The Kidney Donor (Dave Slater Mystery Novels Book 8)

by P. F. Ford

  Norman glanced at Slater again. He was obviously getting excited by the idea.

  ‘It’s just an idea,’ said Slater.

  ‘How about if Coulter’s got something on Sterling?’ suggested Norman. ‘Blackmail’s always been high on his list of hobbies. I wouldn’t put it past him to have Sterling by the short and curlies. Maybe he’s in so deep he feels he has no choice.’

  ‘So you like my idea, then?’ asked Slater, with an infectious grin that Norman mirrored immediately.

  ‘I’ve heard more unlikely theories that turned into reality,’ said Norman. ‘But, even though it explains Morgan’s kidney going missing, it doesn’t really explain why he was murdered.’

  ‘Unless it was to keep him quiet,’ said Slater. ‘If they’re operating unofficially and they thought he might spill the beans, it makes perfect sense.’

  ‘Okay, I can buy that,’ agreed Norman, ‘but there’s still a big hole in your theory. What about Doddsy? Where does he fit in with all this? Or are you suggesting his death was unrelated?’

  ‘I haven’t worked that one out yet,’ admitted Slater. ‘I’m sure the poor bugger fits in there somewhere, I just don’t see where.’

  They were on the upmarket estate where the Sterlings lived now.

  ‘Okay,’ said Norman. ‘Let’s put this theory on the back-burner while we see what Clara has to say. Maybe she can shed some light on her husband’s relationship with Coulter. And then, after that, I think we need to see if we can find a way to speak to Fabian himself.’

  It would be fair to say Clara Sterling was less than impressed to find Slater and Norman on her doorstep again.

  ‘What on earth do you want now?’ she asked, impatiently.

  ‘We have just a few more questions, ma’am. We won’t take up much of your time,’ promised Norman.

  She sighed and rolled her eyes. ‘Is this about my private life?’

  ‘Err, well,’ began Norman.

  ‘I thought so,’ she snarled, stepping back to make room to slam the door. ‘Well, you can just clear off. What I do in my own time is up to me. Now go away or I’ll call the police.’

  ‘We know what your husband’s up to,’ said Slater, as she reached for the door.

  She stopped and looked at him in surprise. ‘What do you mean by that?’

  ‘We know what he’s doing at Heston Park,’ said Slater.

  ‘Yes, he’s setting up a surgical unit,’ she said. ‘It’s not a secret.’

  ‘But did you know he’s already operating before it’s officially open?’ asked Slater. ‘Now that is a secret, isn’t it?’

  ‘And we know Coulter’s involved,’ added Norman.

  Now her curiosity had got the better of her. ‘If what you say is true, you know more than I do,’ she said, ‘but then he never discusses his work with me. Even so, I can’t believe he would do anything like that. It would be unethical.’

  ‘He doesn’t even tell you about the operations he performs?’ asked Slater, genuinely amazed anyone could keep quiet about such things.

  She rolled her eyes and looked to the heavens. ‘I don’t know what you think he does,’ she said, ‘but I can assure you hearing about minor operations gets a bit boring after twenty years. That’s why he doesn’t tell me – he knows I get bored hearing it.’

  ‘What sort of surgeon is your husband?’ asked Norman.

  ‘I believe the official job description is general surgeon, but he’d be a below average one.’

  ‘So he wouldn’t carry out an operation like, say, a kidney transplant?’ suggested Norman.

  She snorted a short, derisive, laugh. ‘Ha! Only in his dreams. He’s certainly vain enough to aspire to such lofty heights, and he’s happy for people to think he’s that good, but in reality he’s nowhere near good enough to be trusted with anything so complex.’

  ‘So he’s not very good, then?’ asked Slater.

  ‘Let’s put it this way,’ she said. ‘If I ever chopped off one of my fingers, I’d rather go to a seamstress to have it sewn back on than let my husband anywhere near it.’

  ‘If he’s so bad, how on earth did he come to land this job at Heston Park?’ asked Norman.

  ‘I’ve been asking myself the same question for over a year. You’ll have to ask him yourself.’

  ‘You know Coulter got him the job, don’t you?’ asked Norman.

