***
You seem tired, Doctor Powers.
Is that another coffee in your hand, I see? Are you hoping the caffeine will shake the lethargy, deliver you from the ennui of another day in your hopeless, lonely existence?
How badly was your night disturbed?
Was Antony Harding in your bed with you again?
Or something worse?
Did you twist and turn as visions of your former lover invaded your senses? Could you feel the blade carving her spirit free, the bliss of permanent release?
For you both?
And what of the others?
Ten photographs of my exquisite creations are now in your possession.
So many clues to work with, yet you remain clue-less.
By now, I imagine my dear Antony has shared some names with you, but how about the individuals who remain anonymous?
What if Rawlings and the others deserved their fate?
Do you care about them too? Or is it just the one you truly cared for?
Poor, broken Judith. So close to you, in more ways than one…
Oh how she screamed as she spilled her sweet secrets.
And with your name on her lips, uttered with such contempt, such venom, for the man who stole the most precious things from her.
Would you like to hear? I may send the video to your friend Carver.
Or maybe I will send you something to remember her by.
Look inside yourself and you will realise how badly you desire that…
For a fraction of a second, almost too fast for Doc’s brain to register, it seemed to him that a photograph of Judy had appeared on the screen, just long enough for him to question whether he really had seen it or merely imagined it. As he tried to dislodge the vision and concentrate on the words that really were there, his imagination kept thrusting the picture of her into his mind — spreadeagled on a bed, bound and gagged.
Doc understood how the brain can play tricks, had often suffered from hallucinatory events, especially when delving into the depths of the worst criminal minds, so attempted his usual trick of compartmentalizing, and concentrated instead on the words he knew were there.
Do you now understand how it feels to know your life is barren, that all is lost, that you are alone in this world, that everyone you once cared about has gone?
That the release of death is a welcome gift?
Perhaps it is time for you to depart from earthly torment too…
I’m sure Antony would be willing to help you with that.
In fact, I’ve invited him to assist you in any way he can.
And now you are reading this email with bleary eyes, with tears barely suppressed, and a desire for revenge.
Good.
I know you Powers, I know many of your secrets. I am the black mirror for your soul.
I see you.
Are you ready to see me?
The photograph flashed again, and this time Doc was sure it was real, even though it disappeared as quickly as before, but this time the message also vanished, and the black screen reflected his own stunned face staring back at him. He slammed the Macbook shut, his brain refusing to accept Judy’s death, refusing to believe this demonic message that blossomed on the screen the moment he opened it.
With shaking hands and his heart pummelling his ribcage, he tried to breathe and stay centred, balanced, yet knew he was teetering on the brink. Moments passed with Doc staring into space, emptying his mind, letting the discipline of yoga calm him. As his trembling eased, then ceased, he once again rationalised what he had seen — no longer concerned that it was a figment of his imagination, but instead decided it was a photoshop montage, otherwise why only flash it on screen rather than send it to him? And if The Surgeon really had Judy, why not torment Doc with the audio and video as he had mentioned?
Then his analytical mind went to work on how the perpetrator had thrown both the letter and these images on to his Macbook while he was reading.
He’s hacked into my personal computer!
It seemed unreal, this crazy game being played with people’s lives. Precious lives.
Possibly even Judy’s life…
A careless elbow struck his coffee cup, and sent it crashing to the ground, the hot liquid splashing over Doc’s pyjama bottoms as the china disintegrated.
For several seconds, Doc stared at the mess, thinking it summed up the chaos The Surgeon was wreaking, trying to shatter his world too. Then it dawned on him.
He could see me drinking coffee!
The study curtains were closed, there was no way anyone could be looking in through the windows. Another mental leap and Doc came to a very worrying conclusion.
The Macbook camera… He’s spying on me!
More implications trickled into his brain.
