Fatal Promise: A totally gripping and heart-stopping serial-killer thriller

by Angela Marsons

  ‘Okay,’ Penn said, waiting for more.

  ‘Of those procedures there are four deaths logged by the hospital administration.’

  ‘Not a bad rate,’ Penn noted.

  ‘Depends,’ Stacey said.

  ‘On what?’

  ‘How many of them were minor surgeries or standard procedure.’

  ‘But surgery always poses some risks,’ Penn observed.

  ‘Agreed, so does stepping outside your door or crossing a road but look at how many times you might do it before you get hit; it’s relative, is all I’m saying.’

  ‘You think all this could be linked to one of the operations they carried out that resulted in a death?’

  Stacey thought about the boss’s instructions to think outside the box.

  She looked up at her colleague and nodded.

  ‘I think it’s gotta be worth a look.’

  Ninety-Five

  Kim gave the camera a hard stare while she waited for the doors to the lab to open. Bryant was leaning against the work surface watching Mitch at his microscope.

  ‘Well?’ she asked.

  ‘Nothing yet. The magic is happening in that machine over there, so you could always go stare at it.’

  She ignored him, and glanced at the items laid out on the workbench. She could see something from each victim except for Saul Cordell. ‘What you looking for?’ she asked.

  ‘What I’ve been looking for all week,’ he said. ‘A fingerprint, even a partial would be something.’

  ‘Why?’ she asked. The forensic evidence was already overwhelming.

  ‘Because you’ll struggle to find a techie not a bit in love with a good fingerprint, for a few reasons,’ he said, moving over to the table.

  Kim realised they were going to hear those reasons.

  ‘One of the earliest forms of forensic brilliance that’s as effective today as it was when it was first discovered back in 1891, despite every advancement in the field.

  ‘Every expert loves the lines that are composed of narrow valleys, the grooves and hills. The friction ridges that give traction to the skin every time you pick up a glass or turn a page in a book. You’ve got whirls, loops, arches, which remains the basis for fingerprint matching today. Then you’ve got plain arches, single loops, target whorl, tented arch, double loop and sexy spiral whorls—’

  ‘Sexy?’ Kim questioned.

  ‘Very, Inspector,’ he said, raising one eyebrow. ‘But that’s not the only reason we love them,’ he admitted.

  ‘Go on,’ Kim said.

  ‘We love ’em because they prove that the suspect was there.’

  ‘So, you’re looking for a fingerprint because you think the case against Mancini is weak?’ Bryant asked, with interest.

  Mitch looked from one to the other and then burst out laughing. ‘Does he really want an answer to that question?’

  ‘I think we both do,’ she said, crossing her arms.

  ‘With what you’ve got on Giovanni Mancini I’d forget the trial, put him straight into a prison cell and throw away the key.’

  Ninety-Six

  ‘Okay,’ Stacey said. ‘The first death listed was a seventy-one-year-old female called Annie Brewer. Cervical cancer, which was terminal; surgery was to prolong life. Lady had a massive heart attack on the table and died. The risk of which had been made clear to her prior to surgery by Cordell and a second surgeon. Annie Brewer had a seventy-three-year-old husband who died seven months later, leaving behind one adult daughter, who is married and living on the island of Skye.

  ‘No complaints about her treatment and no fault found on the surgery or nursing team.’

  ‘Dead end then,’ Penn observed.

  ‘Yep, and case number two was a routine hysterectomy of a forty-four-year-old woman who died during surgery where both Cordell and Mansell were present. Investigation determined cause of death was linked to the anaesthesia administered incorrectly but no fault found with the surgeon.’

  Stacey glanced up at her colleague. ‘So, that’s two down and two to go.’

  Ninety-Seven

  ‘Happy now?’ she asked Bryant as they exited Mitch’s lab.

  ‘Guv, you do know we’re on the same side, yeah?’

  ‘Of course, but I told you we were on the right track with Mancini. My only doubt is the involvement of his father, who incidentally, we haven’t seen for days.’

