Deadly Intent

by D. S. Butler

  Wendy nodded slowly. “It’s okay. I’ll deal with him. What is he asking for?”

  “He just wants an appointment. I told him he’d have to phone on Monday morning because we’re all booked up this week, but then he got very angry. So I said I’d ask one of the doctors if he would just sit down, but he refused and went on a rant about GPs.”

  Wendy checked her watch. “Okay, I’ll tell you what. Send him in here now. It’s not really fair on the other patients, now they’ll have to wait longer, but at least they won’t have to put up with him in the waiting room.”

  “Oh, that would be wonderful,” Anne said. “Thank you so much.” She turned to leave the room and then hesitated. “Are you sure you’ll be all right with him on your own. I saw the note on his file that said he has mental health issues.”

  Wendy tried to sound more confident than she felt. “Yes, I’ll be fine. I’ve dealt with him before.”

  When Anne left the room and the door closed with a click, Wendy shivered.

  She’d be fine. She just had to deal with him for ten minutes and get through the rest of the day. Her husband would be picking up Davey from school soon. In a few hours she could go home, kiss Davey good night and read him a bedtime story.

  Glancing at the small photograph of Davey on her desk, she smiled. She was biased, but he was the sweetest, best-looking child she’d ever seen. He’d inherited the best from her and her husband. He had her jet black curls and dark brown eyes and his dad’s smile and happy demeanour. Wendy had always been a serious child, a worrier, so she was glad Davey hadn’t inherited that. Her son’s skin was just a shade or two lighter than hers.

  She tried to focus on Davey to get herself to relax, but it wasn’t working. As soon as she sat down behind the desk, her back started to ache.

  Less than a minute later, the door opened again, and this time Brendan Maynard walked in.

  She could tell from the lines etched on his face and the tense way he held himself that he was angry. He had a nasty bruise just below his eye. Had he been in a fight? He looked flushed, but that could be the heat. He wore a polo neck jumper, a very unusual choice for such a hot day.

  “Hello, Brendan, how can I help you today?”

  He smiled but didn’t sit down, instead leaning on the back of the chair.

  Wendy took a deep breath, trying to calm her nerves.

  “I’ve got a special job for you today, Doctor.”

  Wendy tried to keep her tone light. “Really? And what might that be?”

  “I need you to come back home with me. Then I’ll tell you all about it.”

  “I can’t do that,” Wendy said. “I’ve got other patients to see this afternoon and you know I don’t do home visits. You’ve asked before.”

  Brendan’s expression darkened.

  “I can help you though, Brendan. I know things are tough at the moment. So, I thought I could book you into Trevelyan house for a few days. It would be good for you to have a nice rest, and they’ll be able to assess you and determine what the best course of treatment is going forward.” She smiled at him hopefully.

  His smile widened and he chuckled. “I know you think I’m mad, but I think I’m the only sane person around here. And I don’t have time to go to Trevelyan house I’m afraid, Doctor. I’m in the middle of a very important experiment and I need your help.”

  “Brendan, that’s simply not possible,” Wendy said, trying to hold back her irritation. “You saw I have a waiting room full of patients. I can’t let them down.”

  “It’s a shame, but you’ll have to let them down I’m afraid. The experiment comes first.”

  He was being ridiculous. She went to reach for the phone, and as she did so, he turned his head, and the polo neck shifted, revealing bright red marks on his neck.

  She forgot about the phone and got to her feet, moving closer to him.

  “Brendan, what are these marks on your neck? Have you tried to hurt yourself?”

  He hesitated, seemingly at a loss for words, and his confidence evaporated. “I… I… No, I didn’t do it. It wasn’t me.”

  “Oh, Brendan. You have to let me help you. I want to help you feel better. I need you to trust me, okay?”

  He didn’t seem so scary now, Wendy thought. He looked more like a little boy as he hunched over and then flopped into the seat.

  “It’s going to be okay. We’ll get you through this,” Wendy said, sitting down at her desk and tapping on the keyboard to look up the number to make a referral.

