‘Until then?’
‘Go home? See your family? A round of golf?’
‘Golf?’
‘Whatever it is you rich doctors do.’
Alex had never played golf and didn’t intend to start. ‘And I bet you’re just going to sit around and wait,’ he said, goading her.
She sighed again. ‘Actually, no. But I’ve got something to clear up. Probably your fault too.’
‘Really?’ Alex wondered if he’d managed to screw something else up without even realising.
‘I’ve been called back to Holborn to address some “administrative errors” in a previous case.’
‘Sounds like fun.’
Laurie’s tone darkened. ‘Administration is never fun, Alex, and I don’t make mistakes. But I’ll let you know when we can get on with some real work.’
Behind the joke Alex could detect her mood as genuinely peeved and a little puzzled. He found himself wanting to support her, help her out. He didn’t like the idea of her getting into trouble.
‘You follow protocol,’ he said, hoping it was true. ‘You’re diligent. I’m sure it’s nothing.’
Laurie paused for a few moments. Alex could tell she’d stopped typing. ‘I think so too,’ she said. ‘Let’s hope my superiors agree.’
Alex didn’t try golf. The other doctors in the building had already invited him into their club – several of them played – but Alex had never fancied it. He tended to shun social activities on principle. There was something deeper in his reluctance, he thought, but he put it to one side.
Instead he drove to his office and ploughed through the invoicing, wondering why he didn’t use the PA service downstairs. He’d figured that going part-time should mean he’d do all the admin himself, but as he filed the eighth client email he was beginning to regret it.
Another niggle to add to his worries. Would Laurie be OK? He had a pang of fear she’d be pulled off the current case and sent back to Holborn. He was growing close to her – they understood each other, or so he reckoned.
His focus on work wavered so he picked up the phone.
‘Hi, Dad.’ Katie’s voice always sent a smile straight to his lips. He wished it wasn’t mostly on the end of a phone.
‘Hi, sweetie,’ he said. ‘Just checking in. How are things?’
Katie reeled off a list of teenage woes, mostly to do with her friends and Instagram. Alex listened, half wishing he hadn’t asked, but half just pleased to hear her voice.
‘That’s tough,’ he said, not really following. ‘How’s Mum?’
‘She’s fine. John’s taken her out for dinner again.’
‘Again?’
‘They do it a lot.’
Of course they did, thought Alex. He remembered when he and Grace first dated – endless dinner dates. He could probably count on one hand the number of meals he’d taken Grace out for in their final year of marriage.
He huffed.
‘Sorry,’ said Katie.
‘Why don’t we go out?’ he said. ‘For dinner. Anywhere you like.’
‘OK. I can’t today – I’m seeing Jess. Tomorrow I’m round Sophie’s with Freddie. Thursday I’m going to Fran’s. Maybe Friday?’
Alex marvelled at his daughter’s schedule. When had his baby girl turned into this raging socialite? ‘Friday is great. Pick a restaurant and let me know. I’ll book it.’
‘Sure thing. OK. Gotta go.’
‘So soon?’ Alex could listen to his daughter’s voice for hours. She clearly had better things to do than listen to his.
‘Friends,’ she said. ‘I’ve got messages to send, people to talk to.’
‘Oh, before you go, will you have time to see Grandma at the weekend?’
An awkward silence. Katie found visiting Alex’s mum in the care home a stressful experience. Her grandmother had deteriorated fast after his father’s death and was confused, agitated. Her questions triggered memories for Katie of her ordeal at the hands of Victor Lazar the year before. Alex didn’t know the right thing to do but couldn’t bear the thought of his mum being cast aside after everything his father had put her through. He owed it to her to try and maintain some semblance of family.
‘I’m not sure,’ said Katie. ‘Perhaps in a couple of weeks? I promise.’
‘OK.’ Alex didn’t push it. He had just wanted to mention it.
‘See you Friday then. Love you, Dad.’
‘Love you.’
