The History Suite (#9 - The Craig Modern Thriller Series)

by Catriona King

  His voice fell away and Craig knew instantly what was wrong. He did the sums quickly; Jake was in his late twenties, which put his parents most likely at fifty and his grandparents in their seventies or eighties now. Someone was ill. When Jake recovered he said the words.

  “My grandfather has lung cancer. He never even smoked and he has lung cancer!” The outrage in his voice was palpable, as if the fates hadn’t played fair. “He’s been given three months to live. Three lousy months…”

  Craig nodded. Cancer had taken both his father’s parents years before and he could still remember them wasting away. He forced the memories down and spoke quietly.

  “What can I do to help? Do you need time off? I can arrange compassionate leave if that would help?”

  Jake raised his eyes and Craig saw tears beginning to form. He held the younger man’s gaze. Jake’s eyes held the confusion of the soon-to-be bereaved, frantically searching for ways to hold back the coming tide. After a moment he shook his head.

  “Thank you, sir, but I don’t know what to do yet. My granddad’s the only father I remember and my gran needs my help nursing him, but for my sanity’s sake I need to work.”

  Craig knew the young officer was incapable of making the choice so he made it for him.

  “What if you work flexitime for a while? Come in late, fit in the hours as and when?”

  Jake’s eyes lit up. “Could I do that? Really? It would mean I could help sort things out in the mornings, then pop back to check on them mid-afternoon.” He nodded furiously, grabbing at Craig’s offer. “Yes, please, sir. I won’t abuse it, I promise. I’ll make up the hours.”

  Craig smiled and waved away his thanks. “Don’t worry about the hours, we’ll sort those out. And come back to me if there’s anything more I can do.” He stood up briskly. “Now, off you go and I’ll sort it outwith Nicky. I’ll let the others know as necessary.”

  Jake left the office thanking him profusely and Craig smiled, hoping that someone would do the same for his imaginary kids when the day came.

  Chapter Three

  University Faculty of Medicine. 12 p.m.

  Timothy Taylor rose from behind his imposing desk and crossed to the shelves that lined one wall of his office, each one laden with books. Their covers were hard and soft, card and paper, and even, in the case of some older tomes, fine leather mottled with age. They were written in several languages, to show that he was an educated man, and their subject matters supported that. There were books on pathology and biochemistry, ageing in different cultures and religions, gerontology, longevity and even one on cryogenics after death. Subjects that a layman might assume would assist his work and help the patients that he served.

  Taylor had chosen his future career in his first year at medical school, inspired by his elderly parents and his own fear of death. While other students were excited by surgery and paediatrics, he focused on the ailments of the old. Not because he particularly cared about their frail, bent bodies, but because he feared the deterioration of his own and was intent on preventing it. Like King Canute, he was determined to hold back the tide, but of ageing rather than the sea. Where a Hollywood starlet obsessed with keeping her looks might seek Botox and surgery, Tim Taylor explored medication and cellular redesign.

  He was good at what he did, but more than that, timing had been his friend. In a world with an ageing population and baby boomers young in the swinging sixties who refused to ‘go gentle into that good night’ unless they were wrinkle and cellulite free, people threw funding at his specialty like it was the Holy Grail. Taylor had seized it gratefully and climbed up the increasingly vertical career ladder until he’d finally reached a Professor’s Chair. Now he was pleased with where he sat in life.

  He had tenure at work and tenure at home, in the shape of his younger wife, Miranda. At thirty she was starting to fray a little around the edges but it was nothing that a quick nip and tuck wouldn’t fix. And if she wouldn’t have one, well there were plenty more nubile medical students where he’d found her…

  He had his own research unit at St Mary’s with human guinea pigs, and best of all he never had to touch a patient again; he had plenty of junior staff to do that. All he had to do was find out what made some people age slowly and others fast, try interventions to improve things and write learned papers about the best. Meanwhile he would search for the one thing he really wanted, how to slow his own fifty-year-old body’s deterioration before he joined the grey, faceless ranks that he loathed so much.

