Kill and Cure

by Andy Ashdown Design

  Stich gripped Alice tighter, almost wakening her.

  ‘Hours before Hart was killed, he phoned you, didn’t he? I’ve had his mobile record checked. What did he say, David? Did he threaten to take Alice away from you? Was that it? We found a cheque on him for an awful lot of money. Did he tell you he had the means to get her back?’

  Stich picked out the orange light beyond the window and focused on it.

  ‘He had tried it before, hadn’t he? That time you borrowed money from Elizabeth Swain to fight it.

  But this time he wasn’t put off, was he?’

  There was silence.

  ‘I know how much you love your daughter, David. What you did next is understandable. I bet most fathers would do just the same. Why should he suddenly decide what’s right for a child he doesn’t even know? So, you did what any good father would do – you struck out. You waited for him to emerge from the Moorcroft building. You chose your moment and then pounced …’

  Alice’s breath was even. Stich felt her body rise and fall against his. He continued to flip the beads.

  Feeling the texture of each. Solid, smooth and well worn.

  The phone rings.

  He answers.

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  The voice: ‘How are you going to take care of Alice when you’re a dead man?’

  ‘Hart?’

  ‘You’ve got the Big C, Stichell.’

  ‘How the hell do you know that?’

  ‘Never mind. It’s a done deal. I’m taking her.’

  ‘I’m her legal father.’

  ‘That’s just a piece of paper. When you’re gone it won’t matter anyway.’

  ‘You’ll never take her!’

  ‘Just watch me …’

  No one would take his baby. She was the most precious gift in the world.

  The glare from the orange street lamp had now merged into a blur of colour at the back of his eyes.

  Stich followed it upwards until finally he snapped his eyes shut. ‘I told Kendrick everything I know. He spent hours talking to me. I’ve nothing more to say.’

  Varcy dabbed his nose. ‘What about manslaughter?’

  ‘What about it?’

  ‘Did Kendrick mention we can get you for manslaughter?’

  ‘Are you serious?’

  ‘Absolutely. We believe you are responsible for the death of both Susan and Vicky White.

  Manslaughter is a serious charge. ’

  ‘But it’s not true.’

  ‘I think I can make it stick. They were both murdered after spending time with you. I believe you knowingly told them information that placed their lives in danger.’

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  ‘That’s ridiculous, you know it is.’

  ‘That’s just it David, I don’t know. Why don’t you tell me?’

  Alice fidgeted again and Stich smoothed her hair.

  ‘Like I said, I’ve answered all your questions.

  Kendrick had dozens of them.’

  ‘Then talk to me off record. Satisfy my curiosity.’

  ‘There’s nothing left to tell.’

  ‘I think there is.’

  Stich remained silent.

  Varcy got to his feet. ‘Off record, no comeback.’

  He scribbled a number on his pad and tore it out.

  ‘Call me if you want to take me up on my offer. If you feel you’d rather not, then there’s always the manslaughter charge. How do you think Alice will take to that, growing up with a father behind bars?

  You’ll miss the best years of her life. I wish you well in your recovery, David.’ He turned and opened the door.

  ‘Detective?’

  Varcy looked back.

  ’Why should I trust you?’

  ‘Because I said you can.’

  ‘Does “off the record” really mean what it says?’

  ‘It means I can’t use what you say unless you’re cautioned first. As I’ve said, you’re not under caution, so you’ve nothing to fear.’

  Stich glanced around at his surroundings and then at the door. Varcy shut it. ‘I’m listening.’

  Stich took a deep breath. ‘Okay, I’ll talk off the record. Charlotte was pregnant when we split.

  That’s what made it so hard. I wanted my child to 309

  have what I didn’t – a mum and a dad. I never dreamt, then, that Alice wasn’t mine. Nor did I make the connection that Charlotte’s lover, Richard Hart, was the father. So, when Charlotte had the baby and asked me if I wanted to raise her – Hart had moved on to someone new and Charlotte had developed a drug habit – I jumped at it. Things were great for a year or two. Then I got a visit at the clinic from a man who called himself Shane, whom I had never met but who seemed to know all about me and Charlotte. Turns out they were users together. He told me that Alice wasn’t my daughter. I didn’t believe it, so he gave me a card with a company address on it and told me to check for myself.’

