Silent Warpath (Sean Quinlan Book 1)

by Dominic Conlon

  Chapter 4

  The doctor sensed his presence and reacted with surprising speed. Sean was unprepared for the elbow which caught his jaw and sent him sprawling against the table. Sean’s hand closed around a plastic TV remote. He brought it round in a fast hard blow to the man’s head. The man was blinded and his counter punch missed Sean. Sean drove two blows to the chest and followed with a knee to the groin. He fell back but began struggling to his feet almost immediately. Sean punched him hard on the side of the head. The doctor sank to the floor.

  The pillow was still covering Ben’s face. Sean flung it off the bed and checked his pulse. He couldn’t feel anything and Ben’s breathing had stopped. Sean saw the red emergency cord above the bed and pulled it, then turned back to the bed. He began to apply CPR to Ben’s chest though the ribs were probably broken. Hearing a noise behind him he prepared for another attack but it never came. Glancing around Sean saw the doctor leaving through the emergency exit. After ten compressions Sean put his hand underneath Ben’s neck, pinched his nose and gave him the kiss of life.

  He could hear a commotion not far away. Must be the crash team. Sean removed the latex gloves and continued giving CPR until the doctors entered the room.

  ‘Here’s a cup of tea for you.’ The nurse handed him a Styrofoam cup without asking if he wanted one.

  Sean thanked her quietly. While he sipped the tea, memories of Ben flooded in. It was always this way when a friend died.

  Sean excused himself and walked outside to make a call. His mobile looked like any other quad-band mobile but contained an embedded encryption chip which scrambled chosen calls.

  ‘Hello?’ Lomax replied immediately.

  ‘Campbell’s dead’ said Sean bluntly. ‘They made another attempt while he was in hospital and I wasn’t able to save him.’

  ‘Any leads?’

  Sean saw the man approach from the corner of his eye. ‘There is one angle I could try.’

  ‘Ok, see what you can do.’

  Sean ended the call. He looked up to find a man in a smart uniform in front of him. The man removed a card and gave it to Sean. It said ‘Detective Sergeant John Peters, Massachusetts State Police.’

  Natasha had just got off to a fitful sleep when the phone rang. She jerked upright in the bed, momentarily unsure of where she was. The alarm clock showed it was past nine o’clock in the morning. The phone continued to ring and she picked it up wearily.

  ‘Hello, Natasha?’ Although the voice was familiar she couldn’t place it at first. Then she realised it was Sean Quinlan, the man she had met at the hospital.

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘I’m sorry to wake you so soon but I’ve some bad news.’

  ‘Ben?’ she asked hesitantly as she pulled hair out of her eyes.

  ‘I’m very sorry Natasha. He passed away a few minutes ago.’

  Even though she was half expecting it she was still shocked. She didn’t know what to say and ended up saying nothing.

  Sean began to talk again. ‘Someone attempted to kill Ben. The police are at the hospital interviewing people who were in his room. I expect you’ll get a call from them before long.’

  Natasha sat bolt upright. She was fully awake now.

  ‘What happened?’

  ‘I went to the toilet and when I came back the murderer was trying to press a pillow over Ben’s face. I shouted and he escaped through the external door.’

  ‘Oh God!’ she couldn’t believe what she was hearing.

  ‘The police have just taken a statement from me’. Sean paused. ‘Do you know any reason why someone would want to kill Ben?’

  ‘No. Ben was..’ she hesitated. ‘Well I just can’t imagine anyone wanting to do that to Ben.’ She thought for a moment. ‘So Ben was murdered?’

  ‘I am sorry to break it to you like this’ continued Sean. ‘Could I ring someone to come round?’

  ‘No’ she whispered.

  ‘I mean friends or relatives, anyone I could call just to help out?’

  ‘No - no thank you’ she replied more firmly.

  ‘OK, that’s fine. The nurse said the police will want someone who knows him well to formally identify the body. I guess I could do that but I think they would prefer a resident of the USA rather than a visitor. I wondered if you might be able to help? If not, is there someone else I could ring – perhaps someone at work?’

