by P. F. Ford
As they roared away from Jenny Radstock’s former residence, Norman looked in his rear view mirror and could see more upstairs lights coming on, but they were away now, and he began to relax.
Five minutes later, they were cruising along just below the speed limit, determined not to attract any attention.
‘And you’re sure he wasn’t in there?’ asked Norman.
‘No, there was no sign of him, and all the rooms are empty, so there’s nowhere to hide. Ginger said he had a rucksack, but there was no sign of any rucksack anywhere. I reckon he must have guessed where she’d gone and decided to do a runner before we got there.’
‘Crap!’ said Norman, vehemently. ‘So we missed him. And I bet he won’t go back now. If one of those neighbours calls the cops, you can guarantee the owners will be in there to replace those old boards with metal shutters.’
‘Yeah, and the neighbours will be extra vigilant too,’ said Slater gloomily.
They drove on in silence for a minute or two before Norm spoke again. ‘So, anyway,’ he said, ‘I’m just a teeny-weeny bit intrigued to know how Ginger knew where you lived.’
‘You don’t remember whose house that was we were just breaking into?’ asked Slater.
‘Can you remember every house you’ve visited in the line of duty?’ asked Norman.
‘This wasn’t long after you first came to Tinton. Remember that first case we worked together?’
‘Ruth Thornhill, right?’
‘That’s the one,’ said Slater. ‘And remember there was a young barrister who was following the case?’
‘A red-haired girl, right? Jenny, something or other. She was using us to get back at her brother-in-law, the guy from the Serious Crime Unit, wasn’t she?’
‘That was like a bonus for her, a spin-off from our investigation,’ said Slater, surprised to find he felt the need to defend her.
‘And we were never sure exactly how involved she was with the dead girl’s sister,’ said Norman.
‘They went to school together,’ said Slater, defensively. ‘There was never any concrete proof she was involved in the murder in any way.’
‘Except she might have been the one who suggested it.’
‘Again, there was no proof,’ said Slater.
‘Yeah, well, what’s she got to do with this anyway?’
‘She’s Ginger,’ said Slater.
‘What?’ said Norman in surprise. ‘But I didn’t recognise her.’
‘That’s what the hoodie and shades are for,’ said Slater. ‘She’s dyed her hair and cut it really short too. And it’s amazing how different you can look with poor nutrition and sod-all sleep.’
‘But how come she’s ended up like this? I thought she was a high-flyer.’
‘Yeah, she was,’ said Slater. ‘I don’t know the full story yet, but whatever’s happened, it’s one hell of a fall. And I’m sure the disguise isn’t just so her friends won’t recognise her.’
‘You think she’s on the run?’ asked Norman.
Slater shrugged. ‘She’s definitely trying to hide from something, but I have absolutely no idea what.’
‘Changing the subject, did you come up with any ideas about how we get to Sterling?’ asked Norman.
‘No, sorry,’ said Slater. ‘Did you?’
‘Well, I think I may have. His wife said he was vain, right?’
‘She did, yeah, but I got the impression she wasn’t exactly painting him in the best light, so I would take anything she said with a pinch of salt.’
‘I thought that too, but I doubt we’re going to be able to get into that hospital again, so we need to find some way to get him out. So how about we take a gamble and assume she was actually telling the truth, and he is vain.’
‘Okay, I’m listening,’ said Slater.
‘Let’s suppose he was to be approached by a journalist doing a piece for a magazine about people who are making a big difference, such as creating a new surgical unit. Do you think that might appeal to his vanity?’
‘What if his schedule is so tight he can’t fit us in for weeks? We need to speak to him as soon as we can. It’s even more urgent now Ryan’s on the loose.’
Norman grinned. ‘The journalist has only just heard about Fabian, and he only has one day left before his deadline. If Fabian can spare an hour or so, he’ll be in. If not, he’s missed the boat altogether. He’s vain, remember?’
