Irrefutable Evidence
Page 37
The seedy, shuffling former doctor who lived there eyed her cautiously when he opened the door to her insistent knocking.
“Took your time, Norman,” she said, pushing past him into the dingy slum. “I don’t like being left standing on the street. Not in this neighbourhood.”
She stuck her head into the front room where a tattooed youth was playing a computer game on an ageing television.
“Get him into the street to watch my van. I don’t want any of your local boys touching it.”
Norman barked an instruction to the youth as he picked up the remote to kill the TV. Then he followed Olivia into the kitchen.
She’d first met former Doctor Norman Swanson when she’d busted him for performing abortions on illegal immigrant girls in a surgery not fit for any form of human habitation, let alone medicine. He’d already been struck off for peddling prescription drugs, served time for it, and if she’d pressed it, he would have gone down for a long stretch. But Olivia had recognised an opportunity, told him his fortune, and thereafter he was hers for whenever she might need him. No questions asked. And she needed him now.
Having insisted he sterilise everything twice, Olivia had returned to her van neatly stitched and bandaged — Swanson was a competent physician, just an incompetent human being — and driven back to Nottingham. Dosed up with antibiotics, she’d waited a week, then another two days, after which she’d hit the road on her BMW. Her hand had healed enough for her to operate the clutch lever and she was going crazy holed up in the flat. She was also running short of fresh food, but there was no way she could risk going shopping, disguises notwithstanding. She figured that the SCF would have worked out that she had a place in the city, and they were probably checking CCTV tapes for white vans. It was exciting, but she didn’t want to push her luck. It had been a near thing, thanks to the damn Cotton girl. She was gratified to hear on the local TV news that the girl was comatose and in a bad way. With McPherson dead and two of his team injured, it had not been a bad evening. As for the Chinese whore … one day she’d return the favour, drop by precious drop of blood.
But now she had to leave. Her panniers were packed with everything for her new life in rural Tuscany, a passport in Rose Doughthey’s name in her bag. She would take the ferry rather than the tunnel, because they would expect her to take the tunnel, and then make her way slowly down through Europe using B-roads where there would be no cameras, no tolls, minimal police roadside checks, and, thanks to the EU, no border controls for the BMW with its new Italian plates.
Olivia finished her coffee and pastry, zipped up her jacket and buckled her helmet. She glanced across at the couple and their tandem and frowned — the couple in the Henry Silk case had been riding a tandem and this lad had a strong East Midlands accent. Coincidence? She wondered. Either way, with her bleached, spiky hair, heavy metallic earrings, dark, gothic lipstick and large fake tattoo on her neck, she bore little resemblance to the photos now distributed widely around Interpol offices.
She gunned the engine and drove off. Giacomo gave her a wave, but she ignored him.
“Cold fish, that one, Nore,” he said, tucking into the last of the pastries.
Afterword
I hope very much that you enjoyed reading this book as much as I enjoyed writing it. If you did, I should be extremely grateful if you could spend a few moments posting a review on Amazon or Goodreads (or both!). It needn’t be long; one word will do — preferably a favourable one! Genuine reviews, however short, are worth a lot.
And equally important, please recommend Irrefutable Evidence to your relatives, friends and colleagues. While word of mouth is very helpful to the cause of any author, it is particularly so for self-published authors for whom marketing is that much harder. If you tell a few people about this book or any of my other books, and they in turn tell others, the word will spread.
You can find more information about all my books and other book-related stuff on my website at davidgeorgeclarke.com. If you are on FaceBook, Instagram and/or Twitter, I’m there too:
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Books by David George Clarke
The RareTraits Trilogy
Rare Traits
Delusional Traits
Murderous Traits
The Cotton & Silk Thrillers
Irrefutable Evidence
Remorseless
Non-Fiction
Hong Kong Under the Microscope
A History of the Hong Kong Government Laboratory 1879–2004
Acknowledgments
This novel could not have been completed without the brilliant help and encouragement of many people.
I had to delve back into my professional past far more in this book than in previous books, and for that I needed to dust off the grey cells to an alarming degree. My great friend Dr Bob Bramley, former custodian of the UK National DNA database and a man with a meticulous eye for forensic detail, painstakingly analysed the text and raised many, many points where I had strayed from the straight and narrow. I tried to pin the omissions on Olivia for being sloppy, but really I had no one to blame except myself.
Dr Sheilah Hamilton, a former forensic colleague in the Hong Kong Government Laboratory, also cast her critical eye over the text and brought up many points for reconsideration.
My heartfelt thanks go to both Bob and Sheilah for their input.
I should also like to thank Bob’s wife Sian Bramley not only for her enthusiastic response to one of the early drafts, but also for her medical input. Jennifer is more than grateful to you as well, Sian.
As with my previous books, Anne Mensini, Sanford Foster and Luci de Norwall Cornish read early drafts, raising many salient points about the plot as well as helping to fine tune my grammar and style. I can’t thank you all enough.
Thanks are also due to my son-in-law, Simon O’Reilly — the fastest copy editor in the East! Brilliant Simon; we’ll get to the bottom of the vagaries of the Kindle eventually.
I am also indebted to Susanna Capon, former TV producer and BBC commissioning editor for her invaluable comments and insight, especially with respect to the early chapters where she gently reminded me that less is more.
A number of others have also kindly read through the book in draft form and all were very positive and helpful in their comments. Thanks go to my sister Jill Pemberton, to my stepdaughter Zoe O’Reilly, to Wendy Bearns and Eva Kolouchova, and of course to my wife Gail who has once again been a sounding board for ideas, a critical and constructive reviewer of drafts, and an enthusiastic supporter of the project.
I have designed my own cover once again, and there were, as ever, several versions on the way as it progressed from my original idea to its present form. Many thanks for comments and suggestions to Gail, Lea, Jonathan, Zoe and Daniel.
I am also very grateful to Susanna Moles for the loan of the wonderful red high-heel shoe that I used in the cover design, and to Rob Moles for suggestions on photographing it. That all came about at Casa Moles during a memorable summer’s evening under a magical Tuscan moon.
Final thanks for brilliant proofreading and copy editing services go to Linda Davy in Hong Kong. Linda’s remarkable eagle eye picked up many points that would otherwise have slipped through the net. I am indebted to you Linda; you’re the best!
David George Clarke
A Final Word
Do you have kids or grandchildren, a favourite godson or goddaughter, a class of kids you teach or support in some way? My wife Gail is an author and illustrator who has published seven beautifully illustrated children’s books. They are written in rhyme that children from 4–9 years just love reading or having read to them.
Patrick’s Birthday Message
Searching for Skye — An Arctic Tern Adventure
Cosmos the Curious Whale
The Chameleon Who Couldn’t Change Colour
Sharks — Our Ocean Guardians<
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Ndotto — An Elephant Rescue Story
Mischief at the Waterhole
You can find more details at Gail’s website
www.gailclarkeauthor.com