by Kate Rhodes
‘Agony after the ecstasy,’ she muttered.
‘But did they kill Clare Riordan first, or are they experimenting on her somewhere, like an animal in a lab?’
‘Do you think her sister’s involved?’
‘Running away doesn’t make her guilty. Eleanor was at cracking point when I interviewed her; maybe the press attention got too much. They’d been camping outside her door. We need to find her, but I can’t see why she’d harm the others.’
‘Maybe she’s been abducted, like her sister?’
I shook my head. ‘She fled from the site of Clare’s abduction, and none of her blood’s been found. Their MO is to leave a sample as soon as a victim’s taken.’
‘It looks like Eleanor’s boyfriend was home alone the night Adebayo was taken. Neighbours say the lights were on all evening; no one saw him go out.’
‘I’d still like to speak to him.’
She gave a blank nod. ‘I’ll sort it.’
We spent half an hour debriefing, another shot of whisky bringing the colour back to Tania’s cheeks. We were about to leave when she spoke again.
‘I heard the news about you and Don,’ she said. ‘You know we go way back, don’t you?’
‘Twenty years, isn’t it?’
‘We joined the Met the same year.’ She studied my face. ‘Don’t take this the wrong way, but I wouldn’t build your hopes. His kids are everything to him. Julie could have him back tomorrow if she clicks her fingers.’ She busied herself with buttoning her coat. ‘Sorry, that was probably out of order. Booze always loosens my tongue.’
‘It sounded sincere enough.’
Her face held a mix of pity and sadness. ‘I spent years with a bloke who never put me first. You’re too smart to do the same.’
Tania’s elegant figure disappeared into the crowd. My thoughts flicked back to Burns’s previous desertion. We’d started seeing each other the first time he left his wife, but he’d been drawn back because his kids were suffering, leaving me high and dry. When my phone buzzed in my pocket, his name appeared in the window, but I jabbed the off button with my thumb. The idea that he was unreliable had already taken hold.
I was in a foul mood when I got back to Shad Thames. Too many ugly images were competing for space in my head: a bag of dark red liquid lying on the ground; Jordan Adebayo’s body on the mortuary slab. All I wanted was to sink into a long bath. But the door to my flat was unlocked and only two people had keys: Lola and Will. Much as I loved them both, I was in no mood for company. It irritated me that my visitors had made themselves at home, Ella Fitzgerald purring from the living room.
When I peered through the doorway, Burns was lounging on my sofa, bare feet propped on my coffee table, staring at his laptop, too immersed to hear me arrive. I was torn between wanting to hurl myself into his arms and an urge to bawl at him to leave.
‘How did you get in?’
The usual stab of attraction hit me when he looked up. He was shabbier than ever in a black sweatshirt and faded jeans, five o’clock shadow turning into a beard. But none of that mattered when he lumbered to his feet, shoulders blocking the light from the window.
‘Your lock was easy to pick.’
‘Is that what they teach you at officer training school?’
‘It pretty much opened itself. Didn’t you get my calls?’
‘I’ve been busy.’
‘You went to an autopsy. I wanted to see you were okay.’
‘I don’t need protection, Don.’
Burns folded his arms. ‘What does it take for you to accept help? Do I have to drive over you with a truck?’
‘All I need is three Nurofen and some time alone.’
‘Don’t be ridiculous.’
‘My flat, my rules.’
‘I’ll run you a bath, then you can tell me what’s wrong.’
‘I can run my own sodding bath.’
By the time I sank into the hot water, I felt embarrassed. He’d only offered me a shoulder to lean on. My anger stemmed from days of witnessing too much human damage, including the post mortem. When I finally pulled the plug, the water hadn’t rinsed away my cares, but it had restored some of my calm. I padded down the hall to my bedroom, thankful that Burns was nowhere in sight.
I chose black leggings and a silk shirt, unwilling to place anything harsh against my skin. Adrenalin pumped through my system again when I returned to the living room, fight or flight reflex in full swing. It happened every time a man came too close for comfort. Burns dumped his computer on the coffee table when he saw me, but I perched on the edge of an armchair at a safe distance.
