Jack Morgan 02 - Private London (27 page)

‘I know.’

‘Some people don’t deserve to live, it’s as simple as that. You see a cancer, you cut it out, you stop the infection spreading if you can. People say we doctors play God, and in some ways we do. Once you have had the power of life and death … well, it wasn’t hard to do what I did. At least they gave something to others in the end. One of them even saved a life. A deserving life. Shame it couldn’t have worked like that with the others.’

‘Why take the organs, then?’

‘Evidence, inspector. Just enough, no more. The final nail, if you like, in his coffin.’ Doctor Lloyd smiled humourlessly, her lips thin with more than the chill in the air. ‘I know the police like things tied up as neatly as we surgeons do.’

Kirsty Webb looked at the older woman’s eyes. To her, she seemed perfectly sane. Sounded perfectly rational. Who knew … maybe she was. Compared with her husband and people like him – maybe she wasn’t mad at all.

‘You confronted Alistair?’

‘I gave him a choice, inspector.’ She looked down at the small grave. ‘Which was more than Emily had.’

‘You should have come to us.’

‘You’d think it would be hard for this kind of people to find each other, wouldn’t you? But it isn’t. And do you know why, Inspector Webb?’

Kirsty shook her head.

‘Because there are so damn many of them. And you all know that.’

Kirsty didn’t reply. She didn’t need to. The woman was right. Doctor Lloyd straightened herself. A half-smile played on her lips for a moment and she squared her shoulders.

‘So are you going to place me under arrest?’ she said. ‘You have no proof, I take it, other than that a woman who looked like me was seen in a pub with Colin Harris?’

‘You seem quite confident of that.’

‘You’re on your own, inspector. I know how these things work. You’d have squad cars, lights flashing, sirens. There’d be a news crew filming you making the arrest of your career. All you have, after all, is a barman’s vague recollection prompted by yourself. I think it’s called leading the witness. And your instincts, of course. But I don’t think you’ll find that they are recognised as evidence in a court of law.’

‘My instincts aren’t important now.’

‘And why’s that?’

‘Because I resigned from the force this morning. I’m not in the police any more.’

‘So why are you here?’

‘Because I needed to know.’

‘Either way, it’s over now.’ But the surgeon’s shoulders sagged again, contradicting her words. It could never be over for her.

‘Turn yourself in, Doctor Lloyd.’

‘And who is that going to help?’

Kirsty looked at her sympathetically as tears welled in the older woman’s eyes. ‘You,’ she said softly.

‘And who would bring Emily flowers? Who would look after her then?’

The woman couldn’t hold the tears back now and Kirsty put her arms around her. Doctor Lloyd’s heart was pounding, her fragile form fluttering within the younger woman’s embrace. She felt as though her bones were hollow.

In some ways, ex-Detective Inspector Kirsty Webb was glad she had resigned earlier that day. Justice as far as the law was concerned was a matter of science. But people weren’t machines. She didn’t know what the other woman, even now crumpling in on herself, deserved. That was way beyond Kirsty’s area of expertise. Police didn’t get to make that call. Their job was to unearth the facts, and Kirsty didn’t believe she had the moral compass to put these facts in order and make a judgement. She was glad she didn’t have to.

She’d made a call to Detective Inspector Natalie James just before she had handed in her notice.

She figured things would fall as they did.

Chapter 115

I STOOD BY the window, watching Alison Chambers walk to her car once more.

A week had passed. She still swung her hips, still flipped the bird at me over her shoulder as she got into the driver’s seat. Nothing had changed, it seemed, but everything had.

Like I say, some cases you win, some you lose – and some you win but it doesn’t feel like it.

I had killed a woman and that wasn’t something you just shake off like the rain from your hair.

I remembered the noise, the shouting, the mayhem. At the time I had let it wash past me. But it still visited me in my dreams at night. I knew how that worked, though. In time it would pass. My hands might have been bloody but my conscience was clean. I had done the job I had been paid to do.

When I hadn’t made contact as agreed, Sam had called the contact in the USAF based at HMS Warrior a mile away that Jack Morgan had given us and had come in ahead of them. They weren’t far behind him. The Palestinians took two more casualties before they were overrun. Score three for democracy, nil for terrorism, I figured. Only, like I say, it didn’t feel like that.

Men in black suits arrived. In the old days they would have been CIA and MI5. Nowadays it was Homeland Security for the US of A and some unknown quasi-military unit sanctioned by the Home Office for us. Either way, it was like a Mafia clean-up crew sent in to eradicate evidence, dispose of the bodies.

The professor and the remaining members of her team who were still alive – including Ashleigh Roughton, the CUL rugby captain – were spirited away. Turned out that Roughton thought the professor was in love with him as well.

As far as the suits were concerned – officially, we were never there. Del Rio and I left to settle matters with Brendan Ferres. Harlan Shapiro was taken to be reunited with his daughter and they were booked on a hastily scheduled jet to fly them straight back to the States first thing in the morning.

I never saw either of them again.

Part of me felt that Hannah should have stayed behind to face some sort of music for the sequence of events that she had set in motion. Mostly, though, I felt glad that it was all over. Hannah and her father were back under the watchful eye of Jack Morgan. They were his concern now.