  Brendan cowered in his chair, stooping lower and lower.

  “Brendan are you feeling faint?” Wendy asked.

  He shook his head. “Can’t you hear her?” He grimaced.

  “Hear who?”

  Wendy looked at where he was pointing over his shoulder. There was nobody there. He was hallucinating. Things were progressing fast.

  “Listen to me, Brendan. I know this is very scary, but your mind is playing tricks on you. Focus on me, okay. We’re going to make this stop. We’re going to make you feel better.”

  Brendan sniffed, and as Wendy turned back to her computer, he pulled something from a messenger bag that made Wendy freeze.

  It was a knife.

  A knife, with a long, shiny steel blade.

  It’s said your life flashes before your eyes when you’re about to die, but Wendy didn’t think about her life. All she thought about was Davey. Davey asking where his mummy was when she didn’t come home to read him a story tonight. Davey crying at her grave. Davey growing up without her.

  “Brendan, that’s not going to help.”

  “Listen to me, you’re not the one in charge. If you do exactly what I say, no one will get hurt. Now, get up. You’re coming with me.”

  Did he really expect they could walk out through the waiting room and nobody would stop them or call the police? He really was crazy.

  Wendy shakily got to her feet as Brendan walked around the desk and opened the window. He released the safety catches, so it opened fully, creating a gap large enough for them to climb out.

  So he didn’t intend to walk out through the waiting room after all. How long would it be before someone noticed she was missing? Anne was sensible. She’d call the police as soon as she realised something was wrong. But would it be too late?

  While he was distracted, Wendy reached for her mobile, but he noticed.

  Grinning, shaking his head and tapping the knife on the desk, he said, “I think you should leave that here. And before you decide to do anything stupid like call for help, I should let you know that I have your son. Davey. Cute kid.”

  Blood roared around Wendy’s system. Davey? No. It wasn’t possible. Her husband would be heading to the school to pick him up in—she glanced at her watch—five minutes. How would Brendan have taken Davey from school? How could this be happening?

  Brendan nodded at the open window. “So, now we understand each other, let’s move.”

  Chapter Forty-One

  Anne glanced at the clock behind the reception counter. Dr Willson had been seeing Brendan Maynard for over fifteen minutes now. The usual appointment lasted about ten minutes, give or take, but she understood a patient with Brendan’s needs might require more attention.

  He had mental health problems and was definitely very upset today. Though Anne was new to the surgery, she was well aware of the undercurrent of tension between Dr Willson and Dr Farquhar. She’d also paid close attention to patient files and had seen Brendan had been transferred to Dr Farquhar. There had to be a reason for that, and if Anne was a betting woman, she’d put money on the transfer being due to Dr Willson feeling uncomfortable treating Brendan alone, which was understandable.

  Anne had studied nursing for a couple of years when she was in her twenties. She liked the idea of helping people and nursing seemed like such a noble profession. Trouble was, Anne was not good with blood, or any bodily fluids really. She learned quickly that she was too squeamish for nursing. So she’d signed up fo
r special training to become a consultant’s secretary, and she’d been very good at it, too, before she’d taken a career break to raise her children.

  Now both her sons were in primary school, she’d decided the time was right to come back to part-time employment and had been pleased to take up a job at Dr Farquhar’s practice. The surgery was within walking distance of their flat and the money certainly helped out with two growing boys to look after. They seemed to need a new pair of shoes every two months recently.

  It was just her luck for them both to be going through a growth spurt at the same time.

  Anne got to her feet and rushed into the waiting area as she saw Mrs McCafferty struggling to her feet after the practice nurse called her name over the intercom.

  The elderly woman dropped her walking stick. Anne collected the stick, handed it back to Mrs McCafferty with a smile and then helped the elderly lady to the practice nurse’s room.

  “Thank you, dear,” Mrs McCafferty said.

  “Not at all.”

  Anne walked briskly back to reception. Seventeen minutes had passed now. Perhaps she should go and check on Dr Willson?

