Stephendavison.files.wordpress.com



Kill&CureSTEPHEN DAVISONKINDLE EDITION"Nothing is predestined: The obstacles of your past can become the gateways that lead to new beginnings."Ralph BlumPublished By: Alice&Fred BooksRosden House, Suite 243, 372 Old Street, London, EC1V 9AUenquiries@; on KINDLECopyright (c) 2009 by Stephen DavisonAll rights reserved. Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the above publisher of this book.This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication/use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners.KINDLE Edition License NotesThis ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person you share it with. If you're reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then you should return to Amazon Kindle and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the author's work.British Library Cataloging in Publication DataA record of this book is available from the British LibraryISBN: 978-0-9560965-0-0For Dr. Huw Davies"Praise the bridge that carried you over." George ColemanPrologueHe watches her struggle, her bloody head only partially visible. Gloved hands probe and encourage. Her face is now free; eyes scrunched shut.The gloved hands ease her shoulders forwards and then Alice is out. She cries immediately. The midwife wraps her in a towel and thrusts her into his arms. He gazes at her face. She is beautiful.* * *A powdery film of frost covers the grass and the trees. The group huddles close. From an old copy of the Bible, the priest reads aloud. Next to him, a man trembles as a small coffin is gently lowered into the grave.‘My baby …’A firm hand holds his arm, supporting him. The priest begins sprinkling earth.‘Lauren … I’m so sorry…’The ropes are released and pulled up.‘… I couldn’t help you …’The man collapses to his knees and the group rush to him.‘… I couldn’t help you … I couldn’t help you …’13.07 am. Magenta Rosti is half-way through the night shift, a quarter-way through the latest James Patterson thriller and a third of the way through a cup of lukewarm coffee. She uses her fingernails to rake short, feathery clumps of her hair, as she reads. Yesterday, Michael John – the hairdresser with two first names – gave her this cut on the pretext that it would ‘lift her face’. Bullshit. The bob makes her look like her father and he was an ugly man.The red light above the lift engages, the doors open and the silence breaks. Richard Hart emerges and stalks towards her. A blue reefer coat hangs open, and a beaten-up document case swings at his side. His strides cover the ground easily, the clack-clack from his footfalls echoing against the marble floor tiles.She releases a lock from the plate by the desk. ‘You know what time it is?’He checks his watch. ‘Late.’‘Yes, indeed.’‘What’s it to you?’She shrugs. ‘I’m just saying.’He moves away from the security area to the door. ‘She gets poisoned by the way.’‘What?’‘Norma, in that book you’ve got. I’ve read it.’He disappears from view, the door locking behind him. Rosti slams the novel shut.Prick.Snatching up the coffee, she takes a mouthful and rotates her chair to face the bank of monitors behind her; feeds from twenty-four security cameras stationed all over the Moorcroft Pharmaceuticals building. It’s camera five that covers James Street and within moments Hart appears on the screen. Under an orange tinge generated by the street lamps, he walks towards his parked Toyota. Rosti uses the joystick on the panel to follow him. Just before activating the central lock, he looks up to the camera and gives her the finger.That’s when she notices the flicker at the edge of the screen. She leans forward and squints. Hart pulls open the driver’s door and throws in his case. She adjusts the camera, refocuses the lens. There it is again.A shadow.Hart fiddles with his keys for a moment, and suddenly the shadow moves into the light. Fully formed and travelling swiftly, it comes right up to him, smashing something heavy into the back of his skull.Rosti drops the cup from her hand. Hart slumps forwards onto his car as dregs of coffee spill over her lap. Another blow crashes into the side of his head.Her fingers, fattened by fear, try to work the camera, hitting the zoom just as the final blow explodes into Hart’s face, pulping his nose. The shadow turns three-quarters to the camera. That’s when she screams.She knows who it is.2Stich had squeezed ten patients into the last seventy-five minutes and was now in the kids’ room for the final appointment of the morning. Ethan was on the Kiro-Kiddies bench, his face set into the headpiece, elbows snug in the armrests. His mother sat on a chair next to him.Stich began palpating the bones in the boy’s upper back. ‘Ethan, you’re tall.’‘I know,’ he said without moving his head. ‘I’ve grown three and a half centimetres in the last year.’‘You carry on and you’ll be taller than me.’‘Tell Stich where the pain is,’ said Ethan’s mum, prodding her son.‘Here,’ he said, waving a hand over the base of his neck.‘He’s been playing Nintendo,’ she said, holding up a small console.‘What game, Ethan?’‘Mariokarts!’ he shouted at the top of his voice.Stich eased the first thoracic vertebra back into alignment. ‘But what happened to Super Monkey Ball?’The boy wriggled. ‘Mariokarts is better. Can I sit up now?’Stich smiled. ‘Yes, you can sit up.’Ethan’s mum stood and helped her son from the bench. ‘What do you say?’‘Thank you,’ whispered the boy.Stich ruffled his hair. ‘No problem.’The room – the one everyone called Kiro-Kiddies – was plastered with drawings from kids like Ethan. Crayon and pencil figures collected over the last five years: stick men, dinosaur splurges, yellow rabbits, dogs, cats … all of them having some sort of chiropractic treatment carried out by Stich. There were stuffed monkeys on the shelves, Mickey and Minnie on a quarter-size plastic chair, and Tigger and Pooh hanging from the ceiling on a wire. David Stichell – or Stich to all who knew him – had been practising at this chiropractic clinic since completing his pre-registration year in Guildford five years ago. The location, on the east side of London, catered to a mixed bag of patients. On the one hand, the council families from boroughs like Whitechapel and Stepney, and, on the other, bankers and traders working in the city’s financial centre.Ethan’s family belonged to the first group.‘Anything I can do if he complains again?’‘Use ice,’ said Stich, amending Ethan’s notes. ‘Ten minutes every few hours.’He clipped the paperwork together and paused. ‘How’s Callam?’Ethan’s older brother was thirteen and having problems at school. His mum’s shoulders sagged. ‘How much time you got?’‘That bad?’She nodded.Stich walked them to the front desk where Mertle, his receptionist, took Ethan’s notes. Morning session had just finished and Stich scanned the waiting room. It was non-medicalised and empty. A smattering of out of place easy chairs, magazines, and stray coffee cups awaited Mertle’s attention.‘Put that down as a child check,’ Stich said.‘Let me pay for this, Stich, please.’‘Next time.’‘You always say that.’‘No, I don’t.’‘Yes, you do.’‘How’s Mags?’‘My sister’s fine and you’re changing the subject.’‘Pay me another time, when things have settled.’She sighed. ‘What can I say?’‘Say yes, and give my regards to Mags when you see her.’‘You can do that yourself,’ she said, grabbing Ethan’s hand. ‘She’s working five minutes from here.’‘Where?’‘Moorcroft Pharmaceuticals.’3Stich left the reception area and headed for his office at the rear of the clinic. It was a space he’d worked hard to get just right: uncluttered enough to concentrate when in consultation, yet with enough distraction to chill out when he wasn’t. He made himself comfortable on the recliner that was squeezed into an alcove and closed his eyes for the first time in the last twenty-four hours. His right knee began to pulsate and instantly images – recent and clear – danced in and out of his head. Snapshots caught in his mind’s eye: looming shadows reaching forwards, glass chips stinging his throat. He felt removed from them as if he was watching a movie. Then that voice: ‘How can you care for a child when soon you won’t even be able to care for yourself? I’m taking her …’‘Stich?’The intercom burst into life.‘Jesus, Mertle, that scared the life out of me.’‘Sorry … forgot to tell you while you were out here. Susan’s on her way.’‘Right now?’‘That’s what she said.’‘Okay.’He flicked the system off and closed his eyes again. A scene from the Rome trip the summer before. A square – maybe Piazza Novona or Spagna. Tourists sweating in the heat; sitting on the wall beside the fountain; Alice; a vanilla sundae; squeals of delight and –The intercom sprang to life again.‘Stich?’‘Yes.’‘Sue’s here.’‘Already?’Stich heard his fiancée’s voice. ‘Hello, Mertle, is he free?’‘He’s just finished, Sue. Go on through.’Stich turned off the intercom just as Susan appeared in the doorway. She wore a white teeshirt, faded jeans and a pair of three-stripe trainers. Apart from a ponytail dancing at her neck, most of her dark, chestnut brown hair was hidden under a baseball cap. Although she worked as a bio-immunologist, Stich always felt Susan was the antithesis of her colleagues, as happy out of the lab as she was in it.He stood up and she rushed at him, flinging her arms around his neck.‘Hey! Susan, what is it?’ The grip on his neck didn’t let up. ‘Sweetheart, are you okay?’Eventually she broke free, kissing his cheek and then his mouth. Once, twice, three times. A knot formed in Stich’s stomach and began to tighten. ‘Susan, you’re crying. What’s wrong?’She sniffed. ‘Nothing, I’m just happy to see you.’‘Happy to see me?’She hesitated. ‘I just wanted you to know, that’s all.’‘Susan, you’re not making sense.’She held her hand up in front of her face. Stich could see the small diamond reflect off the light. ‘Look, it’s not every day a girl gets engaged. I’m just a bit emotional that’s all.’‘But we got engaged four days ago.’She swallowed and wiped her eyes. ‘Like I said, I just wanted to see you.’He didn’t reply, but watched her face.‘You ask too many questions,’ she said eventually. ‘You know that?’‘That’s because I’m not getting any answers.’‘Please …’He opened his lips to speak but she covered them with her mouth.* * *They ate lunch in a Pret on Houndsditch. Susan sat up high on a plastic barstool against a gleaming aluminum counter that overlooked the street. Stich had to stand. The smell of coffee and pastries took the edge off the dankness from the road outside. Through the misted window, Stich could make out the back end of the take-out queue as it spilled onto the pavement.‘Why the salad, Stich?’‘I like salad.’‘I know, but it’s lunchtime. Salad’s not exactly filling, is it?’He had a tomato an inch from his mouth but dropped it back into the bowl. She averted her eyes.‘Where’s this going?’‘Nowhere.’He wiped a napkin across his mouth. ‘I went mad at breakfast, okay?’‘How mad?’‘Egg, bacon, and sausage mad, all stuffed into two doorstops.’‘Truth?’‘Yes, truth.’She wiped her mouth and kissed him on the forehead. ‘Good.’‘I’m glad you approve.’She took another bite, chewed for a few moments as if thinking and then swallowed. ‘Promise you’ll tell me straight away if you start to feel unwell.’Stich puffed out his cheeks just as the seat next to Susan’s became free. He took it and pushed aside the last occupant’s half-eaten lunch. ‘Look, Sue, we’ve talked about this. I don’t feel unwell and I’m not going to either. I’ve lived with this for years. It hasn’t got me up till now and I don’t intend to let it start.’‘How’s your side?’‘I can’t even feel it.’‘Honestly?’‘Honestly. I’d tell you if I could. Look, I’m here for the long haul. I’m not even thinking about what’s going on inside my body. I’ve shut it out. All I care about is being around to share my life with you and Alice. The rest is just background. Besides, I’m on Krenthol. You of all people should know how good that drug is, so I’ll be just fine.’She watched his face.‘What?’ he demanded.‘Nothing.’‘What?’‘I’m sorry for getting on to you.’He cupped her face softly in his hands. ‘I love you getting on to me.’‘Liar.’4They huddled together under Stich’s umbrella on the ten-minute walk back to the clinic, picking their way past puddles and the crush of the lunch crowd on Bishopsgate.‘So, you set for tonight?’ Susan asked, wiping rain splashes from the back of her jeans.‘Yep.’‘And you’re picking me up at 5.00, right?’‘From the lab.’She nodded. ‘We go to Maxi’s first and then on to Truro.’‘You’re sure you don’t want to go to Immteck first?’ asked Stich.‘Positive.’‘Not even for a Laurence Tench function?’She shook her head. ‘Especially not for that. You packed?’‘I did it this morning.’‘And Alice?’‘Loni’s taking care of her.’‘Are you okay with that?’‘She adores Loni.’‘That’s not what I asked.’ They crossed to a traffic island. ‘I know it’s difficult for you to leave Alice, baby, but I really think you need these couple of days. We both do.’They came up to the edge of James Street. On one corner, Andersons the insurers, and on the other, the tinted window fa?ade of the Moorcroft Pharmaceutical building. Stich was first to notice the yellow police tape strung out around two thirds of the road. Just the other side of it was a posse of people gathering around a thickset man.‘Stich, where are you going?’‘To take a look.’‘It’s police business,’ Susan said, pulling him back.‘So?’‘So, leave it to the police.’‘Come on, it won’t be for long. I’m interested that’s all.’‘But you never stop for stuff like this. You hate rubber-neckers.’‘It’s just for today.’‘Stich, I don’t have time, I need to be back in the lab for 1.30.’‘Two minutes.’Further behind the police line were half a dozen people engaged in activities that, until now, Stich had only ever seen on television. He watched one of them on a ladder inspecting a CCTV unit bolted to a sidewall.‘Hey, Susan!’ A woman bounded up and planted a kiss on Susan’s cheek. ‘I knew that was you.’ She wore a white polo neck, grey slacks and a broad smile.‘Trinny Becker?’ Susan looked surprised.Trinny swept back her deep, curly red hair. ‘The very same.’‘I thought you were in Prague.’‘I was. I’ve been here at Moorcroft for two weeks. I’m running my own group.’ She leaned in with a wide grin. ‘B-cells – early gene expression – no less.’‘Wow.’‘I know, I can hardly believe it myself.’Susan turned to Stich. ‘Stich, this is Trinny … a very wet Trinny.’ She pulled her towards the umbrella out of the fine spray. ‘Coatless and – if she’s not careful – a prime candidate for pneumonia.’‘I came out for a crafty ciggie,’ said Trinny, ducking under. ‘Terrible about what’s happened, isn’t it?’Susan glanced at Stich. ‘It looks pretty serious.’‘There are police crawling all over the labs, asking questions.’There was a slight pause before Susan gestured towards Stich. ‘Anyway, Trinny, this is my fiancé, David Stichell. Trinny and I worked in the same lab at Immteck for a while. That must be, what, two years ago?’‘At least,’ gushed Trinny. ‘Isn’t it exciting to be working at the same place again? I saw you in the lobby this morning so I knew you were here. What group are you with?’‘I wasn’t here this morning.’‘Yes, in the lobby about 7.00. You had that outfit on.’‘No, I was at the Immteck lab in Holborn at 7.00. I still work for them.’Trinny frowned. ‘I could have sworn it was you.’Susan shook her head and interlocked her arm around Stich’s. ‘It must have been someone else. Look, Trinny,’ she said, checking her watch, ‘I really must dash, I’ve got a lot to get through this afternoon. How about you give me your number and I’ll call you.’‘Sure,’ said Trinny, fishing out a card from her pocket and handing it over. ‘That’s a direct line. I’m free most lunchtimes, or evenings if you’d rather. We’ve got a lot of catching up to do.’‘Give me a week or so.’ Susan pulled on Stich’s arm.‘Speak soon, huh?’* * *‘Guess who else works at Moorcroft?’ asked Stich, shaking the umbrella as they reached the stone forecourt outside Liverpool Street tube station.‘Surprise me.’‘Mags.’Susan didn’t respond.‘Magenta Rosti. I saw Ethan’s mum today.’He guided her away from the main drag towards the perspex barrier edging the gallery above the main concourse.‘Stich, I know who Mags is.’‘Small world.’‘I suppose so. Now, you’ll be at Holborn at 5.00?’‘Of course.’‘Okay, baby,’ she said kissing him on his cheek. ‘I’ll see you then.’5The road was mid-afternoon quiet. The only slight disturbance to this ideal was Alice. Stich’s young daughter was refusing to get in the back of the car. Apparently, it was much more fun being at the front with her dad. She was old enough to know her own mind too. At the grand age of four and a half, she brought all her experience to bear. Stich opted for a stand off and waited, hands on hips, trying to look stern. She looked at him though teary blue eyes, a teddy clasped to her chest. Every now and then, she pushed a strand of her dark, wavy hair away from her face, and pulled at her white socks.‘You can get in the front with me when you’re six,’ he said after a minute of silence. ‘It’s not safe yet. You’re too small.’She wriggled about a bit on the pavement and shifted the position of the teddy.‘So, are you getting in the back or not?’ Stich asked.‘I need to go toilet,’ she said.‘You’ve just been.’She wiped her nose with her hand. ‘I need to go.’‘I don’t believe you.’Alice gazed off into the distance and feigned disinterest. A stalling tactic.The ball was very much in Stich’s court. He decided to take action. ‘Okay, that’s enough. This is not a debate,’ he said, reaching forwards. He picked her up and got the back door open. She started crying immediately. Stich strapped her into the child seat, closed the back door and got into the front. He shut his eyes and tried to ignore the screams.They were well on the motorway before the crying stopped and she drifted off to sleep. Stich kept a careful eye on her in the rear view mirror; her face calm now; maybe a touch of redness around her eyes where she had been rubbing them. She looked beautiful, though; God, she was so like her mother. For a moment Stich wondered about her – where she was, what kind of life she was living. Then he stopped himself. He had gone down that road too many times in the past. It did no good. He had a new life now. A life he was building for him and Alice.Susan was a big part of that.‘Don’t wake her,’ Loni said as Stich fished Alice out of the back seat and carried her into the bungalow Loni had lived in for thirty years.‘But she won’t know I’ve gone.’‘That’s okay. If she wakes now, she’ll cry when you leave.’Stich laid Alice on the sofa and Loni covered her with a duvet. She didn’t open her eyes once. He bent down and kissed her on the forehead. ‘I’ve left a change of clothes in the bag,’ he said. ‘Her teddy’s in there too.’‘Don’t you worry about any of that,’ Loni replied. ‘I’ll find everything.’He smiled. ‘I know.’* * *Stich arrived dead on 5.00 despite a snarl-up on Marylebone and Euston Road. Susan was waiting on the stairs of the Immteck building sheltering from the rain, a Barbour jacket fastened up to her chin, the collar pulled high.She seemed small and vulnerable as she stood; timid even.A captive bird.Stich hopped out, threw the carry-on into the boot while Susan strapped up in front.Still and compliant. All the while its heart beating out of control.What made him think that?‘Did you drop Alice off okay?’ Susan asked as Stich fired the engine.He nodded. ‘She was sleeping when I left.’They began a two-hour M4 drive – much of it spent on the brakes – that meant it was pitch black when they made the grass ridge overlooking Maxi’s place. About ten miles west of Bristol, Lansdowne Farm was set on the edge of a patchwork of land that was currently being pummelled by streaks of rainwater. Stich heard thunder in the distance as he looked down from Lansdowne Hill towards the farmhouse below.‘Childhood memories?’Susan turned to him. ‘Something like that.’ She ducked under his umbrella. ‘I was thinking about my dad. We travelled down here on the train the first time I came. Uncle Maxi met us at the station and presented me with a bike. It looked like a small BMX with stabilisers. I’d never been so excited. Dad wouldn’t recognise Maxi as the same man now.’‘He means a lot to you, doesn’t he?’‘Uncle Maxi was the reason I got interested in science. His company had patented a technology that led to the very first home testing kits.’‘Testing kits?’‘You know, to see if you were pregnant. He talked to me like I was an adult. I loved that.’Stich pulled her closer. ‘What time’s he expecting us?’‘Depends if he’s picked up the phone messages I’ve left him.’‘Well, the lights are on so someone’s in. Come on, let’s go.’‘Give me a minute,’ she said, pulling an orange envelope from inside her jacket. ‘I need to send this.’‘Anyone I know?’She shook her head. ‘A girlfriend in a lab out in Strasbourg. She’s just published. I’m sending my regards.’‘Here, take this,’ he said, offering the umbrella.He got back in the car while she strode towards a solitary post-box by the roadside. Watching her through the rain, the light from the headlamps illuminating her face, Stich realised she was right. They did need to get away. These couple of days would be good for both of them.Once she was back in the seat next to him he gunned the car forwards, steering down an unmade road to the farmhouse. The potholes jerked them along until they reached the shingle nearer the house, which crackled reassuringly as they pulled up in the driveway. He killed the engine. Susan leaned back in her seat and closed her eyes.‘Peaceful?’She nodded.‘Luggage now or later?’ Stich asked.‘Later.’ She slammed the car door and called over her shoulder, ‘Let’s go round the back.’Susan always did this when she visited Maxi. As a child, she would tap on the French windows at the back of his place to signal her arrival. It was their secret code, one that continued into adulthood.The farmhouse was rustic. Brick built, sprawling with white rendering and straw-coloured roof tiles. At the back it was mostly glazed. They peered into the study. The heat from inside had misted the glass and Susan rubbed the outside to clear it. She cupped her hands over her eyes.‘He’s sleeping,’ she whispered.Stich scanned the room. ‘Where?’‘On the leather chair.’He could just make out the swivel chair. It was turned away from them, but there was no mistaking the back of Maxi’s head resting on it.‘I’ll tap gently,’ she said, ‘I don’t want to frighten him.’Stich looked past the chair to the bookcase. He could see movement in the darkness.‘Hold it, Susan, there’s someone else with him.’She frowned. ‘Where? I don’t see anyone.’Stich squinted. ‘Yeah, there is, over by the bookcase.’Susan pushed her face right up to the glass. ‘Is he talking?’Stich nodded. Maxi did seem to be talking to someone on the other side of the desk. Suddenly he became animated, his arms gesticulating.A man stepped into view. Tall and lean, wearing a pair of steel flexi-rim glasses.‘Told you,’ Stich whispered. ‘You recognise him?’She shook her head. ‘He can’t be a local or I’d know him.’Maxi leaned forward as if to make a point, only for his body to jolt. The scream from Susan echoed in Stich’s ears. She stood staring through the glass, transfixed. Automatically Stitch turned to check behind him. Then Susan screamed again, this time Stich’s name. There was some movement and he caught sight of Maxi slumped forward in his chair.The phone! Susan had a mobile. Police … She fumbled in her pockets, got the phone out and he grabbed it from her just as his world imploded.‘No!’ The word roared from his mouth as the glass shattered. Susan fell backwards. Stich reached for her. ‘Susan!’Her head rocked away from him. He grabbed her, pulling her close. Susan’s face looked startled, as if caught in a camera flashlight. In an instant, the image seared itself onto his mind: eyes closed, a strand of hair on her forehead, the dark, perfectly circumscribed puncture in her chest, and a steady stream of blood.She was dead. The horror propelled him and he turned quickly, taking her with him, crouching low without thinking. From the corner of his eye he caught movement a few feet away from the window. There was a sharp crack of broken glass and Stich felt a searing sensation in his thigh. He managed a couple of strides before a white-hot pain burst through his leg. Stich gasped and stumbled forwards. Susan fell away from him, out of reach. There was no way he could make it to the car now. In the darkness he could see a small wooden building perhaps twenty metres away. He pushed himself towards it.Someone was through the French doors – Stich could hear the commotion behind him. His senses hyped to fever pitch now, his need to get away as desperate as anything he had ever felt in his life. He looked over his shoulder. The killer was striding forwards, right arm raised. Stich knew what was coming. He hurled himself through the open entrance of the building, expecting the second impact. There was the spit of the silencer but no pain. The bullet had missed.The building was crammed full: tables, plants, forks, pots … Stich crawled into the farthest corner and waited, his clothes sodden with instant sweat. He could hear his own breath, rapid and shallow. The killer’s was deep and measured. Stich heard it clearly as he came in. From his crouched position, he could see him moving slowly, picking his way. Stich pushed himself deeper into the corner, willing the killer to leave, to give up the chase and go back to the house.But he didn’t. He kept coming.To Stich’s right, a huge pane of glass formed much of the back wall and beyond that lay the gardens. Maxi must have stood here a thousand times, tinkering with plants, potting up seedlings and enjoying the view. Up on his haunches now, he inched towards the window. He could hear the killer’s breath, maybe ten metres from where he had hidden. Stich eased forwards, brushing a rickety, wooden table, knocking over some coffee jars. The noise smashed through the quiet. He tucked his chin to his chest and charged forwards, ignoring the pain. There was the explosion of splintered fragments as he crashed through the glass – and then the pant-pant of his breath as he emerged on the other side. He moved without thought as to where he was going, no longer sure where the killer was, all the time waiting for the shot.A fence rose up, and then uneven ground which gave way to nothing. He plunged downwards, his legs instinctively trying to find footing. His shoulder slammed into something hard – and then he was rolling. It seemed to go on forever. The last thing he felt was the water.6On the fourth floor of the Immteck Pharmaceutical building near Holborn, Clive Rand had completed a third inspection of the band of DNA on his electrophoresis gel. Its molecular weight was far heavier than those in the earlier samples. He hunched over his lab bench as the display on the PCR machine signalled another completed cycle of DNA amplification. The spray from two desk lamps clamped over his pod formed a pair of rich, white-light puddles illuminating a bench now littered with used and discarded eppidorfs, pipette nozzles, bits of purification kit, and gel slices. All of it a testament to the volume of work he had got through these past few hours. He had performed this run half a dozen times already and still couldn’t believe the result. Clive glanced at the timer display: he had five minutes before amplification was complete. After that, he would run the samples through a gel and see what he had.Who was he kidding? He already knew. It was a fluke, really. He had been using a genetic probe to isolate DNA from the tumor biopsies taken from Krenthol trial patients. This was a routine lab procedure and the results had always been consistent.Until last night, that is.Since then he had not left the lab. What had changed? He went through the scenario once again. He had used the same procedure, same equipment, same probe, same reagents, same … same probe?Clive left his seat and went to the refrigerator. The opaque tube that held his probe looked like a thousand others. He studied it closely, and then, as the top caught the light, he noticed something he hadn’t seen before. The word, Tum-8, was scribbled on the lid in felt pen. Clive was always meticulous when it came to labelling his work. Someone else had done this. Where was the probe he had been using before?He went back to his seat still holding the tube in his fingers, turning it over, inspecting the fluid. Clearly someone meant him to get this new result. His old probe would never have found the heavier band of DNA. It wasn’t designed to.Then it hit him.‘Susan!’ Clive swivelled his seat, yanked out his desk drawer and flipped through his diary. He sprinted through the lab to the communal phone in the centrifuge room, found the page with her number and punched it in.‘Come on … come on.’ Clive tapped his hand on the desk and waited for her to pick up. The message service kicked in and he listened to the cheerful greeting: ‘Hi, this is Sue Harrison. I can’t take your call just now but if you leave your name and number, I’ll get back to you as soon as I can. Thanks!’He waited for the tone. ‘Susan. It’s me, Clive … You switched probes, didn’t you? I know about the viral DNA in these samples. And you do too … God, Susan, this is madness … Call me as soon as you get this – you’ve got my number.’ He rang off, looked up Susan’s home number and dialled it. Another answer service, and he left the same message, then grabbed his coat and exited the building.7It was the cold that brought Stich round into consciousness. Rain cut into the back of his neck. He was face down in dirt, mud in his mouth. Then the pain in his leg registered, sending waves of nausea through his gut. He tried to move and felt a dragging in his shoulder. He heard the sound of water rushing behind him and turned to see it flowing over his legs. His head and arms were propped against a bank, raised up above the water level. Stich tried to get his bearings. Beyond the water, maybe a hundred metres away, there was woodland. Disorientated as he was, the place was still familiar. Then he remembered why. There was a ravine behind Maxi’s farmhouse. Reaching it meant a scramble through overgrown thickets and a lot of sloping ground. He must have fallen down it and into the river that ran along it towards the village. There was a plateau near the farmhouse with a great view of the ravine. On a sunny day it was beautiful. He had been up there a few times with Susan …Susan.His mind baulked at the memory. Was she at the hospital? Then he remembered. Slowly at first, then all too quickly. His face fell back into the dirt as tears ran down his cheeks.* * *Alice was crying and alone. Susan had gone and he couldn’t think where. Then the voice mocking him: ‘Take care of a child? Soon you won’t be able to take care of yourself …’He looked up and froze. The low light reflected off the water and picked out the wire frames of the killer. He stood like a spectre in the moonlight. Unable to move a muscle, Stich’s breathing accelerated, adrenaline flooding his system. Had he been seen? Stich watched mesmerised. The man was rooted to the spot, only his head turning from side to side.Stich glanced downstream. The bank of the river gave little, if any, cover. Upstream was certainly better. About twenty metres away was a small section where the bank was higher. There was a group of trees there that would give some chance of hiding. The closer he got, the faster and louder the water ran.As the bank got steeper, Stich lost sight of the killer. Whether this was a good thing or not, he didn’t know. Easing forwards, grabbing at handholds on the bank, he chanced a look. The man was standing almost above him, facing away looking downstream. Stich dipped out of sight and swung around to check how much distance he would have to cover to make the shadow of the trees. He eased himself into the river, grabbing hold of a rock wedged into the bank to help push him away from the danger. But it came free from the soil, knocking him off balance. The jolt of electricity through his leg sent him scrambling to stay in control, desperately grasping at handholds. It was no use and he fell fully into the water, the current pulling him away from the bank. He flailed around and tried to stabilize, praying that the sound of the falling rain and the rush of the river would mask the commotion.Instinctively, he got underwater and kicked. It was agonizingly slow. His soaked clothes, like an anchor, dragged him down. His heart now pounded so fast that he had to keep resurfacing for air. At one point he turned and thought he saw the man on the bank firing at him, but the image was so blurred by rainwater and fear that he couldn’t be sure. Swallowing water, he put his head under and swam.Finally the opposite bank came into sight. He snatched at some roots, but they came away in his hand and sent him drifting. Again he lunged forward, this time finding a hold. Clawing at the dirt, Stich pulled himself free.Once on his feet, he staggered into the woodland, hoping it would swallow him up. At first Stich headed for the village but soon lost his bearings. Certain the killer was following, he took to checking behind himself every few metres, staring into darkness; leaves and twigs cracking underfoot as he surged forwards; branches brushing his face, cutting his skin. Then, uneven ground where he lost his balance and fell.A face loomed in front of his and grabbed him.That’s when he passed out.8Clive could hear the landline ringing as he struggled to get the key in the lock. He’d left the Immteck lab forty-five minutes ago, stopped to get groceries and was now failing to balance the bags while opening the door.The switching of the probes changed everything. It was all sham – five fucking years of work down the toilet. He’d driven around the block dozens of times trying to understand.This wasn’t an in-house matter, that was for sure. It was much bigger than that. He pushed open the door as the ringing stopped.‘Shit.’Maybe that was Susan calling him back. God, he needed to speak to her – there must be a reason for all this. Clive smelt something as he stepped into the hallway. What was it? Cologne perhaps? He dumped the bags, moved into the lounge and reached for the light switch.If this thing got out, Jesus, it would be chaos. Lights on, he stopped mid-thought.A man in a blue sports jacket was perched on the sofa that once belonged to Clive’s grandma. Another man – square bodied and black – was slouched on an upright chair by the dining-room table. Both of them glanced at Clive with a vague disinterest.Clive froze. He’d never seen either of them before. Nor had he been burgled before. The man on the sofa sat peeling an orange. How much had they taken? He took a step backwards. ‘What are you doing in my home?’ he heard himself say.The black man got to his feet and without warning smacked Clive in the mouth. Clive reeled backwards and crashed against an up light by the wall. The glass shade shattered at once. If there was pain, Clive didn’t feel it – the shock had numbed all sensation – but he held his face anyway, and stared at his assailant through his fingers in horror.The intruders looked back at Clive casually as if they were regarding a curiosity in a museum. Clive felt a spurt of urine escape into his pants. The man smacked him again. This time Clive’s nose gave way and the shock could no longer hold the pain. Blood poured.The other man stirred. ‘I’ve taken an orange from your fruit bowl, Clive. Is that okay?’Clive crouched, staring unfocused at the carpet. He could make out a red puddle forming at his feet. As blood trickled down the back of his throat, he coughed. His bladder emptied itself steadily now, as his dignity faded. The urine was surprisingly warm.The man with the orange crouched next to him and cocked his head sideways for a moment. ‘Okay, Clive, tell us what you know.’Clive heard the voice from far away.‘Why did you call Susan Harrison this afternoon?’‘Susan?’ Clive whispered.‘Yes, why did you call her?’Clive’s brain tried to make sense of what was happening.The man watched him. ‘I’m waiting.’Clive coughed again and blood trickled out of his mouth. ‘I was using some probes …’The man nodded.‘ … and I thought she might tell me something about them.’‘What did you think she might tell you?’‘They changed … I mean … I think they were switched and I got a result I didn’t expect.’‘Go on.’‘I thought Susan might know why.’‘What result did you get, Clive?’Clive opened his mouth to speak but all that emerged was a white, bitter tasting liquid that dribbled onto his chin. His interrogator winced. Clive spat it out. ‘I found something that shouldn’t have been there.’‘Which was?’‘It’s difficult to explain,’ Clive stammered between breaths, ‘unless you know about biological science.’‘Try me.’‘There are virus proteins in all my samples.’‘So what?’Clive’s eyes darted quickly between his tormentors. ‘My samples are tumour biopsies from a clinical trial on a drug called Krenthol.’‘So?’‘The viral proteins shouldn’t have been there,’ said Clive. ‘They are unique to the 3f7 viral vector we use in biological research. To find 3f7 proteins in every sample means only one thing.’‘And what’s that, Clive?’ the man asked softly.Clive hesitated. ‘Will you leave me alone after I’ve told you?’‘That depends on what it means.’‘It means the tumours suffered by the patients on the Krenthol trials are not natural. They have been deliberately introduced using the 3f7 vector.’The man narrowed his eyes. ‘Have you told anyone else about this?’Clive shook his head. ‘Of course not, I’ve only just realised it myself.’The man set the orange on the floor, and looked to his companion who immediately tossed over a faded Nike sports bag. Unzipping it quickly, he pulled out a brown bottle. He unscrewed the lid and turned it around to face Clive.‘Being a scientist, you should recognise this.’He did. The yellow label with the skull and crossbones. Hazardous Material and HCl scrawled across it.‘Recognise the smell?’ He wafted the top of the bottle under Clive’s nose. The pungent odour registered straight off. As nonchalantly as he’d produced the bottle, the man took out a pair of latex gloves and a hypodermic needle. He pulled on the gloves, dipped the needle into the acid and drew up a syringe full.Clive watched as the man – for no reason he could think of – held the syringe up to the light and flicked at it twice.It had the desired effect.‘What are you going to do?’The man ignored the question, grabbed Clive’s forearm and sank the needle deep into a vein.Clive screamed. ‘For Christ’s sake …’‘Do you have any idea what this acid will do to your insides if I press the plunger?’Clive knew exactly. Internal burning, glycolysis shutdown, massive cell apoptosis, then – and only then – death. He began to struggle. The black man strolled over and knelt on Clive’s chest to hold him still.‘Now, I’m going to ask you again, Clive. Who else have you told about these probes?’‘I swear I’ve told no one,’ he sobbed.The man studied Clive’s face as if searching for something – anguish, desperate fear, and finally the truth.He nodded, clearly satisfied. ‘I believe you,’ he said. Then depressed the plunger.9Stich awoke and saw light glimmer off a thin metallic strip. Another flash as it moved and then he knew why. It came from a pair of glasses worn by the man leaning over him. He jerked upwards.Stich felt the man’s hand on his chest. ‘It’s all right, settle down.’He heard him but it didn’t register.‘You’re in hospital. Do you understand?’Stich squinted into his face, the man’s features slowly coming into focus. It wasn’t the killer. This guy was bald and overweight.‘Hospital? How?’‘Don’t worry how. Just rest.’Stich settled and became aware of the throbbing in his skull.The bald guy smiled and nodded at him. ‘I’m Dr Sharp and this is my colleague, Dr Silvan.’ He gestured towards a man Stich hadn’t seen at first.‘Hello, David,’ the second man said, rubbing the lapel of his white coat.‘How do you know my name?’ Stich asked.Dr Sharp gestured behind him to the other side of the room. Apart from the bed on which Stich was propped, and a chipped laminate overtable pushed next to it, there was a closet and a sink with a Cutane hand sanitiser above it. Nothing else. ‘Your ID was in your clothes. You had a nasty laceration on your leg.’Stich reached down to feel his thigh. A bandage bulked it out.‘You’re lucky – the femur hasn’t been damaged. You’ve lost some blood, though.’Stich rubbed his temples. ‘How long have I been here?’Dr Sharp looked at his watch. ‘An hour. A hiker found you lying in woodland a few miles from here.’Stich’s head was now hammering.‘David, what happened to you tonight?’He shook his head, trying to release the fog that packed it. They waited, watching him. The pain made him want to vomit.‘Drink some water,’ said Dr Sharp, pouring from a jug at the overtable.Stich took a few mouthfuls.‘Try and drink more,’ he said.He finished the glass.‘Okay?’Stich wiped his hand across his mouth. ‘Better.’Susan getting out of the car outside Maxi’s, knocking on the window around the back. The gun, the glass shattering, the ravine. Then other memories from the past. A mask enveloping Stich’s face, grinding downwards like a lemon-half over a squeezer. Razor blades nicking his throat, choking off the air. He stumbled over the words. ‘My Susan … she was murdered.’He saw the two men exchange glances.‘I couldn’t stop it,’ he said, attempting to convince them he’d tried.There was silence. Stich could smell antiseptic.‘I was shot,’ he said.They nodded in unison. ‘We know,’ said Dr Silvan. ‘The laceration to your leg is quite distinctive. Thankfully, we don’t see too many bullet wounds here – so when we do, they tend to stand out. You’re lucky it’s only superficial. The bullet passed straight through.’Dr Sharp cleared his throat. ‘Who’s Susan, David?’‘My fiancée.’‘And who shot you?’‘The arsehole who shot Susan turned the gun on me. I managed to escape. He was chasing me. I ended up in a river.’‘I see.’ He said it as though he didn’t see at all.Stich felt alone. ‘When can I go?’ he asked.‘I’d rather you stayed,’ said Dr Sharp. ‘We want to keep an eye on you …’ He glanced at his colleague again. ‘Besides, there’s someone who wants to talk to you.’Stich sat up. ‘Who?’He moved closer. ‘It’s okay. We had to inform the police when you were brought in – it’s standard procedure for injuries like yours. He’s here to ask you a few questions.’‘The police?’ Stich felt a contraction in his chest.‘Is there anyone you want us to contact to let them know you’re here?’Stich thought of Alice. She would be in bed by now, Loni probably sitting up watching Holby City. What was he to tell them? I’ve been shot and Susan is dead. How could he explain what he didn’t understand himself?‘No,’ he said. ‘There’s no one.’Sharp nodded. ‘Are you hungry?’‘No.’‘In pain?’‘My head hurts like hell.’‘I’ll get some painkillers,’ said Silvan, moving towards the door. ‘Are you allergic to Paracetamol?’Stich shook his head.‘I’ll be back in a few minutes.’A nurse came with a couple of pills in a plastic cup. Stich took both of them with a few swallows of water.‘Can I get you anything else?’ she asked.He pinched the bridge of his nose. ‘Thanks, I’m okay.’When Dr Silvan came back he had someone with him. ‘David, this is Detective Willis,’ he said.The man nodded. ‘Okay if I perch on the bed?’‘Go ahead.’Willis’s suit was Primark and faded from too many wears. As he adjusted his tie and extended his hand, he blinked half a dozen times. His grasp was surprisingly firm.‘We’ll leave you two alone for a while,’ said Dr Sharp.Willis carried a small notebook. ‘You feel all right?’Stich propped himself against a criss-cross of pillows and nodded.‘You know why I’m here?’ Willis asked.‘I can guess,’ Stich said.‘Okay, let’s go over some facts. You were brought in at 7.45 this evening. A bullet apparently caused your injury. You were groggy, semi-conscious and incoherent. Remember any of that?’ He looked up from the notebook.Stich watched the single fluorescent tube clinging to the ceiling. ‘Not really.’‘A couple of times you screamed out and struggled. You were pretty much out of control. What happened?’Stich told him. Willis listened, taking notes until Stich talked himself out. For a little while after, he continued writing. Stich watched him. There were no outward signs of shock. Routine for him, Stich supposed.‘You’ve told me what happened but you’ve not made any mention of why,’ said Willis eventually. ‘Do you or Susan have enemies? Someone prepared to go to these lengths to harm you?’‘No, of course not.’‘You’re a chiropractor, am I right?’‘Yes.’‘And you see lots of patients?’‘Yes.’‘Any of them ever got close to you?’‘I’m sorry?’‘Any of them …’ he searched for the words ‘… ever been infatuated with you?’‘Infatuated?’‘It does happen.’‘No.’‘And what about …’ he checked his notebook, ‘… Maxi? Any idea why he’s mixed up in this?’‘None at all.’‘You said he was Susan’s uncle.’‘She called him that. He was her late father’s friend.’‘And he was shot just before Susan?’‘Yes.’Willis flipped some pages. ‘After you fell down the ravine, the man with the gun went to a lot of trouble to follow you. That was risky for him. Why do you think he did that?’Stich shrugged. ‘No doubt to finish me off.’‘I’m sure … but why?’‘How the hell should I know?’ said Stich, raising his voice. ‘Aren’t you supposed to work that out?’‘You said Susan was killed. Did you check her vital signs to confirm this?’‘No, of course I didn’t. I had a man with a gun all over me.’‘So you can’t be sure she was dead.’‘There’s no way she could have survived,’ he said softly.‘So when I ask my team to go to the house, there will be a murder scene awaiting us?’‘Yes,’ Stich whispered.‘Then there’s nothing more to do here.’He flipped the notebook shut and looked up.‘Is that it?’ Stich asked.‘For the moment.’‘So, what do you think?’Willis clasped his hands and dropped them in his lap. ‘It’s a disturbing story.’‘But do you believe me?’‘Not important,’ he said, standing up.‘This man,’ Stich asked. ‘Is he familiar to you? I mean, do you recognise the description?’‘No.’‘Are you going up to the house right now?’Willis stood up. ‘Yes, right now.’‘What should I do?’‘Stay here. The doctor tells me you need to rest, so I suggest you do that.’ He heaved himself off the bed and walked towards the door. ‘I’ll leave one of my officers outside the room,’ he said over his shoulder.‘What for?’‘Just routine. A standard precaution, that’s all.’‘Am I under arrest?’‘No, but we’ll need to talk again.’10Stich glanced around for a phone and then he remembered Susan’s mobile. The one he had snatched from her just after Maxi was shot. Stich swung his legs out of the bed and put his weight on his injured leg for the first time. It hurt, but not as much as he’d expected. Just a dull ache. He could cope with that.Stich’s jacket was hanging in the closet in the corner of the room. Neatly stored away, two buttons fastened over the hanger. Below this, his trousers were scrunched in a ball, wet and muddy. He found the rosary beads that Susan had given him when they first met, damp and soiled. Stich cleaned them as best he could, and started flipping each bead in turn. Susan had been to Rome on an immunology conference a few years back and had presented one rosary to Alice and one to him when she got back. The vendor told her that the Pope, himself, had blessed them. Alice’s hung above her bed. Stich kept his with him. The beads were something to hold on to. ‘… Soon you won’t be able to care for yourself …’Stich turned his attention back to his jacket. He went through the pockets and, sure enough, Susan’s phone was there, but it was dead. The swim in the river had seen to that. He popped open the back, and used his pyjama top to absorb the damp but it was no use. Then he remembered an article he’d read on the internet.The door opened. ‘Everything okay?’ asked the nurse. Stich held up the phone. ‘Can I get some rice?’It took forty-five minutes of complete submersion in a bowl of rice for Susan’s phone to be sufficiently free of moisture to power up. When it did fire the voice mail light was flashing. He keyed in and listened to a message from a man named Clive. His voice was tight and laced with emotion. Something about probes. Susan rarely talked about her work away from the lab – Stich didn’t understand most of it anyway. Now he wished he’d taken more notice. He replayed the message a couple more times. This guy was upset about something. He pressed the call back option but it went to voicemail. Stich left a message acknowledging the call and hung up. Then he searched through Susan’s address book for Vicky White’s number.* * *They had met at school – Vicky White and Stich – year one, day one. He didn’t like her at first. At six years old he didn’t like any girls. But that changed after a couple of the older boys decided to slap him around in the playground one afternoon. Out of nowhere, Vicky appeared. She’d steamed in, arms flailing, catching a couple of shots for her trouble too. Afterwards she had brushed her hands on her skirt and wiped a sleeve across her bloody nose. Stich stared at her, awestruck.‘You’re bleeding,’ he whispered.‘That’s okay,’ she said.‘Aren’t you going to cry?’ he asked.She shook her head. ‘I don’t think so.’That was it for Stich – he was hooked. They hung around together during primary school, went to secondary and finally applied to the same university. There was a time when they might have dated, but neither of them wanted to ruin what they’d taken their whole lives to build up. Years later – after his marriage broke up – Vicky told Stich about the beautiful scientist she was working with. She set up the date with Susan for him.What was he to tell her now?11Vicky White had ridden in a Bentley on a few occasions, but this one was the best yet. Cream leather interior, a fully stocked drinks cabinet, and two flat screen TVs. She’d been sipping a Buck’s Fizz and following a London Today news item about Moorcroft on the main screen. The man heading the investigation was fending off questions from an over-zealous press corp. A shift worker had discovered the body in the early hours, he said. They kept asking him about a CCTV camera nearby. Could it have picked up the crime? His answers were non-committal and bland. The news piece cut to the reporter. Young man, Richard Hart … Vicky tried to think. The name was familiar … Lab technician working for Moorcroft, beaten to death …The Bentley pulled to a stop and the driver got out. Vicky flicked the TV off as the rear car door opened for her. She swivelled her slender, Veet-smooth legs onto the forecourt of the imposing Bridge Hotel, and strode towards the entrance. A small crowd formed, most of them Immteck people, arriving for the ball, their chatter and easy laughter drifting towards her. Once inside, a crimson lake of carpet stretched towards two ornate staircases at the far end of the lobby leading to the function rooms. She followed the Immteck people, who were ascending the left one towards the Cadogan Suite. On a gallery, people milled around as waiters proferred champagne from crystal flutes on silver trays. From inside the suite came the sound of light jazz. Elegant and sophisticated. Vicky had come to expect nothing less of a Laurence Tench gathering. She took a drink from a tray, went into the suite and looked for someone she recognised.