by Ray Clark
“Could be our answer.”
“They do bed and breakfast. He could be a guest.”
“Give Colin Sharp a ring, Sean. Tell him whatever he’s doing, or thinking of doing, drop it and get himself around to the pub. Question the landlord, and get a list of all guests staying there at the moment. Then call the rest of the squad and tell them to meet us at the station at nine o’clock prompt.”
Gardener popped his head around the door and glanced into the corridor. He saw empty gurneys, a nurse pushing a patient in a wheelchair, another holding a clipboard whilst talking to a matron. But there was no sign of Andrew Jackson.
“I can’t say I heard a car engine while we were in the waiting room,” said Reilly. “But to be honest, with all the racket she was making, a jet could have crash-landed on the street outside and we wouldn’t have heard it.”
Gardener checked his watch. What the hell was keeping the doctor? They had heard nothing about Sonia Knight’s condition, or if she was even alive.
“She must have been in some serious pain, considering what was in her mouth.”
“What did you see, boss?”
Gardener suspected he would never forget what was in Sonia Knight’s mouth as long as he lived. He wasn’t even sure if he could adequately describe the image.
“Wires... lots of them.”
“Wires?”
Gardener turned to face him. “Yes, Sean. Wires. Don’t ask me to explain what the hell was going on, but her mouth seemed to be full of wires. And there was something in the middle of them, a capsule of some sort, with the wires extending from it.”
“Could you see where the wires were going?”
“No, it all happened so quickly.
“Was it another one of those pumps?”
“I don’t think so.” Gardener put his hands in the air, almost in defeat. “But it could have been. It could have been anything.”
Gardener walked over to Andrew Jackson’s desk, staring at the mess. His PC was barely visible under a mountain of letters, files, and stationery – the only bit of colour was a collector’s magazine of some description. But if it was true, what he’d heard about the amount of hours that NHS doctors had to work, he could see why they didn’t have time to clean up after themselves. The only other item visible was a framed photo, which he took to be the doctor’s wife and two children.
Reilly broke his train of thought.
“You know what that means, don’t you?”
“What?” Gardener asked, turning to face his partner.
“It can’t be Jackie Pollard.”
Gardener sighed.
“It still doesn’t mean he isn’t involved. He may not have been pressing the buttons on the phone, but he sure as hell could have instigated it.”
“I don’t doubt you, boss. Lance Hobson and Jackie Pollard could be in it together. What I don’t understand is why?”
“That makes two of us. It’s pretty unusual for drug dealers to collaborate. They’re normally tearing each other’s throats out, trying to gain superiority.”
“We need a full background check on Hobson,” said Reilly. “Maybe he’s our electrical genius, and Pollard is the medical man.”
“You could be right. Whatever happened to Knight took a lot of arranging, and a fair amount of time. She’s been holed up somewhere for a month. Enough time to carry out what we saw today.”
“Pollard operates on them, and Hobson puts them into place?”
“If that’s the case, Sean, where the hell is Pollard doing it? You need expert equipment to carry out operations like he’s doing.”
“Maybe we’ll find that out when we search his house.”
Both men fell silent for a few moments.
“I’ve just thought of something else,” said Reilly.
“Go on.”
“How much do they trust each other if they are working together?”
Gardener smiled. “That’s just what I was thinking. Let’s face it, they’re both a nasty pair of bastards. Each of them must have a hidden agenda.”
“Which throws up another question. Where does that bent bastard Ronson fit in?”
“Maybe he has an agenda as well. A background check on him might turn up something of a surprise.”
“It’s like human Sudoku,” said Reilly.
At the mention of the puzzle, Gardener remembered the cards pinned to the wings of the chair. They were obviously very important, and he was desperate to find out what they meant.
The office door opened and Andrew Jackson walked in. He was taller than Gardener, slim with a very rugged complexion, possibly an indication of too much work and not enough rest. His hair was ginger, combed forward from the middle in an effort to disguise his premature balding. Underneath the open white smock and stethoscope, he wore a pair of grey chinos, a white shirt with a grey tie, and a pair of black slip-on shoes. His voice was mellow, and his accent clipped.
“Thank you for being patient, gentlemen. Come with me, there’s something I’d like to show you.”
“Where are we going?” Gardener asked. “Is she still alive?”
“Please.” The doctor indicated for them to follow him out of the office.
Both men followed Andrew Jackson down a white tiled corridor and into a side room.
The body of Sonia Knight was laid out on a gurney. A thin sheet covered her naked and hairless body. Despite the horrors she must have experienced, she seemed more at rest than anyone Gardener had ever seen.
He was disappointed. The killer had struck again. They’d had a living person in their grasp, but were unable to keep her that way.
Before approaching Knight, Jackson turned to face the two detectives.
“Have you any idea what the hell is going on here?”
“Let’s say we’re in the middle of an investigation, and to be quite frank, I’d prefer to ask the questions,” replied Gardener, trying not to cause offense.
None seemed to have been taken.
