The Complete Kate Benedict Cozy British Mysteries

by Carrie Bedford

  “She’s not feeling too good,” I said. “Not well enough to travel anyway.”

  “Then I suggest she gets a good night’s sleep and also that she only comes in tomorrow if she’s completely free of symptoms. We can’t have sick doctors seeing patients.”

  “We were just trying to help,” I said. “We’d give her the drive. We’d never read anything on it.”

  “It’s out of the question,” he said, turning those gleaming eyeglasses on Pauline. “And you, nurse, will be reprimanded for making unapproved copies.”

  “Please, it’s not Pauline’s fault,” I said.

  “I’d like you to leave now,” he said, swinging his head back to me. “Nurse, you will come with me to my office while I write up a formal complaint against you.”

  Pauline’s mouth was set firm. She looked angry, but she said nothing. I was veering between frustration and despair. Could we tell Dr. Schwartz why we really wanted the files, throw ourselves on his mercy and beg for his help? It seemed to be the only solution. But he was glaring at me with such intensity that I couldn’t bring myself to say anything. “I will call security if you don’t leave,” he said.

  Resisting the urge to grab the flash drive and make a run for it, I grasped Josh’s arm and we hurried away towards the lift. When the doors closed behind us, I beat against them with my fist. “Damn, damn.”

  “Good to see that you’re staying cool and collected,” said Josh, leaning forward to take my hands and shake them. “You always do that when you’re stressed,” he said.

  “What?”

  “Clench your hands together until your knuckles go white. It’s not good for you.”

  I looked at my hands and then at Josh. “What do we do now?”

  “We get a cup of coffee and think about it for a few minutes.”

  We headed to the cafeteria, which was surprisingly busy considering the late hour. Illness and injury don’t stick to timetables. Soon we were seated in the cafeteria with cups of coffee. I felt as tense as an over-wound clock, ready to fall apart at any moment.

  Josh rubbed at damp spot on the table with a paper napkin. “Perhaps we should go back up and explain everything to that doctor,” he said. “Maybe he’d help us. I mean, he’s a colleague of Anita’s and won’t want any harm to come to her. What do you think?”

  I considered that for a moment. “I don’t know. He was obnoxious, the way he was ranting at Pauline. Classic Napoleon complex. Little bully.”

  “That theory’s been disproven actually,” said Josh, stirring creamer into his coffee. “Short people are no more aggressive than tall people. And it’s said that Bonaparte was actually of perfectly normal height for that time period. The British government just made up stories about his small stature to diminish his image in the eyes of the public.”

  A smile formed on my lips in spite of myself. “You’re a veritable encyclopedia.”

  Josh gave me a sheepish grin. “A mine of useless information.” His expression changed. “So what do you think? Do we go back up and talk to him?”

  Suddenly, I remembered something. Anita had said that Schwartz was the senior doctor on at least two of the cases we’d looked at that afternoon. That meant it was possible he was involved in some way. I explained it to Josh, who looked confused. “If he’s involved, why’s he asking you to bring the files when he has direct access to them? It makes no sense.”

  I drummed my fingers on the edge of the table. “I don’t trust him. We should try to do this without him.” I pulled my phone out of my pocket. “I have a number for the nurses’ station. We can call Pauline and have her bring the drive down here to us.”

  “Worth a try.”

  I called the number but got no answer and tried again. The second time, a male voice answered. “Dr. Schwartz speaking.”

  Damn. I hung up quickly. “We’ll just wait for a few minutes and try again,” I said. “Maybe Napoleon will go away and Pauline will answer next time.”

  Josh took a sip of his coffee, glancing at a television that hung from the ceiling in a corner of the cafeteria. “Simon Scott,” he said. “The election is only a week away.”

  “There’s nothing we can do about him,” I said. “We have to focus on Anita.”

  “Of course,” Josh replied. “It’s just weird that I’d forgotten all about him. I assume his aura is still there?”

  I twisted in my seat to look at the television. Scott was standing at a podium as a camera zoomed in for a close-up. “I can’t tell.” I’d never been able to see auras on television or in photos.

