The Complete Kate Benedict Cozy British Mysteries

by Carrie Bedford

  Anita turned to look at me. “Where are they now? The real ones that Macintyre wanted?”

  “In the morgue. Grace hid them in an unused refrigerator drawer.” I grabbed my mobile. “Oh, damn. I need to call her to let her know we’re okay.”

  Grace picked up as soon as I rang. I explained that we were safe and that the police were tracking down Macintyre, but I skipped the gory details of Macintyre’s threats and our escape.

  “I’ve been so worried,” Grace said. “I can’t wait to see Anita again. The morgue is all locked up for the night. You can retrieve the notes tomorrow, if that’s okay.”

  “We’ll see you in the morning. Thanks again, Grace.” I clicked off, vaguely worried that Macintyre might still work out where the notes were. But it seemed unlikely. And, even if he did, he couldn’t break into the morgue.

  Anita picked at a nail she’d broken during the scramble over the wall. “Do I still have the aura?” she asked. “Has it gone?”

  “It’s still there.”

  “That makes no sense,” she said. “We escaped. Lizardman didn’t kill me.”

  “I know. It means we have to continue to be careful.”

  My heart ached for her. She’d already been through so much, and it obviously wasn’t over yet. We slowed in traffic as we came into the City.

  “Take a nap,” I told her. “I’ll wake you when we get there.”

  Anita closed her eyes, leaning her head against the back of the seat. While the car idled at a traffic light, I watched the rain form rivulets on the window. They wound in serpentine patterns, their motion dictated not by the laws of gravity, but perhaps by infinitesimal flaws in the glass that disrupted their flow. Two rills eight inches apart curved as though irresistibly drawn to each other, creating one larger stream that meandered to the bottom of the window.

  I traced its path with my finger on the inside of the glass, imagining that I could feel the cool water on my skin. The car pulled away, but I didn’t hear the engine or the hum of tires on wet road. It seemed that all sounds had stopped except a rushing noise in my head like the roar of a waterfall.

  The two cases, Simon Scott’s and Dr. Reid’s, were connected. There was a common link between them, I was almost sure. I tried to shake Anita awake. She gazed at me for a moment through heavy-lidded eyes before going back to sleep.

  Macintyre was looking for records that implicated his company, Litton Bernhoff Pharmaceuticals, in a cover-up of side-effects. In the back of my mind, I recalled seeing the company name somewhere else recently, somewhere outside the hospital. I pulled out my phone, looking back through the notes I’d taken when reviewing Simon Scott’s files at Colin Butler’s office.

  There was one annotation, more cryptic than I’d have liked, of an appointment with the CEO of Litton Bernhoff. Someone in Colin’s office had noted that the meeting was on Scott’s agenda, but I couldn’t recall any details.

  Maybe I’d been on the wrong track the whole time, by assuming that the threat to Scott was from someone with a grudge against him. My initial meeting with Eliza, and my concerns about Chris and the binoculars man had convinced me that Scott was in danger from someone who resented his rise to prominence, someone he’d harmed in the past. Perhaps that was all wrong. It could have been Macintyre who’d planted the bomb in the underground car park.

  When we got out of the car outside the police station, my legs were shaking. I linked arms with Anita and took a few deep breaths of cold, damp air. To my surprise, it was Clarke who was on the steps waiting for us. He handed me a thin beige raincoat, which I put on and buttoned up to hide the bloodstains on my jacket.

  “You look as though you could do with a hot drink,” he said to Anita, who nodded her agreement. We followed him through the rain to a café around the corner. No one spoke until we were sitting with cups of steaming coffee in front of us.

  “Where’s Parry?” I asked.

  “He’s busy. I told him I’d stand in for him for a couple of hours.”

  “Macintyre got away,” I said. “Did you find Lizardman? Macintyre calls him Phil.”

  “Not yet,” he said. “Tell me what happened.”

  I summarized everything we knew about Litton Bernhoff and gave him descriptions of Macintyre and Lizardman. Clarke nodded occasionally, tapping notes into his smartphone.

