Taylor was telling the truth, no guilty person would give an alibi as pathetic as that. Craig decided to test his gut, checking what time Taylor had arrived and left. The professor had exited the unit and the building by five-past-seven.
“Didn’t you notice the police cars all over the place?”
Taylor nodded blankly. “So what? They’re always being called to the E.D.”
Craig decided to test something.
“Where is Dr Cooke today, Professor Taylor?”
Taylor’s face soured at the mention of his love rival. “Hanging his head in shame I should hope. Drug addict. He’ll be suspended and I hope they never let him practice again.”
Craig saw Ken’s eyes widen and he shook his head. Taylor caught the exchange. He leaned forward, setting his bony elbows on his desk.
“What was that look? What’s going on?”
Craig scrutinised Taylor’s face, wondering how long he could withhold the information about Cooke’s death and whether it was even useful to try. He decided it wasn’t and opted for watching Taylor’s reaction instead.
“Dr Cooke’s dead.”
As Craig watched, Tim Taylor’s expression morphed from shocked to pleased, then into the faux-sadness that he knew people would expect to see. It wasn’t a nice sequence but it was an honest one. Tim Taylor knew nothing about Adrian Cooke’s death.
When Taylor thought he’d pretended to be sad for long enough he spoke. “That’s dreadful. When did it happen?”
Craig kept his eyes firmly on the professor’s face, searching for ‘tells’ that would give him away.
“Last night. Between seven-ten and seven-thirty.”
“Where?”
As soon as he’d asked the question Taylor realised he already knew; that’s what the police cars had been about the night before. He answered himself, “St Mary’s” then he repeated the words, attaching a question mark. “St Mary’s?”
Taylor jumped to his feet and Ken jerked backwards as if he was going to be hit, but Craig could tell the difference between a jump that heralded a blow and one that came from shock. Taylor’s next words made Ken relax.
“On my E.M.U.? Are you saying Cooke was killed on my E.M.U. last night?”
Craig gave a quick nod and watched as Taylor’s face grew frantic.
“Why did nobody tell me? It’s my unit and no-one thought I should know about a second death! The university will shut down my research; we’ll lose all our grants!”
Craig watched Taylor go into a tailspin then he encouraged the frantic academic back into his chair with a gentle shove. His calm voice cut across Taylor’s rant.
“No-one told you because I instructed them not to. I wanted to see you myself. And I very much doubt that two unforeseeable murders will lose you your grants.”
Taylor was still raving. “You don’t know. Some of the money comes from drug companies and they hate bad publicity.”
As Craig listened to Taylor run through the importance of image and bad P.R. it occurred to him that he hadn’t asked how Adrian Cooke had died.
“Aren’t you interested in how and where Dr Cooke was found? He was a member of your team.”
Taylor spat back. “He was a liability, always late or stoned.” He halted suddenly, realising that he should pretend to be concerned – it went with his title. The question came grudgingly. “How did he die?”
“Post-mortem will tell us exactly, but he was found in the area outside the linen and clinical rooms.”
Taylor snorted derisively. “He was probably breaking into the drug cupboard looking for a fix.”
Craig shook his head disapprovingly; there was ‘no love lost’ between two people and then there was hatred. Cooke and Taylor’s relationship had definitely been the latter. Craig stood up, giving Ken his cue to do the same. There was nothing further to be learned from Tim Taylor today.
“We’ll send someone along to take your statement, and the E.M.U. could probably do with a visit to boost morale.”
Taylor nodded and was about to say something else. By the venomous look on his face it was more bile about Adrian Cooke. Craig held up a hand to stop him.
“A word to the wise, Professor. Even if you hate someone, if they’ve been murdered it’s better to keep that fact to yourself.”
Taylor’s face fell and Craig turned to leave, waiting until they were past his still-blushing P.A. and in the stairwell before he laughed. Ken joined in.
“Did you see his face when we walked in?”