  For a few moments, I thought about Scott, and about Chris. What a mess that was. I liked Chris, and I felt badly about reporting him to Detective Clarke. At the same time, I hoped that Clarke would find him before he had a chance to do anything stupid.

  “It’s too bad because I’d planned on voting for Scott,” Josh said. “Maybe I should give my vote to that Independent, what’s his name?”

  I let him ramble on about politics for a few minutes. I knew he was giving me time to calm down, which I did gradually. My hands stopped shaking and my brain settled down to where I could think in a more orderly manner. Just as I was about to try calling the nurses’ station again, my phone buzzed and a text appeared from a blocked number. It gave an address and a time, midnight. The witching hour. That was creepy. I pulled up my maps app and keyed in the address. It was for a building on the outskirts of Slough, a town about twenty miles west of London. So now we had a place to go but no files to take with us.

  “Oh God,” I said, momentarily overcome with anxiety for Anita.

  “It’s all right, sweetheart.” Josh reached out and touched my cheek. “She’s going to be okay, I promise.”

  I took a moment to pull myself together. “It seems to me that we have to risk a smash and grab,” I said.

  “Great, I’m ready for some action.” Josh drained his coffee. “We need a decoy. I have an idea.”

  By the time we reached the fourth floor again, we had a plan. There was no sign of Pauline, but Dr. Schwartz was standing at the nurses’ station looking at a computer screen. He didn’t look up when the lift door pinged shut behind us. We darted along the corridor into the men’s washroom. I pulled the door closed and locked it. Josh splashed water on his face and slicked back his hair. We were hoping the moisture would look like pain-induced sweat. Putting down the toilet lid, he sat on it, head in hands. “I’m ready,” he said.

  I nodded, pushed the door open and ran up the corridor to where Dr. Schwartz was standing. “Help!” I called. “Please help. My friend is very ill.”

  He looked up. “You,” he said. “I thought you’d left.”

  “No, my friend wasn’t feeling well and needed to use the lavatory. But he’s getting worse. I think it’s his heart.”

  Schwartz pushed past me and hurried along the corridor. I knew it was a matter of minutes before he realized Josh was faking his illness. There was no sign of Pauline. I stepped over to the desk to look around, but couldn’t see the drive. I opened a drawer to see if she’d put it away. There was nothing. Perhaps Schwartz had confiscated it. A shadow fell over the desk and I looked up in fear of seeing the doctor again. It was Pauline.

  “He took the drive,” she said. “But we can make another one.”

  She opened another drawer and pulled out a bright blue flash drive. “One of the drug salespeople was giving these out,” she said. “Keep an eye open.”

  She plugged it in and went through the same process as before. The copying process seemed to take forever. My heart was pounding in case Schwartz came back.

  “Done,” she said, giving me the drive, which I slipped into my jeans pocket.

  “Thank you.”

  I ran back down the corridor. Schwartz was holding a stethoscope to Josh’s chest when I pushed the door open.

  After a minute or so, the doctor straightened up, frowning. “Your pulse is a little high,” he said to Josh. “But your heart sounds fine. Can you t
ell me again where the pain is?”

  Josh glanced past Schwartz to me. I nodded and patted my pocket to confirm I had the files. “Actually,” Josh said, “The pain is easing. Perhaps it was just indigestion because I ate dinner too fast. I think I’ll be fine.”

  “Stand up and let me know how you feel,” the doctor instructed. Josh stood, stretched his arms out and nodded.

  “Yes, much better. I’m sorry to take up your time.”

  “I’d like you to go down to Emergency and get checked out,” said Schwartz. “They can run an EKG just to be sure. Here.” He pulled out a pad of paper and a pen and scrawled something on it. “Better yet, let me take you down. Sit there until I can get a wheelchair.”

  “It’s really all right,” Josh protested. “We can find our way there.”

  “Yes you could, but if you pass out on the way, I’ll be responsible.” Schwartz pressed some buttons on his pager.

