Kill and Cure

by Andy Ashdown Design

  Maxi put his hand to his mouth and coughed gently. ‘You are right, this stock is set to go higher and higher. However, we took the view that Immteck was possibly – and I stress the word possibly – massaging the Krenthol data. We are not prepared to hold stock in a company whose integrity we are not certain of. I make no apologies for that.’

  Another hand; Roger Clements of the Independent, a Kelvin plant again, and another flaky ask. ‘Can you expand upon the nature of your 292

  suspicions with respect to the results published by Immteck for Krenthol?’

  ‘I don’t think it would be appropriate to answer that question here,’ replied Maxi. ‘All I need tell you is that our scientists are the best in the world and carried out a detailed study before we came to our conclusion. The specific reasons for our mistrust must remain secret for now. However, I repeat, we will make available all of our data to the MHPRA.’

  A hand at the back of the room went up. Maxi assumed a shareholder. ‘I notice that Reedale is some eighteen months old,’ this from a tall, skinny geek with coke-bottle spectacles, ‘and that its major acquisition has been Immteck shares. Isn’t it true that your family of fund holding companies was set up specifically to take advantage of what you knew to be a horrific scam concerning Krenthol?’

  Maxi was thrown for a moment. ‘I’m sorry?’

  ‘You don’t remember a man called Michael Venton coming to you, about eighteen months ago, with his fears that the Krenthol results were being falsified?’

  ‘No, I’m afraid I don’t. In fact, I have no knowledge of the man you speak of.’

  ‘Let me jog your memory. Before he became a biochemist, Michael Venton studied economics at LSE. You were his personal tutor.’

  Kelvin cut in. ‘We honestly don’t know what you’re talking about. Perhaps we can address your concerns after the conference.’ He turned back to the audience. ‘Any other questions? Preferably sensible ones?’

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  Soft laughter diffused through the room.

  A hand. ‘Yes,’ said Kelvin. ‘Is it a sensible question?’

  More chuckling.

  ‘I think so,’ said the man, wiping his nose with a white handkerchief. ‘I had the opportunity to speak to a gentleman about an hour ago who claims that you, Mr. Hills, paid him to murder Michael Venton three weeks ago. Can you comment on that?’

  Maxi looked from Kelvin to the questioner and back again. ‘I beg your pardon?’

  ‘I said murder … and I was wondering, if you did do what he claims, would it be because Michael Venton had decided to let the Krenthol scam slip out before you were ready to dump your Immteck stock?’

  Maxi went to sit down, changed his mind and said, ‘Are you serious?’

  ‘Never been more serious in my life.’

  Just then the door of the suite opened and three men entered. Two of them were handcuffed.

  * * *

  Stich heard the voice but it was murky and indistinct.

  ‘Sir? You okay?’

  Then a light tapping on his face. ‘Sir, can you hear me?’ The surroundings came slightly into focus: a man was fanning his face, another – to Stich’s right

  – reached over and tugged at his cheek. ‘You passed out. Here drink this.’ They pressed some water to 294

  his lips and Stich took half a dozen swallows.

  ‘It was Maxi,’ mumbled Stich, catching his breath after the drink.

  ‘It’s okay, sir. We are dealing with it. You may be able to help us. My name is Kendrick and I’m a detective in the Met Police. We’ve been trying to find you. Are you well enough to stand up?’

  ‘I think so.’

  ‘Good. Come with me. You may be interested in what I’m about to show you.’

  * * *

  One of the handcuffed group was Laurence Tench, head bowed forwards, the other a man called Ed Connor, whom Varcy had spoken to earlier. And standing next to the group was an ashen young man whom Varcy recognised from his photograph as David Stichell.

  ‘Ah, this is fortuitous,’ said Varcy, gesturing towards the small troupe. ‘Do you recognise any of these men?’

  ‘Who are you?’ Maxi shouted.

  ‘Didn’t I introduce myself? I’m Detective Inspector Terence Varcy from the Metropolitan Police.’

  ‘What do you want?’

  ‘I asked if you recognise any of these men.’

  ‘I’m not answering any of your questions.’

