by Amy Cross
Glancing up at the clock over by the platforms, she decided to give Gregory another ten minutes. Once that time had elapsed she got to her feet, finished the last of her tea, and headed out of the cafe. Approaching the toilet door, she slipped a coin into the slot and then made her way inside, walking straight past the entrance to the ladies' area and instead heading into the section reserved for men.
Stopping in the doorway, she saw that apart from a startled elderly man at the urinals, there seemed to be no-one around.
“Um,” the man said after a moment, “are you -”
“Have you seen a guy in a gray suit?” she asked. “Tallish, quite thin, a little strapping?”
“I'm sorry?”
“Never mind,” she replied, making her way along the row of cubicles and pushing each door open, only to find that there was no sign of Daniel Gregory at all. She paused, trying to work out how he could have left without her seeing him, but when she went to take a look at the windows, she realized there was no way he could have crawled out. Turning, she saw that the man at the urinals was still staring at her, and she realized there was no sound of him getting on with business.
“Um,” he said after a moment. “I mean -”
“Carry on,” she replied, starting to feel increasingly frustrated as she realized that somehow Gregory had managed to get away. Sometimes when she was following him, she was deliberately trying to catch his attention, but this time she'd been trying to slip along unnoticed, and she hated the idea that she might have been bested. “How the hell did he get out of here?” she asked, turning to the man at the urinals. “How did he get out without me seeing him?”
“Who?”
“Aren't you done yet?” she asked.
“Well, I...” He paused. “You've put me off my game a little.”
“Oh, just get on with it,” she continued, heading to the door and looking out for a moment, before turning back to him. “There's something I'm not seeing.”
“I hope so.”
“Maybe Laura was right,” she added. “Maybe I'm getting too cocky. I'm starting to make mistakes.”
“Would you mind... turning away?” the man asked.
“Why?”
“So I can... you know...”
“Just pee,” she replied dismissively. “How hard can it be? And don't disturb me, I need to think.”
“But -”
“Please! Just be quiet for a moment!” She waited, but it was clear that the man wasn't going to be able to get anything done while she was around. “You being distracted,” she said finally, “is distracting me.” Heading to the door, she stopped at the last moment and looked down into the bin. Grabbing the top of the plastic sack, she pulled it out and tipped the contents onto the floor.
“Is that hygienic?” the man asked.
“God, no,” she replied, crouching down and carefully starting to sort through the various tissues, pieces of gum and other detritus. “How could it possibly be hygienic?” Spotting what appeared to be a used syringe, she carefully pushed it away before un-crumpling a receipt and finding that it was for a sandwich and a newspaper at one of the nearby kiosks. Thinking back to when she'd seen Gregory, she realized that there had been a newspaper in his hand, and that there might have been crumbs on his lapel.
A moment later, she heard a faint tinkling sound from the urinals.
“Good work,” she muttered, staring at the receipt. There was very little useful information, other than the fact that he'd bought a copy of the Times and an egg sandwich, and that he'd paid with a card ending in the numbers 7201. Still, she felt that if he'd managed to vanish from a public restroom at the station, that meant he was aware he was being watched, which in turn left open the possibility that the receipt had been tossed aside as part of some deliberate ploy. After all, if he was trying to slip away unnoticed, why would he stop to throw the damn thing away at all? “This is a message,” she said out loud.
Nearby, the tinkling sound stopped.
“Finished?” she asked, turning to the man.
“No. I just... Can't you leave?”
“What's wrong? Have I overstayed my welcome? I never do that.” She took a quick look through the rest of the bin's contents, but as she finally got to her feet she realized there was another possibility: the receipt might be a fake clue, something designed to catch her attention and waste her time. Figuring that she was in danger of going round and round in mental circles, she looked over at the still-startled man by the urinals. “This is weird, isn't it?” she asked finally.
“I'm sorry?”
“Me being in here, while you're trying to take a leak. It's a bit weird.”
He nodded.
“And what's weirder is that it never occurred to me that I shouldn't come in. I just barged through, straight into the men's room. Hell, I'm lucky it's only you in here, there could have been a whole line of guys. Not once did it cross my mind to try a different approach.”
“That is weird.”
“Like stealing a cleaning woman's costume,” she added, “or -”
She paused for a moment, lost in thought.
“Then again, that's what someone would do in a cartoon, isn't it? Or some kind of cheap comedy film. Is that what I do? Do I always go for the cartoonish approach? Am I addicted to drawing attention to myself?”
“I really don't know you well enough to offer an opinion.”
“Maybe Laura was right,” she continued. “Maybe I am out of control. I mean...” She looked down at the contents of the bin, finally noticing the used syringe once again. “Daniel Gregory is looking awfully pumped up these days,” she said after a moment, crouching back down and, while dropping the receipt with one hand, using a tissue to pick up the syringe with the other.
“Are you still not leaving?” the man asked.
Turning the syringe around, she paused for a moment before getting back up. “Now I am,” she said, smiling at him before heading out the door. “Enjoy your pee.”
Sighing, the man concentrated for a moment. He was feeling extremely out of sorts, but after focusing for almost a minute he was finally able to start peeing again.