‘Victoria!’She turned to see the smiling face of Roy Burman and groaned inwardly. He worked along the corridor from her. Originally a developmental biologist, Roy had come to Immteck two years before to study proto-oncogenes and their part in the development of cancer. He peered at her through thick lenses that made his eyes look too large for his face.Vicky forced a smile. ‘Hi, Roy, didn’t expect to see you here.’He frowned. ‘And why not?’She knew Roy barely permitted himself toilet breaks in case it prevented progression of his work. Luxuries like eating and drinking were tedious essentials only. She shook her head. ‘Oh, no reason, I thought someone mentioned you weren’t coming, that’s all.’‘Well, they were wrong. I’m here and enjoying myself.’ He rested a glass of orange juice against his chest. ‘I haven’t seen you in my lab for a while – are you avoiding me?’‘I’ve just been so busy,’ she shrugged.‘Well, I’ve got some interesting results using a knockout mouse. I thought you might like to see them – over coffee, perhaps?’It was last thing she wanted to do. ‘Sounds good!’‘Really? Great! We could run over the complete cycle of data – next Wednesday if you’re free?’‘Sure.’They stood in awkward silence. Vicky desperately tried to think of something else to say. Then she was saved.‘Ladies and gentlemen.’Through the sound system, the voice reverberated around the room. Vicky knew its owner and spun around to face the dais. A hush fell on the room and Laurence Tench stared out at his guests. As the last of the talking died, he pushed a hand through his hair. Vicky noted the long fingers, her skin goosefleshing. He grinned, the whiteness of his teeth sharply defined against his tan. ‘Ladies and gentlemen. Friends, business partners …?all of you! Thank you so much for coming this evening – it means such a lot to me personally, to Immteck, and, of course, to the charity which will benefit from this event – The Lauren Tench Research Fund.’There was applause.‘I’ll keep this brief – I know you haven’t come here to listen to me!’The crowd laughed. ‘We don’t mind!’ someone shouted.‘You all know why we have these events – the bottom line is to help kids with cancer … to help anyone with cancer, but particularly the kids.’There was a lot of head nodding as the dinner jacket and ball gown crowd exploded into more applause. Tench stood back from the mic for a couple of beats, giving space for it all, before lifting his hand.‘It’s been a great year for Immteck – most of you have heard about the Krenthol drug trials. They’re ongoing, so I can’t tell you much except that we’re on track, near to licensing and so close to the time when we can start production!’A cheer went up from the back of the hall.‘The success this year has been phenomenal and it’s all down to the scientists, technicians, research students, admin staff – everyone at Immteck. You lot really are the best in the world!’There was more cheering, the applause turning into a football style handclap. Tench joined in the clapping, a maestro conducting his orchestra.Vicky watched him work the room. He was an enigma really – officially from humble beginnings. His father had some sort of admin job, his mother was a nursery teacher. Whether there was money in his family, some rich relative that set him on his way, was a topic of debate. Tench, ever mindful of the PR, guarded his version of events fiercely. One that was an inspiring tale of poor lad makes good: a scholarship to Cambridge where he got a first, then a position in the city at Goldman Sachs where he carved a career in private wealth management, before going out alone. His first private acquisition was a small, cash starved pharmaceutical company making pregnancy testing kits. Tench dismantled the existing infrastructure and management, and then turned it around. By year three, turnover was at sixty million. After that, he went on to acquire more companies in the drug related sector, all of them distressed and in need of a saviour. Among the first to realise the potential of gene manipulation and the prospect for a new generation of drugs, he had bought Immteck.Vicky remembered his visit to Durham when she was in her final year. He’d talked to the science students about the biotech industry. Passionate and articulate, he had made biotechnology come alive, reminding her why she wanted to study it in the first place. That very afternoon, she’d decided to join Immteck after graduation. She wasn’t disappointed. Tumour immunology was starting to happen and she was now a part of it. The buzz about the place since news of the successful Krenthol trial had been leaked was huge.The room quietened again as Tench got to the crux of his speech. It would centre of course, around his beloved daughter, Lauren. There was real emotion on display now – up close and personal. His heart ached for Lauren. Many in the audience were parents themselves. Some of the special guests had lost children to cancer; others had children who had recovered from cancer, often because of protocols developed by Immteck. They understood Tench’s pain and he understood theirs. Lauren Tench had died of leukemia at four years old. That was ten years ago now, but evidently the pain was as raw as the first day. So new it seemed to claw at him.‘My darling baby,’ he stumbled, ‘you were the most precious gift in the whole world. Not a single day …’ His voice began to crack. ‘Not a single day passes …’ he fiddled with the mic, visibly trying to get control, ‘… when I don’t wonder how your life might have turned out … what type of person you would be now.’ He searched the floor. ‘I love you so much,’ he whispered.The crowd was frozen. Tench moved slowly to the back of the dais and then lifted his head to face the room. ‘No parent should have to face this. Let us do all we can to prevent it happening again.’He stepped from the dais into the arms of his wife. The applause rippled at first before growing to a roar. Tench composed himself and turned back to his audience, who responded with whistles and cheers. A group at the back began banging on tables. Soon everyone was doing it. Tench passed through the throng shaking hands, patting backs. A nod here, a comment there. He knew employees’ names, and those of their spouses and children. It was as if he had something for everyone. Vicky was swept aside by the crowd as Tench moved forwards, but he spotted her and made a beeline in her direction.‘Vicky, you look fantastic!’ he boomed.She almost curtseyed. ‘Thank you, thank you very much.’‘How’s your antigen 8 work coming?’‘Very good, it’s coming on well.’ Small talk – he knew exactly how it was doing – but she gushed anyway.‘You guys are doing a great job. Keep it up.’He moved past and took a man’s hand. ‘Hey, Dave! Thanks for coming. How’s Claire? She’s here … where? … There she is!’Vicky watched the back of him disappear and realised she still had a grin on her face. Jesus, it was like meeting royalty.‘You look star struck, Victoria.’ Roy was still clutching his orange juice.She straightened up. ‘Well, he’s a great guy.’‘I think you’re smitten.’‘Don’t be ridiculous!’Roy held his arms up. ‘I was only teasing.’She felt herself blush and decided to change the subject. ‘I was looking for Clive. Have you seen him?’Roy scanned the room. ‘Not tonight, I haven’t. Though I talked to him late this afternoon.’ He waggled a finger. ‘Said he may not come.’‘Not come? Why?’‘He was pretty worked up – said his work had taken a strange turn.’She frowned.‘Bad day, I think,’ said Roy.Before Vicky could think about this, her phone went off. She answered on the second ring.‘Susan!’The line was quiet at first. Then, ‘Vicky, it’s Stich.’‘Stich? I can’t hear you … Hold it, I’ll get away from the noise.’ She moved to an alcove. ‘Okay, that’s better. How’s it going down there?’‘Not good.’‘What?’‘I’m … it’s bad, Vick.’‘Stich, you okay?’‘She’s gone.’‘Gone? What’re you talking about?’‘It’s Susan,’ he said.‘Is she okay?’‘She’s dead.’ There were sobs.‘Stich, talk to me slowly.’He tried. She got most of it. ‘And you’re at what hospital now?’‘Keynsham. Vick, I don’t expect you to come down here. I just wanted to talk to you, that’s all.’‘Don’t be stupid. I’m on my way. Wait for me.’12Inside the modest family home, Ed Connor was wrestling with a dickie bow after swapping the sports jacket he’d worn at Clive Rand’s flat for a dinner suit. As he had almost tied it, the phone in the hall went. He stepped over his kids playing on the floor and reached for it.‘Hello.’‘It’s Western.’‘Hold it.’ Ed placed his hand over the receiver and looked down at Lizzie, his youngest, who was tugging at his trousers. ‘What is it, babe?’ he asked.She mumbled something and showed him a dolly.He smiled. ‘I know, she’s gorgeous.’Lizzie stared up at him. He crouched down and fondled her hair. ‘You go and play and I’ll come in a minute.’ He spoke into the receiver. ‘You’re in a pay phone?’‘Yes.’‘Okay, go on.’‘We’ve got a problem,’ said Western.‘Oh?’‘One got away.’‘Which one?’‘The boyfriend.’‘Can you find him?’‘I think so.’‘Okay, do it. What about the house?’‘It’s clean,’ said Western. ‘The full service.’‘Good. Call when you’re done with the boyfriend.’Ed hung up and went into the lounge. Lizzie was now on her mum’s lap. The other two, Danny and Dee, were watching TV. Ed smiled. This is how he wanted it to be. The money was starting to come in and he could ensure a better life for his family, for his kids. So they wouldn’t have to live the life he did. He straightened his collar in the glass above the fireplace.‘You off again?’ asked Tina.Ed kissed his wife on the forehead.‘You smell nice,’ she added.‘How do I look?’ Ed asked.‘Very smart,’ Tina smiled. ‘What time will you be back?’Ed looked at his watch. ‘I’ll see how it goes.’‘Well, be careful.’He winked at her. ‘Okay, kids, give Daddy a kiss.’‘Where you going, Dad?’ asked Danny.‘To a party.’‘Can we come?’Ed smiled. ‘Not tonight, Dan.’‘Will I be in bed when you get back?’‘Yes, you will. Now come on give me a kiss.’* * *Time passed slowly. He tried to sleep but it was useless. Eventually, Stich pulled on a robe he found hanging on the back of his room door. It was standard hospital issue, once white but now a sour cream from too many wearers. The leg was holding up pretty well, his shoulder too, all things considered. He opened the door and popped his head out. The inspector wasn’t kidding. A policeman was sitting on a chair opposite, elbows on knees, picking his teeth.Stich’s room was in some kind of cul-de-sac. There was more strip lighting, magnolia walls and the smell of disinfectant.‘Hello, David, I’m PC Stephen Reed. How’s your leg?’Stich rubbed the side of it instinctively. ‘Not so bad – hardly feel it, in fact.’He nodded. ‘Good.’‘It’s quiet here,’ Stich said.‘You’re in a private room well away from everything else.’‘I need to take a pee.’‘Of course.’ Reed stood up. ‘Have you brought that to help you go?’Stich still had Susan’s mobile clasped in his hand. ‘Oh, no, habit, that’s all,’ he said slipping it into the robe’s pocket.The officer smiled. ‘Follow me,’ and he led Stich down the empty corridor to the bathrooms. ‘I’ll wait for you back at the room.’Stich nodded.‘And, David? Please don’t spend too long – I’ll only have to come and find you.’‘You worried I might run?’He shook his head. ‘Not really. At least not dressed like that.’Stich looked down at the robe and his bare feet.Reed had a point.In the bathroom, he splashed his face with cold water and checked his reflection in the mirror. It wasn’t a pretty sight. He wondered how much the last few hours had aged him – five years? Ten? Susan would hardly recognise him. He was a long way from the man who drove to Cambridge to take her on their first date, her self-assurance only making him more tongue-tied. Then, when they kissed goodbye, her breath sweet like bubble gum.The door squeaked open, breaking the spell. An elderly patient, sporting a white crepe bandage over one side of his head nodded and went over to the line of urinals.As the door closed behind him, Stich’s body went cold at what he’d glimpsed. He dropped the paper towel, lunged at the door and frantically searched for a lock. There wasn’t one. ‘Shit, shit, shit …’Stich tried to get control. Think … Calm down and think …The killer was back. How? He edged open the door and stole a look. Nothing. In the bathroom the old man stared.Back in the hallway, the green linoleum stretched in either direction. Stich slipped out towards the corner of the corridor and the cul-de-sac with his room at the end. He could see the man with Reed. They were talking but Stich couldn’t make out what was being said. The killer nodded as if he understood what Reed was telling him. In one smooth movement, he pulled out a handgun, firing it at point-blank range into the policeman’s forehead. Reed rocked backwards. The killer replaced the gun as if he was putting away his wallet, pulled Reed from his seat and dragged him into Stich’s room. Stich reeled and staggered, jelly legs propelling him away from the danger.Images of the hospital flashed past him. He knocked into people, bounced off walls, tripped a couple of times, but hardly felt any of it. There were shouts, but no one tried to stop him as he lurched forwards. It wouldn’t have made much difference anyway. He was pumped so full of adrenaline that it would have taken a truck to bring him down. There was no plan, just a need to get away.Down one corridor, then another. The desperation was growing. Should he hide somewhere and wait? He came to a standstill, hands on hips, panting like a dog.‘Sir, can I help you?’ The voice came from behind him. A burly man in a white jacket, slacks and white trainers was pushing an elderly patient. Stich ignored him and began walking away.‘Sir?’He glanced behind and saw the man park the wheelchair and come after him. Stich sped up. Despite his leg, he was sure he could outrun him.‘Sir!’ The orderly’s footsteps were pounding the floor in pursuit.Stich broke into a sprint, arms pummelling the air.‘Sir!’Stich looked back over his shoulder to check for him once more – and then crashed into a solid mass. That truck he thought would be needed to stop him? It arrived, and hit him square on. It came in the form of a huge orderly who made his colleague behind Stich look like a delicate, frail thing. Stich fell forwards, rolled over in mid-air to avoid landing on his face and hit the floor at speed. He skated diagonally and clattered into something metallic. He lay dazed for a moment. The truck was up and upon him, quickly holding him down.‘Okay, my friend … Steady.’‘You all right, George?’ The footsteps of his colleague approached.George – the truck – said he was fine. ‘May need some restraints, though.’‘You got it.’George looked back down at Stich. ‘Calm down, now.’Calm down? There was an assassin with a gun upstairs! Stich had seen him kill at least three people since … when? He couldn’t remember. He kicked again.‘Hey! Stop struggling.’The metallic object that finally stopped him turned out to be a trolley. Stich could see it above him. Steel pots, buckets, and disinfectant stacked on it. Some pots with lids, others with paper towel covers. One of them, a few feet behind his head, was scalloped, smelt foul and gave him an idea.‘Can you understand me, sir?’ George spoke loudly as if Stich was hard-of-hearing. ‘We’re going to get you up.’‘Leave me alone, I’m fine.’‘I don’t want to use these,’ the other orderly said, raising the restraints and unclipping a walkie-talkie from his belt. Stich heard the crackle of static as he tried in vain to move from under the man’s bulk. He lifted his neck to look along the corridor.‘Look, I’ve said I’m fine, just let me go.’Where was the killer? This was wasting valuable time.A small crowd had gathered now. He could see the man with the walkie-talkie speaking to a nurse. The conversation went on for a minute before she disappeared, then reappeared some moments later with a young-looking medic. White coat, scrawny neck, and three biros clipped neatly into his breast pocket. There was a bit more chatter, then the orderly led them both towards Stich. The medic had a hypodermic needle in hand. ‘Okay, sir. Just hold still.’When the orderly restraining him looked over at his colleagues, Stich grabbed his chance. He yanked his arm free, reached over to the scalloped basin behind his head and pulled it off the trolley. The man noticed what was happening and tried to grab Stich’s arm, but he swung the basin wide and upwards, smashing it squarely into the man’s face. Its contents spilled over both of them, a soft, caramel- coloured soup of evil smelling shit. His face covered, the man leapt up yelling and clawing at his skin and clothes. The odour made Stich want to retch but he kicked backwards and scrambled to his feet.He was on the move again.Following the corridor, he took a flight of stairs, and then came to a door that opened into a storage area. Discarded frames, weighing machines, hoists, and other hospital detritus, filled it. Stich dived in and closed the door behind him. He was breathing deeply now which only made the smell from the shit-soiled robe worse. He yanked it off, fished out the mobile and the beads, and then tossed it into the corner.13The guard straightened his cotton tie and adjusted the collar on his brown Moorcroft Security uniform.Detective Inspector Terence Varcy pulled a cord on a set of horizontal blinds he normally kept tightly shut. They gaped open and a stream of light filled the room. He made himself comfortable at the table. ‘Coffee? Tea?’‘I’ve just had a tea,’ said the guard blinking against the sudden brightness.‘You mind if I do?’The guard shook his head.‘Tricky day for you,’ said Varcy, plopping a tea bag into a white mug and pouring in hot water.‘I’ve had better.’‘And somewhat crowded in your office when you arrived, I imagine.’‘I expected to see Mags, not half a dozen police officers.’Varcy peeled the lid from a small carton of semi-skimmed. ‘It must have been a shock. Tell me what happened.’‘They said a murder had taken place outside the building during the night and that Mags was helping them with their enquiries.’‘And?’‘They said there had been a power surge last night and wanted to know if it had ever happened before.’‘Had it?’‘Not that I know of – which I told them. Then they asked about the discs we use to record data from the security cameras. If we change them, how often, where they are archived.’‘Ah, yes,’ said Varcy, reaching for a brown envelope that lay in a mesh tray on the desk. ‘Tell me about that.’‘They get changed every eight hours,’ said the guard. ‘That’s the first thing I do when I come on to my shift. Trouble is, Mags changed the discs halfway through her shift because of a power surge.’Varcy flipped the envelope open and produced five Polaroid snaps. They showed a small room stacked high with metal boxes each with a number stencilled at the front. A green LED and a digital time display glowed in the semi-darkness.‘That’s our switch room,’ said the guard pointing at the photos. ‘We have a whole bunch of recorders, one for each camera in the building. See the digital time displays at the front of each box? That tells you how much time has elapsed since the last change.’Varcy stirred the milk into his tea. ‘Your colleague – Magenta Rosti – has told us a power surge caused her to lose the feeds for a few minutes. She was worried about corrupting the discs and so she changed them all. This would have been about 3.15 am, around the same time as the murder on James Street took place.’‘So I understand,’ said the guard.‘The thing is,’ said Varcy, tugging a section of blind downward and peering into the open-plan office beyond, ‘Magenta says she replaced the discs and archived the old ones. We’ve checked the tray. The archived disc for camera five – the camera that monitors James Street – is missing.’* * *‘The man is a fucking maniac, Vick,’ barked Stich.‘I’m ten minutes away. Please, phone the police.’Stich stopped pacing. ‘Vicky, I was under police protection, remember?’‘So?’‘So, how did he find me?’‘I don’t know but you can’t handle this on your own.’‘I’ve been set up.’‘You don’t know that.’‘What other explanation is there? The officer guarding my room has had his head blown off. What will they think when they find him?’‘How the hell should I know?’‘They’ll think I killed him.’‘Not if you explain.’‘Oh, come on.’‘Okay … just hold tight. I’ll be there …’Stich rang off and began pacing the store cupboard once more. He could hardly think he was so numb. How long did she say?About ten minutes.He kept checking the time display on Susan’s phone. Five minutes gone. Occasionally there was noise outside in the corridor. Voices mainly, then they would fade. He would strain to hear what was said. It wasn’t just the killer looking for him now, but hospital personnel too. Then there was the policeman. God, the policeman. Shot in the face as he watched. And now he was doing exactly what would be expected of someone who had just committed murder – running for his life. Jesus, it just got e on, Vicky …There was a rattle at the door handle, then a more forceful push. Stich grabbed at the door to check he’d locked it properly. It was fine. He turned off the light and waited in the dark. The rattling grew more determined.14Ed sat in the transit van next to Trevor. Trevor had been trying to get a trace on Susan Harrison’s mobile. He sat alongside a stack of digital recording units, headphones clamped to his ears, peering at a computer screen. He flipped the phones off and spun his chair round. Ed hand-brushed his trousers.‘What’s bothering you?’ Trevor demanded.Ed didn’t look up. ‘It’s nothing. I’ve got my mind on the job that’s all.’‘Stichell?’‘I’ll relax when all the pieces are back in the box.’Trevor smiled and grabbed a fistful of peanuts from a bag on the desk in front of him. ‘That’s what I admire about you Ed,’ he said, popping a few dozen in one go, ‘you actually care whether they go back in or not.’‘I won’t tolerate a fuck-up, if that’s what you mean,’ said Ed leaning back. ‘Especially not on this one.’‘I know.’Ed thought about what might happen if indeed there was a fuck-up. Everything would change. The place he had carved for himself in the world. Small time crime – protection rackets and gambling scams – was a shitty existence. A road to nowhere and full of low life. That’s how it had been before he’d had his eyes opened to the way things could be.Ed reached forwards and scooped out a handful of nuts. ‘Okay what have we got?’Trevor checked the screens. ‘Susan Harrison’s mobile phone has been used twice this evening. The first time was an hour and fifteen minutes ago – guess who got the call?’‘Who?’‘Clive Rand.’Ed frowned. ‘The boyfriend must have made it.’‘The second call was made five minutes after that. Don’t know who the number is registered to yet, but I’ve managed to record it.’‘Let’s hear it then,’ said Ed.Trevor typed away at the keyboard and the recording kicked in. They listened to Stich and Vicky. When it had finished, Ed checked his watch.‘Where the fuck is Western?’Trevor flipped open his mobile. ‘I’ll find out.’15The rattling at the door had been a shock. It might have been innocent – a hospital worker needing access – or it might have been the killer. Stich had decided he wasn’t going to hang around and find out which. He had to get out and looking above his head at the grill in the ceiling, had a fair idea how to do it.He began sorting through gear dumped about the room. Discarded at the end of a rack was a boiler suit. It must have been years old, blackened and smelling of grease. Nonetheless, he stepped in and fastened the poppers, then grabbed a pair of stepladders, positioning them under the grill and climbing up, tugging at the grating. It came away with no trouble. He stood on tiptoes and looked into the ducting. It was about one metre square – just enough room to squeeze through – and pitch black. Stich scrambled into the hole, until he was fully inside, crawling belly down somewhere above the storeroom. The darkness constricted in on him as he pushed forwards, and the taste of dust – dry and musty – charred his throat. The temperature in the confined space rose and he brushed the sweat from his eyes. His bare right foot snagged on something sharp and Stich felt the flesh tear.By the time he saw a haze of light up ahead, queasiness was threatening to overpower him. As he neared, he could see it was coming from another grate in the ceiling. Looking through it, Stich noticed a polished floor and the tops of two heads. He pushed his face up to the grill to get a better look. One man – the smaller of the two – had his back to Stich, wore blue overalls, and looked like a cleaner. The other – the one doing the talking – made bile rise in Stich’s throat. He strained to hear what was being said, catching snatches.The killer was animated, his hands jabbing. ‘This tall … yes, he’s dangerous … of course … The policeman? … Murdered …’Stich was about to duck away when Susan’s phone started playing the Kylie tune she had downloaded a few years back. Fuck. He fumbled for it, desperately trying to find the off button. He located it and scrambled forwards, clinging to the inside of the ducting. After what seemed like an eternity, he felt a cold gust of air on his face and frantically pulled himself onwards. It came from another grill, one that looked down onto a mezzanine level – a grey steel platform – and a set of ladder stairs dropping down towards the grass below. Stich shifted his weight and began hammering the grill with his good leg until the mesh buckled.