  “I think that Macintyre is going after Simon Scott because Scott knows something about that drug, LitImmune. It could have been Macintyre who set that bomb off.”

  Clarke shook his head. “It wasn’t. We have that person in custody.”

  “Who? Not Chris Melrose?”

  “No.” He paused, looking as though he was trying to work out what to say. “The man we have in custody is your binoculars man, David Lowe. He confessed to making and detonating a small bomb in the car park in Portsmouth.”

  “I did warn you about him,” I said.

  “We’re very grateful.” Clarke didn’t sound grateful. He sounded ticked off that I’d been right.

  “What about the bomb scare in London? Was it real?”

  “I don’t know yet. All I know is that it’ll have generated a mountain of paperwork, so I need to get back to the office.”

  He drank the rest of his coffee. “You haven’t heard from Chris Melrose, I take it? We have to consider him a suspect for the London bomb, given what you told us about him.”

  “Did you test that twenty-pound note?” Anita asked.

  Clarke shook his head. “I don’t have the results yet.” He looked at his watch. “I’ll be handing you off to Parry when we get back to the station. He’s in charge of the investigation into Macintyre.”

  “No way,” I said. “You have to do it. Parry’s an…” I was going to say ‘idiot’ but Clarke wouldn’t appreciate my insulting his fellow officer.

  Anita looked at me, then at Clarke and back. “You two obviously know each other fairly well.”

  “Unfortunately, yes,” Clarke said, but the corners of his lips moved upwards in the faintest of smiles. “That’s the way it works, Kate. I can’t barge in on someone else’s case. Parry was in charge of the investigation into Dr. Reid’s death. He’ll reopen the inquiry and go after Macintyre.”

  “Parry said that Reid committed suicide. He didn’t investigate anything.” Anita raised her voice enough that several customers turned to look at us.

  “I’ll make sure Detective Parry has all the right resources at his disposal.” Clarke’s tone was firm.

  “We don’t trust him,” I said.

  “There’s no choice, Kate. Work with him, tell him everything you’ve told me. The more you can help him, the quicker he’ll pick up Macintyre.” Clarke’s malachite eyes stared into mine as he looked for my agreement.

  I nodded.

  We trailed after Clarke along the rain-doused street to the police station, where rows of well-lit windows made it look almost welcoming. Telling us he’d be in touch, he left us to wait on uncomfortable plastic chairs near the front desk. It took fifteen minutes for Parry to make an appearance, looking as bald and pink as I remembered him.

  He led us to a small meeting room, where a uniformed officer typed up our statements, while Parry prompted us with questions or clarified an answer. We related everything that had happened, including Macintyre’s confession that he’d killed Dr. Reid. Parry made no comment on the news that Reid’s alleged suicide was in fact a murder. I wondered what it would take to elicit a reaction of surprise or anger from him. Or an apology for being so dead wrong.

  After we’d made our statements, we had to wait for a technician to retrieve DNA samples from my blue jacket.

  “What about Lizardman?” Anita asked Parry. “Phil whatever his name is. Did the police find him? He was on the driveway.”

  Again, Parry looked back through his notes. “Give me a minute,” he said. While he was gone, a young officer brought in tea and biscuits. Anita ate three chocolate digestives, barely pausing in between each one. I needed to get her home and ma
ke her something to eat.

  Parry huffed back into the office. “I got a report. There was no sign of your Lizardman when the local police got there, but there was blood on the gravel. I’d guess that Macintyre picked him up and they left together. We’ve alerted the hospitals. From what you’ve told me, he’ll need medical attention.”

  I massaged my jaw, wishing the pain would go away. It was an unpleasant reminder of Macintyre. That reminded me to tell Parry about my theory that Macintyre could be going after Scott. I explained what I knew about Scott’s scheduled visit to Litton Bernhoff the next day.

  “We’re aware of Mr. Scott’s agenda,” he responded. “He has plenty of security, I promise you.”

  “What if Macintyre tries something?”

  Parry sighed. “As I said, Scott will be well protected. The police have a description of Macintyre. But as of now, I haven’t seen any evidence that links Macintyre and Scott.”