  Taylor had just selected a book on skin ageing and walked back to his desk when his thoughts were interrupted by a loud buzz. He jabbed the button on his intercom and his young secretary’s voice echoed through.

  “A Superintendent Craig and Captain Smith are here to see you, Professor.”

  He tutted irritably. “Do they have an appointment?”

  The girl’s voice quivered anxiously. “No, sir. But they say it’s urgent.” She hesitated for a moment, wondering whether he’d understood the significance of Craig’s rank, and decided to add. “They’re the police.”

  Taylor barked back sarcastically. “The Superintendent part gave that away, Rachael.” He sighed. “Oh, very well. Send them in.”

  He folded his hands on his desk in what he thought was a suitably professorial pose, allowing his glasses to slide forward slightly on his nose. It made him look down his nose at people, literally, and experience said it had a satisfyingly intimidating effect. It may have done with students or elderly patients but he was dealing with something quite different in Craig.

  The two men entered and it only took Craig seconds to sum the professor up. Educated definitely, they didn’t bestow the title without that. Arrogant? Undoubtedly. They’d heard him bark at his secretary and his carefully arranged pose said so as well. Used to underestimating people’s intelligence? Probably. Teaching students who he could intimidate with long words would allow plenty of opportunity for that. In the kingdom of the blind, the one-eyed man is king.

  Craig hoped that Taylor’s choice of a secretary just out of school was based on the same desire to intimidate, rather than a more carnal one. And his choice of specialty? Taylor was definitely an expert in his field, but was he motivated by care for the elderly or scientific curiosity? Craig settled on the latter and flashed his badge, altering his previously unbiased manner to cool disdain.

  “Thank you for seeing us, Professor Taylor. I’m Superintendent Craig and this is Captain Ken Smith, seconded to us for a year from the army.”

  Taylor looked down his nose and he didn’t like what he saw. He wasn’t bothered by their professions or ranks or intimidated generally by the police, what he didn’t like was visible in both of the men standing in front of his desk. Where others might just have seen men in suits Timothy Taylor saw the things they had that he was beginning to lose. Craig and Smith were fit and muscular and Taylor pictured their muscles taut, unaffected yet by waning testosterone. Both had full heads of hair just as he’d bet their grandfathers’ had had; genetic balding wasn’t their lot and chronological balding was still decades away. Taylor hated them both on sight but he hated Craig most, for his smooth olive skin that barely wrinkled at all.

  While the academic broke the men down to the sum of their biological parts Craig could feel his hackles begin to rise. So he did something he rarely did; he took a seat without the offer of one and motioned Ken to do the same. Tim Taylor hadn’t uttered a word since they’d entered, so finally Craig did.

  “Do you know why we’re here, Professor Taylor?”

  Craig’s words broke the academic’s trance and he shook his head, reflecting the light from the window off his scalp. Between his balding and glasses he looked older than the fifty Davy had said he was. Taylor pushed his glasses up his nose, knowing that Craig wasn’t playing his game.

  “No. Why are you here?”

  Craig smiled. He’d given Taylor his title but he had conveniently omitted theirs. He didn’t give a damn about la
bels but it told him something about the man.

  “As you know, there’s been a death on the E.M.U.”

  Taylor nodded vaguely, giving nothing away.

  “Then you know it was a member of staff?”

  Taylor squinted as if Craig had issued a challenge.

  “I heard something like that.”

  “You haven’t been on the unit?”

  Taylor hesitated for a moment then shook his head. “Not since Wednesday. I’ve been working on a paper for a conference next week.”

  It was too convenient. Eleanor Rudd had been murdered on Thursday and the Prof just happened to have been absent since the day before.

  “When you aren’t there, who leads the patients’ medical care?”

  Taylor opened a book on his desk and Ken stiffened. It was rude; more than that, it reminded him of his army boss, Major James. Perhaps they issued handbooks on rudeness once you reached a certain rank. If they did Craig hadn’t read his, but he had read the one about uncooperative witnesses. He lurched forward, shocking the professor into leaning back and abandoning his book.

  “I asked you a question, Professor.”