* * *On the ground, Stich stayed close to the side of the building, turned a sharp right and ran towards a car park ahead of him, bare feet slapping the tarmac.He was still clutching Susan’s phone and, without breaking stride, he switched it on and glanced at the display. The call in the ducting had been Vicky. He returned it.‘Stich.’‘God, Vicky where are you?’‘You okay?’‘No. Where are you?’‘In the car park, I’ve just arrived.’‘Which one? Front, back?’‘Er … front I think. Hold it. I’m opposite the outpatients’ building.’Stich looked around. He was on the edge of a car park, and headed for the nearest car and hid behind it. Peeping over the bonnet, his heart hammering, Stich searched for a signpost or a pathway – anything that might give him a clue. But it was dark now and there weren’t any visible signs. He had to move quickly.‘Vicky, I’m in deep shit.’‘Okay, okay. Where are you?’‘I don’t know. Look, stay where you are and I’ll try and find you. Keep the engine running, we won’t be hanging about.’He ran to his left, keeping close to the ground. There was a building about a hundred metres ahead of him and he made for that. Nearby a signpost and a pathway. A&E, Orthopaedics, Blood, Maternity, Outpatients … Outpatients. Thank God. The path curved round to the left and he followed it. A sharp right and there it was. But where was Vicky? He scanned the surrounding area. What car did she drive? He’d been in it dozens of times. A Peugeot, it was a red Peugeot. He remembered sitting in the back of it, knees up under his chin. Vicky driving, Susan laughing. They’d been to a pub. He had got drunk and was singing badly. Why hadn’t she seen him? Then he spotted her, parked over in the far corner, the passenger door open. He ran towards it. Vicky was in the front, facing forwards.‘Vicky!’She didn’t respond.‘Vicky!’ He moved towards the open door.Something was wrong. He stopped. ‘Vicky!’ Stich started backing up and then he saw him. Like a jack-in-the-box, the man sprang from behind Vicky’s car. Ramrod straight, and staring directly at Stich. Stich hurled himself to the right and landed belly down as a bullet ricocheted off a car behind him. He was crawling mindlessly now. He crouched up to get his bearings and ran forwards, keeping low, ducking, and criss-crossing, his muscles so bunched with effort and fear he thought they might explode. Maybe he could attract some attention. He searched for someone. Jesus, what about Vicky? He squatted at the end of a row of cars and considered his options. If he stayed here he’d be killed. But if he went back inside the hospital, near other people and made a lot of noise, what then? Would he still be gunned down in a public place?Stich edged on until he could see the light at the entrance sprayed onto the roadway. There was no choice. He had to get back inside and take his chances from there. He braced himself for yet another run but something stopped him; a shadow blocking the glow from the front of the hospital.The killer raised the gun and took a couple of steps forward. Stich had nowhere to go, nowhere left to hide. He was about to die, just like Susan. Exhaustion flooded over him. He closed his eyes and waited. There was a strange feeling of peace.Then he heard the squeal of tyres.He opened his eyes just in time to see the man’s body buckle against Vicky’s Peugeot. He flipped mid-air and came down hard. Stich heard the crack as his spine hit the tarmac. The man’s head whipped backwards and smashed into the ground. The door of Vicky’s car was flung open and she was screaming. Stich ran towards her, leaping over the body to reach the car. The killer was staring upwards, blinking slowly as if trying to work out what had just happened. There was foam at his mouth and a dark pool around his skull. Stich hurled himself into the front seat next to Vicky as she floored it. They screeched out of the car park, skidded onto the main road and roared away from the hospital.‘What happened?’ Stich asked.She shook her head, tears streaming down her face. ‘Did I kill that man?’Stich didn’t answer. She was hyperventilating.‘Did I?’‘Calm down.’‘I can’t.’‘You’ve got to try. Breathe slowly.’‘God, I think I’m going to be sick.’‘You’re not going to be sick. Just breathe.’‘Stich, what have I done?’‘Saved my life.’‘He had a gun at my head.’She was shaking now. Stich began to rub her back. She stared out at the roadway gripping the wheel and sobbing.‘You okay to drive?’ he asked.She nodded through the tears.‘You’re doing well, just keep going,’ he said. ‘Concentrate on the road and your breathing. You have a tissue?’‘In my bag.’‘Where?’‘Back seat.’He reached in and fished one out.She wiped her eyes and face with one hand and held the steering wheel with the other. Stich noticed the white knuckles, reached over and prized her fingers open a little. ‘Relax your grip.’‘Was he dead, Stich? I mean you saw him, right? How’d he look?’‘Don’t worry about any of that.’‘I need to know.’‘Yes, he’s almost certainly dead, and you know what? I don’t care. That bastard deserves everything he gets.’‘That was him, wasn’t it? The one who killed …’ She broke off but he knew what she meant.‘Yes,’ he said. ‘That was him.’She turned back to the road and began crying again. ‘I’m so sorry, Stich.’Stich nodded but didn’t say anything. He didn’t need to.16Detective Inspector Varcy was in the Moorcroft lobby. He sipped on some lemon tea and thought about Magenta Rosti at her desk in the security room. It’s the middle of the night, nothing happening. She’s made herself a coffee, maybe she checks her watch – only a couple of hours until the shift ends. Then her eye catches something on camera five. A man is being violently attacked. What does she do?What would most people do?Call the police and report what was taking place?No, someone else raised the alarm.Go to the victim’s aid?No.Try and stop the attack?Obviously not.So, what happened, then?Did the power surge come before she got to see anything on camera five or was it something she made up?He blew his nose into a linen handkerchief and took another sip of tea.Questions.* * *The car park was almost empty and dappled with freezing mist. It swirled in tandem with the wind. The hours seemed to merge. How long had it been since it all started? Stich tried to get some clarity on it all. What had he done? They had pulled into this service station twenty minutes ago. Racking up the heater in Vicky’s car, he contemplated his next move.He pulled out Susan’s mobile. First, he wanted to talk to the man who left the phone message for Susan. At some level Stich felt it was linked to what was happening. The number rang and then went to voicemail. Stich left another message.There was a knock at the window and he almost jumped out of the seat. It was Vicky. ‘Open the door.’He unlocked it and she climbed in. ‘You scared the shit out of me.’She handed over a plastic carrier bag. ‘Here, that’s the best they can do.’Inside were a sweat shirt, track bottoms, and a pair of trainers. Stich began unpopping the boiler suit.‘I’ve got nothing on under these,’ he said, pulling at the pyjamas.Vicky turned away. ‘Well, hurry up then.’He slipped out of them, and put on the new clothes. Then he pulled out Susan’s phone again and handed it to Vicky. ‘There’s a message on here. Tell me what you think. I’ll be back in a minute.’ He hopped out of the car and jogged over to an ice-powdered waste bin to dump the hospital clothes. It felt great to be free of them.When he got back to the car, Vicky had the phone pressed to her ear, frowning. ‘What do you think?’ he mouthed.She waved her hand. He waited.‘Well?’ he asked when she had finished.She breathed in. ‘Interesting.’‘How interesting?’‘Very.’‘You understand what he’s talking about?’‘Not specifics, but, yes, I got the gist of it.’‘You know who it is?’She nodded. ‘Clive Rand is an immunologist from lab fifteen.’‘So, what does it mean?’‘The probes he’s talking about are almost certainly genetic probes.’‘Which means?’‘Cloned sections of DNA – normally used to detect other identical segments of DNA.’‘That means nothing to me,’ he said.‘Doesn’t matter,’ she replied. ‘Point is, in research they’re used all the time.’‘For what?’‘For almost anything,’ she shrugged. ‘Gene fishing, DNA amplification, northern blotting, protein synthesis …’He held up his palms. ‘Okay, okay. In English, please.’‘Whichever way he was using them, Susan apparently changed them.’‘So, what’s got him so upset?’‘If Susan changed his probe, his result would change.’‘Enough to freak him out like that?’‘Depends on the result.’‘Meaning?’‘A new probe would either find nothing. Meaning there was no identical match to itself in the sample, or …’She rubbed her eyes.‘Or what?’‘Or it would find something completely different.’‘But something identical to itself, right?’She nodded.Stich thought for a moment. ‘On that message, Clive said he knew about the viral DNA. What does that mean?’‘I was just wondering that myself.’‘Could a probe detect viral DNA?’‘If the probe was designed to find sections of viral DNA, and those sections were present in whatever sample he was using, then, yes, it would find them.’Stich leaned back into his seat and watched a man come out from the service station. Duvet coat worn high, a No Fear skull-hugger pulled over his ears, icy breath hanging above his head like cigarette smoke. He fiddled with car keys. Stich sighed. ‘Then I’d like to know what was in his sample.’‘Thought of phoning and asking him?’He nodded. ‘I tried while you were in the shop. There was no answer.’She narrowed her eyes. ‘He didn’t show up at the ball tonight, either.’‘So what?’‘He was expected, that’s all.’‘Could he still be in the lab?’She looked at her watch. ‘At ten minutes to midnight?’He shrugged.‘I have the number if you want to try,’ she said, and retrieved a diary from her bag. She called it out as Stich punched it in. It rang but there was no answer.Vicky began tapping the steering wheel. ‘What now?’‘You know where Clive lives?’‘Yes.’‘Let’s go there.’17Dr Aaron Grant, Immteck’s principal molecular scientist, watched as Jeff Laskey began the surgery. The patient had been prepared and sedated. A small incision in the abdominal wall allowed entry of the stainless steel scope. The instrument went in smoothly enough, relaying an image of the gut to a small display panel set into the surgeon’s headset. Guiding the scope to the target tissue, the surgeon excised a cherry-sized chunk of flesh, pulled it into the body of the scope and immediately cauterised the wound with a burst of laser.Grant’s gaze swept the room taking it all in: the four other members of the op team preparing to receive the tissue sample, the stark white wall and floor tiles, the patient’s wine red entry wound, and the neat row of chrome instruments laid out on a tray in the foreground.Whilst not a surgeon himself, Grant understood every aspect of this procedure. Krenthol was very much his baby after all.The theatre nurse opened a sterile Eppendorf as the last section of the scope emerged from the gash in the patient’s side. Laskey dropped the biopsy inside it, then sealed, labelled and refrigerated the tube. He stood nodding and responding to the quiet banter from his relieved op team, before moving to the clean up area. Grant watched the surgeon leave and then followed him through a warren of corridors connecting the various operating suites. The surgeon was in an area off the small ops suite, soaping up. Standing in the open doorway, Grant noticed his own reflection in the sheet of glass making up the far wall, his hair a hawthorn of grey and greasy strands falling over his face. He tried to tidy it using his fingers.‘Were you watching?’ Laskey asked.Grant nodded.‘Have you missed any of these biopsies?’‘No,’ said Grant.Laskey towelled off and began removing his theatre greens. ‘You’re coming down for the last hour tonight?’‘Tonight?’The surgeon let out a sigh. ‘The Cancer Fund? The Immteck Ball, remember? We might just make last orders if we hurry.’‘I’ll try.’‘I won’t hold my breath.’‘I said, I’ll try.’Laskey dumped his greens in a plastic bin. ‘Will you be clean and showered?’Grant half-raised an arm and sniffed. ‘Can you tell?’‘I take it you spent last night away from home?’Grant didn’t reply.‘Let me guess where,’ Laskey said.‘You know me too well,’ Grant smiled.Laskey pulled on a clean shirt. ‘That’s the problem, Aaron, I don’t know you. Not anymore. You’re getting worse.’Grant shifted uneasily. ‘Things have been hectic lately, that’s all. I’m trying to keep on top of it – you know how it is.’‘Sure I do. But why kill yourself in the process?’‘When the trials have finished I’ll slow down a bit.’‘When they’ve finished there’ll be follow-ups, ongoing development and refining. There’ll always be an excuse. It’s not worth it.’There was a pause as he slipped on a pair of loafers. Grant cleared his throat. ‘Jeff, I need a question answered.’‘Go ahead.’‘It’s about one-five-one.’‘Okay.’‘Is he a non-responder?’‘Yes, the lesion has not been reduced by Krenthol. In fact its size has increased.’‘Any metastasis?’‘Doesn’t look like it. We scanned yesterday, and the rest of the body is clear.’‘Have you checked the drugging regime?’‘That’s the first thing I did. It’s fine.’‘What about blood? White cell count okay?’‘That seems fine too.’‘Can you operate?’‘Dangerous. The lesion is set between two main arteries.’‘Then what are our options?’‘The standard ones – chemo, radiotherapy.’‘And if that fails?’Jeff shook his head. ‘Difficult to tell. I’ve scheduled an oncology meeting tomorrow morning to discuss the possibilities. I’ll be able to give you more after that.’‘Twenty-four hours is too long.’Laskey put on his jacket. ‘Aaron, it’s under control – there’s nothing we can do right now.’Grant shook his head. ‘We’ve got a patient in the trial with a non-responsive tumour, Jeff. Not just any trial, either. In my book, scheduling meetings amounts to doing nothing.’‘It means doing nothing at the moment.’‘Is there a difference?’‘Okay, so what would you have me do?’Grant stared into space. ‘Have you kept him in?’‘No. I saw him a few days ago and there were no symptoms.’‘How’s he taking it?’‘I’ve said nothing – we’re conducting trials, remember? No matter how big Krenthol is, there are no guarantees with clinical trials.’Grant glanced at his watch. ‘Is his blood sample still in storage?’‘I imagine so but, Aaron, there’s nothing you can do this evening.’‘I’m thinking aloud that’s all.’Laskey followed Grant out into the corridor. ‘So, will I see you, tonight?’Grant turned and waved. ‘Maybe.’18‘Who’re you phoning?’‘An old friend of mine, who works on Fleet Street.’Stich waited for the recipient to pick up. Then, ‘Alan, is that you?’‘Yeah, who’s this?’ The voice was thick with sleep.‘Stich.’‘Stich? Jesus, you know what time it is?’‘I know exactly what time it is.’‘Are you okay?’‘No, I’m in trouble.’‘Stich, you’re breaking up.’‘I’m in the car. Can you hear me now?’‘Yes, better.’‘I said, I’m in trouble.’‘What kind?’‘The worst kind.’ Stich told him how the nightmare had unfolded, shocked at how numb it made him feel. It was as if he was talking about someone else.‘That’s one hell of a story. Give me a second.’ Stich heard Alan adjust the receiver. ‘How you coping?’‘I’m okay.’‘You alone?’‘No, Vicky’s with me.’‘Vicky?’‘Vicky White, no one you know.’Stich jerked forwards as Vicky hit the brakes. ‘Two lanes into one,’ she said by way of explanation. ‘Sorry about that.’‘Stich? You still there?’‘Yeah, I’m here, Alan.’‘We’ll start with the house – I’ll send someone out to look around.’‘Too late, it’ll be sealed off by now. The police – led by a man named Willis – went up there hours ago.’‘That’s okay. There’s still a lot we can do. You’re definite you won’t go to the police with this yourself?’‘No way, I wouldn’t stand a chance.’‘All right, leave it with me.’‘Thanks, Alan.’‘Stay in touch, okay?’‘Sure.’‘What did he say?’ asked Vicky.‘He’s going to make some enquiries.’‘Can you trust him?’‘Yes, I think I can.’‘You don’t know for sure?’‘Look, Vick, I don’t know anything for sure anymore. I just want help, that’s all. How are we doing?’‘Another twenty minutes.’* * *Varcy sat in an unmarked car outside the Keynsham hospital watching rivulets on the windscreen drift downwards towards the wipers. The rain, which had let up briefly about an hour ago, had started to make an impression again. His watch read 3.15am. He was tired, running a fever and his nose, now completely blocked, dripped onto his tie.‘Damn.’He took out a hankie and blew, ruing not having taken the flu jab, then thrust his hand into his pocket and searched for the cough sweets his wife had given him that morning.It had been an eventful night: a murder in London, a hunch, and now, two more people dead, including a police officer, and one person critical and unlikely to survive. If the call hadn’t come in requesting information on Susan Harrison, he would still be back in London, no doubt asleep in bed, instead of waiting here in Bristol for a man named Willis.He glanced at the rearview and saw the dark Mondeo saloon pulling up. Varcy blew his nose again and got out to meet the man who was now stepping out of the other car.‘Thanks for seeing me so quickly,’ Varcy said.‘No problem. How was the journey?’‘Fine, just fine.’‘How you feeling? You sounded pretty rough when we spoke.’‘I’ll live. Shall we go in?’Inside they headed along a corridor. Even with a cold, Varcy could smell the bleach and institutionalised food. God, he hated hospitals. He felt a sneeze coming on but headed it off by clamping his nostrils shut.‘So, let me get this straight,’ he said, wiping his nose, ‘you got called to this hospital earlier tonight because they had admitted a man who had a gunshot wound in his leg. Is that right?’‘Found in woodland, apparently. I came in, fired off a lot of questions and he gave me a story about how his fiancée had just been murdered and that the murderer tried to kill him too.’‘And what happened?’‘When we got to the address he gave – Lansdowne Farm – it was clean.’‘No traces at all?’‘None. So I decided to find his girlfriend – the woman he claimed was murdered. We ran the usual checks but nothing came up. We had her London address of course, so I asked your boys to go check it out and they drew a blank. That’s when you called and told me about the London murder. Here’s the photo of her you requested.’Varcy inserted it into the back of a notebook, and then used the last dry patch on his hankie to pat his forehead. He was starting to perspire.They arrived at a lift.‘So my question is,’ Willis went on, pressing the call button, ‘why are you interested? What’s a murder in London got to do with what’s happened out here in Keynsham?’‘That is a very good question,’ said Varcy stepping in. ‘In the early hours of the morning, a security guard working for a big pharmaceutical company sees a murder take place on a monitor. But she doesn’t report it to anyone. Not the police, not to her boss – no one.’‘Okay,’ said Willis.‘Now go forward a few hours. Someone else has reported the murder and the police have arrived. A quick look around the scene reveals a security camera pointing in the general direction of where the murder must have taken place. Questioning the security guard reveals an interesting story. She reports that around the time of the murder there was some sort of power surge, which interfered with the signals being received from the cameras. Frightened the discs that record the images from the cameras might have become corrupted, she decides to change them all. Trouble is, when we look for the exchanged disc containing images from the camera in question, it appears to be missing.’The lift came to a stop and the two men got out. The smell of boiled cabbage was overpowering.‘Go on,’ Willis said.Varcy sniffed loudly. ‘So, I put myself in her shoes and wondered what I would do if I had seen a murder that I didn’t want to report.’‘And?’‘The phone on the desk would mean dialling an outside line that might be traced later. A personal mobile is out for the same reason. Then I remembered there was a pay phone in the lobby.’Varcy fished around in his pocket for another cough sweet, popped it in his mouth and sucked noisily. ‘I pressed redial on the lobby pay phone. The last call was made at 3.27 am. The initial medical assessment estimated the death to be about about twenty minutes before then.’‘And?’‘It connected to a mobile phone registered to a Miss Susan Harrison. Like you, we checked her out and everything came back fine. Still, I planned to have Harrison watched for a few days. See if anything turned up. Then you made your request.’Willis raised his eyebrows. ‘Now Harrison is either missing or dead and her boyfriend has gone berserk.’‘It would seem that way.’19Clive’s street was typical of many on the edges of London. There were lines of beech trees and cars competing for space at the edge of the pavement. Georgian terrace houses, many of which had been divided into flats, stood like soldiers behind deep privet bushes. The street was deserted except for a lone jogger.‘Which one?’ Stich asked as Vicky looked for a place to park.‘Back there,’ she said, yanking up the handbrake.They got out and the cold air hit Stich. He shivered and hunched his shoulders. Vicky led the way back up the street and stopped.‘Okay, here it is.’She pushed open a wooden gate and he followed her up a pathway. There were two doors. ‘This one, I think,’ she said, rapping the knocker.‘How many times have you been here?’ Stich whispered.‘Once.’They waited and exchanged glances. She knocked again.Nothing.‘Still in bed,’ Vicky said.‘Or out. Try again.’She knocked hard three more times. They waited. Vicky elbowed Stich as the curtains next door to Clive’s began to twitch. They waited a few moments more until a chain rattled and some bolts disengaged. The door next to Clive’s inched open and a plump, flushed face peered out at them. The woman’s eyes were puffy from sleep.‘Morning,’ Vicky said.She eyed them for a moment. ‘Who you after?’‘Clive,’ Vicky said.She looked from Vicky to Stich and back again.‘We both work with him,’ Vicky added by way of explanation.‘What time is it?’‘6.30,’ Vicky said.‘6.30? Oh my, I must have overslept.’‘We urgently need to talk to him,’ said Stich, pushing the flap on Clive’s letterbox and peeping through.She unhitched a door chain. ‘He’s definitely in,’ she said, leaning right out. ‘I heard his keys rattle in the door last night.’Stich wrapped the knocker again.She shook her head. ‘I’d know if he’d gone out. I’m a light sleeper.’Stich was sure she made it her business to know.‘Do you know what time he got in last night?’ he asked.‘8.00 in the evening,’ she said with a nod. ‘I’d just got back from spending the day with my daughter.’‘Was he with anyone?’‘He must have been,’ she said. ‘A couple of his friends left about an hour afterwards.’‘Is there any way we can get in?’ Stich asked.She looked furtive. ‘Why? You think he’s in trouble?’Vicky nodded. ‘Maybe.’‘Wait here,’ she said before disappearing.Stich looked at Vicky. ‘Police?’Vicky put her ear nearer the door. ‘Don’t think so.’Soon the woman shuffled back down the passageway holding a key. She stepped onto the porch in a flowered robe and pulled her front door closed. Vicky and Stich waited as she went over to Clive’s door and inserted the key. ‘He gave me this for when he’s on holiday.’ She pushed open the door and they followed behind. ‘I feed his cat when he’s away, you see.’ The flat was quiet. She called upstairs. ‘Clive! Are you awake? It’s Audrey from next door!’Vicky climbed the stairs.Stich walked along the hall towards a door at the end. What was that smell? Shit? Could he smell shit? He pushed open the door and peered in. There was a blur and a loud squeal. He lurched backwards and a cat darted past his legs.Stich watched it scurry down the hallway and out through the front door.Inside was the kitchen – neat, tiled in aqua blue and in the centre of the room was a wooden breakfast table. A stack of papers was piled in the middle, and on top of the pile was a yellow post-it pad. On the floor by the fridge was a cat litter tray placed on two sheets of newspaper. Stich leaned towards it and sniffed. The smell was less pungent in here. His eyes returned to the breakfast table and the post-it pad.Then he heard a scream.He dashed back down the hallway and in through a door that led to the sitting-room. Audrey was backing into him clutching her chest. ‘Oh my, oh my.’ Beyond her, Vicky was crouched down over Clive who was flat on his back staring upwards, a hypodermic needle embedded in his arm. There was fluid on the carpet and a foul stench. It got worse as Stich approached. Clive’s bowels had given out. He squatted next to Vicky. ‘You okay?’She didn’t reply but reached over and felt Clive’s neck. ‘No pulse,’ she said. ‘He’s stone cold.’She bent down and sniffed the syringe still sticking out of Clive’s arm. ‘Smells of acid.’‘He’s injected it?’‘Or someone did it for him.’Stich stood up. The smell was getting worse.‘I think I’m going to be sick,’ said Vicky.Stich followed her out to the hall. Audrey was crouched at the foot of the stairs, her head hanging between her knees. Vicky rushed past her to the bathroom.‘He’s dead, isn’t he?’ Audrey said, looking up.Stich nodded.Her head dropped back down.‘Are you okay to call the police?’ he asked.He heard Vicky throwing up in the bathroom.Stich returned to the sitting-room. There was nothing obviously out of place or damaged except a glass shade from an up light in the corner of the room. It had been smashed and the shards were scattered on the carpet. A large fragment lay on a plate-sized shadow and was flecked with spots of red. Stich switched on the up light’s now naked bulb. More fragments were stained and the shadow – a deep port – was still tacky. Stich turned to Clive’s body and noticed for the first time his splayed nose. A dolly-mixture of colour with a crusty lava frozen against his upper lip. He reached out to touch Clive’s leg. It felt set, as if made of stone.‘Rigor mortis.’ Vicky had a tissue up at her face. She rested her hands on her hips. Stich knew the look. He pulled her in close. ‘It’s okay.’ She wiped her face on her sleeve.‘They’re on their way.’ Audrey poked her head around the door.‘We’d better go, Stich.’He looked around at the scene, his eyes passing over a dresser on which half a dozen framed photographs were arranged in an arc.‘Vicky.’He let go of her and grabbed at one of the pictures. ‘Susan’s in this photograph.’The scene was a drinks party. About eight people; young, student types, laughing and raising glasses to the camera. Susan was in the middle of the group, her head thrown back in a flurry of giggles. Clive was on the end, joining in the fun. The shock of seeing Susan so free, so alive, gripped him. He wanted to touch her, to caress her skin, to tell her everything would be all right.Except it wouldn’t. Not any more.Vicky put her hand on his shoulder. The life he and Susan had begun building together had been crushed. Snuffed out as easily as candlelight.‘I loved her,’ he said softly.‘I know,’ she whispered.He’d heard others talk about grief. How it was the simple, everyday things that hurt the most.‘Stich. Come on, we have to go.’His mind went straight to the funny notes she’d leave for him on the breakfast table every morning; just silly in-jokes that no one else would get. God, he would miss those. He gently replaced the photograph. Susan’s handwriting was unmistakable. Big looping strokes and large circles that formed dots.He froze.‘Stich, are you okay?’He’d seen it in this house.‘Stich?’‘The post-it pad.’‘What?’He dashed across the sitting-room.‘What is it?’‘In the kitchen,’ he said. ‘There’s a pad with Susan’s writing on it.’Vicky had followed him through. The note was at the top of the letter pile and scribbled in red ink.11.30 am. Clive, where can I get a 3f7 probe? I’ll be in Joey’s in an hour.He reread it and then turned it over to see if there was anything on the back.‘That’s it,’ he said.‘Joey’s is a coffee shop near Immteck – we go there lunchtimes.’‘And 3f7?’‘A vector.’‘A what?’‘I’ll tell you later. We need to get out of here first. Come on, let’s go.’Audrey was hugging herself by the front step, a wet tissue scrunched up in her hand.‘Where are you going?’ she asked.‘His family,’ Stich lied. ‘The police will be here soon. We want to prepare them for what’s to come. It’s best coming from his friends. We’ll be back as soon as we can.’20The two policemen approached the hospital room that David Stichell had occupied.‘Are you ready?’‘As I ever can be,’ said Varcy, sucking harder on his cough sweet.Katz, a detective constable working with Willis, had been on the scene for an hour. He guided the two men around the room. The bed sheets were a dried burgundy. Reed’s powder white face was turned towards the window to another time and place. Varcy examined a trail of blood that went from the corridor outside to the bed where the police officer now lay.‘Where’s the nurse who discovered all this?’ asked Willis.‘Along the corridor – they’ve sedated her, I think,’ said Katz.‘Nothing’s been touched?’‘Of course not.’‘I’ve seen enough,’ said Willis. He looked over at Varcy who agreed. ‘Okay, let the team in.’‘Want to see the other one?’ Katz enquired.‘Where is he?’ Willis sighed.‘Second floor. Intensive care unit.’‘Lead on.’They went back out to the corridor, and into the lift. Varcy’s mind raced. He hadn’t anticipated anything like this. It felt as if he was picking at a thread that kept unravelling.The lift opened and the three men filed out. Katz led them to a long suite of rooms, each with its own viewing area. He halted and Varcy stared through the glass at monitors, drip feeds and tubes leading in and out of a male patient lying motionless on a solitary bed.‘Who is he?’ asked Willis.‘Unidentified,’ said Katz.‘Knocked down?’‘In the car park outside a few hours ago.’‘Must have been some impact.’‘It was. Shattered pelvis, ruptured spleen, broken neck, brain injuries.’‘Any witnesses?’‘One who said the car came to a halt just afterwards and a man got in.’‘Description?’‘Sketchy but not inconsistent with David Stichell.’‘What about the driver?’Katz shook his head. ‘I’ve got nothing.’‘What’re his chances?’ asked Willis.‘Slim.’* * *‘Where to?’ Vicky wanted to know as they pulled out of Clive’s road.‘Somewhere safe,’ he said. ‘Definitely not my place.’‘Mine?’ she asked.He shook his head. ‘Nowhere obvious.’They drove around for an hour trying to decide. Stich wanted a place to think and work out his next move. In the end, they chose a hotel. He knew it slightly – far enough out of London to feel safe but close enough to the centre should they want to get in. He’d stayed there one night with Susan a couple of years back when they’d come in to see Les Miserables.They checked in to a standard room under a false name. It was vintage 1980s: ivy green wallpaper, floor to ceiling drapes at the window and a chintzy flowered duvet. There was a print that wouldn’t have been out of place at Alice’s nursery.Stich sat on the bed reading the note Susan had left for Clive. He could hear the sound of water as Vicky took a shower. Next to him on the bed they had laid out clothes bought from a department store across the street from the hotel. Stich put his head against the headboard and gazed at Susan’s handwriting. He thought about the last day he had seen her alive. Nothing made sense. She had been crying in his office, her face gripped with anxiety. She had said it was because they had got engaged but it didn’t ring true. And then there was her reaction to Trinny seeing her in the Moorcroft building.This last thought bothered him. It suggested something he didn’t want to consider. He tried to reason it through …?Susan, Maxi, the killer, Clive … something didn’t fit.‘You okay?’ Vicky emerged wrapped in towels. She sat down beside him and began drying her hair on another. Stich rubbed his eyes.‘I’m trying to see a pattern.’‘To all this?’‘Yeah, and I’m getting nowhere.’Vicky stopped towelling her hair. ‘I think I know where Clive was when he left that message on Sue’s phone,’ she said. ‘There’s a faint noise in the background. I knew it was familiar but I couldn’t place it until just now in the shower. I’m sure it’s a centrifuge.’‘So?’The room phone rang before she could tell him. Vicky looked startled.‘It’s okay,’ Stich said quickly. ‘While you were showering I left a message on Alan Frasier’s voicemail.’ He picked up the call.‘Stich? Where you been? I’ve been leaving messages all over the place.’‘It’s a long story. What have you been able to find?’‘Well, Maxi’s house – it’s clean.’‘Nothing?’‘Nope.’‘That’s impossible.’There was silence.‘What about the police?’ Stich asked.‘They’ve been there since late last night. But the place is clean. Trust me – that’s from a very good source.’‘So what about Maxi and Susan?’‘For the moment, missing only.’‘That’s all?’Alan paused. ‘You positive it was at Maxi’s?’‘Of course I’m positive. Do you think I would make something like that up?’‘No, no of course not … it’s just, God knows, you’re in shock. You might have made a mistake that’s all.’‘There’s no mistake, Alan. Susan was shot right in front of my eyes. We were definitely at Maxi’s place.’‘Okay. My contact is still up there. If there’s anything to be found he’ll dig it out.’‘Has he checked the grounds?’‘It’s been difficult because of the police. But, yeah, I think so.’‘Get him to check the area around the outhouse. I smashed a lot of glass. There must be something, even if it’s a new pane recently fitted.’‘Leave it with me.’‘Are they looking for me? I mean, is my name out there?’‘Maybe, it’s still early.’‘What can I do, Alan?’‘Not much. Sit tight and see if we can uncover something. Where are you?’‘In a hotel.’‘Which one?’Stich hesitated.‘It’s okay if you don’t want to tell me.’‘The Mellbrook,’ he said.‘Where’s that?’‘Near Holland Park.’‘Okay. Stay where you are. I’ll be in touch as soon as I have something.’Stich replaced the receiver and fell back onto the bed.‘What was that all about?’ asked Vicky.‘Alan’s got someone sniffing around but he’s come up with nothing. No Susan, no Maxi, and no break-in. The police will assume I lied, which will put me in the frame for killing Susan, Maxi and probably the policeman as well.’‘Come on, Stich, we don’t know any of this,’ said Vicky.‘Well, what would you think if you were them?’ he asked.She sat silent for a moment. ‘Okay, let’s say they do think that. For a start, they’ll need bodies. Without bodies, they have nothing. You’ve just said they’ve got nothing.’‘What about the policeman at the hospital?’ asked Stich. ‘What about his body? They must have that.’ He sighed and sank his head into the pillow, staring at the ceiling. The only noise was the soft sound of Vicky brushing her hair. ‘How can you take care of a child when soon you won’t even be able to care for yourself? I’m taking her …’‘I was saying I heard a centrifuge on Clive’s message,’ said Vicky.Stich dragged his eyes from the ceiling. ‘Sorry?’‘Before I was interrupted. I think his message was sent from the Immteck lab. Susan’s phone recorded Clive’s message at what, 7 o’clock last night?’‘Something like that.’‘So I assume he was working, made the discovery and then phoned.’‘Looks like it.’‘He was due at the Immteck Ball last night but didn’t show up. Instead he went straight home. The neighbour said he got back, when? 8 o’clock?’He nodded.‘So he phones Susan at 7.00, messes about for an hour then leaves to get home for about 8.00.’‘Vicky, where are you going with this?’She sat back down next to him. ‘Well,’ she said slowly, ‘I reckon that whatever he found, whatever made him call, must still be in his lab.’‘What are you talking about?’‘The probe, remember? He was going on about Susan switching probes. I think the probe must still be where he left it – probably in cold storage in his lab.’‘Shit.’ Stich sat up.‘If it’s still there,’ she said, ‘we can analyse it.’‘Can we get in?’‘I’ve got a card that gets me past security. I could sign you in as a visitor – I’ve done it before.’‘What about the police?’ Stich said. ‘Once they discover Clive’s body, it won’t take them long to realise Clive and Susan worked at the same facility. They’ll be all over the Immteck labs.’Vicky checked her watch. ‘I think you’re giving them too much credit. It’ll take a while before they put Clive and Susan together. On the face of it, a dead man and a girl they think is missing are unrelated. They’ll have to do a bit of digging before they connect the two. We might just have time.’21Varcy sat in a security room. This one was at St. Clement’s hospital. He looked at his watch: 6.50 am. Before him was a bank of monitors displaying images of various sections of the hospital. One in particular had his interest. He’d watched it half a dozen times already but it was grainy and told him next to nothing. To make matters worse, the action happened in the top right of the screen – off camera, almost. Varcy rewound the sequence again and played it. The shot was empty. Then a shadow appeared. A man, certainly. He waited a moment, then walked forwards and almost disappeared out of view. Next, the side of a red saloon exploded into shot before coming to a sudden halt. The car waited for a few seconds then sped off, and the scene was empty again. The victim was lying somewhere off camera.Varcy stopped the image. This whole thing was getting complex. Checks had been run on the car park victim and he didn’t like what they’d thrown up. Varcy blew hard into his handkerchief, stood up and opened a door that led into a side office. A security officer sat drinking coffee.‘Can I take the tape?’‘As long as you sign a note saying you’ve got it, then no problem.’Varcy opened his mobile and speed dialled the number of Don Elliott. The voice answering was weary.‘Don?’ He felt another sneeze build.‘Varcy? God, man, don’t you sleep?’‘Rarely,’ said Varcy before sneezing hard. ‘Neither do you, it seems.’‘I’ve got a lot on.’‘Evidently.’‘You sound terrible, by the way,’ said Elliott. ‘What happened?’‘It’s the flu … I didn’t get the jab.’‘Then you should get home to bed.’‘I can’t. I need your help,’ said Varcy.‘You’ve come to the wrong place – I know nothing about medicine.’Varcy made a face. ‘This is important.’‘It’s always important.’‘This is really important.’Elliott scoffed. ‘What is it?’‘A CCTV tape – I need it analysed quickly.’‘How quickly?’‘How about now?’Elliott laughed.‘Come on, Don.’‘Where are you?’‘Keynsham – near Bristol.’‘What the fuck are you doing down there?’‘Don’t ask. It’ll take me an hour or so to get to you. Can you fit me in or not?’There was a pause. ‘I can’t promise.’‘You’re a star.’* * *‘Apart from the dent in the bonnet, it’s okay,’ said Stich running his fingers around the trim of Vicky’s Peugeot outside the Mellbrook Hotel.‘Fine, so let’s go,’ said Vicky, leaning out of the driver’s window.As they left for the Immteck labs, Vicky told him about the facilities in London. There were three – the first, in Knightsbridge, housed the support staff. It was the show building where TV crews would gather if an announcement was made, or moneymen would meet to discuss venture capital. The other two – known as Immteck I and II – were the lab facilities at Holborn where the research was done.‘Clive’s lab is up on the second floor,’ she said when they got there.‘Will there be many people about?’ Stich asked.‘Everyone’s given the morning off after the annual ball. Having said that, these people are as dedicated as it gets, so there’s bound to be a few around.’He scanned the entrance for evidence of police.‘This way,’ Vicky said. They mounted a dozen steps leading to a rotating entrance. ‘I’m often here at weekends. I know most of the security guys – just act natural. I’ll say you’re my boyfriend.’‘Boyfriend?’‘I can’t introduce you as a fellow scientist – they’ll get twitchy if they think you’re from another lab.’He followed her past an avenue of adonidia palms towards a circular shaped front desk. ‘We call it the teak doughnut,’ said Vicky. It was a good twelve feet in diameter and had a stainless steel pillar in the centre with plasma screens hanging off it playing Immteck promotional shorts. She showed her ID to the security officer, who recognized her immediately and smiled. ‘Didn’t expect you this morning – I thought you would have gone to the ball last night.’‘I did.’‘And you’ve made it in this morning?’‘Impressed, huh?’ she said.He grinned. ‘Not sure impressed is the word – you know what they say about all work and no play!’Vicky shrugged. ‘Yeah, I know. But today I’m just passing through.’ She nodded towards Stich. ‘We’ve got an exciting day planned.’Stich’s smile was awkward.‘I’d better get you to sign in, then.’ He screen-tapped a few commands and spun the console to face Stich. ‘Here,’ he said, handing over a plastic pen, ‘sign in the box.’Stich screen signed Billington – his mother’s maiden name. Vicky winked at the security guard. ‘See you in a while.’‘Okay.’‘So far so good,’ said Vicky as they stepped into the lift and pressed for the second floor.‘Can we access Clive’s lab?’ Stich asked.She nodded. ‘The lab codes are common – Clive’s will be the same as mine.’ The lift stopped and he followed Vicky through a series of corridors. ‘Okay, this one.’He waited while she punched in a five-digit code on a wall-mounted keypad. The lock released and they were in. Stich had only been to a biological research lab once before and that was Susan’s old one in Cambridge. The setup was as mysterious-looking to him now as it had been then.‘Wow.’‘Impressive, isn’t it?’ Vicky remarked.He nodded. The white landscape was colonised by glass and chrome machines; automatons of imaging, micro-plate stacking, and thermocycling. A low hum of progress moved through the clean, sterile air.‘Immteck spend millions on research each year. That’s why the best from all over the world work here.’‘I can believe it.’‘This way.’Clive’s lab was divided into three stations. Each station had a bench, an array of technical kit and a computer console. Between the stations were rows of shelving onto which bulky bottles of chemicals and solutions were stored. Vicky led Stich to the farthest station. ‘This is where Clive worked.’Whilst the others had obvious signs of the work going on – half-full reagent bottles, bench bins littered with discarded nozzles and Eppendorfs, papers with scribbled notes on them – Clive’s was empty. Vicky opened the four drawers below his computer console. Each looked as if it had never been used. Beneath the workbench was a fridge, also clean and uncluttered. She shook her head. ‘This should be full of his stuff.’‘Like what?’‘Anything and everything, depending on what he’s working on. It should all be stored in here. Look.’ She moved to the adjacent bay and pulled open the fridge. ‘See what I mean?’‘So where is it all?’ Stich asked.Vicky shook her head. ‘I’ve no idea. Hold on, there’s a communal freezer through here. Let’s check it.’She led him to a room connecting two labs. In it was a washbasin, a work surface and a tall freezer. ‘This is the minus eighteen store. Clive should have stuff in here, we all use the minus eighteens.’ She opened it and scanned the drawers. ‘Here.’One was labelled with Clive’s name. She slid it open.It was empty.She opened the others. They were full.‘They’ve cleared the damn lot.’ Vicky stood. ‘What now?’22It was a dead end and Stich could see no way past it. The implication of what they had found – or, specifically, what they hadn’t found – was obvious. For a start, it meant Clive and Susan’s murders were connected. Beyond that, who knew? He slumped against the lab wall and slid down on his haunches. Five minutes passed in silence before he saw for the first time what had literally been staring him in the face all along. A smile – small at first – spread across his face.‘What’s funny?’He pointed to the wall opposite. ‘That,’ he said.Vicky turned. A typed note was stuck up with drawing pins:LOCKERSWOULD THOSE STAFF USING THE IMMTECK LOCKERS ENSURE THEY ARE SECURE AT ALL TIMES. REMEMBER, PERSONAL ITEMS STORED IN THE LOCKERS ARE DONE SO AT YOUR OWN RISK!!He remembered Susan holding up a small travel-bag padlock with a three number combination. Susan had set the combination already and wanted Stich to guess it using ‘I love you’ as a clue. He’d spent the afternoon agonising over it until he realised ‘I love you’ stood for 143.‘Where are the lockers?’ he asked.‘Top of the rear stairwells,’ said Vicky.They were hurrying now, over to the other side of the building. Up on the landing at the top of a stairwell, Vicky gestured to a wall. Mounted on it was a matrix of metal boxes, each about a foot square.‘There’s no particular order. If you want one you grab it.’Stich scanned them for a combination lock that looked like the one Susan had. He found it on the third row at the very end. Small and brass, it hung like an earring from the clasp on the front. Stich turned it over to check the barrel and rotated it so that 143 lined up level with the mark on the shank. The lock came apart easily.‘What’s in there?’ said Vicky.Stich frowned. A red cardigan lay folded neatly at the bottom. He reached in and held the material up to his face. Susan’s scent was still there.Vicky reached past him and pulled out an envelope and a PDA that had lain under the cardigan. Inside the envelope was a letter addressed to Susan. She handed it to Stich.A job offer from Glaxo. It was dated a couple of months before.‘Recognise this?’ asked Vicky, holding up the PDA. She turned it on and began tapping at the screen with a stylus. Stich scanned the Glaxo letter as Vicky worked … A candidate with your background and references would make an important addition to our company … We would have no hesitation in offering you a place in our research and development team …Vicky was busy scrolling through a document. ‘Looks like a bunch of results from an experiment,’ she said, scrolling faster. Suddenly she stopped. ‘Look at this.’At the end of the document the last line read: Controls are viral – Venton correct.Viral. The connection with Clive’s message was clear.Stich folded away the Glaxo letter. ‘What’s Venton?’‘Who not what. Mike Venton,’ said Vicky, ‘is a molecular scientist. Or was. He was found hanged at his home a few weeks ago. We all went to his funeral.’‘I remember. I couldn’t make it,’ said Stich.‘His family was devastated.’Stich and Susan had a regular Wednesday night date, a corner table at their local Chinese. The day they buried Mike Venton, she hadn’t shown up for it. He called her mobile, but it was switched off. Eventually, he left the restaurant, went home and kept calling. She finally made it home at midnight. He was furious.‘Tumours, Stich.’He missed a beat. ‘What?’‘Krenthol.’‘Krenthol?’Vicky rubbed her forehead. ‘That’s what links Susan, Clive and Mike Venton. They all worked on the Krenthol drug. This drug is big, Stich.’‘I know. I’m taking it.’‘What? But Krenthol’s for cancer patients.’He said nothing.‘Stich?’‘Vicky, let’s not talk about it. At least not now.’‘Are you saying what I think you’re saying?’‘I’m saying that I want to find out what happened to Susan, that’s all.’‘But, Stich – ’‘Please.’She slowly pulled her eyes away from his. ‘There’s a lot of data here. Most of the techniques I’m familiar with. But I need time to sort through it all. Take a look at this.’She angled the screen towards him. Susan had written one line: Send to PB 07896654981.‘Mean anything?’‘Shh …’ Stich put his finger over his lips.‘What is it?’ she whispered.‘I don’t know.’‘What’s wrong?’‘There’s no noise.’‘What?’‘Where’s everyone gone? I can’t hear anyone. Stay here.’Vicky grabbed his arm. ‘Where are you going?’‘I won’t be a minute.’He moved away from the stairwell and into the corridor outside. Just then a door to Stich’s right swung open and a skinny, bespectacled lab worker emerged. He had a plastic container in his hand and what looked like a jelly wedged inside it. They stared at each other in silence for a short moment.‘Dark room,’ the lab worker said finally, nodding at a room behind him.Stich looked down at the jelly in his hands.‘Electrophoresis gel,’ he said. ‘Don’t I know you?’‘I don’t think so.’‘Aren’t you Sue Harrison’s boyfriend?’‘Yes, I am.’The man smiled. ‘Thought so. I never forget a face. Tandoori Nights, wasn’t it? Christmas curry last year? Roy Burman, in case you’ve forgotten.’ He wore latex lab gloves, but extended his hand anyway. Stich took it.‘David Stichell.’‘That’s right,’ Roy said, ‘I remember now. So what brings you here? Is Susan working this morning?’‘No, Sue’s not in today.’‘Oh.’ He stopped to consider this information for a moment. ‘Well, it’s good to see you anyway.’They stood awkwardly for a second. Roy leaned towards Stich as if he was about to speak, then thought better of it. ‘Well, no doubt I’ll see you in the future. Perhaps at the next Immteck curry, eh?’‘Perhaps you will.’Roy turned and strode away. Stich watched him turn right and disappear from view before making his own way back to the stairwell.Vicky was waiting. ‘So?’‘Weird,’ he said.‘Why?’‘Doesn’t matter. Look, Vicky, I’ve had enough of it here.’‘Okay.’‘I want to do one last thing, though.’‘What?’‘You said Clive worked on Tumour Immunology, right?’‘Yes.’‘And Clive’s was a Krenthol lab?’‘Yes.’‘Well, some of the others in his lab may have the same samples as Clive had. I want to have a look.’‘But we’ve already been there – you won’t know what to look for.’‘So, I’ll remove a whole bunch of stuff from the refrigerators and hope.’* * *Roy hurried back towards his lab. He already had a lot on his mind, but seeing Susan’s boyfriend had made things much worse. What was he doing here without her? Come to think of it, how did he get in? Security was tight, especially now that Krenthol was in its final stages of development. Roy used the back of his latex gloved hand to adjust his spectacles as he careered along. He had been so surprised to see Stich he hadn’t even thought of asking questions. Just as well. He had to get in touch with Susan and find out what was going on. God, there was trouble everywhere.Up ahead, the corridor made a sharp bend. Beyond that was his lab and a phone. He hurried forwards, checked his watch, then, smack! He walked straight into two men. The electrophoresis gel was knocked from his hand and Roy slumped backwards.The men were irritated.Why hadn’t he gone downstairs to reception with the rest of the staff?Roy didn’t know he had to.Hadn’t he got a pager?He had.Then why hadn’t he responded to the message and gone downstairs?Roy explained how he had left his pager in his lab before going to the dark room. He hadn’t picked up any messages.One of the men was wearing a dinner jacket. He searched Roy’s face looking for … something. When had he left the dark room?Just now.Then he should go downstairs immediately – there was a security issue to be dealt with.Roy nodded and scurried away to safety. Once out of sight, he stopped and recovered his breath. His heart was pounding in his chest. What the hell was he to do? Those two characters were after something. Then he thought of Stich.A security issue.Of course. Now it started to make sense. He hurried into his lab, grabbed the communal phone and dialled the number of the animal house downstairs in the basement.23The corridor was lit with dull fluorescence. It had ripped vinyl seating with tight bulges of sponge visible at the thigh channels. There was a machine vending burnt but free coffee and a stack of Forensic Science International journals piled on a low table. A scene that resonated with how Varcy felt: tired and old. He had been inside Don Elliott’s lab for an hour and was as bored as hell. Finally Don had lost patience and told him to get a coffee and wait. It was three cups before a door opened and Don emerged.