by Kate Rhodes
‘I should renew my gym membership,’ Angie panted.
The woman who answered the door seemed to be bouncing with more physical energy than she could contain, like a gymnast or ballet dancer. Moira Fitzgerald was medium height, slender, shifting from foot to foot as she welcomed us with an overstretched smile. She was pretty, with sable-coloured hair that fell past her shoulders, straight as rain. Her Irish accent gave her statements a gentle lilt as she led us inside. Her bedsit was so minute that her desk pressed against her narrow single bed, which seemed to double as a settee; a TV balanced precariously on top of a bookshelf. The three of us were almost touching elbows as we squeezed round the table in her kitchenette.
‘Is this about Clare?’ Her smile dimmed for the first time.
I nodded. ‘You’ll have heard that she’s missing. We’re tracing people who know her to see if they can shed light on her disappearance.’
‘I haven’t seen her all year. To be honest, I haven’t got much to say.’
Angie sat forwards in her seat. ‘How do you mean?’
Moira’s blue eyes hardened. ‘I gave up my job at Bart’s to be senior nurse clinician in her department. It was the job I’d always wanted. After six months she gave me a great appraisal, all smiles and congratulations, then weeks later she fired me.’
‘Did she explain why?’
‘Budget cuts, of course, but it was the way she did it. I was out of her office in five minutes flat, no apologies.’ Her cheeks reddened as she spoke.
‘That sounds tough,’ Angie commented.
‘I complained but the HR guys took her side. I’ve been doing agency work ever since; the hours are crap and there’s no security. Senior nursing vacancies are like needles in a haystack.’ Fitzgerald’s voice had lost its softness, tone sour enough to curdle milk.
‘Can you think of a reason why Clare would be taken?’ I asked.
‘She treats people like dirt. Maybe that pissed someone off.’ Her eyes fizzed with anger, but I could see she was holding her feelings in check. ‘Of course I’m sorry about what’s happened, but she got a kick out of hurting me, I could tell.’
I gave a slow nod, then glanced around the small room. ‘Have you always lived here alone, Moira?’
She released a huff of laughter. ‘Where would I put a flatmate? That’s another story. I was so down about losing my job, my boyfriend chucked me.’
The air in the small room resonated with ill feeling. For once Angie fell silent, clearly more interested in observing the nurse’s reactions than asking questions. Fitzgerald seemed so upset by her redundancy that the events might have happened yesterday, rather than a year before. When I quizzed her about her alibi, the nurse claimed that she had been filling out a job application at home at the time of Riordan’s abduction.
Angie reserved her comments until we reached the landing. ‘Not Clare’s number one fan, is she?’
‘She took away her dream job. Moira seems to blame Riordan for her relationship failing too.’ When I gazed down from the landing, a bird’s-eye view of the compound of the Royal Free was visible two blocks away. Confronting her former workplace every time she stepped outside must be keeping the nurse’s anger alive.
‘Do you think she’s upset enough to hurt someone?’ Angie asked as we trotted back down the stairs.
‘It’s possible, but this could be part of a series. If it is, we need to know if she’d met Lisa Stuart and John Mendez.’
‘I’ll do some digging.’
Angie said a quick goodbye before racing back to her car. I set off for the FPU at a slower pace, mulling over Fitzgerald’s comments. Despite her bitterness it seemed unlikely that a nurse would have her former boss abducted simply because she’d been sacked, but it threw a new light on Riordan’s behaviour. It sounded as if she could be tyrannical, making enemies among those she ruled, yet able to impress her seniors.
Burns was waiting for me at Butler’s Wharf at nine that evening, sitting outside the Brewhouse, gazing vacantly ahead, as though he lacked the strength to stand.
‘Feed me,’ he said. ‘Then get me drunk and seduce me in the back of a cab.’
‘All that in one evening?’
We ended up in a Turkish restaurant on Borough High Street, eating grilled halloumi, followed by marinaded lamb, with a bottle of house red. I sat beside him in the narrow booth, a candle guttering on the table.