  It was almost the end of her shift. In fact, she thought with a frown, her shift should have ended five minutes ago, but as usual, Viv, one of the other receptionists, was late. Viv had worked at Dr Farquhar’s practice for over five years and saw herself as the boss. She liked to lord it over everyone, even though she was employed under the exact same terms as Anne. She was condescending, rude and always late, despite that, Anne tried to keep the peace. She certainly didn’t need to create an enemy at work.

  As another minute ticked by, Anne began to get increasingly concerned. Of course, the appointment would run longer than usual if Dr Willson had to arrange a referral, but Anne had felt uneasy since the moment Brendan Maynard had walked into the doctor’s surgery.

  Finally Viv bustled into the waiting area.

  She was a large woman, with dyed red hair and the type of trowelled-on make-up that made you wonder what she really looked like underneath. Anne thought if she ever saw Viv barefaced, she wouldn’t recognise her.

  “I’m glad you’re here,” Anne said, preparing to explain her worries about Dr Willson.

  “For goodness sake, Anne. I’m only five minutes late. I’m sure that’s not inconvenienced you too much.”

  Viv turned her back and shrugged off her cardigan then stashed her handbag beneath the desk. The air was thick with Viv’s floral perfume.

  Anne tried again. “The thing is, we had a very agitated patient come into the surgery and demand to see one of the GPs. He is in with Dr Willson now and has been in there for almost twenty minutes. I’m a bit concerned.”

  Viv rolled her eyes. “I’m sure Dr Willson is fine. She’s dealt with plenty of difficult patients in her time. When you get a little more experience, you’ll understand.”

  Anne felt a flare of anger. “I’ve plenty of experience, Viv,” she said, trying to keep the irritation from her voice. “I’ve worked with patients for most of my career.”

  “Yes, but you’ve had a lot of time off, haven’t you?”

  “I took a career break when I had my children,” Anne said. “That doesn’t wipe my memory, or make me inexperienced.”

  “Seven years is a very long time to take off work,” Viv said with a sniff.

  “Anyway,” Anne said, determined to get back on topic. “I’m concerned about Dr Willson. The patient’s name is Brendan Maynard,” she added in a whisper so Viv could hear but not the rest of the waiting room.

  “Oh, him, the hypochondriac. That’s what all the doctors call him. I think he’s harmless.”

  “Harmless? But his file said he had mental health problems, and Dr Willson wanted to refer him, and then he was transferred to Dr Farquhar’s list.”

  “What’s your point?” Viv said sitting down heavily on the chair beside Anne.

  Anne thought it was very clear what her point was.

  “My point is that Dr Willson could be in trouble. I think one of us should check on her.”

  “And by ‘one of us,’ you mean me because it’s my shift now?” Viv said raising a carefully drawn eyebrow.

  Anne pursed her lips. Yes, actually she did think Viv should get off her backside and go and check on Dr Willson.

  “That might be a good idea,” Anne said pointedly.

  Viv gave a little huff under her breath. “You can check on her if you like, but I’ve got work to do.”

  She reached over and picked up the box of patient samples. The samples weren’t due to be collected until tomorrow. Viv was just being difficult.

  “Fine,” Anne said. “I’ll check on her before I go.”

  “Knock yourself out,” Viv said.

  Anne grabbed her handbag, looped the strap over her shoulder and walked around the reception desk towards the back of the surgery.

  Viv was impossible, luckily Anne didn’t have to spend much time with her and only saw her during handovers. It seemed Viv saw herself as Queen bee and wanted to mark her territory like a dog peeing over everything.

  Anne knocked on Dr Willson’s closed door.

  She might receive a sharp reprimand from Dr Willson for interrupting when she was seeing a patient, but it was better to be safe than sorry.

  There was no response to her knock, so she tried again, banging on the door a little harder.

  Still nothing.

  Anxiety trickled through Anne’s body.

  She reached for the doorknob, turning it and then pushing the door open slowly.

