Page 52 of Watching You
Brodie Baarda sat in an unmarked police car in a side road from where he could see the entrance to the hospital multi-storey car park. It also offered a view of one of the entrances to the main building, although the whole site sprawled across acres and acres, with separate buildings for some specialties.
The footfall through the hospital was unimaginable, and it wasn’t even just staff, patients and visitors. There were deliveries turning up, people ordering food, others visiting a legal firm that had set up shop somewhere inside. Then came a minibus full of nuns in wimples and habits that Baarda realised would be an absolutely ideal costume for a female serial killer. Finally, a school bus came in, unloading at least forty children and five teachers, presumably for a work experience talk. Brodie stopped looking at the main doors and concentrated on the idea of the best vantage point that offered the least chance of being noticed.
The road he was on had no CCTV. There were no traffic lights with cameras either, and no businesses nearby that would have their own security cameras. It was the perfect place to park, butspaces were limited. Hospital parking had to be paid for, so it was likely that nearby free spaces got taken early. That only left more distant side roads, which meant walking a few minutes to get to the hospital, but without the benefit of being able to sit in a car to observe.
Baarda dictated notes on his mobile as he watched. ‘Team of plain-clothes officers to conduct door-to-doors in roads local to hospital to check for repeat sightings of pedestrian watching hospital or hanging around area.’
He got out of the car and walked towards the hospital, checking for visible camera locations inside the grounds as he went. Some were obvious – mounted on poles or positioned at doorways – but there were others, he already knew, that looked like street lighting or alarms. All in all, the security set-up was substantial, and it would be enough to put most intelligent criminals off using the hospital to identify targets.
Unless, of course, they had cause to visit the hospital regularly anyway. That made much more sense. Baarda walked through the main doors and looked around. Serial killers got sick too. They had sick relatives. They had jobs in healthcare.
There was no magic to psychopathy. Serial killers were from all walks of life. They didn’t only hunt at night or have a third nipple. Quite often, in his experience, they were really very boring.
‘It’s impossible,’ he muttered. ‘Too many variables.’
A female nurse walked past and gave him a broad smile. ‘You okay?’ she asked. ‘You look miles away.’
Baarda gave a small shake of his head and laughed. ‘Guess I’ve got a lot on my mind. I have a friend who’s agoraphobic and they have to come in for a minor procedure. I was trying to figure out which door they could use that gets the least foot traffic. I need to keep things quiet for them to avoid stress.’
‘Now that I can help with.’ She beamed. ‘My shift doesn’t start for half an hour so I can show you myself. Follow me.’
They walked away from the doors of the main building and back out towards the road before turning around the side of the block.
‘So do you live in Edinburgh or are you just visiting your friend?’ she asked.
‘Just visiting,’ Baarda said. ‘Although I’ve always loved Scotland. My parents used to bring me here for holidays as a child. It gets in your blood.’
‘That it does,’ she said. ‘I could never live anywhere else. What is it you do when you’re not travelling around being a good Samaritan?’
‘I’m in close protection,’ he replied automatically. ‘Bodyguard work for politicians and VIPs.’ It was his standard line.
‘Gosh, how exciting. Have you worked with anyone I’d know? Just down the pathway and the door’s on the right.’ She pointed.
‘Elton John, Kate Moss, Gordon Ramsay. Honestly, it’s not as glamorous as it sounds. Lots of late nights standing around in hotel lobbies and outside restaurants.’
‘Sounds thrilling to me. I’d love to hear a bit more about it. This is the entrance. It’s the external route into our geriatric rehabilitation unit. Most of these patients have been there a while but we’re still trying to get them well enough to go back to independent living. The double doors on the right go into their lounge, the corridor straight ahead goes past the nurses’ station and towards their bedrooms and physiotherapy rooms, but if you turn left here, you end up going through radiology then into A&E. The external door saves visitors to this unit from going through the main hospital with all the bugs and bacteria. Keeps our geriatric patients that little bit safer, butif they need x-rays or treatments, they can be taken straight through.’
‘That’s so thoughtful,’ Baarda said. ‘How clever. And yes, this does seem like the perfect entrance for my friend.’
‘I wish I had a boyfriend as thoughtful as you. Not many people would come to do a recce.’ She blushed slightly and Baarda was suddenly aware that she was looking at him with more interest than a simple desire to help. He wished he hadn’t had to lie. It was a part of the job that always made him feel uncomfortable. ‘You know, I still have just enough time for a coffee if you’d like one. I can show you the route through to the main block.’
‘That would have been lovely, but I’m on something of a deadline.’ Her face fell. ‘Plus, I don’t think my partner would appreciate me getting coffee with anyone as attractive as you. Thank you, though. Under any other circumstances, I’d have said yes.’
‘I suppose I’ll have to forgive you, then.’ She smiled. ‘I hope your friend has a stress-free visit. I work on the paediatric ward, just in case things change.’ She shrugged. ‘A girl can dream.’
Baarda watched her walk away and wondered what his life would be like had he never met Connie. Simpler, that was certain. Less exciting too. Definitely less confusing.
He constructed a rough map of the hospital grounds in his mind and tried to figure out what the view was from the unit he was in back towards the main entrance. The best way to check was to go into the residents’ lounge. That door, he found, was not locked. Baarda wandered in.
At the far end of the lounge was a wall of glass, with multiple sofas and armchairs overlooking a lawn and flower beds, beyond which were the main car park and the road where Baarda had parked. Soporific music played through tinny speakers and thefew residents who were using the lounge looked unimpressed. Other than that, the light was good, there was an enormous television at one side, plenty of games stacked on a table, and a packed bookshelf for readers.
Baarda went to the corner with the best view and looked out.
‘You’ll be police, then,’ a man said. ‘I can never quite put my finger on what makes you all stand out like you do.’
Baarda looked across the room at the man who was speaking to him. ‘Sounds like you know a few.’
‘I was in the fire service for forty years. Some of my best friends were police officers. It was always easier to be around people who understood what the deal was with the job. I’m Charlie Stott.’ He offered a hand to shake and tried to stand but was struggling.
