The Health of Strangers

by Lesley Kelly

  12

  Mona had spent quarter of an hour reviewing all the opportunities in Amanda’s bedroom, and come to the conclusion there was only one viable option. She manoeuvred herself over to the dressing table, and using her head, she knocked a framed picture of Amanda and Heidi onto the floor. To her disgust it bounced slightly out of reach. She slowly manipulated her chair next to it, then raised it up, and dropped it onto the glass with all her weight.

  Carefully, she tilted the chair forward until her head was on the bed, then she slowly slid down, until her knees were on the floor. Keeping her hand as far back as she could, she then tipped on to one side, so she was lying on the floor. She edged over to the broken photograph, and reached behind her. Her hand clasped around a shard, which pricked her finger. She resisted the instinct to drop it, leant it against the silk restraint and moved its sharp edge up and down. To her relief, she felt the material give way. A couple of minutes later she was free.

  She stood up and looked round for her phone, glass crunching beneath her feet. She was standing on the photograph frame. Impatiently she kicked it away, and it shot across the room, scattering not one, but two pictures as it went. Mona picked them both up. One picture, the one which had been shown to the world, was of Amanda and Heidi. The other showed Amanda with another girl, a blonde. The two girls had their arms round each other’s shoulders, and their heads were leaning against each other, a perfect portrait of intimacy.

  Her mobile rang again. Following the sound of ringing, she sprinted through to the other room and answered it, the photograph still in her hand.

  ‘Mona?’ whispered Bernard.

  Whispering was never good. ‘What’s happened?’

  ‘I’m in Dunblane,’ the mumbling continued. ‘The Police Station was shut, so I found the cottage where Heidi was staying but I got here and she’s dead . . .’

  ‘Shit.’

  ‘Yeah, and Kevin’s here but he’s not K . . .’

  ‘I know.’

  ‘You do?’ Bernard sounded surprised. ‘Anyway, Kevin’s got the Virus, now some guy on a motorbike has just pulled up and gone into the house. Do you think that’s K?’

  Mona put her hand against her forehead and closed her eyes. ‘Probably. Has he seen you?’

  ‘No, I don’t think so. I’m hiding in my car and waiting for the HET emergency response team.’

  Mona leaned on the sideboard. ‘Here’s what you do. You start your engine, drive for five minutes then dial 999 again, OK? Then phone me and tell me you’re still alive.’

  There was a silence at the other end of the line.

  ‘Bernard?’

  There was some static, then her partner’s voice came through loud and clear. ‘What if the motorbike guy kills Kevin?’

  Mona felt more than her usual sense of irritation with Bernard. Could he not just get out of there and leave it to the local Police? ‘There’s nothing you can do. Get your arse moving. OK?’

  There was another pause before he answered. ‘OK. I’m leaving now.’

  Mona shoved her mobile into her bag. She turned to go, then stopped short when she heard a very faint movement. Dropping her bag, she crept over and peered out into the flat. A figure was gently pushing open the door to Amanda’s room. As it opened, the hallway was illuminated, and she could see a long, thin, shadow on the floor. Had K returned? She stepped back and looked round for a weapon. Before she could find anything of use, the door to the living room opened. She slammed it with all her might and was rewarded with a scream of pain from the intruder. She yanked the door back open, and the man fell forward into the room.

  ‘Maitland!’

  ‘Jesus!’ Her colleague rubbed his injured nose. ‘Last time I act as your backup.’

  ‘Sorry. Thought you were someone else. How did you know I was here?’

  ‘Bernard left me a phone message.’

  She grabbed her bag. ‘We need to get back to the office.’

  ‘OK. You dropped something.’ Maitland picked up the photograph. He went to pass it to Mona then hesitated. ‘I know her.’

  ‘You know her? From where? Is she another Christian?’

  ‘No, no, nothing like that.’ He turned the photo round to face Mona. ‘I met that girl the night we went to the rave. She was going on about how wonderful K was.’

  They stared at each other, then back at the picture.

  ‘The two of them look pretty cosy. Reckon she’s a dyke?’

  ‘I don’t know. I really don’t.’ Mona took the photograph back. ‘We need to get back to the office sharpish.’

