by Alex Caan
Zain stared hard at Kate, as his mind started working, making maps in his head of links that might exist.
‘I have an idea. It’s crazy, and probably jumping way ahead of anything we’ve found out so far, but I think I might know how Mark really links in to all of this. And I think I know where contact was made with him.’
Chapter Sixty-Eight
Dr Stevenage was again adamant on the phone that he would not release the medical notes for those that were involved in the support group that Mark Lynch had attended at Guy’s and St Thomas’ Hospital. They were alive and their confidentiality had to be protected.
Zain drove down again to confront the man face to face. Only this time he took reinforcements with him.
Dr Rani Kapoor was already waiting for him outside the mental-health unit. She was still a little nervous when greeting him. He hated that he had this effect on her, hated the side of himself she reflected back.
‘Shall we go in then?’
‘I’m hoping you’ll be the key. Or the hammer,’ he told her.
But Dr Stevenage remained unmoved. He let them into his office but refused to give them access to his records. He handed over Mark Lynch’s file to Dr Kapoor, and she pored over the notes. She wasn’t a psychiatrist, but he obviously accepted her as one of his own. Zain just needed to manipulate him a bit more.
‘I don’t think you understand, Doctor. It’s so important that we know everyone Mark may have formed an attachment to. And the group could help us. We’re trying to track down one person in particular, someone Mark was close to. We’ve explored other aspects of his life, his few friends, work colleagues. This group is the last avenue for us. Please.’
It was true. They had run traces on everyone they had managed to associate with Mark, Julian and Freya through the files they had been given by DCI Cross. Even Natalie’s associates had been run through it. There was no hit.
Zain knew the bereavement group might be important. Whoever was behind the murders had a warped pathology, and bereavement was one of the most powerful mind-altering experiences an individual could go through. And even if the group didn’t yield any results, at least he could tick it off his list.
‘I can assure you of my professional and ethical responsibility to your patients, Dr Stevenage,’ said Dr Kapoor. ‘I don’t need to know case details, just contact details of members of the group.’
‘They will all be unfairly targeted. I do not want them connected to a police investigation. Unless you can give me specific cause for concern, I just can’t betray their trust in such a manner.’
‘And what if one of them is behind these murders? And goes on to kill again?’ asked Zain.
‘Which one? You tell me which of these patients is of interest, and I will help. Not a blanket handover though.’
‘We’re looking for a female in particular.’ Zain showed the doctor pictures of Mark’s girlfriend. There was no recognition, not surprising since she was so obviously disguised.
‘I have an idea,’ said Dr Kapoor. ‘We are trying to match your list to ours. What if we release our list to you? The names that are of interest to us? Could you verify those against your group members?’
Zain didn’t feel comfortable doing that. He had similar confidentiality issues to the doctor.
‘I can supervise the process,’ said Dr Kapoor. ‘That way we have a level of protection for all involved. What do you say, DS Harris?’
Zain was reluctant, but he had to trust Dr Kapoor, and it seemed this might be the only way.
‘I’ll get Michelle to email them to you, Dr Kapoor. You share them one at a time, and the details are not transmitted to Dr Stevenage or to anybody else. Is that OK?’
‘Of course.’
‘Thank you, Dr Kapoor.’
She shrugged it off, as Zain called Michelle and had the details emailed over. Michelle had created a safe landing page on the PCC infrastructure. It would mean that Dr Kapoor could access records in a rich text format, but not download or copy them. Names, dates of birth, last known addresses, contact numbers.
Michelle sent the link to the secured page to Dr Kapoor with a password. She opened it, and together she and Dr Stevenage began comparing the bereavement group to the details they had of failed cases that AREL had refused to fund.
Zain hoped somewhere on the two lists there would be a match.
Chapter Sixty-Nine
Kate was trying to stay calm. She was in PCC Hope’s office, this side of his steepled fingers. Her anger at his treatment of her in front of Anya Fox-Leakey and her lawyer was still bubbling away inside her. But Kate was an expert at staying calm. It was probably why her tantrum had upset her so much. She was glad that Hope hadn’t seen her in that state.
‘I was right then, looks like Anya Fox-Leakey isn’t involved. We don’t have an irate peer after us, at least.’
‘She’s not in the clear yet, sir. She still has the right motive, and access to the neurotoxins.’
‘She’s hardly capable of multiple homicide.’
‘There is a lot more to investigate with her, I think. And there is no evidence yet that she isn’t behind these deaths.’
‘I’m sure you know what you’re doing. I wouldn’t have hired you otherwise.’
She still couldn’t work PCC Hope out. She didn’t kowtow to him, she knew things about him that would embarrass him if she ever repeated them, and she was generally a strong-willed woman who ran her team the way she wanted to. He could only be making false platitudes, but for what reason she wasn’t sure. He enjoyed trying to keep her on her toes.
What Kate needed to do after this case was figure out exactly what she wanted to do next, and where she could go that would allow her to be safe once more . Because her mother’s actions had put her at risk in a way that she hoped she never would be again.
*
The watcher was seething. He had done his part. He had acted on behalf of Hilary Morgan, Kate’s father, and his associates. He had done their bidding.
