Kill and Cure

by Andy Ashdown Design

  ‘Mean anything?’

  ‘Shh …’ Stich put his finger over his lips.

  ‘What is it?’ she whispered.

  ‘I don’t know.’

  ‘What’s wrong?’

  ‘There’s no noise.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Where’s everyone gone? I can’t hear anyone. Stay here.’

  Vicky grabbed his arm. ‘Where are you going?’

  ‘I won’t be a minute.’

  He moved away from the stairwell and into the corridor outside. Just then a door to Stich’s right swung open and a skinny, bespectacled lab worker 120

  emerged. He had a plastic container in his hand and what looked like a jelly wedged inside it. They stared at each other in silence for a short moment.

  ‘Dark room,’ the lab worker said finally, nodding at a room behind him.

  Stich looked down at the jelly in his hands.

  ‘Electrophoresis gel,’ he said. ‘Don’t I know you?’

  ‘I don’t think so.’

  ‘Aren’t you Sue Harrison’s boyfriend?’

  ‘Yes, I am.’

  The man smiled. ‘Thought so. I never forget a face. Tandoori Nights, wasn’t it? Christmas curry last year? Roy Burman, in case you’ve forgotten.’ He wore latex lab gloves, but extended his hand anyway.

  Stich took it.

  ‘David Stichell.’

  ‘That’s right,’ Roy said, ‘I remember now. So what brings you here? Is Susan working this morning?’

  ‘No, Sue’s not in today.’

  ‘Oh.’ He stopped to consider this information for a moment. ‘Well, it’s good to see you anyway.’

  They stood awkwardly for a second. Roy leaned towards Stich as if he was about to speak, then thought better of it. ‘Well, no doubt I’ll see you in the future. Perhaps at the next Immteck curry, eh?’

  ‘Perhaps you will.’

  Roy turned and strode away. Stich watched him turn right and disappear from view before making his own way back to the stairwell.

  Vicky was waiting. ‘So?’

  ‘Weird,’ he said.

  ‘Why?’

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  ‘Doesn’t matter. Look, Vicky, I’ve had enough of it here.’

  ‘Okay.’

  ‘I want to do one last thing, though.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘You said Clive worked on Tumour Immunology, right?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘And Clive’s was a Krenthol lab?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Well, some of the others in his lab may have the same samples as Clive had. I want to have a look.’

  ‘But we’ve already been there – you won’t know what to look for.’

  ‘So, I’ll remove a whole bunch of stuff from the refrigerators and hope.’

  * * *

  Roy hurried back towards his lab. He already had a lot on his mind, but seeing Susan’s boyfriend had made things much worse. What was he doing here without her? Come to think of it, how did he get in?

  Security was tight, especially now that Krenthol was in its final stages of development. Roy used the back of his latex gloved hand to adjust his spectacles as he careered along. He had been so surprised to see Stich he hadn’t even thought of asking questions. Just as well. He had to get in touch with Susan and find out what was going on. God, there was trouble everywhere.

  Up ahead, the corridor made a sharp bend.

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  Beyond that was his lab and a phone. He hurried forwards, checked his watch, then, smack! He walked straight into two men. The electrophoresis gel was knocked from his hand and Roy slumped backwards.

  The men were irritated.

  Why hadn’t he gone downstairs to reception with the rest of the staff?

  Roy didn’t know he had to.

  Hadn’t he got a pager?

  He had.

  Then why hadn’t he responded to the message and gone downstairs?

  Roy explained how he had left his pager in his lab before going to the dark room. He hadn’t picked up any messages.

  One of the men was wearing a dinner jacket. He searched Roy’s face looking for … something. When had he left the dark room?

  Just now.

  Then he should go downstairs immediately –

  there was a security issue to be dealt with.

  Roy nodded and scurried away to safety. Once out of sight, he stopped and recovered his breath. His heart was pounding in his chest. What the hell was he to do? Those two characters were after something.

  Then he thought of Stich.

  A security issue.

  Of course. Now it started to make sense. He hurried into his lab, grabbed the communal phone and dialled the number of the animal house downstairs in the basement.

