The Visitor (#3 - The Craig Modern Thriller Series) (37 page)

“Janeeeey...I know you’re going to give me a hard time, but I got so flustered bumping into Johns that I’ve left some of my stuff on the Unit. I really need it to study, so...would you drive me down again. Pleeease?

Janey stared over at her, feigning exasperation. Beth spotted the act and continued hopefully. “Honestly, it’ll only take ten minutes. And she should be well gone by now.”

“All right. But you can buy me a takeaway on the way back. And with your own money this time. The police guys might fancy one as well.”

“It’s a deal.”

“And when this is all over, I’m teaching you how to drive...”

***

Craig reconvened the briefing at five-twenty. The only new outcome was the assignment of a protection detail to Robert Moore’s home in Cultra. Craig had spoken to him and explained why. Until they caught the killer he had to be protected. He got no argument from Moore.

“Any word on the D.N.A. match yet? And what about Melissa Pullman’s partner?”

“Bad news, boss. Des called through and there’s no match with Randle or Lewes. That only leaves McAllister and Greenwood. Melissa Pullman’s partner, Stephen Barron, is in the wind. The grandparents say that he took her death very badly and threatened everyone at the inquest. No-one’s seen him since, and that was five years ago. He was an engineer, did his degree somewhere in England. But checks show that he hasn’t been practicing as one. There’s been no activity on his bank account or passport since 2008 and their house was repossessed.”

“His passport’s come through, sir, but it expired fifteen years ago. The photo was taken when he was eighteen! So all we know now is that he’s forty-three, Caucasian and has blue eyes. But he could be wearing coloured lenses. He had no distinguishing scars or marks back then, and it says that he’s six-feet-two. About the same as Randle and Lewes.”

“McAllister’s about six- three and I think Greenwood’s six-feet-one, which is near enough as well, boss. And in those days height was self-reported. People often got it wrong or exaggerated upwards. So Barron might be a shorter than the six-two it says on his passport.”

“Or taller, Liam. He was eighteen when it was issued, so he may have grown after that. I did.”

Craig was tapping the desk repeatedly with his pen and Liam recognised his tension. He decided to risk a joke to relieve it. “Aye, you’re right, boss. So did I. Even though my parents didn’t feed me.”

Everyone laughed at the ridiculousness of it, and the humour relaxed the room for a minute. Liam restarted in a relaxed drawl, deliberately slowing the meeting’s pace before Craig blew a gasket.

“So… Barron’s disappeared off the map. We’re getting the grandparents to dig out any recent photos and get them over to us stat. And I’ve got the States of Jersey Police on it.”

Without realising why, Craig slowed his speech slightly as well.

“Right...thanks Liam. OK, McAllister’s and Greenwood’s photos are already over with the grandparents, but keep on them. Annette - send that passport photo over to Des for aging, please. Let’s see what Barron would look like now. The deaths all mimic Melissa Pullman’s, except she wasn’t diabetic.”

“Actually, sir - she was. We’ve got her full notes now. They show that she was a newly diagnosed diabetic in pregnancy, and that it was very badly handled. It seems Murdock left her in the care of a doctor who’d only qualified four weeks before.”

‘The Killing Fields’
. It was what John called the weeks after new doctors started. Craig didn’t want to think about the ones caring for his father.

“He botched up her insulin dosage and they had to do an emergency Caesarean. Murdock was bleeped but he took ages to answer. Apparently he’d gone sailing near Cushendall while he was on-call.”

“Isn’t that against the rules, Cutty?”

“It certainly is. Anyway, eventually Murdock ran into theatre, the worse for wear. But the junior had started the operation and Melissa Pullman died from the bleeding. There were rumours of Murdock being under the influence when he arrived. Either Cocaine or alcohol. It was a mess from beginning to end.” Annette’s voice tailed off sadly and Martin jumped in, covering her.

“It seemed certain disaster for the Trust, sir. Until the junior suddenly got a job at St Arthurs in London with one of Murdock’s friends, and developed amnesia! He’s still working over there. Annette checked and he has a definite alibi for the past ten days. There’s no record of him flying back here, and no-one’s been bothering him.”