“Mr Gardener, I don’t know who’s responsible for this abomination, but I’ve never seen anything as barbaric as this in all my practicing years.”
Andrew Jackson opened Sonia Knight’s mouth to allow both detectives a better view. Gardener leaned in close. In the centre of her mouth was a small object no bigger than a matchbox. It was silver in colour, and almost the same shape as a beetle. On top of its body was a small, clear plastic sheath, into which all the cables were connected.
“Am I seeing things?” asked Gardener. “Or does every one of those cables in her mouth run into every one of her teeth?”
“You’re not seeing things. Each tooth has a cable inserted into its centre.”
“And what’s that in the middle, the silver thing?”
“I’m not sure.” Andrew Jackson picked up a small round mirror on the end of a steel rod – the type used by dentists – and placed it in Sonia Knight’s mouth.
He moved around very carefully, as though the wires would detonate at any moment and blow them all to Kingdom Come. After drawing in a couple of deep breaths and clicking his tongue a couple of times as he examined the object, Jackson stared at the detectives.
“It’s an ICD.”
“Pardon?”
“I’m sorry, to give it it’s full title, it’s an implantable cardioverter defibrillator.”
“Which is what?” asked Gardener.
“A battery-powered electrical impulse generator, which is implanted in patients who are at risk of sudden cardiac death. It’s programmed to detect cardiac arrhythmia, and to correct it by delivering a jolt of electricity.”
“So, it’s different to an implantable insulin pump?” Gardener asked.
“Very. Where did you learn about those?”
Gardener straightened. “From the last person who’d met the monster we’re chasing. How does it work?”
“They constantly monitor the rate and rhythm of the heart and are able to deliver therapies by way of an electrical shock.”
“Yes,” replied Jackson. “Or the other way round, if you’re devious enough. And someone has been, looking at this lot.
“ICDs normally include wires, which pass through a vein to the right chambers of the heart, usually being lodged in the apex of the right ventricle. The most recent development is the subcutaneous ICD, which is what we have here. Current state-of-the-art electronics and batteries have enabled an implantable device to deliver enough energy to defibrillate the heart without the need for a lead in or on the heart. This prevents the risk of lead-related problems or dangerous infections. They are normally positioned just under the skin, outside the ribcage.”
Gardener digested the information before firing off an order at the doctor. “Cut it out.”
“Pardon?”
“Take it out of her mouth.”
“I’m not sure I should...”
“This is a murder investigation,” said Gardener. “And you’re helping me with my inquiries. Now cut it out.”
Jackson obviously thought better of any further objections and did as he was told. The procedure lasted five minutes. When he’d finished, he laid the device out on a bench.
“Do you recognize it?” Gardener asked.
“In what way?”
“The manufacturer? Do you use them here in the hospital?”
Andrew Jackson donned a fresh pair of gloves and examined the small unit, before holding it out to Gardener.
“There should be a serial number here, and a name. As you can see, someone has removed it. What’s this all about, Mr Gardener?”
“Pain, I should think. Judging by what you’ve told me, one of these things can deliver quite a shock.”
“Good God,” he said, turning back to the body. “What kind of a monster are you hunting?”
The doctor leaned in closer to Knight and peered into her mouth.
“Every one of those wires is connected directly into her teeth. And her teeth have been filled, which means he must have placed them on the ends of the nerves. Jesus Christ! The poor girl must have hit the roof.”
“She did,” said Gardener, still reliving the scene. At the time he had no idea what was causing the pain, or how severe it must have been. Now that he knew, he still couldn’t imagine it.
“I’ll ask you again, do you recognize it?”
“Why do you keep asking me that? What do you mean?” asked Andrew Jackson.
“Just that. Do you recognize this device? Is it something you would you use in the course of your duty?”
“A heart surgeon certainly would, but I’m not a heart surgeon. If you’re asking me whether or not it came from this hospital, I couldn’t say, but I will make some inquiries. There are a lot of manufacturers of these sorts of device, and they all differ in some way.”
“I’d like you to do that, and tell me as soon as you know.”
“Are you implying that a doctor from this hospital could be responsible for such a hideous crime? Quite frankly, I find that hard to believe. Doctors save lives, not take them.”
“Would you agree that to do something like this,” continued Gardener, “you’d need extensive medical knowledge? In fact, that it would require surgical skill to use the device in this manner?”
Jackson did not seem to want to answer his question.
“Well?” Gardener pushed.
“Almost certainly.”
“Which can only lead us to believe that not all doctors save lives. Now do something else for me, split that device open, on the bench.”
Jackson did so without question.
“Good God! What the hell is that?”
“A SIM card, Dr Jackson, which is exactly how it’s working. Someone has modified the defibrillator to accept a signal from a mobile phone, at which point, your little energy module would crank out a massive electrical discharge to the nerves on Sonia Knight’s teeth.”
Gardener slipped on a pair of gloves, collected the device, and turned to leave. Before reaching the door, he stopped and turned to address Jackson once more.