  ‘Yes, of course, I know.’

  ‘Why would Coulter want to employ your husband?’

  ‘Maybe he felt sorry for him, I don’t know.’

  ‘Why would he feel sorry for him?’

  She glanced away, unable to maintain eye contact. ‘Why do you think?’ she said, guiltily.

  ‘Mrs Sterling,’ said Norman, ‘men like Stan Coulter don’t know how to feel sorry for another human being. It’s not in their DNA. All they know about is how to exploit people. It sounds to me like he’s put your husband in that position so he can manipulate him. Can you think of any reason this might be the case?’

  As she listened to Norman’s opinion of Coulter and his motives, she seemed to change from fierce defender of her own rights to become almost childlike, even managing a sulky pout before she spoke.

  ‘Stanley’s really not like that,’ she said, softly. ‘He’s very charming. He knows how to make a woman feel like a woman.’

  ‘Oh, he’s a charmer, alright,’ said Norman, ‘I bet he could charm the knickers off a nun, but charming? I don’t think so. Trust me, he’s a people-user, nothing more, nothing less.’

  Suddenly her face contorted into a snarl and her eyes seemed to glow with hatred that she directed straight at Norman. ‘How dare you talk about him like that?’ she yelled. ‘He’s just a poor man who’s lost one son and has another near death, and all you can do is stand there making accusations when you know nothing about him, or me.’

  ‘I know he’s using you, and I can assure you he’s almost certainly using your husband, too.’

  ‘Right. That’s it,’ she screeched. ‘Get out of here. Go on, get away, or I will call the police. In fact, I’m going in to do it right now!’

  She turned on her heel, pausing just long enough to slam the door as hard as she could. Slater and Norman stood looking at the now closed door.

  ‘I suppose that means the interview’s over,’ said Slater, with a rueful grin.

  ‘D’you think she will call the cops?’ asked Norman.

  ‘I doubt it, but maybe we’d better get out of here, just in case.’

  They turned together, giggling like schoolboys, pushing and shoving as they broke into a run for the car. Inevitably, Slater won the race to the car, but it was a hollow victory as Norman was driving and had the keys in his pocket.

  ‘Lunch?’ asked Norman as he started the car.

  Slater looked at his watch. It was almost four in the afternoon. ‘Late lunch,’ he corrected Norman.

  Norman looked at his own watch. ‘Jeez, is that the time? No wonder my stomach keeps telling me my throat’s been cut.’

  ‘Is that what that noise is?’ asked Slater. ‘I thought it was the thunderstorm heading back this way.’

  Norman ignored the reference to his gurgling belly. ‘Now I understand why I can’t think straight,’ he said, ‘I never can when I’m deprived of food.’

  ‘Deprived?’ echoed Slater. ‘Maybe you need to look that word up in the dictionary when you get home.’

  ‘But it’s a bit late for lunch, don’t you think?’ asked Norman, oblivious to the sarcasm Slater was sending his way. ‘I mean, I wouldn’t want to spoil my dinner.’

  Slater rolled his eyes. ‘Good Lord, no, of course not,’ he said. ‘Perish the thought.’

  ‘I tell you what,’ said Norman. ‘How about we just have a snack, something light to fill the gap until later?’

  ‘Really? You? Something light?’

  ‘Oh yeah,’ said Norman, almost drooling at the thought, ‘and I know just the place to get it.’

  ‘Now there’s a surprise.’
Slater had a feeling he knew exactly where they were going.

  Five minutes later, his suspicions were confirmed when Norman pulled off the bypass into a lay-by where a mobile burger bar was parked.

  ‘How does two double cheeseburgers with fries constitute a light snack?’ asked Slater, incredulously, as he watched Norman struggle to get two hands around the burger.

  ‘Look, it’s just a couple of small rolls,’ said Norman. ‘You’ve got the same.’

  ‘I’ve got a ham roll,’ protested Slater. ‘How is that the same?’

  ‘A roll’s a roll, isn’t it?’

  ‘Except I have one that’s about three inches in diameter,’ said Slater, removing the top from his roll to survey its contents, ‘with a couple of pieces of lettuce, two slices of tomato and a wafer thin slice of ham. You, on the other hand, have two huge baps, each one filled with two greasy burgers and a slice of synthetic cheese.’

