The Kidney Donor (Dave Slater Mystery Novels Book 8)

by P. F. Ford

  ‘So, what do you want me to say?’ she asked, stupidly.

  ‘Jesus, Marion, it’s supposed to be spontaneous. But then nothing ever is with you, is it? Even the sex has to be exactly the way you want it.’

  This comment seemed to shock her back to her senses. ‘Are you saying you don’t enjoy it?’ she asked, coolly.

  ‘No, I’m not saying that at all. I’m just saying everything has to follow your plan. What about what I want? All I ever hear is what you want. It’s always “do this, Dave, do that, Dave, put it in now, Dave, faster, faster, slower, slower”. It’s like you’re directing a porn film. You don’t want a boyfriend, you want a bloody sex machine.’

  ‘It would probably keep going longer and be more satisfying,’ she said, spitefully, instantly wishing she could take the words back.

  He looked at her sadly. ‘Is that how you want this to go? So we end up taking cheap shots at each other? Well, I’m sorry to disappoint you, yet again, but I’m not going to keep this going long enough to satisfy you, either. If all you’re going to do is get bitchy, I’ve nothing more to say. I just can’t be arsed.’

  ‘I didn’t mean it like that,’ she said, hastily.

  ‘How else could you have meant it?’

  ‘You don’t know how lucky you are,’ she said, desperately. ‘There are plenty of men who’d be glad to climb into bed with me.’

  ‘Yeah, I’m sure there are,’ he said, ‘and that’s the rest of the problem. You just want to have your frustration humped away by some Neanderthal sex slave, and I want something more.’

  ‘I could find another man tomorrow if I wanted.’

  ‘I’m sure you could,’ he said, ‘but we both know it won’t last, because the man you’re really looking for hasn’t been created yet. That’s why you’re on your own now, and if you don’t change, that’s all you will ever be.’

  He turned on his heel and headed off towards his car.

  ‘Hey, wait a minute,’ she fumed. ‘You come back here. We’re not finished yet.’

  ‘I think you’ll find we are,’ he called back to her. ‘Goodbye, Marion.’

  He couldn’t catch the exact words she was spitting after him, but he was pretty sure they were mostly expletives.

  Half an hour later, Norman returned to Slater’s car and found his friend waiting for him.

  ‘Are you okay?’ he asked.

  ‘Yeah,’ said Slater, starting the car. ‘I’m fine.’

  ‘Lover’s tiff, huh?’

  ‘Something like that.’

  ‘You wanna talk about it?’

  ‘There’s nothing to talk about, mate.’

  ‘Okay,’ said Norman, who could take a hint.

  They had been driving for a couple of minutes before Slater broke the silence. ‘So? What did you tell them?’

  ‘As little as possible,’ said Norman.

  Slater raised an eyebrow and glanced at Norman. ‘But we’ve almost solved the case for them,’ he said.

  ‘Yeah, we have,’ agreed Norman, ‘but as far as Goodnews is concerned, there is no case. Why should we tell them what we know and let them step in and take over? We’re the ones who’ve done all the work.’

  ‘So what did you learn?’ asked Slater.

  ‘About the murder? Only that Ryan’s probably been dead since last night, but you already heard that, same as I did. What I did learn is that Biddeford is like some sort of puppet, just doing what your girlfriend tells him.’

  ‘That’s what I thought,’ said Slater, ignoring the ‘girlfriend’ reference.

  ‘I know you like her,’ said Norman, ‘but is it just me, or did she treat everyone like shit out there tonight?’

  ‘No, it isn’t just you,’ agreed Slater. ‘She didn’t exactly cover herself in glory, did she? What else did you learn?’

  Norman seemed to take this second hint and moved off the topic of Goodnews. ‘Biddeford knows there’s a case to investigate, but he’s too scared of her to do anything about it. Naomi Darling would do it, but I got the impression Biddeford’s doing his best to make sure she can’t outshine him. The net result is there’s nothing happening.’

  ‘So it’s down to us, then,’ said Slater. ‘Are we alright with that?’

  ‘Hell yeah, no one else is going to do it.’

  ‘Tomorrow morning, then,’ said Slater. ‘I think it’s time we had another chat with Stan Coulter.’