  We were silent under the bright overhead light, which gave off an irritating buzz. I didn’t know if Dr. Schwartz was really being solicitous or if he suspected we were up to no good. I glanced at my watch. It was nearly eleven o clock. Time wasn’t on our side. I pushed the door open when I heard the susurration of wheels on the hallway floor. A young nurse backed in the wheelchair and helped Josh into it.

  “Where does he need to go, doctor?” she asked. “I can take him.”

  “That’s okay. I’m about to go on break, so I can escort our patient to Emergency on my way to the cafeteria,” replied Schwartz, releasing the brakes. “What’s your name?” he asked me.

  “Kate,” I said, deciding that the less I said the better.

  He nodded. “Off we go then.”

  We rode the lift down in silence. My heart was flinging itself at my ribs so hard that everything in my chest hurt.

  I was grateful when the lift came to a halt and the doors slid open. Schwartz pushed the wheelchair into the Emergency department, bypassing the registration desk. He helped Josh on to a bed in a curtained cubicle, where another doctor joined us. While they talked quietly, I stood next to Josh, holding his hand tightly. Finally, Schwartz finished talking and nodded to us in farewell. “You’ll be in good hands here,” he said.

  Relief flooded through me when I watched him walk away, but we still had to get away from the ER doctor. A nurse wheeled in a portable EKG machine and started to set it up. The doctor watched for a few seconds, then muttered something about coming back later and disappeared through the curtain.

  “Take off your shirt and lie down,” the nurse said. “I’ll be back in a second.” We really didn’t have time for this. The minute she’d gone, Josh got up from the bed, and we slipped out of the cubicle, pausing for a moment, unsure which way to go. Seeing an Exit sign, I pulled Josh in that direction. Dr. Schwartz was in the corridor talking to another doctor. There was nothing for it but to keep going. We walked as fast as we could without breaking into a run, past the conversing doctors and into the ER registration area. I heard a voice behind us.

  “Wait! Where are you going?” Napoleon was on the war path. We pushed our way through the crowd of people waiting at the reception desk and out through the double doors. Then we ran. After a hundred yards or so, we stopped and checked, but I couldn’t see anyone pursuing us. I was sure we weren’t the first to bolt out of an emergency room to avoid unwanted attention, but I was relieved that the doctor hadn’t given chase.

  “Ok, let’s find a taxi,” I said, trying to catch my breath.

  “Better be quick then. There are two security guards coming this way,” said Josh.

  We ran out of the hospital grounds on to the main road, waving frantically until a black cab pulled over. When I gave the driver the address, he looked surprised. “That’s a fair trek,” he said. “It’ll be expensive.”

  “That’s all right. And please go as fast as you can. It’s an emergency.”

  It seemed to take forever to cross London. We drove past shuttered shops and streets crowded with young men going home after late night pub crawls. As the taxi wound through the quieter streets of Earls Court and Hammersmith, I found it hard to sit still. I kept checking my watch. It was close to eleven forty-five by the time we got on to the M4, where the driver was finally able to put his foot down. When we pulled off the motorway at junction six, my mobile rang. It was Detective Parry. “You said there’s a note? Tell me what’s going on.”

  I explained about the patient files on the flash drive. “We’re supposed to hand them over in a few minutes,” I said, looking at my watch again.

  “I can’t get anyone out there in that timeframe,” Parry said. “You’ll have to no-show. He’ll get back in touch.” I heard voices on his end of the line. “I have to go,” he said. “Let me know when you next hear from the kidnapper.”

  “This man is a moron,” I said, staring at the blank screen on my phone. “I don’t think he gives a damn about Anita. He said we just had to no-show.”

  “Well, we’re not doing that,” Josh said, squeezing my hand.

  29

  The taxi driver pulled off the main road and drove slowly into an industrial estate, a network of streets flanked by two-story warehouses with roll-up doors and loading docks. In daylight, the area was probably a hive of activity, but now the silence and darkness were oppressive.

  “This is it, folks,” said the driver, pulling to the side of the road. “Are you sure you gave me the right address?”

  I knew I had, but I checked the address on my phone screen again and showed it to Josh. 21 Spring Meadow Road. It was hard to imagine a place less like a meadow in the spring.