Alex hung up, feeling a little better but conscious that his general levels of anxiety were peaking. He’d need to watch himself. He fingered the packet of Xanax in his pocket, spinning the small container around, feeling the label peeling at the corner. Another before bed or a glass of wine? Perhaps both.
Still holding his phone, it buzzed with a message.
Meet me at Dr Willis house tomorrow at 10. Family are out. Address below.
Alex left the Xanax unopened. Laurie was as good as her word. She made things happen, and this was progress. Alex decided to get an early night, figuring he’d need to be on form tomorrow, whatever they found.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
Alex Madison looked exactly as she remembered. He’d aged, but so had she, not so much in years but in experience. She’d read the reports but preferred to conduct her own observations. His office was nice, better than any place she got to work in – she watched it from the other side of the road, watching him enter and head up the stairs. She remembered his private practice and his obvious ambition, but also recognised his faults and his failures.
Her phone had been glued to her ear for the last twenty-four hours. They were failing to keep a lid on things – the mess was spreading. The clean-up was imminent. It rang again, buzzing in her hand. She stared at the immaculate blockwork across the street, admiring the simple patterns and the wealth that could create such structures. She was no stranger to money, not any more, but the opulence of London was still fascinating to someone of her background.
‘Yes,’ she answered.
‘Tau is with us.’
She snorted. The doctors had proven themselves untrustworthy and incompetent. This one in particular was a complication that needed fixing.
‘Keep him there.’
‘In what condition?’
She sighed. ‘Treat him with the respect he deserves. Just keep him there.’
The caller hung up. They’d call again. A constant stream of questions, requiring a constant flow of answers. Get one wrong and she’d be the one to suffer, not them. She knew only too well what would happen if the true extent of this work was exposed. She had her role and the responsibility that came with it.
She paused before leaving the road, a doubt springing up in her mind, just a fragment, lingering for a second, a moment of panic. What she was doing; what they were doing. The thoughts would never sit comfortably. Knowledge was powerful, but it was also painful. She felt more of the latter than was healthy or useful.
Doubt would do no good here. She forced it from her mind, tucked her hands in her pockets and headed back to the hotel.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
Dr Willis’s house was imposing, with a neat lawn and expensive gravel driveway. Alex couldn’t suppress a stab of envy, casting his eyes over the huge porch and the sash windows. Surgeons earned more than psychologists, it seemed. Then reality hit him, and he remembered Dr Willis was dead, murdered by the suspect they’d failed to catch – the one he’d failed to identify.
But why? What secrets had Dr Willis not passed on before his death? What had led his killer to take revenge? What had the doctors done to earn such hatred?
He crossed the road and sidled up to Laurie. She’d seen him but remained leaning against her black Mini, arms folded, staring over at the huge house.
‘Surgeon,’ she said. ‘It was a toss-up between that and police officer. I chose wrong.’
‘You’re alive,’ said Alex, turning to her.
She looked shocked and slapped him on the shoulder. ‘Hey, I do t
he inappropriate comments!’ she said. ‘You should know better. Right,’ she continued, ‘house is empty and we have permission to search Willis’s study for items relating to patients – private or NHS.’
‘That’s it?’
‘That’s it. We’re not rifling through his underwear today. Maybe another day.’
Laurie pushed herself away from the car and crunched up the drive. Alex followed, thinking Laurie looked tired today, not her usual sharp self.
‘How did the administration go?’ he asked. ‘All fixed?’
Laurie glanced back and smiled, but it was weary and false. ‘OK. Not a problem.’ She approached the front door, and Alex knew she was lying.
She fumbled with a key and pushed it into the lock. The heavy door swung open with a creak and they both entered the hall.
‘The study is at the back of the house,’ said Laurie.
Alex paused. After the door closed behind him he heard something else. Footsteps, the creaking of floorboards.
‘I thought you said the house was empty?’ he said, looking up the stairs. No, the sound came from this floor. Laurie and Alex glanced at each other.