He could’ve heard everything Jack and I discussed these last two mornings, sitting in this kitchen. If he can work the camera he can make the mic live, too…
Doc was not prone to irrational actions but in that moment he wanted to drown the computer, like an unwanted cat, to wrap it in a sack and dump it in the Thames. Or better still, do it right now in the kitchen sink.
Fortunately, common sense took hold before either course of action took place. The rational thing to do was to hand the item over to Jack’s team in the hope they could use it to locate The Surgeon. So, still calming himself with regular counted breaths, he took the offending item to his bedroom and layered his quilt and pillows over it.
His own assessment of his current mental state was not pretty, but paranoia was not high on the list of problems he had identified. However, he would have Jack’s boys check his mobile phone in case that too was being tapped, and whether the mic could be controlled remotely to enable a third party to listen to any conversation within range.
That would be a disaster.
If the eavesdropper could listen in to his meetings with Jack, had been aware of all their musings, could hear everything they discussed at any time Doc had his mobile within earshot, well that would have put them at a serious disadvantage.
Although Doc was no expert, he was aware that hacking a computer was relatively easy compared to a mobile phone, but any device connected to the internet was vulnerable. There was no immediate problem though, as his was still in the car, left there after he returned home the night before, his mind consumed by worry over Judy. He would use the landline to call Jack, as he knew that was far less likely to be compromised, but even then, he would be circumspect in his choice of words until the Met technicians had checked all his electronic devices.
He organised his thoughts before calling the detective, and replayed the latest message in his mind. Their adversary was not as omniscient as he believed, and was wrong about one thing, at least.
Doc’s bed had not been slept in last night, the quilt undisturbed until he bundled the Macbook under the covers just now. Worry had kept his brain firing, an all encompassing dread that Harding was telling the truth about Judy. Doc, aware there was no possibility of restful sleep, was determined not to use drugs or alcohol to achieve a state of unconsciousness. Instead, he had spent most of the night in various yoga poses, eventually reaching a state of peace that had surprised him. For some hours, he had remained in a lotus position, and towards the end of his meditation he had felt connected.
To Judy.
In his blissful state he imagined she was still with him, sitting right beside him, her vibrant spirit reaching out to him. She was not dead — she was alive and well.
He could feel it.
Doc snorted at the memory.
What a ridiculous self-serving notion!
He would not succumb to delusional thinking. It was sheer idiocy and he knew it.
The sensation was not spiritual, it was glandular. A chemical reaction, nothing more.
His proficiency at yoga was responsible for the happy hormones flooding his system, natural drugs released by his endocrine glands. Endorphins, dopamine and oxytocin were eac
h capable of lifting his mood, and mixing all three would certainly allow some overly optimistic thoughts and exuberant feelings to enter his normally logical mind.
The yoga had the desired effect though. This morning he felt refreshed, fully recharged, despite having no sleep in the traditional sense. Doc had no idea how long the effects would last, but he would channel this energy into finding the mastermind responsible for this week’s events, no matter what it took.
As he reached for the phone on his study desk, another thought took hold. At least their meetings at Broadmoor were secure — Doc’s mobile had been left at reception along with Jack’s, as required by hospital policy. That was something, and the implications quite important.
In this latest letter there was no mention of Maddox, no indication that the sender was aware of their discussions on the subject. Could it be that The Surgeon was overestimating his ability to control so many moving parts, was unaware that the plan to frame the professor had already fallen apart?
Could they really be one step ahead?
The phone rang just as Doc’s fingers curled round the handset.
‘Doc! What the bloody hell is up with your mobile? I’ve tried it several times already.’
‘Sorry, Jack. I left it in the car but I can’t use it anyway —’
‘Listen! There’s a squad car on its way to collect you, should be there in less than ten minutes. Be ready when it arrives. Sorry my friend. I’ve got some terrible news for you —’
‘Noooooo! Not Judy… Please, Jack —’
Doc felt his world crumble, the study walls closing in, his ribcage contracting, a steel vice squeezing the breath from his lungs, his heart about to burst. The image of her, restrained on the bed, reappeared at the front of his consciousness and almost blotted out Jack’s words of reassurance.