  “This is it,” said Josh. “How much do we owe you?”

  “Sixty pounds, guv.” Josh pulled some notes from his wallet and handed them over.

  “Could you wait for us for a while?” I asked. “We’ll need a ride out of here.”

  The driver shook his grizzled head. “Sorry, miss, but I should have gone off duty at midnight. I’ll bet you can call a local cab company and they’ll be out here in a jiffy. You got a mobile, haven’t you?”

  We watched the taxi drive away, its orange lights fading like the dying embers of a fire. I shivered, feeling the cold and damp already seeping through my jacket, and fear permeating my bones.

  I turned to look at the building, a squat flat-roofed block of concrete with a rusting roll-up door. We approached slowly, unsure of how to make our presence known to whoever might be inside. There was an entry door next to the roll-up. Josh knocked on it. We listened for sounds, any sign that the place was occupied, but heard nothing. Josh banged on the door more loudly, but still there was no response.

  “Let’s go round the back,” he suggested. The ground at the side of the building was unpaved and covered with knee-high weeds that stank of urine. I wondered briefly if it was human or animal, then tried not to think about it at all. We turned the corner to an expanse of crumbling asphalt. A skip crouched in one corner, its patches of peeling paint like animal markings in the moonlight. The back wall of the warehouse reminded me of a face, with two windows like old eyes, filmy and impenetrable, and a single metal door in the center. Josh turned the knob and, to my surprise, the door creaked open. Inside, it was completely black. I stepped into the doorway and felt around on the wall for a light switch. There was one but it didn’t turn anything on. The darkness seemed to intensify the more I looked into it.

  Josh pulled a small LED torch from his pocket.

  “Don’t tell me you were a Boy Scout,” I whispered.

  He grinned. “Nope, but my grandma always told me to be prepared for anything. She gave me this for Christmas. A few years ago, she gave me a Swiss army knife.” He patted his coat pocket. “I always carry them with me.”

  “Cool grandma,” I said. The Christmas gift washed the hallway in white light. Stepping inside, we walked along the corridor past several closed doors. I pushed the last one open but the room was empty, so we kept going until we reached a large open space. Ther
e was no shelving, no machinery. It looked as though the place had been abandoned for a long time. When I scuffed the floor with the toe of my boot, dust flew up like a swarm of insects in the beam of Josh’s torch.

  “There’s a mezzanine,” I nodded in the direction of a metal staircase in the far corner. “Should we go look up there?”

  Josh nodded. We tiptoed across the warehouse floor and climbed the steps, the metal ringing under the tread of my boots. Fearful of what we might find at the top, I felt my heart speed up. The stairs opened on to an open area enclosed with a half-height wall. A few scraps of newspaper littered the bare plywood floor and a pile of blankets lay in one corner.

  “Nothing,” I whispered. “Let’s check those rooms on the ground floor.” It was hard to talk out loud, even though it seemed obvious that there was no one around. We went back down the stairs, crossed into the hallway and opened a door. Like the warehouse, the room was covered in dust. No one had been in there for a long time. But, in the next room, we found signs of recent occupation. A plastic table and three chairs sat in the center, and there was a blanket on the floor. In the beam of the torch, we saw footprints and drag marks in the dust. I was sure that Anita and the kidnapper had been here.

  Venturing into the room, I took a good look at the table, hoping that Anita might have left a clue of some kind. Josh shook out the blanket, but all it shared with us was a dense cloud of sepia-colored dust that made my eyes itch.

  “We should go back outside,” I said between sneezes.

  The asphalt at the back of the building was corrugated from years of use, edged on one side by a metal link fence, festooned with papers that had caught in the mesh. Josh swung the light around. There was a small puddle on the tarmac not far from the back door. He bent down and ran his finger across the surface. Please don’t let it be blood, I thought.

  “Looks like fluid from a car,” he said. “Water, like evaporation from the heater, perhaps.”

  “So there was a vehicle here fairly recently,” I said. “Why did they leave before we got here?”