50/50 Killer (20 page)

'Sure.'

Never anyone in quite this situation, admittedly, but I had some experience with trauma victims; I knew what I was doing.

'Nervous about it?'

'Not really,' I said. 'I'm looking forward to it.'

That was true in a way. On a purely practical level, I knew it was a real chance - both to use my skills and to make an impact on the investigation. But I also felt a lot more nervous than I was prepared to admit. Remembering the footage of Daniel Roseneil, it wasn't going to be an easy or pleasant experience, but talking to victims never is. There was more to it than that. Despite my tiredness, I was on edge.

I glanced at my watch. Greg saw me looking.

'I'm exhausted,' he said.

'Me too.'

A minute later, he pulled left, following Pete and Simon into the car-park at the front of Accident and Emergency. It was a large expanse of tarmac with Reception at the far end, the lights inside so bright they hurt my eyes. The ground was solid with snow in places, cut to slush in others by the loops of tyre tracks. Pete and Simon took their vans all the way across to the side of the ambulance bay. Greg followed, parked up beside them, and we all got out.

A couple of paramedics in green overalls were smoking by the entrance. We nodded to them as we went past; they nodded back, unfazed by the sight of five police officers arriving at this time of night.

In Reception, to the left of the sliding doors, there were rows of orange-peel plastic chairs screwed onto metal frames, separated into bunches by vending machines and cheap metal tables. About half the seats were occupied. There were two teenagers standing rocked back on their heels in front of a third, who was seated and dazed, holding his bloody forehead. An older man in denim sat imperiously against the far wall, arms folded high up on his chest, underlining a face gone crimson from years of alcohol. A few chairs along, there was a couple on either side of a small, teary child, who was holding her arm out like it was a dead bird she'd found in the garden. A drunk was slumped in the corner. A thin old woman sat in a wheelchair, skin the colour of vinegar. Three younger couples were dotted among the rest, the men all looking flushed with drink.

The police department this morning - I remembered thinking it looked like a doctor's waiting room. Now, I was walking through a hospital reception area which looked like a holding bay. As we crossed to the main desk I could feel everyone checking us out.

An electronic screen above it displayed red digital messages to the people waiting.
You will not be seen in the order you arrived ... It is not first come first served ... Average current waiting time: 2 hours.
Behind the desk, it looked and sounded like any other office: filled with the quiet sounds of phones ringing and fingers typing, the buzz and hum of computer equipment. The counter was wide and deep. A young nurse was sitting behind it. She looked up and smiled. Mercer leaned on the counter and didn't attempt to smile in return.

'Detective Sergeant John Mercer,' he said. 'We're here to see a Doctor Li? About Scott Banks.'

'One moment.'

She picked up the phone and dialled through. The drunk lads behind us, oblivious or indifferent to our presence, started mock fighting with each other, reliving whatever skirmish had landed them here. One of them was doing upper cuts in the air. He seemed quite proud of whatever it was he'd done to someone else, and I found it slightly soul-destroying.

'Head down to the left there,' the nurse told us, leaning over to point the way along the corridor. 'Waiting Room Eleven.'

'Thanks.'

We headed down. Waiting Room Eleven was a small, cramped consultation room, barely big enough for the five of us. There was nothing to sit on apart from a waist-high bed, the old blankets covered with a stripe of tissue paper feeding out of a holder on the wall. Across from it, there was a trolley containing basic equipment: bandages, needles, thermometers. In the corner, a tall, flexible lamp. None of it inspired confidence. The room felt like it had been assembled on the fly at a disaster zone.

The far wall was just a half-drawn curtain across a larger area where people were bustling around. I could hear casual talk and footfalls; the clank of metal on metal; the sound of water running.

We waited. Mercer checked his watch twice.

'Where is he?'

'Probably saving someone's life,' Greg suggested.

Mercer peered through the curtains.

'Excuse me?' he called out. 'Doctor Li? Yes? No?'

No, apparently. He leaned back in and we waited a minute longer. I wanted the doctor to show up as well - to get this over with, one way or another. At least then I'd know where we stood and what I had to do.

