The Kidney Donor (Dave Slater Mystery Novels Book 8)

by P. F. Ford

‘Did he say anything about the younger boy being sick?’

  Ryan thought for a moment. ‘I don’t remember him saying anything like that,’ he said, ‘but he did say his dad was a real shit, I remember that.’

  ‘He’s right about that,’ agreed Norman.

  Ryan looked quickly at the clock on the wall above the door. ‘I have to go now.’ He held up the bag of goodies from the bakery. ‘I should get these to Ginger, she’ll be starving.’

  Norman slid one of his business cards across the table. ‘If you think of anything else, would you give me a call?’

  Ryan looked at the card and then slipped it into his coat pocket.

  ‘Thanks for sparing us the time,’ said Norman. ‘You’ve been a great help.’

  ‘We all know I haven’t really, Norm,’ he said, as he got to his feet. ‘I’ve told you near enough bugger all, and you know it.’

  He shuffled around the table, squeezed past Norman and headed for the door.

  Norm looked distinctly ruffled. ‘See you around,’ he called.

  Ryan stopped and turned. There was a determined look on his face. ‘That will depend on whether I’ve still got what it takes,’ he said, before spinning on his heels and heading through the door.

  ‘What was that all about?’ asked Slater as the door banged closed behind the departing Ryan.

  ‘I haven’t a clue,’ said Norman, ‘but I don’t like the sound of it.’

  ‘He knows what’s going on here, doesn’t he?’

  ‘He certainly knows a damned sight more than we do.’

  ‘Did we learn anything?’

  ‘We know he feels Morgan let his mate get his head blown off, but we’re none the wiser about what trouble Morgan was in or why he died. If anything, Ryan’s put himself forward as a potential suspect in Morgan’s murder. He’s certainly got a good motive.’

  ‘What did we learn about Coulter’s family?’ asked Slater, going on to answer the question himself. ‘Sod all we didn’t already know.’

  ‘So, basically, you got me up early for nothing,’ said Norman, rolling his eyes dramatically. ‘I hope you’re not going to make a habit of this.’

  ‘It’s not even seven yet,’ said Slater, dismayed. ‘Oh well, now we’re awake, we might as well make sure we agree about what we do actually know.’

  ‘I suppose it won’t do any harm,’ agreed Norman. ‘Okay, so we know Morgan and Doddsy are dead.’

  ‘I can’t argue with that, but what do we know about why they’re both dead?’

  ‘In Morgan’s case, we now know he was held responsible for the death of Bobby Coulter, so at least we have revenge as a motive for Stan Coulter having him bumped off.’

  ‘It’s also a motive for Ryan bumping him off,’ pointed out Slater.

  ‘Ryan’s a soldier,’ said Norman. ‘I think that makes him more likely to view Bobby’s death in a different way. I don’t think he would have murdered Morgan for revenge. I actually believe him when he said he was going to call an ambulance next day.’

  ‘But he is a trained killer,’ argued Slater, playing devil’s advocate.

  ‘But even so, I don’t see it.’

  ‘You’re probably right, but we shouldn’t rule it out completely.’

  ‘And then there’s Doddsy,’ said Norman. ‘Why would anyone want to bump him off? Is there a connection? If so, what the hell is it?’

  ‘They were both in the forces,’ said Slater. ‘Maybe we just have someone who hates soldiers?’

  ‘Or maybe it’s a bit more specific than that,’ suggested Norman. ‘Morgan was SAS, and Doddsy loved to tell everyone he was. Perhaps someone with a grudge against the SAS believed him. Maybe Coulter heard about him and figured he had to be involved with Bobby’s death.’

  Slater pulled a face. ‘It’s possible, I suppose, especially if those two heavies we met were Coulter’s and reported back to him.’

  ‘And don’t forget – Doddsy told me to tell Ryan he hadn’t told them anything that would lead them to him,’ said Norman.

  ‘And Ryan made a run for it the night they turned up,’ added Slater. ‘So how about if this is really all about Ryan? What if someone’s trying to find him, knows he’s ex-SAS, but doesn’t know what he looks like?’

  ‘You mean Coulter?’

