by Mark McKay
They signed off on that note. In the meantime, he’d just have to keep looking for Conrad’s clinic. He decided to try another tack. If Shauna could masquerade as an insurance person, so could he. But this time, he rang Hackett Pharmaceuticals and asked for Human Resources. He said he provided corporate private medical cover at attractive premiums, and would they be interested in receiving some more information? The woman he spoke to told him they were quite happy with their current provider, Stone Park Medical Services.
That was all he needed. He checked them out online. They had a clinic in Central London and another in Norfolk, some 100 miles north-east of London. The Norfolk clinic was on an old air force base, the photo on the website suggested seclusion and privacy. His money was on that one, but he’d try London before driving to Norfolk. He just had to get his story straight, first.
Stone Park’s London clinic was just off Harley Street. The reception area looked more like the Ritz than a hospital. It featured polished parquet floors, an ostentatious chandelier and gleaming wood-panelled walls. There were two immaculately uniformed women at the desk, one of whom asked him how she might be of help.
Nick had worn a suit for the occasion and introduced himself as a company auditor. He was auditing medical expenses on behalf of Hackett Pharmaceuticals and wondered if she might tell him who was currently admitted under their private insurance arrangements. Just to ensure that the admissions matched the book values, if she saw what he meant. She did, but she could only confirm that they had one patient at the moment. A man named Hawkins, who was in for a hernia operation.
‘How old is Mr Hawkins?’ asked Nick.
The woman, a thirty-something pencil-slim brunette, consulted her terminal. ‘Fifty-seven.’
Nick consulted his own notes. ‘Yes, that would seem in order. What about Norfolk?’
‘Oh, wait,’ she said. ‘I’ll have to ask Sue about that.’ She wandered off to chat with her colleague. They both consulted Sue’s terminal and keyed in something and then a moment later the brunette was back. ‘There’s another patient in Norfolk. Having a skin graft. A burn or something.’
‘Thanks, yes, that’s just fine.’ Nick turned to leave.
‘Don’t you want to know his name or his age?’ called out the brunette as he made for the door.
‘I’ve got everything I need,’ he said. ‘You’re doing great work here.’
He got a 100 watt smile for his efforts, but he hardly noticed it. He just hoped he hadn’t overstayed on the parking meter and that some over-zealous traffic warden wouldn’t get to the VW before he did and ticket him. Or god forbid, clamp the car. He hurried back to it.
Nobody clamped him. He drove slowly up Harley Street and went east, loosening his tie on the way. He had everything he needed. There was a gun in the glove box and plenty of petrol in the tank. And in a few hours, he might well be talking to the man who’d caused him so much trouble in Peru. He’d even brought along a little digital recorder to preserve their conversation for posterity.
The traffic thinned out when he finally got out of London and on to the A12. He phoned Shauna on the way and told her she could stop looking, he thought he’d found his man in Norfolk. She wished him luck and said she was only too happy to give up the search. She’d go out for lunch, instead. Two hours later, Nick had found his way through Norwich and was heading for the North Norfolk coast. The Stone Park Clinic was near a place called Holkham, right by the sea. The sat nav was guiding him, so he relaxed as much as he could and took in the view. A lot of the land out here was planted with rapeseed and it cut a vibrant swathe of colour across the fields, rippling across the countryside like some huge yellow carpet. As he got closer to the coast, the view was all flat green fields and a big, blue sky.
He turned off on to a road that wound towards the sea and a few minutes later there was a left turn up a slight hill. He could see the buildings of what had once been a World War Two air force base looming up ahead. It was a large site, but how much of it was used as a private clinic wasn’t exactly clear. There were a lot of buildings that looked like they hadn’t been used for years. He drove in through the entrance gates and instead of going to the reception area, he continued on the road skirting the perimeter of the place. The base must have been huge in its heyday, but now the medical facility looked as if it was concentrated into three large two-storey blocks connected by walkways at ground level. There was a completely separate smaller block about twenty yards away. Maybe it was a specialist unit, or a lab. He parked the car close to one of the larger blocks and took a minute to consider his options.