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  23

  The corridor was lit with dull fluorescence. It had ripped vinyl seating with tight bulges of sponge visible at the thigh channels. There was a machine vending burnt but free coffee and a stack of Forensic Science International journals piled on a low table. A scene that resonated with how Varcy felt: tired and old. He had been inside Don Elliott’s lab for an hour and was as bored as hell. Finally Don had lost patience and told him to get a coffee and wait. It was three cups before a door opened and Don emerged.

  ‘At last,’ said Varcy.

  ‘You miss me?’ asked Don.

  ‘What do you think?’

  ‘Come in, I’ll show you what’s going on.’

  He led Varcy into a viewing suite. ‘Take a seat.’

  On the table before them were a monitor, keyboard and mouse. ‘Okay, this is what we’ve got.’

  Don pressed a key and the monitor was filled with the image of the roadway outside the hospital.

  ‘Notice how clean it is now?’ asked Don.

  Varcy nodded. ‘I’m just admiring it.’

  Don snorted. ‘Right, here’s the back of the guy that gets knocked down – he’ll disappear and reappear in a moment. But this is as good as it gets with him. I can’t get his face at all – there’s no 124

  reflection, he doesn’t turn profile, nothing.’

  ‘That’s okay, we know who he is,’ said Varcy, ‘or was. He died in intensive care an hour ago.’

  ‘Poor fella.’

  ‘Don’t feel too sorry for him.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Doesn’t matter. What else?’

  Don turned back to the screen. ‘I’ll slow it right down as the car comes in.’

  Varcy watched as the red Peugeot appeared at the top left of the screen. It jumped frame by frame towards the dark figure.

  ‘Okay, here’s the impact.’ Don pointed at the screen, tracing the action with his finger. ‘The off side smacks into him, he buckles slightly then is propelled upwards over the bonnet and forwards away from the camera.’ Don stopped the film. ‘Now this is where we found something.’ He focused the picture to a point on the side of the car. The image went grainy and blurred. Don tweaked it until it became sharper. Varcy squinted trying to make sense of it.

  ‘See the slender fingers and nail polish?’ asked Don. ‘The driver’s female, unless you’re dealing with a transvestite.’

  ‘Very funny.’

  ‘I try.’

  ‘Anything else?’

  ‘Not really. We think we can see the dead guy’s shoes after the car leaves but apart from that, not much.’

  Varcy leaned back into the chair.

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  ‘Did it help at all?’ asked Don.

  Varcy shrugged. ‘I’m not sure – I didn’t expect the driver to be female.’

  ‘Well, at least that’s something.’

  ‘I wonder who she is.’

  Don switched off the monitor. ‘That’s something you’re going to have to work out on your own.’

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  24

  The door to Clive’s lab was swinging and Stich instinctively slowed down. He glanced at Vicky who, judging by her expression had seen the same thing, and
edged on. The door had a window at the top giving a view of the lab. Stich had got half-way towards it when the door burst open. He froze. A man in a dinner suit stood at the entrance. He seemed momentarily surprised, before a smile broke out on his face. Stich backed up straight away. The man said something over his shoulder and was joined by another man who loomed large in the doorway.

  Stich turned and ran towards Vicky, both of them now heading into a maze of doors and hallways.

  Somewhere behind they could hear footsteps. Vicky pointed to a stairwell. They made the first landing when he heard the doors open above them.

  Vicky tripped and hit the stairs hard. Susan’s PDA, still clutched in her hand, fell and bounced down the steps in front of her. It came to a halt a couple of seconds before she did. Stich flew after her.

  ‘Vicky!’ he heard himself shout.

  She lay face down. Stich reached forwards and turned her. His head began to swim. He thought of Susan. It was happening again. The edges of his 127

  world started to blur. Then she stirred and began coughing.

  ‘Vicky!’

  Her eyes opened and she coughed some more.

  ‘Vicky, thank God. Are you hurt?’

  Above them, Stich heard the men coming. Vicky groped for his hand and he tried to lift her, but it was too slow.

  ‘I thought you were shot,’ he said.