  Natasha thought for a minute. There were many people at work who could go, but in fairness she knew him better than anyone.

  ‘Is there a set time I need to be there?’

  ‘Not really’ said Sean. ‘I could pick you up around 2pm tomorrow if you would like me to take you?’

  Natasha felt relieved. ‘That’s kind of you, thank you.’

  Natasha gave him her address, put the phone down and sank back on the pillow. The sense of despair she had felt earlier returned with renewed force. Tears formed and began to trickle down her cheeks.

  Sean knocked on the plain varnished door of Ben’s apartment. There was no answer. He knocked again and waited a few minutes. Still no answer.

  He retreated back down the stairs and rang the bell of the apartment below. Surprisingly it opened quickly, but only by a fraction. The person lay in shadow.

  ‘Sorry to trouble you but do you know the owner of the apartment above?’

  ‘Who wants to know?’ came the reply. The owner was definitely an elderly female and Sean suspected she lived by herself because of the door chain.

  ‘I’m Sean Quinlan. Ben was a friend of mine.’

  ‘Was?’ queried the frail voice.

  Sean looked down. ‘Yes, was’ he replied. ‘I’m sorry to say he died yesterday.’

  There was a long pause before the chain was released with a quick muttered ‘well, you’d better come in then.’

  He followed the well dressed lady into her apartment. She sat on a floral settee and Sean sat opposite in an old-fashioned arm chair.

  The lady’s fingers plucked aimlessly at her skirt. ‘How did he die?’

  Sean hesitated. ‘He was involved in a road accident.’

  She stared out of the window. ‘He was a good man. He used to do a bit of shopping for me at weekends and made sure that my daily help didn’t miss the cleaning.’

  ‘I’m really sorry to bring such bad news. Do you know if Ben had many visitors recently?’

  The old lady looked sharply at Sean. ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Do you know if he had many friends? Did they call much?’

  The old lady shook her head firmly. ‘He wasn’t one for partying, if that’s what you mean. He had a few friends but they hardly ever used to visit. Generally he kept himself to himself.’

  ‘I see.’ Sean stood up. ‘I’m sorry to have troubled you.’

  The lady followed him to the door. He opened it and turned back for a moment. ‘I don’t suppose Ben let you have a key to his apartment?’ For a second he saw her eyes widen fractionally.

  She peered up at his face then slowly drew back having made her decision. ‘I have a spare somewhere. He asked me to keep it in case he forgot his own. I gave him my spare key too, just in case I lost mine.’ She smiled briefly at the memory.

  Ben’s apartment was a mess. Graffiti was sprayed on the walls. Papers lay scattered about the floor and amongst them Sean saw some post. He felt cool air on his cheek blowing through an open window. A chair lay on its back and several books from a nearby bookcase had been pulled out. A laptop lay in pieces next to the radiator. The old ladies’ hand flew to her face. She walked slowly over to an armchair and sat down heavily.

  Sean picked up some of the plastic pieces from the smashed laptop. On one he found the make and model and made a mental note.

  He walked through to the next room. There was a small but well laid out kitchen. The floor was strewn with the debris of smashed crockery. The phone was still on the wall and had a blinking light indicating a message waiting. A door separated the kitchen from the next room but it hung cra
zily from its hinges, as though someone had tried to barge through it. Sean carefully pushed it back. On the left was a tiny bathroom and facing him was the last room, a bedroom. This was a good size and contained a double bed. The bed linen was piled up in one corner and a mattress sagged against the wall. Clothes from the wardrobe were heaped on top.

  Sean walked back through to the living area. ‘Looks like some party’ he remarked. The old lady didn’t smile.

  Ben’s laptop was a fairly recent model and Sean had no trouble finding one of the same make and model. He then visited a supermarket next door where he found some dark trainers, flashlight and miniature screwdrivers.

  In the car he unscrewed the panel covering the laptop’s hard drive. It was a fairly easy job to remove the drive which he placed in his rucksack together with the flashlight and screwdrivers.

