“Oh God, Jack. This is too weird.”
“What am I looking at?”
She pointed at a line. “Reg’s previous medical history had been transferred from Belmarsh prison to Derby, the same—”
“—prison that housed Archy. Though, it looks like Reg had a much longer stay.”
“Decades. Looks like Reg and Archy must have been old pals.”
“Or at least in the same line of business, huh?” said Jack.
She stopped then. “I don’t see what this has to do with Craig, or drugs. But this—” she turned to Jack, “is something, yes?”
A nod. “Could be. For now — let’s stay on track with how they handle their drug records here. I’m thinking that for anything dodgy, they wouldn’t want a digital record … not when there are hackers like you out there.”
Sarah rolled her eyes. “Hacker? Hardly. I could make all these systems so much more secure!”
She watched Jack put a pile of folders down on the other side of the desk, and begin going through them.
Could someone come in here? she thought.
Could they even be sure that Woods was gone for the night?
She just hoped that whatever they were looking for they’d find it fast.
Jack worked fast — this was a task he’d done many times before. He knew what he was looking for: the drug dispensing files, but also the drug purchasing folder too.
Each file he skimmed through, he stacked on one side.
But the paper files were dense. Invoices, training, security, staff correspondence — there was stuff in here from years back before Heathstone had bought Broadmead.
He looked past Sarah at the CCTV monitor which showed the exterior of the home. Nothing moving outside. Shame there weren’t cameras in the corridors. Any second now that door could open and …
“This is going to take some time,” he said.
“How long we got?”
“Another five minutes and I’ll start feeling edgy,” said Jack. “Why don’t you copy everything you can — just in case.”
“I’m on it already,” said Sarah, slotting a flash drive into the computer.
Jack picked up the pile of folders, dropped them back in the filing cabinet and shut the drawer. Then he slid open the next drawer above, took out another stack of files and joined Sarah at the desk.
Purchasing orders — he was in the right place. And then he hit the folder he needed.
“This’ll do nicely,” he said, quickly scanning the contents. “Monthly totals of all pharmaceuticals purchased, going back a couple of years. Now we just need to find out how they dispensed them.”
He took the folder back to the filing cabinet and got the next batch out of the drawer.
As he returned to the desk, a movement on the CCTV screen caught his eye. He peered at the top quarter of the TV: through the softly falling snow a figure was walking towards the front door of Broadmead Grange. As they approached the camera, Jack recognised the face.
“Sarah,” he said, nodding to the screen. “We’ve got houseguests.”
Sarah turned — and Jack could see the alarm in her face.
“Shirley Woods,” she said.
“Did I say five minutes?” he said. “Make that three.”
His hands flew through the files, and then—
“Got it.”
“Dispensing sheets?”
“Yep, all signed by Ania,” he said. “Patient by patient, going back to … last year.”
“So we can see if dosages have changed?”
“Exactly,” said Jack, rolling the papers and slotting them deep in his winter jacket. “The proof we’re looking for — I hope.”
He heard a door slam deep within the building.
“Time we got out of here,” he said. “You got the download?”
He watched Sarah ease the digital stick out, then run through the shutdown.
“I have now.”
“Let’s go,” he said.
“Back to the car?” said Sarah.
“Not quite yet,” said Jack. “I think we ought to put the squeeze on our friend Craig before we go …”
“Looking forward to that already,” said Sarah.
What a partner, thought Jack. Like I never retired …
He flicked the desk light off, tidied the drawers of the filing cabinet and gently opened the door, aware of Sarah close behind him.
He looked each way down the dimly lit corridor — empty. He checked Sarah was ready — and slipped out of the office. As soon as Sarah was out too, he shut the door gently behind him. It locked automatically with a click as he closed it.
And then he heard another door opening, just yards away. He could see Shirley Woods emerging, her back luckily towards them.
He grabbed Sarah and pulled her quickly across the corridor into the dark shadows of a stairwell. He held his breath — if Woods turned to go up these stairs then the game was up.
As he watched, the sister strode by, head up, busy, busy. She paused at her office, took out a key, unlocked the door and went in — all without seeing them.
“Guess it’s our lucky day,” said Jack. He could hear Sarah’s steady breathing in and out.
Tense moment … Then:
“What are we waiting for?” she whispered with a smile.
So, with Sarah at his side, he headed down the corridor deeper into the home to find Craig.
16. A Lovely Cuppa
Sarah followed Jack down the corridor. Although she felt lost, it seemed that Jack knew where he was going.
The place was eerily quiet. But as they turned a corner, she could hear the sound of hushed male voices and the clink of glass on bottle. She smelled cigarette smoke too …
At the end of this corridor she could see a half-open door, and light spilled out.
Just ahead of her, Jack paused and turned: “Kitchens,” he said. “And if I’m not mistaken, that sounds like our old friend Craig.”
She followed him to the door, and pressed against the wall right next to him so she could listen to the low, muttered conversation in the kitchen.
“Top-up?”
“Large one, this time Craig — none of your bleedin’ country measures.”
