Craig’s attention was drawn by something in his peripheral vision, and he walked quickly to the side door of the Portakabin. A small note had been taped to the door - Greenwood would be back tomorrow morning at eight. Too late, they needed to see him tonight. Then something occurred to him. Murdock and Davis were dead, and Laurie Johns, Beth and Katy were protected but...someone was missing.
“Hold on, Liam. I’ll come back with you in the car. I need to speak to Robert Moore. Now.”
***
Laurie Johns had swiped herself into the Maternity Unit at three-fifty and made a coffee. Then she’d wandered in and out of the empty rooms while she waited. It was four-twenty now and they were late. She’d have to tell them off. She was doing them a favour after all.
She wasn’t sure who was coming, but she hoped it would be that handsome Polish builder who did the plasterwork. He was a bit young, but very impressed by her, and she could happily enjoy an hour flirting with him. Maybe she could drag it out to a coffee in the canteen. If McAllister didn’t come himself then she’d pop up to see him at Knock later. He’d make the time to see her. After all, she was helping him out.
She gazed around her, smiling. It was very quiet without all those noisy babies. Much nicer. She liked order in her Unit.
The main door opened, and she half-turned, smiling and posing with a back straight. She’d been a girl ballerina and a sense of the dramatic never went amiss.
She’d expected to see a man, but was disappointed instead by the sight of Beth Walker. She looked her up and down disdainfully, taking in her over-sized denim jacket and scruffy leggings. Just what she’d have expected. Johns’ pose dropped immediately - it was totally wasted on a woman.
“What do you think you’re doing here, Nurse Walker? The Unit is closed, and you’re on investigation leave. How did you get in?”
“Oh...Sister...the door was open. I’m sorry, I just came to collect some notes for my exams. I’m doing my management diploma on Friday and I really need them for studying.”
“I’m certain I closed that door.” Johns eyed her suspiciously then continued. “Well, never mind. Just hurry up and get them. And then leave immediately, before I report you.”
She drew herself up pompously and Beth had a moment’s horrible image of her and Murdock having sex. They’d both have to be on top. She shuddered as the Sister kept talking, self-importantly.
“I’m here for a vital meeting with the project team and the Chief Executive. They’ll be here any minute.”
“Sorry Sister. I’ll be very quick.”
Beth ran hurriedly into the staff room and opened her locker, gathering armfuls of notes and dropping some papers in her rush. She left the Unit quickly without looking back, passing a tall man approaching by the parallel glass corridor. He didn’t seem to notice her, his face turned away, staring at the ground.
That must be Sister’s meeting, poor bugger. She’ll spend the whole time flirting with him. Beth gave a small shiver at the thought; not her problem. Then she ran quickly down the stairs to meet Janey outside.
***
He had to get there quickly. They would be searching for someone by now. They’d discovered the thing’s body by the river, just as he’d wanted it found. The Visitor smiled to himself, thinking of Nigel Murdock’s last moments. He’d cried and screamed for mercy, like the coward that he’d known him to be. He was skilled at being cruel to women, but he couldn’t take it himself.
Now it was the bitch’s turn. He didn’t like to hurt women, but she wasn’t really a woman, was she? Real women had warmth, compassion and heart. She was cold and unfeeling. He shook his head. This was no woman, this was a thing. Guilty.
***
Laurie Johns greeted him at the Unit door at four-thirty, instantly forgiving his tardiness with a smile. They shared a long coffee in her office, laughing and chatting, before they started walking the floor. He followed her in and out of the rooms, while she talked incessantly and pointed out the best camera sites.
She was very pleased. She really liked men who asked for her advice. And he was handsome and well-mannered, her two absolute musts in a man. Of course, he was a little dreary, and his accent was quite strange, but he really did seem to hang on her every word...
The Visitor watched her preening arrogantly, bile rising in his throat. This thing was even more disgusting than the last, with its pathetic posturing and self-delusion. At least the other one had known it was revolting.
“I think we should have a camera there and there.” She meandered ahead of him, displaying herself to what she thought was her best advantage.
