The Patient Killer (A DCI Morton Crime Novel Book 4)

by Sean Campbell

  ‘Doc, based on Hogge’s charts, how long would you have expected her to live?’

  ‘I would have expected her to be dead by now.’

  ‘Is it possible that she had a bone marrow transplant without it being done on the books?’

  ‘Theoretically?’

  There was that word again. Theoretically. It seemed to be the Get Out of Jail Free card of lawyers and administrators. ‘Fine. Let’s assume it’s hypothetical.’

  ‘It’s possible. Bone marrow transplantation is relatively painless for the recipient. It doesn’t need them to be put under general anaesthetic. The equipment required is minimal.’

  ‘What kind of equipment?’

  ‘A central venous catheter. It’s a silicone tube.’

  ‘Which Carruthers would have access to,’ Morton said.

  ‘Theoretically,’ Sinclair agreed.

  Morton wanted to strangle him. ‘And Hogge was on the waiting list?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Can you tell me if Carruthers would have been a match? You’ve got records for him, don’t you?’

  ‘Hang on a moment... yes. He would have been a match.’

  Well, there’s reasonable doubt, Morton thought. ‘Why wouldn’t he donate on the books?’

  ‘He’s too old. You can only join the register between sixteen and thirty.’

  ‘So, he couldn’t have donated?’

  ‘Oh, he could have. We only let youngsters join because they’re the best candidates, and we have limited funds to do the requisite testing. There’s nothing that would preclude someone older from being able to viably donate bone marrow.’

  ‘Damn. Thanks for your time, Doctor.’

  Morton rang off. That settled it. Carruthers had a perfectly plausible story.

  Morton went off in search of the prosecutor, relayed the information, and they headed down to the interview suite to resume Morton’s interrogation of Byron Carruthers.

  Carruthers looked like hell after a night in the cells, but he wasn’t ready to admit it. ‘I slept fine. Perhaps it’s because my conscience is clear.’

  ‘This is a resumption of the interview of Byron Carruthers. Present in the room are DCI Morton, Kieran O’Connor of the Crown Prosecution Service, Byron Carruthers, and his solicitor, Jacob Carruthers.’

  ‘I gather from your sulking that you now know about chimera DNA,’ Carruthers said in an I-told-you-so sing-song tone that was infuriating.

  ‘Where were you on the night of Primrose Kennard’s murder?’ Morton said through his teeth.

  ‘I might have been at home. I might not. My medication makes me drowsy, you know.’

  ‘Was your wife there?’

  He shrugged. ‘I don’t know.’

  ‘Well, you wouldn’t know if you weren’t there, either.’

  ‘I suppose that’s true.’ Carruthers suddenly clutched at his side as if he had been stabbed.

  ‘Are you OK, Doctor Carruthers?’ Morton said with almost genuine concern. If the old goat dies mid-interrogation, I won’t be able to lock him up.

  ‘Just a little pain. Did you have another question, or am I free to go now?’ He looked over to his nephew the lawyer (who still hadn’t written a single note) as if to ask if he was free.

  ‘What about the night of Ms Hogge’s murder?’

  ‘When was that, again?’

  ‘Three weeks ago on Saturday night.’

  ‘I can only assume I’d have been home. I don’t specifically recall.’

  ‘Terrible memory you’ve got, Doctor.’

  ‘Alas, age makes fools of us all,’ Carruthers said. Then he patted his nephew on the shoulder. ‘And it seems youth has its folly, too. Do pay attention, dear Jacob.’

  The solicitor had finally begun to write. Unfortunately he had only managed the names of the victims and the word ‘murder’. It was a start.

  ‘And the morning of Niall Stapleton’s murder?’

  ‘Hmm. You said that was a Thursday, didn’t you?’ Carruthers said. ‘I would assume I’d have been at work.’

  ‘At The Royal London Hospital?’

  ‘Probably.’

  ‘You weren’t. We checked.’

  ‘In every room? I do keep strange times. I’m not good at making myself available when I’m not scheduled to work Accident and Emergency, and I do work at other hospitals as a consultant.’

  Reasonable doubt. Again. They couldn’t prove the negative. Just because the NHS pager system didn’t show him as being in, that wasn’t enough to nail him.