The other voice was older, gravelly. Sarah thought she recognised it, but couldn’t quite place it. She heard the glasses clinking again. Then the older voice continued. Craig was clearly getting some careers advice …
“Like I was saying — you got a choice, son. Big frog, little pond — or little frog, big pond. What you got to remember is — cheers — little frogs get bigger don’t they?”
“Easy for you to say. You got connections,” said Craig.
“I’ll make ’em your connections, too.”
“I dunno. I’ve got a nice deal here. Why muck it up?”
“Can’t go on forever. Gotta move on. Move up. Big city — big margins.”
“Big risks though.”
“Risks is life, son. Don’t get nowhere without it.”
“You think I can cut it?”
“Sure. You’ll be working for me. Not just skimmin’ benzos off a trolley. I mean the real deal. Import. Export. Your own little patch.”
“Gotta admit — this place stinks. And all these effin’ zombies — I hate them, sometimes, I just want to punch ’em, know what I mean?”
Sarah never saw Jack move faster — she watched as he pushed the door open as if it wasn’t there and strode ahead of her into the kitchen.
She followed him into the kitchen as everything seemed to happen at once. The door banged back hard on its hinges and she saw a table at the far end of the room with Craig now looking up surprised, then pushing his chair backwards and getting up fast, retreating and hurling a glass at Jack as he approached …
Jack sounding so angry.
This was new.
“Craig — what did I tell you about using that word?”
“Whoa, you! How did you—”
And Sarah now seein
g in Jack’s hand his old NYPD nightstick suddenly appearing—
Where the hell was he keeping that hidden? she thought …
And as Craig backed away against the big cooking ranges, cowering, she saw almost in slow motion who was sitting at the table quietly observing this mayhem: Reg Povey.
Reg. Glass of scotch in one hand, cigarette in the other, feet up on the table. Dressed not in pyjamas or nightgown, but in micro-fleece and jeans.
Reg. Not baffled dementia patient, surely …
But lean, mean-looking, wily old man.
Hardened criminal — according to those records.
Meanwhile Jack had hold of Craig by the T-shirt and was dragging him across to a chair by the back door.
“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry — I didn’t do nothin’,” Craig was saying over and over again, his hands on his head …
Like he’s a prisoner in a war film, thought Sarah.
“Shut up, sit down and don’t move,” said Jack to Craig.
Sarah realised that everything had gone quiet. The rush of action finished as quickly as it had started. She was breathing heavily.
“Dear, oh dear,” said Reg, flicking ash into a saucer. “Cops. Same the whole world over. Can’t just walk into a room politely, eh?”
“You haven’t got dementia,” said Sarah, thinking aloud.
“Oh, I have, darling,” said Reg. “Been diagnosed. By a proper doctor.”
“That must have cost you,” said Jack. Sarah could see him keeping one eye on Craig in his chair and now sizing up Reg.
“Now that’s a slur, Jack. Doctors don’t lie,” said Reg. “Just like cops. Isn’t that right?”
“Why pretend to have dementia?” said Sarah. “I don’t understand …”
Sarah watched Reg lean across to the bottle of Scotch on the table and pour himself another shot.
“Sarah, you got a signal in here?” said Jack.
She pulled out her phone, checked — and shook her head.
“Bad luck, sweetheart,” said Reg. “Coverage here is crap. It’s played havoc with my bookie.”
Sarah looked at Jack and shrugged. She knew that what he’d really meant was — time to call the cops …
Going to have to play for time, she thought.
“Why did you come here Reg?” she said quickly.
But it was Jack who answered.
“It was for Archy, wasn’t it, Reg?”
Sarah felt confused.
What was Jack saying?
“But I’ve seen his records,” she said to Reg. “He was very ill. You couldn’t help him.”
Jack took a step closer to Reg, nightstick still in his hand. And Reg nodded.
“I didn’t want to help him, love,” said Reg, smiling.
That smile … scary, she thought.
“I wanted to kill the bastard.”
“He put you inside, didn’t he?” said Jack. “Long stretch, huh?”
“Could say that. Twenty years,” said Reg.
“For something you didn’t do?” said Sarah.
Her blood chilled as Reg laughed again.
“Do me a favour — of course I did it. But he was supposed to go down for it — not me.”
“He did a deal with the cops?” said Jack.
“Exactly,” said Reg. “And I’ve had to wait a very long time to get my own back.”
“But you managed it,” said Jack.
“With pleasure,” said Reg.
“Got yourself in here, fooled everyone, then just … led him out into the snow to die.”
“Piece of cake,” said Reg. “Wasn’t the original plan, of course. I wanted it to hurt a bit more. But I thought — all that snow — nobody would ever know.”
“The perfect murder,” said Sarah.
“It would have been,” said Jack. “If it hadn’t been for Craig’s little drugs scam.”
“Ah,” said Reg, stubbing out his cigarette. “So, that’s what brought you back. I thought I’d got rid of you.”
She watched as Reg pushed back his chair and stood up. He smiled at her again — and the smile made her feel queasy.
“I should thank you really, for giving me a lift back from the pub the other day,” he said. “Very decent of you.”
Sarah wondered what was going to happen.