His hand rubbed the blade’s sharp edge, enclosing it completely in his pocket and pushing it down to cut through his skin. His own blood fed his pain and anger, but there was no heat with this one. The revulsion was almost too strong. How could a woman be as callous as she was? So loathing of her own sex, so cruel to other women, to Melissa?
Instead of the heat he’d felt with Murdock, The Visitor’s pulse slowed, and his skin cooled until he shivered. Each movement was broken into a million frames, like time-lapse photography. Watching himself, watching her.
She pointed to the theatre door.
“What about putting a camera there, just above the theatre entrance?”
His free hand found the barrel of the first syringe. One to slow her down, the second to make it all fit perfectly. He flicked the cap off the small green needle, turning it from his own flesh, and reached behind it for the rope.
“Or maybe a camera inside the theatre? No, well, maybe not. Patients are quite litigious enough nowadays without giving them any encouragement. We don’t want to give them ideas for suing people, do we now?” She laughed sarcastically, only amusing herself.
“No, indeed.” His accented voice grew suddenly cold. “But then you could always lie about it. Couldn’t you Sister?”
“I beg your pardon, what do you mean?”
She railed at the harsh tone of his voice, turning angrily. He grabbed her wrists hard, wrenching them up behind her. Then he tied them expertly with the rope and pushed her to the ground face–first, standing above her gazing down.
She struggled futilely against his strength as he drew the rope down to her ankles and bound them together, linking all four limbs in the midline. She’d been so busy showing off that she hadn’t noticed his hands in his pockets the whole time.
Laurie Johns lay on the ground too shocked to speak. Then she signalled her intention to scream by taking a deep gasping breath. The man clasped a bloodied hand over her throat, obstructing her windpipe, so that no air escaped and none entered. Then he expertly withdrew the first syringe and pushed the needle into her neck, forcing the plunger down and emptying it rapidly. She slumped forward, unsupported, her face cracking hard against the sealed polymer floor.
He turned her over and swiftly injected the second syringe. It all had to fit, it had to be perfect. The kill had to have order to it. He tore open her waistband and stared into her widening eyes, enjoying her fear. Now he could feel the heat between his thighs. He wanted to roar as he had done with the other one, but that would bring them running.
He’d seen them downstairs looking for something. If they heard him they would come. And if they came then they would try to save the thing, and the work would be incomplete. That could never be allowed.
He’d always known this one must be silent, more secret to him. It saddened him a little, as if it robbed him of some joy. But he would roar next time. Next time he would rent the air and howl at the sky. Guilty.
He drew the blade from his pocket and tore it urgently across her dry freckled skin, skinny and shrivelled like her soul. He pressed down hard, cutting through the scarce fat and sinewy muscle, until she was open to the ward’s neon light. He smiled into her dying eyes as he cut, watching as her fear mixed with confusion.
He had a special joy for this one. Another cut to the chest, then he plunged both hands in deep, tearing out the heart t
hat made her live. Showing her what they had done to him, in her last few seconds of life. He watched her brown eyes screaming. Their light fading and flickering like a breaking bulb, until they finally fixed and dulled.
The Visitor rejoiced, careful to be silent, as he watched the useless life seep away. He rocked back and forth to some private melody, for minutes that seemed like hours. Pure joy. Finally he moved and placed the thing on its stomach, reluctant to leave his masterpiece.
Then he thought of the next one and walked off the Unit without a backward look, the door drifting half-closed behind him. There was no need to move this one. They wouldn’t visit the closed ward until tomorrow, giving him plenty of time for his next target. He mustn’t be discovered yet. There were still tasks to perform.
Laurie Johns took her final breath on the Unit that she’d managed for five years. Her final pulse just strong enough to pump out her remaining blood. All over her nice clean ‘NHS Green’ floor.
***
Beth turned over her last page of notes, watching as Janey surfed the TV channels, finally settling on the five o’clock news. There was nothing else for it. She’d just have to ask.
Her exam was in three days’ time and she needed more books from the M.P.E., so she put on her best wheedling smile.