  Chapter Fifteen

  They were in a spacious conservatory at the back of Coulter’s house in the hospital grounds. Slater and Norman had hoped to catch Coulter off guard, but even though they had arrived at ten in the morning without warning, he seemed perfectly comfortable with their intrusion, and once he’d been made aware they were at his front door, he had personally escorted them through the house. Now they were sitting in comfortable chairs opposite the main man himself, who was sitting at a large leather-topped desk, waiting for coffee to arrive. To Coulter’s left, there was a computer monitor, at which he glanced from time to time.

  ‘So, what can I do for you two boys?’ he asked pleasantly.

  ‘The game’s up, Coulter. We’ve figured out what you’ve been up to, and why,’ said Norman.

  Coulter looked intrigued. ‘I’m flattered you seem to think there’s some big deal going down. But I’m afraid I haven’t really got time to get involved. All I’m interested in right now is trying to do is find a cure for my son’s illness.’

  ‘Yeah, exactly,’ said Norman. ‘That’s what this is all about, isn’t it?’

  ‘Now look,’ said Coulter, ‘there must be hundreds, probably thousands, of other parents in similar situations to mine. Have you been poking your nose into their business too?’

  ‘The thing is, none of the other parents are going around murdering people in the process,’ said Norman.

  Coulter steepled his fingers and then leaned forward to rest his chin on them as he considered Norman.

  ‘Have you lost all your marbles, now?’ he asked. ‘I haven’t a clue what you’re talking about. All I’ve done is try to find a kidney donor for my son. Where do you get this idea from that I’ve been going around murdering people? I told you before, you can’t just kill the nearest person and pinch their kidneys. It doesn’t work like that. These things have to be carefully matched. That’s especially the case with my son because he’s got a very rare blood group.’

  ‘Transplants are supposed to be regulated,’ said Slater.

  Coulter gave him a sympathetic smile. ‘Look, son. Regulations are for losers. I’ve never been a great believer in them myself, that’s why I’m successful. Besides, when it’s family, you do whatever it takes.’

  ‘Like blackmail and murder,’ said Norman.

  ‘You know, to be honest, I’ve never liked you, Norm,’ said Coulter, ‘but I’ve always thought you were a pretty good copper. Not brilliant, but dogged and professional, you know? But I have to tell you, mate, you’re barking up the wrong tree if you think I’ve murdered anyone. Maybe it’s time you got it into that thick head of yours that you’re past your sell-by date. You should accept it’s time to retire now and take up golf or something.’

  The coffee arrived at this point and they sat silently as the maid placed the tray on Coulter’s desk. Once she had left the room, Coulter spoke again.

  ‘I’ve got to admit, I do find the idea that you think I’m involved in some sort of murder conspiracy quite intriguing,’ he said. ‘So I’ll tell you what I’m willing to do. I’m not busy this morning, and I could do with a good laugh, so why don’t I pour us all a nice cup of coffee, and then you can tell me exactly what you think you’ve figured out and who it is you think I’ve murdered.’

  While Coulter poured the coffees, Slater took the opportunity to snatch a look at Norman. His partner looked unruffled, but Slater was getting a little concerned by Coulter’s attitude and demeanour. This really wasn’t quite how he had imagined the morning would go.

  ‘Now then,’ said Coulter, as he sat ba
ck with his coffee. ‘Do go ahead, Norm. Let’s hear it. I’m all ears.’

  ‘You’re blackmailing Clara Sterling,’ said Norman. ‘You started an affair with her so you could find out all about her husband. You needed a surgeon you could manipulate into doing a transplant outside the regulations, and Fabian Sterling fit the bill. When Clara realised what you were up to, and tried to stop the affair, you threatened to tell her husband. Then you bought him by offering him a job he couldn’t refuse, and then kept him under control by telling him you’d kill his wife if he didn’t do what you said.’

  ‘That’s very good,’ said Coulter. ‘Apart from all the bits that aren’t true. Did Clara tell you I was blackmailing her?’ He shook his head. ‘That’s the only thing wrong with that woman. She’d be damned near perfect, but she will not take responsibility for her own actions. Don’t you find that annoying? I didn’t have to blackmail her, Norm. She was only too willing to have an affair. And you’ve got it the wrong way round. I didn’t know her husband was a surgeon until after the affair started.’