  Pompous prick, I thought, but I was too tired to argue.

  Parry checked his notes. “Where were we? Oh, yes. We’ll be able to match DNA and fingerprints to what we picked up at the warehouse.”

  “Did you find anything else useful there?” Anita asked. “The kidnapper, Phil, had a key to the place, but we were only there for a half hour before some homeless guy came charging in, threatening to report us for trespassing.”

  She closed her eyes for a moment as though remembering. “I tried to use the distraction to run away, but Lizardman stuck a needle in me. I don’t remember anything from then until I woke up in that cellar at the mansion.”

  While Parry consulted his notes, flipping through pages in his spiral-bound notebook, I thought about the homeless man at the warehouse. When this was all over, I’d go find him, see if I could do something to help him.

  “Ah yes,” said Parry. “We did find your message about the kitchen,” he said.

  Anita’s face brightened. “I was proud of that. Phil left me alone for two minutes because he had to pee. I used a scrap of an old receipt and a mascara from my purse. I tucked the message under the table leg so he wouldn’t see it.”

  Parry nodded. “Very enterprising,” he said. He sipped his tea and then looked at me. “Where are the notes now?”

  I explained that they were in the morgue, under lock and key. “We’ll pick them up tomorrow morning. They’ll be safe there until then.”

  “Good. We’ll need them for evidence, to back up this story of yours.”

  “Story?” Anita demanded. I put my hand on her arm. There wasn’t any point in picking a fight with Parry.

  “Can we go?” I asked. I was tired, everything hurt, and I smelled of sweat, blood and whoever had been in the back of the police car before us.

  Parry tapped a pencil on his desk. “I don’t feel good about letting you wander off by yourselves,” he said.

  Anita raised an eyebrow. “You’re going to keep us here? Put us in a cell?”

  “I’m concerned for your safety,” he said, which seemed to be the most sensible thing he’d ever said. “I’m going to assign you a police escort, just until we find Macintyre. Sound good?”

  “Definitely,” I said, glancing at Anita’s aura. The more protection she had, the better.

  Finally, we were able to leave, and Parry led us to the exit, where we waited until our police officer arrived. His name was PC Wilson. He would be our driver and escort until further notice.

  “DCI Clarke is very busy,” Parry said, as we shivered on the doorstep. “Please call me if you see any sign at all of Macintyre or his accomplice. I’ll keep my mobile switched on 24/7.”

  Back at my flat, PC Wilson said he’d wait just outside the front door. I invited him to come in but he said he had a good book and was used to being on duty so I took a kitchen chair and a cup of tea out to him. Anita and I took it in turns to shower and prepare dinner. The normal routine of it all made the time in the cellar feel like a dream, a nightmare. Still, I couldn’t settle. Even with the police involved, I couldn’t help feeling nervous that Macintyre was still out there and that he knew where I lived. I stared at my reflection in the bedroom mirror, turning my head from one side to the other, straining to catch any telltale sign of an aura, perhaps a slight disturbance of the air seen from the corner of my eye. There was nothing. For now, I thought, I’d take that as a positive. I needed all the reassurance I could get.

  While Anita showered, I texted Josh to let him know she was safe and at home with me. I owed him that much at least, even though I was still confused and angry about all his emails with Helena.

  “Fantastic,” he wrote back. “Still with my clients. I’ll text you when done.”

  Anita and I sat at the counter to eat, but my spaghetti tasted so bland that I only got through a couple of mouthfuls before pushing my plate away. Anita ate all of hers before starting on mine.

  “That whole thing with my notes,” Anita said, twirling her fork in the pasta. “I’m feeling really awful about it.”

  “Why? You didn’t do anything wrong, apart from letting yourself get abducted in the first place.”

  “Very funny. But the fact is that I was getting desperate. Phil, the Lizardman as you call him, was becoming more and more brutal. He gave me a granola bar for dinner, a glass of water for breakfast. He ordered pizza and Chinese for himself and never shared with me. When I complained loudly, he gave me a sedative.” She pulled up her sleeve to show me bruises and puncture marks in her lower arm. “Moron. He didn’t even know how to inject properly. I really began to think he didn’t care if I died. It seemed that getting the notes to him was my only way out. I wrote that message, hoping that you or the police would eventually work out which kitchen I meant.”

