Kill and Cure

by Andy Ashdown Design

  ‘No, of course I didn’t. I had a man with a gun all over me.’

  ‘So you can’t be sure she was dead.’

  ‘There’s no way she could have survived,’ he said softly.

  ‘So when I ask my team to go to the house, there will be a murder scene awaiting us?’

  ‘Yes,’ Stich whispered.

  ‘Then there’s nothing more to do here.’

  He flipped the notebook shut and looked up.

  ‘Is that it?’ Stich asked.

  ‘For the moment.’

  47

  ‘So, what do you think?’

  Willis clasped his hands and dropped them in his lap. ‘It’s a disturbing story.’

  ‘But do you believe me?’

  ‘Not important,’ he said, standing up.

  ‘This man,’ Stich asked. ‘Is he familiar to you? I mean, do you recognise the description?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Are you going up to the house right now?’

  Willis stood up. ‘Yes, right now.’

  ‘What should I do?’

  ‘Stay here. The doctor tells me you need to rest, so I suggest you do that.’ He heaved himself off the bed and walked towards the door. ‘I’ll leave one of my officers outside the room,’ he said over his shoulder.

  ‘What for?’

  ‘Just routine. A standard precaution, that’s all.’

  ‘Am I under arrest?’

  ‘No, but we’ll need to talk again.’

  48

  10

  Stich glanced around for a phone and then he remembered Susan’s mobile. The one he had snatched from her just after Maxi was shot. Stich swung his legs out of the bed and put his weight on his injured leg for the first time. It hurt, but not as much as he’d expected. Just a dull ache. He could cope with that.

  Stich’s jacket was hanging in the closet in the corner of the room. Neatly stored away, two buttons fastened over the hanger. Below this, his trousers were scrunched in a ball, wet and muddy. He found the rosary beads that Susan had given him when they first met, damp and soiled. Stich cleaned them as best he could, and started flipping each bead in turn. Susan had been to Rome on an immunology conference a few years back and had presented one rosary to Alice and one to him when she got back.

  The vendor told her that the Pope, himself, had blessed them. Alice’s hung above her bed. Stich kept his with him. The beads were something to hold on to. ‘ … Soon you won’t be able to care for yourself …’

  Stich turned his attention back to his jacket. He went through the pockets and, sure enough, Susan’s phone was there, but it was dead. The swim in the river had seen to that. He popped open the back, 49

  and used his pyjama top to absorb the damp but it was no use. Then he remembered an article he’d read on the internet.

  The door opened. ‘Everything okay?’ asked the nurse.

  Stich held up the phone. ‘Can I get some rice?’

  It took forty-five minutes of complete submersion in a bowl of rice for Susan’s phone to be sufficiently free of moisture to power up. When it did fire the voice mail light was flashing. He keyed in and listened to a message from a man named Clive. His voice was tight and laced with emotion. Something about probes. Susan rarely talked about her work away from the lab – Stich didn’t understand most of it anyway. Now he wished he’d taken more notice.

  He replayed the message a couple more times. This guy was upset about something. He pressed the call back option but it went to voicemail. Stich left a message acknowledging the call and hung up. Then he searched through Susan’s address book for Vicky White’s number.

  * * *

  They had met at school – Vicky White and Stich –

  year one, day one. He didn’t like her at first. At six years old he didn’t like any girls. But that changed after a couple of the older boys decided to slap him around in the playground one afternoon. Out of nowhere, Vicky appeared. She’d steamed in, arms flailing, catching a couple of shots for her trouble too. Afterwards she had brushed her hands on her 50

  skirt and wiped a sleeve across her bloody nose.

  Stich stared at her, awestruck.

  ‘You’re bleeding,’ he whispered.

  ‘That’s okay,’ she said.

  ‘Aren’t you going to cry?’ he asked.

  She shook her head. ‘I don’t think so.’

  That was it for Stich – he was hooked. They hung around together during primary school, went to secondary and finally applied to the same university.

  There was a time when they might have dated, but neither of them wanted to ruin what they’d taken their whole lives to build up. Years later – after his marriage broke up – Vicky told Stich about the beautiful scientist she was working with. She set up the date with Susan for him.