  ‘You targeted her because her husband was a surgeon,’ insisted Norman.

  ‘No, mate, I targeted her because I fancied her, and I recognised her as the type of woman who would be easy to get into bed. And I promise you, I don’t need blackmail to keep the affair going. She can’t get enough of it, and d’you know why? She loves it because I tell her what she wants to hear, and I give her the attention she craves. Her husband neglects her, you see, because he’s so busy looking in the mirror at his own reflection he can’t see how lucky he is. Still, his loss is my gain, eh?’

  He took a sip of coffee before continuing.

  ‘Finding out her husband was a surgeon was a stroke of luck, and when she told me what had happened to him, well, it was too good an opportunity to miss. I mean, my own pet surgeon. Who wouldn’t want one, when you have a sick son whose only hope, long term, is a transplant? All I had to do then was find a hospital that had ambition and needed a donor with bottomless pockets.’

  ‘But you control him by threatening his wife,’ said Norman. ‘That’s hardly having a pet surgeon, is it?’

  ‘Do I bollocks,’ said Coulter, scornfully. ‘He knew exactly why I wanted him in that hospital from day one. He couldn’t give a damn about his wife. He works for me because I pay him a fortune. He’s as bad as her when it comes to taking responsibility for his actions.’

  ‘So let me get this straight,’ said Slater. ‘You admit Sterling works for you, but you deny blackmailing him.’

  Coulter looked at Slater and then at Norman. ‘He’s a sharp one, isn’t he, Norm?’ Then he turned back to Slater. ‘Yes, I admit it. He works for me because I pay him about fifty times what he would normally get, and I screw his wife because she likes it. I have no hold on either of them. They’re here because they want to be. And I’m building a surgical facility here so my boy can have his transplant. Satisfied now?’

  Slater didn’t say anything, but he admitted to himself he was far from satisfied. If Coulter was telling the truth about this . . . But, then, men like Coulter lie as a way of life, don’t they? Then again, he didn’t look as if he was lying . . .

  ‘Let’s move on, shall we?’ said Norman. ‘What about Morgan, the guy who died in the blazing skip. I suppose you’re going to tell me that was nothing to do with you?’

  Coulter sighed. ‘We’ve been through this before,’ he said, patiently. ‘I told you last time I had no reason to kill the guy.’

  ‘Maybe you wanted to stop him talking,’ said Norman.

  ‘Look,’ said Coulter, the patience not quite so evident in his voice this time. ‘The guy contacted me and said he was with my son Bobby in Afghanistan. He told me he had the same blood group and he wanted to donate a kidney. He said he felt guilty about Bobby’s death and donating would make him feel better. You don’t look a gift horse in the mouth, do you? How was I supposed to know he was telling me a load of shit? I knew there was another lad with the same blood group as Bobby, so it made sense.’

  ‘You could have had that checked before you took his kidney,’ suggested Slater.

  ‘Yeah, well that’s the doctor’s job, not mine,’ said Coulter. ‘I didn’t know he wouldn’t check until it was too late.’

  ‘Isn’t that the sort of thing that got him into trouble in the first place?’ asked Norman.

  ‘Yes, but I thought he’d learned his bloody lesson. He was lucky he didn’t kill anyone. I felt like killing him when I found out what he’d done, but what would be the chance of finding another surgeon now?’

  ‘Jesus,’ said Slater. ‘You do realise there’s a good chance he’ll kill your son if he does a transplant, don’t you?’

  ‘Look,’ said Coulter, desperately, ‘My son’s going to die anyway if I don’t do something soon. I could go through the proper channels, but then he’d die while he was on the waiting list. I’ve lost one son, I don’t want to sit and watch another one die when I’ve got the money to save him. You’d do the same!’

  By some sort of unspoken agreement, this seemed to be the appropriate time for them all to take a sip of their coffee. Coulter placed his cup and saucer on the desk.

  ‘Let me show you something,’ he said. He reached for the monitor on his desk and slowly turned it round far enough for them to be able to see the screen. The image was that of a young man lying comatose in a hospital bed.

