Pain

by Adam Southward

  ‘Meaning?’

  Hartley cleared her throat. ‘Please don’t take that tone, Alex. Detective Laurie’s report was thorough. She did mention your findings, as it happens. We’re putting all of our efforts into locating Mia Anastos. We have a virtual army of officers sifting through hours of CCTV footage all over London. Others are out interviewing NHS personnel and going door to door.’

  ‘And ignoring the doctors.’

  Hartley huffed. ‘Alex, I’ll tell you this because I think you’re one of us. Things take time. Things can get political. If we don’t follow your every recommendation, there is often a good reason for it, one we might not tell you straight away. OK?’

  Alex paused. ‘Political,’ he said. ‘Which bit?’

  ‘The bit where we storm into a big multinational company’s premises based on the word of a drug dealer.’

  Alex’s heart jumped into his mouth. He swallowed. Laurie’s report had passed on the address Mikey had supplied, but she or Hartley already knew about Mikey. Dammit. He chose his words very carefully. ‘He’s a friend and I trust that his contacts are real,’ he said. ‘If you know about this company Nova, please follow it up.’

  Alex heard Hartley tapping away at the other end. She sniffed.

  ‘I’ve got to go, Alex. Time to end this conversation. My decision at this point in time is that we’re not going to pursue the address you gave us. Nova is not to be pursued.’

  ‘Why the hell not?’

  ‘Because I said so!’ Hartley shouted back.

  Alex pulled the phone away from his ear.

  She paused. ‘I’ll let you know, Alex. Keep working. We need a full profile for the CPS for when we catch this psycho. If you’re at a loose end, start writing. In the meantime, stay away from Nova AG.’

  ‘Not a psycho,’ said Alex.

  ‘What?’

  ‘I said she’s not psychopathic.’

  Hartley coughed. ‘Goodbye, Alex,’ she said, hanging up.

  Alex was seething. He’d been put in his place and wasn’t handling it like the seasoned professional they’d hired and continued to pay. But he had good reason and Hartley knew it. They’d both worked on the case of Victor Lazar and she knew the background, even if they’d never managed to find the perpetrators. Human experimentation was alive and well in the UK and Mia could lead the police straight to it, if they were willing to be led.

  Political, that’s what she said. Alex was not naive – he knew the machinations of big business, and there were few bigger than pharmaceutical companies. Hartley knew something about Nova. If the pressure was on her to stay away, then the police were having their hands tied. Alex found it hard to accept.

  He calmed himself, pacing the soft carpet of his office, working the stress out of his body through deep breathing. He went over to the coffee maker, poured a large mug but set it to one side. Caffeine was the wrong drug. The right drug was in his pocket, but three Xanax would cause his head to muddy and he couldn’t afford that.

  Laurie was off the case. Hartley chose to chase the shadow of Mia Anastos but do nothing about the sinister group that had created her. The police had stalled themselves while the senior officers battled political games and favours.

  But Alex didn’t need to follow any of that, did he? He’d agreed to be an external consultant to the police precisely because it gave him freedom from their rules. It wasn’t that he intended to break them all on a regular basis, but having no boss other than himself allowed him to be objective. It allowed him certain liberties.

  He sat at the desk and pulled out his phone. He’d already put the address into his Notes, and now he cut and pasted it into the maps app. It pinned the location somewhere on an east London industrial estate. He thought back to Mikey’s warning. Alex valued his health and his life, but this was London, not some Mexican slum. He could drive to an estate in this city and poke around without getting out of the car. He could at least see what this place might be, gather a little more intelligence ready for his next conversation with Hartley, or if all went well, Laurie.

  The thought of Laurie gave his heart a brief murmur. He pictured her at the restaurant on their not-a-date, her shining eyes and her wicked sense of humour.

  He decided to text her; tell her what he was doing. It was the sensible thing. He wrote: Hartley battling politics. I’m heading to the Nova address to check it out. He pressed send and put his phone on silent before she could reply and try to persuade him out of it.