  She opened up her bag and was delighted to find that both her purse and her car keys were still there. She’d pictured Amanda making off in the pool car, probably the only thing that could make her current explanation to Paterson even worse. She headed out of the flat and ran down the tenement stairs, leaving Maitland to pull the door shut and follow her.

  ‘So, what’s going on?’ asked Maitland, as they climbed in.

  Mona gave him as quick an overview as possible. Maitland listened in silence, shaking his head from time to time to indicate his opinion of his colleagues’ stupidity.

  ‘And now you’re going to have to phone Paterson and tell him all this?’ he asked.

  ‘No, Maitland,’ she said, putting the car into gear. ‘I’m driving. You’ll have to do it for me.’

  Maitland rolled his eyes and dialled the number. After a few seconds he said, ‘There’s no answer, and his voicemail’s full.’

  Mona silently cursed Paterson’s mobile phone skills. ‘Phone Bernard and check he’s still alive.’

  Silence filled the car while Maitland attempted to make contact.

  ‘Bern? You OK?’

  Mona listened to Maitland’s side of the conversation, which consisted of him saying ‘yup’ at regular intervals.

  ‘OK, pal, stay where you are. Let the big boys deal with this now.’ He hung up. ‘He’s sitting in a lay-by a few miles down the road, waiting for the Police and ambulance service.’ He laughed. ‘Poor Bernard. I bet he wet himself when he realised that bloke had turned up.’

  ‘Don’t be mean, Maitland.’ She tried to work out what to do. ‘Bernard did his best.’

  ‘Red light!’

  ‘Shit!’ She slammed on the brakes. ‘Oh, God. There’s nothing else for it – you’ll have to phone CID.’

  Maitland looked at her, incredulity wiping the smirk from his face. ‘And say what?’

  ‘We need a search put on Amanda Harris and her boyfriend.’

  Maitland pulled out his phone. Mona attempted to tune out as he explained to someone from CID exactly what had been going on, but even from the driver’s seat she could hear yelling at the other end.

  ‘Yes, Sir, we’re heading back to the office now.’ Maitland hung up, put his mobile in his pocket, and looked over at her. ‘And that was the phone call that puts an end to your and Bernard’s careers. Well, your career, anyway. It wasn’t like Bernard had one to begin with.’

  ‘Thanks for the support.’ Mona kept her eyes on the road. ‘What did CID say?’

  ‘They’re on it. Circulating Amanda’s Green Card info to all airports and ferry terminals. Sending additional backup to Bernard. What you’d expect really. And we are under strict instructions to head back to the office and not move until they contact us. But you know the best bit?’

  ‘What?’

  ‘You’ve still got to tell the Guv.’

  ‘Oh, God.’

  ‘Shall I try his number again?’

  ‘Thanks, you really are too kind, but I think we’ll wait until we get to the office now.’

  ‘You know, I’ve heard he literally breathes fire if you annoy him enough.’

  ‘Shut up.’ She pulled the car round and into the HET car park. ‘Maitland, how do we know about the existence of K?’

  ‘E-mail signatures. Drunken blonde going on about him at the rave. And didn’t you say Amanda sent some bloke up to Dunblane?’

 
‘Yeah exactly – she was definitely giving the orders. It didn’t sound like she was in thrall to some cult leader.’

  There was a pause as Maitland processed the information.

  ‘And some blonde woman throws herself at you, very eager to tell you all about him.’ She brought the car to a stop and climbed out. ‘We’ve been played. Amanda and her female friend are behind all of this Camus stuff, but all the drugs are bought on Heidi’s credit card, and the e-mails are signed by K. She’s keeping herself well out of it. If the dark-haired guy I met is K, I got the impression he wasn’t the sharpest tool in the pack. Whatever he was, he wasn’t a cult leader.’

  Mona abandoned the car across two parking spaces, and they hurried into the building.

  ‘Where’s the Guv?’ Mona burst into the office. The only person there was Carole Brooks. ‘And what are you doing here?’

  ‘Michael’s back home now, and my husband’s looking after him so I thought I’d come in,’ she said. ‘I don’t know where Mr Paterson is though. I’ve not seen him since I got here. Have you tried him on his mobile?’

  ‘Of course,’ said Mona, dialling the number again. There was a faint but distinctive ringing sound from within Paterson’s office.