  Bryant gave her a look that she couldn’t read, and it irked her. Right now, he irked her.

  ‘Okay, listen, I’m gonna go see if senior Mancini turned up for his meeting with Vanessa, and you should go check both their lockers. I think it would be good to split up for a while.’

  Although he just nodded and said nothing, Kim could tell he also thought it was a good idea.

  Kim shook her head as he walked away, wishing she felt the courage of her convictions about Giovanni Mancini, but every time she fought the corner of his guilt, a warning finger somewhere inside wagged at her.

  She tried to remember any point in her training or cases she’d worked since in which completely disregarding forensic evidence had been thought a good idea. Normally it was the ‘golden nugget’ of an investigation upon which entire cases were won. Not only did it provide a link from suspect to victim but allowed them to put an expert in the witness box, which always went down well with a jury.

  There was no doubt that the evidence they had led back to the Mancini household. To redirect her thoughts could only mean that someone with access to the evidence and the household had put it there and that was one hell of a leap she was not prepared to make, she decided, as she reached the admin block just as a smartly dressed woman in high heels was exiting.

  ‘May I help you?’ she asked, pleasantly, as she allowed the door to close behind her.

  ‘Is Vanessa Wilson in her office?’

  The woman shook her head. ‘I’m Sophie, personal assistant to the Nephrology team, is there anything I can do for you?’

  Oh, how Kim hated being spoken to with the Friday afternoon tolerance of someone who had no inclination to help her at all and already had eyes on the weekend.

  Kim showed her ID. ‘Do you know where she is?’

  ‘She may have gone to get coffee. She was here earlier.’

  Ah, maybe this woman could help her after all.

  ‘She was due to conduct a disciplinary at 3 p.m. Do you know if Mr Mancini arrived for it?’

  She nodded. ‘He did, indeed. I took the minutes of the meeting. As it was a simple postponement there was no member of HR required.’

  ‘It’s been postponed?’ Kim asked.

  ‘Yes. Vanessa is still awaiting advice from an HR lawyer as this is quite a unique situation. She explained to Mr Mancini that although there was no accuser or a witness she couldn’t simply sanction his return to work without full authorisation from a higher level.’

  Kim could feel Mr Mancini’s frustration. He’d probably been hoping that the whole sorry, sordid ordeal would be put to bed today one way or another. Awaiting the verdict was often worse than the verdict itself.

  ‘And how did he take it?’ she asked.

  ‘He was upset, annoyed, tried to argue his case, even though Vanessa was quite clear that it would make no difference and that he would have to remain on suspension. That’s paid suspension,’ she added, clearly for the benefit of someone without any employment law knowledge. It was the law. It had to be.

  She would have preferred to hear about the episode from Vanessa herself, but the woman was busy and deserved a ten-minute break down at the café.

  ‘Did Mr Mancini give any indication of where he was going?’ she asked one of the only two people who had seen him in recent days.

  ‘I’m sorry but no. It wasn’t that kind of meeting,’ she answered as footsteps approached from behind. ‘Pleasantries were not exchanged.’

  ‘Everything okay here, Miss Potts?’ asked the trusty security guard, Tyrone.

  ‘It’s fine but this police offi
cer may need help finding her way back to the—’

  ‘I can find it perfectly well,’ Kim said, realising that their discussion was over.

  ‘Okay, then. Well have a good weekend,’ Sophie said to both of them before disappearing along the corridor and out of view.

  ‘Thanks, Tyrone, but my trail of breadcrumbs should get me back to the lab perfectly safely,’ she said.

  ‘It’s okay, Inspector. I’m more than happy to take you back to where you want to go,’ he said, tapping her arm.

  Ninety-Eight

  Go and find the lockers, Bryant thought, mimicking her voice in his head. And bloody glad he was to do it, as well.

  While she’d been away he’d been counting the days until the team was back together. He’d known that their tight little unit was changed for ever with the loss of Dawson but he had found the disbursement of the team unnerving and discombobulating.