‘Tell me what’s happened.’
He took a slug of wine. ‘My lot have been chasing those names you found, but it’s not conclusive. Mendez’s attack looks like an opportunistic mugging – knife wound to the heart, phone and laptop stolen. Lisa Stuart was last seen cycling home from work, around ten p.m. None of her credit cards have been used since. She’s probably dead but hasn’t been found.’
‘There must be a link, Don.’
‘The three of them trained at different hospitals. Mendez and Stuart both worked at Bart’s, but not at the same time. They didn’t attend the same conferences or training courses. We’re looking at their social lives: hobbies, sports clubs, holidays. So far, nothing matches.’
‘Three blood doctors being attacked in one city in a ten-month period can’t be a coincidence.’
‘Thousands of violent assaults happen here every year.’ Burns shrugged. ‘What did you think of the nurse Riordan sacked?’
‘Angry as hell, but that’s not enough to make her a credible suspect. She seems too isolated to be able to convince anyone to help her drag Clare into the getaway car.’
‘She was at Bart’s the same time as Lisa Stuart. Angie’s looking into it.’
‘I need to see the primary evidence in Mendez’s and Stuart’s crime files.’
‘The archive’s delivering it bright and early Sunday morning.’ His frown deepened. ‘Denise Thorpe pitched up at the station today, wanting access to the Riordan boy. The woman’s relentless.’
I thought of Clare’s friend’s odd house with its view across the cemetery. ‘That’s understandable. If Lola went missing, I’d want Neve with me. She’s under a lot of stress.’
‘She gives me the creeps, but her alibi checks out and so does her husband’s. They were at her mum’s care home early on the morning of the abduction. Their names are in the visitors’ book, and a nurse saw them arrive.’
‘I’m more concerned about Sam Travers.’
‘Pete’s team are doing an extended search at his house. He was lying about not seeing much of Clare; one of her neighbours says his car was outside her house several times a week. His documentary on the health service put him in contact with loads of medics. He was tracking staff at five different hospitals.’
‘So he could have met Mendez and Stuart?’
‘If he did, there’s no record.’
‘Let me interview him again,’ I said. ‘If Clare rejected him, he’s got the biggest motive.’
‘I’ll set it up.’ Burns rubbed his hand across his jaw. ‘So far our earliest sighting of the kid is from a CCTV camera on Walworth Road at midday, staggering like he was drunk.’
‘Or drugged?’
‘Whatever they gave him had cleared his system by the time he was examined.’ He pushed his plate away. ‘Can we take a break, just for half an hour?’
‘You want to make small talk with all this going on?’
‘Work doesn’t stop when we down tools,’ he said firmly. ‘My team are going flat out.’
‘Have you always been so rational?’
‘I’m a dour Scot, remember? Tell me your secrets, Alice.’
‘You know them all.’
‘I don’t have a clue about your relationships before me.’
‘And that bothers you?’ I took a sip of wine. ‘You want details.’
‘I’m trying to understand you.’
‘Why don’t you go first?’
His smile reappeared. ‘Lorraine Salmond asked me out in year seven, then broke my heart a month later. I dated a girl at sixth-form college, but that ended in tear
s when I left for art school. After a few years of short flings Julie came along, when I was a newly qualified cop.’
‘She’s the first girl you fell for?’
‘I met her at a party, she had the loudest laugh in the room.’ He stared down at his empty plate. ‘Twelve good years, then it fell apart.’
‘Did Lorraine Salmond leave a mark?’
‘God, yeah. The little cow dumped me on my twelfth birthday.’ He drummed his fingers on the table. ‘Your turn, Alice, stop evading.’
I rolled my eyes. ‘Nothing serious until med school, then a doctor, dentist and a surgeon in quick succession. I spent a while alone, then there was a dance teacher and a defrocked priest. The rest you know.’ I put down my wine glass. ‘How did I let the surgeon get away? He had navy blue eyes and played the piano beautifully.’
‘No one has navy blue eyes.’
‘He did.’
‘Did he break your heart?’