He had no powers of arrest. He couldn’t detain Conrad, assuming he was even here. But if he was here, Nick could contact DCI Russell and tell him what he’d been up to in his role as private investigator. He could drop Maria Frost’s name into the conversation to give himself some added credibility. And also mention that Conrad was the subject of a murder enquiry in Peru. To do all this, he first needed to see Conrad without being seen himself and then make the phone call. He had Russell’s number, and although he was in Cornwall he could get his London colleagues to ask a few pertinent questions. Maybe take a DNA swab, which could quite easily put Conrad at the scene of the murder. What Nick really wanted to know was what Conrad had done with the sword. It was valuable, but would he have been stupid enough to realise that and still hold on to it? Conrad wasn’t stupid, but he did suffer from an excess of hubris. He might just think he could discreetly sell the sword and get away with it.
He took the gun from the glove box and he had the digital recorder in his pocket. Not that he’d be using it if all he was doing was confirming Conrad’s presence here. He adjusted his tie and got out of the car. Maybe he could pass himself off as a doctor from London. He would do the four buildings one by one, and see if he got lucky.
The first building was devoted to X-Ray, haematology, physiotherapy and occupational therapy. There was no one on the desk when he walked in, so he had the run of the place. After walking up and down the corridors on both floors it was obvious that there were no private rooms for patients here. Block two was a different proposition. There was a receptionist in residence, who looked at him enquiringly as he came through the sliding doors.
‘Dr Severance, meeting a colleague,’ he said to her. ‘He said he’d be with a patient who’s here for a skin graft. Do you know where I might find him?’
She must have been impressed by his gravitas, she didn’t bat an eye. ‘That would be D-block. The small one. Go out of here and turn left.’
He followed her instructions. D-block was on the outskirts of the complex. Behind it there was a view across a flat grassy area that had probably once been a runway. He had visions of Lancaster bombers leaving here in the 1940’s, on their way to Germany. There’d been a famous American actor stationed in Norfolk, James Stewart if he remembered it right. Another place and another time. He walked through the sliding doors of D-block and approached the reception desk.
‘I’m Doctor Severance, from the Stone Park Clinic in London. I was asked to look in on a Mr Steadman. He’s having a skin graft. Is he here?’
‘Let me check.’ The receptionist was a middle-aged woman in a starched white uniform of trousers and tunic. ‘Room 11, on the second floor.’
He went upstairs. It was quiet up here, no visitors. Too early in the evening, perhaps. There was a nurse’s station, but the two nurses seated there paid no attention to him. A few patients were wandering about, one wheeling a drip. The other patients were no doubt in the confines of their well-appointed rooms, resting. There were small panes of glass at head height in the doors and he peered through each one as he passed. Not all the rooms were occupied. Number 11 was right down the end.
He crept surreptitiously up to the door and looked in. There was no one in the bed. The room had a view over the runway and someone was sitting in a chair with his back to Nick, looking in that direction. He seemed absorbed by the view. Then he lea
ned forward to pick up something from the table in front of him, and that was when Nick realised. It was Conrad, there was enough of him in profile to be sure of that, but he didn’t look quite as Nick remembered. They’d amputated the left arm and all there was to remind anyone of its passing was the empty sleeve dangling from his shoulder.
He was transfixed for a moment. For some reason he’d just expected that the surgery to remove the dead tissue and the skin graft would be a matter of course. For a snake to have done that much damage was shocking. There was no time to think about that, though. It was time to call DCI Russell. He’d need somewhere quiet to do that. He turned to leave, and as he did so the door of the room opposite swung open. A tall man wearing an expensive suit with the physique of a bodybuilder, stood in the doorway. He had a handgun, and it was pointed in Nick’s direction.
‘Thought you’d never get here, mate,’ he said, in a broad Cockney accent. ‘In you go.’
Nick was in no position to argue. Cursing himself silently for his lack of attention, he turned back to the door of room 11 and pushed it open.
Chapter 10
As Nick came into the room, Conrad stood up and turned around.
