Door number three contained a child of four with the symptoms loss of appetite and an itchy rash all over his body. She groaned. There was a pregnant woman in the next room—hopefully the nurse knew better and put the boy in the room straight away. When she came in, the boy was jumping up and down to see out the window, he stopped and looked at her curiously.
“My mum says you is a doctor, are you Doctor Seuss? Do you eat green eggs and ham?” The boy laughed contagiously at his joke while he reached down and scratched his stomach.
“Your name is Sam, are you Sam I am? Do you like green eggs and ham?”
He giggled some more and his mum, who sat in the corner frazzled from what was most likely lack of sleep from preventing her son from scratching, smiled at her.
“Sam I am,” Dr. Peters said, “can I look at your tummy? Because your mum said your tummy is itchy. Can I see?” She propped herself against the table. Why did she feel so light-headed? The pill didn’t normally act that fast.
Sam pulled his shirt over his face and she immediately knew what it was, turning to his mother, she told her, “I can confirm that your son has chicken pox. If your son is in pain, or has a fever, then you can give them him a mild pain reliever, such as Paracetamol. Let him drink plenty of water to avoid dehydration. Sugar-free ice-lollies will help lower his temperature as well as sooth his sore mouth if it has become infected, so you can give one or two. And use calamine lotion on the itchy spots, it will help him feel better.”
“Are you feeling all right?” Sam’s mother asked. “You look very pale.”
“Yes, I’m all right. It’s been a long day.” She smiled reassuringly.
The mother thanked her and she took her son home.
Majorie had developed endometriosis twelve years back and had to have a hysterectomy. It was that fact that irritated her the most. From the first moment she walked down the aisle with her husband, she wanted to have children. Yet, he told her to wait. Wait until she finished medical school. Wait until she started her practice. Wait until they had more money, and a house, and two cars. There was always an excuse. Now her husband shagged a younger girl. How stupid she was to wait.
She always wondered if she would have felt different if he had been faithful to her. He was no longer her rock, but a stone in her shoe. An irritation. It almost made her vomit the day she saw the lipstick. All the excuses she made to herself for what it could mean, but she knew, she didn’t have to ask, but she did anyway. He gave her one of his many excuses.
“It was your lipstick, sweetheart,” her husband lied to her. “Remember the other night when you kissed my neck, I noticed it then. I just thought it would come out when I dry cleaned it. No problem, darling, I’ll just get another shirt.”
She said nothing, but it was not her lipstick. Later, she found a receipt, for flowers and jewelry, but he always had an excuse and she always pretended to believe him. It was no use. He had by then managed to drain all the life they had together, all the love she had for him was gone. The worst part being that he neither noticed nor cared.
Before she entered the next room, she splashed water onto her face. She felt so hot.
Mr. and Mrs. Tolleson looked up at her as she entered the room. They seemed so happy. And who wouldn’t be when in a month or so they would welcome their bundle of joy into the world? Mrs. Tolleson was young, comparably, only twenty-six and had had a very healthy pregnancy. They had the names picked out and had bought all the nursery items. She remembered the age where she didn’t feel much different from Mrs. Tolleson now.
Now she would do her job and rely on the fact that soon she would get what she wanted. A new life, as new as she could get.
As she sat at her desk, with her files spread in front of her, she thought about prison, was he worth going to prison over? Did she have a choice if he wasn’t?
It all didn’t matter now. It was a bargain with those who carried with them the same hatred, the same hatred she lived with every day. A promise she made. Besides, the first murder went off without a hitch. Unsolved. Clean. Almost too simple. Gratifying. One less person on the earth draining the life out of another innocent person. There should be more people like her, willing to take life into their own hands. Make the risks they needed to make themselves happy. She deserved happiness.
Chapter Thirty-Five
For Sharon Yoder, Saturday was one of the busiest days of the week. Although she wanted to sleep in, she woke at her usual five alarm, and all the better for it—she had a hundred things to get done.
A load of laundry went into the machine, and she separated a pile to take to the dry cleaners. During her first cup of coffee, she planned her grocery list, wading through her cupboards and fridge for needed items. She cleaned the tub while she showered and cleaned the sink while she brushed her teeth. After she had dusted the computer while waiting for her email messages to download, she wanted to go back to bed. The multitasking was depleting all her energy. She reached into the box of chocolates her boyfriend had given her the previous afternoon.
She couldn’t see WP today. It was Saturday and he would be with his wife and kids. Besides, she had loads to do. They had been together almost a year and they were really happy. The wife still didn’t know, but it was good for two reasons. It bordered on dangerous with WP’s psycho wife, and dangerous meant exciting. Every day she asked herself why she did it, why she put herself out like that, but she came to the conclusion that it was something that made her want to get up in the morning. Everyone deserved happiness, and she would not be happy if she couldn’t be with him.
By the time three rolled around, she was ready for bed. A normal workday for her would not end for another two hours, but she was more exhausted on her day off than she ever was at work. At work she sat behind a desk answering phone calls and playing on her computer.