“
Yet
, son. No-one’s bothered him yet.”

Craig smiled wryly at Liam’s comment and Annette continued reporting. “It sounds like Melissa Pullman’s inquest was a complete whitewash, sir. The junior and all the others testified that there was no negligence by Murdock. It seems that the only person who told the truth was Beth Walker. But everyone ignored her. Murdock even tried to use her sexuality to discredit her as a witness. I’ve confirmed everything with her. Apparently the case was a big part of why he hated her.”

Liam whistled loudly. “What a shower of shits! If we tried to get away with that we’d be up in court!”

Nobody disagreed.

“Is there anything in her notes about a facial laceration, Annette?”

Everyone held their breath while Annette flicked through Melissa Pullman’s medical notes, scanning each page with what seemed like deathly slowness. Eventually she turned to Craig, her face a mixture of triumph and anger. She said nothing, just pointed to a line on the operation sheet. ‘Scalpel slipped and cut patient’s right cheek’.

There was only one explanation for the scalpel being anywhere near a patient’s face during a Caesarean. Murdock must have been waving it around, drunk. He was left handed, so her right cheek got cut.

Craig felt like someone had kicked him in the stomach. The extent of Murdock’s negligence was breath-taking. It was no wonder it had caused such extreme retribution. If anyone hurt his father like that he would hunt them down too.

“The baby’s Dad had a complete breakdown. He ended up in St Marys’ psychiatric unit. The grandparents took the baby, Lucy. Barron’s never even seen her, and they have no idea where he is now. I’ve had uniform checking-out the pharmacy in Bangor. It’s closed and boarded-up. But Martin called the main medical suppliers and they’re still receiving orders from it. The last one was a week ago.”

She nodded Martin to continue and he jumped in again eagerly. “They’ve been delivering parcels by appointment, sir. A man always signs for them. He fits Barron’s description exactly. Tall, white and middle-aged.”

Craig and Liam smiled at each other wryly. He’d just described both of them. “The delivery people said he had an English accent of some description, sir. Mr McAllister has an English accent.”

“Aye. And Ted Greenwood lived in England for a while too, boss. You can hear a definite twang.” Craig smiled and wondered what they made of his Belfast/Italian/London tones.

“OK. Annette, get down to the suppliers and get a copy of that signature. It might match the passport, or someone from our suspect list. And get the delivery staff to look at some photos. Now, please.” Annette left the room swiftly, with Martin trailing behind. “Liam, what about McAllister?”

“We lifted him ten minutes ago at the M.P.E. He was on the cross-corridor near Maternity when uniform found him. He’s in High Street now and moaning like hell about it.”

“OK, we’ll get to him later. Let him cool his heels. What’s happening with Greenwood?”

“Irish police say there’s no sign of him yet.”

“Ask them to keep trying. I’m going back to the M.P.E. to take another look around.” Craig moved to leave the room, and then turned back quickly.

“Did you say Barron was an Engineer?”

“Yes, sir.”

“So was Charles McAllister, and Ted Greenwood’s an Architect so he might have some engineering knowledge. Did anyone check if Greenwoods’ degree was really Architecture? If not, do it now please. Either way they would both know enough to knock out the CCTV and they both had unlimited access.”

Just then Nicky rushed into the room. Craig could tell from her face that it wasn’t good news. “Sir. Sister John’s protection detail has called through. She gave them the slip and left the house sometime this afternoon. She wouldn’t allow them inside the house, so they didn’t even know she’d gone. The officer says she must have driven down the back roads. I’ve tried her mobile but it’s ringing out. And I called her mother’s house, but she hasn’t seen her all day.”

Damn
.