  Varcy checked the suite, weighed up his options and finally nodded at Kendrick. ‘Okay, clear the room. We’ll continue this under caution.’

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  * * *

  Maxi sat, arms across his chest, his face impassive.

  Kelvin to his right picked at his cuffs. The suite was empty now save for Varcy who sat opposite Maxi, Kendrick and a handful of his men who were minding the handcuffed Tench and Ed Connor, Roy Burman who remained in his seat at the rear and Stichell at a table clutching his side.

  ‘Now that you’ve understood the implication of answering questions under caution,’ said Varcy addressing Maxi and Kelvin, ‘I want to continue where we left off and put to you that, after your conversation with Michael Venton, you were more than a little curious as to why Immteck had deliberately created tumours in their patients for Krenthol to kill. Am I right?’

  Maxi’s expression remained unaltered.

  ‘So curious, in fact, that you bribed this man to provide you with the answer to the mystery.’

  Roy Burman rose from his seat and pointed. ‘I provided you with details about Promase.’

  ‘That man is corrupt,’ said Kelvin spreading his hands on the desk in front of him. ‘How can anyone take him seriously?’

  ‘Perhaps you’re right,’ said Varcy. ‘Perhaps no one will take him seriously. But they might when they find out what he,’ Varcy pointed to Maxi, ‘did next.’

  ‘I’ve told you,’ said Maxi, ‘I’m not answering your questions.’

  ‘I’m not asking you to,’ said Varcy. ‘I’m merely 296

  proposing a scenario, that’s all. A scenario in which you ensured a patient – whom you knew would not benefit from Krenthol – had a tumour deposited in his body with a view to him taking part in the Krenthol clinical trial. Knowing that such a person was taking part put you in a very powerful position, didn’t it? You could either let the information slip out or you could bide your time and wait for a golden opportunity to exploit it. In the end you chose the latter, am I right?’

  Maxi sat stony faced.

  ‘So my next question is: how did you do it? And I think the answer to that is obvious. If I said the name, Richard Hart, would I be warm?’

  Maxi’s jaw gripped.

  ‘A little more than warm perhaps. Didn’t you, with the capital you acquired from the investors in your fund holding company, offer to pay Richard Hart a substantial sum of money, one hundred thousand, in fact, to submit a false blood test result on a Promase negative subject? Someone who should have been automatically rejected from the trial? And didn’t Hart pick this young man?’ Varcy pointed towards Stichell.

  ‘I’m not listening to any more of this slander,’

  said Maxi, jumping from his seat and marching towards the door. ‘This is complete fabrication.’

  Varcy glanced at Kendrick who spoke softly into a walkie-talkie. The door was held from outside and Maxi’s efforts to open it were useless.

  ‘Where are you going?’ Varcy called after him.

  Maxi tugged at the handle in vain while Varcy 297

  moved towards him. ‘We know you formed Reedale about the time Michael Venton gave you the Krenthol information, but now – with a rogue patient on the trial – your plan swung into action and you used all of your business influence to fund the acquisition of millions of pounds worth of Immteck shares. You knew the false results Immteck were publishing about Krenthol would drive the price up and up. But you also knew that you could use the rogue patient – this man, David Stichell – to pull t
he plug anytime you wanted.’

  Maxi began banging furiously on the door. ‘Let me out! Hello, can anyone hear me?’

  Varcy continued. ‘The demonstration over at Euston Square this evening provided you with the perfect opportunity to play your hand. First, to make sure David Stichell took part in it and secondly, to sell your Immteck shares at a massive profit just before the truth hit the stock market. That means you and your companies get rich and you get to do to Laurence Tench what he did to you fifteen years ago – buy out his company.’

  Maxi continued his frenzied hammering on the door. ‘Let me out of this fucking room!’

  ‘Have I forgotten anything?’ said Varcy, removing a notebook and pencil from his jacket.

  ‘Oh, yes. Michael Venton. He came to you with explosive information that you assured him would be dealt with in the appropriate way. When you failed to do that, Venton said he would go to the authorities himself, isn’t that true? But, of course, that would have ruined everything you had 298

  planned. You wanted to control when the Krenthol information hit the financial markets, so you paid this man,’ he nodded towards Ed Connor who was standing handcuffed next to Tench, ‘to kill him.