‘At last,’ said Varcy.‘You miss me?’ asked Don.‘What do you think?’‘Come in, I’ll show you what’s going on.’He led Varcy into a viewing suite. ‘Take a seat.’On the table before them were a monitor, keyboard and mouse. ‘Okay, this is what we’ve got.’ Don pressed a key and the monitor was filled with the image of the roadway outside the hospital.‘Notice how clean it is now?’ asked Don.Varcy nodded. ‘I’m just admiring it.’Don snorted. ‘Right, here’s the back of the guy that gets knocked down – he’ll disappear and reappear in a moment. But this is as good as it gets with him. I can’t get his face at all – there’s no reflection, he doesn’t turn profile, nothing.’‘That’s okay, we know who he is,’ said Varcy, ‘or was. He died in intensive care an hour ago.’‘Poor fella.’‘Don’t feel too sorry for him.’‘Why?’‘Doesn’t matter. What else?’Don turned back to the screen. ‘I’ll slow it right down as the car comes in.’Varcy watched as the red Peugeot appeared at the top left of the screen. It jumped frame by frame towards the dark figure.‘Okay, here’s the impact.’ Don pointed at the screen, tracing the action with his finger. ‘The off side smacks into him, he buckles slightly then is propelled upwards over the bonnet and forwards away from the camera.’ Don stopped the film. ‘Now this is where we found something.’ He focused the picture to a point on the side of the car. The image went grainy and blurred. Don tweaked it until it became sharper. Varcy squinted trying to make sense of it.‘See the slender fingers and nail polish?’ asked Don. ‘The driver’s female, unless you’re dealing with a transvestite.’‘Very funny.’‘I try.’‘Anything else?’‘Not really. We think we can see the dead guy’s shoes after the car leaves but apart from that, not much.’Varcy leaned back into the chair.‘Did it help at all?’ asked Don.Varcy shrugged. ‘I’m not sure – I didn’t expect the driver to be female.’‘Well, at least that’s something.’‘I wonder who she is.’Don switched off the monitor. ‘That’s something you’re going to have to work out on your own.’24The door to Clive’s lab was swinging and Stich instinctively slowed down. He glanced at Vicky who, judging by her expression had seen the same thing, and edged on. The door had a window at the top giving a view of the lab. Stich had got half-way towards it when the door burst open. He froze. A man in a dinner suit stood at the entrance. He seemed momentarily surprised, before a smile broke out on his face. Stich backed up straight away. The man said something over his shoulder and was joined by another man who loomed large in the doorway.Stich turned and ran towards Vicky, both of them now heading into a maze of doors and hallways. Somewhere behind they could hear footsteps. Vicky pointed to a stairwell. They made the first landing when he heard the doors open above them.Vicky tripped and hit the stairs hard. Susan’s PDA, still clutched in her hand, fell and bounced down the steps in front of her. It came to a halt a couple of seconds before she did. Stich flew after her. ‘Vicky!’ he heard himself shout.She lay face down. Stich reached forwards and turned her. His head began to swim. He thought of Susan. It was happening again. The edges of his world started to blur. Then she stirred and began coughing.‘Vicky!’Her eyes opened and she coughed some more. ‘Vicky, thank God. Are you hurt?’Above them, Stich heard the men coming. Vicky groped for his hand and he tried to lift her, but it was too slow.‘I thought you were shot,’ he said.She shook her head. ‘I tripped, that’s all.’‘They’re coming, Vick,’ Stich said. ‘We’ve got no chance.’‘The organiser,’ she said. ‘I dropped it.’‘I’ve got it,’ he said, scooping it up.‘Stich, you go they’re not interested in me.’‘No way. Try and get up!’‘I am trying.’Just then, he felt a violent shake and someone grabbing him.‘Up!’Stich staggered to his feet, his head thumping. He turned to see Vicky being dragged behind him. A shove and he was through a door that led out of the stairwell. He stumbled a dozen or so paces, felt a sharp force on his back, and lurched into a room that lay in complete darkness.* * *Varcy hardly ever smoked. On the occasions he did light up, like now, he preferred cigars. He paced by an unmarked police car on the roadway outside David Stichell’s two-bed terrace. Earlier, he had tried to get access but, as expected, there was no one in. Now, he waited for the others to arrive. The cigar charred at his throat and sent him into a coughing fit. To add to his woes, there was a migraine gnawing at the back of his skull. He took another puff just as Kendrick showed up with three others. Kendrick saw the cigar. ‘Things that bad?’Varcy sneezed hard into his hands. ‘You’re late.’ He placed his cigar between his teeth and fished out a couple of A4 sheets from his jacket. ‘You get this fax?’Kendrick nodded. ‘Of course.’‘So, what do you make of it?’‘I was hoping you’d tell me. You got all this from checking the Moorcroft lobby phone?’‘I’d hoped the phone might give me a lead. Instead it’s just muddied the waters even more.’‘And there’s still no sign of Harrison?’‘I was in Bristol for most of the night. We’re still trying to track her down.’‘And Stichell?’Varcy shrugged. ‘God knows. Did you get the search warrant?’‘Yes.’‘Then let’s have a look around.’25Stich lay face down on the floor. He blinked as a light switch was thrown and the brightness hit his eyes. A hand hooked under his arm.‘Come on.’Stich struggled to get to his feet. ‘Roy?’‘You’re in trouble, Stich.’A few feet from them, slumped against a cabinet, was Vicky. She had her eyes closed but opened them as Stich approached.‘You okay?’ he asked, giving her hand a squeeze.‘Come on, we must hurry,’ said Roy. ‘There’s a way out through the animal house.’ He checked the door. ‘The staff are assembled outside and the men chasing you seem to have disappeared.’‘You saw those two?’ Stich asked.‘Oh, yes.’‘So, what happened? They were just a couple of floors above us.’‘Brian is what happened.’‘Brian?’‘I’ll explain in a moment,’ he said. ‘The animal house is in the basement. Follow me.’They made their way back into the stairwell, Vicky holding onto Stich’s arm as they descended.‘How far?’ Stich asked after the first level.‘Two more,’ Roy replied. ‘If we can get in, we’ll be safe, I reckon.’When they got to the bottom of the steps, Stich made for the fire exit.‘No, not that one. It leads out to the back of the building and you’ll be exposed. This side,’ he said, turning to a steel grey door to their right, ‘is the animal house.’On the side wall was a keypad. He punched in the combination and the door clicked inwards. They followed him in.‘Only a few of us know this code,’ Roy said as the smell of sawdust and vermin hit them. ‘Animal rights groups are a problem for us, you see.’The room was long and narrow, with a high mezzanine level and was illuminated with a dull fluorescence. It was edged with rows of caged mice. Roy led them along a pathway running the length of the room, to a darker area beyond that smelled of mothballs. A sign that read, Xenopus Laevae, heralded a line of glass tanks in which huge toads sprawled half submerged in water. They hurried into a room the other side of this that was crammed full of papers, well-thumbed science journals and files randomly scattered on the floor. Several weeks worth of unwashed crockery occupied a basin and washboard at one end. In the middle of the room was a wooden workbench on which a man in a brown lab coat was perched.‘It’s okay,’ said Roy, ‘this is Brian.’Brian hopped off the table. He was tall with curly black hair and a full beard to match. ‘Hi,’ he said.Roy checked his watch. ‘Anyone see you come in here?’‘I’m not signed in at the front desk, so as far as they’re concerned I’m absent today.’Roy adjusted his spectacles. ‘Brian helped me arrange a small diversion. It seems to have had the desired effect. Did you see where they went, Brian?’‘I only saw one. He made his way to the north of the building, so I assume he took the lift back down to reception.’‘And the other one?’‘Didn’t get a look at him.’‘God knows what you did,’ said Vicky to Brian, ‘but, thank you, anyway.’Brian smiled broadly. ‘No problem.’‘Do you know who those two are?’ asked Stich.‘Do you know who they are?’‘No. Should we?’Just then, there was a series of electronic beeps from the door at the end of the corridor. ‘Someone’s punching in the code,’ said Brian. ‘You’d better leave.’Opposite them was a flight of stairs that led to a door on the mezzanine floor above. They followed Roy to the top and he pushed the bar to open it. The cool breeze from outside rushed in.‘To the right, the building continues for a hundred metres. That’s the back of Immteck where the staff are waiting. You don’t want to go there.’ He pulled the door almost closed behind them. ‘Go that way,’ he said pointing to some palisade fencing opposite. ‘You’ll have to climb, but on the other side are the Royal Courts of Justice. You can lose yourselves.’Stich stood awkwardly. ‘I don’t understand what went on back there.’‘No time,’ Roy said waving them away.‘We’re staying at the Mellbrook Hotel – Holland Park.’‘I’ll find you,’ he said.They made their way to the fence. Stich kept checking over his shoulder, but Roy had disappeared back inside.* * *Half an hour ago, there had been a call from Chiswick. Varcy had put a picture of Stichell on the wire. A sharp WPC had seen it and realised it matched up well with a description she’d been given of a man observed at the scene of a murder earlier that morning in Chiswick. Varcy checked his notebook for the name Clive Rand.It was set to be a long afternoon. Everything would have to be looked at, sifted, and then documented. Inside Stichell’s house it was a buzz of activity. Kendrick organised his men as Varcy explored, moving slowly and making mental notes of the surroundings. It all looked pretty ordinary. Tidy in fact. He saw the children’s stuff piled high in the corner of the living-room – a three-wheeled bike, a stack of soft toys, and a chalkboard on an easel.Yes, the child.Varcy opened his notebook again and reread what he had recorded from the profile faxed to him last night. Stichell was thirty-one, divorced, had one child, a female, four years old, of whom he had sole custody. He turned to Kendrick who stood across the room watching the work progress. ‘How many fathers get sole custody of their children after a divorce?’Kendrick shrugged. ‘Not many, just ask Fathers 4 Justice.’Varcy sniffed and returned to his notebook. Stichell’s occupation was listed as a chiropractor; he owned his own practice in Spitalfields. His address was shown as this one. Varcy turned the page and compared this information to what he had on Susan Harrison. She was twenty-seven, single, with no children. For the last three years she had worked for Immteck – a pharmaceutical company – as a research scientist. Before that at the University of Cambridge, and prior to that an undergraduate at Bath. Bright spark, thought Varcy, as he wandered into a bedroom. He checked the wardrobes. His on the right, hers on the left. Yet this wasn’t Harrison’s listed address. He would check her place later. Beyond the bed, under the only window, was a dressing table. Varcy picked up a framed photograph sitting centre stage. Both close-ups showed Stichell and Susan Harrison – Stichell, smiling at camera, with Harrison resting her head on his shoulder.‘Sir?’Varcy swung round. A young constable stood at the doorway. ‘I think you may want to look at this.’In Stichell’s living-room was a set of French doors that led onto a patio. To the left was a small garage and a side door. ‘In here,’ said the constable. They went inside and he bent over an old cupboard that stood against the far wall. There on the bottom shelf was a pair of plastic gloves scrunched together in a ball. Varcy frowned and squatted to inspect it. ‘What is it?’‘Gloves, sir.’‘Yes, I know that, but what’s the concern?’‘They smell of … well, acid, sir.’Varcy leaned forwards and sniffed.‘Can’t smell a thing.’‘You want them taken away, sir?’Varcy nodded absently. ‘Yes, bag them up.’Making his way back to Stichell’s lounge, he could hear an excited voice. He followed the sound to where Kendrick was hunched over Stichell’s answer phone. Kendrick looked up as Varcy approached, and pressed the play button.‘Susan. It’s me, Clive. You switched probes, didn’t you? I know about the viral DNA in these samples. I know you do too. God, Susan this is madness … it’s … huge … Call me as soon as you get this – you’ve got my number.’‘What do you make of that?’ asked Kendrick.Varcy shrugged, reached forwards and played it again. A second hearing made it no clearer except for one thing. He rewound. ‘Susan. It’s me, Clive. You switched probes, didn’t you?’He rewound again. ‘Susan. It’s me, Clive …’26Back in the van, Ed Connor closed his eyes. There had been a change of plan. It happened soon after Stichell and the girl made for the stairwell. Up until then it was all going well and he had sent Trevor to bring the transit round the back while he went after them. Then he heard the commotion and realised someone was down. Excellent. It was the girl. This would be easier than he imagined. He rushed downwards. What was it about the girl? The hair – was that it? Then he heard Stichell cry out, ‘Vicky!’Vicky … Vicky …Then it came to him. Of course, blonde Vicky.His thoughts were distracted by something moving fast to his right; a flitting, light brown mass of colour. He tried to check his speed, but hit it head on. A cage smashed onto the stairs. Ed lost his footing and shot forwards. He landed, spine down, just as the door of the cage opened and a rat squirmed free, then another one – this time bigger and fatter; scurrying … A third … Ed hated rats.Pain gnawed across his back. The man he had collided with was now hurrying to pick the animals up. ‘These are vaccinated with a new drugging regime!’ he cried. ‘We can’t lose them!’Ed moved his legs and the muscles in his back went into spasm. He sat up cautiously. The man flustered about him grabbing rats’ tails. He caught another. It spun and wriggled. Ed’s skin crawled.‘Who are you?’‘Animal house. There’s been a security breach – we must get these rats to a safe place.’‘Who told you?’‘I had a call.’A rat scampered onto Ed’s shoe. Urgh. He flicked it away. The man in brown went to fetch it.‘What sort of security breach?’‘Animal rights groups, I imagine. They’re a constant threat. If I get a call, I take the experimentals like these to safety.’‘Who called you?’‘Security.’Ed looked over the rail. Stichell and the girl were gone. He looked back at the man as he lovingly rescued another rat.‘Who’s on security?’‘I didn’t ask – they just said a breach had taken place and that I should follow the normal protocol – that means moving these to a safe place.’Ed eyed the man. Was he taking the piss? In another life, he wouldn’t have bothered to find out. He got to his feet and dusted himself off. In this life, there were other ways to get what he wanted.Ed now knew who the girl was and that changed everything.* * *They were in one of those hall-shaped coffee bars, just a couple of blocks from UCL. It was a prime student hangout. Stich felt like a sixth former at a year ten party. A waitress came to take the order, but Stich couldn’t even think about food. He ordered a coffee.Then the café door opened and a short man appeared: gelled, black, tin-tin hair, donkey jacket, paint flecks at the shoulder. The door was hinged to swing both ways, and it swooshed to and fro a few times before subsiding. The man had his hands thrust in his pockets as he scanned the bar. Stich jolted in his seat. ‘Fuck.’‘What?’Stich craned his neck. The man found a booth.‘What?’ Vicky asked again.‘Nothing. I thought I saw someone I didn’t want to.’‘Who?’‘No one you know.’‘Are you all right?’Stich massaged his temples. ‘Look, Vicky, you’ve got to get out of this.’‘Sorry?’‘Leave and go home. It’s too dangerous to hang around.’‘No way.’‘Vick, we’ve been lucky so far. It might not last, in fact I’m sure it won’t. I’ve got no choice but to carry on. You don’t have to.’‘So, I just walk away and leave you to deal with this on your own? After all we’ve been through?’‘I’m not saying that. But I don’t want you killed.’‘I’m not intending to let that happen.’‘This isn’t a game, Vicky. Susan is dead, for Christ’s sake.’‘Let me worry about it.’They sat in silence. Then Stich said quietly, ‘You said you knew Mike Venton?’‘Yes.’‘Did he have a family?’‘Wife, couple of kids, I think.’‘Do you know where they live?’‘Why?’‘I want to talk to his wife. She might know something.’‘Something like what?’‘I don’t know … anything.’Students at the window seats erupted with laughter as the waitress returned with a pot of filter coffee and two mugs. Stich stared at the curling steam while Vicky rummaged in her bag and pulled out her diary.‘You want some of this?’ he said, filling his mug.She flipped through then stuck her finger in a page. ‘Half a cup. Here. I have the number, but my battery’s dead.’‘Use this one,’ said Stich, passing over Susan’s mobile.27‘Number eight.’ Vicky leaned forwards squinting. ‘That one.’ She pointed to an end terrace.‘It’s Mary, right?’ asked Stich as they approached.Before they reached the door, it opened and a woman stood at the entrance. Her hair hung limply at her shoulders, her face pale and drawn. She smiled but the effort looked as if it would break her. Stich didn’t know what to say so he offered his hand.‘Come on in. Sorry about the mess, the kids have been off school.’They stepped into the hallway and she led them to the living-room. ‘Take a seat,’ she said. ‘Can I get you both a drink?’‘A soft one would be great.’‘Lemonade okay?’‘Perfect.’‘Give me a minute.’Stich’s gaze swept around the lounge. It was family-friendly; cheap laminated flooring littered with children’s toys, the walls covered with pictures of stick-man crayon drawings the kids had done. Over on the far wall, a framed family shot. Dad – presumably Mike – on the left holding the youngest, Mary on the right with two kids snuggled close. ‘We had that taken last summer,’ said Mary coming back in with the drinks.‘It’s lovely,’ said Stich.‘It’s a terrible shot of me,’ she replied. ‘Mike and the kids look good though.’ She handed Stich and Vicky two glasses before perching on the sofa opposite.‘So,’ she said at last, ‘what can I help you with?’‘We want to ask about your husband.’She sat back into the sofa and folded her arms. This would be tougher than he imagined. Stich wasn’t sure what he should tell her or how much. In the end he gave her an edited version. He explained about Susan and Clive; told her what Vicky and he had gone through and about the reference to her husband in Susan’s organiser.‘You see, Mary,’ he concluded, ‘I feel sure that if your husband’s death was in any way related to the others, you would want to know.’She listened in silence and continued to stare past him, lost in her own world, long after he’d finished. Stich looked over at Vicky. She took over.‘Mary, this is a horrible time. It must be difficult for you right now. But you have to trust us. All we’re saying is there might be a connection, that’s all. Nothing is certain but we need to know if these deaths are coincidence or not. If they are, then fine. If not …’ Vicky swallowed. ‘Well, we need to know if not.’Mary looked at them both in turn. She bent forwards to a handbag lying at her feet. Her hands shook slightly. ‘Do you mind?’ she said as she took out a cigarette. She lit it quickly and drew in the smoke. ‘Mike would go mad if he knew I’d started on these again.’Stich half smiled. She drew on it once more. ‘I gave up – it’s been four years. I’ll stop again but I need a crutch for now. How do you want me to help?’Stich took a sip of lemonade. ‘That’s the problem, I don’t know. I want information – any information. There has to be a thread that draws it all together. The Krenthol drug is one link, but I need more than that. Did Mike have any worries … did he seem different in any way recently?’Mary eyed them through the smoke. She flicked some ash into an ashtray. ‘Distant,’ she said. ‘Preoccupied I suppose you could say. It was unlike him. He was never moody or downcast. I could be moody, but never him. If I was down, he’d always get me out of it. But when it was his turn, I couldn’t do anything to help him.’ Her voice caught in her throat.‘Did he tell you what was wrong?’‘It was a gradual thing. It didn’t happen overnight. I did eventually try to talk to him about it, but he said pressure at work had got to him. So I left it hoping that when the Krenthol thing was done, he’d go back to being how he always was. Then I came in one day and …’ She trailed off struggling, and flicked more ash.‘Just take your time, Mary.’ Vicky said.She nodded and sighed deeply. ‘That day the kids weren’t here, thank God. Mike said he was going into work late. He had a report to write which he could do upstairs in his office. I left him and took the kids to school. I came back, and shouted up to him. I was going to make him a drink. He didn’t answer. I went upstairs to his office and found him.’Vicky and Stich sat in silence.‘I knew he was dead immediately,’ she went on. ‘He was turned away from me but I knew. I can’t remember too much after that. I called the police. I tried to phone my mother, I was going crazy. Then the police arrived and there was a lot of activity. A doctor came. I think he gave me a shot of something because I was out for a while.’‘When you found him … he was … ’‘Hanged.’ She said it matter of fact. ‘It’s all right – I can deal with it.’Stich nodded. ‘And there was nothing out of place. I mean, no break-ins, damage, anything like that?’She shook her head.‘No suicide note?’‘Nothing.’‘Did Mike say anything to you in the days leading up to his death? Anything that struck you as odd?’‘Nothing specific. He was distant as I said, and I was … suspicious, I suppose. You know – I’m here all day with the kids, Mike’s working. I don’t know, it can get your mind mixed up. He was also receiving telephone calls – I suppose that didn’t help. I thought he was seeing someone.’‘You suspected he was having an affair?’She nodded. ‘He was getting calls at home. Not here on our family line but upstairs in his office. In the two years since we had that line fitted it must have rung a dozen times. Then a few months ago, it was going two or three times a night. I knew things were hotting up with Krenthol, but it became regular. He was evasive about it, which made me more suspicious. Then one evening, I listened at the door. He was whispering, so I walked into the office. He finished the conversation straight away and then flew off at me, accusing me of spying on him. He said I wasn’t to listen in on his conversations in future. We never discussed it after that but I got hold of an itemised bill for the line upstairs – it listed all calls he was making. Almost all of them were to the same person. So, I called the number. I was put through to an answering service with a female voice. I thought about leaving a message, but decided against it. I wanted to speak to her properly, and tell her who I was and why I was ringing.’‘And did you?’ Stich asked.She shook her head. ‘Mike died. I’ve been so busy coping with that, I haven’t had the will to call her. It doesn’t matter now anyway.’Stich set his glass on the floor by his feet. ‘Mary, would you mind if I took that number?’She looked hesitant. ‘I don’t want to drag anything up. Whatever happened happened. I’m not sure I want to know.’‘Of course,’ Vicky said. ‘We’ll be as discreet as we can, but it may be important.’‘Just don’t tell me if … you know, if you find something that will hurt. I want to remember a good man, for the sake of the kids as much as for anything else.’ She produced a black diary and turned to the back. ‘Here,’ she said, ‘you can take it.’ She ripped out a page.Stich looked at it. ‘This is it?’A cold rush hit his throat.He glanced at Vicky and mouthed, ‘It’s Susan’s.’28The DVD came out of the recorder with a whirl and jolted Dr Aaron Grant awake. His head was resting on his arms that were folded on a lab bench littered with the debris of experiments. His mouth was dry. The clock on the wall had hardly moved. He had dozed during the time it had taken for the DVD to reset. Grant pushed away from the bench and went out into the corridor to the water fountain. He gulped down a couple of mouthfuls and wiped what had splattered his face with his sleeve. Fifteen hours straight. Dozens of experiments. Sliced biopsies. Homogenised tissue, spundown and run out. Monoclonals added and tagged. A notebook full of data. But nothing concrete. No clue why one-five-one was not responding. He needed some inspiration. That’s why he had tracked down a demo recording.Grant wandered back into the lab just as the automatic play kicked in. The monitor filled with his own image. The film had been made only about two years ago, but he looked much younger than he did right now. The background was stark white and glaring, with him in front of the camera talking to someone behind it.