I shook my head. ‘It’s still intact.’
He gaped at me. ‘You’ve never been in love?’
I leant back in my chair. ‘How much do you know about relationship psychology?’
‘Bugger all, obviously.’ He leaned closer, eyes tracing my mouth.
‘Our intimacy patterns are fixed by age seven. If the blueprint’s faulty, it takes work to correct it.’
‘Your parents had a bad marriage?’
‘With bells on.’
His fingers settled on my wrist. ‘But you’re different. You like mending people.’
‘Patterns repeat themselves, don’t they?’
‘Not if you work at it.’
‘Why not read the warning signs, Don? I’m not a great bet.’
‘That’s for me to decide. I’d settle for a night with you in my bed instead of watching you leave.’
I bit my lip. ‘It’s not deliberate, but you’re right. Sex is the easy part.’
‘How long was your last relationship?’
‘Three weeks.’
‘You don’t scare me, Alice.’ His expression had changed: more understanding than desire, his frustration mellowing.
‘I feel safe with you, but it’s no guarantee.’
‘Maybe your pattern’s changing.’ He tucked a strand of hair behind my ear. ‘Come and meet my boys tomorrow night. They’re staying at mine.’
‘I’ll be at the safe house.’
His face darkened. ‘You’re obsessed by that kid.’
‘I’m just doing my job. Everyone’s let him down except his mum, and now she’s gone too.’
Burns stayed silent, probably because he knew how I’d react to professional advice. At midnight we split the bill then he walked me home. He declined my offer of coffee, which surprised me. Maybe it angered him that Mikey’s welfare was my top priority, or he couldn’t face the solitary walk home after making love. When I closed the curtains he was still standing on the pavement, huge and immovable, gazing up at my window. His stillness seemed to prove that he’d finally understood the challenge that lay ahead.
12
At midnight the couple stand outside the lab, holding hands, the woman’s head resting on the man’s shoulder, at peace for once.
‘I wish we could stay like this,’ the man says.
‘Me too, but we can’t rest properly until it’s done.’
The man’s exhaustion resonates in his sigh when she unlocks the door and flicks on the lights. Clare Riordan is still bound to the chair, gag clamped between her teeth. The woman ignores her, turning on the radio and setting to work, swabbing the laboratory floor with bleach. When she glances over, the man is sitting on the step, head bowed. The room has an abattoir smell, fetid and dirty. Ammonia can’t remove its taste from the air. The woman focuses on the song playing on the radio; a girl singing something trite about love and money. Her muscles tense when the news bulletin starts.
‘Here it comes,’ she murmurs, turning up the volume.
The announcer explains that more troops are being sent to the Middle East, unemployment figures falling again.
‘Clare Riordan, a consultant from London’s Royal Free Hospital, is still missing. This afternoon hundreds of volunteers conducted another search of Clapham Common. The police want to hear from anyone who has seen Dr Riordan since she went missing on the eleventh of October. They have described her abduction as a senseless act of violence against an innocent victim.’
‘Innocent?’ The woman silences the radio with a jab of her finger. ‘She’s hurt every blood patient in the land.’
‘Anger won’t get us anywhere,’ the man says quietly.
‘It brought us here.’ She stares back at him. ‘How will you cope with all the rest?’
‘I’m stronger than I look.’
‘That’s not true. I’ll finish this, then we can leave.’ She turns to Riordan. ‘Did you hear that, Clare? Another night in the dark. Want me to hang you from the ceiling again?’
The doctor’s body writhes like a line-caught fish, a dull moan spilling through her gag.
‘Give us a name. Then you can sleep in peace.’
Clare shakes her head violently, but when the pulley tightens she lets out a long whimper and the woman loosens the rag that stifles her.
‘Jordan Adebayo,’ she whispers, screwing her eyes shut.
The woman jerks the material back into place, then picks up a scalpel. ‘Now I can finish her, can’t I?’
‘She may be lying; we need her alive until we’ve checked him out.’
‘Always forward-planning, aren’t you?’
