’