‘Tell them, babe,’ she whispered in his ear, her breath smelling of cigarettes and mints. ‘Tell them what they need to know.’
Stuart inhaled a deep, strengthening breath. ‘Back in the eighties, I was an orderly at the Curtis Institute in West London. There were four of us – Dr Curtis, Deborah McCauley, his assistant, and Christina Watson, who had the same job as me. The pay was good, better than normal, but we signed a confidentiality agreement when we joined.’ He looked at Jodie, seeking her approval. She nodded at him to continue. ‘It was a trial, government-approved. Psychological testing on children. Different kids came and went, but then Luka arrived with his mother from Russia, and they stayed in the dorms.’
Stuart risked a glance at the police officers, who were taking in every word. ‘The dormitories weren’t fit for purpose. There were electrical problems, leaky pipes and the fire alarms didn’t work. Christina and I were paid to take turns staying overnight.’ Closing his eyes, Stuart rubbed his face, dragging his stubbled skin in his wake. The memories he had buried years ago now hit him with full force. ‘Near the end of the trial there was a fire. The alarms didn’t go off and Luka and his mother died.’
‘Oh. Lu-ka, not Lucas . . .’ Jodie said. ‘For a minute there I thought you meant the bloke from the Hare and Hound. And this is the same Luka that’s taken Toby? But how can that be, if he’s dead?’
Stuart shrugged. ‘Every year I’ve been getting flowers on the anniversary of their deaths. And I’m not the only one. But nobody wants to talk about what happened back then.’ A chill descended as his words hung in the air.
Then he recounted what had happened the day before and watched their faces as he relayed details of the courier who had come to his work address. ‘I was too scared to call the police,’ he said. ‘I didn’t know what to do.’ But nothing would ease the pain of the guilt he felt. If this was Luka, he understood his anger – the need for revenge. He could still see the faces of the children at the institute, hear their sobs from behind locked doors. His tongue felt glued to the roof of his mouth. He swallowed, giving passage to his words. ‘This Luka . . . he started with Dr Curtis a while ago. Took his child. Almost killed his wife.’
‘We know a courier turned up at her home. Gave her an ultimatum too,’ DI Winter interrupted.
Stuart felt the blood drain from his face. ‘And you think that’s how she nearly died?’
‘She was poisoned, yes,’ DI Winter replied.
‘Shit,’ Jodie blurted, softly punching Stuart in the chest. ‘Why did you drink that stuff? You could have been killed. Go to the hospital, get yourself sorted out!’
DI Winter looked from Jodie to Stuart. ‘She’s right. You should check yourself in, to be on the safe side.’
Stuart cupped his clenched fist. ‘I’m not going anywhere until I hear from my boy. He needs his medication. God knows what state he’s in.’ Stuart had already provided officers with details of Toby’s illness. It heightened the urgency and a press appeal was being organised.
Pushing his fingers against his earpiece, DC Moss intently listened to a voice that nobody else could hear. ‘They’ve found the taxi that picked Toby up. The driver was in the boot – alive.’
‘Is he in a fit state to give us a description?’ DI Winter replied.
‘He’s on his way to the hospital, but he’s conscious, so fingers crossed.’
‘Look.’ DI Winter pinned Stuart with a gaze. ‘It’s obvious something happened at the institution. What are you not telling us? What about the drugs?’
‘Drugs?’ Stuart replied, cursing himself as his voice raised an octave. How did she know about that? ‘It was decades ago. I can’t remember what medication they were on.’
‘It was Zitalin,’ DI Winter replied. ‘When was the last time you spoke to Deborah, Dr Curtis and Christina?’
‘I can’t remember.’
‘You can’t remember?’ she repeated. ‘Then why do we have CCTV footage of the four of you at the Shard restaurant just days ago?’
‘Don’t make me talk about it.’ Lowering his head, Stuart locked his fingers behind his neck. He could feel Jodie’s judgement. He could not bear for her to know.
‘I’m sorry, Stuart,’ DI Winter said, her expression taut. ‘But I’m not leaving here until you do.’