  ‘Did you donate to all four victims?’ Morton asked.

  ‘I believe so. I’m taking your word for it that Mr Stapleton and Mr Yacobi received units of my blood. That isn’t information that I would be privy to.’

  He had to know somehow. If they could find a record of him accessing that confidential information... that might be enough. ‘Wouldn’t you?’ Morton asked. ‘Don’t doctors have access to the database which tracks blood donations?’

  Morton could see the doctor’s mind working, as if cogs were whirring in his brain.

  ‘I suppose so,’ Carruthers said. ‘Actually, come to think of it, I might have seen it once or twice. Idle hands make for a curious mind, and it’s only natural one would wonder where one’s blood might have been used.’

  ‘So, you’re admitting to the knowledge that Stapleton and Yacobi had blood transfusions?’

  ‘No. I’m admitting to the possibility I might have looked up a few records. I don’t recall anything specifically.’

  Damn, he was good. Again he had introduced reasonable doubt.

  ‘Would you know how to cut up a body?’

  ‘Certainly. I am a doctor.’

  ‘Like this?’ Morton opened a folder of morgue photos.

  ‘Absolutely not. That handiwork is abysmal.’

  Kieran elbowed Morton gently for his attention. ‘Would you excuse us for a moment?’

  Chapter 65: Risky Business

  Tuesday May 5th 11:00

  The prosecutor fixed Morton with a stare. ‘You’ve got to let him go.’

  ‘No bloody way,’ Morton said firmly. ‘He’s our man.’

  ‘Then prove it. All we have is circumstantial. He could have done it. We have nothing, nothing at all, which says that he did do it.’

  But what? Morton’s mind raced. There had to be something. ‘Hang on.’

  Morton dashed off down the corridor. He nabbed a witness statement form and ran back to the interview suite with it in hand.

  ‘Got a pen?’ he asked Kieran as he skidded to a stop.

  ‘Yes. But be careful. It’s Mont Blanc, and I want it back.’

  Morton told the doctor he needed his alibi details in writing and gave him the witness statement form. It wasn’t proper procedure, but his lawyer was too green to know better.

  The doctor took a moment to admire the pen, twirling it between his fingers and hefting it from hand to hand in judgement of its weight. Morton waited with bated breath, trying not to look like he was waiting to see which hand the doctor would write with.

  The doctor began to write... with his left hand. Fuck.

  Morton forced himself to show no emotion. ‘I’ll leave you to it. Knock on the door when you’re done.’

  Kieran was waiting for him outside. ‘Well?’

  ‘He’s left-handed.’

  ‘Then, he’s not our killer,’ Kieran said.

  ‘I don’t know,’ Morton said. ‘Everything else fits. What if he’s trying to outsmart us?’

  ‘So, your evidence that he committed a crime is... evidence he didn’t commit a crime? That’s a new one.’

  ‘Think about it,’ Morton said. ‘It’s the perfect forensic countermeasure.’

  ‘Pretending to write with your left hand to throw the police off?’

  ‘No. Cutting up a body with your non-dominant hand to conceal your medical training and skill.’

  ‘You think he cut them up with his right hand so it wouldn’t be as neat.’r />
  Morton nodded. ‘Exactly.’

  ‘It’s got reasonable doubt written all over it. I can’t charge him on that alone. You need to find me something else. Until then, he walks.’

  ‘What about the Human Tissue Act offences?’ Morton asked. ‘He confessed to giving Olivia Hogge his bone marrow illegally.’

  ‘Would you convict him? He saved her life. No jury is going to jail a doctor for saving his patient on a technicality.’

  And then he killed her. ‘Damn it, Kieran! Stop thinking about your win rates for half a second. We need to keep him away from the public while I find the smoking gun we need to put him away for four murders. Are you going to help me or not?’

  ‘Fine. I’ll charge him for the Human Tissue Act offence against Olivia Hogge. No more, no less. He’ll make bail in no time, but it’ll buy you a few days to get your shit together.’

  ‘That’ll have to do.’

  ***

  Morton found Fenella Carruthers at an upmarket beauty salon in Kensington. It was well-hidden at the top of a discreet staircase off the main road by Holland Park. A smell of paraffin and aromatherapy oils lingered in the air.

