by Dawson, H A
‘Who did it?’
‘Don’t know. She wouldn’t talk about it.’
‘How bad is she?’
‘Bad enough. She should have had stitches, but refused.’
‘Why?’
‘Wouldn’t say.’
A knot formed in Brittany’s stomach and a sour taste settled in her mouth. Worry or not, she should have been told. It was what she deserved.
‘That’s probably why she’s leaving,’ Jason said. ‘It’s too risky to stay.’
She ran her hand across her scalp, frustrated by her ignorance. Luke should have found the answers by now, and in the very least, he should have gone straight around to Michelle’s house and demanded she showed her cowardly face. He was just like everyone else; he could not be trusted.
‘Did she tell you anything at all that could be useful?’ Brittany asked.
Jason pulled a face and shook his head.
‘You would tell me, wouldn’t you?’
‘Course.’
She pulled her arms free from her jacket and felt the surge of cooling air as she separated her blouse from her skin.
‘I wish I’d never started this investigation.’
He gave her a blank look and gazed through the open door to Ethan’s room. He was evidently distracted, and it wasn’t the right time to pursue her personal problems, yet her selfish desires niggled and her numerous questions sat on the tip of her tongue. She was just about to relent to her yearnings when Jason stood up.
‘I’m going to have to get back in there,’ he said.
Her impassive expression dissolved. ‘Keep in touch . . . and stay positive.’
The sombre look in his gaze was his only reply, and the door closed.
For a moment, she remained seated, regretting his swift exit. She had wanted to ask him about his payment to Dr O’Riordan, but given that it would have only added to his troubles, she concluded it would not have been a good move. Deciding there was nothing more she could do, she raised herself to her feet, avoiding any sudden movements that would jar her head, and having glimpsed through a glass panel in the door, left the department.
Despite taking care with her movements, her heart still pounded and her head was thick, and she trudged along, regretting her impulsive and stubborn nature to visit, and wished she had stayed at home. As her mother had often said, she should be taking more care of herself, and be eating and sleeping instead of chasing elusive dreams. Hadn’t that been the very reason she had hired Luke Adams?
Squinting, she stepped into the sun and endured the oppressive warmth upon her skin. Her lungs seemed to be shrinking, her breathing tight and restricted, and she plodded along, weaving around irritating, stationary pedestrians before arriving at her stop. The bus was waiting. She climbed inside and rested upon the nearest seat.
The journey began. Brittany focused on nothing other than attaining calmness as the bus jiggled, nauseously throwing her from side to side and front to back. She wanted air; she wanted stillness.
Her stop was ahead. She pressed the button, waited for it to lurch to a halt, and with trembling legs, lumbered to the exit. The step to the pavement seemed huge. She gripped tight on the pole and stepped free. The bus roared away, hammering her head and turning her stomach.
She gazed at her surroundings. She had exited a stop early, and was closer to her mother’s house than her own flat. Scrunching her face, she leaned against a wall as tears crept to her eyes. It was too far to walk, and the next bus was twenty minutes away.
For a few moments, Brittany remained motionless and in a daze. Then she started to chill, and neither the dazzling sun nor her jacket could not provide her with necessary warmth. Tears slipped from her eyes. She wanted to be home.
Putting one step in front of the other, and determined to keep her legs strong, she mechanically progressed along the street. Only the ground was relevant, not the sounds of traffic, not the other pedestrians, and not the chirping birds and the smell of cut grass. After an undeterminable amount of time, she paused for breath and raised her head. She had travelled quite a distance and was approaching her mother’s house. Soon she would be home. Encouraged by her progress, she trundled on, left and right, left and right, and stopped at a junction.
Gasping for breath and feeling tightness develop in her chest, she loosened her jacket and looked with wide eyes at the traffic. The approaching vehicle was a distance away. She stepped onto the road.
Brakes squealed. The car was turning the corner, heading straight for her. Frantic, she scurried forward, urging her leaden legs to move quicker, urging air into her lungs. All of a sudden, a soft sense of nothingness washed over her.
She slumped to the ground.
Chapter 29
A text sounded an incoming message. Luke jerked and reached to the phone, his pulse quickening. But it wasn’t Sarah, and his hopes and desires nose-dived. She must have received his message by now, and could not understand why she had not contacted him. Stopping his fears from controlling his mind, he leaned into his swivel chair, gazed at the matt-black digital timepiece upon the wall, and waited for the minutes to tick by. It was possible she hadn’t checked the post. It was still early. Or maybe she was preoccupied, or living away from her flat. He reached to a pencil, slipped it between his fingers, and twirled it around. It would happen soon enough.
Reverting his attention back to his work he considering his meeting with Angela Canning. He hadn’t made an appointment with her in case she resisted or made a deliberate attempt at avoidance; instead, he discovered her work shift from a colleague, claiming he was an old friend who wanted to make a surprise visit. The nurse in Ear, Nose and Throat had informed him she would be home after two in the afternoon. It suited him perfectly.