  ‘There were two other guys in that team with Bobby Coulter,’ said Slater. ‘If Stan Coulter knew Morgan was one, he could just as easily know Ryan was the other.’

  Norman looked appalled at the idea. ‘What? And he’s murdering anyone he thinks might be ex-SAS just to cover all the bases and make sure?’

  ‘Either that or some mystery person is just bumping off anyone who’s ex-services,’ said Slater. ‘Either way, it works for me.’

  ‘We’re leaning towards Coulter aren’t we?’

  ‘It looks that way.’

  ‘D’you think that’s because I don’t like him?’

  ‘That could be a factor,’ said Slater. ‘Or, it could be because, so far, he’s the only suspect we have who appears to have any real sort of motive for both murders.’

  Norman sighed. ‘This is making my head ache. It’s these early starts, they’re not good for me. I think I’m going to head off home for a shower and a shave, see if I can’t make myself a bit more human before I go and see Jane.’

  ‘You really think a shower and a shave is all it will take?’ asked Slater.

  Norman gave him a look, but it was obviously too early for him to think of a smart answer.

  ‘D’you think she’s going to be alright?’ asked Slater.

  ‘I think she’ll be just fine,’ Norman assured him, ‘as long as we treat her like we always did and don’t make a lot of fuss about what happened.’

  Chapter Eleven

  ‘So what’s the big deal?’ asked Slater, as he climbed into Norman’s car a couple of hours later.

  ‘Jane’s come up with something already. It was brilliant,’ said Norman, a huge grin on his face. ‘I’d barely finished telling her all about the case and what we were looking for. She just did a Google search and up it came. I would never have found it so easily. I would have been searching for Stan Coulter, but not Jane. She went straight in for Stanley Coulter, and up it came.’

  Slater had to give Norman ten out of ten for enthusiasm, and he was obviously delighted for Jane, but he had yet to reveal anything about where they were going – or why.

  ‘Up what came?’ he asked patiently.

  ‘Heston Park,’ said Norman.

  ‘What’s Heston Park?’ asked Slater.

  ‘It’s a private hospital and nursing home,’ said Norman.

  Slater waited, and waited.

  ‘How about you give me a little more?’ he suggested. ‘Like why this place is relevant? Or where is it? Maybe I can start to get as excited as you obviously are if I can understand why we need to be flying straight over there.’

  ‘Oh, right,’ said Norman. ‘Sorry, I got a bit carried away. I think it was seeing Jane looking all business-like again after all this time.’

  Slater looked across at him. ‘Are you sure you two are just friends?’

  Norman blushed what Slater thought was a nicely incriminating shade of crimson, but he kept his eyes glued to the road and didn’t so much as glance at his passenger.

  ‘I’m just pleased for her, that’s all,’ he said, quietly. ‘I mean, if you’d seen how low she was, you’d understand what a big step this is.’

  Yeah, right, thought Slater, cynically, but he chose not to push the matter any further.

  ‘So what did she find?’ he asked.

  ‘At first glance, you could be forgiven for thinking our Stanley might have turned into something of a philanthropist,’ explained Norman, ‘because, according to the internet, he’s been donating a lot of money to Heston Park.’

  ‘That’s good of him,’ said Slater, ‘but people like him aren’t naturally charitable, so what’s the real reason?’

  ‘When you start to dig around, it tu
rns out his son, Terry, is a patient.’

  Like a dog that had just heard its quarry in the distance, Slater’s ears suddenly seemed to tune Norman in so well he heard nothing but his colleague’s voice.

  ‘Now I’m interested,’ he said. ‘Would this be the younger son? The one we think is long-term sick?’

  ‘You got it in one,’ said Norman.

  ‘Does it say what’s wrong with him?’

  ‘Nope. We’re going to have to find that out, but they do terminal care at this place, so I’m thinking it’s nothing minor.’

  ‘Do you really think it needs two of us to find that out?

  ‘I dunno,’ admitted Norman, looking inordinately pleased with himself, ‘but that’s not the only reason I thought we should go down there.’

  ‘So, what else did Jane find?’ asked Slater, patiently playing the game.

  ‘There was a photograph that will really interest you. It seems Coulter has become a massive hit with the powers-that-be at this hospital, and he’s become pretty influential, so much so that he even gets to recommend, and then welcome, new members of staff.’