CHAPTER FORTY-NINE
The Curtis Institute, February 1985
Luka darted around a corner as he heard the creak of a side door being pushed open. He recognised the voices of Stuart and Christina, their footsteps urgent as they walked in the other direction. Only a few of the strip lights were on, which meant it was after 8 p.m. It was the only way he could differentiate between night and day.
‘We’re in way over our heads.’ Christina’s words were harsh as they echoed along the corridor. ‘I didn’t sign up for this.’
‘Keep your voice down,’ Stuart warned. ‘What’s done is done. Just take the money and go.’
Luka’s heart drummed in his chest like a wind-up toy. Go? That’s why Dr Curtis was pushing him so hard. For the last couple of weeks, things had been building to a climax. The tension was palpable, and everything was spoken in hushed tones. But nobody had mentioned anything to Luka about going home. As for Sam, Deborah must have been telling the truth about his heart condition because Luka had overheard Stuart and Christina whispering that he was gone for good. There were no more sniffles behind closed dormitory doors, no childish voices floating down the hall. All had fallen silent, and the orderlies seemed unable to look Luka in the eye.
He caught a faint whiff of crisp, fresh air as Stuart and Christina slipped through the fire doors. He knew there were steps outside which would lead him into the yard. Had it not been for Mama, he would have run as fast as his legs would take him. Finding Christina’s keys had been like a gift placed under his nose. She had been tormented, not thinking straight, and when the telephone rang she had left them on the counter in the waiting room.
Having unlocked his room door, his plan was clear: get Mama and escape. But he stalled as he entered his mama’s room. In her place was a thin, emaciated version of the woman he used to know.
‘Mama?’ Luka’s chin wobbled as he approached. Her hair was hacked short, and the pungent smell of body odour hung in the air. Was it really her? Like Luka, the flesh had evaporated from her bones, giving her a pained, gaunt look.
Sitting hunched on the bed, Sasha stared into space. A thin line of drool grew stringy and elongated, falling on to her hands, which were folded on her lap. Luka cast an eye over her grey linen dress, which was baggy, misshapen and stained from morsels of food. A tray of curled-up sandwiches and a small carton of milk lay on her dresser. Deborah was right, Mama wasn’t well. But how much of it was of Dr Curtis’s making? How could Deborah leave her like this?
‘Mama.’ He locked his eyes on hers as he sat down on the bed. ‘We need to go. It’s not safe here.’
Slowly, she took in his expression, her brow knitted in confusion. ‘Luka?’ she said eventually, raising a bony finger to touch his cheek.
‘Yes, it’s me. Please, get up. We need to go.’ Rising, he slid an arm around her waist, tugging at her gaunt frame. But his mama did not have the energy to leave. Her mind was vacant. She was somewhere else.
Hot tears rose from behind his lids as Luka’s frustration grew. Should he run away? Find help? He took a moment to collect himself. He knew what he had to do. ‘It’s OK,’ he said, kissing her on the cheek. Her skin was waxy and deathly cold. ‘I’m going to get help. I’ll be back soon.’ He did not see the figure standing in the doorway until it was too late.
CHAPTER FIFTY
‘You know about the Shard?’ Stuart said, trying to remember the story he had spun to DI Winter. They were at an advantage. They had been taking notes. They had just recited a police caution, hastening to add he was not under arrest.
‘My officers have spoken to your work colleagues.’ DI Winter crossed her legs. Stuart’s attention was drawn to the cuts on
her fingers as she clasped them over one knee. ‘One of the waiters was surprised to see you having a meal with Deborah McCauley,’ she went on. Apparently, she’s a regular. Quite the flirt, by all accounts.’
‘When . . . when did you speak to him?’ Stuart said, trying to buy himself some time.
‘It hardly matters, does it? You’re on CCTV. Sounds like you had quite an animated conversation, yet you denied having met recently. I’d like to know why.’ DI Winter shifted towards Stuart, narrowing her gaze. In the flat above, the neighbours were having an argument, their words punctuated by the slamming of doors. But the background noise was barely audible to Stuart. All he could hear was the swish of blood in his ears as it pumped through his veins.
‘What are you hiding?’ DI Winter continued to pile on the pressure. ‘Because it could hold the key. Without the full story, we’re searching in the dark. Help us turn on the lights. See what we’re dealing with.’