When Morgan had been put behind bars, the evidence had landed his right-hand men in prison with him. Or on the run. Except the watcher. He had been away for a few months.
Trailer trash. That’s what Jane Morgan had called him once. She was sharp. Before he had battered her, and thrown her down the stairs. Because she had helped expunge the only light he ever had.
The sort of upbringing he’d had, he hadn’t done anything in his life that was good. He knew that. Except for one thing. His daughter. He hadn’t stayed with her mother more than a few months, but he had made this miracle with her. Ashton. His lifeblood.
Even now, hearing her name in his head . . . his heart ached. She had been everything to him, he had even contemplated giving up his work for Morgan for her. Until one day, when she got sick. So sick that she was given up on. Just like the children of those with nothing are.
And then Morgan had stepped in, had provided the funds to save Ashton. And so the watcher had left to see her treatment through.
Until Kate Riley and her mother had brought everything crashing down. And with Morgan gone, so was his money. And without the money, Ashton was once again a child with nothing.
The watcher let the tears flow.
Hilary Morgan may have achieved his ends through the watcher’s threats to his ex-wife and her pathetic need to see her sons again. But it would not end there. Both mother and daughter would suffer. They had hidden well, and it had taken the watcher years to find them. But now, it was just a matter of waiting. Kate Riley’s sins would come back to burn her. And he would be the one carrying the torch.
Chapter Seventy
Zain watched as the two doctors compared lists. Dr Stevenage was reading from his iPad, and Dr Kapoor from her phone.
‘My eyes are beginning to feel the strain,’ said Dr Kapoor, laughing as she did so.
‘Would you like to take a break?’ said Dr Stevenage.
Zain held his breath. The psychiatrist had played into his hands a
bit too easily.
‘I’m all right for the moment. We must crack on; this is important to complete.’
There was more tapping of the screen, followed by name checks.
‘Actually, sorry Dr Stevenage, my eyes must be feeling the strain of the last few days. I will need to take a break from this.’
‘We don’t have time,’ Zain told them. ‘We need this done urgently.’ He checked his phone, looked at them both. ‘Lives are at risk. Don’t you both have Hippocratic oaths or something?’
‘Please don’t patronise me,’ said Dr Kapoor. ‘I’m not one of your criminals.’
She sighed, rubbed her eyes, then rolled them and shrugged her shoulders at Dr Stevenage. All that Bollywood movie watching hadn’t been wasted on her.
‘What do you suggest we do?’ she said finally.
‘Finish?’ said Zain. ‘Now.’
‘I really don’t appreciate your tone, DS Harris. Do you want our help or not?’
Zain didn’t reply. Dr Kapoor looked around the office and then at Dr Stevenage.
‘Dr Stevenage, I saw a break-out room earlier. It had views across London? The light in there might be just what I need? Is that possible?’
‘Yes of course, we can take some refreshments in there too,’ he said, giving Zain a withering look.
‘Thank you. DS Harris. I will contact you once we are finished. I’m sure you have much-more-important things to do than watch us.’
Dr Stevenage locked his office door, taking Dr Kapoor with him, while Zain headed out of the hospital.
Zain walked around the building to the rear, which was up against another hospital building. There was hardly room to walk through the narrow gap between walls, and no CCTV. He counted the windows, and came to the one he had fixed earlier. He pushed, and it opened up easily. While in Dr Stevenage’s office before, he had surreptitiously opened one of the windows. The building wouldn’t be alarmed until night, so he was sure it would remain unnoticed. He slid in, quickly making his way to Dr Stevenage’s computer.
While Dr Kapoor had distracted him, her professional status like nectar to the doctor, Zain had been observing his keystrokes. The doctor wasn’t the quickest typist, and while Dr Kapoor made a big show about looking away when he typed in his password on his iPad, Zain had zeroed in on exactly which keys he had pressed.
He had a vague idea, and if that failed he could use other ways to crack the computer. Although they would be slower. Dr Kapoor had just told him that she would text him as soon as they were done, giving him plenty of escape time.
Zain flexed his fingers, cracked his knuckles, stretched his neck and sat down, like a concert pianist about to begin playing. He thought of what he did as an art in itself, albeit a bit different and definitely illegal in the wrong hands.
Zain typed in the doctor’s password from the iPad into the desktop, but was denied access. He looked over the keys, and changed the middle keystroke, which got him the right password and access to the doctor’s computer and files. He did a quick search trying to identify where the confidential information would be, using bereavement as his key word. It was too big, returning too may files, so he looked at the installed programs instead. One was a patient database, but when he opened it, he saw each patient had their own separate record: there were no group lists.
He checked his phone, hoping Dr Kapoor and her pretend eye-strain was still keeping him. He needed to work faster though, and come up with a list. A new email arrived, the envelope symbol diverting his eyes to the corner of the screen. A list. If patients were all individually stored, he doubted the busy doctor would spend time compiling a list of those that attended sessions of the bereavement group. No, he would get someone else to do it. Zain opened the doctor’s Outlook. It asked for a password before it updated with any new emails, but the one Zain had seen earlier didn’t work on it. It didn’t matter though. Dr Stevenage’s old emails were available to view, and there was one from his assistant already opened with the list of patients. Zain pulled their IDs, and opened the patient database. There was a search facility by patient ID, which allowed multiple criteria to be used in the search term. Zain pasted in the list of patient IDs, and hit search.