  She shook her head. ‘I tripped, that’s all.’

  ‘They’re coming, Vick,’ Stich said. ‘We’ve got no chance.’

  ‘The organiser,’ she said. ‘I dropped it.’

  ‘I’ve got it,’ he said, scooping it up.

  ‘Stich, you go they’re not interested in me.’

  ‘No way. Try and get up!’

  ‘I am trying.’

  Just then, he felt a violent shake and someone grabbing him.

  ‘Up!’

  Stich staggered to his feet, his head thumping. He turned to see Vicky being dragged behind him. A shove and he was through a door that led out of the stairwell. He stumbled a dozen or so paces, felt a sharp force on his back, and lurched into a room that lay in complete darkness.

  * * *

  Varcy hardly ever smoked. On the occasions he did light up, like now, he preferred cigars. He paced by an unmarked police car on the roadway outside 128

  David Stichell’s two-bed terrace. Earlier, he had tried to get access but, as expected, there was no one in.

  Now, he waited for the others to arrive. The cigar charred at his throat and sent him into a coughing fit. To add to his woes, there was a migraine gnawing at the back of his skull. He took another puff just as Kendrick showed up with three others.

  Kendrick saw the cigar. ‘Things that bad?’

  Varcy sneezed hard into his hands. ‘You’re late.’

  He placed his cigar between his teeth and fished out a couple of A4 sheets from his jacket. ‘You get this fax?’

  Kendrick nodded. ‘Of course.’

  ‘So, what do you make of it?’

  ‘I was hoping you’d tell me. You got all this from checking the Moorcroft lobby phone?’

  ‘I’d hoped the phone might give me a lead.

  Instead it’s just muddied the waters even more.’

  ‘And there’s still no sign of Harrison?’

  ‘I was in Bristol for most of the night. We’re still trying to track her down.’

  ‘And Stichell?’

  Varcy shrugged. ‘God knows. Did you get the search warrant?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Then let’s have a look around.’

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  25

  Stich lay face down on the floor. He blinked as a light switch was thrown and the brightness hit his eyes. A hand hooked under his arm.

  ‘Come on.’

  Stich struggled to get to his feet. ‘Roy?’

  ‘You’re in trouble, Stich.’

  A few feet from them, slumped against a cabinet, was Vicky. She had her eyes closed but opened them as Stich approached.

  ‘You okay?’ he asked, giving her hand a squeeze.

  ‘Come on, we must hurry,’ said Roy. ‘There’s a way out through the animal house.’ He checked the door. ‘The staff are assembled outside and the men chasing you seem to have disappeared.’

  ‘You saw those two?’ Stich asked.

  ‘Oh, yes.’

  ‘So, what happened? They were just a couple of floors above us.’

  ‘Brian is what happened.’

  ‘Brian?’

  ‘I’ll explain in a moment,’ he said. ‘The animal house is in the basement. Follow me.’

  They made their way back into the stairwell, Vicky holding onto Stich’s arm as they descended.

  ‘How far?’ Stich asked after the first level.

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  ‘Two more,’ Roy replied. ‘If we can get in, we’ll be safe, I reckon.’

  When they got to the bottom of the steps, Stich made for the fire exit.

  ‘No, not that one. It leads out to the back of the building and you’ll be exposed. This side,’ he said, turning to a steel grey door to their right, ‘is the animal house.’

  On the side wall was a keypad. He punched in the combination and the door clicked inwards. They followed him in.

  ‘Only a few of us know this code,’ Roy said as the smell of sawdust and vermin hit them. ‘Animal rights groups are a problem for us, you see.’

  The room was long and narrow, with a high mezzanine level and was illuminated with a dull fluorescence. It was edged with rows of caged mice.

  Roy led them along a pathway running the length of the room, to a darker area beyond that smelled of mothballs. A sign that read, Xenopus Laevae, heralded a line of glass tanks in which huge toads sprawled half submerged in water. They hurried into a room the other side of this that was crammed full of papers, well-thumbed science journals and files randomly scattered on the floor. Several weeks worth of unwashed crockery occupied a basin and washboard at one end. In the middle of the room was a wooden workbench on which a man in a brown lab coat was perched.