She grabbed a beer from the fridge and poured it into a large glass she kept in the freezer. Refreshed, she sat at her computer and checked her email again.
“No one wants to talk to me, Carotene,” she said to the orange Siamese fighter that swam around the bowl beside her. “That’s all right, I’m too tired anyway. Who’s going to look after you when I go on holidays? Maybe Grandpa Frank next door? What do you think?”
The website she had bookmarked months back loaded on the screen: spa treatment, massage, swimming, treated like VIP. That was something she was looking forward to, time away with her man. They had been planning it for months: a conference. Well, that’s what WP told his wife anyway. Everything was booked and planned out carefully and she couldn’t wait. Only three more weeks.
She searched for bathing suits online—red ones, blue ones, large ones, and small ones. Revealing or not? Would it matter? He loved her no matter what she wore. He loved her. It made her smile to know there was someone out there that thought about her with a warm feeling inside. He was her family. Her only family.
The buzzer rang and she looked at Carotene.
“Who can it be?” she said lightly. There was every chance WP got away for an hour or two. Had he come to visit?
She went to the intercom and pressed the button. “Hello?”
“Package,” a woman’s voice announced.
“Come up, I’m on the third floor,” Sharon answered.
What could it be? Flowers? More chocolates? He really was most considerate. Shit. She realized she was only wearing her bra and knickers. She quickly ran to her room and put on a thin robe. As the knock sounded at the door, she ran a brush through her matted light-brown hair.
She opened the door and an older woman stood there. She smiled at her and asked, “A package for me?”
The woman just stood there for a moment staring at her.
“Sharon Yoder?”
“Yes?”
Her excitement took her off her guard. She never saw the knife, and it took her a brief span of time to realize that the blade was sticking out of her chest. She never felt pain or registered the fact that the woman was still sta
nding there looking as shocked as she felt. Her past never flashed before her, just the future that would never happen. Before she could utter the name of the man whom she knew would mourn her death, everything went black.
Chapter Thirty-Six
Sophia ran her finger over Liam’s clean desk. Although he didn’t use the office much, he hadn’t been transferred yet. Now he spent most of his days out in the field. She had only seen him come in once that week and that was for an IT staff meeting. He barely uttered a word and left halfway through. When Sophia tried to ring him, he never answered his mobile.
She was worried about him, but amongst the IT unit her feelings were isolated. No one seemed to care he wasn’t around. One less halfwit around the unit to mess things up. There were moments when Sophia was unsure why she cared. He had caused her nothing but problems and why should she be his go-between? He should have to accept the consequences for his actions, shouldn’t he?
She entered Vincent’s office and sat down. He was signing papers.
“Yes?” he said, not looking up.
“What is Foxton working on?”
“Why do you care?”
“He hasn’t been around the office lately.”
“He’s on assignment, but you should’ve been able to figure that out yourself. So what do you really want?”
“I’m worried about him.”
“Are you? You complain daily about how much he irritates you. Why don’t you ring him?”
“He’s been upset because of the Stewart case. I’m worried he’ll do something stupid. Something that will make this department look bad.”
Vincent put down his pen and leaned back in his chair. “Something stupid? Like what? What do you know?”
“I don’t know what he’s planning to do. That’s why I’m coming to you.”
He sighed. “As far as I know, he’s on the Wilder case. Do you know it?”
“No. But I can get the file from Priestly. Should I check up on him?”
He nodded. “But don’t get in his face. Sometimes the best thing to do is just let them know that you’re there for them. Whatever you do, don’t spend all your time worrying about this. He’s got over his wife’s death in the past and given time, he’s bound to get over it again. If you keep bringing it up, it’ll just take longer. Understood?”
“Understood.”
Sophia went to Crystal immediately and asked for the Wilder case file. Crystal retrieved it but when she returned, she signed, “This is the file, but I don’t think he’s working the case.”
“Why?”
“Because he came into the office with an overnight bag. The Wilder case is a London case. The case Liam is working—and I can’t be sure he’s actually working a case—takes place out of town.”
“Can you trace his mobile or his vehicle?”
Crystal nodded. She went back to her workstation and returned with an address. “I tried to find out where this place is but according to satellite, it’s the middle of nowhere. Liam’s standing in the middle of nowhere.”
Sophia stopped at home before heading out of the city. She had no idea what to expect and Liam wasn’t picking up his mobile. It took five hours for her to reach her destination in the rain. Each minute that passed made her angrier. He expected her to get past her feelings with Marc, but it wasn’t bloody easy.
Guilt hit her. Why was she expecting him to get over a wife’s death? Especially when the killer kept taunting him? The killer didn’t have to face any consequences. She needed to be more understanding.
When she approached the address she had programmed into her GPS, police lights lit up the dark night. What was Liam up to? What had she stumbled across? She pulled out her government credentials. She rarely used them but today she would need it to get past the yellow line.