Jack stood looking immoveable by the back door, his nightstick steady. Craig sat with his hands between his knees looking scared.
“Course, I’m not quite as feeble as I look,” said Reg. “Not much to do in prison. Gotta work out, stay fit, isn’t that right, Jack?”
“You can’t get away,” said Jack.
But Reg didn’t seem to be listening. He turned to Craig: “So what’s it going to be, Craig me old son? Big city — or small time?”
“God. I don’t know, Reg,” said Craig, looking nervously at Jack.
“Don’t worry about him,” said Reg. “Ex-cop. Yank. Loser.”
Sarah looked at Jack. What was happening? Then—
“What in heaven’s name is going on in here?”
Sarah turned — it seemed everyone turned — to see Shirley Woods striding across the kitchen towards them.
“Smoking! Drinking! Craig — I want you in my office right now! And Reg, time you were back in your bed, my dear. Meanwhile, you two had better explain just—”
Sarah saw Shirley suddenly stop in her tracks, her mouth open wide — and for the second time that night everything happened fast.
She looked to her side — and Reg had pulled a butcher’s knife from a block by the cooker and was backing over to join Craig.
“Reg?” said Shirley. “That’s a very sharp knife, my dear …”
She took a few steps away, instinctively. She saw Jack do the same.
“Whoa, Reg,” said Jack. “Sure you want to do that?”
“Get the damn car warmed up,” said Reg to Craig.
Sarah could see that Craig was just as stunned as she was.
“Bright lights, big city, Craig …” said Reg, lifting Craig to his feet. “Move it. Back the car up here to the door.”
Reg slipped the catch of the back door and pushed the young carer out into the darkness.
“Reg Povey, put that knife down right now—” said Shirley Woods.
“Sorry, Sister, no can do,” said Reg, moving the knife in an arc which seemed to threaten all of them. “Now put your phones on the table, please.”
“Jack?” said Sarah.
She saw Jack shake his head to her and then reach into his pocket and put his phone on the table. She followed suit. Next to her, Shirley Woods did the same.
Through the kitchen windows Sarah saw the lights of Craig’s car as it backed up through the thick snow into the courtyard.
“It’s been special,” said Reg, slipping the phones into his pocket. “One thing though, Sister — the food here’s worse than prison and that takes some doing, I can tell ya.”
Sarah watched as he backed out through the door. She heard the car door slam, then the Subaru slid away through the snow and was gone.
She turned to Jack:
“What are we waiting for?” she said. “Let’s go after them!”
“All in good time,” said Jack, folding his nightstick away calmly. “Sister Woods — can we borrow your car?”
“On one condition,” she said. “You come straight back here and you tell me just what the hell is going on and what happened to my patient.”
“Deal,” said Jack politely.
“It’s the Corolla out front,” she said, handing Jack the keys. “Don’t wreck it, and put some petrol in it too while you’re at it.”
“Why, thank you ma’am,” said Jack, heading for the door. “Sarah?”
And Sarah followed him out into the courtyard.
This had to be the slowest car chase she’d ever been in.
Come to think of it, she thought, it’s also the first …
Jack steered the Corolla carefully down the High Street.
It had stopped snowing but there was still a good foot of snow lying on the road. The village was quiet — people staying at home, he guessed, waiting for the big thaw which was due tomorrow.
“Takes me back, driving this,” he said to Sarah. “Katherine used to have one back in New York.”
“Oh really?” said Sarah. “I guess in the Sprite we could go a bit faster, maybe catch them up?”
Jack smiled to himself.
“Oh, we won’t need to catch them up,” he said.
He looked out of the side window at the Ploughman’s as they went past. The lights were on. Nothing kept the regulars away, not even a dark and snowy night.
“We don’t?” said Sarah. “But if they get to London, the police will never find them.”
Jack slowed as they crossed the old bridge. At this time of night the toll booth was closed but the road narrowed and he needed to be careful as they slipped through.
“’Fraid they’re not going to get to London,” said Jack, as they rounded the first of the two sharp curves in the road.
“You sure?”
“I am now,” he said, reaching forward to put the hazard lights on and pulling in to the side of the road. “Look.”
He pointed out of Sarah’s side window and she wound down the window so they could see clearly.
“Yikes!” she said.
“Wow,” he said. “Craig was going even faster than I expected.”
In the beam from the headlights, he could see the Subaru’s wheel tracks deep in the snow. The tracks crossed the ditch at the side of the road, went straight through a hole in the thick hedge and right the way up to the edge of the little stream that crossed the meadow.
They ended in the black shape of the Subaru, upside down in the snow, lights still on, the roof crushed.
“You think they’re okay?” said Sarah, rushing to open the door.
“Unfortunately, yes,” said Jack, climbing out to join her. “Air bags will have done their job.”
“Now I see why you took your time,” said Sarah.
“Knowing Craig and knowing this corner?” said Jack, “It was a no-brainer.”
“We going down to get them out?”
“You kidding?” said Jack. “After what he called me? Loser? Yank? No, we’ll flag down a car, phone for help. Let ’em stew.”
“You must have been called worse than that, Jack.”
Cherringham--Snowblind Page 9