“Janeeeey...I know you’re going to give me a hard time, but I got so flustered bumping into Johns that I’ve left some of my stuff on the Unit. I really need it to study, so...would you drive me down again. Pleeease?
Janey stared over at her, feigning exasperation. Beth spotted the act and continued hopefully. “Honestly, it’ll only take ten minutes. And she should be well gone by now.”
“All right. But you can buy me a takeaway on the way back. And with your own money this time. The police guys might fancy one as well.”
“It’s a deal.”
“And when this is all over, I’m teaching you how to drive...”
***
Craig reconvened the briefing at five-twenty. The only new outcome was the assignment of a protection detail to Robert Moore’s home in Cultra. Craig had spoken to him and explained why. Until they caught the killer he had to be protected. He got no argument from Moore.
“Any word on the D.N.A. match yet? And what about Melissa Pullman’s partner?”
“Bad news, boss. Des called through and there’s no match with Randle or Lewes. That only leaves McAllister and Greenwood. Melissa Pullman’s partner, Stephen Barron, is in the wind. The grandparents say that he took her death very badly and threatened everyone at the inquest. No-one’s seen him since, and that was five years ago. He was an engineer, did his degree somewhere in England. But checks show that he hasn’t been practicing as one. There’s been no activity on his bank account or passport since 2008 and their house was repossessed.”
“His passport’s come through, sir, but it expired fifteen years ago. The photo was taken when he was eighteen! So all we know now is that he’s forty-three, Caucasian and has blue eyes. But he could be wearing coloured lenses. He had no distinguishing scars or marks back then, and it says that he’s six-feet-two. About the same as Randle and Lewes.”
“McAllister’s about six- three and I think Greenwood’s six-feet-one, which is near enough as well, boss. And in those days height was self-reported. People often got it wrong or exaggerated upwards. So Barron might be a shorter than the six-two it says on his passport.”
“Or taller, Liam. He was eighteen when it was issued, so he may have grown after that. I did.”
Craig was tapping the desk repeatedly with his pen and Liam recognised his tension. He decided to risk a joke to relieve it. “Aye, you’re right, boss. So did I. Even though my parents didn’t feed me.”
Everyone laughed at the ridiculousness of it, and the humour relaxed the room for a minute. Liam restarted in a relaxed drawl, deliberately slowing the meeting’s pace before Craig blew a gasket.
“So… Barron’s disappeared off the map. We’re getting the grandparents to dig out any recent photos and get them over to us stat. And I’ve got the States of Jersey Police on it.”
Without realising why, Craig slowed his speech slightly as well.
“Right...thanks Liam. OK, McAllister’s and Greenwood’s photos are already over with the grandparents, but keep on them. Annette - send that passport photo over to Des for aging, please. Let’s see what Barron would look like now. The deaths all mimic Melissa Pullman’s, except she wasn’t diabetic.”
“Actually, sir - she was. We’ve got her full notes now. They show that she was a newly diagnosed diabetic in pregnancy, and that it was very badly handled. It seems Murdock left her in the care of a doctor who’d only qualified four weeks before.”
‘The Killing Fields’. It was what John called the weeks after new doctors started. Craig didn’t want to think about the ones caring for his father.
“He botched up her insulin dosage and they had to do an emergency Caesarean. Murdock was bleeped but he took ages to answer. Apparently he’d gone sailing near Cushendall while he was on-call.”
“Isn’t that against the rules, Cutty?”
“It certainly is. Anyway, eventually Murdock ran into theatre, the worse for wear. But the junior had started the operation and Melissa Pullman died from the bleeding. There were rumours of Murdock being under the influence when he arrived. Either Cocaine or alcohol. It was a mess from beginning to end.” Annette’s voice tailed off sadly and Martin jumped in, covering her.
“It seemed certain disaster for the Trust, sir. Until the junior suddenly got a job at St Arthurs in London with one of Murdock’s friends, and developed amnesia! He’s still working over there. Annette checked and he has a definite alibi for the past ten days. There’s no record of him flying back here, and no-one’s been bothering him.”
“Yet, son. No-one’s bothered him yet.”