Luke’s inclination of Angela’s involvement in the corruption in the renal department was strong, and he believed her to be one of many people, whether they realised it or not who were, in some way or other, aiding the soon to be infamous Dr Jerry O’Riordan. Luke just needed the evidence Lisa spoke of, and settled his gaze on Imogen. She was typing laboriously and her tongue rested upon her lip.
‘Any thoughts about this list?’ he asked.
‘He wasn’t a member of the local sports clubs. I also rang the council facilities. They knew the name, but didn’t think he had been a regular, at least not in recent times.’
‘Where would you put something if you wanted it to be kept from Mark?’
‘Here . . . at work.’
‘That’s what I thought. If it had been in his works locker, Angela would have found it. And there’s nothing else with his colleague. I’ve already checked.’
‘What about with friends?’
‘Could be. Angela will have to give us names though.’
‘What about his computer? Maybe it’s not a physical list.’
‘Then we’ll have to persuade Angela to oblige.’
‘We will.’
‘Ten minutes and we’ll go, guns blazing.’
Imogen smirked. ‘I’d like to see that.’
Luke pressed the doorbell. There was movement within. He lifted his head and thrust out his chest. The door opened.
‘Luke Adams, private investigator,’ he said, showing a card.
Angela’s gaze danced and her face creased.
‘Can we come in?’
‘W-what’s it about?’
‘We’d like to ask you a few questions about your husband.’
She pushed on the door. ‘I’ve said all I needed to say to the police.’
He held his position, forced it to stay open. ‘It’s in your best interest. I can promise you it won’t take long.’
Her frown softened, she released her hand and moved to the living room. Luke passed Imogen a wry smile, and followed Angela inside.
‘I’ll get straight to the point,’ Luke said, ‘but first of all I’d like to offer you our condolences for your loss.’
Angela nodded, and slipped onto the edge of the sofa.
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‘We’re investigating the renal department at the hospital,’ he continued, ‘and it was something your husband was doing before his fatal crash. But you already know that.’
‘I . . . I knew he was up to something.’
‘What did he tell you?’
‘Nothing, although . . .’ her eyes flitted. ‘. . . he didn’t like them in there.’
‘Anyone in particular?’
She shuffled and fidgeted.
‘Mrs Canning?’
‘Jerry. Dr O’Riordan.’
‘And why was that?’
Silence.
‘Then I’ll answer for you. It was because he thought you were having an affair, isn’t that right.’
Angela nodded.
‘But you aren’t, are you? And you never have had.’
‘How do you know?’
Luke stared, unwavering.
‘I should have just told him, but I doubt it would have made any difference. His mind was made up.’
‘What is your involvement with Dr O’Riordan?’
Angela rubbed her eye and looked to the floor. ‘We’re colleagues, that’s all, not even friends. We’re not involved.’
‘Now that’s not true. We’ve seen you together . . . heard you talking in the storeroom. You don’t want anything to do with him, but you can’t stand up to him.’
Silence.
‘Mrs Canning. For your own sake, be honest, and whatever is going on can stop right now.’
‘Nothing’s going on.’
Luke held his gaze. ‘Shall we start again? Make this easy.’
Angela placed her knuckle in her mouth.
‘What is your relationship with Dr O’Riordan?’
‘Okay, so we’re friends. He wants more from me and I told him I didn’t want to. Especially now. It’s too soon . . . wrong.’
She didn’t sound at all convincing. ‘Why is it wrong?
Frowning, she held a firm gaze.
‘Dr O’Riordan is single. I don’t envisage any problems.’
‘It’s . . . it’s not right. Tim has only just died. It would feel like betrayal.’
Concluding that her description of their relationship wasn’t important, he moved on. ‘Remember Scott Cole?’
Angela’s nod was slight.
‘Your husband had warned Scott that he was being targeted for murder. Why would he know something like that?
Angela brushed her arm across her skin and tightened it across her body. Her face oozed heat and moisture, and her large lips quivered. ‘I don’t know.’
‘I think you do.’
Silence.
‘Where’s your daughter, Alex?’
Her head jerked.
‘Is she safe?’
‘She’s at school.’
‘Keep an eye on her,’ he said.
‘What’s that supposed to mean?’
‘Just that. These people you’re involved with are dangerous. People have died. Are you aware of that? And not just Scott, but others. Do you want that on your conscience?’
Silence.
‘Your husband had a list, and I believe it contained important information . . . evidence if you like. I believe you have a copy.’
‘I don’t know anything about a list.’
Scrutinising Angela, Luke leaned back into the armchair, rested his arms on the side, and raised an ankle to the opposite knee. Sweat formed under her armpits and was slipping down her neck. She was evidently shaken, and it was difficult imagining her ever standing up to someone as egotistical as O’Riordan.
‘Have you destroyed it?’
‘He . . . he had emailed it to himself. I deleted it.’
Luke leaned forward, clasped his hands. ‘Do you know of any other copies?’
Angela shook her head and looked to her lap.
‘Are you sure?’
Her nod was feeble.
‘They could still be on the server,’ Imogen said. ‘My Mark says mine don’t delete automatically. It’s the way it’s set up.’
Energy flitted into Luke’s expression. ‘Can we have his account details?’