“Sorry about the disturbance, by the way,” Ophelia added suddenly, leaning back into the doorway for a moment. “I really didn't mean to put you off your stride.”
***
“Got something for you,” Ophelia said a short while later, as she hurried into the forensic analytics lab at the police station and set the syringe down on a workbench, next to one of the lab techs. “I need a complete analysis of this thing. I want to know what was in it, what it's used for, when it was used, where he got it, and if there are any fingerprints or other DNA markers anywhere on the item. Got all that, or do I need to write it down?”
The technician stared at her.
“And I need the results yesterday,” she added, “so... Is there some way we can push this to the top of the queue? I know it's a huge ask and I'll owe you a massive favor, but time's a real pressure factor here and every second counts. Lives could be at stake. We all have to bend the rules sometimes, right?”
He paused. “I'm sorry,” he said finally, “but... Who are you?”
“Ophelia.”
He stared.
“Ophelia,” she continued, sighing as if she was annoyed by his refusal to just do what he was told. Grabbing the lapel of his lab jacket, she pulled his name-badge around so she could see it. “T. Cooper?”
“Thomas,” he replied, “but... I'm sorry, I have no idea who you are, and without a departmental process number I can't do anything for you.”
“Maitland will vouch for me.”
“Doctor Maitland? The coroner?”
She nodded.
“So he sent you?”
“That's one way of looking at it.”
“I... think I need to check that,” Cooper replied cautiously, turning to grab his phone.
“He's very busy right now,” Ophelia told him. “You know what he's lik
e when people disturb him.”
“No, I don't.”
“He gets really angry. The man has a tendency to blow up into these howling fits of rage. One time, he got a guy fired from his last hospital, simply because the poor soul had the temerity to fart at the wrong moment. It was a silent one, too, but the smell was enough to enrage Maitland and... Well, when he goes for someone, he really aims for the jugular. Don't tell anyone I told you this, but they used to call him Maitland the Merciless on account of his sudden, fiery temper. There were people there who lived in absolute fear of him!”
“Doctor Maitland is one of the kindest, most honorable men I have ever met,” Cooper told her.
“Until you push him too far,” she replied. “That's the point, it's how things work with men like Maitland. They don't blow up often, but when they do... Blam, your entire career could be over in the blink of an eye.”
“I find this all very hard to believe.”
“How long will it take you to do what I asked?”
“That's not the point.”
“How long?”
“I could get preliminary results for you in half an hour if I fast-tracked the -”
“And I know for a fact that Doctor Maitland just started an autopsy a few minutes ago, so he'll be busy for at least a couple of hours.” She paused. “What would you prefer? Half an hour, worrying that maybe you're not supposed to be doing what you're doing? Or two or three hours worrying that Maitland might turn on you for daring to ask him whether I'm working for him?”
At this, Cooper paused.
“I think that syringe contained steroids,” Ophelia continued, “and I think the man using them is extremely dangerous. I know I'm breaking protocol, but I don't have time to go back and get the departmental process number that Doctor Maitland was supposed to give me. Like I said, he has a temper, and I've already pissed him off once this week, and I ended up sobbing in the bathroom for an hour straight. I'm worried that if I have to go back to him, he might fire me, so please, can you just help me out?”
“Do you really think he'd fire you?”
“It's a worry.” She paused, waiting for him to agree to her request. “Come on, you know I'm on the level.”
“Actually -”
“It's not like I'm some lunatic who just came in off the street,” she added. “I mean, how would I even get into the building unless I'm supposed to be here? Cloning someone's pass-card? Sneaking a look at their access code? That would be a ridiculous amount of work, and it'd take someone pretty damn smart. In fact, only a certified genius would even stand a chance. Plus I'd need huge balls to even dare to try that kind of stunt. It's so ludicrous, I can't even believe it would work.”
Looking down at the syringe for a moment, Cooper finally sighed.
“I suppose I could run some numbers quickly,” he said, taking a pair of tweezers and picking up the syringe, “but only this once, and only so that Maitland doesn't get mad at you.”
“Really?” she replied. “You'd do that? For me?”
“Well, if Maitland really has such a terrible temper...”
“He does.”
“I'd hate to see you get sacked just because you're missing a process number.” He took the syringe over to another workbench and set it down. “Come back in half an hour and I should have something for you. It might not be all the numbers you were after, but I'm sure I can at least tell you what was in the chamber. Fingerprints are another matter, you'd need to wait a while, but a DNA check is possible and you could at least run it against the database and see if you come up with a match. Stranger things have happened.” He grabbed a fresh set of gloves. “Deal?”
Turning, he looked back across the lab and saw that Ophelia had already left.
“Don't mention it,” he muttered, as he grabbed some swab-sticks and got to work.
Chapter Four
“Ms. Foster,” one of the reporters called out as they all crowded around Laura, “do you think the judge's comments about your professional conduct in this case were fair?”
“Ms. Foster,” another reporter said, before she had a chance to reply, “do you feel personally responsible for the mistakes that were made, or do you think your entire department failed?”
Nearby, a camera flash went off, momentarily blinding her.