  The guys he’d worked alongside at Brierley Hill had been decent enough, hard-working and conscientious but dull, plodding and keeping their thoughts and ideas tightly contained within the box. There had been no moments of brilliance, no flashes of initiative or creativity. He had worked hard but he’d been uninspired.

  He’d seen the call back to Halesowen as a return to his own pack, and yet it hadn’t been the reunion he’d hoped for.

  Perhaps it had been unrealistic to expect them all to readjust back into position without their fourth wheel.

  And maybe his expectations in other areas had been too high as well.

  He didn’t blame his boss for her reaction to Dawson’s death. She had done what she always did, retreat to her place of safety. Like a turtle she had retracted her head and reversed into her shell.

  It was he who had checked in with Stacey every few days. It was he who that had met her a couple of times up at Sedgley and taken her to lunch. He who had been waiting for her after her first counselling session.

  He did, not the boss.

  And even now, the boss wouldn’t talk to either one of them. She hadn’t talked to a counsellor and the thing with Ted was a farce. If he was honest, he was most narked because she couldn’t even talk to him.

  There were many things that had aggravated and irritated him over the last few days.

  The way she’d just reappeared after six weeks without a word of acknowledgement about Dawson or the effect of his loss on her team. Her coldness towards Penn irked him too. It wasn’t the poor kid’s fault he wasn’t Dawson.

  He was annoyed at how she had gone in hard on Mancini. Whether it was him or not, she wanted it to be far too much for his liking. He had never seen her try to bully a confession from someone before. And that was why he’d questioned Mancini’s guilt. Simply because she hadn’t. And that wasn’t like her at all. Normally, she questioned everything.

  He knew that the roots of his irritation were buried in hurt. She had shut him out for six weeks and was continuing to do so now.

  And so he’d been pleased to be given a break. Another half an hour and he might have just blown. And that probably wouldn’t have done either of them any good.

  So, yeah, he’d go check the Mancinis’s work lockers and, thankfully, he’d just spotted someone who could help him find where they were.

  Ninety-Nine

  ‘It’s a match,’ Mitch said, as the security guard escorted her into the lab and then left them alone.

  ‘Go on,’ she said.

  ‘The blood on the glove belongs to Gordon Cordell,’ he said.

  Although it was what she’d expected him to say, Kim didn’t feel the tingle of excitement she normally felt at a major breakthrough. It was what she’d thought the results would indicate, yet there was a feeling of disappointment rolling around her stomach.

  Mitch was watching her closely. ‘Jeez, why do I feel like I just murdered your puppy?’ he asked, deflated. ‘I’ve pulled out every stop to get that result and—’

  ‘It’s not you, Mitch,’ she said, taking out her phone. ‘I’m glad I was right. I’m pretty sure Bryant has found that missing photo from Cordell’s place in Mancini’s locker. I’ll call him and—’

  ‘You’ll never get him,’ Mitch said, shaking his head. ‘If the locker rooms are where I think they are, you’re not going to get a signal.’

  ‘But you know where they are?’ she asked, as Bryant’s phone went straight to voicemail.

  ‘I think so,’ he said, standing.

  He did a quick check around the room, ensuring all the equipment had been turned off.

  Kim was suddenly aware of the hours and effort Mitch had put in for them this last week. Not even spending time at his own lab but transplanting to Dudley to get the results to them as quickly as possible.

  ‘Listen, Mitch, I just want to say…’

  ‘Yeah, you’re welcome, now switch that light off on your left.’

  She smiled as she did so. People in their profession rarely responded well to gratitude and compliments. Long hours were just part of the job they’d signed up for.

  They stepped into an eerily quiet corridor. They passed the morgue on her left which was in darkness.

  Mitch took a right and through doors marked for personnel only.

  Sometimes when she was in this part of the hospital it was hard to imagine the life and activity going on above her head.

  She followed Mitch down a set of service stairs: grey shiny concrete and breeze-block walls.

  ‘You know, Mitch, I can kinda see why Bryant has formed the opinion he has about Mancini.’