“Tell them not to beat themselves up Nicky. She’d probably have slipped them anyway. She’s the type. There’s only one place she’ll have gone to. The M.P.E. Liam, there are some uniforms still over there, get them to start looking for her and I’ll meet them there. Nicky, check that the protection officers have secured everyone else. The junior is safe in London for the moment, but ask The Met to keep an eye on him just in case. Everyone else, please keep going this evening for as long as you can. We’re close to catching this bastard.”

He left the room running and John phoned just as he reached the car.

“Marc, something’s not right here. The primary scene should have significance to the killer - not just to Murdock.” Craig drove quickly through town as they talked. Belfast’s rush-hour traffic slowed his progress, so he finally gave up playing the civilian and blue-lighted his way towards Elmwood Avenue.

“Melissa Pullman died in the M.P.E. Murdock was responsible and we think the killer works in the Trust. Isn’t that the link?”

“Yes, but it’s not just the M.P.E., it’s
where
in the M.P.E. On the building site.”

“Thanks John, but that makes sense for all our remaining suspects. I’m heading there now. Laurie Johns has slipped her protection detail.”

“Stupid woman.” He didn’t get an argument from Craig.

“Uniform are looking for Greenwood and we have McAllister in custody.”

“OK. But watch yourself. This man’s a complete psycho.”

Chapter Twenty-Seven

5.40pm.

Charles McAllister was stuck in High Street, not best pleased to be ‘helping with their enquiries’. Tough. Jack Harris watched him through the cell-door, taking in his tense posture and drumming fingers. He was a man in a hurry to be somewhere else.

It was cool in the cells, but McAllister was sweating hard. And there was blood on the table where his tapping must have split the skin. A guilty man if Jack had ever seen one. But guilty of what?

***

There was still no sign of Laurie Johns, and when Craig finally arrived at Maternity the door was lying open. He edged in cautiously with his hand on his service weapon and walked slowly in and out of the empty rooms. Suddenly he heard something move, and the sound of a radio crackling. He followed the noise down the internal corridor, to be greeted by the sight of a stunned P.C., staring down at Beth Walker.

She was kneeling over a body lying face-down on the floor, cradling it awkwardly in her arms. Her mouth was open to scream, but no sound emerged. Hot tears flowed unchecked down her face. Craig moved in closer and recognised a ring on the body’s limp hand as one worn by Laurie Johns. His heart sank. He was too late.

Beth cradled the Sister’s head on her lap, her leggings dark red with blood. Johns was trussed the same way Nigel Murdock had been, and her blood was everywhere. Sticky and red and smelling of copper. Craig leaned over Beth gently, feeling for the futility of Laurie Johns’ pulse. Then he too was struck silent. Her injuries were even worse than Nigel Murdock’s! Their killer was spiraling.

He unlocked Beth from her hopeless protection of the dead, and helped her to the ward office, leaving the P.C. to call the crime team. John’s blood covered Beth completely. Her clothes were soaked with the liquid and streaks of it flashed bright red across her cheeks, where she’d futilely tried to give Johns the kiss of life. Craig soaked a cloth and dabbed gently at her face and hands, ignoring forensic protocol.

He coaxed her to speak, and succeeded just enough to confirm that the Sister had been alive at four-twenty. And that just as Beth had been leaving the ward she’d seen a tall man walking towards it. But she hadn’t seen his face. Four-twenty, almost an hour before they’d brought Charles McAllister to High Street. Craig left Beth in the constable’s care, and sped to High Street to interview McAllister.

***

The squad phone rang loudly, completely ignored by Davy and Liam. Davy was sitting at his horseshoe of computer screens, working remotely with Des on the aging programme. He had Stephen Barron’s eighteen-year-old photo to his right, and the aging version on the screen in front of him. It was shaping up, but it was slow going. The photo had reached twenty-five-years-old now, but it still didn’t look like anyone they knew.

Liam yawned loudly and listened to the ‘hold’ music provided by The Met, ignoring the ringing phone. The tune wasn’t much better than the ‘Greensleeves’ they used. Someone should buy both forces a copy of ‘Hits 2012’. Finally the music stopped and a woman’s voice came on the line. She had a London accent and greeted Liam brightly.