‘We should talk about the case, Don, seeing as you’re here. Do you know the membership of the Tainted Blood panel yet?’
‘The Department of Health are stonewalling. They’ve agreed to talk on Monday.’
‘Four medics are gone and they won’t hand it over?’
‘The chief commissioner’s hounding them, but the answer’s always the same. It’s classified information.’ He studied me again. ‘Tell me what’s wrong.’
‘It was a crap day, that’s all.’
‘So talk about it.’
I drew in a breath. ‘Mikey’s making slow progress. Combine that with watching Jordan Adebayo being sliced apart, and it hasn’t been fun. Come to think of it, Tania pissed me off too.’
‘Why?’
‘She thinks you’ll go back to your wife any day now.’
Burns swore loudly then crouched in front of me. ‘Listen to me, Alice. She’s warped by her own shitty divorce, but mine’s almost done. Julie and I are acting like grown-ups for the boys’ sake. We fell out of love years ago. And do you know what really pisses me off? I’ve spent months telling you that. Then Tania makes one snotty remark because she’s bitter as fuck, and you believe her, not me.’ He shook his head in disbelief. ‘You’re all I think about, but you never believe me.’
His direct stare had its usual effect. I owed him an apology, but couldn’t find the words, so I kissed him instead. When I finally pulled back, his pupils were half an inch wide.
‘God almighty. We have our first row, then you kiss the life out of me. You’re a total mystery.’ He brushed his thumb across my lips.
‘The bath relaxed me.’
‘Rubbish, you’re so wired I could play a tune on you.’ He pressed one of the tight muscles in my shoulder, making me grit my teeth.
‘You like causing pain, don’t you?’
‘And pleasure.’ His fingers trailed in circles across my collarbone. ‘God, I love it when you do that.’
‘What?’
‘Shiver when I touch you.’ He began exploring again, hands coasting up my back, face nuzzling the side of my neck.
‘Have dinner with me tomorrow. Stay the night.’
‘I can’t.’ He breathed out a quiet moan. ‘I’ll be on duty.’
‘The story of our lives. Hold the thought then.’
‘How could I forget?’
It was a lie, of course. He’d clear me from his mind before he reached the car park, while people with sensible professions relaxed at home with their families. At work he’d be DCI Burns again, calm and implacable, focused only on getting the job done.
I went to the safe house after he’d gone, to relieve Gurpreet until morning. His solemn expression showed that the pressure of Mikey’s silence was weighing on him; he lingered for an extra half hour, discussing the strategies he’d been using to help the child open up. None of them seemed to be working; Mikey made little eye contact, taking himself off to bed earlier than usual. I spent the last few hours of my evening trawling back through witness reports on HOLMES 2. By the time midnight came, my legs were cramping from too long in front of the computer, so I forced myself to do half an hour of yoga. My muscles gradually unknotted, but my mind was still racing when I finally went to bed.
26
Sunday 26 October
It’s colder this morning. The man’s bones ache as he huddles in hi
s car on a quiet street in Deptford. It has taken time and effort to find Gurpreet Singh. Repeated calls to his employer brought no success, but he has finally tracked him down by the simplest method imaginable; the nurse’s number is in the phonebook. Singh’s address tallies with details on his Facebook and Twitter pages, stating that he lives in Southwark. Now it’s six a.m. and the man is willing himself to stay awake. When Singh emerges from his front door, he must follow him to the safe house without being spotted.
He’s relieved to escape from the laboratory. The woman has spent hours working on Clare Riordan with needles and knives, whispering threats in her ear. When he left an hour ago, the doctor was suspended from the ceiling again, body jerking as she fell unconscious. While he feels no shame about his actions, the enjoyment on the woman’s face forced him to look away. He stares across the street at the small bungalow, its cheerful yellow façade glowing as the darkness lifts. He wonders how it must feel to lead a blameless life, no blots on your copybook. When their relationship began, the woman’s passion drew them together in a common cause. It started as a crusade, but now it’s spiralled out of control. Soon he must persuade her that they’ve taken enough victims. They should make their announcement in an anonymous letter, and end the violence. But the thought fails to reassure him. The woman seems determined to wipe out every name on the list.