  After nightfall Sean pulled in about fifty yards from Ben’s apartment and waited. He was dressed in all dark clothing and wore the dark trainers he had bought earlier. On the seat next to him was a rucksack containing the hard drive and flashlight. He checked the movement of cars up and down the road, the presence of pedestrians, the sounds of the neighbourhood.

  Satisfied it was clear he drove around the back and parked immediately underneath Ben’s first floor window. He put on some thin elastic gloves and pulled plastic shoe covers over the trainers. Taking the rucksack with him he climbed onto the bonnet, then the roof, standing above the door pillars to avoid denting the thin metal top. He found he could reach up and easily grab the lintel of the window on the first floor. He pulled himself up and slipped his arm into the still open window. He took a quick look around to check that there was no one about before undoing the handle of the larger casement window. He entered the room feet first. Glancing at his watch, he noticed that the whole manoeuvre had taken no more than 20 seconds.

  Not bad for your age, he thought.

  Before Sean moved any further he waited a full minute, partially to let his night vision adjust and partially to listen to the immediate surroundings. When he was satisfied he quietly closed the window and drew all the curtains before turning on a table lamp in the corner.

  He headed straight for the smashed laptop lying by the wall. One large piece still contained part of the mother board and the hard drive. Sean carefully prised out the drive and noticed it had a small dent in it. He fixed the new one into the slot and placed the dented one in his rucksack.

  The mess of paperwork lay on the floor, undisturbed since it had fallen. Getting down onto his knees he lifted each page carefully and inspected them. Replacing each in turn he ensured they kept their position in the pile.

  He looked around the rest of the room, mentally dividing it up into sections, then he began a systematic search. In all probability if Ben had made notes anywhere they would be on his laptop. But he had to check. Forty minutes later he had searched the whole apartment and had found nothing of importance.

  Before he left Sean went over to the phone where the red light was still blinking on the answer machine. He pressed the recall button, ready to turn down the volume if it was too high. There were two messages.

  ‘Ben, it’s Jack Langham from work. I heard you were looking into our archives and having some problems? I may be able to help. I can’t promise anything but if you want we could meet and discuss it and I’ll do my best to sort it out. Tell you what, I’m having a bite to eat on Friday with Frances. You’re welcome to join us – we’re going to the Olive Garden around eight in the evening. We’re going away the following day so if you miss us it will have to keep until we get back.’

  There was a message from Natasha. She sounded hesitant and unsure.

  ‘Hi, Ben. I’ve only just got in. I got your message to say you were coming over. Did I miss you? Give me a call if you haven’t set off yet.’

  Sean had one last look round before making his way out through the window.

  ‘Who is making the identification?’ The man behind the reception desk was friendly and efficient.

  ‘I am’ replied Natasha. She took a deep breath.

  ‘I will need to see some ID.’

  Natasha put her driving licence on the counter and Sean followed with his passport. The man picked up each in turn, making notes on his computer.

  ‘OK’ he replied. ‘Don’t worry. I just need to ask a few questions and then we can go in.’ He turned back to the screen. ‘What is your relationship with the deceased?’

  ‘We were seeing each other’ replied Natasha.

  ‘How long have you known him?’

  ‘Ever since I started working for the company – say three years.’

  The man then asked for her address and contact details, typing them up on the computer. Eventually he finished and asked them to wait for a colleague to show them the way. A young man in a white coat arrived shortly and walked with them towards the main lifts. They descended to the lower basement and followed him down a metallic grey corridor. They waited as he keyed in the combination to enter the mortuary. Before opening the door the young man turned.

  ‘I’ll take you through now. I know this can be very upsetting but if you need to go out in a hurry, just let me know.’ He continued ‘just take a look and confirm that this is the man you have come to identify.’