  “I’m very sorry to interrupt,” she called from the hallway not wanting to walk inside and interrupt an examination.

  But there was still no response. Swallowing hard, Anne stepped inside Dr Willson’s room. She wasn’t behind the desk. Anne turned to the small curtained area where patients could undress to get ready for an examination, but the curtains were wide open and there was nobody there.

  She walked inside, turning a slow circle, taking in every corner, but the room was empty.

  Where were they?

  Then her gaze fell on the open window.

  Anne’s stomach clenched with fear.

  Mackinnon pulled his mobile out of his pocket and answered the call from DI Tyler.

  “I’ve got some news, Jack. We have a full name and address for our suspect. Brendan Maynard, 17 North Quay Road. I’m sending his details over to you now.”

  “Great news. What’s the next step?”

  “We’re heading to his flat now to arrest him and search the property.

  “Do you need me?”

  “No, we’ve got plenty of officers as well as a search team ready to go over his flat with a fine-tooth comb as soon as we’ve arrested him. Have you had any luck on the bedbug addresses?”

  “No,” Mackinnon said with a sigh. “It looks like the bugs and Noah Thorne were both false leads.”

  “You can’t win them all, Jack. You followed the correct procedure to chase down all logical leads. That’s all anyone can expect.”

  “I know,” Mackinnon said, but he couldn’t help feeling he’d rather be on the scene when they arrested Brendan Maynard rather than traipsing around London talking to people about bedbugs. “I don’t suppose 17 North Quay Road was on the list of bedbug addresses?”

  “No, it wasn’t on the list. I checked myself before leaving the station, but it is within walking distance of the No 22 bus route.”

  “I guess the bedbug theory was a waste of time then.”

  “I don’t know about that. I think you were on the right track. Charlotte found out something very interesting regarding Brendan Maynard’s job. He’s a self-employed pest controller.”

  Mackinnon paused to digest the information. He guessed that could make sense. If he’d had an infestation at his property, he would have treated the problem himself, and perhaps introduced the bedbugs into his flat from his work.”

  The pieces of the puzzle were slowly fitting together.


  “That’s an interesting connection,” Mackinnon said. “Good luck with the raid. Do you know if he is on the premises?”

  “We’ve had someone watching the flat while we waited for the paperwork, and no one has seen him leave. But no, we don’t know for sure if he’s there. I’m keeping my fingers crossed that even if he isn’t home, Tammy Holt will be at the address.”

  After Mackinnon hung up, he put his phone back in his pocket and walked along Fir Street.

  He’d been distracted by the unrelated strands in this case. Ashley’s ex, the bedbugs… they’d all been diversions, leading him in the wrong direction.

  If Brendan Maynard was responsible, then it looked as though there was no connection to Noah Thorne, Ashley’s ex-boyfriend.

  But Mackinnon had been very sure the man was hiding something. Of course, it could have been a secret completely unrelated to Ashley Burrows’s death. And he had to admit they had found no link between Noah Thorne and Tammy Holt.

  So his hunch about Noah Thorne had led him away from the real culprit. Noah had been hiding something all right. His affair with Ashley’s work colleague, but that didn’t make him a killer.

  After that, Mackinnon had focused on the bedbug angle, wrongly believing it would lead them to the location where Ashley had been held and potentially where Tammy was still being kept against her will.

  The two addresses he’d visited today had proved fruitless. Appearances suggested they were normal families, very unlikely to be involved in either woman’s disappearance, and he still couldn’t get an answer from anyone at the third address. Perhaps the listed number was wrong.

  He should go back to the station and start on his paperwork. He had plenty of forms to fill in for this investigation as well as outstanding reports on the Aleena case. It wasn’t as though he didn’t have plenty to do, but he couldn’t help wishing he was heading to 17 North Quay Road as the net tightened around Brendan Maynard.

  He reached the corner of the road and contemplated whether to turn right and head to the underground station or turn left and go to the third address on his list. He was close. Even if no one was home, perhaps he could talk to one of the neighbours and ask around.