She was going to ask the officer listing personnel what had happened but she thought she should appear to know or perhaps she wouldn’t be allowed in. The police constable looked closely at her information, pointed in the direction all officers were heading, and lifted the police tape.
“Thank you,” she replied cautiously.
In the dark it was difficult to spot Liam, but finally she caught sight of him standing at the edge of a large hole in the ground. She couldn’t see what the hole contained but from the look of the other officers, it mustn’t be pretty.
“Fourteen,” one officer told another as they went by, toward where she came from, “and we haven’t even started. They must have been using this site for years. I can’t believe we’ve only discovered it today.”
Sophia approached Liam and stood by his side. He didn’t even turn to face her. When she finally mustered up the courage to look down, she saw a mass grave. Bodies wrapped in various types of plastic lay one on top of the other. One by one, the team of pathologists were lifting the bodies onto the ground under a setup tent.
“Who are these people?” she asked Liam.
He turned to look at her. “What are you doing here?”
“You haven’t been answering your mobile.”
“So you thought you should drive out all this way in the dark?”
“Who are these people?”
“The unwanted, Evans. Used and disposed of, like tissue paper.”
“Who did this?”
“Who do you think, Evans?” he said angrily. “Which sick bastard would be capable of killing to this degree?”
Sophia didn’t want to state that she knew plenty of sick bastards capable of this type of genocide, but she figured that would only anger him further. Besides, she knew who he believed the killer was and she didn’t really want to bring that up again, not that Stewart’s evil ways weren’t right before his eyes.
“So do the police have any idea why these people have been killed?”
“Sadly, they were killed because they were valueless. Useless to him. Probably prostitutes that worked for him or his high-end clients, those from Eastern Europe who weren’t here legally and when they weren’t going to make him money, outlived their usefulness.”
“But there are children. They could have been useful adults.”
“I’m sure some of the children are. However not these ones.”
“What makes them different?”
“So far, each child we’ve dug up has been missing organs, multiple ones. What does that tell you?”
“Stewart’s organization has been selling organs?”
“We think so. Unfortunately, a child can’t live without their hearts or their livers.”
“Surely they can’t be selling these. Who would perform the operation?”
“Don’t be naive, Sophia. If you imagine these things don’t happen in Britain, you’re sorely mistaken. Those with money live a lot differently than those without. When they get sick, they are able to buy themselves out of their health condition.”
“I thought that Stewart only involved himself in drugs and guns. How do we know this is his work?”
“He lures them here with the hope of a better life. I wonder how long it takes for them to realize that’s not what they’ll receive? I’ll place my bets that all of the women have drugs in their system at time of death. They keep them high to keep them dependent. Or it wouldn’t surprise me if they believe their family’s lives are in danger unless they obey.”
“How do we know it’s Gikhrist?”
He rubbed his eyes. “I know it’s him, Evans. This is his work.”
Liam’s face didn’t change expression.
A small bony hand fell out of the black plastic it was wrapped in and hung while the men pulled the body from the pit. Sophia put her hand to her mouth. It was so tiny. The hand of a small child.
“That’s one of the children. They’ve recovered five already.”
Sophia wanted to sit down on the dirt because she felt weak, but instead she grabbed at Liam’s elbow to steady herself. He placed his hand on hers.
“He’s not perfect. He’ll make a mistake and when he does, we will g
et him. I will get him.”
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Theo approached the murder site in Streatham. He met his team at the rendezvous point in the common garden that attached three blocks of flats. The neighbors seemed eager to find the reason behind the excitement in the small fourth floor flat. Not that they hadn’t seen loads of police cars and flashing lights before. Although groups of people stood in the twilight, Theo caught sight of Dorland talking with the coroner.
“Blackwell,” Waynton said, slapping him in the back and sending him forward two steps. “I was reminding my nephew of the time we went fishing up north one summer. He dropped his pole in the water, got naked and dove down to get it, coming up instead with leeches.” He howled loudly, turning the heads of onlookers, who shook their heads when they found his joking manner inappropriate.
Dorland just nodded his head; he was putting on a white protective suit. “I know the story, not sure if I remember it the way you do though. Don’t think I stripped down naked.”
“Ah, Dorland, don’t you worry. My wife has the photographic evidence.”
“Well, in my defense, I was only nine.”
“Twelve, lad, twelve.” With a heave, Waynton made his way into the block of flats.
They followed a plastic sheet laid down from the SOCO van to the door. It had rained during the day and mud had built up underneath.
Dorland said, “Ready for a hike? Four flights of stairs and no working lift.”
As they hiked up the green concrete steps in the dimly lit stairwell to the fourth floor they passed families watching the commotion from their open doors. Dorland filled Theo in on what he knew. “Woman, named Sharon Yoder, in her thirties. Single. Stabbed once. No one seems to have witnessed the murder or anyone unusual leaving the building but the complex here is large and there are people coming and going all the time. Nothing seems to be stolen in her flat, but it would be difficult to tell because we don’t know what she had to begin with.”
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