She drops the blade back into the drawer with a sense of disappointment, but breaking Riordan’s will has restored her good mood. She swabs the last patch of blood from the floor, humming as the water darkens to the colour of rust.
13
Saturday 18 October
Saturday began with a trip along the river. I caught a bus boat to Greenwich to see my mother, instead of driving south through the congested suburbs. It allowed me to admire the old warehouses and Hawksmoor churches lining the riverside. The air was bracing when I climbed the steep hill through Greenwich Park to Blackheath, admiring avenues of chestnut trees that had been stripped of their leaves, stark branches reaching for the sky. Tension was knotting in my stomach at the prospect of seeing my mother for the first time in two weeks. I took a detour past the Paragon, to check out Eleanor Riordan’s address. The Georgian crescent was beautifully preserved; all it needed was horse-drawn carriages and women promenading in long gowns for time to slip back two centuries. I tried to imagine why someone who owned an apartment in such a stunning piece of real estate would quibble over a house in Clapham. The lawsuit seemed to be more about sibling rivalry than financial need. It struck me as unlikely that Eleanor would turn murderous over a lawsuit, but childhood jealousy could be a strong enough motive, no matter how comfortable her current life seemed.
It took my mother ages to answer the doorbell. I heard the slow drag of her feet on the stairs as she made her way down from her flat. When she finally appeared she looked immaculate, making me wonder how much time she’d needed to put on her smart grey skirt and cashmere twinset. I felt a tug of sympathy for her battling spirit. Small tasks like dressing and bathing must present major challenges now. She flinched as I kissed her cheek.
‘Why not use the stairlift, Mum?’
‘I prefer being on my feet. It’s the only exercise I get.’
I watched her toil back to the landing. Parkinson’s might have stolen her physical strength, but her stubbornness was undimmed. She looked smug as she settled into her armchair, as if the climb proved she was invincible.
‘Want some tea?’ I asked. ‘I’ve brought carrot cake.’
Her tremor was pronounced as she lifted her cup, drops slopping back into the saucer. She assessed me coolly as I took a bite of cake.
‘It’s good to see you eating, Alice.’
‘I always do. If I stopped running I’d be the size of a bus.’
&n
bsp; ‘You’re skin and bone, darling. Have you been overworking?’
I took a deep breath. ‘I’m fine, honestly.’
‘Tell me what you’ve been up to.’
‘I’ve got an interesting case. Did you hear about the woman going missing on Clapham Common? I’m helping her son.’
‘The poor creature.’ Her eyes widened. ‘You’ll never cure that monster, if you find him. He’s beyond help.’
‘We can’t ignore people like him, Mum. They still exist.’
‘Leave it to some other fool.’
I shrugged. ‘I’m not cut out to be a librarian like you.’
A rare look of nostalgia crossed her face. ‘I still remember how the place smelled: floor polish, dust and old books. Someone should make it into a room fragrance.’
‘I prefer French lavender.’
My mother spent the rest of the morning on acerbic complaints. Her assistant Elise visited daily, but remained monosyllabic, which was a source of disappointment. She seemed to expect witty repartee from her hard-pressed helper. At least Mum was still managing to attend concerts and lunches with friends, even though she had to travel everywhere by taxi.
‘Can I do anything before I go?’
Her grey eyes settled on my face. ‘Tell me you’ve found a new boyfriend.’
‘I have actually. We’ve been together a few months.’
‘What does he do?’
‘He’s in the police.’
She gave me a look of mock despair. ‘I was hoping for a stockbroker. But you like him, do you?’
‘More than I realised.’
‘Then you’ll make it work, darling.’ Her shrewd eyes fixed on my face. ‘Bad choices aren’t hereditary.’
I was superstitious enough to feel spooked. Blessings from my mother were so rare that I knew she was being sincere, but how to file them away was another matter. For once she accepted my farewell embrace without pulling away.
I stood with Gurpreet in the garden of the safe house that afternoon while Mikey napped on the sofa. Fading afternoon light filtered through the copper beeches as he lit a cigarette.