  ‘Recommend staff?’ spluttered Slater in amazement. ‘What the hell does he know about medicine?’

  ‘You’d like to think that would be part of the criteria when they’re selecting new staff, wouldn’t you?’ said Norman, ‘And let’s hope that was how it was in this case. But I guess it’s okay because we know this guy’s a doctor.’

  ‘We do?’ said Slater. ‘You mean we know him?’

  Norman kept glancing at Slater as he drove onwards. Slater could sense he was preparing for a dramatic reveal.

  ‘We haven’t actually met him,’ Norman said, ‘but we do know of him. We met his wife the other day.’

  Slater was lagging way behind Norman’s train of thought and hadn’t yet managed to join the dots that were being so carefully placed in front of him.

  Norman sighed in frustration. ‘The doctor’s name is Fabian Sterling!’

  It took a second or two, but then the penny dropped.

  ‘Sterling?’ said Slater. ‘You mean Clara Sterling’s husband? Are you sure?’

  ‘Well, if it’s not her husband it’s got to be one hell of a coincidence,’ said Norman, ‘because she’s in the photograph.’

  ‘Okay, so that’s no coincidence, then,’ agreed Slater. ‘But isn’t he some sort of fancy surgeon or something? Why would a guy like that want to move to some piddly little private hospital? I thought when these guys went private they shared their services around for maximum financial benefit.’

  ‘According to the story that went with the photo, Heston Park is planning to open a surgical unit. Fabian Sterling is going to set up and head that unit.’

  ‘Can they do that just because they want to?’ asked Slater.

  Norman shrugged. ‘Beats me,’ he said. ‘Maybe you have to start with something simple, like removing warts, and then build up to complex stuff.’

  ‘What sort of surgeon is he? Some sort of specialist?’

  ‘In the article it says he’s a general surgeon. Now I’m not sure, but if we assume it does what it says on the tin, I guess it means he can do all sorts of stuff but nothing too complicated or specialised.’

  ‘I suppose that makes sense,’ said Slater. ‘Start simple, build up a reputation, and then expand.’

  He thought for a few moments. ‘Is it just me, or can you smell something?’

  ‘You mean like a rat?’ asked Norman.

  ‘Yeah, something like that,’ said Slater, ‘but a great big bugger of a rat, you know? We’ve got Coulter bonking Clara, and then employing and welcoming her husband to a hospital that he’s only funding because of his son’s illness.’

  ‘We don’t know if he was bonking her back then. Maybe they met when they had this welcome shindig.’

  ‘Christ,’ said Slater. ‘If they met before that . . . If they met before her old man got the job–’

  ‘It suggests a long term plan on Coulter’s part,’ finished Norman.

  ‘We need to find that out. We’ll have to pay Clara another visit.’

  ‘Well, I had nothing planned for this afternoon anyway,’ said Norman.

  They pulled off the road and onto the drive that approached Heston Park. At first glance, it looked like just another grandiose house that had been standing for two or three hundred years, but as they followed the signs around the back to the car park, a huge modern extension was revealed, attached to the rear of the main house.

  ‘How are we going to play this?’ asked Slater, as Norman pulled into a vacant parking space. ‘First we need to find out where Terry Coulter is, then we need to try and find out what’s wrong with him.’

  Norman turned to him and offered a huge, theatrically exaggerated wink. ‘Have no fear, I have a plan. I took a gander at the place online. It seems they have a reception desk which just has one lady watching it. How about if you go in just ahead of me with a bouquet of flowers for Terry Coulter. If we’re really lucky, they’ll show you to his room, but if not, you can create a diversion and maybe I can sneak in, or have a look at the register and see which room he’s in.’

  Slater looked at him and raised an eyebrow. ‘How long did it take you to think of that?’

  ‘It must have taken me all of five seconds,’ admitted Norman.

  ‘That’ll explain all the gaping great holes in it, then.’

  ‘We can improvise. Come on, it’s just one lady on the desk. How hard can it be?’

  Slater wrinkled his nose slightly.

  ‘Have you got a better idea?’ asked Norman, challengingly.

  Slater sighed. ‘No, I haven’t. But I don’t have a bouquet either.’