  ‘It’s okay,’ said Roy, ‘this is Brian.’

  Brian hopped off the table. He was tall with curly black hair and a full beard to match. ‘Hi,’ he said.

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  Roy checked his watch. ‘Anyone see you come in here?’

  ‘I’m not signed in at the front desk, so as far as they’re concerned I’m absent today.’

  Roy adjusted his spectacles. ‘Brian helped me arrange a small diversion. It seems to have had the desired effect. Did you see where they went, Brian?’

  ‘I only saw one. He made his way to the north of the building, so I assume he took the lift back down to reception.’

  ‘And the other one?’

  ‘Didn’t get a look at him.’

  ‘God knows what you did,’ said Vicky to Brian,

  ‘but, thank you, anyway.’

  Brian smiled broadly. ‘No problem.’

  ‘Do you know who those two are?’ asked Stich.

  ‘Do you know who they are?’

  ‘No. Should we?’

  Just then, there was a series of electronic beeps from the door at the end of the corridor. ‘Someone’s punching in the code,’ said Brian. ‘You’d better leave.’

  Opposite them was a flight of stairs that led to a door on the mezzanine floor above. They followed Roy to the top and he pushed the bar to open it. The cool breeze from outside rushed in.

  ‘To the right, the building continues for a hundred metres. That’s the back of Immteck where the staff are waiting. You don’t want to go there.’ He pulled the door almost closed behind them. ‘Go that way,’ he said pointing to some palisade fencing opposite. ‘You’ll have to climb, but on the other side 132

  are the Royal Courts of Justice. You can lose yourselves.’

  Stich stood awkwardly. ‘I don’t understand what went on back there.’

  ‘No time,’ Roy said waving them away.

  ‘We’re staying at t
he Mellbrook Hotel – Holland Park.’

  ‘I’ll find you,’ he said.

  They made their way to the fence. Stich kept checking over his shoulder, but Roy had disappeared back inside.

  * * *

  Half an hour ago, there had been a call from Chiswick. Varcy had put a picture of Stichell on the wire. A sharp WPC had seen it and realised it matched up well with a description she’d been given of a man observed at the scene of a murder earlier that morning in Chiswick. Varcy checked his notebook for the name Clive Rand.

  It was set to be a long afternoon. Everything would have to be looked at, sifted, and then documented. Inside Stichell’s house it was a buzz of activity. Kendrick organised his men as Varcy explored, moving slowly and making mental notes of the surroundings. It all looked pretty ordinary.

  Tidy in fact. He saw the children’s stuff piled high in the corner of the living-room – a three-wheeled bike, a stack of soft toys, and a chalkboard on an easel.

  Yes, the child.

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  Varcy opened his notebook again and reread what he had recorded from the profile faxed to him last night. Stichell was thirty-one, divorced, had one child, a female, four years old, of whom he had sole custody. He turned to Kendrick who stood across the room watching the work progress. ‘How many fathers get sole custody of their children after a divorce?’

  Kendrick shrugged. ‘Not many, just ask Fathers 4

  Justice.’

  Varcy sniffed and returned to his notebook.

  Stichell’s occupation was listed as a chiropractor; he owned his own practice in Spitalfields. His address was shown as this one. Varcy turned the page and compared this information to what he had on Susan Harrison. She was twenty-seven, single, with no children. For the last three years she had worked for Immteck – a pharmaceutical company – as a research scientist. Before that at the University of Cambridge, and prior to that an undergraduate at Bath. Bright spark, thought Varcy, as he wandered into a bedroom. He checked the wardrobes. His on the right, hers on the left. Yet this wasn’t Harrison’s listed address. He would check her place later.

  Beyond the bed, under the only window, was a dressing table. Varcy picked up a framed photograph sitting centre stage. Both close-ups showed Stichell and Susan Harrison – Stichell, smiling at camera, with Harrison resting her head on his shoulder.

  ‘Sir?’

  Varcy swung round. A young constable stood at 134