Craig nodded. After a moment’s more laughter Ken spoke again.
“Do you really think he’s innocent, sir?”
“Unfortunately yes, but even if he is we’ll watch to see what happens next.”
***
Reilly Suite. 11.30 a.m.
Annette sighed heavily. “If I have to ask one more old lady where she was at ten-past-seven last night I’ll scream.”
Liam looked thoughtful and Annette thought she spied a joke coming. For once she was wrong.
“Imagine what it would be like to be old, Cutty. To know that the most excitement you’d ever have again would be whether to watch Corrie or Emmerdale.”
“That’s the most excitement I have now!”
He gave her a look that made her blush. She drained her coffee cup quickly and rose to leave, but Liam wasn’t letting such a perfect opportunity go to waste.
“You’ve had a spring in your step for weeks, girl. In fact…ever since we got back from the Doc’s wedding.” He waited until Annette’s hand was on the doorknob to deliver his coup de grâce. “Must be the ‘august’ company you’ve been keeping.”
Annette froze, uncertain of what to do. Keep walking and pretend that she hadn’t heard or swing round and deliver a devastating conversational blow. Liam saved her the decision, seeing the confusion on her face.
“Here now, I wasn’t trying to upset you. I like Mike Augustus, he’s a good bloke. And God knows you deserve a bit of fun.”
Annette turned, expecting to see a grin on Liam’s pale face but instead it wore a look of genuine concern. His voice softened.
“Just don’t get hurt, Cutty. I know Pete’s been a Class A bastard to you, but you’re still married to him. Some people can have affairs and shrug them off but others feel the toll.”
Annette’s acid retort dissolved on her tongue and she shook her head, knowing that he was right. Liam nodded her back to her seat and waited while she gathered her thoughts.
“Mike’s…he’s kind.”
Liam nodded. “Aye, he is that. I always liked the man.”
“And…I tried to make things work with Pete…for a year after...”
She gave Liam a look that begged him to understand and see that she wasn’t just some ‘faithless hussy’ as her mother would have said. As practically every Northern Irish forty-something’s mother would have said.
“Pete…when he had the affair he blamed the job…he said I was always working.” She shrugged. “He probably had a point. That’s why I agreed to try again, forgive and forget, but…”
Liam cut in. “But he didn’t appreciate that you had, did he?”
Annette shook her head. “I tried, honestly I did, but I started to hate him. I made excuses to stay out…and now the kids are almost grown…”
Liam smiled kindly. Annette had married at twenty-five, not long out of nursing school. Years of work and building a home had been followed by Jordan and Amy and then years more. She loved the police and worked her socks off. Pete McElroy should have been proud of her, not screwing around behind her back. His voice was gentle.
“What are you going to do, lass?”
She shook her head, close to tears. Liam filled the silence.
“Well, whatever you do have fun, because God knows you deserve it.” He stood up and she joined him. “Whoever you choose someone is going to get hurt; my best advice is this time just make sure that it isn’t you.”
***
The Lab. 12 p.m.
Craig and Ken pushed through the lab’s PVC doors heading for John Winter’s corner office. He wasn’t there, which only left the dissection room as a possibility after a fresh murder. Craig led the way into the white-walled, sealed floored room and found John leaning over a microscope at the side bench. The micro-pathology usually went off for analysis but he liked to play ‘guess the cell’ sometimes, just to keep his hand in.
John glanced up as they entered and both men noticed the red silk tie peeking above his buttoned-up white coat. Craig smiled, seeing Natalie’s influence at work. Now, if she could just sort out the old ’90s jeans John wore on his days off…
“Sorry we’re late.”
The pathologist greeted them cheerfully, no mean feat when there were two dead bodies lying on your slab.
“No problem. Nice to see you again, Ken. How’s life in the Murder Squad?”
Ken came back like lightening. “Usually dead.”
John grinned. “Excellent. You’ve got a comedian on your hands here, Marc.”