  What was he to tell her now?

  51

  11

  Vicky White had ridden in a Bentley on a few occasions, but this one was the best yet. Cream leather interior, a fully stocked drinks cabinet, and two flat screen TVs. She’d been sipping a Buck’s Fizz and following a London Today news item about Moorcroft on the main screen. The man heading the investigation was fending off questions from an over-zealous press corp. A shift worker had discovered the body in the early hours, he said. They kept asking him about a CCTV camera nearby.

  Could it have picked up the crime? His answers were non-committal and bland. The news piece cut to the reporter. Young man, Richard Hart … Vicky tried to think. The name was familiar … Lab technician working for Moorcroft, beaten to death …

  The Bentley pulled to a stop and the driver got out. Vicky flicked the TV off as the rear car door opened for her. She swivelled her slender, Veet-smooth legs onto the forecourt of the imposing Bridge Hotel, and strode towards the entrance. A small crowd formed, most of them Immteck people, arriving for the ball, their chatter and easy laughter drifting towards her. Once inside, a crimson lake of carpet stretched towards two ornate staircases at the far end of the lobby leading to the function rooms.

  52

  She followed the Immteck people, who were ascending the left one towards the Cadogan Suite.

  On a gallery, people milled around as waiters proferred champagne from crystal flutes on silver trays. From inside the suite came the sound of light jazz. Elegant and sophisticated. Vicky had come to expect nothing less of a Laurence Tench gathering.

  She took a drink from a tray, went into the suite and looked for someone she recognised.

  ‘Victoria!’

  She turned to see the smiling face of Roy Burman and groaned inwardly. He worked along the corridor from her. Originally a developmental biologist, Roy had come to Immteck two years before to study proto-oncogenes and their part in the development of cancer. He peered at her through thick lenses that made his eyes look too large for his face.

  Vicky forced a smile. ‘Hi, Roy, didn’t expect to see you here.’

  He frowned. ‘And why not?’

  She knew Roy barely permitted himself toilet breaks in case it prevented progression of his work.

  Luxuries like eating and drinking were tedious essentials only. She shook her head. ‘Oh, no reason, I thought someone mentioned you weren’t coming, that’s all.’

  ‘Well, they were wrong. I’m here and enjoying myself.’ He rested a glass of orange juice against his chest. ‘I haven’t seen you in my lab for a while – are you avoiding me?’

  ‘I’ve just been so busy,’ she shrugged.

  53

  ‘Well, I’ve got some interesting results using a knockout mouse. I thought you might like to see them – over coffee, perhaps?’

  It was last thing she wanted to do. ‘Sounds good!’

  ‘Really? Great! We could run over the complete cycle of data – next Wednesday if you’re free?’

  ‘Sure.’

  They stood in awkward silence. Vicky desperately tried to think of something else to say.

  Then she was saved.

  ‘Ladies and
gentlemen.’

  Through the sound system, the voice reverberated around the room. Vicky knew its owner and spun around to face the dais. A hush fell on the room and Laurence Tench stared out at his guests. As the last of the talking died, he pushed a hand through his hair. Vicky noted the long fingers, her skin goosefleshing. He grinned, the whiteness of his teeth sharply defined against his tan. ‘Ladies and gentlemen. Friends, business partners … all of you!

  Thank you so much for coming this evening – it means such a lot to me personally, to Immteck, and, of course, to the charity which will benefit from this event – The Lauren Tench Research Fund.’

  There was applause.

  ‘I’ll keep this brief – I know you haven’t come here to listen to me!’

  The crowd laughed. ‘We don’t mind!’ someone shouted.

  ‘You all know why we have these events – the bottom line is to help kids with cancer … to help anyone with cancer, but particularly the kids.’

  54

  There was a lot of head nodding as the dinner jacket and ball gown crowd exploded into more applause. Tench stood back from the mic for a couple of beats, giving space for it all, before lifting his hand.