  ‘And lettuce,’ said Norman. ‘Don’t forget the lettuce. See, at the end of the day, we both have the same thing – meat and salad. It’s just that my meat is cooked and yours isn’t.’

  ‘They’re nothing like the same!’ said Slater, incredulously. ‘Each one of yours is so big you need two bloody hands to pick it up!’

  ‘You’re just splitting hairs.’

  ‘Splitting hairs? You have enough calories there to feed a small army! And you really intend to eat dinner later?’

  He had to wait for Norman to finish chewing before he got a reply.

  ‘Too right, I do,’ said Norman, indignantly. ‘I gotta keep my strength up!’

  ‘You’re going to need it to cart all that excess weight around,’ said Slater.

  ‘I think you’ll find such comments are considered very unPC, these days.’

  ‘Don’t you ever think about your heart?’

  ‘Never,’ said Norman. ‘Why would I? You don’t think about taking your car in for repairs all the time do you? Of course not, you wait until it breaks down, and then you worry about getting it repaired.’

  ‘But what if your car stops and never starts again,’ said Slater. ‘What do you do then?’

  Norman took another huge mouthful while he considered this new concept and chewed thoughtfully. When he finally realised he didn’t actually have a smart answer, he decided to change the focus of the conversation.

  ‘If this is supposed to be some new, positive, grown-up, outlook on life,’ he said, ‘I think you may have a problem with the idea of what “being positive” really is. It sounds to me like you’re still as negative as you ever were.’

  Slater was completely wrong-footed for a moment, and he struggled to know how to respond. Then Norman’s mobile phone started to burble away in his pocket, and the chance was gone.

  ‘Yo,’ said Norman, into his phone. ‘Oh, hi, Jane.’ He put his double cheese burger down so he could devote his full attention to the conversation.

  Slater was impressed that Jane Jolly could have such an effect on his partner, and began to feel a little uncomfortable, as if he were inadvertently eavesdropping on a private conversation. He got up from the wooden picnic table where they were seated and walked up and down, ostensibly to stretch his legs. He waited until Norman had finished his call before he re-joined him.

  ‘That was Jane,’ said Norman, stuffing another huge bite from one of his burgers.

  Slater smiled. ‘Yeah, I thought it might be.’

  Norman gave him a look. ‘What?’

  ‘Nothing,’ said Slater. ‘I was just impressed to see you put the food to one side while you spoke to her. That one little gesture speaks volumes about how you feel about her.’

  Norman took another huge mouthful.

  ‘There, you see?’ said Slater. ‘I rest my case. You don’t stop eating when you’re talking to me, but you do when Jane’s on the phone. I suppose at least now I know where I stand.’

  ‘Yeah, whatever,’ said Norman, disdainfully, and carried on eating.

  ‘It was a private call, was it?’ asked Slater.

  ‘What?’

  ‘Well? Are you going to tell me what she said, or shall I guess?’

  ‘Oh right, of course, sorry,’ said Norman. ‘She’s been looking into Fabian Sterling. It turns out maybe he’s not such a crap surgeon as his wife makes out. There was a time when he was riding high and had a bright future, then he had a patient die on the operating table.’

  ‘Ah,’ said Slater. ‘I suppose that doesn’t look good on the old CV if you’re a surgeon. Was it his fault?’

  ‘He claimed it was unforeseen and could have happened to the best of them. His detractors claimed he was negligent and insisted there should be an inquiry. He was cleared of negligence eventually, but it took a long fight to clear his name. In the meantime, while all that was going on, he was shunted into a siding, career-wise, and even though he was cleared, the best he could hope for after that was general stuff. But even then it looks as if no one was prepared to really trust him.’

  ‘So, it didn’t quite finish him,’ said Slater, ‘but it effectively put the brakes on any further progress.’

  ‘Exactly.’

  ‘So there’s a man who will, almost certainly, be filled with resentment.’

  ‘A perfect target for a people-user like Coulter,’ said Norman. ‘If he was offered a chance to start afresh, away from the regulations that have been holding him back, and also offered lots of dosh on top of that, what’s he going to do?’