  ‘No problem,’ said Norman, opening his door. ‘They have a small shop inside. It’ll probably be a rip-off, but that’s okay, you can claim it as expenses and take it back out of the petty cash tin.’

  ‘Petty cash tin?’ said Slater. ‘We have a petty cash tin? I thought that was my wallet!’

  ‘Will you quit complaining?’ said Norman, climbing from the car. ‘Anyone would think you were getting a rough deal here.’

  ‘But I am getting a rough deal. I’m not getting paid, and I seem to be shelling out for anything and everything. I’m not a bottomless pit, you know. I quit my job, I didn’t win the damned lottery.’

  Norman looked up at the sky and rolled his eyes. ‘And, of course,’ he muttered to himself, ‘I did win the lottery when I chose to have Moaning Minnie as my partner.’

  ‘What was that?’ asked Slater, climbing from the car.

  ‘Nothing,’ said Norman, innocently. ‘I was just saying it would be good if we did win the lottery.’

  Slater knew bullshit when he heard it and glowered at him.

  They walked over to the doors and pushed their way into the reception area. The seat behind the desk was empty, but they could see a formidable-looking lady talking on the telephone in the office behind it. Slater peeled off towards the small shop across the hallway. The formidable lady impatiently acknowledged Norman with a gesture that suggested he would have to wait until she was free to deal with him. He thought maybe he would be able to sneak a look at the register, but she didn’t take her eyes off him for one second, and he stood feeling, as he often had done as a small boy, as though he was waiting to be dealt with by the headmistress.

  A couple of minutes later, Slater reappeared, carrying one of the smallest bouquets Norman had ever seen. He couldn’t help but notice Slater’s ashen face, but then he would have been pretty shocked himself if he had just had to lay out twenty pounds for a handful of limp flowers wrapped in cheap tissue paper.

  As he caught Norman’s eye, Slater indicated the flowers and mouthed his disapproval. ‘Twenty bloody quid for this crap!’

  Before Norman could respond, a strident voice echoed through the reception area. ‘Now then, how can I help you?’

  To Slater’s surprise, Norman, still the schoolboy in his head, recoiled in te
rror, actually flinching at the sound of her voice, so he stepped forward, holding his bouquet by way of explanation.

  ‘I’m from the florists,’ he said, boldly. ‘I’ve got to deliver this bouquet to Terry Coulter. If you’ll just show me the way, I’ll take them to his room.’

  ‘I don’t think so,’ said the lady, drawing herself up, ready for battle. ‘No self-respecting florist would send out flowers in that state. You’ve just bought those from our shop. And anyway, this gentleman was here before you.’ She indicated Norman with a wave of her hand, and now he had regained his composure, he was ready to play his part with theatrical gusto.

  ‘Yes,’ he said, looking down his nose at Slater. ‘There’s a queue here, you know. Who do you think you are, barging in like that?’

  Slater couldn’t quite believe his ears and was sorely tempted to tell Norman exactly who he thought he was, but with a huge effort, he managed to keep control and continue to play his own part.

  He looked apprehensively at the lady again. The name on the badge pinned to her formidable left breast said Meryl Battle, and she was clearly more than willing to live up to her name.

  ‘No, I’m delivering them,’ argued Slater, half-heartedly, for he already knew this was one Battle he wasn’t going to get the better of, no matter what he did.

  ‘Right,’ she snapped. ‘If you’re going to continue with this cock-and-bull story, there’s an easy way to prove I’m right. How about we go over to the shop?’ She indicated the limp flowers in Slater’s hand. ‘We’ll soon see where you got those pathetic things from.’

  She marched out from behind her desk, breasts proudly to the fore, cleaving their way towards the shop like the prow of a battleship parting the waves, almost daring anyone to try and stop her. As she passed Slater, she pointed a finger at him. ‘Come along,’ she snapped. ‘They’re not exactly rushed off their feet, so I’m sure they will be able to remember both customers they’ve served this morning.’

  Slater stood his ground, looking helplessly at Norman, until Meryl swung around and glared at him.

  ‘Well, come along. Don’t just stand there.’

  Reluctantly, he followed in her wake, now feeling every inch the same terrified schoolboy that Norman had felt just a few short minutes before.