She shook her head. She’d never understood addiction, but then she’d never really understood weakness of any sort. She’d been a responsible teenager and a strong adult, always walking the orthodox line. She made a face in the dim evening light and corrected herself. She’d walked the line until now. Just as her mind prepared to wander to less professional things Annette registered a movement in her peripheral vision. A car was pulling out of the house’s driveway; a sleek blue MG. It was Cooke’s!
She glanced at the third floor window, seeing the lights still on and the TV flickering as if there was someone there, but it was all for show. Cooke must have suspected he was being watched. Now he was gunning towards the city centre and as Annette tailed him it became obvious what his destination was. Twenty minutes later they were in St Mary’s car park and Cooke was running swiftly across the tarmac and through the hospital’s automatic front doors. Annette stayed well behind. There was only one place Adrian Cooke was heading: the E.M.U. If she tailed him there then he would see her, better to let him bring back whatever he’d gone to find.
Twenty minutes later there was still no sign of the doctor. He’d had plenty of time to retrieve the book from wherever Rudd had stashed it and return to his car. It was time to take a look. Annette was just crossing the car park when she heard the sirens approach. Not the swooping sirens of ambulances driving in and out of casualty, but the unmistakeable ‘nee-naw’ that signalled the arrival of the cops. As the patrol cars disgorged their uniformed contents her heart sank. She raced through the hospital main door, almost colliding with the officers in reception. They turned towards the E.M.U. simultaneously and before the men could say a word, Annette had displayed her badge.
“Elderly Medicine Unit?”
A young officer nodded. “Yes, Ma’am. A man’s body’s been found.”
She already knew what his name was. Dr Adrian Cooke.
***
8.30 p.m.
“I’m really sorry, sir.”
Craig shook his head and gazed down at the body. He wore a puzzled expression that said he was working something out.
“Tell me again, Annette. With exact timings.”
Annette sighed. Not because she’d already told him and was fed up repeating herself, but because the more often she said it the surer she became that there was something she could have done to prevent Adrian Cooke’s death. Craig hadn’t blamed her, he didn’t need to; her guilt was strong enough.
“Dr Cooke left the lights and TV on in his apartment, as a decoy probably, then he took off for the hospital at six-fifty. He parked in the car park at seven-ten and entered the building approximately one minute later. I didn’t follow because I thought he would have seen me as soon as I’d entered the E.M.U. I was planning to search him when he returned to his car and retrieve the book if he’d had it, but the squad cars appearing put paid to that.”
Craig nodded and hunkered down beside Adrian Cooke’s immobile body, staring expertly at his bloodshot eyes and darkening neck. He’d been strangled, manually if the finger marks were anything to go by, exactly the same as Eleanor Rudd. John would confirm it but he already knew that they were looking for the same man. But what was more interesting than Cooke’s premature demise was the small book that lay in his hand. Annette had had to argue with the C.S.I.s not to move it; she’d wanted Craig to see everything still in place.
Craig scrutinised the book from every angle. It was small and unremarkable. Not black of course, but then ‘Black Books’ seldom were. Its navy cover was embossed with the word ‘Notebook’ in silver gilt, like a million others that were sold every day. He shivered at the banality of it; what was written beneath that cover had probably got two people killed. Something stopped him finishing the thought and he rested back on his heels, staring straight ahead as Annette looked on.
She knew that he wasn’t looking at the C.S.I.s, or even at the hospital staff who had gathered outside the tape, driven by curiosity and a ghoulish sense of the event. Craig wasn’t looking at either of those, he was searching the recesses of his brain for some clue that he had missed. Without warning he sprang to his feet and beckoned a female C.S.I. across, pointing to the book.
“Bag that please and get it straight to Dr Marsham at the lab.”
He signalled Annette to join him in the stairwell, waiting until the fire-doors had closed for privacy before he spoke.
“Why was Cooke wearing his white coat?”
Annette shrugged. “Habit probably. He probably put it on whenever he entered the unit.”