  ‘And we know Coulter was already bonking Clara,’ added Slater, ‘so maybe he knew all about Fabian wanting to up sticks and make a fresh start, which was another lever he could use.’

  ‘I reckon he planned to trap Fabian all along,’ said Norman. ‘He wouldn’t want his son to wait in a queue for a transplant like everyone else, he’d want to find a way to jump the queue. What better way than having your own pet surgeon, and then buying a surgical theatre in a private hospital to carry out the operation? I wouldn’t be at all surprised if he found out about Fabian, and then used his wife to find out all he needed to know.’

  ‘We definitely need to speak to Fabian – and soon,’ said Slater, ‘but if he knows we’re coming, he’ll just avoid us.’

  ‘Yeah, we need some sort of plan. Got any ideas?’

  ‘Let me think on it,’ said Slater.

  ‘So what do you reckon?’ asked Norman. ‘Did Jane do good on her first day back?’

  ‘Considering she’s only doing a couple of hours at a time, yeah, I think she did. Did she say anything else?’

  ‘Yeah, there was one more thing. Apparently her mother’s so concerned she’s looking in on her and peering over her shoulder every five minutes which is driving her mad. So she said can she come and work from your house? I said you wouldn’t mind. It’s only for a couple of hours in the mornings, and we’ll probably be out anyway.’

  Slater immediately felt indignant that Norman was inviting people to come and work from his house, but instead of saying the first thing that came into his head, he stopped and considered. It was only for a couple of hours a day, and it wasn’t as if she was a stranger, was it?

  ‘Yeah, okay,’ he said. ‘When does she want to start?’

  ‘I told her tomorrow at ten,’ said Norman. ‘I said I’d leave a key under the doormat if we’re not there.’

  Slater laughed out loud.

  ‘Now what?’ asked Norman.

  ‘Oh nothing much. There’s just a certain irony about this expert security consultant leaving a key under the doormat.’

  Chapter Thirteen

  It was just gone seven thirty and already it was dark. Slater always found the gloom outside that accompanied nightfall rather depressing, so he had just finished doing a tour of his little house, closing all the curtains and turning on one or two lamps. His house might be small, but with the right lighting, small soon became cosy, and choosing lamps for that purpose had been the one piece of interior design he had put some serious thought into.

  He ha
d refused Norman’s offer to attend to the homeless at the church hall tonight. Sometimes he just wanted to spend some time on his own, and tonight was one of those occasions. As he settled into his favourite armchair and pointed the remote control at the TV, he thought having an evening to himself in a nice, warm, cosy house, watching football on the TV and enjoying a beer or two, was just about as good as it gets. And then his doorbell rang.

  He sighed and cursed quietly. Briefly, he sat where he was, determined to ignore whoever it was in the hope that maybe they would go away and leave him in peace, but another more persistent ring told him it wasn’t going to happen. He climbed reluctantly to his feet and took the half dozen or so strides to reach his front door. He paused to remove the frown from his face and then opened the door.

  A small, scrawny figure wearing baggy jeans and a hoodie stood on his step. She had her back to him and seemed to be looking for someone who had perhaps followed her.

  ‘Err, hello?’ he said. ‘Can I help you?’

  She had her hood up, and as she turned to face him, he could see her face was hidden behind a huge pair of sunglasses, but even so he knew who she was. A pair of training shoes that were well past their best completed her ensemble. She stared at him from behind the huge dark lenses, but didn’t seem to know what to say.

  Slater wondered what on earth she was doing here. ‘It’s Ginger, isn’t it?’ he asked.

  ‘Yes, that’s right,’ she said.

  He remembered back to the night in the church hall when he had first seen her. He had been quite sure he knew her from somewhere, and now she spoke, he knew he was right. He felt he should know that voice but, annoyingly, he still couldn’t quite place her.

  ‘Can I come in?’ she said. ‘I need to talk to you.’

  His head suddenly began to fill with questions. Although he felt he knew the voice, they had not actually spoken the night he had first seen her, so why would she think he was someone she should talk to? How had she known where to find him? What did she want?

  ‘Is it important?’ he asked, stupidly.