  ‘Paying a hit man to kill Venton, inflicting a terminal disease on another man just to further your own ends.’ Varcy flipped the notebook shut and shook his head. ‘What does that make you?’

  Maxi reeled around at that. ‘What does that make me?’ He staggered forwards and pointed to Tench who stood handcuffed to a policeman. ‘It wasn’t me who perpetrated the Krenthol secret. It wasn’t me who killed Susan and the others to protect that secret

  … It isn’t me who uses corrupt means to get what he wants …’

  ‘True,’ said Varcy, tapping the pencil against his chin. ‘Once Tench realised there was a rogue patient on his trial – one let’s not forget you had put there –

  all hell broke loose. He concluded his secret was out so he used all of his power to ascertain who knew.

  Hence, Susan Harrison, Clive Rand, and a young lady called Vicky White, were killed to protect the secret.’

  At the mention of Vicky’s name, Stich’s head snapped up.

  ‘David Stichell here managed to survive,’

  continued Varcy. ‘God knows how – since both you and Tench were determined to kill him.’

  Maxi squatted down on his haunches.

  ‘No, we have two monsters in our midst,’ said Varcy, glancing towards Kendrick who spoke into the radio once again.

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  Just then the door was pushed open and four police officers walked in.

  ‘Get everyone out of here,’ said Varcy, unbuttoning his jacket, ‘I haven’t even got warmed up yet.’

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  56

  Twenty-four hours into the investigation and Varcy had already placed most of the pieces. He was now on a break.

  ‘Okay,’ Varcy said between mouthfuls of bacon roll. ‘We know that Maxi Hills had Michael Venton killed and why.’

  ‘Agreed.’

  ‘Tench has confessed to the murder of Vicky White, Clive Rand and Susan Harrison because of what they had discovered.’

  ‘Again, agreed.’

  ‘Susan Harrison, of course, was killed at Maxi Hills’ house.’

  ‘Uh-huh,’ said Kendrick, licking brown sauce from his fingers.

  ‘David Stichell says Hills, or someone who looked like him, had been present and had got shot for his trouble, so I’m still not certain if Hills was complicit in the murder of his niece or not.’

  Kendrick shook his head. ‘He wasn’t there. He had been told by Ed Connor – who he had already paid to kill Venton, remember – to stay away from his house that weekend. Looks like Ed wanted to keep his cash cow nice and safe.’

  ‘So who got shot?’

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  ‘No one; it was staged. I imagine they used some clapped out theatre luvvie as a stooge. Cole has been digging and it’s happened before.’

  ‘But why bother?’

  ‘Two reasons. First, civilians who have witnessed a shocking event are normally passive and compliant immediately after it. That suits our killer very well.

  Second, should either Stichell or Susan escape they would report Maxi dead which is exactly what Tench wanted. It’s a win-win for Ed Connor.’

  Varcy dabbed his mouth with a serviette while mulling it over.

  ‘Want another one?’ asked Kendrick.

  ‘How many left?’

  Kendrick picked up the bag next to his seat. ‘One more.’

  ‘Do you mind?’

  ‘Go for it.’

  Varcy helped himself before saying, ‘What’s the latest on the photographs?’

  Kendrick reached forward and grabbed a half drunk cup of coffee. ‘The ones showing Maxi and his bearded boyfriend?’

  ‘Uh-huh.’

  ‘Fakes.’

  ‘Now confirmed?’

  ‘Yep. A professional cut and paste job. Excellent quality, too, so the lab tells me – no doubt organized by Maxi himself to add authenticity to the story he spun David Stichell.’

  Varcy chewed thoughtfully. ‘You’ve got to admire his initiative. He manages to weave a believable 302

  fable at very short notice.’

  ‘All the best fables are believable on some level,’

  said Kendrick finishing the coffee. ‘Remember, Stichell had to take part in the demo for Maxi’s plan to succeed. Failure to do so would mean Maxi losing everything he had worked for. He was prepared to do whatever it took.’