Possible. Craig continued. “Why didn’t they take the book?”
Annette stared at him blankly and then realised what he’d meant. It was a good question. Why not take it? If Adrian Cooke had been killed by a rival drug dealer, the book would be like manna from heaven; a ready-made list of junkies waiting for a fix and not fussy who they bought it from. She vocalised her thoughts and Craig nodded.
“I agree. Not a rival dealer then.”
“And not an addict either, sir. An addict would have taken the book on the off-chance that someone else on the list knew of a good place to score.”
“Or they would try to sell it, or even blackmail some of the names.” He nodded. “OK, so not an addict and not a dealer. They would both have taken the book if drug supply was why Cooke was killed.”
Annette interrupted. “If?”
Craig was still talking. “Someone whose family Cooke and Rudd had hurt?”
“You mean someone who loved an addict? Maybe.”
Craig half-nodded then he shook his head, answering his own question. “No. Why would they do it here? Why not at Cooke’s home? Unless…”
Annette waited, knowing that he didn’t need an answer. He would provide his own in a moment. It came in fits and starts.
“They killed Cooke here because…the book was here and… they wanted to catch him red-handed with it.”
Annette played devil’s advocate. “If the book was the reason.”
Craig nodded. “Even if the killer didn’t want the book, it may have given them the proof they needed to execute Cooke. Either way, unless you saw someone tailing you from the Antrim Road the killer was already here when Cooke arrived.”
Annette glanced through the glass fire-door at where Adrian Cooke’s body lay. He’d been found in the same area as Eleanor Rudd, but lying on the floor between the linen room, clinical room and sluice. The E.M.U. definitely held the answer to their killer’s identity.
“No CCTV in this area, which would fit with your theory that it’s someone who knows the unit. Maybe they work here?”
Craig followed her gaze through the glass as she kept talking.
“Where was the book, sir? Before Cooke lifted it, I mean.”
Craig gestured through the door. “One of those three rooms would be my bet. Eleanor Rudd must have hidden it there.”
“Perhaps that’s why her body was found in the linen room? Maybe she kept the book in there.”
Craig shook his head. “Too risky, any nurse or porter could have found it.”
“She was inventorying the clinical room that morning, so perhaps she stashed it somewhere in there when she knew she was going to be killed.”
Craig shook his head. Ellie Rudd wouldn’t have had time to stash the book anywhere once her killer had telegraphed his intentions. The book had been returned to its regular hiding place long before; a hiding place that Adrian Cooke had known about all along.
The look in Craig eyes said he’d returned to his original question. Even if the deaths were somehow linked to the E.M.U. why kill both victims in such a public place? OK, the area didn’t have CCTV but the bodies were bound to be discovered soon after death. Craig smiled in realisation.
“Our killer wanted the bodies found. He wants people to see what he’s done.”
Annette looked shocked. “But that means he doesn’t care if he’s caught! Or worse, he doesn’t think he will be. Who would have known Cooke was coming here to
night?”
Craig glanced at her. “You’re positive you weren’t followed?”
Annette shook her head vehemently. “I would have noticed a tail.”
“All right. So that leaves someone who knew that Cooke was coming to the ward before he arrived or, less likely, someone who just saw him here. Unless he was due on duty, which he wasn’t, that could only mean someone that Cooke told. Davy can check his phones for calls.”
“It could have been opportunistic. Someone who saw Cooke here tonight and took their chance?”
Craig didn’t answer, just pushed open the fire-door, startling the officers standing there.
“What were Dr Cooke’s movements from the minute he entered the unit?”
A series of puzzled faces turned towards him and he asked the question again. A middle-aged uniform was the first to speak.
“The sister said he dropped in to say hello.”
Craig strode across to the man. “Which sister?”
A voice answered from behind the tape. “Both of us.”
It was Jane Norton. Craig lifted the tape and beckoned her through.
