by Ben Oakley
Cobbs took a step back and I saw the panic on his face, more so than when I'd reeled him in earlier.
“I never knew it would have been this bad?” he said.
“Then now is the time to make amends and become the better person.”
“How can I do that?”
I thought about it briefly then realised what I needed from him, something I couldn't find in the systems they had provided me with.
“Seven years ago, there was a girl in room 18 under Foster's care. I can't find any info on her but I would like to know who she was and where she is now.”
“It would be difficult to find it out,” he said, “there's a privacy window of two years in our systems.”
“Don't give me that!” I said. “It was in the week following the refurbishment, seven years ago. Some of the care workers have been here since then and so have you. If there's no record of her then someone must have remembered. This is a long-term care hospital, it would be unthinkable if one of the carers didn't at least remember her face, or something about her.”
He nodded slowly, “okay, I'm on it.”
I looked at the time on my phone and my heart dropped again, I had been in the hospital almost five hours, sifting through the records. Time was moving so quickly and I was struggling to work out where it had all gone.
“Doctor Cobbs?”
“Yes?”
“I'm giving you until six o'clock to get me something concrete, that's three hours from now. Wipe the slate for the afternoon and get everyone on it. Might be an idea to talk to some of the patients as well. On both sides of the wall.”
“Three hours.” he said.
I didn't know if it was a question or a statement but I left him to his thoughts. I was going to take the files with me and move to my next clue. I turned back as I opened the door to the corridor.
“Those drugs you were talking about earlier, have you noticed any batches missing in the past year.”
“Yes,” he said quickly and honestly. “It happens sometimes and usually it's an accident.”
“Three hours, Cobbs.”
He nodded at me in his own way, “why the immediate rush?”
“Because in nine hours – he kills again.”
Forty Four
I didn't leave Linden straight away. I made sure to get the relevant files and take them with me. I also thanked the staff I saw for their cooperation and reminded Cobbs about the urgency of the situation.
It was almost four in the afternoon when I finally walked outside. The hospital smell and the dank aroma of Cobbs office was hanging off me like smoke from a bonfire. I tried to shake it off but it stayed with me as I walked across the park. The hunger pangs were eating away at me but I was surprisingly not overly hungry, I guess it was the stress of the situation forcing me forward.
As I left the park and onto the next road, I was happy to see the unmarked car still there and the officer duly waiting inside. I walked briskly to the car and opened the door. The officer didn't say anything at first but then sighed. I leaned on the roof before sitting on the seat with my legs outside the vehicle.
“Where to?” he mumbled.
“Connect me to Detective Berg,” I said.
He lifted the radio off the deck pretty quickly. I was reminded of Paine and the speed of her phone answering skills. If the bastard had hurt her then I wasn't going to go easy on him.
“Berg here.”
“It's Lake, you got anything on Foster?”
“They broke the door down on the Kensington property. Smart as hell the look of it, but hardly anything in there. He either didn't live there or used it sparingly.”
“You found his other address?”
“Nothing is showing up but we're linked in with London CCTV who are trying to follow him as he leaves the hospital and drives in the direction of Essex. It's not gonna be easy, the coverage outside of Central London isn't as good as what people think it is. We need more time on it.”
“It's one thing we don't have.”
“Lake,” he paused, “you're on a car radio? They give you a car now? I didn't get one of them until three months in. Lucky bastard.”
“It's my chauffeur,” I winked at the officer. Then back at Berg, “Why can't we find his Essex address? He's gotta have Paine there!”
“He might have used a false name or offshore bank account. He might have had the land passed down to him. I dunno, there's nothing on any deeds and his name isn't linked to any other properties except for the one in Kensington.”
“Are you sure there was nothing at Kensington?”
“Why don't you go and check it out yourself if you don't trust no one else?There's an officer at the door and a car out the front. Look, he hardly has any belongings except a large office with documents and a giant bespoke book shelf.”
I got more comfortable in the passenger seat, shut the car door and mouthed to the officer to drive to Kensington.
“I'll be there in ten minutes,” I said to Berg.
“Suit yourself. We got some possible witnesses at Highgate Cemetery so I'm gonna be there with a patrol car. Will fill you in if anything solid comes up.”
I hung up the radio as the car pulled away and onwards to Kensington. I closed my eyes to picture the map on my wall. Yeah, I was pretty sure it was just within my five mile restriction circle.
I had just seen a bespoke book shelf in Cobbs office and my gut feeling was to look more closely at the one in Foster's apartment.
I had a feeling I was nearing towards the final clue.
Forty Five
Rarely did I venture into Kensington. It was nice enough but there wasn't much else to get me excited. The coffee shops were high art where you could get a fancy drink for a tenner or more. The people were slightly cocky and the richest streets I always found a little intimidating. Maybe it was the realist in me.
I didn't speak to the officer in the car. Not out of rudeness, I was just more focused on my own thoughts. I was also slightly concerned that Stansey might have called as I was sitting right next to him. I wasn't quite sure how I would have handled it if the situation arose.