Taking a breath, Stuart tried to slow his racing heart.
‘Babe, do you need a solicitor?’ Jodie said, linking her fingers through his in a show of support. Shaking his head, Stuart softly squeezed in a gesture of thanks.
He mooched forward on the sofa, his elbows clamped to his sides. Time was running out for Toby. The coppers should be out looking for him, instead of sitting here getting nowhere fast. He needed to tell them part of the story at least. He only hoped they would not tie him up in knots.
He took another deep breath. ‘I worked at the institute back in the eighties. The money was good but they were strict on confidentiality. They said they could ruin us if we talked about what we saw.’ Stuart frowned at the memory. ‘By the time it was over, I just wanted to forget. I believed Dr Curtis when he said we were just as much to blame.’
‘For what?’ DI Winter’s voice broke into his thoughts. Jodie was still holding his hand. She gave him another squeeze to signal to go on. He knew she was doing this for Toby. She loved that child like he was her own. He dreaded the moment when she would let go.
‘Dr Curtis ran tests on the children, all between six and twelve years old. He gave them doses of Zitalin to check for side effects. The children were treated like prisoners, locked in their rooms at night. I should have said something . . .’
‘Why didn’t you?’ Jodie said, slowly releasing her grip.
Stuart rubbed his sweat-laced palms on his jeans. ‘The government had given it the go-ahead. I saw the paperwork. He wasn’t breaking any laws.’ But Stuart was distorting the truth. The clearance he mentioned was for the psychological trials. It had nothing to do with the drugs.
‘What sort of parent would give Dr Freakshow their kid? Tell me that?’ Jodie’s tone had changed to one of bitter disgust.
‘For money,’ Stuart replied. ‘Sasha and Luka were penniless. They were paid, given food and board. Who was I to judge?’
‘Tell me what happened on the night of the fire.’ DI Winter steered his focus back. It was just as well. By the look on Jodie’s face, she wasn’t done with him yet. But he was too worried about Toby to take her judgement on board.
‘I was on duty. Every night shift we did a lap of the grounds outside and checked the dorms every hour.’ Stuart rubbed his face as the memory of that night closed in.
‘Go on.’ DI Winter’s voice sounded far away as she encouraged him to open up. He was back there, in the depths of the building. He could almost smell the mould spores, hear the rattle of the hot-water piping from behind the crumbling walls. Then there were the other sounds. The echoes of crying children that could not be explained. The memory of that place was branded in his mind.
‘The last time I checked Sasha she was sparko, fast asleep. Luka was too. I thought they’d be OK if I left them for a little while.’
‘Really?’ Jodie interrupted. ‘It’s bad enough you let them kiddies get hurt. You left them on their own too?’
‘If you don’t mind?’ DI Winter interrupted, her voice stern. Both women stared each other down until Jodie’s gaze finally dropped.
‘Luka and Sasha were the only ones left in the dorms. I was only gone half an hour . . . an hour, tops.’
He wished he could turn back the clock. How different things would have been if he had done his job properly that night. Sasha and Luka would have been spared, and Ellen and Toby would be safe at home. As for the rest of it . . . His confession to the police was the tip of the iceberg.
He glanced up, realising that all eyes were on him. ‘Christina . . . her husband worked shifts. She used to drive over to see me. We’d meet in the car park so we didn’t get caught on CCTV.’
‘In your original statement you said you were at the far end of the building having a cigarette.’
‘I found a way of leaving the institute without being seen on camera. It looked like I was still on duty if anyone checked.’ He stared at the thinly carpeted floor, not daring to meet Jodie’s eyes. ‘We didn’t want anyone to know about our affair.’ He paused. The police weren’t to know that he was leaving the worst of it out. He resented Deborah and Dr Curtis for putting him through this. It was all right for them; their luxurious lifestyles left them little time for remorse. Stuart wished he had never applied for that job, never blighted his life with what followed. Such thoughts haunted his nights and lurked throughout his days. It was why he had been so determined to keep Toby safe. Why had he followed the doctor’s instructions and locked Sasha and Luka into their rooms at night?