‘… Yes, just do a wide shot, then follow me around when I move to the table.’Then he stepped back a few feet. ‘How do I look?’ he asked the camera.‘Lovely,’ came the sarcastic reply.‘Are you ready?’ said Grant. ‘Right, let’s do it.’ He cleared his throat. ‘Welcome to the demonstration. You’ll forgive the casual nature of this, but it’s for your eyes only, so to speak.’Watching it, Grant shook his head at his on-camera discomfort. Public speaking had never been a strong point. ‘The demo this morning will be brief,’ the on-screen Grant was saying, ‘and to the point. Many of you will be familiar with the technology I’m about to explain, but some of you won’t. I’ll elucidate as simply as I can.’Laid out on a dissecting bench to Grant’s left was a white rat. It had been anesthetised and lay sideways with its back to the camera. The camera moved forwards so that an incision in the right flank was clearly visible. The skin was peeled back and clamped. Inserted into the incision was a slender, stainless steel tube perhaps three millimetres in diameter. The camera panned back to Grant.‘That, believe it or not, is a scanning microscope. A prototype developed here at Immteck. Its size will allow us to see what is happening in real time when the demonstration starts. First, let me tell you about this animal. The rat was inoculated some four weeks ago with the viral vector 3f7, which delivers the proto-oncogene xm4 into the target tissue. In this case we injected into the liver. You will see from a scanning microscope slide taken a few hours ago,’ – the camera swung round to a monitor set up next to the dissection table – ‘the tumour caused by that injection is now fully established in this rat.’ The image showed a group of uneven, deranged cells next to rounded plump ones. ‘This is the healthy tissue,’ said Grant pointing to the slide, ‘and this is cancerous. As time passes, the healthy tissue will be infected with 3f7 and the proto-oncogene will be introduced. Eventually, the rest of the healthy liver tissue will be ravaged.’ Grant reached behind him to an ice bucket and pulled out a syringe. ‘In here,’ he said, ‘is an isotonic solution of engineered Immunoglobulin E, along with mast cells and basophils and a molecule that enhances IgE attack. We have called this mixture, Krenthol.’Grant smiled as he watched himself drone on. The idea was perfectly simple. He remembered when it first came to him. On a bench in Hyde Park eight summers ago, he saw a runny nosed child convulsed in a sneezing fit. The child’s mother got a handkerchief from her bag and stuffed it against his nose. ‘Pollen must be high today,’ she said as they passed. A small incident, but for Grant it changed everything.This had been an early demo for friends of Laurence Tench – most of them VCs. Moneymen always wanted to be impressed, even if they didn’t understand the technology. The lot that this DVD aired to became the first real money pumped into the project and allowed Krenthol to get off the ground.‘The basophils and the mast cells are the rat’s own,’ Grant was saying. ‘I’m injecting them simultaneously so that cross linking with IgE is fast.’The sneezing boy had made Grant really think. The mechanism used by the immune system to cause allergy was the same as the one it used to destroy parasites. While allergy gripped the developed world more strongly than ever before, parasite infection remained rare. Some Westerners were allergic to almost everything. If it wasn’t pollen it was dust mites. If not dust mites then cat hair. In the underdeveloped world, the reverse was true: parasite infection was rampant while allergy was rare. This was when he made the connection; the two were opposite sides of the same coin. Parasites had largely been eradicated in the developed world thus making a whole regiment of the immune army suddenly redundant. The result? They were attacking allergens instead.What if he gave this regiment a real target to attack? A target similar in size and structure to its natural prey? Tumours are organic lumps of flesh, so are parasites. Providing it was guided in the right way, why would the regiment have a problem destroying tumours?Up on the screen, Grant had injected the rat with the solution and had put the syringe back in the ice bucket. ‘Ben?’ he said to someone off-camera. ‘Is the scanning microscope working? Okay, let’s show it.’The picture switched to a close up of a cell cluster. The same deranged cells as had been shown before. ‘You see the cancerous tissue?’ Grant asked. ‘Keep your eye on that. The IgE I’ve injected will soon find it.’ Around the deranged cells, small dots vibrated like tiny bees around a honeycomb. Some collided with and stuck to the outside of the cells, while the rest of them continued to vibrate. ‘The antibody is starting to find its target,’ said Grant. ‘The basophils and mast cells will now be attracted.’ Soon greater numbers of dots had stuck and formed a thin carpet of material all over the cancerous cells. Then large masses began to hover at the edge of the shot. They dwarfed the dots. ‘Okay, here we go,’ said Grant.Grant listened to the commentary and watched the action on screen. He’d seen the clips of this process dozens of times but it always amazed him. Even when he first realised it might be possible, he never imagined how efficient it would be when it worked properly.The masses on the monitor were moving towards the carpet of black. They appeared to lock on and were held. ‘Okay, the granulocytes are in place,’ said Grant. ‘Watch the destruction as they release their chemicals.’ More and more granulocytes arrived and covered the cancerous cells. Gradually, almost imperceptibly at first, chunks of deranged cells began to break away from the main body of tissue. Crumbling like drilled cement dust. ‘There!’ Grant exclaimed. ‘It begins.’The bombardment continued as more and more debris detached. ‘Phagocytes will clear up the mess,’ said Grant, ‘and the area will be a tumour free zone. Don’t forget, the immune system remembers past invaders. If this tumour dares to rear its head in future, IgE antibody will be onto it in a flash, and the bombardment will begin again.’Grant stopped the disc. He had seen enough. He had had enough.29In the car after leaving Mary Venton, they had been subdued. Vicky eventually broke the silence. ‘So what now?’ she asked.‘The samples,’ said Stich. ‘I’m sure the samples referred to in both Clive’s phone message to Susan and her note scribbled to him were tumour samples. It isn’t much of a stretch – both scientists worked in labs dealing with cancer, after all.’‘Fair enough.’‘Mike Venton and Susan suspected these samples were dodgy and decided to send them to PB for analysis.’‘And since Mike, Clive and Susan are now dead,’ said Vicky, ‘we want to know if PB got the samples and, if so, what was it about them that Susan and Mike wanted to find out.’They decided to split the tasks. Stich checked Susan’s mobile contacts for the initials PB and found only one. Paul Berry turned out to be a Cambridge pathologist. Meanwhile, Vicky went back to the Mellbrook Hotel to go through the rest of the information.Professor Paul Berry lived and worked in Cambridge. His website, which Stich had looked over before driving up, had a small biography. He was academically renowned judging by the number of published papers to his name. The photo next to the text showed a man – ultra lean, with tight skin, protruding bones, and dark eyes.Stich pulled off the M11 and drove into town. Berry’s office was off Trumpington Street in a cobbled alcove set back from the road. Stone built and old, it nestled between a bakery and an academic bookshop. Stich parked the car and went in. The hallway had a door left and right, neither of which was Berry’s. Ahead of him was a wooden staircase that led to the floor above. Stich mounted the steps just as a door at the top of the stairs opened. Out walked a man a lot taller than his photo suggested but the facial features were a giveaway. Stich checked the small sign on his door. It was Berry, about to leave, a small clutch of keys jangling in his hand. His face set slightly when he saw Stich. No doubt the last thing he wanted was a student demanding time late in the afternoon.‘Professor Berry?’‘Yes.’ His voice was clipped.‘Er …’ Stich looked about him. ‘My name is David Stichell. I’m Susan Harrison’s fiancé.’There was no reaction.‘I wondered if I could take a few moments of your time?’Berry studied him, then turned and opened the door fully. ‘Won’t you come in?’A mahogany writing desk with leather-backed chairs on either side dominated the office. Beyond this, a small bay window overlooked the street. A computer console sat on the desk and on the walls were old black and white prints of Trinity and Queens’. The space reeked of academic endeavour. Berry offered Stich a seat and took the one opposite. He folded his arms across his chest. ‘What can I do for you?’Stich cleared his throat and decided to be direct. ‘Yesterday, my fiancée was murdered. I believe she was killed because of something she had discovered at work.’Berry stared blankly.‘I understand sometime during the last few months she sent you some samples to analyse.’‘I deal with hundreds of samples a year,’ he said.‘You would remember these,’ Stich said, ‘they were tumour samples.’Berry shifted in his seat.‘You did analyse them, didn’t you?’‘Yes, some of them.’‘And?’‘I received a request to stop work and return them.’‘Who from?’‘The research company who owns them.’‘Immteck?’He nodded.‘What did they say?’‘Just that the samples had been sent to me in error, that they belonged to them and as such should be returned immediately.’‘And you just sent them back?’‘Of course.’‘What proof did you have that the samples were theirs?’He shrugged. ‘Documentation.’‘And what did Susan say about this?’His gaze darted over the ceiling. ‘Why do you want to know all this?’‘Like I say, my fiancée, Susan Harrison, has just been murdered. I’m trying to find out why.’‘I understand that, and I sympathise with your tragic loss, but what has her murder to do with the tumour samples?’‘You keep records of everything you analyse, right?’‘My records are as thorough as I can make them.’‘Did you make a report on the samples Susan gave you?’‘Of course – it’s standard practice.’‘So where is it?’ Stich looked at the PC sitting on Berry’s desk.‘Not on there,’ Berry replied. ‘The data was sent over to Immteck. That’s as far as my involvement goes.’‘You must have copies of the stuff you sent over,’ Stich said.‘Copies exist, yes, but I don’t have them. The database is cleared every month and the reports are archived.’‘Where?’‘In a storage facility here in Cambridge.’‘So I can read them?’Berry pulled a small black diary from his desk drawer and made a note in it. ‘I’ll forward your request.’‘Professor?’He glanced up.‘What was your impression of Susan? I mean, did she act strangely, say anything out of place when you spoke to her?’‘Not really … at least if she did I don’t remember.’‘What do you remember?’Berry looked out of the small bay window as if distracted, watching the street beyond while students – thick texts balanced on cycles – wheeled past. ‘That the samples were old and that she wanted them urgently.’‘So who at Immteck requested that you stop work on the samples?’Berry rubbed his neck. ‘Someone who knew her … A relative, I think.’‘A relative?’‘Her uncle, wasn’t it?’‘Her uncle?’‘Yes, I think so.’‘Maxi?’‘Maximillian, yes.’‘What did he tell you?’‘I really don’t remember.’‘You don’t?’‘No, I don’t.’‘But you remembered Susan because of the urgency of her request?’‘Yes.’‘And that the tumour samples were old?’‘Yes, well, I’m frequently asked to look at fresh biopsies where diagnosis is a priority, but not often old ones.’‘So how come you don’t remember how her uncle stopped you from continuing?’‘Mr. Stichell, what is all this leading to?’‘The truth, hopefully.’‘Your attitude,’ Berry said, ‘I don’t like it.’‘Exactly how far did you get in your analysis before the work was terminated?’He went to say something then stopped. ‘I don’t know – a couple of days, maybe.’‘Was there something odd about those samples, Professor? Something perhaps that concerned you?’‘There were certain irregularities, yes,’ he said softly.Stich recollected Clive’s message and took a punt. ‘You mean, they had all been infected by a virus?’‘How do you know that?’‘So you find the samples are infected, realise that something is wrong, then what? Did you call Susan?’‘I didn’t get the chance. The request to return them arrived.’‘On the day you made the discovery?’He paused. ‘Yes, I think so.’‘And that didn’t strike you as odd?’‘Not really.’‘Not really?’‘Look, Immteck is a very big organisation. If those samples were important to them, they would find out where they were. Tearoom gossip is the best way to ascertain what’s going on in the labs here. We talk about our work all the time – I may have mentioned it to one of my colleagues, I really don’t remember. The fact that Immteck got to hear about it doesn’t surprise me. The academic world is a small one.’‘But Susan’s uncle doesn’t work for Immteck.’From Stich’s pocket Susan’s telephone rang. He answered. It was Alan Frazier.‘Stich?’‘Alan, I’m tied up just now.’‘I need to talk to you, Stich. It’s important.’‘Okay, give me ten minutes.’He turned the phone off as Berry began twirling his thumbs. ‘Look, Mr. Stichell,’ Berry said, ‘I’m appalled at what has happened to your fiancée. It’s always sad to hear tragic news about a colleague.’ He paused. ‘That said, I can’t help you any more than I already have. I really must get on. I have a meeting to attend.’‘When will the report you made on those samples be ready?’ Stich asked.‘What?’‘I’d like to see it.’He shook his head. ‘Technically that information does not belong to me. It belongs to whoever commissioned the report – in this case Immteck. It would be quite wrong – ’‘I’ll have the police demand it from you.’‘I beg your pardon?’‘I’ll tell them the report is significant in the shooting of my fiancée.’ Stich was bluffing heavily. ‘Their investigation has just begun. Your dealings with Susan will be thoroughly scrutinised.’‘Are you threatening me?’Stich leaned forwards, resting his hands on Berry’s desk. ‘Yesterday my fiancée was the victim of a terrible crime. Maybe your business with Susan has nothing to do with her murder. But if you stall on this, I’m going to make it my business to bung your name into the mix. There will be a lot of people suddenly interested in you.’Berry got to his feet. ‘I’ve had enough of this.’‘So have I, Professor.’‘Please leave.’‘I’ll give you until tomorrow to get that report.’30Detective Inspector Varcy’s face hovered over a steaming bowl of water. On his head and shoulders was draped a checked towel. The pungent scent of menthol – from the Olbas Oil he had dropped in the water – filled his office. Next to him on the desk was a digital recorder playing back a recording Varcy had made earlier. Kendrick, who had gone to get the coffee, knocked at the door and came in.Varcy held up his hand.‘You knew Richard Hart?’‘We all did – he was a work colleague.’‘Did you know him well?’‘Not very.’Kendrick set a cup down in front of Varcy and sat in the seat opposite.‘ … We’ve discussed the phone call made from the lobby a number of times. It was to a lady called Susan Harrison. ’‘I didn’t make that call.’‘So you keep saying, but help me out … I’ve found an interesting fact … ’The other voice was female. Kendrick lifted the towel and said, ‘Who’s that?’‘In a minute,’ Varcy replied.‘ …The person who received that call was … is … living with a man called David Stichell. Do you recognise that name?’‘No.’‘Not at all?’‘No.’‘We-ell, your younger sister, Charlotte, was married to David Stichell for three years. Your older sister is a patient at Mr. Stichell’s chiropractic clinic and so is her young son, Ethan. Charlotte has a daughter – your niece – that David Stichell is raising alone.’‘Inspector, I haven’t spoken to Charlotte for years. The last time I heard from her she asked to borrow money. The only time she ever got in touch was to ask for money … She had a drug habit. I expect she still does.’‘Do you know where Charlotte is now?’‘Not a clue.’There was a pause on the recording while Varcy blew his nose.‘What about David Stichell’s new fiancée?’‘Oh, for heavens sake! I’ve told you, I don’t know.’‘Let me recap so I can get this straight in my head. A murder happens on your shift at Moorcroft; you ‘misplace’ the vital disc that may well contain evidence of what happened; a telephone call is made from the lobby soon afterwards to a person who has since either gone missing or, worse, been murdered; and then I find that the person the call was placed to is living with your ex-brother-in-law.’Silence.Varcy groped for the recorder and stopped it.‘Is that the security guard?’ asked Kendrick, loosening his tie.Varcy pushed the bowl away and patted his face with the towel. ‘Yes.’Kendrick removed his jacket and stood up. ‘She’s related to David Stichell?’Varcy handed over a sheet of paper confirming Stichell’s divorce. ‘Was.’Kendrick took it, moved to a wall thermostat by the door and fiddled with the dial.‘What are you doing?’ frowned Varcy.‘Sweating my bollocks off.’‘It’s up because of my flu.’‘Just a few degrees,’ said Kendrick playing with the control. ‘Will you charge her?’‘No … I’ve got nothing to charge her with.’‘So, how long you got?’‘I haven’t. I had to let her go.’Kendrick sniffed loudly. ‘Well, I’ve got something that might just cheer you up. It’s about Richard Hart. We’ve been going through his personal effects and this belonged to him.’ He pushed a mobile phone towards Varcy. ‘See here,’ he said, leaning across and fiddling with the buttons, ‘this is a record of the last ten calls he made from this phone.’ He showed Varcy a number. ‘Guess who that number belongs to?’Varcy shrugged. ‘Surprise me.’‘David Stichell.’Varcy’s eyes widened. ‘You’re joking.’‘No, I’ve checked with the phone company.’Varcy scowled. ‘When did he make the call?’Kendrick checked the options sub-menu. ‘4.30 on the eighteenth.’‘Eleven hours before the murder. What on earth did he want with Stichell?’Kendrick shook his head. Varcy felt a sneeze build. He pinched his nose and headed it off.‘Has Hart’s flat been checked?’‘Not yet,’ said Kendrick.‘I trust we have a warrant?’‘I’ve got three. Stichell’s we’ve used. There’s Hart and Harrison left.’They were interrupted by a knock on the door and the appearance of an officer. ‘Sir, I think we’ve had a breakthrough.’* * *Stich drove out of Cambridge. He knew Berry was caught off guard by what he had to say, and that he was hiding something. All right, he didn’t know what exactly but suddenly he was taking the initiative and asking the questions. It felt good.Ten minutes out of the town and Susan’s mobile rang. It was Alan again.‘Stich, good news. I’ve spoken to a policeman called Willis about you.’‘I know him,’ Stich replied. ‘He’s the detective who interviewed me at the hospital. What did he say?’‘First up, you’re not in the frame for Susan’s murder.’‘I’m not?’‘No.’‘What’s happened?’‘They’ve made progress. Found something at Maxi’s house that led them to someone else. They’re holding him as we speak.’‘Hold it, Alan. I don’t have hands-free.’ Stich pulled into a lay by and parked behind an articulated lorry that had a sticker asking, ‘How am I driving?’ and a phone number underneath.‘Who are they holding?’ asked Stich.‘They’re not giving much away just now – playing it close to their chest. But I have other sources. I think I can safely say you’re out of the woods.’‘Didn’t they want to know where I was?’‘Yeah, but I wasn’t about to tell him you’re in Cambridge.’Stich frowned. ‘Sorry?’‘I wouldn’t tell him where you were. I have spies everywhere, remember? Stich, you okay?’‘I’m fine.’‘Where are you now?’‘I thought you knew my movements?’‘Touché! Will you swing by here before you do anything else? There’s someone I want you to meet.’‘Who?’‘Does the name, Laurence Tench, ring any bells?’‘Tench? You’re joking.’‘Never been more serious in my life, buddy.’‘What does he want with me?’‘Isn’t that obvious after what you’ve been through? He wants to help you.’‘Help me? How?’‘He’s concerned about the spouse of an employee caught up in a tragic situation. He has a lot of power, a lot of influence.’‘Sure … it’s good of him.’‘Seems they are holding an ex-Immteck employee and will probably charge him as well.’‘For Susan’s shooting?’‘That and the murder of Clive Rand.’The image of the killer lying in a pool of his own blood after Vicky’s car had destroyed him was seared onto Stich’s brain. ‘Hold it, Alan. They can’t be holding the man who killed Susan. He’s almost certainly dead.’‘I know about that.’‘So, who have they got?’‘Seems there was someone else pulling all the strings. Look, Stich, I’ve told you too much already. It was stupid of me to give you all this over the phone. Come on over and we’ll do it properly. Tench will fill you in on what he knows.’‘This person,’ Stich said, ‘does he have a name?’‘Not yet he doesn’t. They won’t release that for a day or so.’‘Is he insane?’‘Probably. Tench says he knows who it is and why he did it.’‘He knows why?’‘Yes.’‘Tell me.’‘When you get over here.’‘Has he told the police what he knows?’‘He’s just had a session with a man called Varcy.’‘My God, he’s the guy heading up the Moorcroft murder.’‘I know,’ said Alan. ‘Don’t worry about any of that. How do you feel?’The roar of the M11 seemed muted, suddenly less intrusive. The tornado had just spun itself out. ‘I’m not sure. Relieved, I think.’‘Nightmare over – ’ Alan stopped. ‘Sorry, Stich, I know it’ll never be over – ’‘Don’t worry,’ Stich said, ‘I know what you mean.’‘How far from us are you?’Stich looked at his watch. ‘I can be with you in less than an hour.’‘Great,’ Alan said. ‘We’ll be waiting.’‘Alan?’‘Yeah?’‘Thanks.’‘No problem.’31The lorry had moved on, replaced with a packed Ford S-Max – Mum, two kids, bags, bottles, snacks – and a dad dancing his way up the bank to urinate in the bushes at the top. Passing cars sounded their horns as they realised what he was up to. Twenty minutes had passed since Stich had finished the call but something Alan said kept bothering him. He knew Stich was in Cambridge. Only that wasn’t all. Hadn’t he said the police were holding the man who killed Clive and Susan? Stich knew that couldn’t be right. Vicky’s Peugeot had seen to that. After being corrected, Alan changed the story. As though he was fishing for something.The mobile sprang to life once again.Stich picked it up. ‘Alan?’ The voice when it came was not Alan’s. It was laboured but Stich knew who it was.‘Hello, Stich.’‘Maxi?’He coughed.‘My God, Maxi, is that you?’‘Yes.’‘Jesus, I thought they’d killed you.’He coughed again. ‘I wish they had.’‘What’s happened to you?’‘The worst,’ he said between breaths. ‘Listen, Stich, you are in serious danger. Where are you? No – don’t tell me. They would love that.’‘What? Who would love it?’‘Not now, Stich.’‘Maxi, stop screwing around. What’s going on?’‘Bad things.’‘You said I’m in serious danger – who from?’He spluttered for a minute. ‘They’ll kill anyone who knows.’‘Knows what?’‘Not over the phone.’‘Oh, for Christ’s sake, Maxi. Susan’s dead, I’ve been shot at and now I’m running – ’‘I know all that,’ Maxi interrupted.‘Then you know I’m not listening to this cloak and dagger shit.’‘Meet me.’‘What?’‘Just meet me, Stich.’‘Where?’‘Remember when I wore the green cardigan?’It was a standing joke; the cardigan he’d worn the first time Stich ever met him, to embarrass Susan.‘I remember.’‘Good. I’ll be upstairs.’‘When?’‘I can be there in three hours.’32There had indeed been a breakthrough – a couple of very interesting ones, in fact. Both were to do with the Moorcroft murder victim, Richard Hart. The first concerned a cheque found in Hart’s wallet. Varcy had invited another officer, Inspector Cole, who had found it, to come to the office.‘And this was in his wallet all the time?’ asked Varcy.Cole nodded. ‘One of my lads was doing the inventory this morning and realised just what we had.’One hundred thousand pounds. Varcy began shaking his head. ‘Must have been quite a shock.’‘It was,’ said Cole. ‘I checked it half a dozen times before I believed it.’‘A dead man with a cheque for a hundred grand on him is a tad unusual, I’ll give you that.’Kendrick smiled. ‘And a fuck-off big motive for murder as well.’Varcy cleared several paper piles from his desk, and lifted his legs into the vacated space, one over the other. ‘He won’t cash it now, that’s for sure. But why kill him and leave this as evidence?’‘Maybe whoever killed him didn’t realise he had it on him, or didn’t have time to check,’ said Kendrick.Varcy noted the bank on the draft – Lloyds – and the account name – The Mayne Foundation – then handed it back to Cole. ‘The Mayne Foundation?’Cole shrugged.‘Find out who they are. Any prints?’‘Half a dozen unique profiles, including Hart’s,’ said Cole. ‘We’ve run them through the database but there are no matches stored.’Varcy studied the half-open horizontal blinds covering the window. Beams of sunlight were casting a peacock’s tail of shadows on the ceiling. He closed one eye and chased the shapes with his other. ‘Get prints off his work colleagues – anyone you think he might have had contact with at Moorcroft. Now, what about the disc?’That was the second development. Disc five from the Moorcroft security camera had been found.