‘No! Listen, Doc. There’s absolutely nothing to suggest she’s a victim, other than Harding’s bullshit. We know he’s a compulsive liar, mate.’
Doc panted, his throat still constricted as he sought reassurance, his legs unsteady, his mind trying to regain control over the momentary panic assaulting his senses.
‘Not just Harding’s lies, Jack. There’s been another message… Dammit, I can’t talk now. I think my laptop and phones are being monitored —’
‘You think you’ve been hacked? Bugged? For fuck’s sake, Doc!’ A beat passed as Jack’s volatile outburst receded, his voice then back to its normal gruff mode again. ‘Listen to me. Harding’s escaped. He’s armed with a pistol. Used that and a hand grenade to blow away three GCS employees.’
‘Escaped?’ This was unheard of. Broadmoor was as secure as Britain’s toughest prisons. Doc’s brain scrambled to make sense of it all as he tried to recover his composure. A guard smuggling some photographs and papers into the hospital was one thing, but this? ‘How did he get a grenade?’
‘He had outside help. They used a sophisticated stealth drone. Left it behind too. Forensics are on it, but I don’t expect it’ll tell them much. Apparently designed by the Chinese military but anyone can buy one on the dark web for several grand. This was a pro job, though. They wouldn’t have left it for us if it was gonna lead anywhere.’
‘Did you say he killed three guards?’
‘Yeah, but that’s not even half of it. They broke him out using high explosives. Destroyed half an accommodation block as a diversion. Full of sleeping inmates. Two of them died and there’s about a dozen others injured including three nurses. It’s bedlam at Broadmoor this morning, Doc.’
Bedlam…
Doc was unsure whether Jack meant to refer to the original UK asylum where the term originated, but his own mind was sharp now. Analysing.
‘When was this?’
‘Just before dawn, while I was busy arresting our prime suspect. Harry Butler.’
And at almost the exact moment Doc opened his Macbook.
‘This has taken a lot of planning. Months of preparation, Jack.’ That sneaking admiration crept into Doc’s tone again, his mind compartmentalizing, separating his thoughts about the evil nature of his opponent from the torment he was suffering, his fears for Judy. ‘Everything that’s happened this week is all part of his devilish game.’
‘Yeah. And Harding may be on his way to see you right now.’
‘You think he’ll come for me? Really? After all these years I’d think he would want to disappear…’ Doc knew the doubt in his voice was misplaced as he spoke the words.
‘Of course I bloody do! He knew he was getting out when we saw him yesterday morning. Those weren’t idle threats he was yelling at us as Winston dragged him away!’ Now Jack was yelling too, his anger almost certainly not aimed at Doc, but a knee-jerk response to the inmate’s audacious escape and his overt hostility to them both. His voice was more subdued as he added, ‘He’ll probably have a go at me too, but he’ll want to do you first. You’re a soft target by comparison, and he hated your guts even before you tried to strangle him yesterday. For the second time.’
‘Okay, Jack, I’ll be ready when the car arrives.’
‘Good. I’ll see you back at HQ. I’ll fill you in on last night’s team briefing with Soundbite as soon as I get there. I’d like you in on the interviews with Butler and his oppos. Oh, and bring your computer and mobile for my analyst to check over, but make sure they’re both turned off, not on standby.’
***
Doc slammed the phone down and trotted to his bedroom, stripping off his night clothes as he went. Carver’s words had shaken him and he needed to be ready when the police car arrived. Normally, Doc would shower, but not today. After throwing on some clothes, he grabbed the Macbook from under the bedclothes and stuffed it into the pillowcase, thinking it would muffle any conversation until Jack’s technician’s had their hands on it.
He bounded down the stairs, thoughts of Judy swamping his mind. Was it really possible The Surgeon had found her, even though Jack’s team had been unable to? That the photographs — the ones now scorched into Doc’s memory — were genuine?