  The Merc spat gravel as he accelerated away, enjoying the sensation for fewer than five minutes before he hit the lunchtime traffic. He crawled around the northern edge of the city, wishing he’d brought a snack or a drink. He lowered the air-con, loosening his top button.

  As he approached the location on the map his phone buzzed. A message icon appeared at the top of the screen. He ignored it, figuring it was Laurie telling him to stay away. He felt a little underhand for going against her advice but figured it would be good for her if he found a lead. Even a snippet of information about this Nova company could sway their investigation his way. It might even persuade Hartley to put her back on the case. Wishful thinking, perhaps, but his mind was made up.

  He slowed as the entrance to the industrial estate loomed on his left. A billboard-sized map showed a bewildering array of company names and logos, all with numbers and roads. He pulled over, scanning for Nova, but couldn’t see anything. An articulated truck stopped behind him and honked its horn. Alex pulled away, turning into the estate, arching his back to see the signs.

  He was still half a mile from the address he’d been given by Mikey. Unfortunately, there was no number, just the name of the street: Pickard. Alex crawled along, seeing few companies he recognised. Technology and engineering firms seemed prominent. A biotech company called Transcend with a DNA logo dominated three consecutive warehouses, all huge metal complexes set far back from the road behind razor wire.

  After ten minutes of crawling along then pulling over to let more trucks pass, Pickard Street appeared on his right and his left. Checking the map, the street appeared to stretch for miles in a grid structure. He drove past the turning for a hundred yards or so and parked, tucking in tight against the kerb, folding his mirrors in. He doubted any of the truck drivers would mind too much about hitting his car on their way past.

  Alex stepped out of the car, locking it behind him. He swung his jacket over his shoulder and tapped his pockets, ensuring he had his keys and phone. He’d parked in front of a small unmarked brick storage unit. Nobody should mind too much, and it wasn’t as if there were any traffic wardens around. There was nobody around, in fact, and Alex paused. This wasn’t the sort of place he’d want to walk around alone at night, but surely it was safe in daylight hours?

  Mildly reassured by his weak rationale, he walked back towards Pickard Street and turned left.

  The pavement and road stretched on into the distance. Both sides held eight-foot-high wire fences topped with both barbed and razor wire. Beyond the wire was concrete, clean and empty, stretching for over thirty yards before the buildings rose up. Alex walked for five minutes, counting three warehouses. No names, no logos, just huge complexes holding their secrets. Whether they were sinister or otherwise, Alex was none the wiser. He paused, linking his fingers over the wire, staring through at one of the buildings.

  Mikey can’t have known what this place looked like. Did all of this belong to Nova AG? If so, it couldn’t be illegal. Whoever owned or leased these buildings wasn’t hidden. Discreet, maybe, and secure, but not secret. If the police wanted to, they could ask for a warrant and search any one of the buildings.

  Except that Hartley didn’t want to, or couldn’t, which amounted to the same result.

  Alex turned to face along the road. He squinted into the distance, where the road terminated at another high fence and beyond that a line of trees. The road between was empty.

  The frustration welled up. There was nothing here to see, not without hammering at
the fence or shouting through it. He’d expected something different, perhaps an open building, a reception area or a bustling loading bay he could slip into and sneak around. What he’d found was nothing like that; this estate was more like a military base, a deserted one.

  Alex crouched, dusting the pavement before sitting at the kerb. It had been a wasted trip. He pulled his phone out and checked the screen. The message icon had doubled into two. Alex swiped and saw Laurie’s messages. The first was as expected: Leave it, Alex. Let Hartley do her job. The second was surprisingly pleasant: I’m finishing at six today. Fancy a drink?

  Alex responded to the second, feeling a rush of anticipation. She’d called him first. Sure thing, he replied. I’ll pick you up?

  The reply came through. No, thanks. Mercs are for old men and pimps. I’ll meet you at the restaurant. Same place as last time.