Craig smiled wryly at Liam’s comment and Annette continued reporting. “It sounds like Melissa Pullman’s inquest was a complete whitewash, sir. The junior and all the others testified that there was no negligence by Murdock. It seems that the only person who told the truth was Beth Walker. But everyone ignored her. Murdock even tried to use her sexuality to discredit her as a witness. I’ve confirmed everything with her. Apparently the case was a big part of why he hated her.”
Liam whistled loudly. “What a shower of shits! If we tried to get away with that we’d be up in court!”
Nobody disagreed.
“Is there anything in her notes about a facial laceration, Annette?”
Everyone held their breath while Annette flicked through Melissa Pullman’s medical notes, scanning each page with what seemed like deathly slowness. Eventually she turned to Craig, her face a mixture of triumph and anger. She said nothing, just pointed to a line on the operation sheet. ‘Scalpel slipped and cut patient’s right cheek’.
There was only one explanation for the scalpel being anywhere near a patient’s face during a Caesarean. Murdock must have been waving it around, drunk. He was left handed, so her right cheek got cut.
Craig felt like someone had kicked him in the stomach. The extent of Murdock’s negligence was breath-taking. It was no wonder it had caused such extreme retribution. If anyone hurt his father like that he would hunt them down too.
“The baby’s Dad had a complete breakdown. He ended up in St Marys’ psychiatric unit. The grandparents took the baby, Lucy. Barron’s never even seen her, and they have no idea where he is now. I’ve had uniform checking-out the pharmacy in Bangor. It’s closed and boarded-up. But Martin called the main medical suppliers and they’re still receiving orders from it. The last one was a week ago.”
She nodded Martin to continue and he jumped in again eagerly. “They’ve been delivering parcels by appointment, sir. A man always signs for them. He fits Barron’s description exactly. Tall, white and middle-aged.”
Craig and Liam smiled at each other wryly. He’d just described both of them. “The delivery people said he had an English accen
t of some description, sir. Mr McAllister has an English accent.”
“Aye. And Ted Greenwood lived in England for a while too, boss. You can hear a definite twang.” Craig smiled and wondered what they made of his Belfast/Italian/London tones.
“OK. Annette, get down to the suppliers and get a copy of that signature. It might match the passport, or someone from our suspect list. And get the delivery staff to look at some photos. Now, please.” Annette left the room swiftly, with Martin trailing behind. “Liam, what about McAllister?”
“We lifted him ten minutes ago at the M.P.E. He was on the cross-corridor near Maternity when uniform found him. He’s in High Street now and moaning like hell about it.”
“OK, we’ll get to him later. Let him cool his heels. What’s happening with Greenwood?”
“Irish police say there’s no sign of him yet.”
“Ask them to keep trying. I’m going back to the M.P.E. to take another look around.” Craig moved to leave the room, and then turned back quickly.
“Did you say Barron was an Engineer?”
“Yes, sir.”
“So was Charles McAllister, and Ted Greenwood’s an Architect so he might have some engineering knowledge. Did anyone check if Greenwoods’ degree was really Architecture? If not, do it now please. Either way they would both know enough to knock out the CCTV and they both had unlimited access.”
Just then Nicky rushed into the room. Craig could tell from her face that it wasn’t good news. “Sir. Sister John’s protection detail has called through. She gave them the slip and left the house sometime this afternoon. She wouldn’t allow them inside the house, so they didn’t even know she’d gone. The officer says she must have driven down the back roads. I’ve tried her mobile but it’s ringing out. And I called her mother’s house, but she hasn’t seen her all day.”
Damn.
“Tell them not to beat themselves up Nicky. She’d probably have slipped them anyway. She’s the type. There’s only one place she’ll have gone to. The M.P.E. Liam, there are some uniforms still over there, get them to start looking for her and I’ll meet them there. Nicky, check that the protection officers have secured everyone else. The junior is safe in London for the moment, but ask The Met to keep an eye on him just in case. Everyone else, please keep going this evening for as long as you can. We’re close to catching this bastard.”
The Visitor (#3 - The Craig Modern Thriller Series) Page 27