  ‘It’s been a great year for Immteck – most of you have heard about the Krenthol drug trials. They’re ongoing, so I can’t tell you much except that we’re on track, near to licensing and so close to the time when we can start production!’

  A cheer went up from the back of the hall.

  ‘The success this year has been phenomenal and it’s all down to the scientists, technicians, research students, admin staff – everyone at Immteck. You lot really are the best in the world!’

  There was more cheering, the applause turning into a football style handclap. Tench joined in the clapping, a maestro conducting his orchestra.

  Vicky watched him work the room. He was an enigma really – officially from humble beginnings.

  His father had some sort of admin job, his mother was a nursery teacher. Whether there was money in his family, some rich relative that set him on his way, was a topic of debate. Tench, ever mindful of the PR, guarded his version of events fiercely. One that was an inspiring tale of poor lad makes good: a scholarship to Cambridge where he got a first, then a position in the city at Goldman Sachs where he carved a career in private wealth management, before going out alone. His first private acquisition was a small, cash starved pharmaceutical company making pregnancy testing kits. Tench dismantled 55

  the existing infrastructure and management, and then turned it around. By year three, turnover was at sixty million. After that, he went on to acquire more companies in the drug related sector, all of them distressed and in need of a saviour. Among the first to realise the potential of gene manipulation and the prospect for a new generation of drugs, he had bought Immteck.

  Vicky remembered his visit to Durham when she was in her final year. He’d talked to the science students about the biotech industry. Passionate and articulate, he had made biotechnology come alive, reminding her why she wanted to study it in the first place. That very afternoon, she’d decided to join Immteck after graduation. She wasn’t disappointed.

  Tumour immunology was starting to happen and she was now a part of it. The buzz about the place since news of the successful Krenthol trial had been leaked was huge.

  The room quietened again as Tench got to the crux of his speech. It would centre of course, around his beloved daughter, Lauren. There was real emotion on display now – up close and personal.

  His heart ached for Lauren. Many in the audience were parents themselves. Some of the special guests had lost children to cancer; others had children who had recovered from cancer, often because of protocols developed by Immteck. They understood Tench’s pain and he understood theirs. Lauren Tench had died of leukemia at four years old. That was ten years ago now, but evidently the pain was as raw as the first day. So new it seemed to claw at him.

  56

  ‘My darling baby,’ he stumbled, ‘you were the most precious gift in the whole world. Not a single day …’ His voice began to crack. ‘Not a single day passes …’ he fiddled with the mic, visibly trying to get control, ‘… when I don’t wonder how your life might have turned out … what type of person you would be now.’ He searched the floor. ‘I love you so much,’ he whispered.

  The crowd was frozen. Tench moved slowly to the back of the dais and then lifted his head to face the room. ‘No parent should have to face this. Let us do all we can to prevent it happening again.’

  He stepped from the dais into the arms of his wife. The applause rippled at first before growing to a roar. Tench composed himself and turned back to his audience, who responded with whistles and cheers. A group at the back began banging on tables.

  Soon everyone was doing it. Tench passed through the throng shaking hands, patting backs. A nod here, a comment there. He knew employees’ names, and those of their spouses and children. It was as if he had something for everyone. Vicky was swept aside by the crowd as Tench moved forwards, but he spotted her and made a beeline in her direction.

  ‘Vicky, you look fantastic!’ he boomed.

  She almost curtseyed. ‘Thank you, thank you very much.’

  ‘How’s your antigen 8 work coming?’

  ‘Very good, it’s coming on well.’ Small talk – he knew exactly how it was doing – but she gushed anyway.

  ‘You guys are doing a great job. Keep it up.’

  57

  He moved past and took a man’s hand. ‘Hey, Dave! Thanks for coming. How’s Claire? She’s here

  … where? … There she is!’

  Vicky watched the back of him disappear and realised she still had a grin on her face. Jesus, it was like meeting royalty.

  ‘You look star struck, Victoria.’ Roy was still clutching his orange juice.

  She straightened up. ‘Well, he’s a great guy.’

  ‘I think you’re smitten.’

  ‘Don’t be ridiculous!’