  Varcy dabbed his forehead with the handkerchief.

  ‘I probably shouldn’t have bothered,’ Stich said,

  ‘but I was curious, you know? That’s when I found out for sure. A few weeks later he came back wanting money – five grand – for him not to tell Hart how another man was raising his child. I borrowed the money from Elizabeth Swain to pay him and hoped that would end it.’

  Varcy stuffed the handkerchief back in his pocket.

  ‘And did it?’

  ‘For a while, but Shane must have pulled the same trick with Hart. So Hart started calling me. He knew I had cancer and wanted to use it to get Alice back. Of course, I didn’t know then exactly how he knew.’

  ‘What did you do?’

  ‘Nothing at first, then as things escalated, I got 310

  more and more scared. Alice was all I had and he wanted to destroy it. Soon his calls were coming every day. He must have known how they were affecting me. He seemed to enjoy it too. At some point his threats became specific. That’s when I knew I had to stop it.’

  ‘So you went to Moorcroft to find him?’

  ‘At first, I thought I might reason with him; make him see what this was doing to me.’

  ‘And?’

  ‘I caught up with him on his lunch break and he laughed in my face, said I was as good as dead anyway and that Alice would soon be with her real daddy. I kept asking him how he knew about my cancer, but he wouldn’t answer. “It’s a done deal,”

  he said, “she’s mine.” That was the breaking point for me.’

  ‘So you waited for him?’

  ‘Not exactly… not deliberately anyway. After I left him, I was a mess. I bought a bottle of scotch and finished it outside St. Botolph’s. After that I remember little; a bar somewhere, staggering across a road. The world seemed so black. I was on my hands and knees at one point trying to get the cork out of a wine bottle. I found a brick and lopped the top off with that. I must have slunk down against the wall outside Moorcroft and drank it. God knows how long I was there for. Then I became aware of a man walking towards a car in front of me. The way he moved got my attention. He swaggered like he hadn’t a care in the world. Then I realized it was Hart. That did something to me. I must have 311

  grabbed the brick because the next thing I remember was attacking him with it.’

  ‘And afterwards?’

  ‘I went home. Susan was asleep in bed. She had spent the previous few days up in Edinburgh at a conference so I knew how tired she was. I stayed downstairs, spent the night on the sofa trying to come to terms with what I’d done. The next day Susan and I went to Maxi’s, she was killed and I started running for my life.’

  Just then there was movement at the door and a nurse appeared. She spotted Varcy, turned to Stich and waved a small plastic cup. ‘Only pain-killers,’

  she said. ‘They can wait.’

  ‘Thanks.’

  She smiled.

  Varcy leaned towards Stich. ‘Charlotte’s sister, Magenta, was on duty the night you killed Hart and panicked when she saw the CCTV because she r
ecognised you. She had Susan’s phone number, contacted her and immediately they decided on a strategy. Magenta was to remove the disc directly –

  they used the excuse of a power surge to justify it –

  and Susan got someone to alter the image.’

  ‘Gately at Bluebell Associates,’ said Stich. ‘I’ve met him.’

  ‘He agreed to work on it,’ nodded Varcy, ‘and she insisted her face replace yours on all relevant frames.

  Sometime that morning, when the work was complete, Susan returned to Moorcroft and dropped the disc into a drawer in the security room.’

  ‘That must have been when Trinny Becker saw 312

  her in the lobby,’ said Stich. ‘But why replace my face with hers? She knew I’d never let her take the rap for something I did. Why not someone else’s?’

  ‘The answer to that is simple. She had an alibi.

  Where was she the night of the murder?’

  ‘At home.’

  ‘Who with?’

  Stich hesitated. ‘Me.’