“Like I said, not all doctors save lives.”
Chapter Twenty-seven
Gardener was sitting in the incident room waiting for his squad to arrive, with a multitude of thoughts all fighting to emerge victorious. The first concerned PC Close. From the information he’d learned yesterday, he doubted very much that Christine was going to come out of the clinic, but they would all have to deal with that when it happened. He felt he was right to put Close on station duties, and thankfully, he had the perfect job for the troubled officer.
He had thought about the white van, and tried to make a list of the manufacturers he knew. The fact that it was a large van made things easier; there were not that many model variants. One question he had forgotten to ask was whether or not there were any logos on the side. Gardener suspected one of his team would have said so if that had been the case.
When it came to suspects, he didn’t have many in the frame. Gardener was reminded, however, of something Alan Radford, his superior officer of many years ago, had taught him: never rule out anyone. What you thought about a person was immaterial; it was cold, hard facts that mattered, and damn good powers of deduction that could piece those facts together.
With regard to Pollard, Gardener had to be careful that he wasn’t putting the drug dealer in the frame simply because there was no one else. Although he had some medical knowledge, Gardener still wasn’t completely satisfied Pollard was their man. He did suspect, however, that the man was more than capable of making Hobson and Knight disappear. He hoped the search of Pollard’s house being conducted at that moment would turn something up. Without at least something to back up his suspicions, they really couldn’t keep Pollard much longer.
The electronics angle had brought fresh light to the case, but also added further problems. The fact that someone else might be involved only increased their caseload.
The door to the incident room opened, and one by one his officers rolled in. Maurice Cragg was amongst them and, at the very back, one of the SOCOs with the envelopes that had been pinned to the chair, firmly sealed in an evidence bag.
Gardener placed them on one of the tables and addressed his squad. Without wasting any time, he took them through what he and Reilly had witnessed at the station, and concluded by showing them the ICD.
He opened the two envelopes found at the scene and held them aloft for the team to make notes. The first card he pointed to was another tarot: The Papess, or High Priestess. In many ways, it was very similar to any one of the queens in a normal pack of playing cards. She was sitting on a throne between two columns, one white, one black. On one side of the card was the letter B, on the other, the letter J.
“Sean, can you give Laura a call and see what she can tell us about this one?” Reilly nodded and retreated to the far end of the room to speak to his wife.
The second card he held up was almost certainly part of the set that included Inspector Catcher. It was identical in size, and on the reverse was the same logo, the word ‘Murder’ in a very fancy font. The hourglass and the patent number were also there, and when compared with the Catcher card, their similarities were evident.
The front of the card bore the name ‘Nurse Willing’, and had a woman in hospital uniform holding a stethoscope in one hand, and a needle in the other. There were no slogans on the card. The nurse’s outfit was prim and proper, portraying a style similar to that worn in the late Sixties or early Seventies.
Reilly returned to the front of the room. Gardener nodded, and he told them what he’d found out.
“It has dual meanings. All of them have. Upright means we’re looking at wisdom and secret knowledge, something that is yet to be revealed.”
“And the reverse?”
“Equally as bad. Lack of personal harmony, problems which could be the result of one not looking into things properly. Ignorance of true facts and
feelings.”
“Once again,” said Gardener, “the killer is playing games with us. He knows his victims better than we do. He’s letting us know how much he knows about them, and that he’s got a very good reason – as far as he’s concerned – for killing them.”
“In other words, it’s the tail wagging the dog,” said Thornton.
“Probably. Unfortunately, we still don’t know who the hell is in the frame. That means we have to step up our game. So, on top of everything else we have to do today, I have some more actions.”
Gardener glanced at Maurice Cragg. “All of us must keep an open mind from now on. What I’d like you to do is get me a background on Sonia Knight and Lance Hobson. I want everything you can find out about them.”
“Will do, sir.”
Gardener readdressed his own men. “I also want someone looking into the last movements of those two. Hobson we know for a fact is either still missing, or still at large depending on how you look at it. Someone somewhere knows these two very well. We need to find them. I appreciate that means we’re going to be talking to the scum of the big city, and it’s very unlikely they’ll want anything to do with us, but it has to be done.”
“Why don’t we run the bastards in?” Reilly asked.
“It’s a bloody good idea, Sean, but we don’t have the room or the manpower, and I doubt we could make anything stick. No, I think we need the softly, softly approach first. If that doesn’t work, then we’ll run the bastards in no matter how small the station is.”
Gardener was about to speak again when the door opened and Gary Close limped in, obviously in tremendous pain.
“Is everything okay, Gary?” Gardener asked.
Close dropped into a chair. “I’m okay, sir. Some days are worse than others, is all.”
“In what way?”
“The doc says my leg’s still knitting together, and while it’s doing that, it might give me some real gip.”
Gardener suspected that Gary was about to say more, but instead winced. He reached down and rubbed the affected part of his leg.
“Has he given you anything?”
“Yes sir, but I don’t like taking ’em.”