‘Hello?’ said Laurie. ‘Mrs Willis?’
Silence. They both strained their necks, listening.
‘It’s Detective Laurie!’ she shouted.
Still nothing, but then more footsteps, louder this time. Somebody running on a hard floor.
‘Through there,’ said Alex as Laurie approached the end of the hallway, Alex close behind. They entered a reception room. The wood flooring gave way to thick woollen carpet. Two sofas faced each other, a walnut coffee table between them. A large marble fireplace provided the centrepiece, and above a huge watercolour loomed, a scene of an Italian coastline, the bright houses lighting up the landscape. Laurie paused. Two doors led off, one straight ahead to what looked like the kitchen, the other to a further reception room.
‘Stay here,’ said Laurie, choosing to head away from the kitchen, deeper into the house. The noise had stopped, but she crept across the carpet in silence. Alex ignored her request, heading to the kitchen. As he reached it, they both heard a door slam at the back of the house.
Laurie’s head snapped around. Alex ran into the kitchen in time to see two figures sprinting away through the garden.
‘Out there!’ shouted Alex. ‘The garden – quick.’
There was no exit from the kitchen, just a single window overlooking a lawn bordered by mature shrubs. The garden curved around to the right and the intruders had disappeared. Alex sprinted back into the reception room to follow Laurie.
She’d raced on ahead and Alex weaved through the furniture, into a small room housing nothing except a grand piano on a hardwood floor. In front of the piano stood a set of French doors, open to the garden. Beyond the piano lay a larger room. The door was open and Alex could see inside. It was a mess. Lined with bookshelves, most of the books had been pulled on to the floor, documents and journals strewn everywhere. A desk stood at the centre, its surface covered with papers and folders.
The study.
Alex paused. ‘Laurie!’ he shouted. When she didn’t answer he tore himself away, through the French doors into the garden. It wasn’t as large as he’d thought, and the bend he’d seen from the kitchen ended abruptly against a high fence with a trellis running along the top.
Laurie stood in front of the fence, one hand on her hip, the other holding her phone. She shouted a few more words into it before hanging up and turning to Alex.
‘There’s an alleyway behind here,’ she said. ‘No idea which way they went from there.’ Her face clouded and she gripped her phone tighter. ‘Shit!’ she shouted into the bushes.
‘Was it our suspect?’ said Alex. There were two people, which didn’t make sense, but perhaps Mia had an accomplice. It was unlikely for a sadist or a psychopath, but not unheard of.
‘I don’t think so,’ said Laurie. ‘I caught a glimpse of their backs. They were both running.’ She shook her head, thinking. ‘No,’ she concluded, ‘they were both too tall. One was thickset, male. The other . . . not sure, but not our suspect. I’d put money on it.’
Alex nodded. Their eyes met. Alex didn’t want to say it.
‘Yes, we should have searched the house yesterday,’ said Laurie, her eyes on fire. ‘Shut up, Alex.’
With that she stomped back towards the house. Alex followed at a distance, his mind spinning, considering all the options, none of which was particularly attractive.
‘The question is, did they find what they were looking for?’ said Laurie. They both stood in the study, trying to avoid stepping on the books and journals. There wasn’t much room to move and Alex gave up, making his way to the desk, wincing as a book spine cracked under his shoe.
‘Let’s hope we disturbed them before they had a chance to,’ he said, peering at the desk. Several folders were stacked on one side. A few of the same type lay ripped open on the floor. The intruders were caught mid-search, he thought. Did they get lucky, or would he and Laurie?
‘Uniform is on its way,’ said Laurie, not seeming too convinced they’d find anything.
Alex leaned against the desk, casting his eyes around the room. It was unnerving, and he knew why – his father’s study had been very similar. An old-style refuge from his family, a place of secrets and thoughts, lined with a library’s worth of knowledge, crammed into old bookshelves and cupboards. Alex had never been allowed in his father’s study alone while his father was alive. After he’d died Alex had put the stuff he couldn’t face reading into storage. Alex had found his father’s secrets – details of his own sordid pursuit of greatness, breaking every medical ethics standard in the process. His father was killed because of what he’d done. Was Dr Willis of the same breed? Arrogant to the point that they couldn’t see right or wrong? Gods of their own world in which they played with people’s lives?