Eventually, Doctor Li arrived through the curtains, drawing them roughly shut behind him. He had closely shaved black hair and was short and solid, his white coat stretched across a broad back. He didn't look like he took much shit, outside or inside the hospital, and his expression indicated he was both expecting and prepared for a difficult conversation. So that was the way it would be. Clearly, I wasn't going to be interviewing anyone here tonight without a battle; equally clearly, there would be one.

Li produced a pen and a clipboard and perched on the edge of the bed.

'Sorry to keep you. Busy night.'

'Okay.' Mercer hid his impatience and showed Li his badge instead. 'We're here about the young man who was hit by a car on the ring road.'

'Scott Banks. He wasn't hit by a car but he looks like he was.'

'Tell us about him.'

'I don't know much. From his records, we've seen him a couple of times before, but never anything serious. We've got basic information in the file - home address, and so on.'

'That would be useful.'

'I've told Reception they can give it to you.'

'He claims he was held captive in the woods?'

'Yes. Although he's very unclear about a lot of what's happened to him.'

He ran through the details.

Banks could remember being at home that afternoon, and that something had happened to him there - an attack of some kind. From that point, his memory became disjointed. He recalled being in a van, with his hands tied in front of him. A man in a devil mask, who had been hurting him. His girlfriend, Jodie, screaming. Most recently, himself running through the freezing woods, lost and frightened.

There was no string of sense to thread these memories on, but it was familiar and it was sufficient. Scott and Jodie. A man in a devil mask.

I needed to think carefully about how I was going to handle the interview, assuming I could get one. If Banks's memories were disjointed, like Daniel Roseneil's, there were good, painful reasons for that. I would have to be careful when questioning him.

'Okay,' Mercer said. 'Simon, do you want to grab that address from Reception and get going?'

Simon leaned away from the wall. 'But I've already left.'

Mercer turned back to Li. 'We'll need to speak to Banks as soon as possible.'

Li shook his head. 'I'm afraid he's in no condition to be interviewed. He's not long come out of emergency surgery and he needs to rest. He does want to help, but every time he tries, the block comes down' - he ran his hand down in front of his face - 'and then he can't remember. Mentally and physically, talking about his ordeal is simply too much for him at the moment.'

Li weighted his last comment with authority, throwing down the diagnosis as a gauntlet. I expected Mercer to contest it. Instead, he nodded and moved on.

'Emergency surgery? What are we looking at here? What's been done to him?'

Li inclined his head slightly. 'The surgery was for his eye. We couldn't save it, but we had to clean out the wound to prevent infection. In answer to your question, it looks like a hot piece of metal was used on him.'

Christ,
I thought.

Mercer simply nodded again. 'Probably a screwdriver,' he said. 'That's what the man who did it has used in the past.'

He let that sink in for a second. Then: 'What else?'

Li looked uncomfortable. 'He's been hurt very badly. There are a large number of cuts and burns to his chest, arms and face.'

'Injuries consistent with torture?'

'I wouldn't be familiar. But I imagine so.'

'Severe torture by an unknown subject.'

Li thought about it, choosing his words carefully. 'The injuries are obviously consistent with infliction of pain and disfigurement, rather than an attempt to subdue or incapacitate. Yes.'

'Only blinded in one eye, though,' Mercer said. 'Do you know why?'

It was a rhetorical question because, of course, Li didn't.

'It was so that Banks could watch his girlfriend being tortured when the man was finished with him.'

Li paled. I felt myself doing the same, but for different reasons: as far as I could remember, that particular insight hadn't been in the file. I glanced at Pete. He wasn't giving much away, but I could tell by his face that he'd clocked it, too. I supposed it was obvious with hindsight. The killer's game contained as many reversals as the participants could bear. The impetus for those changes was being forced to witness the suffering of the person they loved. The victims had never been blinded in both eyes, never punctured in both eardrums. They had always been able to see and hear.

Victims. I cursed myself. It was so easy to forget that we were talking about a human being here. A man like me. When Li said Scott Banks had been blinded, it meant that someone had held his head still and stuck something hot and sharp into his eye. I could barely imagine the panic, the fear, the pain caused by that. It seemed unendurable.