With a shake of his head, he cleared his mind again, and thought instead of the threat included in this latest note. Harding was coming for him.
I’ve invited him to assist you in any way he can.
As Doc forced himself to confront the reality, he reached the kitchen utility room and pushed at the door to his garage, thinking he would grab the phone and stuff it in the pillowcase with the Macbook. Although the door was never locked, it seemed to be jammed, and, despite putting his shoulder to it, refused to budge. Perhaps something had fallen and blocked it after he had parked last night.
Without further thought for why, Doc grabbed his car keys, trotted to the front door, and let himself out just as a patrol car arrived in his driveway. One of the two officers appeared at his side as he hit the remote control for the garage door to open.
‘Doctor Powers, you won’t need your car —’
Doc faced the policeman as he interrupted. ‘I’m just getting my phone, Sergeant. Here, take this. It’s my laptop. Needs to go to the technicians.’ Doc thrust the pillow at the officer’s midriff and thought the stunned gasp that resulted was an overreaction.
Then he turned to see what the officer was staring at, eyes transfixed, mouth drooping open.
At the back of the garage, illuminated by the harsh fluorescent tubes that automatically came on when the door was activated, and clearly visible above the roof of his Jaguar, was a sight that drew a wretched howl of anguish from Doc’s throat.
A freshly mutilated victim was hanging from wires that extended to the garage ceiling, the bloody stumps where arms and legs had been severed were still glistening, the face and chest like raw minced beef, ruined beyond recognition, though this was clearly a blonde female.
As the words ‘No, Judy!’ stretched and disintegrated into demented wailing, Doc sank to his knees.
He was certain it was her, the hair alone enough to convince him. Even so, as if the horror of what he was seeing wa
s not enough to rip away the last shred of doubt, any hope for her, one line from the latest missive from The Surgeon repeatedly screeched inside his skull:
Poor, broken Judith. So close to you, in more ways than one…
***
‘Thanks for getting here so quickly, Bob.’ Jack had been on his way to Scotland Yard when the call came through, alerting him to The Surgeon’s latest victim. The SOCOs had just finished pitching a tented canopy around the garage entrance, occasionally illuminated by the flash of the photographer’s camera as he recorded the scene. Jack was watching as he conferred with the Met’s senior pathologist. ‘Poor Doc Powers — being confronted with this first thing this morning. I can’t imagine what he’s going through.’
Professor Bob Koch just smiled and shrugged as he finished dressing in his forensic gear. ‘I was just leaving for work when your boss called, so I was in the neighbourhood. Any idea who she is? At least it’s obvious it’s a female this time.’
‘We’re not sure yet. Can you take a DNA sample for me straight away? I’ll have it expedited… We think it might be Doc’s ex.’
Koch cocked his head to one side as he pulled on his gloves, his tongue sliding over thick lips as if he wanted to taste Jack’s words.
‘Really? Well, well. What a strange mess he’s got himself into. Any thoughts on the perpetrator?’
‘Seems likely it’s The Surgeon again. Er, I’m in a bit of a hurry, Bob.’
‘I must say, this doesn’t look much like The Surgeon’s handiwork at first glance.’
Jack felt his own doubts surface as he replied. ‘Hung on wires, like Rawlings. Reminds me of Diana Davies. She was hacked about like this.’
‘Mmm. I can see similarities, but the hair, the genitalia were missing on the Davies woman, whereas this one… Powers’ ex, you say?’ Koch’s eyes, greatly magnified through thick lenses even when he was not bemused, seemed to expand, ready to pop. Then he blinked slowly before his head swivelled, bringing to Jack’s mind that owl again, now inspecting its prey. Red meat. ‘He’s a suspect, then?’
Mutilated: A British Crime Thriller (Doc Powers & D.I. Carver Investigate Book 2) Page 26