He watched as the timer started to churn, looking at his phone for the warning text from Dr Kapoor. He felt his heart race; he needed to download the list and get out of the room before they came back.
‘Come on,’ he said, tapping the side of the machine. It was running far too slowly for him, and then froze. Zain breathed deeply; he would have to shut the whole thing down if he ran out of time. The program started up again, and the list was onscreen. Files of the bereavement group patients, not just the names Dr Stevenage’s assistant had put together, but complete records. Zain hit download to Excel, waited again, before putting in his USB stick. He started to transfer files when his phone buzzed. They were heading his way.
Zain texted Dr Kapoor, ‘NO’. He heard their voices in the corridor. Shit, this was not good, he felt panic, the files were still transferring. The voices grew louder, and then Dr Kapoor’s voice, her laughter. Was it to tell him she couldn’t stall anymore? They were outside the door, the files still not on his USB.
‘Oh, Dr Stevenage, I am so sorry. I left my phone back in the break-out room.’
The voices began to retreat. Zain had about two minutes. The files finished, and as he heard the voices get louder as the doctors were coming back again, he forced shutdown of the desktop computer and hurled himself out of the window, crashing to the ground outside.
*
Rob was only half watching the TV, his mind still replaying the video he had seen. The experiments Mark Lynch had carried out. The experiments that would still go on.
He turned his attention back to the screen, the volume on low. He was in the break-out room at the PCC HQ, guzzling diet Pepsi, and trying to clear his head. He needed to separate his feelings for Mark Lynch and remember the poor bastard had been killed brutally. And so had three other people.
It was one stray word that caught his attention.
‘Pharmacist.’
He turned the volume up and listened. It was too random, maybe a coincidence. But he didn’t believe in coincidences. He rushed back to his desk. Michelle was at her computer.
‘Leanne Birch,’ he said. ‘The last anyone heard from her was 4 November. She’s a pharmacist. I’m contacting Sussex now, will get you more information, but see if you can start a search. Her details must be in SHERLOCK or some other database.’
It might not be relevant, but there was no harm in checking.
Chapter Seventy-One
They were gathered in the conference room, a frenetic energy running around them. Kate could feel it, every member of her team on edge, excited. Things were starting to fall into place at last. It was the usual mix. Chance, perseverance and just hunting down every last clue and piece of evidence until it proved worthless. Or became invaluable.
She had already bawled Zain out for what he had done back at Dr Stevenage’s clinic; embroiling Dr Kapoor in his game had just made it worse.
‘You really think Dr Kapoor would involve herself in something like this?’ he said. ‘She’s far too up herself to do anything questionable. I just asked her to text me when she was done, that’s all. I wanted to touch base with her.’
‘Why did she leave Dr Stevenage’s office?’
‘That was not my doing. She had eyestrain.’
Kate didn’t know if she believed him, and she wasn’t about to accuse Dr Kapoor of being complicit in a crime. At the very least she would insult her and make things awkward between them. At worst she would end up reporting Zain and what would that do?
Why did he insist on pushing back all the time? Yes he got her results, but at what cost? Once you started picking apart the moral framework they worked in, you didn’t stop.
‘I have a list anyway, names, numbers, addresses. Everyone in the bereavement support group. Let’s see what we can do with it.’
‘Did Dr Kapoor find a match?’
‘Of course not. But she was reading names off a list. We need algorithms and deeper checks than that. We are linking historical records to this current list. What if someone changed their name and number for the group? We need to trace that number, it will give us a link to their previous identity, which will give us an in to the trials that AREL ran.’
‘There must have been another way. A legal way, one that means we can use the evidence you found?’
‘My way was the only one I could do in the time we have to stop this person, before someone else dies. And it’s only patient details, an expanded list.’
Rob had tracked down Leanne Birch in a much more organic way. He had seen her sister’s press conference on BBC News, and immediately linked in to Sussex Police to get more background. Leanne Birch was a pharmacist, but more than that she was a consultant pharmacist for hire. She provided the neutral expert advice often sought out to give approval and sign off on drugs or policy. And her disappearance at the time everything else was happening was too much of a coincidence not to be connected.
And yet, the first of them to die hadn’t been Julian or Freya. Dr Kapoor had confirmed that Mark Lynch had died at least twelve hours before Freya had been killed. Would they find Leanne’s body, and what state would it be in by the time they did? Kate dreaded to think.
Michelle had control of the main screen, bringing up various files for them to look at.
‘You were so right to check this, Rob,’ she said. ‘I did a trace on Leanne through the files from AREL, and she was there. She was part of the cases that rejected the trial requests with Julian Leakey and Freya Rice.’
‘How many cases did they overlap on?’ asked Kate.
‘Five of the rejected ones.’
‘That narrows it down. We start with those. I think we’ve done enough virtual checking. I want to trace the families involved in these rejected cases. And I want to know anyone who might be holding enough hatred to carry out something like this.’