Craig glanced at Smith, vaguely surprised. He was usually so quiet. Craig wondered if Nicky had been right when she’d said he was only quiet because Carmen was around.
“Liam could do with a bit of competition.”
Craig waved at the larger of the two shrouded mounds on the tables, knowing that Adrian Cooke’s steroid enhanced body lay beneath the sheet.
“What have you got for us?”
John folded back the cover to show Cooke’s head and neck and pointed out the classic strangulation signs. “Same as Eleanor Rudd. Petechial haemorrhages in his eyes, fractured hyoid bone and the bruises of manual strangulation.”
Craig was about to ask a question when John lifted Cooke’s right hand and held it up.
“His nails are torn and there are abrasions on his knuckles. He fought back. I’m hoping Des has got something useful from the debris beneath his nails.”
Craig nodded thoughtfully. “Any other injuries?”
“Quite a few. He put up a hell of a fight.” He turned Cooke’s head to one side. “He had a blow here that would have stunned him at least and there are bruises on his trunk and the back of his knees.”
He uncovered the dead man’s legs and Craig peered closely. “I can’t see anything.”
“Wait.”
John lifted a lamp and turned off the overhead light, shining the lamp on the back of Cooke’s knee. A linear mark appeared.
“UV light. Specific frequencies show injuries the human eye can’t see. There’s a matching mark on the other side.”
Craig was impressed but puzzled. “The back of his knees? Isn’t that a bit unusual?”
John nodded. “Very. First time I’ve seen it. But…”
He covered Cooke’s body and moved to the second shrouded corpse, lifting the sheet gently to expose one of Eleanor Rudd’s legs. He pointed the lamp at the back of her thigh and a similar mark appeared.
Ken stared at it, confused. “What is it, Dr Winter?”
“A bruise; there’s one on her other thigh in the same position. When I saw Cooke’s I went back and checked. At first I thought they were from transit trauma, bringing her to the lab, then I realised both sets of marks are exactly 685 millimetres from the ground. Cooke was taller so they’re in a lower position on his legs.”
Craig opened his mouth and John shook his head. “Before you ask, I haven’t a clue what caused them. I’ve passed the images to Des, along with the marks on Cooke’s head and trunk, but your guess is as good as mine at this point. One last thing, Cooke had obvious signs of drug abuse – injected and snorted. Nothing similar on Rudd.”
He ushered them back to his office and five minutes later they were drinking coffee and formulating ideas. Craig kicked off.
“OK. So, we have two dead health professionals; a doctor and nurse from the same unit. We know Cooke was a drug user and they were probably both dealing, at least cocaine but maybe harder stuff as well. We have Eleanor Rudd’s Black Book; Cooke went back to retrieve it and whoever killed him left it behind.”
John interrupted. “Deliberately?”
Craig nodded. “We’ve no reason to think anything else. But if it was deliberate, then why? Did the killer just not want it, or did they want us to know what the deceased had been up to, and to follow up the people in the book?”
“Which rules out a rival dealer or junkie, but rules in someone wanting revenge.”
Craig nodded just as Ken cut in.
“Someone anti-drugs then. Are you thinking of an addict’s relative, sir?”
“Maybe. Or maybe a reformed addict, someone Rudd and Cooke dealt drugs to in the past who blamed them. Des is examining the book now.”
John shook his head. “Surely if it was an ex-junkie they’d have taken the book, in case their name came out?”
“Only if they’d kept their habit a secret, but I take your point. An ex-addict is less likely than an irate relative.”
John unbuttoned his white coat, revealing the full glory of his tie. It was snappy; Natalie obviously had better taste in clothes than she did in soft furnishings. He topped up everyone’s coffee then retook his seat.
“If one of the names in that book matches someone on the ward, then you’ve got your man.”