  ‘Go away,’ Mrs Carruthers said. ‘I’m having a manicure.’

  Morton tapped the beautician who was kneeling down in front of Fenella on the shoulder. ‘Miss? Could you give us a moment, please?’

  The beautician looked up in confusion, and then over to Fenella, who rolled her eyes and nodded. ‘Very well.’

  ‘Mrs Carruthers, we know Byron wasn’t at home with you on the nights of the murders.’

  ‘If he said he was there, then he was there.’

  ‘But do you say he was there?’

  ‘I... he was there.’

  ‘All night?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Every single time a murder occurred, you two were together the entire night?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘He didn’t leave your sight to go to the bathroom?’

  ‘Well... maybe five minutes.’

  Morton was unconvinced. ‘So, you weren’t together all night. What did you do together?’

  ‘We watched TV.’

  Yeah, right. ‘OK. What program?’

  ‘I don’t know. Coronation Street?’ Fenella was beginning to get flustered. ‘What does it matter, anyway?’

  ‘If you can’t remember what you were watching, how can you remember that he was there?’

  ‘I just can, all right? Leave me alone.’

  Morton placed a business card on top of her handbag. ‘Call me if your recollection improves.’

  Chapter 66: Scars Don’t Fade

  Tuesday May 5th 16:45

  It was by happy accident rather than design that Doctor Byron Carruthers was taken to Her Majesty’s Prison Belmarsh.

  Belmarsh was a Category A prison, home to the violent and the criminally deranged (though not the legally insane). Murderers, rapists and other high-security prisoners were locked down in blocks one and two of the facility, many of them remaining cell-bound twenty hours or more per day.

  Alongside those condemned souls were the more run-of-the-mill prisoners and a large proportion of remand prisoners who were awaiting trial. They were housed in the still grungy, but much less dangerous blocks three and four.

  Carruthers was destined for block four. Before he could go there, he had to endure the repetitive, paperwork-heavy and privacy-light intake procedure. For the past two hours he had filled out forms in triplicate, and had answered a lengthy interview on the same questions, before finally his prisoner number was allocated.

  ‘Finally,’ the man in charge of intake asked, ‘do you have any gang affiliations?’

  Carruthers fixed him with a stare. ‘Only the British Medical Council. Do they have a posse in here?’

  ‘The... the what?’

  ‘The British Medical Council. We’re currently engaged in a war with the Association of Personal Injury Lawyers. They go by “the Quantum Crew” in here, or so I’m told. If you could make sure I’m not cellmates with any of their lot, it’d save me a shanking.’

  ‘Right... I’ll just write down none. That’s it for this stage of intake.’

  ‘Does a nice hot supper await me?’

  ‘I’m afraid you’ve got a strip search and photographs to go yet. I’ll take that bag from you now.’

  The Prison Officer indicated Carruthers’ bag of personal belongings, which Carruthers punted over to him with his foot.

  ‘Thanks. You know we will destroy anything in this bag that’s on the list of prohibited items, don’t you?’

  ‘Isn’t it a bit late to tell me that now?’ Carruthers said. ‘There goes my favourite rifle.’

  ‘You’ve got a gun in here?’

  ‘Of course I don’t. What kind of idiot do you take me for?’

  The first prison officer left. He was replaced by another in short order, and Carruthers was ordered to strip down to his boxers. He did so quickly, revealing a scarred body with white lines criss-crossing his torso and chest. The guard’s eyes lingered on the scars for a moment.

  ‘I do apologise,’ Carruthers said smugly. ‘It’s a little chilly in here.’

  ‘Very funny, wise guy.’ The prison officer bagged up his clothing. ‘You’ll get these back if you’re released.’

  ‘When, not if.’

  ‘They all say that. Here.’ The guard tossed over a bag of prison clothing. ‘Get dressed. One last question before we get you settled. Do you have any healthcare needs?’

  ‘Finally, something I’m interested in. I’d like to see the prison doctor, if you don’t mind. I fancy an upgrade to a bed in the hospital wing. And can you manage a turndown service?’

  Chapter 67: More, More, More

  Wednesday May 6th 09:00

  ‘Boss, we’re going round in circles,’ Ayala complained. ‘We can’t do it.’