But he didn't really say much anyway, perhaps he was sitting on Berg's fence and his view of the whole situation regarding me. To be honest, I wasn't worried with rumours or opinion, as there were far more important things at stake.
We turned onto one of the fancier streets in Kensington. Tall white buildings, pillared entrances and each level revelling in high ceilings and chandeliers. Apartments in the area could set one back a tidy sum and mostly around the million mark. However, I had seen detached houses in the area reach the dizzy heights of £30million in the past.
I caught sight of the officer standing outside the door and looked up at the terraced townhouse. These doctors must have been earning a fortune, his one-floor apartment alone must have cost in the region of four to six thousand a month.
I thanked the talkative officer as he parked up and told him to make better use of his time. Chaperone's were only good in times when the pressure wasn't on. He needed to be better utilised and I was kind of happy to send him away. I jumped up the steps to the ground floor apartment and wasn't even accosted by the officer at the door. I guess my name had got around and I guess I had Berg to thank or not thank for that.
I kept the door to the apartment open, I liked the breeze. The place was immaculate, it had high ceilings and an art deco styling on the walls. Everything was white and seemed to have no personality to it. The only bedroom to the right of the hallway had nothing of note in it and was mostly bare, aside from the bed and a couple of bedside cabinets.
The kitchen had an open plan diner and it worked with the property but again there wasn't much in there. It sure looked good but reminded me of a show home. After a quick look around, I moved into the lounge which he was using as an office. It was large and to the point. A stunning walnut hardwood desk filled the middle of the room. He would work with his back to the large sash window t
hat looked out on to the tree-lined street.
One well-trimmed tree, on the road in front of the property, protected him from potentially nosy neighbours opposite. The desk was clean, not much on it except a metal stationary-tidy and a square space where the laptop would have been. I was told it had been taken away for analysis but there was nothing on it to incriminate him.
I sat in his really comfortable leather chair and took a deep breath as I did so, the top of it cradled my head to perfection. I could have fallen asleep but I had to hold on a little while longer. I put my phone on the desk and happened to glance at the time.
I wish I hadn't. It was almost five in the afternoon and we were coming up on seven hours to go.
The desk perfectly faced the full book case but I looked in the drawers first. The contents had been removed by forensics and the data team. As with the laptop, they were saying there was nothing that incriminated him as the killer.
The book case was exactly the same style as the one in Cobbs office in Linden. Cobbs – that sexual deviant, popped back into my head. Why the hell didn't he tell anyone of his suspicions? Was he scared of Foster? Foster came across as cocksure and belittling but I had a hard time imagining him cutting someone's neck. Yet, everything pointed to him, and he had vanished.
There had to be something here, the books were the key. The clues were right in front of me, as they always had been. I just had to fight through the tiredness to overcome this bizarre mental block that had fallen over me.
Mental block?
I picked up my phone and pressed for Salt. He answered in double-quick time.
“It's Lake. Did forensics find any traces of Benzodiazepines or other pharmaceutical drugs in the apartment?”
“They've taken everything they got back to their lab now. There was no clear sign of anything like that but you know what they're like, they'll get back to us when they have something. Is it gonna make a difference if they do find anything?”
“Possibly not but it would prove his guilt, in my eyes.”
“Where are you?”
“Foster's apartment, sitting in his fancy leather chair at his fancy walnut desk, looking at his decidedly fancy-free book shelf.”
“Anything jumping out?”
“If there's something they missed, I'll find it. Seven hours, Salt. Seven hours and Paine dies.”
“Don't think like that,” he said with a hint of worry in his voice. “Make every minute count Detective Lake.”
Then he hung up as quick as he had answered.
I spoke to myself; “Detective Lake.” It did have a nice little ring to it and I was surprised I was being referred to as an actual detective, but it focused my mind better.
Suddenly my phone rang and I thought it to be Stansey, as she had a habit of calling when I'd come off another call. But it was a blocked number. I hesitantly answered and put it slowly to my ear. I paused a little bit before speaking.
“Detective Lake?”
The same digitised voice as before crackled through my phone.
“They made you a detective? How quaint of them.”
I glanced out the window and peered around the edge to see the officer standing there. I guess I didn't need to involve him just now. This was between this bastard and I.
“Foster?”
“I've been right in front of your eyes since the very beginning and you never had the right mind to see who I really was.”
“I'm looking at your mind right now, seeing more than you could possibly imagine.”
“Imagination is the faculty of the soul.”
“Why don't you walk into Kentish Town Police Station and use that imagination of yours to turn yourself in?”“
“Why would I do that when I have exactly what I need right in front of me?”
Dammit, this guy was messing with me and the entire Metropolitan Police Force. He had planned this from the very beginning.
“You're wasting my time,” I said, “so if you have anything more to tell me that isn't your imagination then enlighten me now. Otherwise why don't you just bugger off because I'm closing in on you, you son-of-a-bitch.”