“Dr Cooke said hello to both you and Sister Gormley, you’re sure?”
“Positive. He called in to see me in Newman, but I was busy with a new admission so he said he was popping into Reilly. He looked sad, like he was saying goodbye.”
Cooke had been on the wards, hence donning his white coat. Craig swung round to find Annette. “Check that out with Sister Gormley.”
One minute later she returned, nodding. “Sister Gormley said Cooke popped in to say a quick hello and goodbye.”
“Damn. That means the staff and patients on both wards knew that he was here.”
Jane Norton screwed up her face quizzically. “What difference does that make?”
Craig suddenly realised he’d said too much and ushered her away with a request to give them a list of every patient, visitor and staff member on her ward.
“Annette, get Hazel Gormley to do the same.”
“You think one of the staff killed Cooke?”
Craig’s quick shake of the head told Annette that they’d said enough. He needed more information before he’d know exactly what he thought.
***
Midnight
Craig yawned and Annette caught the bug, yawning a moment later. They had good reason; it had been a long day. Adrian Cooke’s body was safely in the morgue, along with his erstwhile girlfriend, Eleanor Rudd, waiting for John to do his thing. They also had a list of every patient, visitor and member of staff who’d been on the unit that evening, waiting for Davy to do his. One name jumped out at both of them. Annette yawned again, stifling it with a hand, then she pointed to the page Craig was holding.
“Why was he here at that time of night, sir? I thought rank brought some perks.”
Craig laughed. “Tell me what they are someday, will you?” His face became serious. “But you’re right. Why was Tim Taylor wandering around the unit at seven o’clock in the evening and why had he conveniently disappeared by the time we arrived?”
Annette wondered if the question was rhetorical then decided to risk a reply. “He was here when Cooke arrived; he saw him, took his chance and killed him, then legged it when he heard someone scream.”
Ah yes, the scream. That reflex that activated when you happened to find someone dead. He knew that dead bodies were a shock to the uninitiated but he did wish that occasionally people would think more like cops. Cops saw dead bodies and got straight on the radio. Civilians saw them and screamed at the top of their lungs, giving the killer ample warning to run away.
Craig sighed and Annette waited for a reply to her comment. It came in the form of a question.
“Tell me who found the body again?”
Annette recited from memory. “Nurse Kelly Gill. Second year student on her way to the sluice.”
“Young?”
“Eighteen.”
“That explains the scream.”
Annette was going to ask what he meant but she knew he was finishing some conversation inside his head so instead she glanced at the clock.
“It’s after twelve, sir.”
Craig glanced at the time-piece, surprised, but he still made no move to leave.
“Someone who didn’t want the Black Book but was here tonight…Davy will have to compare who was here tonight with who was around when Ellie Rudd died.”
“Except that they had hours to get away that time, before the place was sealed off.”
“If they’d wanted to. OK, then, whoever was here tonight is our suspect pool.” He leapt to his feet. “Time to go home.”
As they walked towards reception Annette hazarded a question. “Carmen?”
His expression became glum. “I’m telling you because you’re a nurse and I know that you’re discreet, but don’t discuss it, please.”
She gave him an ‘as if’ look.
“I’ve sent her to Occupational Health with the suggestion that she sees the psychologist. She has real issues with men.”
“Nicky thinks she was hurt badly by someone.”
Craig nodded. “And if that’s the case I feel for her, but she can’t bring it into work. If this was a man treating you and Nicky the way she treats the men on the team, the gender equality people would come down like a ton of bricks. It has to be dealt with. If Carmen can’t sort it out then she’ll be off the squad.”
“Is she out for the rest of the case?”
Craig shrugged. “Depends what O.H. says.” He sighed. “If she is then that just leaves us with Jake part-time because of his grandfather, you, Liam, Ken and me.”
Annette grinned. “We’re more than a match for the St Mary’s Strangler, sir. You wait and see.”