‘Mr Severance. Thought I’d seen the last of you.’
He’d lost weight and as a consequence his face was thinner. He seemed a little less self-assured than Nick remembered. But the tone of voice still had a touch of arrogance.
‘Are you armed?’ he asked. ‘Take a look, Harry.’
‘In the waistband of my trousers, at the back,’ said Nick.
The man with the over-developed physique relieved him of his weapon. He motioned Nick towards the bed. ‘Sit down.’
Conrad stayed where he was. Harry took up a position by the door with his back to it. Anyone in the corridor trying to look in wouldn’t see a thing.
‘How did you know I was coming?’ asked Nick.
‘Guess we just got lucky,’ replied Conrad.
‘Or we’re bleedin’ psychic,’ added Harry, with a laugh.
‘Actually, I just asked the London clinic to call if anyone enquired about me,’ said Conrad. ‘When they described you, I thought you’d be here sooner rather than later. What were you going to do? Arrest me?’
‘I thought I’d let the police do that. They’ve got DNA evidence linking you to Julian Frost’s murder.’ It was a bluff, but worth a shot.
Conrad looked puzzled. ‘That would be interesting if it was true.’
‘Are you saying you didn’t kill him?’
Conrad sighed. ‘I’m saying it’s irrelevant.’ He noticed Nick staring at the empty sleeve. ‘You know what’s really annoying Mr Severance? It feels as though it’s still there. Phantom limb syndrome, they call it. Of course I know they cut it off and threw it in an incinerator. My body just refuses to believe it.’
‘Feel up to answering a few questions?’
‘Like what?’
‘Is the patent application the reason you murdered Ray and Julian?’
Conrad’s eyes widened. ‘You have an over-active imagination, Mr Severance. I think we have more important things to discuss. Like how we’re going to get rid of you, for a start. I’ve tried twice already and I don’t intend to fail a third time.’
Harry chimed in. ‘Third time lucky, eh?’ He smiled at his own joke. Harry reminded Nick of an old gangland type enforcer. The type that broke your arms while telling you in a voice of the utmost reason that it was nothing personal. Just doing his job. He wondered what sort of job Harry had in mind for him.
‘Take him to the warehouse, Harry. Find out what he knows and then discreetly dispose of him. How you do it is up to you.’
‘Come on, mate,’ said Harry. ‘Let’s move.’
Nick got up. He thought about trying to disable Harry before they left the room, but he was keeping his distance and the sheer size of the man made it a difficult proposition. If Harry chose to attack him he might be able to inflict some damage, but that wasn’t going to happen.
‘Goodbye Mr Severance,’ said Conrad. ‘You’re lucky I don’t hold you responsible for the loss of my arm, or I’d kill you myself.’
Harry opened the door and stepped backwards into the corridor, with his gun still on Nick. There was no one else around. They were at the end of the building and he pushed open the fire door so they could leave via the fire escape. He waved the gun at Nick.
‘You first. Don’t rush.’
There was nothing at the back of the block other than the old runway.
‘Where’s your car?’ asked Harry.
Nick pointed in its general direction. It was about 100 yards away. Nick led and Harry followed. He had the gun held loosely by his side in case they were spotted, but this part of the complex was deserted. Nick wished he’d had the foresight to use the main car park. When they got to the VW, Nick took the driver’s seat and Harry sat next to him.
‘Just drive where I tell you,’ he said. ‘If you go faster than thirty miles per hour, I’ll shoot you and turn off the ignition. If you try any fancy manoeuvres, I’ll do the same thing. Got it?’
‘Got it.’
Nick started the car and drove. They stayed on the site, following the runway away from the clinic and past several unused buildings and old hangars. Then they turned off the perimeter road and continued for a minute or two until they came to the warehouse. It was a big wooden structure on one level, painted in green and looking remarkably well preserved. There was a big sliding door at the front and a smaller entrance door to the side, which Harry directed him towards. Harry produced a key and a moment later they were inside.