  Alex smiled, staring at the message. He was about to type a response when the sound of an engine caused him to look up. A black Transit van appeared at the far end of the road, where the fence and road disappeared. A gate had opened to let the van through and was sliding closed behind it. The engine gunned and the van headed towards him. Alex stood, stepping back from the kerb, watching the van approach. The cab held two figures, both in dark matching clothing.

  Alex had no ready excuse for being here, but it wasn’t a crime and, if challenged, he didn’t have to say anything. The van might be security. Private contractors were often arrogant and intimidating, but they had to operate within the law.

  He faced the van as it slowed, trying to make himself look unthreatening and lost. He hoped the van would drive straight past and was disappointed to see it stop right in front of him. He kept his phone in his hand, watching the two men step out.

  The first – the driver – was tall and stocky. He wore black trousers and a turtleneck. Security, if Alex had to guess. The second man wore near-identical clothing, his grey trousers bunched over a pair of large black boots. Both had close-cropped hair and were clean-shaven.

  ‘Sir,’ said the driver, approaching Alex. The other man stepped on to the kerb to his side.

  ‘This is a private estate, sir.’ Alex noted an accent: South African, perhaps.

  Alex nodded, already feeling intimidated. He tried to keep both men in view, but they separated and Alex found himself turning back and forth between them.

  ‘I took a wrong turning,’ he said, pulling his practised doctor’s smile. He could do it on demand under any circumstances. The driver didn’t return the smile, his expression alert and firm.

  ‘May I see some ID, sir?’

  Alex knew he didn’t have to produce ID to a private security guard, but at the same time he realised he was on a deserted street in the middle of what looked like a highly secure industrial park. He should have thought of a reason for being here; the security firm was within its rights to challenge him. The police wouldn’t be very supportive if he caused trouble. He could picture Hartley’s face already.

  He glanced past the men, feeling an urge to run back to his car, but the two guards looked rather athletic. If they were guards – which wasn’t clear – he didn’t want to give them an excuse to practise their restraining skills.

  ‘My name is Dr Madison,’ said Alex, keeping his wallet in his pocket. He had ID but didn’t want to show it if he could help it.

  The driver continued to stare. He tapped his ear and Alex noticed a small radio earpiece.

  ‘What are you doing here, Dr Madison?’

  ‘I took a wrong turning,’ said Alex, broadening his smile. ‘I . . .’ To his right, Alex noticed the second guard approaching him. He stood two feet away, behind Alex and near the fence.

  ‘My car’s back there,’ Alex said, pointing. ‘I’ll leave; see if I can find the right road.’

  The driver tapped his earpiece again before nodding to his colleague. Alex backed away but found himself against the fence. The two guards approached, the driver in front and the other stepping to the side.

  ‘Wait,’ said Alex. ‘Look—’ He felt a scratch on his neck. The guard to his right had lunged so fast that Alex didn’t have time to react. Alex saw the needle come away and the guard reaching out to catch him as he fell. His knees buckled as his vision tunnelled. The grey gave way to black. The last thing Alex heard was his phone falling out of his hand and hitting the concrete.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT

  Alex woke with a thumping headache which crept from the back of his neck through to his eyes. He found himself in a dimly lit room, small and featureless with a faint chemical odour. The left-hand wall was mirrored, reflecting Alex and a dirty white Formica table in front of him. Alex stared at his reflection. He looked washed out and grubby, his shirt creased, with the top three buttons undone. He leaned forward to stand but jolted back again; his hands were restrained, attached by thick leather straps to a metal chair which didn’t budge. It was fixed to the floor and as he looked down he saw his feet were also restrained, long straps snaking out of the legs of the chair.

  Panic rose up, lurching into his throat, a mixture of claustrophobia and confusion. He writhed and yanked at his arms. His legs moved but he couldn’t get more than a few inches off the chair before collapsing back again. He paused, hyperventilating. His face flushed with heat and the throbbing in his head became more intense. His heart thumped and his mouth dried up. Closing his eyes, he took a deep breath and blew it out, feeling the hot air on his lips. He repeated it four times, trying to calm the rising anxiety, trying to think straight. Calm yourself, Alex, he thought. Don’t fight it.