‘It’s a plan, Norm, and it’s better than anything I’ve got,’ said Slater. ‘Let’s give it a try and see what happens.’
‘I’ll call him first thing, before he leaves for work,’ said Norman. ‘I’ll let you know what he says.’
When Norman dropped Slater off a few minutes later, his house was in darkness. He assumed Jenny – or would she prefer it if he called her Ginger? – had gone, so he let himself in and made his way through to the kitchen. It was a lot tidier than he had left it, and when he checked the fridge, he could see she had eaten. So she had washed up behind her. He noticed the washing machine had been put on too, and it appeared to be filled with towels. This meant that at least she’d had a hot bath and something to eat, and he hoped she felt better for it.
He made his way wearily upstairs. The spare bedroom door was slightly ajar, and he knew he hadn’t left it like that so he pushed the door open a tiny bit. She was fast asleep in his spare bed, so he quietly pulled the door closed and made his way to his own bedroom where he, too, was soon fast asleep
Chapter Fourteen
‘I’m sorry, but Ryan had already left before we got there,’ Slater explained to Jenny next morning.
She was sitting up in bed, duvet pulled up tight under her chin, clutching the cup of tea he had just brought up for her.
‘We think maybe he guessed where you’d gone and decided to do a runner before we got there.’
‘I bet he called the church hall,’ she said. ‘He gets on alright with Chris, the vicar. He would have told him if I was there or not.’
‘He’s got a mobile phone?’ asked Slater in surprise.
‘It’s a cheap pay as you go phone,’ she said, ‘I don’t know where he got it from.’
‘I don’t suppose you know the number?’
She aimed a sad little smile in his direction. ‘I don’t have much use for phone numbers these days.’
‘Do you think he would have told Chris where he was going?’
She shook her head. ‘No, Ryan wouldn’t tell Chris anything. There’s no way a vicar would approve of what he was going to do. He believes in keeping things simple and only telling people on a need-to-know basis. He probably said he’d lost me and was I there.’
‘There’s something else,’ said Slater. ‘We think the neighbours heard us last night and may have called the police.’
She looked alarmed.
‘I don’t think it would be wise to go back there,’ he added.
She heaved a big sigh. ‘What am I going to do now? I suppose that means I’m back on the street.’
‘Stay here,’ he said.
‘No, I can’t do that.’
‘Why not?’
‘I just don’t think it’s a good idea,’ she said. ‘And I can’t pay you, not even for food. I don’t have any money.’
He snorted his disgust. ‘I’m not asking you to pay, for God’s sake. You’re a friend. I’m inviting you to stay.’
She wasn’t convinced.
‘Look,’ he said. ‘I don’t need to be Sherlock Holmes to know you’re in some sort of trouble, and you’re hiding from someone. Why don’t you stay here for a few days, build up your strength, and catch up on all that sleep you’ve been missing? Then, when you’re feeling better, you can decide what you want to do.’
‘But it’s only a small house. I’ll just be in the way.’
‘Rubbish,’ he said. ‘If you really think that, stay up here in your room.’
‘I don’t know,’ she said.
‘Well, think about it. I’m going out in a minute. I do
n’t know how long I’ll be gone.’
‘What shall I do while you’re out?’
‘You can stay there and sleep all day if you want. Just be aware someone will come round at about ten o’clock. Her name’s Jane, she works with me and Norm. She’ll be here for a couple of hours, that’s all. I’ve left her a note to say you’re here, so neither of you should get a nasty shock.’
‘She won’t tell anyone I’m here, will she?’ she asked, alarmed.
‘You really are in hiding aren’t you? But don’t worry, Jane knows how to be discreet. She won’t tell a soul.’
‘I’m really not sure you should be getting involved with my problems,’ she began.
‘Look,’ Slater said with a smile, ‘I don’t know why you need to hide, but whatever the reason, this is as good a place as any to lie low for a while. It’s warm, there’s plenty of food, and I’m on your side. Have you got anywhere better to go?’
