by Sibel Hodge
White glanced up when he heard the car approaching from behind and put his phone back in the console. In the rearview mirror, he watched Glover pull up behind him in his older, anonymous Ford Focus.
A few seconds later, Glover slid into the passenger seat and grinned at White before handing over a flash drive. ‘Number five.’
White took it and put it into his pocket. ‘You got all of it on camera?’
‘Of course. Wide angle, HD, a first-class-seat show.’
‘Good.’
‘Has Farzad Nuri been taken care of?’
‘Of course.’ White twisted in his seat to face Glover. ‘We couldn’t leave him to be arrested, like Natalie. It just creates a massive shit storm to clear up that I don’t need. There’ll be a big police hunt for him, but they’ll never find the body. And while we’re on the subject of shit storms… you just seem to be creating them wherever you go. First Natalie, then Marcelina.’
‘Hey, that wasn’t my fault! Natalie wasn’t supposed to go back to the university. I couldn’t get to her in time. And Marcelina had to be dealt with quickly.’
‘What’s her prognosis?’
‘Not looking good.’
‘But she’s still alive,’ White growled.
Glover shrugged. ‘Even if she survives, it looks like she’ll be brain-dead.’
‘This is the last time you act on your own initiative. We should’ve waited and done it properly. You’re getting very sloppy. That’s when mistakes get made.’ He glared at Glover. ‘What about the counselling notes? Did Marcelina talk about what was going on before the accident?’
‘No. She mentioned the usual, but she didn’t have time to share her suspicions before I sorted her out. But she could’ve done, so it was a good thing I did it then. I thought I was protecting us.’
‘Next time, don’t think. That’s what I’m here for. Where’s the other item?’
‘I took it direct to Hughes, like he asked me.’
‘Good.’
‘Is that the end of it then? Two suicides, two accidents, and a stabbing. Any more, and it’s going to start looking suspect.’
White stared at Glover, his grey eyes as hard as flint. ‘Thinking like that’s above your pay grade.’
‘I’m just saying.’
‘Haven’t you heard? There’s an epidemic of suicide rates amongst university students recently. Bristol Uni had ten in two years. Knife crime’s been on the rise for years. And hundreds of accidents happen every day. There’s a bigger pot to play with than you might think. You just do what you’re told. Make sure everything’s going to plan and don’t fuck it up again. That’s what you’re paid for.’
Glover shrugged, as if he didn’t care one way or the other.
‘I’ll be in touch.’ White started the engine and waited for Glover to get out of the car.
Chapter 29
Toni
There were no clients in the waiting room when I rushed inside the counselling block. Janet sat at her desk, phone pressed to her ear, and the door to Phil’s office and those of the other counsellors were all closed.
I waited by Janet’s desk until she hung up. ‘I’ve just heard about the stabbing,’ I said. ‘Was the offender really a student here?’
‘I’m afraid so. It seems a tutor from here was in St Peters Street when it happened and recognised him and called the police. Awful, isn’t it? Phil’s trying to find out more information now.’
‘Which student?’
She glanced down at the pad on her desk with her neat writing on. ‘Farzad Nuri.’
I pressed my lips together. I didn’t recognise the name, but it didn’t stop the breath catching in my throat at the awfulness of the situation.
‘Phil’s going to brief everyone in—’ She stopped abruptly as Phil stepped out of his office and strode towards us. His usually calm persona had an air of harassed urgency about it.
‘I take it you’ve heard?’ Phil said to me.
‘Yes.’ A wave of sadness washed over me for the victim. ‘It’s terrible.’
‘I need you both in my office for a few minutes. I’ll just round up the others.’ He strode back down the corridor.
Five minutes later, Phil’s small office was crowded to bursting point. Riya, another associate counsellor who’d joined a few months before me, stood next to Janet. The other full-time counsellors—Vincent, Georgina, and Kieran—formed a circle around Phil’s desk.
‘So… we’ve had official confirmation that the boy involved in the tragic stabbing was Farzad Nuri, who attended this university.’
Riya gasped.
‘How tragic.’ Georgina shook her head.
‘As you’re aware, in circumstances like this, we like to put a high profile on the services we provide to our students, in case anyone who knew Farzad or is affected by this incident wants to talk.’ He glanced over at Janet. ‘So Janet will shortly be putting together some form emails to students and dealing with the university’s online stuff, offering anyone counselling who needs it. Obviously, I don’t know how many people will take up our offer, but any students will be distributed equally amongst you all.’
Janet nodded gravely.
‘Was Farzad Nuri a client of ours?’ I asked Phil.
‘No. He’d never spoken to anyone from Student Counselling in the past. The only thing I know about him so far is that he was on his second year of a fine art course. He had an exemplary record until a few months ago, when his tutors thought his work was slacking.’
‘Do we know what prompted the attack?’ Kieran asked.