  Taylor reinstated his earlier posture and narrowed his eyes. “I heard you, Mr Craig. My deputy is a staff-grade doctor: Dr Patrick Hamilton. He was in charge when whoever it was died.”

  Whoever it was? The callousness took Craig’s breath away.

  “The deceased was Nurse Eleanor Rudd.”

  As Craig said it both men saw Taylor’s response before he could hide it. His eyes widened and his face grew pale; his hands froze mid-air above the book on his desk. He looked as if he was going to be sick or cry and Craig didn’t imagine that he often did either one.

  “Did you know her?”

  The answer was obvious, as was just how well Taylor had known her, but he lied anyway, dropping his eyes and waving a hand vaguely in the air.

  “I recall meeting her a few times. She covered when Sister Gormley was away.”

  Craig was undeterred. “Did you know her well?”

  His emphasis left no room for ambiguity. Ken’s eyes widened; Craig was implying Taylor’s relationship with Rudd had been sexual.

  Tim Taylor glanced up defiantly, but his play-acting didn’t fool anyone.

  “No, I didn’t. I knew her in the way that I knew every nurse on the ward – to say hello. Nurses are there to care for the patients, not to socialise with.”

  In Craig’s experience that didn’t stop many men. He glanced at Taylor’s wedding ring, added ‘affair?’ to his query list and rose abruptly, surprising the other men.

  “Thank you, Professor. That will be all. We may need to speak again.”

  He left the room briskly, leaving Ken to catch up. When they reached the car park Craig finally spoke.

  “Sorry about the abrupt exit, but it had a point.”

  “You wanted him to know you didn’t believe him, but not to show your complete hand.”

  Craig nodded. “Exactly. You saw his reaction when I mentioned Eleanor Rudd?”

  Smith smiled. “He nearly threw up.”

  “Not the reaction of a casual acquaintance. Taylor knew her much better than he’s admitting, but in what context is the question. Sex is the obvious conclusion, but that doesn’t mean it’s correct. It’s lazy to go there before we rule out other reasons first.”

  They climbed into Craig’s ageing Audi and Ken shook his head. Craig smiled, pleased that he was disagreeing with him; he’d been far too deferential since he’d joined the team in July.

  “OK, then. Tell me what you think.”

  Smith made a face that said he was still working it out then he spoke.

  “OK. Taylor knew that a member of E.M.U. staff had been killed, but he didn’t care enough to find out which one. That tells us something about the good professor; basically that he doesn’t give a damn about his staff.”

  Craig nodded. “Agreed. The death had barely registered until we mentioned Rudd’s name. Carry on.”

  Smith pushed back his blond hair. Craig had noticed it was getting longer now that he was on civvy street and wondered when the earring pointed to by the hole in his earlobe would appear; hopefully not at work or they’d be having words. Smith continued.

  “OK, so Taylor doesn’t care about his staff, except possibly Sister Gormley who he knew by name, and that felt like a professional relationship to me.”

  Craig nodded. “My bet is she’s too old for him.”

  Smith stared at him curiously but he shook his head.

  “So his reaction to Rudd says that there was something between them, but what it was is the question. Taylor’s married, judging by the ring and the ‘Happy Family’ photo on his desk, but that would be no obstacle for lots of men I know.”

  Craig nodded again. He was the faithful type but the military and police were full of macho men and some of them regarded their marriage vows as flexible, especially when they were out of town. ‘Detachment Rules’ – what happened on tour stayed on tour.

  “OK, so we have a possible affair. What else could have been going on between them?”

  Smith knew Craig probably already had a list of answers but he hazarded a guess.

  “If they weren’t having an affair then maybe Rudd was doing something for him. Perhaps she was stealing ward drugs or spying on the unit staff for him or…” He paused and Craig smiled at the Machiavellian look that appeared on his face, knowing exactly what was coming next. “Maybe she was blackmailing him!”

  It almost matched his list.