Angela remained motionless.
‘Angela?’
She shuffled to a drawer, fumbled within, and stretched out her arm and offered him a small notebook.
‘Thank you. We may need to see his computer. Don’t destroy anything.’
She nodded.
‘Thank you for your cooperation.’ He stood up to leave. ‘Are the post mortem results back yet?’
Her mouth opened and shut, but no words escaped. He wondered if she was aware that Tim’s death was most likely intentional and had been disguised as an accident, but deciding she was too traumatised to endure any more conversation, he left the matter standing and departed. It wasn’t that important.
Outside, the rain dripped onto his skin, refreshing and reinvigorating. Waving the book in his hand, he grinned at Imogen. It had been easier that he expected.
Luke leaned forward on his desk as Imogen tried to access Tim’s account. He edged forward, his legs twitching and his fingers fidgeting.
‘Well?’
‘The Internet’s slow. Hang on. I’m nearly there.’
He wheeled his chair away from the table and scurried around the desk. She entered Tim’s email password and an error message appeared on the screen.
‘Maybe she’s deactivated his account,’ Luke said.
‘I’ll try again. I could have mistyped something.’
‘The email address looks okay.’
She looked to the notebook and copied the password. This time it worked, and a message told them they were logged in.
‘Halleluiah!’ he said.
A few seconds later, a blank screen appeared. There were no emails and Luke’s expectations sank. He stared, waiting for inspiration, as Imogen flicked through the notebook.
‘I think I’ve found another email address,’ she said
‘Great. Let’s open it.’
She changed website and entered the details. A long list of emails appeared within seconds. At first glance, there didn’t appear to be anything immediately eye-catching; nonetheless, he instructed her to save the information. Whilst she was doing so, he paced back and forth, too exited to relax, and occasionally peered over her shoulder to scan the text on the screen. It seemed as though Tim had been intercepting messages from Dr O’Riordan’s account, but from what he had seen thus far there was nothing related to the investigation.
‘Tim wasn’t doing this in half measures,’ Luke said.
‘Seems not.’
‘I wonder what his motive was.’
‘Not the assumed affair then?’
‘Maybe initially. But this is more than that.’
‘Maybe once he realised something illegal was going on, he couldn’t stop. It is rather addictive.’
Luke smiled. She was right, it was.
‘Look,’ Imogen said pointing, ‘some of these emails go back years. He must have deleted some, else there would have been hundreds.’
‘Can you see any mention of Scott?’
‘No, not yet. It’s going to take a while to sift through.’
Luke glanced at the clock. It was gone half past four. It was going to be a long evening. He filled the kettle with water, switched it on, and placed coffee and dried milk into his mug. ‘I’ll take over if you like.’
Silence.
He turned around. Imogen was fixated on the screen and scrolling a list. There were names on the left, accompanied by an eight-digit number and an assortment of digits and characters on the right.
‘That must be it,’ he said. ‘Does it say what the numbers and letters are?’
‘No.’
‘Do you recognise any of the names?’
‘Not so far.’
‘Print it off.’
She pressed a button. The printer whirred.
He looked at the top sheet. The names were for both sexes and didn’t seem to be in any particular
order. There were not all British either; there were Asians, Europeans, and Far-Eastern too. Luke flipped over the sheet. One of them stood out. Conrad Hammer. He scurried to his computer, flicked to a search engine, and typed in the name.
The man had died in a car crash in the city.
He looked to the list, selected another name and typed it in. Nothing. He selected a second and a third. Still nothing. He puffed out and raised his hands to his head.
‘Scott’s on this list,’ Imogen said.
‘What? Where?’
‘Towards the end.’
He jumped up, grabbing the papers gathering on the printer.
‘Wow!’ Imogen blurted. ‘Alex Canning’s here too. Do you think it’s their daughter?’
‘Has to be.’ Luke sprinted to his desk and dialled Angela’s number. As he waited for her to answer, his fingers rhythmically tapped the desk.
‘Angela speaking.’
‘It’s Luke Adam’s. Is Alex with you?’
‘No, she’s out.’
‘When’s she due back?’
‘What’s going on?’
Luke hesitated.
‘She was due back a while ago.’ Angela’s voice was quaking. ‘She’s often a bit late, I didn’t think-’
‘Can you ring her? Check she’s okay.’
‘You’re worrying me.’
‘Please, just do it, and give me a ring when you know she’s safe.’
He ended the call and his eyes locked with Imogen’s.
‘What’s going on?’ she asked.
‘Alex is missing.’
Her eyes narrowed.
‘We have to assume this is a list of potential murder victims. If O’Riordan, or one of his associates, knows Angela’s been speaking to us, Alex could be in trouble.’
‘How would he know we’ve been there?’
‘People like that have there ways. We’re going to have to act quickly. I can see this all crashing around us.’
The doorbell tinkled, sounding someone’s arrival. Imogen rose to her feet.
‘Whoever it is, send them away. Tell them to come back tomorrow.’
Imogen stopped suddenly, and looked to him with an expression that flitted between excitement and panic.