‘Well, I suppose when you put it like that, no I haven’t. But I don’t want to be a burden.’
‘Just do me a favour and get some rest,’ he said. ‘We can talk about all this later.’
Just as Norman had suspected, Fabian Sterling’s vanity had made it impossible for him to refuse the offer of an opportunity to be interviewed for the article he claimed to be writing, and bang on 9.30 a.m. as arranged, he was brought over to their table in the rather posh coffee bar at the White Hart Hotel.
‘I think this sort of setting is a much more relaxed atmosphere for an interview, don’t you?’ said Norman, shaking Sterling’s hand and inviting him to settle into the seat opposite him.
He introduced Slater as his photographer and co-writer, made sure the interviewee had the coffee of his choice, switched on his recorder, and then suggested Sterling start by telling them all about his project to create a surgical unit at Heston Park.
It wasn’t long before both Norman and Slater became fully aware of just how accurate Clara Sterling’s assessment of her husband’s vanity had been. If anything, she had probably understated it. It took slightly less than ten minutes before Slater tired of Sterling’s Mr Super-Cool vanity and decided to put a spanner in the works.
‘Can I ask why you were chosen to head this project?’ he asked.
‘Err, I’m sorry?’ said Sterling.
‘There must be hundreds, maybe even thousands, of very able surgeons in the country who would love to take on a project like this,’ said Slater, ‘so why did they pick you?’
‘I suppose I must have impressed most at the interview,’ said Sterling, proudly.
Slater raised his eyebrows. ‘Oh,’ he said. ‘There was an interview. I didn’t know that. So, it didn’t have anything to do with Stan Coulter insisting it had to be you, then?’
Sterling looked at Slater. This was supposed to be an interview about what an amazing person he was. This line of questioning was something quite unexpected, and he clearly wasn’t prepared for it.
‘Coulter is bankrolling the project, isn’t he?’ persisted Slater. ‘And a man like him doesn’t pay for something like this unless he gets to decide who’s in and who’s out. So why you?’
Sterling licked his lips and looked from Slater to Norman.
‘You see, the thing is, Fabian,’ began Norman. He gave Sterling a humourless grin. ‘You don’t mind if I call you Fabian, do you?’
Sterling nodded dumbly.
‘The thing is, Fabian, we’ve been doing a little research into your background, and what we found, well, it kinda makes you unlikely to be number one candidate for any job, never mind one like this.’
‘Oh, God,’ said Sterling, in dismay, the super-cool facade slipping rapidly away. ‘You’re not going to drag that all up again and print it, are you? Why can’t you people just let it go? I was cleared of any negligence. It was just one of those things. It was years ago.’
This time Norman gave him a sympathetic smile. ‘Yeah, we know that. But we also know you’ve been turned down for just about every post you’ve applied for since that happened, and then, out of the blue, along comes Coulter, and suddenly you’re the main man. You can see how that looks, right?’
‘What is this?’ demanded Sterling. ‘What sort of journalist are you? You’re just here to dig up the dirt and destroy my career, aren’t you?’
‘I think you might already be doing that yourself, if you’re involved with Coulter,’ said Slater.
‘I took this job in good faith,’ argued Sterling, unconvincingly.
Norman yawned. ‘Yeah, right, of course you did,’ he said. ‘And I’m Weight Watchers’ slimmer of the month.’
‘Have you carried out any operations in this new theatre, yet?’ asked Slater.
Sterling licked his lips nervously and looked away from Slater’s stare. ‘Of course not, it’s not ready, yet.’
Norman sighed. ‘Jesus, Fabian, if you don’t believe what you’re telling us, how d’you expect us to believe it?’ he asked.
‘Come on, Fabian,’ urged Slater. ‘Think about what you’re getting into here. It’s not too late to do the right thing.’
‘Who are you people? What do you want?’ asked Sterling, panic beginning to sound in his voice.
‘Do you read the local paper?’ asked Norman.
‘What’s that got to do with anything?’