Phil held his hands up in the air. ‘That’s all I really know at the moment. Okay, so take some time to process this. If anyone wants to talk, I’ll be back in my office after two as I’ve got an emergency meeting to try and find out more. Are there any more questions?’
Nos all round. We were filing out when Phil called my name. I stepped back towards his desk as the others left, their muted conversation flowing back down the corridor with them.
‘I’m really sorry to ask, but is it all right if we push your supervision session back? This is going to take priority.’
‘Of course. What happened yesterday with Marcelina…’ I hesitated for a moment, wondering whether to mention my suspicions that something possibly sinister was going on with her. But I still had no idea that I was even right. I could’ve been just chasing shadows, and I knew what he’d say, that I was getting too involved, taking the student’s problems to heart. So instead I said, ‘I was obviously upset and in shock, but I’m okay. You’re going to be busy with this, I know, so you don’t need to worry about me.’
He smiled gratefully. ‘Thanks. But if you need me, just let me know. We’ll reschedule it for some time in the next few days.’
‘No problem.’
I went back into my office, shut the door, and sat down at my desk, wondering how statistically likely it was to have two tragedies in two days involving students from the same university. It had to be a horrific coincidence. There had already been a couple of suicides before I’d arrived, plus a tragic car accident involving another student. Maybe the university was just having a bad time lately.
I accessed the student record files that the counselling service was able to get hold of on the uni’s intranet. They weren’t full files, just scant details that provided a photograph of Farzad with his course details listed. I clicked out of the uni’s system and opened an internet tab. I searched the latest news reports, reading the same information that I’d already heard, until I found a site with a link to YouTube that had a tagline claiming to have caught the stabbing on camera.
A knot formed in my stomach at the thought someone had videoed and uploaded it. I should’ve been surprised, but I wasn’t. After my kidnapping, I knew more than most about the sick and twisted voyeurism some people could be capable of and the amount of darkness in the world.
I clicked the link, and the standard video box appeared. It already had twenty-six thousand vie
ws. I pressed Play and held my breath as I watched.
It had been filmed on a phone, and whoever was holding it as they walked along St Peters Street gave a running commentary in an American accent, saying how pretty it was, and that they were going down the hill to see the Abbey. As always, the street with its main drag of shops was busy with people.
A young guy with thick dark hair came into view from the bottom right-hand side of the frame, striding away from the camera phone as he walked along in front, hands in his jacket pockets, looking like he was going for a casual stroll. An older man in a suit walked towards the young man, one hand holding his own mobile phone to his ear as he took a call.
And then it happened. As they approached each other, the younger guy’s right hand slipped from his pocket, and I glimpsed a knife before he moved his hand down by his side. So this was most likely Farzad, although I still couldn’t see his face.
One second passed as the commentator, who obviously hadn’t noticed anything untoward, carried on talking about which shops they were passing. The man on the mobile phone hung up and looked down at his phone screen, distracted.
When Farzad reached the suited man, his hand swung up in the air and plunged straight into the man’s stomach. No one reacted for a moment. Not the victim. Not the passersby. Not the commentator. No one had realised something terrible had happened.
Then everything seemed to take place at once. The victim collapsed to the ground, clutching his stomach, groaning, eyes panicked and surprised. A red patch of blood oozed onto his white shirt in a star-shaped pattern.
The person with the camera said, ‘Oh, my Gawd! He’s got a knife!’ And they stopped walking suddenly, the phone shaking as it wobbled in their hand.
Some people moved towards the victim. Others backed away, heads looking around. A few were screaming.
Farzad shouted to the crowd to call an ambulance, eyes wild as he spun around in a circle, giving the camera a full view of his face. One witness pressed his mobile phone to his ear, presumably calling the emergency services.
Farzad dropped the knife. Then he ran through the crowd and disappeared down the street. A burly witness on the pavement shouted, ‘Where did he go? Did anyone see where he went?’
Someone pointed further down the street. ‘He ran down that way.’
The commentator said, ‘Oh, my. This is just awful. A man’s been stabbed. Right in front of us! I think it was a guy who ran away.’ But it wasn’t awful enough for them to stop filming, because they carried on as the victim lay on the ground, not moving, his eyes closed.
A woman crouched over him, hands pressed to the knife wound in his stomach that oozed blood, attempting to staunch the flow.
A few minutes later, an ambulance roared up the street, closely followed by two police cars.
It wasn’t self-defence. There was no provocation. The victim had been walking past Farzad, minding his own business, when Farzad lunged for him, stabbing him for no apparent reason.
I leaned closer to the screen suddenly as something—or rather someone—caught my eye. I stopped the video, went back twenty seconds, and played it again. The footage was jerky at that part, as whoever had filmed it quickly panned around with the phone outstretched, catching some people on the other side of the road.
My finger hovered over the mouse until he came into view again. I clicked to stop it, and the screen filled with a shot of three people standing in front of a shop, watching what was happening.