  ‘Really?’ he asked, turning and heading down a second flight of stairs.

  ‘It’s almost like it’s too much, it’s overwhelming. We have hair, fibres, blood, the boot print, everything we need to tie Mancini to three of the murders, but I’ve never had this before,’ she said, as they landed at the bottom of the steps.

  There were no flights left and she had no idea which floor or subfloor they were now on.

  ‘Where the hell are you taking?…’

  ‘I swear, it’s around here somewhere,’ Mitch said, heading along a corridor littered with old and broken equipment.

  Every other strip light was not working and the ones that were, were filled with dead insects. The metal suspension chains had cobwebs stretching up to the roof.

  Despite her unease Kim continued talking.

  ‘But what I don’t get is the glove in the toilet bin,’ she admitted. ‘Cordell was killed on Monday and they still have damning evidence in their flat on Friday. Why wouldn’t they have thrown it away?’

  ‘Forgotten about it?’ Mitch said, looking in each doorway as he went.

  ‘Really?’

  He shrugged. ‘I’m a science man,’ he said. ‘I deal in facts and figures and tangibles. This case is a dream to me. I believe in the evidence,’ he said, turning towards her. ‘Don’t you?’

  She held his gaze. ‘Actually, Mitch, I don’t know if I do.’

  He pointed to a doorway, and she glanced inside. There were a few scattered lockers with doors hanging off. A sink with missing taps and one broken chair.

  ‘Err… Mitch, I don’t think they use this place any more,’ she observed, as a heaviness headed towards her stomach.

  He smiled ruefully. ‘Yeah, looks like I didn’t know where it was after all.’

  One Hundred

  ‘Okay, this one is a beauty,’ Penn said, reading from the screen. ‘Trudy Lennox was admitted to hospital on the 7th October 2015 to have an ovary removed. Apparently, it was riddled with cysts and was both painful and non-productive.’

  ‘Okay, sounds straightforward,’ Stacey said, distractedly.

  ‘Doctor Cordell took out the wrong ovary.’

  That got her attention and she looked up. ‘You’re joking?’

  Penn shook his head. ‘Nope. She was twenty-six years old at the time.’

  ‘And left without the chance of ever having children,’ Stacey observed, returning her attention to her own screen. Jesus, that would be mot
ivation for doing someone harm. ‘What happened?’ she asked, as something jumped out at her from the monitor.

  ‘It never got to court and was settled for an undisclosed sum; but no one actually died. So, I’m not sure there’s enough motive for—’

  ‘Shut up, Penn,’ Stacey said, as her eyes read quickly across the screen.

  ‘You got something?’ he asked.

  ‘Not much, yet,’ she said, trying to take it all in. ‘This one is still tied up in legal.’

  ‘Hit me,’ he said.

  ‘Bear with me, I’m piecing stuff together here as I talk. From what I can gather, eight months ago a woman was rushed into A & E in a bad way after a car accident. She was heavily pregnant, and despite Cordell performing emergency surgery, the woman died.’

  ‘How heavily pregnant?’ Penn asked.

  ‘Eight months, I think,’ Stacey said.

  ‘Did the child survive?’ he asked.

  ‘Don’t know yet,’ Stacey said. ‘But guess who was in the surgery with him?’

  ‘Nat Mansell?’

  Stacey nodded as she flicked between documents and newspaper reports, though information was limited.

  She felt heat surging into her body.

  ‘Penn, what did Nat Mansell say to the boss before she ran away?’

  ‘Something about making a choice and living with it.’

  ‘Oh shit. He had to make a choice,’ Stacey breathed. ‘The next of kin, presumably the husband, had to choose whether to save the life of the wife or the child,’ she said dumbfounded.

  Penn stood and looked at the board.

  ‘So, you’re thinking he made them choose?’

  Stacey nodded as she continued to tap.

  ‘But if Cordell made the choice to die himself then why is his eldest son still dead? And Nat Mansell’s mother died before she did.’