‘I’ve got it set up in meeting room two just down the hall,’ said Cole, leading Varcy and Kendrick outside.‘So, tell me what happened,’ said Varcy.‘I spoke to the security guard on duty today – Beattie – who said he changed a new set of discs, pulled out a tray and noticed our missing disc was trapped between the tray and the back of the cabinet.’‘And he’d not spotted it before now?’‘Apparently not.’They entered a busy office. Varcy raised his voice. ‘Who did Beattie report finding the disc to?’‘The on-duty constable,’ replied Cole. ‘He got in touch with me and I went down straightaway.’‘And he reported as soon as he found it?’‘That’s what he said.’They walked in silence for a short moment. Then, ‘How did he appear to you?’ asked Varcy.‘Who?’‘The security guard. Was he nervous?’‘I wouldn’t have said so.’‘Was he was telling you the truth about how he found the disc?’‘I think so,’ said Cole, leading them into a meeting room. ‘I’ve set it up in here.’Green carpet tiles on the floor, a large wooden table with enough room for a dozen chairs in the centre, and various white boards and flip charts positioned along one wall. A police officer was sitting in one of the chairs staring at a monitor on the table before him. Cole nodded at him as they approached.‘Carl, you know DI Varcy and Inspector Kendrick.’‘Of course.’The three men joined him around the monitor.‘It starts a bit grainy,’ said Cole. ‘But after that it’s okay.’Carl hit the play button and the screen was filled with the view from camera five. The image bumped and fizzed for a while then calmed and became clear again. A man appeared from the bottom of the scene, carrying a briefcase.‘Hart,’ said Cole.He stopped by a Toyota and fiddled with his pockets.‘Searching for his car keys.’He found them and aimed at the car. The sidelights illuminated as the central locking released. Hart opened the back door and slid in the brief case. ‘This is where it gets interesting,’ said Cole quickly. ‘Look to the left directly behind him … There!’A figure appeared and smashed an object into the back of Hart’s head.‘Ouch,’ said Varcy.Hart slumped downwards. The figure hurried forwards and struck another blow, this one into the side of the head.‘What’s he got in his hand?’ said Varcy.‘Looks like a brick,’ said Kendrick.The figure now loomed over the supine Hart and delivered the third and final blow before turning.‘Right, stop it there, Carl. Okay, we get a better look here. This equipment isn’t the best for manipulating these images, but watch as we enlarge it.’Carl went to work with the mouse. Then he hit return and a new picture came into view. Varcy and Kendrick stared at it, then looked at each other amazed. It was the face of a woman, one they both recognised. Varcy hastily pulled out his notebook and thumbed through till he came to the picture inserted in the back page.No doubt about it. This was the face of Susan Harrison.33Stich needed some thinking space. He pulled into a petrol station and parked at the back. The vice at his throat loosened and he closed his eyes.Maxi was alive.‘They are trying to kill you, Stich …’Wasn’t that the truth. But who?Then a thought: Vicky.Whoever wanted him dead surely had to know about his involvement with Vicky. He took out Susan’s mobile.Stich dialled the number for the Mellbrook Hotel. The operator put him through to the room he and Vicky had rented but the phone rang unanswered. She had a mobile. He searched through Susan’s addresses, found it and called. A recorded message cut in. Vicky’s phone was turned off. Then he remembered her battery was dead. Shit, where the hell was she? He got out of the car, bought a Coke from the shop inside the petrol station and sat on a wall outside. Something didn’t fit. He sat blinking into space as cars pulled into the bays, radios blaring. The smell of fresh petrol as they filled up.Moorcroft.Trinny Becker had been sure Susan was in the Moorcroft lobby the morning of her murder. He had to find out why. Finishing up his Coke, he squashed the can and threw it in a litter bin.34Kelly’s have two pie and mash shops on Roman Road. Trevor sat in the one opposite Holman House. It was busy, the line of customers spilling out of the door. The service was rapid fire. Dozens of baked pies, mashed potatoes and stewed eels dispensed effortlessly. He doused his three pies with malt vinegar and flicked through a file containing most of what he had on David Stichell and Susan Harrison.Ed appeared at the entrance. He avoided the queue and went straight to Trevor’s table.‘You eating?’ Trevor asked.Ed shook his head. ‘No time.’Trevor scooped a chunk of pie into his mouth as Ed spread his fingers over the table.‘So,’ he wanted to know, ‘where are we?’‘Overall, good progress, but we do have a specific problem and that’s why I called.’‘Go on.’‘David Stichell has been up to Cambridge this afternoon.’Ed raised his eyebrows. ‘Why?’‘Not sure,’ said Trevor swallowing the food. ‘I tried to bring him in using his friend, Alan Frazier. But that was two hours ago and he still hasn’t shown.’‘Frazier cooperated okay?’Trevor smiled. ‘You know how many skeletons are rattling around in his cupboard? He had no choice.’‘Any idea where Stichell is now?’ asked Ed.Trevor loaded a spoon full of mash. ‘He’s left Cambridge, that’s for certain. He’s on his girlfriend’s mobile but he keeps turning it off which breaks the signal and makes tracking difficult. Oh, and there’s something else. The girl he called from the hospital? I know who she is.’‘So do I,’ said Ed. ‘Victoria White. I got a look at her earlier this morning.’‘The longer they’re left, the more they’re likely to find out,’ said Trevor.‘This is starting to escalate. I want it controlled quickly.’‘I know where we can locate her,’ said Trevor. ‘She and Stichell are staying at a hotel in Holland Park. He’s not there, but she definitely is – I’ve had a couple of my people check it out.’‘Good.’‘In the meantime, there’s Stichell. We have three options – continue to track him as we have been, wait for him to get back to the hotel, or we can give him some encouragement to come to us. He has a weak spot.’‘His kid?’ Ed asked.Trevor nodded. ‘I know how you feel about using kids like this. I don’t like it myself. But sometimes it’s necessary.’‘Do it if you must, but make sure you don’t hurt the child.’* * *Stich fed a parking meter enough coins to keep the wardens away for hours. After that he caught the hour-long overground train journey back to Liverpool Street station. As usual, the place was swamped. Up the escalators to street level and the situation was worse. Late afternoon drinkers – those not bothering to go back to the office – littered the area around Hamilton Hall, right up to the station entrance.Opposite was the tinted fa?ade of the Moorcroft building.Moorcroft Pharmaceuticals was deceptive: there was a lot more space within than was suggested from the outside. As Stich got through the revolving glass doors, an expanse of white marble rolled on before him. The front desk jutted from this blank canvas like the bow of a pine-coloured ship. It arced towards him and ran for about ten metres to his left. There was a lot of activity in front of it.He moved forward and joined the queue.‘I’d like to speak with Trinny Becker,’ said Stich when it came to his turn.‘Which department?’‘I’m not sure.’The receptionist’s fingers tapped at a keyboard on her desk. ‘Yes, here we are. Trinny Becker. Molecular Genetics.’She adjusted a hands-free set. ‘Who shall I say is calling?’‘I’m David Stichell. Tell her I’m Sue Harrison’s fiancé.’Five minutes later, Trinny came bounding out of the lift. Red hair frizzed back, calf cut beige khakis, white pumps and a black heathered baseball tee with Coldplay scrawled across it. ‘Hey, Stich.’‘Hello, Trinny, sorry to drag you away from your work.’‘No worries.’‘I need to ask you something about yesterday morning.’She frowned. ‘Okay.’‘You said you saw Susan here in the lobby at about 7.00.’Trinny’s bounce began to diminish. ‘Is everything okay?’‘Yes, yes, I just need to know, that’s all.’She hesitated. ‘I think so, I mean, I thought so but … Look I don’t want to get her into trouble or anything.’‘Don’t worry, it’s nothing like that. I think she may have come here for a job interview. She’s not letting on so I’m sure she wants it to be a surprise. Thing is, I want to get in first and take her off to the theatre as soon as she tells me she’s got the job.’‘Oh, I see.’‘You’re sure it was her?’‘Completely. I was over by the water fountain at the back of the lobby. I turned and spotted her heading towards the exit.’‘Can you show me?’She led him past the reception desk, to an area north of the lifts. Stich considered the possibilities. Either she was waiting for someone at reception, or she had visited one of the upper floors and emerged from the lifts. Or she came from the security room behind him.* * *It was grey outside Starbucks on Old Broad Street. No rain, just a murky stain filtering most of the sunlight. Stich leaned against a wall, a paper cup of macchiato in one hand and a message he didn’t understand in the other.He had left Moorcroft five minutes earlier and checked Susan’s phone hoping Vicky might have left a message. She hadn’t, but someone else had.Invoice 017844 pd this a.m. Master sent to the agrd address. Hope all is okay. If u ever need to talk u know where I am. Stuart.Stich pressed callback.‘Bluebell Associates, how may I help?’‘Hi, I’d like to speak to Stuart.’‘Stuart Gately?’‘Yes, that’s right, Stuart Gately.’‘Just a moment.’ The line cut to a Chopin sonata before, ‘I’m afraid he’s with a client right now. Can I take a message?’‘I have a query on an invoice paid to your company this morning.’‘Okay, do you have a reference number?’He read out the number he’d scribbled down.‘Just a moment.’ The voice disconnected and Chopin was back again. Stich bounced his knee and watched the crush headed north towards Broadgate. A commuter crowd had just abandoned a red No. 23 – about fifth in a queue on the bus lane – in a haze of smog and irate hooting. They scurried away like rats from a sinking ship. Then, ‘Yes, the database shows an invoice under that number settled today.’‘Uh-huh,’ said Stich, making it up. ‘I need to claim that invoice against our tax bill. Can I confirm the cost and what it was for?’‘Let me see … Yes, the invoice was for advanced digital imagery at a cost of seven thousand pounds excluding VAT. The balance was settled in cash.’Seven thousand pounds? ‘Yes …’ Stich stammered. ‘That tallies with my records. Is it possible to make an appointment to see Stuart Gately?’‘Certainly, when suits you?’‘Today?’‘I’ll check the diary.’35Richard Hart’s flat was above a florist shop near Embankment. Tracking down the landlord to get the key had been a problem but eventually he had arrived, let them in, and allowed Varcy and Kendrick to explore. It didn’t take long; the flat was small and sparse. The only thing of interest to Varcy was a desk set against the window in the living area. Varcy had found a writing pad on the top, a photograph in a frame next to it and a manila envelope in the second drawer down. The writing pad was uninteresting, the photograph was not and neither was the envelope. It contained two documents. The first was an A5 sized data printout. The legend at the top read: TRIAL 4BZ. Below this was a company name and address, followed by a name, date of birth, blood type and some medical details that Varcy didn’t get. What he did understand, however, was the significance of the name on the sheet:TRIAL 4BZ STAGE 1 NOT TO BE CIRCULATEDNAME: DAVID VINCENT STICHELLDOB: 14-11-1977BLOOD TYPE: A-VEENZYME #45T (Promase): -VERESULT: REJECTEDThe second document was also medical related. This time Varcy had a much better understanding of what it was. He had seen many paternity reports over the years. They often popped up in cases of domestic violence where some guy – husband, boyfriend, whatever – had discovered the kid he was raising belonged to someone else. Basically, a swab from the inside of the cheek or a hair follicle plucked from the child’s head was all it took to test their DNA against the parent. There were dozens of labs out in cyberspace that, for about ninety quid, would tell you if yours was truly yours. This report was addressed to Richard Hart and came from a company called Genekey. There was a wordy preamble before the results:LAB REF: A422486(CHILD #a) Sample Tested: Hair with root(ALLEGED FATHER #b) Sample Tested: Hair with rootResult: ALLEGED FATHER #b is biological father of CHILD #aAccuracy: ?99.99%Back in the car, Varcy studied the two documents but couldn’t make either of them fit. Stichell had been rejected, but from what? Varcy’s eyes flicked to the top of the page: Trial. What trial? From the dashboard where Varcy had placed the framed photo, Richard Hart looked out at him. Even Varcy had to admit Hart was a good looker. To his right, her head touching against his shoulder, was a beautiful-looking young woman; dark hair, light tan, green eyes. Who was she?‘So,’ Varcy sighed. ‘Why would Susan Harrison want to kill this man?’Kendrick cradled his chin. ‘Who knows? Jealousy, rage … infidelity … could be any number of reasons.’‘Infidelity? You think Harrison and Hart were involved with each other?’Kendrick smiled. ‘I love the quaint language you use. Yes, I think it’s possible they were involved. Why not? They must have known each other from his days at Immteck.’‘Bit far fetched though, isn’t it?’‘Got any better ideas?’‘Maybe. The paternity report interests me. Did Hart have any family?’Kendrick shook his head. ‘A mother who lives in Kent, that’s all. Oh, and a sister who was killed in a car smash at eighteen.’Varcy tapped the photograph. ‘Could this be her?’Kendrick shrugged. ‘I’ll check.’‘So no children, then?’‘No.’‘Then, why does he have this paternity report?’‘It’s addressed to him,’ said Kendrick, ‘but that doesn’t mean he was the one getting tested.’‘True,’ said Varcy, feeling a tickle build up at the back of his nose. The sneeze exploded just as he got his handkerchief near his face. He caught only half the spray. Kendrick swayed away.‘Bless you.’‘Thank you.’ He blew his nose. ‘I want to go over what we have on Hart again so I have it straight.’The plastic covered driver’s seat squeaked a complaint as Kendrick reached for his notebook. ‘Hart, Richard, thirty-four years old, born September 17th 1974. Not married, living alone. BSc degree in Biochemistry from Reading, held a few posts since university: lab assistant at Roche Pharmaceuticals from 1998-2000, lab technician at Immteck from 2000 to September 2008, lab assistant at Moorcroft since then.’‘Just three months at Moorcroft?’‘According to HR he was working in the neuroscience labs – setting up experiments and ordering equipment for the laboratory heads.’‘And at Immteck?’‘General lab technician. Although during the months before he left, he worked as a phlebotomist.’‘Phlebotomist?’‘They take blood.’‘Yes, of course. Who was he taking blood from?’Kendrick checked his notes. ‘Haven’t got a clue.’Varcy handed him the paternity report. ‘Have you seen the serial number on this sheet?’‘Yep.’‘It means we can chase this down. Genekey must still have the DNA record on their database.’‘Agreed,’ said Kendrick.‘So, what are we waiting for?’36Bluebell Associates specialised in IT solutions and had their offices on the third floor of a building that lay snug in the centre of corporate London. It housed dozens of companies including one called Crewman Associates. That’s when Stich realized he had been here before. Crewman Associates were an ad company Susan had worked for in between undergraduate years at university. She had a big attachment to it, too, because she insisted on showing him the building, the sandwich bars, and the pubs during their first summer together.Once out of the lift, Stich had a view of Bluebell’s entire office. He introduced himself to the girl on the front desk who asked him to take a seat while she called Gately. He dropped onto a low oatmeal sofa – expensive leather – and took in the surroundings. It was classy: Italian marble, Habitat furniture, prints by Ivor Abrahams. There was hardly any noise either, just the low hum of office work. Gately appeared in a cloud of percolated coffee scent and smiled broadly, a neat, parallel gap appearing between his front two teeth. ‘Mr. Stichell? Glad to meet you,’ he said shaking hands. ‘What do you think of our offices?’‘I was just admiring them.’He grinned and walked towards a glass office in the corner of the building. A panoramic vista of London Wall and the city beyond filled the whole of the far side. Old stone buildings – the skyline of the sepia prints – slotted with the new, glazed-skin structures of the millennium.‘Very nice,’ Stich said.Gately motioned for Stich to take a seat. He smiled again, and once more the vertical line appeared between his front two teeth, forming a black rectangle.Reck?‘So,’ Gately said finally, ‘what can I do for you?’Susan had dated Reck – so called because of the rectangular gap in his teeth – for a while when she had worked in the advertising agency. She had spoken about him from time to time. Nothing but good things as far as Stich could remember. Was this him?‘I’ve come about my fiancée, Susan Harrison.’Gately’s head snapped up at that.‘You recognise the name?’ Stich added.He nodded. ‘Yes, of course, I know Susan. What about her?’Stich took a deep breath. ‘She was murdered yesterday.’‘My God … how?’‘She was shot. We arrived at her uncle’s house late yesterday and someone was waiting.’He ran his fingers through his hair. ‘Who would do such a thing?’‘I don’t know,’ said Stich. ‘That’s what I’m trying to find out. I’m clutching at straws here, but you left a text message on her phone a few hours ago. Something about digital work that cost seven grand. As far as I know, Susan hasn’t got seven grand yet the bill was settled this morning.’He rubbed his temples, lost in his own thoughts. ‘What are the police doing?’He caught Stich off balance. ‘The police?’ He wasn’t sure what they were doing. ‘It’s still too early. They need more time.’Gately got up and moved to the window. He rested both palms against it and stared. Stich asked, ‘Stuart, can you help? Anything at all? What was she paying seven grand for?’Gately turned leaving a pair of handprints on the window. ‘Where were you when this happened?’‘Sorry?’‘When she was murdered?’Stich was surprised by his change of tone. ‘Right next to her, why?’‘And you did nothing?’‘I tried to save her.’‘How did you try?’‘She froze. I tried to get her away.’Gately’s jaw started to twitch and he turned back to the window.‘The transaction you mention is a private one, between Susan and us. It’s no one else’s business but ours.’‘I’m making it my business,’ Stich said. ‘I watched her die.’‘And came away from it unscathed?’‘That’s not fair,’ Stich said getting to his feet. ‘There was nothing I could do.’‘I bet there wasn’t.’‘What’s that supposed to mean?’Gately turned to face Stich. ‘This situation suits you fine, doesn’t it? Susan dead and out of the way. It solves a lot of your problems.’‘What on earth are you talking about?’‘I think you know exactly what I’m talking about.’‘The hell I do,’ Stich said, moving closer to him. ‘What are you getting at?’‘Susan trusted me. I won’t betray that, especially not to you.’Stich pushed his face up close to Gately’s. ‘Listen to me. Susan died right next to me – as close as I am to you. That tends to focus your mind. I won’t mess about with you. I will find out one way or another.’Gately narrowed his eyes, then snatched a sheet of paper from his desk. He scribbled something on it before handing it over. ‘Here,’ he sneered, ‘the work Susan paid for went to this address. Figure it out for yourself.’* * *The Reville estate was a monstrosity of 1960s’ right-on architecture. Eight concrete giants rising out of a plateau stained with grime from forty odd years of passing traffic. Varcy pulled into what passed as the car park. The flat was in tower two.Kendrick sighed.‘What?’ asked Varcy.‘A wild goose chase.’Varcy ignored the comment.‘Come on, Varcy, why all this? We know Stichell is guilty of at least one of the crimes, and Harrison is guilty of the Hart murder. That’s what we should be concentrating on.’Varcy raised his eyebrows. ‘What’s the matter? Don’t you like council estates?’‘I don’t like it when you’re in this mood, that’s all. Once you get the bit between your teeth it’s painful. And no, I don’t like council estates, especially this one. Look at it, a shithole if ever I saw one.’‘The flat’s on the twelfth floor,’ said Varcy.Kendrick smiled sardonically. ‘Really?’‘Yes, really.’The two men got out of the car and moved towards the towers. The entrance to Peacock House was guarded on one side by two overflowing refuse bins. The stench of rotting food made Kendrick nauseous. Varcy didn’t seem to notice it, however.‘What’s this woman’s name?’ asked Kendrick when they were inside.‘Charlotte,’ said Varcy.Kendrick sniffed the air. ‘Stale piss as well? Jesus.’‘She was married to David Stichell for three years.’‘And you think she might be able to shed some light?’‘I have a hunch, that’s all.’‘It better be a good one,’ said Kendrick. ‘His eminence will want a full report. There’s a meeting later, you know that?’‘I know.’The lift stopped and they stepped out, cold air rushing to meet them. The landing was open and afforded a view over the car park below. Beyond it was the main road and after that, east London.‘Which way?’ asked Kendrick.‘Forty-two.’They checked the numbers in both directions. ‘It goes up this way,’ said Kendrick. Varcy followed behind until they reached a plain brown door with a large gash in the top.‘No number,’ said Varcy.Kendrick went back two doors and counted. ‘That one’s thirty-eight, that one forty, so this has got to be forty-two.’ There was no bell or knocker, either. Varcy used his fist to rap.They waited.After a few moments there was a rattle, and then the door opened on its chain to reveal a face. Varcy guessed the woman was early thirties. She was still pretty but gaunt and pale.‘Yes?’‘Charlotte? Charlotte Rosti?’Her eyes flashed between the two of them. ‘Who wants to know?’‘My name is Varcy. This is Phil Kendrick. We’re policemen.’‘What do you want?’‘It’s okay,’ said Varcy.‘I’ve been clean for three months,’ she said quickly.‘I’m sure – it’s nothing to do with that.’She frowned. ‘What then?’‘We’re here to talk about David Stichell.’‘Stich?’‘Yes, can we come in?’‘Where’s your ID?’Kendrick glanced at Varcy. They fished out the small wallets and placed them in Charlotte’s outstretched palm. She snatched them in and closed the door.Kendrick sighed. ‘What now?’‘Patience,’ said Varcy.A few moments later the door opened slowly. ‘You’d better come through.’The flat was dimly lit and smelled of damp. Charlotte led them down a short hallway into a living area. She perched on the edge of an upright wooden chair. Next to her was a table with a cheap vase at the centre and medicine bottles arranged in a cluster. To the right of the bottles was a hairbrush. Charlotte caught Varcy’s glance.‘The medicine is all part of my rehab,’ she said. ‘It helps me get through.’Varcy nodded. ‘Of course.’‘Sit down,’ she said.The two men eased into a brown sofa opposite her.‘So,’ she said once they were settled, ‘what about Stich? Is he in trouble?’Varcy took out his notebook. ‘He may be,’ he said, thumbing through the pages.‘What do you want with me?’‘You were married to him for three years and had a child with him.’She shifted in her seat.‘I have two questions,’ said Varcy, sticking his finger into a page where he had inserted a small photograph. ‘First, the child you had with David Stichell. Is it your only one?’She frowned. ‘What sort of question is that?’Varcy shrugged. ‘Just curious, that’s all.’She paused, and then turned her gaze away from them towards the window. ‘Alice was a mistake. A happy mistake, but one I don’t want to repeat. So, yes, she is my only one.’Varcy nodded, blew his nose and let out a cough. He went to say something else but the cough started again and choked him off before he could get it out. Kendrick and Charlotte waited for it to stop, but it just got worse. Kendrick glanced at Varcy. ‘You okay?’‘Can I get a glass of water, please?’ Varcy whispered between hacks. Charlotte stood up. ‘You sure he’s okay?’‘Just some water,’ said Kendrick.She disappeared. Varcy waited until she had gone, stood up, plucked a bunch of hairs from the hairbrush on the table and placed them carefully into his top pocket. Kendrick watched in amazement. When Charlotte returned with a glass, Varcy took it from her and drank it down. His coughing fit now subsided.‘I’m fighting a chest cold,’ he said by way of explanation. ‘I’m sorry.’There was silence while Varcy composed himself. He placed the glass on the floor next to him and thumbed through the notebook once again to find the photograph. When he had done so, he looked up and said, ‘Can I ask about your marriage?’Charlotte shrugged. ‘What about it?’‘I’m interested in the break up.’‘What do you want to know?’‘Did you leave David Stichell for another man?’She didn’t respond.‘I’m not making any judgments, I’m just asking,’ said Varcy.‘You can ask all you like,’ she replied. ‘It’s none of your business.’‘Did you leave him for this particular man?’Varcy removed the photo from the notebook and held it a few feet from her face. Charlotte went even paler.‘Shall I take that as a yes?’The photograph was of Richard Hart. ................
................

In order to avoid copyright disputes, this page is only a partial summary.

Google Online Preview   Download