He’s deep in thought when the bungalow door swings open. An Indian man rushes to a beaten-up Volvo, the sight steadying the man’s nerves. He has a task to complete and it’s important to stand firm. He watches Singh’s car slip into the morning traffic, then follows him at a measured pace.
27
Press photographers’ flashbulbs snapped at me as I climbed the steps to the station on Sunday morning. Tania’s hostile expression let me know that Don had already tackled her about our conversation; she was in the meeting room, beating a tattoo on her notepad with a biro. Angie offered me a subdued version of her pixie-like smile.
‘The great man’s been delayed,’ she said.
‘Is there any news?’
‘We’re still looking for Eleanor Riordan’s car, but there’s no sign.’
‘I’m seeing her boyfriend later,’ I said. ‘I’ll find out what he knows.’
Tania’s eyes narrowed. ‘Good luck with that. The bloke’s a pisshead.’
Burns strode through the door before I could reply, excitement emanating through his pores. ‘Hancock’s team turned over Clare Riordan’s department at the Royal Free. They found a shirt in her deputy’s locker with a stain on the sleeve; the lab just sent in the results. It’s Riordan’s blood.’
I felt a quick surge of shock. Despite Adele Novak’s suggestion that Pietersen had strong feelings for his boss, I hadn’t believed the doctor was capable of harming her. His emotions seemed too rigidly controlled.
‘Are you bringing him here?’ Angie strained forwards in her chair, like an eager schoolgirl.
‘I’m going to his house first.’ He turned to me. ‘You’d better come, Alice, to see how he reacts.’
The news had thrown me off course. I’d been convinced that the killers had a political axe to grind, the victims of medical negligence. But I remembered the gentle classical music playing in Pietersen’s consulting room, so at odds with his tense manner.
I listened carefully while Angie reported on her team’s work at the Barbican. Hundreds of home visits had built a composite picture of the killers’ actions. An old man had seen a couple hanging around the garage block just before midnight from the window of his flat, but site security had arrived too late. So far Adebayo’s computers and phone had revealed little apart from his affection for his wife. Their texts ranged from romantic to pornographic, as if they were still newlyweds. I wondered how Gina Adebayo was dealing with the fact that he would never return from his last night shift.
‘The killers are adapting their approach as they gain confidence,’ I said. ‘Their style’s faster and more sophisticated. The sites they’re choosing are important in the history of blood treatments, and using Pure’s logo tells us they’re getting even for the tainted blood scandal. I think you should check all the group’s members, and widen the search to everyone who received infected blood in the UK.’
‘That could take a while. The NHS are slow to find information, and the patients will have scattered far and wide. The logo could be a blind alley anyway,’ Burns said. ‘Hancock’s discovery blows everything sky-high. Pietersen’s got Riordan’s blood on his shirt, and it sounds like he’s got anger management problems too. It’s never pretty when a doctor loses the plot. Remember the Leonard Newman case? He killed fifteen patients in one year. Maybe he’s getting even with colleagues who’re more successful; we just need to find the links.’
‘I knew there was something dodgy about him.’ Angie’s smug smile suggested the doctor had already been jailed.
I stepped out of the office to call Christine and let her know that I would miss our catch-up meeting at the FPU, but was distracted by noise spilling from the incident room. A dozen members of the team were thronging round Pete Hancock, who looked pleased but embarrassed, clearly enjoying his newfound hero status. I remembered his complaint about his work going unnoticed and shot him a wide smile. Whether or not his find turned out to be vital, his commitment deserved recognition.
It was eleven a.m. when Burns and I left via the back exit, photographers snapping our departure. His brisk pace made me rush to keep up, but he calmed down as we escaped the scrum of journalists.
‘Fancy a week in Rome when this is over?’ he said, unlocking the car.