  ‘Quite. So when we discover that the film has been tampered with – as Susan knew we surely would – there is only one explanation available. She was set up.’

  ‘By who?’

  ‘Well, you would have been off the radar for a start because you, too, had an alibi. You were with Susan. That makes it very tidy – you both rule each other out. So, that leaves other much more likely candidates. Knowing what you now know about the case, who do you think we would have been gunning for?’

  Stich shrugged. ‘Tench? Maxi?’

  ‘Indeed. If Magenta Rosti hadn’t made the call from the lobby, I would never have unravelled it.

  However,’ said Varcy slowly, ‘there is one more thing I think you should know about. I told you earlier about the manslaughter charge. Athough I wouldn’t have a hell’s chance of making it stick, it doesn’t detract from the fact I truly believe Susan, Clive Rand and Vicky White were all killed because of Hart’s murder.’

  Stich’s eyes flicked towards the detective. ‘I don’t understand.’

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  ‘You see, when Tench found out that the rogue patient on his trial was you, he made two assumptions after you killed Hart. One, you knew the Krenthol secret and murdered Hart because he was a part of it and set you up, and two, you had shared that information with those close to you, including Susan and Vicky.’

  Stich’s eyes flashed. ‘You mean, if I hadn’t killed Hart, Susan and the others would still be alive?’

  ‘Yes.’ Varcy snapped shut his notebook. ‘Of course, I can’t prove any of this. All I have is a piece of corrupt footage showing your fiancée murdering a lab technician.’

  Stich sagged against the pillows.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ said Varcy.

  ‘So what happens now?’ asked Stich softly.

  ‘Nothing,’ said Varcy standing up. ‘As I’ve said, you weren’t under caution during this little talk so, as informative as it has been, I can’t use it. However, if I find something concrete, something I can’t ignore, I will have to come back. You do understand that, don’t you?’

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  58

  It’s been two hours since Varcy left. The hospital staff have made up a bed for Alice next to Stich. She sleeps soundly. Stich doesn’t think too much – he can’t afford to. Once it starts it becomes a torrent.

  Just then a hand on his shoulder – it’s Loni. She bends forward, kisses his cheek and hands him an envelope. ‘It came in the post this morning.’ She reaches for Alice and scoops her up. ‘We’ll be outside if you need us.’

  Stich turns the envelope over in his hands. It’s unusual – bright orange is distinctive. Then he reads the address and two bolts hit him simultaneously.

  The first: it is written in Susan’s handwriting. The second: on the back it says, ‘Loni, please give this to Stich if I’m not around to do so.’

  Stich’s hands shake as he tears at the paper and pulls free a folded sheet of A4.

  Darling Stich,

  I should have found out so many things sooner. I was so stuck in my work I couldn’t see what was under my nose, so please don’t beat yourself up about me. I know what I’m getting myself into and the risks I am running. One of my friends is already dead, so I need no convincing of the danger I’m in.

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  I’ve just got to get to the bottom of it all.

  I hope you never get to read this. I’ve written it for insurance, a chance to tell you how I feel in case things don’t turn out as I want them to. I love you very much. The last couple of years have been the best of my life. You and Alice have changed my whole world and I want you to know that.

  Whatever happens, you must stay positive about the future. I hope it is our future – you, Alice and me

  – but if not, you must go forward. You have a child who needs you and I know how much you love her.

  Always know that I love you and Alice.

  S xxxx

  The first teardrop hits the paper and spiders the writing. He wipes his hand across his eyes to stem the flow.