“Are you going to resign?”
“How are you feeling right now?”
“How are you feeling? On a personal level?”
“Why did you let that bastard get away with what he did to me?”
“I -” Before she could finish, Laura saw that at the back of the crowd of reporters, Natasha Simonsen was watching with a firm, determined stare. There was blood on her face, and her naked body was covered in bruises.
“You let me down,” Natasha continued. “Daniel Gregory did all those awful things to me, and now he's free because of you. Another girl is dead, but how many more will there be? How long can he go on killing before you accept that you're not good enough for this job? You couldn't catch Daniel Gregory if you found him covered in blood with a knife in his hand.”
“Laura?” a familiar voice said suddenly.
“You should have resigned,” Natasha added, as the crowd of reporters parted to let her make her way through. “You should have walked away in disgrace. It was your arrogance that made you push ahead with the prosecution of Daniel Gregory before you had enough evidence. You thought you were some kind of hotshot who'd blaze a trail of glory, but instead you let a murderer walk free. And now -”
“And now he's killed again,” said Sarah Jenkins, the other murdered girl, as she stepped out from the crowd. “If you'd done your job properly the first time, I'd still be alive. My blood is on your hands.”
“Laura.”
“There'll be more, you know,” Natasha continued, stepping closer. “He's just going to keep killing, and he knows there's nothing you can do about it. He's smart, and you're dumb, and other people are going to suffer as a result.”
“Laura.”
Sitting up suddenly, Laura opened her eyes and looked around. Her heart was pounding, and it took a moment before she realized was in her office. She blinked a couple of times, trying to clear the dream, although echoes of the dead girls' voices still flitted through her mind.
“You were dreaming,” Nick said with a smile, standing on the other side of her desk. “You were, like, whimpering a bit too, like you were about to say something. My Nan's got a dog that does that. His name's Jasper. He's a pug.”
“It was nothing,” she replied, shocked that she'd nodded off at work. Looking at the papers on her desk, she remembered that she'd been going through the Natasha Simonsen files with a fine-toothed comb, hoping to find something, anything, that might help her work out why Daniel Gregory had left the thumb attached to the latest girl. She tried to focus, but lingering memories of the dream were filling her mind, and she could still hear the voices of Natasha Simonsen and Sarah Jenkins taunting her.
The worst part was, she knew they were right.
“Well,” Nick continued, “I'm sorry to wake you, Sleeping Beauty, but I came to tell you Maitland's finished the preliminary autopsy on the Jenkins girl.”
“And?”
“And he said he wants us to go down there.”
“Can't he just send the file up?”
“Apparently he wants us there in person,” Nick explained. “He never does that unless he's got something juicy to show us, does he?”
***
“Calm down, man,” Maitland was saying to one of his assistants, as Laura and Nick entered the examination room where Sarah Jenkins' body lay under a sheet. “All I said was that you should make sure to clip the reports rather than stapling them. It's not a big deal.”
“Absolutely, Sir,” the assistant stammered, grabbing the papers from his hand and hurrying to the door, almost tripping over the leg of a chair in the process. “I'll redo them for you, Sir. Right away.”
“What's got into you?�
�� Maitland asked. “Are you sick?”
“Absolutely not, Sir. I'm sorry, I didn't mean to annoy you.”
As the assistant hurried out of the room, Maitland shook his head.
“I swear,” he said, heading over to the examination table, “since lunchtime, all the assistants in this department have been acting like they're terrified of me. I have no idea why.” Pulling the sheet away, he exposed Sarah Jenkins' naked body, complete with a large incision down the middle of her chest that had been stitched back together. “I asked you two to come down here because I discovered something that I think is extremely relevant. Laura, you were right when you said I should check the girl's stomach.”
“You found a bullet,” she replied, stepping forward. “I knew it.”
He shook his head.
“Then what is it?”
Reaching into a small metal dish, he took out a discolored, bullet-sized lump of flesh. “Do you have any idea what this is?”
“Both her thumbs are intact,” Laura pointed out.
“Hers are, yes, but...” He paused. “You never found Natasha Simonsen's missing thumb, did you?”
“No, but -” Pausing, Laura suddenly realized what he meat. Stepping forward, she stared at the thumb he was holding. “That's hers? That's from Natasha Simonsen?”
“At least we can forget any idea of this being a copycat,” Maitland pointed out, putting the thumb back into a dish. “I'm pretty sure that only the original killer could have got hold of Natasha's thumb. Obviously he's been saving it all this time, waiting for his chance to use it.”
“Like a trophy?” Nick suggested.
“Do killers usually give away their trophies so easily?” Maitland asked.
“So you're saying he held onto it specifically for this purpose?” Laura replied, looking down at Sarah Jenkins' body. “You think he planned all along to have a second victim, and he took Natasha Simonsen's thumb all that time ago because he wanted to one day plant it in the stomach of the next person he killed?”
“The thumb was lodged in the lower quadrant of the stomach itself,” Maitland continued, “which, according to my predecessor's papers, is exactly where the bullet was located in Natasha Simonsen's body. The similarities are too striking to be coincidental.”