“The pond is deep in the heart of the ancient lands and yet still it eludes you.”
“Maybe I'm not looking for the pond.”
“Then Detective Paine will bleed into the Blood Streams as it has always been intended.
“Why did you call me?” I teased him. “I'm rather busy right now.”
“It's not only poor Megan's life that will end in seven hours, another will die along side her.”
I was roped into his game, “who?”
“It's you, your life ends in seven hours alongside Megan Paine's. There's no escaping fate, not this time. Tick tock, Detective Lake, tick tock.”
He ended the call and I shoved the stationary-tidy off the desk in frustration. I stood and almost thought about lifting the desk upside down in anger but held my frustration in as much as I could.
The officer who had been standing outside had walked along the hallway to stick his head around the lounge opening.
“Everything alright there, sir,” he said.
“You don't have to sir me. Let Salt know the killer just phoned and told me I will die alongside Paine tonight. He's toying with us and he's been watching us from day one.”
Forty Six
The officer moved back to the entrance and I heard him talking into his radio. They were a good bunch in this area, got on with their jobs well and got on with the tasks at hand with no messing about.
I stepped in front of the desk and sat on the edge facing the book shelf. I was working on the assumption he had been granted the unit during the refurbishment of the hospital seven years ago. It looked nice enough, little bit rustic with some real smooth varnishing on the edges. I would have been proud of a shelving unit so big and unique-looking.
It fit in with the entire wall, there wasn't an inch spare on either side. Some of the sections had fake flowers in thick glass vases, standing sharply to attention.
“Just get some real flowers,” I said to myself, “you had enough money.”
I tried to take in the bookshelf in one full view to get a real picture of what I was looking at. I was waiting for something to jump out at me. Was anything out of place or off-kilter? I took a few steps closer and took note of some of the book titles.
Most of them were history, medicine or geography books. A veritable high-class collection of educational tomes. Medicine books weren't going to help me find him so I scooted over those in favour of some of the geography ones. I couldn't see anything about Essex that stood out to me.
I pulled out some of the books and checked behind them for anything out of the ordinary but there was nothing. Something had to be here. I noticed some books on British Mythology but again they were generalised and not specific to any one ideal.
I went back to the desk and picked my phone up. My boss, Mel, hadn't called me yet, but sometimes she needed another kick up the butt to get her moving. She answered slower than me sometimes but I was happy to hear her voice on the other end.
“Catch ya at a bad time?” I said.
“Harrison, I was going to call you, I've been tied up in red tape over a legal pursuit to shut down one of our stories. I didn't forget about you.”
“You got anything for me, from your mythology contact?”
I heard her take a drag of a cigarette, “nothing of note I'm afraid.”
“Dammit.” I rubbed my neck to ease the tension there. “You're not allowed to smoke in the office.”
“I'm not in the office, I'm on the roof getting some fresh air.”
“Fresh air, right? Just exhale into the phone and I'll try and suck some of it in on this end.”
She chuckled, “why the hell don't you just go to a shop and get a pack of twenty?”
“I quit for the second time in as many years. If I start again, I'll never stop. Mel, this guy's put my head on the chopping board and I'm next in line.�
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“Jesus, he really must have a death wish for you.”
“That is what's bugging me. He's gone through all this to bring me into it and for what? There's no reason to do so. You sure there was nothing anyone worked out from that riddle?”
“It's not a riddle and it's nothing to do with mythology.”
“What do you mean? Come on Mel, did you get anything from it at all?”
“I'm not entirely sure what you're looking for, Harrison. The only reference I found was from a 1959 issue of the Essex Countryside magazine.”
I shook my head and almost hung up but then it clicked; Essex.
“That's it,” I said. “What's the reference?”
“Really, an old magazine?”
“Mel!”
“Okay, I've just put my smoke out and I'm almost back at my desk. Just one moment. Here we go. The wording is slightly different but the beats are there. It refers to The Suicide Pool of Essex.”
“Why have I heard of it?”
“We were going to run a story on it but bigger things came our way.”
I bounded to the bookshelf and pulled a London guidebook out from the bottom shelf. I quickly found the larger scale map of central London and neighbouring counties and drew my finger in a line from Camden out towards Essex. I stopped when I found it.
I panted into the phone, “it's Epping Forest isn't it?”
“Hold on, let me check.” I heard her tapping away on her laptop. “Yes but the Suicide Pool has never fully been identified.”
“Tell me more.”
“The body of water, a pool, a pond, however it is referred to, is apparently the most evil body of water in the country. Responsible for countless suicides, mysterious disappearances and murders. The forest is still home to murders as recently as eight months ago. Oh and it's the former hideout of Dick Turpin.”
“This is it Mel, this is where he is. How do we lock him down?”
“Search for properties near bodies of water in Epping Forest.”
I thanked her and ended the call to speed up my process. I saw some books about Epping Forest on the lower shelf. I took all four of them out and laid them on the desk.