‘I’d prefer somewhere warmer.’
‘Who cares, if we’ve got room service and a Jacuzzi?’
I was too preoccupied to quibble during the drive. Until now I’d been sure that the killers were patients with a grievance, but my judgement could have been flawed. My concern for Mikey might be blinding me to obvious clues: the use of hospital equipment and the killers’ love of administering injections. My mind clicked through possibilities like it was twisting a Rubik’s cube. I stared out of the window at my old stamping ground. The Maudsley Hospital’s façade looked as grand as when I’d trained there thirteen years before; classic late imperial architecture, the Victorians blowing their cash on lavish building projects. Burns’s Audi followed the light traffic up Denmark Hill before swinging left towards Dulwich. I’d always loved the neighbourhood, but couldn’t afford to rent there as a student, settling for a rundown flat on a railway siding in Camberwell. It would require serious money to buy one of the gorgeous Regency villas near the common, covered in wedding-cake stucco.
Dr Pietersen’s house turned out to be a bland Thirties semi five minutes from Dulwich village. The house was painted the same inoffensive cream as its neighbour, guaranteed to go unnoticed.
‘Let me speak to his wife,’ I said, as we waited in the porch.
‘Okay, but I’ll give him the news first.’
Mrs Pietersen was an attractive Asian woman of around fifty, with a watchful gaze, and shoulder-length black hair pinned back from her face. There was no sign of a smile when she opened the door.
‘I’ll get my husband,’ she said. ‘He’s doing paperwork.’
Her absence gave me time to admire her kitchen. The glass worktops glistened as if no one had ever cooked there. Cleanliness and order ruled wherever I looked, from the scrubbed lino to the tea towels folded in an immaculate pile. When I turned round Dr Pietersen was standing by the table. He looked older than I remembered, skin sallow, as if he was sickening for something.
‘Please take a seat,’ he said. ‘Has Clare been found?’
‘I’m afraid not.’ Burns sat opposite him.
‘Is it okay if Imako stays?’
‘We need to see you alone, please.’
‘I don’t keep secrets from my wife.’
‘Like I said, we’ll talk to you separately.’
Pietersen’s wife shot us a dark look when she exited the room
, clearly furious to be sent away. Burns seemed unmoved, draping his coat over the back of his chair like he planned to stay all day.
‘How did you meet your wife, Dr Pietersen?’
‘Why’s that relevant?’
‘It may not be,’ Burns said. ‘But you don’t get on with Dr Riordan, do you? I need to understand your background.’
‘Imako and I worked at a hospital in Saigon. She nursed until the kids arrived, then we came back to the UK.’
‘Adapting to a different culture must have been stressful for her.’
‘That was twenty years ago.’ He huffed out the words. ‘I think you should tell me what this is about. My office has been commandeered.’
‘One of your colleagues thinks you’re in love with your boss.’
His muddy eyes blinked wide. ‘Clare? That’s ridiculous.’
‘An item’s been found, linking you to her abduction.’
‘That’s impossible.’
‘We found a shirt in your locker with her blood on the sleeve. I’m surprised you kept it. Was it a memento?’
‘It’s not connected to her disappearance.’
Burns folded his arms. ‘You’d better explain.’
The doctor’s hands clenched in his lap. ‘Clare phoned me in August, begging me to go round. I found her in the kitchen bleeding heavily from a wound on her wrist. She said someone had attacked her. Luckily her son was at a friend’s house.’
‘Why didn’t you call the police?’
‘She wouldn’t hear of it. I had an emergency kit in my car, so I stitched the cut myself – that’s how my shirt got stained. It was a present from Imako. I kept meaning to get it dry-cleaned.’
‘Do you know how far-fetched that sounds?’
Pietersen’s shoulders jerked upwards. ‘She said the police would make things worse. She seemed terrified about her boy, begging me to keep it secret.’
‘Someone had threatened to hurt her son?’
‘Clare wouldn’t say his name.’
‘What did you do after stitching her wound?’