‘Where do you keep your secrets?’ he said to the shelves.
‘They weren’t accomplices,’ said Laurie. ‘I presume that’s your theory?’
Alex shook his head. ‘Nothing’s certain, but no. I think it’s far more likely they were here for the same reason we are.’
‘To find Dr Willis’s links to all of this?’
‘Or to cover them up,’ said Alex. His mind drifted once again. If this was some case of experimentation or clinical trial, the people sponsoring it would be hastily covering their tracks. Pharmaceutical companies had very deep pockets and liked to keep them full. Alex knew they wouldn’t think twice about interfering in a police investigation if it served their purpose.
‘We need to scan and file,’ said Alex, pushing himself up. He wished he’d had more coffee. ‘Anything related to pain medication or treatments put in one pile. The rest can go to one side.’
‘Yes, boss,’ said Laurie, although her tone, usually light, seemed heavier and more distracted.
Alex watched her as she knelt, sorting through books. She looked younger today, perhaps in the way she held herself. The power posture had sagged and she looked vulnerable.
Alex wished he could help her and figured the best way of doing that would be to work out what they were dealing with. Progress in this case should take the spotlight away from her other worries.
They sifted for an hour or more in near-silence. Five uniformed officers, two detectives from Laurie’s team and a forensics officer arrived, all but the last sad they’d missed the party. The forensics officer busied herself dusting for prints, despite Laurie’s insistence that the intruders had been wearing gloves. Alex watched the scientist diligently work her way around the study before moving to other parts of the house.
Uniform checked the fence and started door-to-door inquiries, hunting for information, anything that could shed light on the intruders or anything else out of character in an upmarket street.
‘What did Mrs Willis say?’ said Alex.
Laurie shrugged. ‘She’s grieving, as can be expected. We told her as much as
we could, not implicating her husband but suggesting she stay away from the house while we investigate. She wasn’t really processing the news, but she’ll stay with her sister for the time being.’
Alex nodded. Grief was an unpredictable emotion. He sympathised with Mrs Willis and wondered how much, if anything, she knew about her husband’s work.
‘I assume we can’t speak to her?’
‘You assume correct,’ said Laurie. She picked up a textbook, showing it to Alex. ‘Any interest?’
‘The Challenge of Pain,’ read Alex. ‘Melzack and Wall. I’ve heard of them. I think they proposed the gate theory of pain, back in . . . let’s see, must have been the sixties.’
‘Gate theory?’
‘It describes a gating mechanism in the spine – it opens and closes, allowing the signals to the brain. I can’t remember the details, but it was pretty fundamental. The important thing was it established a physiological basis for the complex phenomenon of pain.’
‘It’s not all in yer head?’
‘Exactly.’
Alex put the book to one side on the growing pile of reference material associated with pain research and management. He nudged over another, the eleventh edition of Pain Assessment and Pharmacologic Management by Pasero and McCaffery, without picking it up.
‘A lot more books by this Patrick Wall fella,’ said Laurie, slinging him another. Pain: The Science of Suffering was a thin text, unfamiliar to Alex, but then so were most of these. He’d had some experience of managing the psychological effects of acute and chronic pain in patients, but his understanding of the physiology was limited. Pain remained a complicated process involving intricate interactions between several important chemicals found naturally in the brain and spinal cord. If Dr Willis was researching pain management on patients, it wasn’t necessarily a bad thing, if he was following the rules. However, if he was breaking them, it was because the drugs or interventions were unproven and the pharma company was having difficulty getting a licence to run trials.
But that’s what they needed – patient information. The theory on its own wasn’t useful.
Pain Page 14