Craig made a face that said he wasn’t so sure. “Well A, are you positive that a man did this, John? And B…”
“In answer to the first part, yes, I’m certain it’s a man. With Eleanor Rudd it was just conceivable that a woman could have killed her, if she’d been strong enough. Rudd’s neck was narrow enough for a woman’s hands to circle. But with Cooke there’s no ambiguity. Adrian Cooke was very muscular with a thick neck; only a very strong man could have strangled him and the bruising clearly shows large hands this time.”
Craig cut in. “What about the blow to his head? If Cooke was knocked out he would have been easier to kill.”
“True, but we have no guarantee that the blow knocked him out completely, and even if it did the marks on his neck are unambiguous.” John stared into space, thinking. “It could have been a woman with huge hands, I suppose…” He pulled himself back to earth. “There’s something else as well. The marks on Eleanor Rudd’s throat were indistinct, indicating that the assailant possibly wore gloves but with Cooke they’re much more defined. I think they strangled him barehanded.”
Craig leaned forward excitedly. “The finger marks show that whoever killed Cooke didn’t wear gloves?”
“Yes. They’re much more distinct than on Rudd and I’m sure with new images we can match the size.”
Craig punched the air. “Brilliant!”
Ken stared at Craig, confused, while John merely waited for what came next. He’d been privy to Craig’s air-punching since they were twelve. Craig saw Ken’s blank look and explained.
“Cooke’s death was opportunistic, we already knew that. Unless someone had tailed him to the hospital, which Annette would have noticed, they couldn’t possibly have known that Cooke was going to the E.M.U. last night. So when the killer saw Cooke there he was surprised…”
Smith interrupted, ignoring rank in his excitement. Craig smiled; it was about time he realised he wasn’t in the army anymore.
“So they saw Cooke and seized their chance, but because they were rushing they got careless and didn’t use gloves.”
“Yes. But they still had the sense to kill him in the area of the unit that had no CCTV.”
“But there’s CCTV above both ward doors. Davy will find someone on that to fit the timing and we’ll have our perp.”
Craig was about to say yes but something made him hesitate. For some reason he didn’t think it was going to be as easy as that.
***
The C.C.U. 2.30 p.m.
Davy crossed the squad-room faster than Nicky had ever seen him move. He was about to knock on Craig’s door when she shook her head. He stared at her quizzically.
“Has the chief gone out again?”
Sh
e shook her head again and he nodded, understanding.
“He’s on the phone.”
On her third shake Davy rolled his eyes in exasperation.
“OK, I give up. W…Why can’t I knock?”
Nicky grinned. “You can knock. I never said you couldn’t. I was just testing your obedience level.” She turned away before he could say something rude and gestured at Craig’s door. “He’s not busy.”
Davy frowned. “You can be really annoying, Nicky.”
“And you’re just working that out now?”
He gave up, knowing he wouldn’t win and knocked on Craig’s door, entering on his “yes.”
Craig glanced up from the file he was reading, surprised to see the young analyst standing there. Davy had overcome most of his natural shyness inside the team, but even now he rarely approached him directly. Whatever he’d found must be important.
“What is it?”
“Adrian Cooke.”
“What about him?” Craig waved him to a seat.
“He was assaulted by a patient’s relative a few months ago.”
Craig leaned forward urgently. “Why? Did they have some problem with their treatment?”
“No. A fight just s…started out of the blue and the police were called. I’ve checked the report. The man lashed out at Cooke in the area between the w…wards.”
Craig’s eyes widened. “The area outside the linen room?”
Davy nodded eagerly. “It gets better. There was a w…witness, a junior nurse. She heard the man call Cooke ‘druggie scum’, then he punched Cooke and split his lip.”
Craig grinned. “Brilliant! Well done.”
To his surprise Davy shook his head. “Not so great in one w…way, but awesome in another.”
“Explain.”
“The assault case didn’t hold up because it was just the nurse’s word against the man’s.”
“But Cooke corroborated her account, didn’t he?”
The History Suite (#9 - The Craig Modern Thriller Series) Page 17