  * * *

  In the days since Loni gave it to him, Stich has read the letter many times over. Each time he wants more from it; more insight, more clues, more Susan …

  more something. Now it sits in his wallet while he and Alice sit back on a sofa. Whispered voices drift in from an adjoining room and mix with the more audible dialogue coming from the TV. Mr Tumble is bright and happy. The garish yellows and greens that mesmorise Alice so much contrast starkly with the dark, sombre clothes they both wear today. Stich checks his watch: the cars will arrive in five minutes and take them and other guests to St Andrew’s 316

  church. There they will join a packed congregation for a memorial service; a commemoration of two young lives cut tragically short. For Susan and Vicky, this will be their final goodbye. A stone tablet has been engraved and set into a wall of remembrance where it will be unveiled by Stich and the parents of both girls. In a different world, a parallel world perhaps, St Andrew’s would have been the venue for Stich and Susan’s wedding. In this world, it will be a place he will never come back to.

  Back on TV, Mr Tumble is singing and signing.

  He points to the sky and so does Alice. Stich’s attention wanders to the action and a cartoon sun –

  now full screen – shimmers radiantly in a clear blue sky. It makes him think of a place far away.

  … Susan panting, trying to get her breath; Alice sitting on her daddy’s shoulders, her tiny hands resting on his cheeks, jabbering away; Stich trying hard to convince himself that his lungs are not about to burst.

  ‘How many steps?’ Stich asks.

  ‘Five hundred and something,’ replies Susan, slapping him on the rear.

  ‘How many have we climbed?’

  ‘Loads,’ she says. ‘Come on, slow coach.’

  Suddenly, ‘Hey, we’ve made it.’

  Stich misses a beat as the view hits him square on and takes all his discomfort away. For once, the guidebook hasn’t exaggerated; the view from the Lantern at St.

  Peter’s is breathtaking.

  ‘Wow,’ says Susan moving up to his shoulder and interlocking her arm around his.

  The bulging belly of Piazza San Pietro, infested with 317

  thousands of tourists, lies hundreds of feet below them.

  Beyond the Piazza, Rome’s famous skyline glistens in the early evening sun. Even Alice is silent.

  ‘That’s possibly the most magnificent thing I’ve ever seen,’ says Stich as he pulls Susan close.

  ‘The light is amazing.’

  ‘Daddy! Oar’wange … oar’wange!’ Alice still on his shoulders bursts into life and points. Just above the horizon is a thin whisp of cloud turned a deep orange by the fading sunlight. Something about its shape and colour is familiar.

  ‘Looks like Ayers rock,’ says Susan as if reading his thoughts.

  ‘That’s right,’ says Stich. ‘Exactly like it.’

/>   ‘Have you ever been there?’ she asks.

  Stich shakes his head. ‘Have you?’

  ‘I’d like to live out in Oz one day,’ she replies.

  ‘You serious?’

  ‘Deadly serious.’

  ‘What about your job?’

  ‘I’ll find another one,’ she laughs. ‘Biotechnology is alive and well in Australia, you know.’

  ‘No, no, of course. It just seems horrible you being the other side of the world, that’s all.’

  She frowns. ‘Wouldn’t you want to come with me?’

  He opens his mouth to say something.

  ‘I hear it’s a great place to bring up kids,’ she adds.

  The spell is broken by a gentle nudge. Loni puts her head around the door. ‘Cars are here.’

  Stich points the remote at the screen and Mr Tumble vanishes. Perhaps Susan was right. Perhaps that would work. Somewhere different; somewhere 318

  far from the pain.

  Perhaps.

  Before then he has a fight on his hands. One that he must win.

  He holds out his hand and his daughter takes it.

  They follow Loni and the other guests out of the house towards the cars.

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  About the Author

  Stephen Davison graduated in Immunology from King’s College and then completed his MPhil in Molecular Genetics at Cambridge before training as a Chiropractor and setting up his own practice.

  He lives near London with his wife and two children. Kill&Cure is his debut novel.

  FOR MORE INFORMATION ON STEPHEN DAVISON PLEASE VISIT: www.stephendavison.com

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  Kill and Cure Cover FINAL 23/4/09 08:12 Page 1

  He could hear his own breath, rapid and shallow. The killer’s was deep and measured. From his crouched position Stich could see him moving slowly, picking his way. He pulled himself deeper into the corner, willing the killer to leave, to give up the chase and go back to the house. But he didn’t. He kept coming…