  Roy held his arms up. ‘I was only teasing.’

  She felt herself blush and decided to change the subject. ‘I was looking for Clive. Have you seen him?’

  Roy scanned the room. ‘Not tonight, I haven’t.

  Though I talked to him late this afternoon.’ He waggled a finger. ‘Said he may not come.’

  ‘Not come? Why?’

  ‘He was pretty worked up – said his work had taken a strange turn.’

  She frowned.

  ‘Bad day, I think,’ said Roy.

  Before Vicky could think about this, her phone went off. She answered on the second ring.

  ‘Susan!’

  The line was quiet at first. Then, ‘Vicky, it’s Stich.’

  ‘Stich? I can’t hear you … Hold it, I’ll get away from the noise.’ She moved to an alcove. ‘Okay, that’s better. How’s it going down there?’

  ‘Not good.’

  ‘What?’

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  ‘I’m … it’s bad, Vick.’

  ‘Stich, you okay?’

  ‘She’s gone.’

  ‘Gone? What’re you talking about?’

  ‘It’s Susan,’ he said.

  ‘Is she okay?’

  ‘She’s dead.’ There were sobs.

  ‘Stich, talk to me slowly.’

  He tried. She got most of it. ‘And you’re at what hospital now?’

  ‘Keynsham. Vick, I don’t expect you to come down here. I just wanted to talk to you, that’s all.’

  ‘Don’t be stupid. I’m on my way. Wait for me.’

  59

  12

  Inside the modest family home, Ed Connor was wrestling with a dickie bow after swapping the sports jacket he’d worn at Clive Rand’s flat for a dinner suit. As he had almost tied it, the phone in the hall went. He stepped over his kids playing on the floor and reached for it.

  ‘Hello.’

  ‘It’s Western.’

  ‘Hold it.’ Ed placed his hand over the receiver and l
ooked down at Lizzie, his youngest, who was tugging at his trousers. ‘What is it, babe?’ he asked.

  She mumbled something and showed him a dolly.

  He smiled. ‘I know, she’s gorgeous.’

  Lizzie stared up at him. He crouched down and fondled her hair. ‘You go and play and I’ll come in a minute.’ He spoke into the receiver. ‘You’re in a pay phone?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Okay, go on.’

  ‘We’ve got a problem,’ said Western.

  ‘Oh?’

  ‘One got away.’

  ‘Which one?’

  ‘The boyfriend.’

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  ‘Can you find him?’

  ‘I think so.’

  ‘Okay, do it. What about the house?’

  ‘It’s clean,’ said Western. ‘The full service.’

  ‘Good. Call when you’re done with the boyfriend.’

  Ed hung up and went into the lounge. Lizzie was now on her mum’s lap. The other two, Danny and Dee, were watching TV. Ed smiled. This is how he wanted it to be. The money was starting to come in and he could ensure a better life for his family, for his kids. So they wouldn’t have to live the life he did.

  He straightened his collar in the glass above the fireplace.

  ‘You off again?’ asked Tina.

  Ed kissed his wife on the forehead.

  ‘You smell nice,’ she added.

  ‘How do I look?’ Ed asked.

  ‘Very smart,’ Tina smiled. ‘What time will you be back?’

  Ed looked at his watch. ‘I’ll see how it goes.’

  ‘Well, be careful.’

  He winked at her. ‘Okay, kids, give Daddy a kiss.’

  ‘Where you going, Dad?’ asked Danny.

  ‘To a party.’

  ‘Can we come?’

  Ed smiled. ‘Not tonight, Dan.’

  ‘Will I be in bed when you get back?’

  ‘Yes, you will. Now come on give me a kiss.’

  * * *

  61

  Time passed slowly. He tried to sleep but it was useless. Eventually, Stich pulled on a robe he found hanging on the back of his room door. It was standard hospital issue, once white but now a sour cream from too many wearers. The leg was holding up pretty well, his shoulder too, all things considered. He opened the door and popped his head out. The inspector wasn’t kidding. A policeman was sitting on a chair opposite, elbows on knees, picking his teeth.