  Varcy popped the last of the roll in his mouth and began wiping his hands. ‘Okay, is there anything we’re still not clear on?’

  ‘Yes,’ said Kendrick, scrunching up the greasy bag and throwing it towards the trash. ‘The Moorcroft CCTV film of Harrison murdering Hart.’

  ‘What about it?’

  ‘You said it wasn’t her.’

  ‘It isn’t.’

  ‘So, who is it?’

  Varcy stood up and made his way to a water dispenser in the corner of the room. ‘David Stichell,’

  he said, flipping the tap.

  * * *

  Stich read about two deaths from his hospital bed –

  one a murder, the other a suicide. The facts about both were sketchy. From the reports, it seemed Maxi had used bed sheets from the window bars in his cell to hang himself.

  Up to this week, Maxi had been the man Susan called uncle. Now Stich knew a lot more than that.

  He read about the time Maxi spent in the armed forces as a young man, followed by his bachelor’s 303

  degree in economics from California State University and a master’s degree and doctorate in economics from the University of California. How he worked for the US government in the late seventies before taking the professorship at LSE in the eighties. Finally, he read about his business career and the international investment fund he recently managed, and how, even up to his tragic prison death, his razor sharp instincts had ensured the fund enjoyed huge profits rather than losses during the Immteck fiasco.

  Vicky White, on the other hand, had not committed suicide. She had been murdered. She was found in the hotel room she and Stich had rented, her life destroyed because he had dragged her into his mess. She hadn’t deserved any of this.

  The funeral was to be a low-key family affair. Stich wasn’t sure where it would be held or even if he would be invited. It hardly mattered. Nothing could soften the pain.

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  57

  Alice should have been home in bed but she had fallen asleep in Stich’s arms. The light above the bed burned dully. In his right hand, Stich held the rosary beads, rolling them one by one.

  The mask enveloping his face … razor blades nicking his throat …

  The beads helped block it out.

  Beyond his room was the ordered calm of the hospital. A trolley dragged over linoleum and there was the quiet laughter from a group of nurses on handover.

  This w
as his last night here. Tomorrow morning, he hoped to go home – a temporary respite because next week he had to return to start his treatment. The prognosis was fair. They wouldn’t know definitely until the treatment began.

  He was disturbed from his thoughts by the sound of footsteps and then a shadow at the door.

  ‘David?’ Varcy blew hard on a tissue. ‘Mind if I come in?’

  ‘Not at all,’ said Stich.

  ‘You’ve spoken to my colleague, Inspector Kendrick, I believe.’

  ‘Yes, he spent hours asking me questions.’

  ‘Sorry about that,’ Varcy smiled. ‘A necessary 305

  evil, I’m afraid. May I sit down?’

  ‘Sure.’

  ‘Your child?’ he asked.

  Stich nodded.

  ‘She’s beautiful.’

  ‘Thank you.’

  Varcy settled by the window and took out a notebook. A lamp in the street outside cast an orange hue over his face.‘David, I wonder if you can help me.’

  ‘I’ll try.’

  ‘It concerns the events of the past week. As you can imagine, everyone is talking since we arrested Laurence Tench.’

  ‘I bet.’

  ‘That, plus the information we have from Drs Burman and Grant, means we are a lot clearer about what went on at Immteck. But there is one thing I need to tidy up. It concerns Richard Hart.’

  ‘What about him?’

  ‘You know I have CCTV footage that clearly shows Susan at the murder scene, so from the outside the case is cut and dried.’

  Alice stirred and Stich stroked her head.

  ‘But I think it’s unlikely. You see, the image on the CCTV footage has been tampered with. We think her face has been added to the original.’ Varcy produced a sheet of paper. ‘I found this in Hart’s flat.

  It’s the result of a DNA test.’

  Stich glanced at it.

  ‘I checked the lab that did it. Two DNA samples were tested. One belonged to Hart, the other to a 306

  child.’

  Stich knew what was coming.

  ‘That child is your daughter, David. The match shows that Hart is the biological father of Alice and your ex-wife, the mother.’