‘When I got back, the whole building was alight. The fire doors were jammed and the corridor was pitch black. The windows were all boarded up, so when the strip lighting blew you couldn’t see as far as your hands. I had a torch. I tried to get them out of the building. But I was beaten back by the flames.’ His chin wobbled as he spoke, and he brushed back the tears escaping the corners of his eyes. ‘I remember feeling like I was coughing my lungs up. The smoke stung my eyes so bad that I could barely see.’
‘Sounds like that place was a death trap,’ DC Moss said.
‘It was.’ Stuart took a breath and continued. ‘By the time I got to Sasha’s room I was too late. She was lying face down on the bed. I turned her over and I . . .’ His shoulders shook as a sob escaped his lips. ‘I could see that she was dead. By then I could barely breathe. I made it out just in time.’ He wiped his nose with the back of his hand. ‘Luka didn’t stand a chance.’
‘And you’re sure it was Sasha? One hundred per cent?’ Amy asked.
Stuart nodded. ‘I remember shining my torch on her face. None of us was trained in fire safety. We didn’t have drills and the fire doors shouldn’t have been blocked.’ He turned to Jodie, genuine remorse in his eyes. ‘You’re right. I should have said something, but after the fire we were all paid off. Curtis bought our silence. Not a day goes by that I don’t feel guilty for my part in it all.’
‘So why did you meet in the Shard?’ DI Winter’s expression relayed that she had not fully bought into his story. A fresh prickle of sweat broke out on Stuart’s brow.
‘Excuse me.’ DC Moss rose, one hand pressed against his radio earpiece as he walked to the door. A final slamming of a door from the couple upstairs put an end to the argument filtering down.
Stuart rubbed his chin, telling himself the interrogation was almost over. ‘It was Deborah’s idea that we meet up for dinner. She wanted to warn us about Ellen in case the nut that took her came for us.’
‘Anything else?’ Rising from the sofa, DI Winter exchanged a brief glance with DC Moss as he returned to the room. ‘Something’s wrong, isn’t it?’ Panic rose in Stuart’s chest as he caught the expression on the detective’s face.
‘It’s not Toby,’ DC Moss said, his lips thin. But whatever it was, the news was not good. ‘It’s Christina Watson.’
‘I rang her,’ Stuart said reluctantly. ‘To tell her about Toby. She has a granddaughter. I wanted to see if she was all right.’ He slid his phone from his pocket. ‘I can give you her number . . .’
‘We won�
�t be needing it.’ The room grew dark as DC Moss stood in front of the window and blotted out the fading light.
DI Winter met his gaze with a puzzled frown. ‘Why not?’
‘The police are already with her. I’m afraid she’s dead.’
CHAPTER FIFTY-ONE
Amy sat in her office, quietly fuming. She could not help but lay the blame for Christina’s death at the feet of her team. They should have safeguarded her, guessed she would be running scared. Amy was so busy dancing to Luka’s tune she did not have time to follow up the taskings she had set. Just minutes after getting off the phone to Stuart, Christina had told her husband she was taking a bath. Had she committed suicide to keep her family safe? Stuart had cried when he recalled Christina saying that her family were next. There was no suicide note, just the word ‘sorry’ daubed in blood on the tiled bathroom wall.
‘She was a self-harmer,’ her husband explained when they attended the scene. But he had never expected her to take it so far. Amy knew from experience that a demon manifested from guilt was the most patient of all. Days, months, decades could pass. Guilt did not corrode with time for the tortured soul. For Christina, the burden of her secret had become too heavy to bear.
To top things off, a message on Amy’s answer machine left her in no doubt that Lillian had orchestrated the scrum at the entrance to the police station earlier.
‘You cow,’ Amy grumbled as she listened to her gloating words.
‘I hear you had eggs for lunch,’ Lillian had quipped. ‘Did you enjoy your welcome party when you went back to work?’
Lillian had contacts on the outside, a small band of sick fans happy to do her bidding. Thanks to the power of Facebook, such people were able to form alliances and organise events. Were their own lives so boring they had to worship a serial killer for kicks? How had they manipulated the families of the victims to attend? Could this day get any worse? Slamming down the phone, Amy frowned at the knock on her office door. Her blinds were tightly shut, relaying that she did not want to be disturbed. Couldn’t they give her five minutes’ peace?
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