I turned and looked at Bogart and Bacall. Marlowe looked like he was judging me, as ever. I didn’t care. It was Friday evening, I had the weekend ahead of me and once again Dan Carter had a date lined up. I smiled at Bacall. ‘Here’s looking at you, kid.’

Chapter 116

IF THE COOL blonde at reception was pleased to see me back at the restaurant once more there was no clue to it in her perfectly made-up face.

I was wearing my blue tie again, with a black linen suit this time. It gave me an air of casual sophistication, I thought. I didn’t want to send out the wrong signals. After all, it was just a dinner. Not a dinner date. We had both been clear about that. Very clear.

Blondie ran her finger down the list of bookings again, her left eyebrow raised a minuscule amount once more, enough to make a point.

‘Ah yes, Mister Cotter. I remember you couldn’t stay very long with us on your last visit.’

‘It’s Carter,’ I said. ‘Dan Carter. And no, I am afraid something came up. Work. You know how it is?’

‘Might I recommend you turn off your mobile phone?’ she said. ‘You were very lucky we were able to fit you in again at such short notice. I’d hate for another evening to be spoiled for you.’

Frankly, it looked like that was exactly what she would have liked. And she was right. I should have turned my phone off. But doing so then, after being practically told to do so by a jumped-up waitress, was never going to happen.

‘I can’t do that, I am afraid,’ I said. ‘I’m a surgeon. Heart surgeon. Paediatric heart surgeon.’

See, that’s the trouble with lies – they can run away with you. My companion snorted but said nothing, and the receptionist inched her eyebrow a scintilla further heavenwards.

‘Follow me, then, please, Doctor Carter,’ she said.

‘That’s Mister Carter,’ I replied. I guess she’d thought she’d catch me out. She’d have to get up a lot earlier in the morning to do that.

‘That a new suit, Dan?’ asked Kirsty as we were led to my table.

I laughed. ‘Hardly. Why do you ask?’

‘Because you’ve got a label still on the back of your trousers.’

The receptionist chuckled and held out a chair for Kirsty. I swept my hand around the back of my trousers. There was nothing there.

‘You’re too easy,’ said Kirsty as she sat down.

I joined her and picked up the wine list. ‘So why were you running late?’

‘I had to see someone.’

‘So are we celebrating?’

‘Did I get the job, you’re asking?’

I nodded.

‘As far as that goes, no, we are not celebrating.’

‘I’m sorry to hear that.’

‘Sorry that I’m not moving to Manchester?’

I looked at her. Her emerald green eyes still the kind that a man fell into and drowned. ‘Sorry that you didn’t get what you wanted,’ I said.

‘Are we still talking about the job?’

‘What are you going to do now?’

Kirsty picked up the menu. ‘I’m going to consider my options’

‘I’ve heard the prawn cocktail is very good,’ I said.

She laughed. I liked the sound of it. Gave me an idea I’d probably regret.

Twenty minutes later and our starter arrived. I was having creamed truffled goat’s cheese, with asparagus and pickled beetroot. My partner, as they say, plumped for the twice-baked Norfolk dapple soufflé with a mixed-leaf salad and a herb vinaigrette. No drop scones and fish eggs for us.

I took a sip of my lager, picked up my fork and was about to spear a beetroot when my mobile phone rang. Noisily. I smiled apologetically at the diners at the neighbouring table and fished it out of my pocket.

Even as I looked at the caller ID Kirsty snatched it out of my hand. She saw who was calling too and switched the phone off, throwing me a withering look as she did so.

‘I cannot believe that woman.’

Alison Chambers, of course.

Moments later her own phone trilled – a lot more quietly than mine had. I shrugged at the neighbouring diners again. What could you do?

‘Kirsty Webb?’ she answered. A degree of coldness that would have chilled an Inuit creeping into her voice.

She listened for a moment or two and then nodded. ‘Okay. I’ll tell him.’ She hung up without waiting for a reply and served me a cool look.

‘That was Alison,’ she said.

I had gathered that much.

‘She’s down at Paddington Green nick.’

‘And …?’

‘And she’s there representing one of your clients.’

‘Good for her, but I’m sure it’s nothing that can’t wait until morning.’

‘Sean Chester has just been murdered.’

I put my fork down, the uneaten beetroot still speared on its tines. Sean Chester had been one of our clients. The ex-producer on one of the biggest continuing dramas as they called them nowadays.

‘What happened?’

‘He was shot dead two hours ago, Dan. And they’ve arrested your favourite star Melinda Hamilton for it.’

Another one of our clients. ‘They booked her?’

‘No. She’s not been charged yet, but your hotshot lawyer girlfriend reckons it’s a matter of hours, not days.’

I sighed, finished my beer and reached for my jacket.

‘Well, are you coming or not?’ I said.

‘I’m off the job,’ Kirsty replied.

‘Not any more,’ I said, standing up and giving her the full Dan Carter wattage.

‘Welcome to Private.’

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Epub ISBN 9781446409138

Published by Century, 2011

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Copyright © James Patterson, 2011

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Part One

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Part Two

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23