  “She wasn’t stealing drugs. Taylor could get any drugs he wanted; he’s a doctor. But I agree with the rest. Eleanor Rudd could have been his mistress, spying for him on the unit or doing a work project for him, which I think is unlikely. Taylor strikes me as the type to keep his work tightly controlled; I can’t see him trusting anyone else. The blackmail idea is interesting. You’re saying that she might have had something over him that he wanted kept quiet?”

  Smith shrugged. “Why not? I’m sure nurses hear all sorts of things.” He paused for a moment and then changed tack. “Did you notice Taylor’s hands? They’re strong enough to have strangled someone.”

  Craig shook his head. “They are, but Taylor’s reaction when he heard Rudd’s name tells me he didn’t even know she was dead, unless he’s a damn good actor. There’s something I want to check with John before I say yes to him as a suspect.”

  He started the Audi, listening as it coughed into life. The coughs were getting longer nowadays and their recovery less clean, even with the linctus of expensive engine oil. It was time for a new car. Craig patted the old car’s dashboard affectionately, as if he was patting his dog Murphy’s back, then he pulled away from the university and drove up the Malone Road, heading for the lab.

  ***

  St Mary’s canteen. 1 p.m.

  Liam peered suspiciously at the cling-wrapped sandwich in his hand, trying to guess what it contained. After several seconds it still didn’t have a name so he abandoned it in favour of a plate of beans and chips and shoved his tray along the metal counter towards the till. Jake was already there, paying for a plate of green stuff and a tub of something white. Liam sneaked up behind him and gave a food review.

  “That crap will kill you, you know. There’re all sorts of pesticides in the ground and they seep into the plants.”

  Jake glanced round as the rest of the canteen’s occupants did the same. “Say it a bit louder, Liam. I don’t think the chef heard you.”

  He carried his tray towards a table leaving Liam puzzling about what he’d meant. Five minutes later they were full of baked beans and grass and Liam leaned back and slurped his cup of tea.

  “Well, it’s pretty clear nobody liked Florence, isn’t it?”

  Jake screwed up his face quizzically. “Who’s Florence? I thought the victim’s name was Eleanor.”

  Liam shook his head. “God, do they teach you lads nothing at college nowadays? Florence Nightingale? Rin
g any bells? She was only the most important nurse that ever lived.”

  Jake snorted. “I know who Florence Nightingale was. I just didn’t know it was a generic term for nurses.”

  “Well it is, so now you know.” Liam gazed wistfully into the distance. “I dated some lovely Florences in my time.”

  Jake retorted, quick as a flash. “And they all dumped you because you forgot their name.”

  Liam guffawed, conceding that had probably had something to do with it. Jake sipped his bottled water and then asked a question.

  “Isn’t your wife a nurse?”

  Liam went to shake his head then he stopped himself. Danni worked part-time as a nursery nurse.

  “I suppose she is actually.” Liam smiled. “But I remembered her name from day one.”

  “She’d have killed you if you hadn’t.”

  At five-feet odd Danni might have been tiny compared to her burly husband but she was easily his match.

  Jake steered the discussion back to the case. “OK, so Eleanor Rudd wasn’t well liked, but no-one we’ve spoken to so far hated her enough to bump her off.”

  “You think.”

  “OK, I don’t think they hated her enough. Mind you, that sister was fairly caustic about her.”

  Liam nodded, thinking of their conversation with Newman Ward’s sister, Jane Norton. He’d dated lots of nurses before they became sisters and met a couple of St Mary’s sisters on jobs in recent years. Laurie Johns, a sister in Obstetrics; she’d been a murder victim who’d met a very sticky end, and Mary McHenry in admissions, who’d been a lady of the first degree. Jane Norton fell somewhere between the two. All sweetness and smiles when they’d arrived on Newman that morning, bending over backwards to do everything to help, but less than complimentary about their victim and acidic about a few other members of her staff. All except Tim Taylor, the big boss; Norton had practically fainted with ecstasy when they’d mentioned his name.

  Liam decided it was safe to venture one of his erotic fantasies since Craig wasn’t around.

  “Here, I wonder if Taylor runs that place like a harem. You know, all those women and him the big man.”