  She frowned. “I never intended for you to get embroiled in this, Kate. You should have given the notes to the police, not come after me by yourself.”

  “Believe me, I tried,” I said.

  “You could have been killed, and it’s all my fault.”

  “Don’t be daft. None of this is your fault.”

  “You’re the daft one,” she smiled. “What were you thinking to let yourself get taken by the Lizard bully? You’re a bloody idiot, if you ask me.”

  I gave an exaggerated look around the kitchen. “Are you still in the cellar? Did Lizardman kill us? And does Macintyre have his precious notes? Or are we sitting at home, eating dinner in perfect safety?”

  She waved a fork in the air, her mouth too full to speak.

  “I’ll take that as no, no, no, yes,” I said.

  Anita swallowed. “Thank you for rescuing me. You’re still a bloody idiot, though.”

  37

  When Anita had finished eating, I gathered up the plates and put them in the dishwasher.

  “Do you want to watch television for a while, or go to bed?” I asked her. “It’s only nine o clock, but maybe an early night would do you good.”

  “Television,” she said. “I’m tired, but I’m so wound up, I won’t be able to sleep yet. I think I’ll call the hospital to see if Pauline’s on duty and let her know I’m okay. Can I use your mobile?”

  She wandered off to the bedroom to talk while I started the dishwasher and put the kettle on. Ten minutes later, she was back. “I have to go in. Pauline said one of my patients is on his way to the ICU. Dr. Schwartz didn’t come in today, and neither did Dr. Marks. It’s chaos over there.”

  “Schwartz is probably on the run,” I said. “I wonder about Marks. Is he involved too?”

  Anita nodded. “It’s possible. He was part of the team for those three kidney transplant patients, and he’s tight with Schwartz. They play squash together three or four times a week.”

  I let that information sink in while I wiped down the counter. “You can’t go into work, Anita. You’re tired and hurt. You need to rest.”

  We debated back and forth, but the result was a foregone conclusion. Ten minutes later, we were in my room, getting dressed to go out. I threw on jeans and a wool coat. Anita was t
ransformed in a pair of my black wool pants that fit her better than they did me, and a lavender-colored shirt. Her long hair was wound in an immaculate bun. Apart from the bruise on her cheek and the cut near her mouth, it was impossible to imagine the terrible ordeal she’d been through.

  If PC Wilson was surprised when I went out to tell him we were heading to the hospital, he didn’t show it. He walked down the stairs with us and waited until we’d both put on our seat belts before he started the car. At the hospital, he accompanied us up to the fourth floor, where Pauline hurried towards us.

  “Oh my God, Anita! Are you all right? We thought you’d been…” Tears in her eyes, she looked at me. “Good to see you too, Kate.”

  “I’ll tell you everything later,” Anita said. “Right now, can you bring me up to date on patients?”

  “It’s pandemonium. I’ve brought in as many off-duty nurses as I could find but, without enough doctors, we’ve been struggling all day.” She looked over her shoulder. “And there are a couple of police officers here, asking questions about Audley Macintyre, that drug rep, and about Dr. Schwartz and Dr. Marks. What’s going on?”

  Glad to hear that the police were already on site, I slightly revised my opinion of Detective Parry.

  “I’ll probably work for quite a while,” Anita told me. “Are you sure you want to wait?”

  “Of course. If I get tired, I’ll sleep on a chair in a waiting room.”

  When Pauline and Anita walked away towards the patient rooms, PC Wilson took a seat close to the nurses’ station. I felt better about letting Anita out of my sight, knowing that he was there. Wandering towards one of the small waiting rooms, I tried sleeping, but the chair was too uncomfortable. It was like trying to sleep on a plane, something I’d never achieved. Giving up on that idea, I realized that I hadn’t thought to bring a book or my laptop. This was going to be a long and boring night if I had to rely on the muted television for distraction. Perhaps I could find something to read in the hospital gift shop on the ground floor.