  He opened his eyes.

  The two men in the van, they’d knocked him out with something. A fast-acting sedative. By the headache, it must have been Etorphine or similar, which meant he could have been unconscious anywhere between a few minutes and a few hours. What type of security guard carries that sort of drug? One who worked for Nova, or whatever Nova really was. Alex had told them his name and they’d relayed it over the radio. They were told to take him. Ordered to sedate and capture him.

  By whom?

  Kidnapping was an extreme crime, risky as hell and with mixed outcomes. Alex shivered at the possible ways this could end. A memory of Victor Lazar sprang to the surface, the man who had kidnapped Katie and threatened her life in front of him.

  But this was no individual out for revenge. If Nova was a front for illegal activity, Alex was considered too risky to be left poking around on the street outside but too valuable to kill outright. He took some solace in that fact. If these people had wanted him out of the way, he’d be six feet under somewhere, never to be found again. The fact he was in this room was significant and he needed to use it.

  But did they know who he was? Had Dr Tau relayed his fears about the police investigation and Alex’s part in it? Be reasonable, he thought. Help them out. Get out of this unharmed. He drew breath, trying to figure out his tactics.

  He didn’t have long. They must have been waiting for him to wake up. He glanced at the mirrored wall, wondering who was watching.

  A loud click came from the door. A large man with a bald head in a grey suit entered first, followed by a young woman with dark hair and olive skin. She wore all black – tight trousers, top and ankle boots. The two were talking to each other in Russian, thick and deep. The woman shook her head, glanced at the mirrored wall before flicking a switch by the door. The dim room lit up in dazzling white. Alex squinted, holding his eyes shut until they became accustomed to the light.

  ‘Dr Alex Madison.’

  The soft female voice penetrated his consciousness like a blast of warm air, although his skin prickled with the effect. He opened his eyes and saw the woman who spoke. Her face was beautiful, her eyes deep and complex, but there was something more – her voice and appearance stirred something in Alex he couldn’t understand. Recognition. A distant memory, but almost childlike in its vagueness. Alex could have sworn he’d never met this woman, yet he felt a closeness to her, more than an a
cquaintance, less than a friend.

  ‘I . . .’ His eyes darted over her body. She was slim but her posture was all strength; she was very like Laurie in her stance. Powerful and athletic, she crossed her arms and narrowed her eyes as she examined Alex.

  Visions of a prison cell entered his mind. He could see Victor Lazar, the serial killer, his squat body on the bed, whispering to Alex through the cell door, teasing him. Flashes of an orphanage – the final stand-off with Victor, where Alex had rescued his daughter and the police had lost Victor. He was never to be seen again and the police blamed Alex.

  Memories, so vivid and violent, jostled in his mind, confusing and distracting him. Why now?

  ‘Who are you?’ he said, realising the feebleness of his voice. He cleared his throat, trying to calm the rapid thump of his heartbeat. ‘Why do I know you?’

  The woman’s cool expression flickered for a second. Her eyes widened in surprise before she got it under control. Alex saw it. She hadn’t expected him to recognise her. Why not?

  ‘You don’t know me, Dr Madison.’ Alex saw her eyes dart to the mirror and back. She bit her lip. She’d lost her composure for an instant.

  The man in the suit, his expression stony, said, ‘We found Dr Madison outside complex E.’

  The woman tilted her head, examining Alex. ‘I see.’ She cleared her throat. Her composure was back. ‘But you didn’t find what you were looking for?’

  Alex thought carefully about his reply. There was much more to this situation than he could fathom. However, they seemed to think he was worth talking to.

  ‘I think I did,’ said Alex, knowing his lies needed to be few and far between. He was looking for them and they knew it. But who was this woman? A doctor, a surgeon? Had she been at one of the hospitals – London City?

  But the woman shook her head. ‘I’m afraid you didn’t,’ she said.

  The man murmured a few words in Russian and she shook her head again.