'What else?' Mercer prompted.

Li cleared his throat. 'Three broken fingers.'

'Go on.'

'The soles of his feet. They've also been severely burned. Bear in mind that he then ran through the woods, in this weather. So there's hypothermia and frostbite as well.'

Mercer nodded.

'Have you ever encountered this before, Doctor?'

'I don't really see the point in that question.'

'You don't see the point.' Mercer looked up. 'Well, there is a point. Three people with similar injuries have passed through your hospital. Two men, one woman. Did you encounter them?'

Li blinked. 'No.'

'You're sure?'

'I'm sure I'd remember.'

'I'm quite sure you would. We've been following the individual who carried out this attack for quite some time now, so we're familiar with the effect his crimes can have, even on seasoned professionals.'

'Detective--'

Mercer held up his hand. 'When Scott Banks talks about his girlfriend being in danger, he's quite right. As we speak, the man will be hurting Jodie McNeice in exactly the same way. The best result we'll get tonight is that you see injuries like Scott's again. If you don't see them, it's because Jodie has been hurt so badly that she's died.'

Li started to say something, but then turned to look at the curtain, frowning.

Mercer let the silence pan out for a moment. Then he gestured at me: 'This is my colleague Detective Nelson. Mark?'

'Pleased to meet you,' I said.

Li glanced at me with an expression somewhere between annoyance and frustration. He certainly wasn't pleased to meet me in return. I wasn't hurt.

'Detective Nelson is the man who needs to interview Scott Banks,' Mercer said. 'Is there any advice you could offer about how he should approach it? What he should expect?'

Despite the noise of the activity behind the curtain - the beeps of machinery, the bustle of rushing bodies - it seemed very quiet in the room. After a moment, Li rested the clipboard on his lap, rubbed the bridge of his nose, and sighed.

'Okay,' he said. 'Let's cut the crap. For whatever record there is, I do not want this patient to be interviewed at this time. It is not in his interests, and I have a duty of care towards him. He needs rest; he needs privacy; he needs time to recover.'

'Noted.' I recognised Mercer's tone of voice. The matter had been settled, and his attention was shifting to the next obstacle to be considered. He actually waved Scott Banks's comfort away. 'He can have all that tomorrow. Hopefully Jodie can as well.'

'That's the deciding factor in me allowing you to interview him.' Li paused so that Mercer could note the wording. But he was disappointed. 'As long as my objection is recorded.'

'It is. You have security guards here?'

'Yes.'

'Could you arrange for one to stand outside Banks's room, please? It's unlikely he's currently in danger, but we need to be sure.'

'Of course.'

'Okay.' Mercer stood up. 'What we're also going to need is a room. I think some of us, at least, will be here most of the night, so it would be handy to have a place to set up shop and work.'

It wasn't exactly a question, but Li nodded. 'I'll see what I can do.'

'Thank you, Doctor.'

'I'll be back shortly.'

He opened the curtains and stepped out of the waiting room. When he was gone, Mercer closed the curtains and turned to us.

'Okay,' he said. 'Thoughts?'

My first thought was how tired he suddenly looked. He'd put on a good show for Doctor Li, but the last few hours seemed to have worn him down. Partly it was the overhead light in this room - paling and waxing his skin; making dark sockets of his eyes - but it wasn't just that. His body had the slump of exhaustion; his expression seemed too heavy. He wasn't moving much, either, unless he had to.

But then we all probably looked the same.

Pete was leaning against the wall and staring at his feet. Without looking up, he spoke slowly.

'He's totally changed his MO.'

Mercer nodded. 'Taking the couple out into the woods, rather than holding them in their home. Yes. He's altered the form of the game. And we've just reached the next stage. What's new about this part? Come on, Pete, don't fall asleep on me. Talk us through what's happened.'

Slowly, Pete leaned away from the wall and sat down on the bed. He looked at the floor and began rubbing his big hands, as though washing them with the warm, sickly air.