***
It was finished. The evil had been purged and life could return to its usual peaceful flow. Hospitals were supposed to be sanctuaries. Places where the sick were healed or passed peacefully into another world, not places where people took their misery out on the vulnerable and peddled filth to make profit for themselves.
Well, it was done now and no-one would disturb the peace again. Best of all, the police couldn’t prove a thing.
Chapter Eight
Tuesday, 8 a.m.
Craig kept the eight o’clock briefing short and sweet, a task aided by the small number of people there.
“Adrian Cooke was found dead on the E.M.U. last night. Annette tailed him to the hospital from his flat and he was only inside for twenty minutes. He had Eleanor Rudd’s deal book in his hand and we can be fairly certain that he’d gone there to collect it. He also called in to say goodbye to the sisters on both wards, either because he knew he would be suspended or because he was planning to run. John’s starting the P.M. this morning but my bet’s on Cooke being killed by the same person as Rudd. Let’s hope they left some prints this time. Annette and I have a list of everyone there last night and Davy will dig into that.”
He took a breath and turned towards Liam. He was shaking his head.
“OK, out with it.”
“Aye, well. It’s just…how the hell did they spot Cooke and kill him in twenty minutes? It’s bloody fast. And no witnesses?”
“I didn’t say there were no witnesses; we don’t know yet. No-one’s come forward but that’s nothing new.”
He smiled meaningfully and Liam shook his head vehemently.
“Oh no, you don’t. I’m not spending all day taking statements again. Ask uniform to do it.”
“I already have. But you and Annette need to supervise, so get over there now, please.” He gestured at Ken who was gazing mournfully at Carmen’s empty desk. “Ken’s coming with me to see Professor Taylor.”
Liam made a face like a thwarted child. Craig ignored it and turned towards the door.
“You all know what you’re doing. Ken, follow me. Nicky, call John and say we’ll be at the lab around eleven.”
That was how Craig and Ken came to be standing outside Tim Ta
ylor’s oak office door again. Craig contrasted it with the half-glass door he had; his seemed less imposing somehow. Taylor’s secretary was nowhere to be seen so Craig knocked on the oak and walked straight in. As he entered he saw why the P.A. hadn’t been sitting at her desk, she was sitting on Tim Taylor’s knee instead. The professor’s mouth said “how dare you?” but his eyes said that he’d been caught out.
He rose hurriedly, depositing the girl on his desk, and attempted to cover his embarrassment with stern words.
“That will be all, Rachael, and please ensure that meeting is organised properly next time.”
Craig couldn’t have cared less what Taylor did in his office, although he was sure Taylor’s wife would have a different idea. He waited until the red-faced girl left then he marched across to the desk followed by Ken and they both took a seat.
“What were you doing on the E.M.U. last night, Professor?”
Taylor’s flushed face looked puzzled, as if he’d expected Craig to make some reference to his indiscretion so that he could tell him a lie. Then they’d go through the niceties of ‘Good morning’ before the questioning would begin. But Craig liked his suspects off balance, so before Taylor could recover he asked him again.
“The E.M.U. Why were you there last night?”
“It’s…it’s my unit. I was…”
Both men watched as the academic searched for some significant reason why he’d been on the unit at seven p.m. and kept watching as he gave up and shrugged.
“I just thought I’d call in and see how everyone was.”
It was so lame that Craig’s heart sank. In his experience guilty people did one of two things. Either they said nothing, pleading their right to silence and yelling for some grubby solicitor to cover their ass, or they wouldn’t shut up. They would talk and talk about anything; blaming the weather or the world for their sad lives, or saying that they weren’t even there when their victim had been killed. They’d been in the supermarket or park, or watching a football match or movie somewhere far away. They would go into so much unrequested detail that eventually they’d make a mistake in their alibi and disappear down a big fat rabbit hole to jail. What guilty people didn’t do was give pathetic, mundane excuses like “I just thought I’d call in and see how everyone was.”
The History Suite (#9 - The Craig Modern Thriller Series) Page 16