I focused on a man I thought I’d seen before. He wore a baseball cap, the peak tilted low, and sunglasses, but even so, the shape of his face and his features were quite distinctive. I recognised his nose—long and tapered to a blunt end. He had thin lips and prominent cheekbones. I was sure it was the same doctor who’d been in the trauma room with Marcelina when I’d first walked in to see her. Dr Lahey—that was his name.
I pressed Play again and watched as the camera panned back around to the victim lying unconscious on the ground, with two paramedics working on him. Four police officers were nearby, two glancing around frantically, as if looking for Farzad. One was talking into his radio, while the other tried to push the crowd away from the victim. But at no time did Dr Lahey approach the victim.
Why not? Surely he should’ve been the first one rushing in to offer help. He’d said he was a neurologist, but he must’ve still been experienced in dealing with trauma.
The footage stopped then, and I wound it back to where I’d seen Dr Lahey. I paused it and snapped a photo of the screen with my mobile phone. Then I called up an app on my phone to download the video. It would only be a matter of time before it was taken down.
I googled Watford General Hospital and clicked on their website, looking for the page that listed their staff. After entering neurology as a specialty, I scrolled through a team of doctors and consultants, but the Dr Lahey on the website was someone completely different to the man I’d met. I leaned closer to the screen, staring at Dr Lahey’s photograph, frowning and trying to think of a rational explanation.
I supposed it was possible the one I’d met was a locum from another hospital with the same name as another doctor, but the more I thought about it, the more off that seemed. Even a doctor from another hospital would’ve surely rushed in to help. Farzad Nuri had run away from the scene, so it was unlikely the man had been concerned for his safety before stepping in. And what were the chances of two neurology consultants having the same name, when it wasn’t a particularly common one? Now, as I thought back, what had happened in the trauma room when I found him there seemed highly suspicious. I hadn’t picked up on it at the time, because I’d been too upset about Marcelina.
I closed my eyes as I pictured the scene again. Marcelina had been on her side when I went in the room, but later, Dr Fellows had asked if I’d moved her from lying on her back. It seemed highly unlikely Marcelina could turn herself over if she was unconscious and sedated, so he, whoever he was, must’ve done it. But why? Who the hell was he? Someone pretending to be a doctor? And if so, for what reason? What had he been doing to Marcelina before I’d walked in?
I hadn’t paid much attention to it at the time, but now I ran through it step-by-step… when I’d entered the trauma room, the curtain had been drawn around her. He’d stepped out from behind it on the left of the bed. She’d been lying on her left side, blanket up to her chest, her back facing where he would’ve been standing beside her bed. And pretty much as soon as he saw me, he’d slid his hands into the pockets of his white lab coat, as if maybe he was holding something he didn’t want me to see, but—and this was something I’d only just realised—he hadn’t been wearing latex gloves. Surely every member of the medical staff would be wearing them to examine patients. Not just for their own safety, but also to combat the spread of MRSA and other infections. And now that I thought about it, his demeanour had seemed a bit off, as well. This whole thing was getting weirder and weirder.
I rang Mitchell and told him about the latest developments. He asked me to send him the YouTube video and the photo of the doctor, and he’d get Lee to find out what he could.
But now I was certain that somehow, and I had no idea why, the tragedies involving Farzad and Marcelina had to be connected.
Chapter 30
Detective Becky Harris
I called the number on the brochure for the Watling Centre and spoke to the receptionist I’d seen earlier, explaining how I wanted to volunteer for Professor Klein’s research, but the earliest I could get an appointment with him was the following afternoon.
Then I looked through Natalie Wheeler’s file again. Immediately after Natalie’s arrest, she’d been very confused. Her first words recorded by the arresting officer were that she hadn’t seen the elderly pedestrian she’d run over and couldn’t remember what had happened at all. At the police station, she’d suffered what seemed to be a complete breakdown and had been given an initial psychiatric evaluation and declared unfit to be questioned. The force psychiatrist had
said she was possibly trying to block out the horror of what she’d done and was suffering from traumatic amnesia. But now, Natalie was being evaluated by a forensic psychiatrist until a formal decision was made on whether she was fit to stand trial.
The mental health hospital she was being detained in had carried out several diagnostic tests—EEG tests to measure brain patterns and blood and urine tests. Any neurological reasons for her mental state had been ruled out. According to the most recent evaluation update, Natalie was described as being disorganised, sometimes catatonic, and suffering from hallucinations and delusions. She had confused ideas of what was going on around her and believed a moth in her brain talked to her and told her to do things. She was being treated with a combination of antipsychotic medication and psychotherapy, but there hadn’t been much positive progress in her condition yet.
Poor girl. It was all terribly sad. For her and the victim’s family. But was she really schizophrenic? Jess and Millie had seen her with Professor Klein. They’d said it looked as if they were arguing. And if Klein was doing mind research on students, was it possible what he’d done had messed up her head so completely, she just seemed like she had schizophrenia?