‘A couple of weeks ago, a homeless guy died in a rubbish skip. He was sleeping in there and some nice person set fire to it. The police say it was an accident, although it beats me how anyone could accidentally set fire to a rubbish skip in the middle of the night. Anyway, the important thing is, we say it was murder, and we’re in the process of proving it.’
‘I don’t see what this has to do with me.’
‘Bear with me,’ said Norman. ‘I’m just coming to that. You see, the weird thing is, this guy had a kidney missing, and it was only a day or two after the operation when he died.’
He watched Sterling’s face as the colour drained slowly from it. ‘Oh my God,’ he whispered, raising his hands to cover his eyes.
‘I don’t think he’s going to be much help to you,’ said Slater, in disgust.
‘Oh dear, Fabian,’ said Norman, mock concern in his voice, ‘you look a little faint. I’m sorry, do you get queasy talking about these things? Was it the bit about being burnt alive or having a kidney whipped out? Having such a weak stomach must make it very difficult to do your work as a surgeon.’
Sterling seemed to have crumpled into his seat, so they gave him a couple of minutes to pull himself together. When he finally looked ready to talk, his face was ashen.
‘I didn’t kill anyone,’ he said. ‘You have to believe that.’
‘We don’t have to believe anything,’ said Slater. ‘You might not have killed the guy, but removing one of his kidneys and then kicking him out onto the street wouldn’t have done anything to help him survive, would it? We know for a fact he wouldn’t have been in that skip if he hadn’t been feeling so ill.’
‘We think we know what’s been happening,’ said Norman, ‘but it would be good if you told us your side of the story, and then we’ll see how it matches what we know.’
‘I had no choice,’ Sterling said, desperately. ‘Coulter told me he’d kill my wife if I didn’t do as he said.’
Slater and Norman shared a look.
‘Just start at the beginning,’ said Norman. ‘You can save your excuses for later.’
‘When Coulter offered me the job, I thought it was a gift from heaven,’ said Sterling. ‘It was an opportunity to get away from my past and start again. I could circumvent the system that was holding me back and show them what I could really do given a chance.’
‘And it never occurred to you that it was a bit strange that no one else was even interviewed?’ asked Norman.
‘With my wife urging me to take the job, I never even thought about why I’d been offered it. I jumped at the chance.’
‘And, of course, you had personal reasons for wanting to start again,�
� suggested Slater.
Sterling looked at him sharply, colour now returning to his cheeks.
‘We interviewed your wife,’ said Norman. ‘She told us what had happened in Hereford. Did you know this was the same guy?’
Just as the colour had begun to fill his face with anger, Sterling’s face suddenly turned deathly white again, this time with shock.
‘That’s a powerful motive for murder,’ said Slater. ‘Your wife’s ex-lover coming back on the scene after you’d moved away to start over.’
‘I didn’t kill him,’ insisted Sterling. ‘I didn’t have any idea who he was.’
‘You didn’t?’ asked Slater.
‘Coulter told me this guy had fought with his other son in Afghanistan, the one who died. He said he was a blood match and that he had offered to donate a kidney.’
‘So you carried out the operation to remove the kidney in your new operating theatre?’ asked Norman, his voice rising in disgust.
‘He was a willing donor,’ pleaded Sterling. ‘And my wife’s life was at risk. What else could I do?’
‘Call the police?’ suggested Slater.
‘I’ll let you into a little secret,’ said Norman. ‘Your wife is in no more danger than I am. She certainly gave us the impression she enjoys her relationship with Coulter.’
‘What relationship?’ demanded Sterling. ‘She has no relationship with that man.’
‘Well, you can believe what you want. But I think you’ll find we’re right.’
‘She can’t be involved in this,’ said Sterling, in disbelief. ‘She loves me. She wouldn’t stoop this low.’
‘You are one seriously self-centred guy, aren’t you?’ said Slater. ‘Do you really think she loves you? Are you blind, or is just that you have your head so far up your own arse you can’t see what’s right under your nose?’