  They stepped into a room which was several degrees below room temperature. Sean smelt the clinging odour of formaldehyde and disinfectant and saw rows of over-large filing cabinets set into the far wall. The young man spoke to a mortuary attendant briefly. The mortuary attendant went over to a cabinet on the second row, checked the number against the name on the sheet, then unlocked the drawer and pulled it out. The body was draped entirely in a white sheet and the attendant carefully rolled it back to uncover the head.

  There was no doubt that this was Ben. Sean saw Natasha look away from the body and give a small inclination of the head.

  Sean looked back down at his friend. Even though the face had been cleaned up the cuts and wounds from the accident were obvious. Natasha moved to leave and Sean followed her. A tearful Natasha stopped at reception to thank the man for his help.

  Sean wondered about Ben’s things. ‘What happens to the personal effects?’

  ‘Well, they go to the next of kin’ the man replied.

  ‘Ben’s only remaining family are his parents. They live in Perthshire in Scotland.’ Sean thought for a moment. ‘I don’t think it would be a good idea to post them – neither of them is in the best of health.’

  ‘I see’, the man said thoughtfully. ‘We don’t often send effects to next of kin outside of the States.’

  ‘I’m going back to the UK in a fortnight. If you like I could take them with me’ Sean suggested.

  ‘Well, the post-mortem will be completed well before then. Once the police have finished with the effects I’ll see what we can do. I’ll need you to fill out a form and take a form for the parents to sign and post back to say they have received the effects.’

  ‘Thanks’ said Sean. ‘I appreciate it and I think they will too.’

  They made their way out to the car. ‘How long have you known Ben’s parents?’ asked Natasha quietly.

  ‘I met them once, a long time ago now’ Sean told her as they drove out of the car park. ‘Ben invited me up to the highlands in Scotland to go hunting for deer.’

  He caught the expression on her face and smiled. ‘No, I don’t mean hunting with a rifle – at that time Ben was a keen photographer. He had a new camera and wanted to capture a stag,’ Sean recalled. ‘Unfortunately he never got to take the picture. We set off at dawn, climbed several hills and lay waiting for hours in the heather. We never saw a deer – at least not one close enough to shoot. On the way back we blundered into a quagmire – black stuff up to our waists!’

  Sean had hoped the picture might have elicited a smile, but Natasha remained dejected. When they arrived outside the apartment Natasha asked if Sean would like a coffee. Sean hesitated.

  ‘It’s just
that I don’t want to go into an empty apartment today’ she said quickly.

  Sean followed Natasha. They went through a small hallway, inching past a bicycle and through into the living area. She gestured for him to take a seat on the sofa.

  Sean looked around. The room was bright and airy. A coffee table sat in front of the sofa. There was a TV in the corner and a sports bag peeked from behind a cupboard. A coat and scarf were draped over a white painted pine wooden chair.

  ‘How long have you had the bicycle?’

  Natasha thought back. ‘About two years. I bought it during one of my fitness regimes. I actually used it for a month or two to get to work and back. Then the winter set in and every day I found myself having to battle through rain and the colder temperatures to work so I parked it in the hallway until the weather improves.’

  She got up and walked to the kitchen, continuing the conversation. ‘Of course I never got round to using it again, but I can’t face the thought of getting rid of it.’

  She had left her partly open handbag on the floor by the settee. Casually Sean leant over and widened the aperture. He saw an opened envelope that was addressed to her in Ben’s handwriting.

  Quickly he withdrew the single folded sheet of paper and opened it out on the table. ‘It’s five years at least since I rode a bike’ said Sean. He took out his phone and quickly snapped a photo before putting the sheet back. ‘I had a sore bottom for two days afterwards!’

  Natasha appeared with the coffee. ‘You soon get used to it’ she replied as she set the mugs on the table. She produced some cookies and placed them on a plate. ‘Have you been over to see Ben before now?’ she asked as she swirled a biscuit in her cappuccino.

  ‘Once or twice. Ben came over to England to see me a few times.’ He took a sip of the coffee. ‘I wondered if you could tell me a little bit about him?’ asked Sean. The police say he was driving a motorbike but I never knew he had one - I always thought he drove a car.’