  ‘You see that?’ asked Coulter, sadly, ‘That’s a live feed from the room of my youngest son, Terry. He’s more or less comatose all the time now. Another few weeks and he’ll die if I don’t find him a donor. Do you really think I’m interested in anything else right now?’

  He left the monitor facing them for a few moments, and then turned it, almost reverently, back to its original position so only he could see it.

  ‘All this makes no difference,’ said Norman. ‘You still have a great motive to kill Morgan.’

  Coulter sighed. ‘I’m sure you’ve got a good motive to kill some people, but you haven’t done it have you? Sterling has a much better motive than me, maybe you should take a closer look at him.’

  ‘So this guy who has the matching blood group. Have you been looking for him?’ asked Slater.

  ‘What do you think? Of course I have.’

  ‘Yeah, we know,’ said Norman. ‘You sent your two heavies down to St Anne’s church hall.’

  ‘They told me you guys had wanted to start a fight,’ said Coulter, ‘but there was no need for that. I only sent the boys down there because I heard they fed the homeless people down there. I just wanted to see if they could identify the guy I was looking for.’

  ‘They were supposed to drag him back here, weren’t they? So you help yourself to one of his kidneys?’ asked Norman.

  ‘If they saw him they were just supposed to give him a mobile phone with my number programmed into it. They were to tell him I would pay him a lot of money for a kidney. The phone was so he could call me and negotiate.’

  ‘And did he?’ asked Norman.

  ‘Surely he would have more sense than to trust someone like you and a bogus surgeon,’ said Slater.

  ‘You really think so?’ asked Coulter. ‘Don’t be so naive. Everyone has their price.’

  ‘So you were actively looking for this guy?’ asked Norman. ‘How would you know if it was the right one this time?’

  ‘Tattoo on the upper arm. Lots of the SAS lads have their blood group tattooed there.’

  ‘What about the guy you killed and dumped in a lay-by on the bypass at Tinton?’ asked Norman. ‘What happened there? I guess you thought he was your guy, but just to make sure, you hacked his sleeves off. Then, when you found no tattoos, your goons beat the shit out of him in frustration. Or were they trying to find out where the real guy was and they just got a little bit too rough?’

  ‘When was this?’ asked Coulter.

  ‘The night after your heavies came to the church hall.’

  ‘I wasn’t looking by then. The guy I
was looking for – Ryan – had already called me that morning. I told you – that’s why we gave him the mobile phone.’

  ‘So your guys got a phone to him that night we saw them?’ asked Slater.

  ‘He was outside when they left.’

  ‘But why would he take the phone from them?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ said Coulter. ‘Maybe Morgan told him how much I was prepared to pay for the right kidney. Like I said, everyone has a price. I’m just waiting for him to let me know when he’s coming in. He was supposed to be here yesterday but there’s been a delay for some reason.’

  ‘Maybe he got cold feet and changed his mind,’ suggested Norman.

  ‘No, I don’t think so,’ said Coulter, confidently. ‘He’s a warrior, a man of honour. He’ll be here.’

  Slater exchanged a glance with Norman. If Coulter knew Ryan was dead, he was a very good actor. He had been blowing holes in their theory right from the start, and if he really didn’t know Ryan was dead, that theory was about to sink without trace.

  ‘Err, I wouldn’t be too confident about him turning up, Stan,’ said Norman.

  ‘Of course he’ll turn up. He’s special forces. He was my son Bobby’s best mate. He’ll turn up.’

  Coulter’s confidence suddenly seemed to disappear as he took in the two faces opposite him. ‘What? You know something, don’t you?’ he asked, beginning to panic. ‘What’s happened? Where is he?’

  ‘Are you sure you don’t know?’ asked Norman.

  Coulter was close to hysteria now, and he jumped to his feet. ‘Of course I don’t bloody know!’ He banged on the desk with his fists. ‘You tell me where he is!’

  ‘He’s dead, Stan,’ said Norman, quietly.

  ‘Dead? He can’t be dead! He promised me he was coming!’ Coulter sank back down into his chair, but then he had an idea. ‘But if he’s dead, we can still have a kidney, we can have both of them! We need to be quick though, they don’t last long.’

  ‘It’s too late,’ said Slater. ‘He died about thirty-six hours ago now.’