There were steel tables and benches dotted about, and some old crates that had probably once been used to store aircraft parts. Part of one wall had been partitioned off to make an office and right down the end there was a steel structure about fifteen feet cubed, that at first glance looked like a huge refrigerator. They went into the office. It seemed that not much had changed here since 1945. There were maps on the walls and dusty typewriters on the desk. The phones were old black dialling models. The place was a time machine.
‘Turn around,’ said Harry.
Nick did, and that’s when Harry hit him. Hard in the solar plexus. Nick doubled over and Harry followed up with one to the side of the head. Nick was propelled back against the wall, gasping for air. Harry offered him a chair.
‘Sit there.’
He pulled Nick’s hands behind the chair and tied them together, and then he went to work. He was a big man and he knew what he was doing. He would make Nick stand up, which was awkward when you were tied to a chair, but possible. Then he’d hit him in the gut with a huge right hand, followed up by a left to the ribs. He gave Nick a little time between beatings to recover, while he asked his questions. What did Nick know about Hackett Pharmaceuticals? They were crooks. What did he know about the cocaine? Nothing, he’d seen it in Peru, that was all. Had he told people? Yes, everyone. Including the police? Of course. Was he telling the truth? No comment. This went on for ten minutes, until Harry got tired of it. By this time Nick was semi-conscious and was pretty sure at least two of his ribs were broken. He was coughing up blood as well. Then Harry untied him, picked him up like a sack of potatoes and slung him over one shoulder.
‘You’ll like this bit,’ he said.
He carried Nick out of the office and towards the back of the warehouse. They reached the giant refrigerator. You had to open the door like a compartment on a ship, with a big spinning wheel. Harry carried Nick inside and dumped him on the floor.
‘Know what this is mate? It’s an altitude chamber. Used to simulate flight conditions back in the day. Still works. Bleedin’ marvellous, don’t you think?’
Nick coughed and nodded. He didn’t care too much what it was.
‘Well,’ continued Harry, warming to his subject, ‘what happens when you get to a certain height is that you begin to suffer from altitude sickness and you get something c
alled hypoxia. No oxygen, you see. So you need to wear a mask. But I’m afraid we ain’t got any. So, what I’m going to do is take you up to 30,000 feet and see how you get on. Good luck, mate.’
And with that he departed and spun the door shut behind him. Nick may have been half-conscious but he had gathered the significance of that little speech. He sat up and looked around. The chamber had seats along its length and not much else, except a green and a red light mounted on the back wall. The place began to hum and a moment later the green light started flashing. Nick looked towards the door, where there was an observation window. He saw Harry grinning back at him and then he moved out of sight. He stumbled over to a seat and tried to prepare himself.
Five minutes later, the green light stopped and the red light took over. There was a sudden fog in the room as the air began to be sucked out of it, leaving a trail of condensation in its wake. Then Nick began to feel disoriented and quite euphoric. His fingers started tingling and he was light headed. He tried to get up and bang on the door but his legs wouldn’t respond and he found himself gasping for air. Then his head began to ache. There’s no way out, he thought, no way at all. He found himself getting more breathless and then his consciousness was fading. He couldn’t fight it. He had no strength and even less inclination. He didn’t see his life flash before his eyes. As he passed from awareness into peaceful oblivion his last thought was of his unborn daughter. Then he was gone.
There was a blackness, a complete absence of light. This wasn’t right. Where was the long tunnel of light leading to paradise? Maybe he was going in the opposite direction, the fire and brimstone place. But it wasn’t hot, it wasn’t cold. It wasn’t anything. Must be purgatory, he decided. He couldn’t remember what happened in purgatory, just that it probably wasn’t much fun. But nothing happened. He waited for what seemed like ages and then there was just the hint of a little light, behind his eyelids. His eyes snapped open. He took a breath. He could breathe! Then he became aware of his body again. He was lying face down on the floor and the humming had stopped. He looked up towards the door and saw that it was open. It looked like Harry had changed his mind, he must have something else planned. The guy was creative, he’d give him that much. But then he realised that outside the chamber it was pitch dark and the only illumination in here was coming from a tiny bulb in the ceiling. Hours must have passed. What the hell had happened?