  ‘You want to give up, then? Call it a day and move on?’ Morton said.

  ‘Yes. He’s going to be charged for several incidences of Human Tissue Act offences. He could get ten years for each. He’s old. Is it really going to make a difference?’

  Ayala had a point. The doctor was both old and sick. ‘It might. He’s only being charged with a single specimen count. We don’t know how long he’ll be sentenced to, if they’ll find him guilty, or how long he’ll live. Even if it weren’t going to make a difference, I’d still need to find out. The families deserve justice.’

  Rafferty interjected herself between them. ‘Boys, I’ve got an idea.’

  ‘Let’s hear it,’ Morton said.

  ‘When Primrose Kennard’s body was found, we thought it was her sons who murdered her.’

  ‘They didn’t act like innocents.’

  ‘The killer seemed to know her. Her body was dumped on her husband’s grave. How would Carruthers have known where it was?’

  Of course. ‘He followed her.’

  ‘Bingo,’ Rafferty said. ‘And he would have had to follow her into Highgate Cemetery proper. You can’t see the grave from the road.’

  ‘And if he was stalking Kennard, then he must have been stalking the others, too,’ Morton said. ‘He knew where they lived. He knew that Kennard made daily visits to her husband. Rafferty, you’re a genius.’

  ‘I know,’ she said immodestly. ‘We can’t put Carruthers at the crime scenes on the day of each murder, but can we put him there before the victims died?’

  ‘Hmm,’ Morton mused.

  ‘What are you thinking about? Witnesses? Roisin Weir, the cemetery guide – she might have seen him.’

  ‘She might. We can do one better. They’ve got CCTV on the entrance to Highgate. Now we’ve got a firm suspect, it’s a simple case of working our way back until we find whichever day Carruthers visited on. Ayala, I want you to go examine the tapes.’

  ‘He could have visited months ago!’ Ayala protested. ‘That’s thousands of hours of footage!’

  ‘Not my problem. Besides, you can cut down o
n most of the work. Primrose Kennard was a creature of habit. She visited old Hubert’s grave at the same time every day. If you check the CCTV for then, Carruthers won’t be far behind. Now, go.’

  Ayala left the room in a huff.

  ‘Hogge... what CCTV is there near her house?’

  ‘There isn’t any,’ Rafferty said. ‘I checked.’

  ‘So, we need an actual witness.’

  ‘Her boy-toy?’

  ‘You mean her victim.’

  ‘He didn’t think of himself that way,’ Rafferty said.

  ‘Carter Gould is a teenage boy. Of course he thinks any opportunity to get laid is wonderful. That doesn’t stop it being abusive, wrong and illegal. She used her position of authority to cajole him into the bedroom,’ Morton said.

  ‘She used her tits to cajole him into the sack. The kid wanted it. She was only six years old than him.’

  ‘I can’t believe you’re arguing with me over this. If genders were reversed, then you’d be agreeing with me, wouldn’t you?’

  Rafferty glared. ‘Maybe.’

  ‘Maybe...’ Morton trailed off.

  ‘Maybe what?’

  ‘Maybe,’ Morton said slowly, ‘that’s the connection.’

  ‘They’re all sleeping with Carter Gould?’

  ‘No. They’re all doing something wrong. Think about it. Amoy Yacobi was a known smuggler. His exploits were public news, and his criminal convictions were a matter of public record. Primrose Kennard was a shoplifter. Niall Stapleton was in the middle of a robbery when he was killed.’

  ‘And Hogge was sleeping with a student,’ Rafferty said.

  ‘These are vigilante murders. He’s on a moral crusade.’ Morton flashed back to his conversation with Carruthers, when he had asked the doctor why he had saved Ebstein: He didn’t deserve to die. ‘He’s killing people who he thinks don’t deserve to live.’

  ***

  The cameras belonged to the church. They were discreetly positioned near the guard house at the Swain’s Lane entrance, with the footage being digitised and backed up in case of trouble.

  There had been break-ins over the years. Before the current security measures were put in place, kids used to run amok, drinking and smoking.

  It didn’t take long for Ayala to obtain the footage he needed. The church agreed to allow him access as soon as they had authenticated that he was who he said he was, and they even found him space inside the guard hut to watch the footage on his laptop.