  Maitland peered in the window. ‘The Guv’s not a fan of modern technology,’ he chuckled.

  Mona thought she might just snap and hit him.

  ‘Are you OK?’ Carole asked.

  ‘She’s looking a bit peaky because she’s just committed career suicide.’

  ‘Shut up, Maitland.’

  He ambled out, still smirking.

  Carole sat down next to Mona. ‘What’s wrong?’

  Before Mona could unburden herself, Marcus appeared in the doorway.

  ‘Can I have a word?’

  Mona put her head in her hands. From under her hair she said, ‘Is there any chance at all this could wait until later, Marcus?’

  There was a brief silence from the world outside her bob, then Marcus said, ‘It’s just that I was thinking about the Toller guy that you mentioned, and it’s really been bugging me because I was sure I’d heard the name before, I mean it’s quite distinctive, isn’t it? Anyway, I realised why it was familiar.’

  Mona stayed still.

  ‘The name Karl Jürgen Toller has been popping up on a couple of websites we monitor.’

  Mona raised her head. He smiled back at her.

  ‘And if I can use one of these, I can show you what they say.’

  ‘Use mine,’ said Carole. ‘Google is still open if you want to look for him.’

  ‘Google?’ The IT guy laughed. ‘The sites we look at don’t come up in a search engine. We’re talking the hidden web here.’ He reached into his pocket and pulled out a small notebook, which Mona tried to look at. He smiled politely and manoeuvred it out of her gaze. Using the information in it he typed in a web address which seemed to consist of mostly numbers.

  ‘Et voilà,’ said Marcus. ‘Conspiracy theories relating to Karl Jürgen Toller.’

  She peered at the screen. The site he had uploaded had nothing on it except row after row of densely written white text set on a black background.

  ‘I don’t understand,’ she said. ‘What is it?’

  ‘It’s all kinds of crazy.’ Marcus made a sound that was half snort, half laugh. ‘Think The Children of Camus only with twice the paranoia, and, in fairness to these guys, a lot more research.’ He pointed to the screen. ‘If you click on Toller’s name there,’ he pressed the mouse, ‘it brings up a whole page of why he’s on their hit list.’

  Mona sat down on Carole’s chair, and read the screen with interest.

  ‘So, let’s get this straight. Toller has interests in . . .’

  ‘Is a Director of,’ corrected Marcus.

  ‘Is a Director of a pharmaceutical company manufacturing Luprophen and Hyrdosol.’

  A patented solution to the Viral problem. There are many people who would wish Heidi harm. Mona felt dizzy. ‘I need to speak to Bernard.’

  She dialled his number. It rang twelve times, then his voicemail picked up.

  ‘So, who is Doctor Toller?’ asked Carole.

  ‘He’s not who we thought he was,’ said Mona. ‘We really need to find the Guv.’

  A large and familiar figure appeared in the doorway.

  ‘Why?’

  13

  Bernard put his phone back in his pocket. As usual, his colleague had used the fewest possible words to convey to him that he was an idiot. Let the big boys deal with it. That was how Maitland saw him: some kind of errand boy, or trainee perhaps, good for taking the piss out of and not much else.

  He dug into his pocket and pulled out the letter from his wife. It was pretty crumpled now, so he smoothed it out and carefully tore open the envelope. The letter was three lines long. Three lines. Carrie had managed, in as few words as possible, to let him know that their marriage had failed, due mainly to his many shortcomings. The people in his life weren’t even bothering to waste words on him now. Still, not to worry. When the Guv finally caught up with him he was sure no expletive would be left unused in the dressing-down that was sure to follow their doomed mission.

  Once, for a brief few months, he had been the top badminton player in Scotland. There had been talk that he could be an Olympic hopeful, and a couple of sports magazines had interviewed him. It had been a strange and unnatural feeling, the interviewers probing him for his background, his thoughts on badminton, his view of the world. He didn’t make the team, and the world went back to ignoring him. Did he prefer it this way? He really wasn’t sure.

  Bernard checked his watch. Where was the ambulance? Where were the Police? K could be doing anything to Kevin. A thought crept forward from the back of his brain. He could . . . His hand lingered on the ignition key for a second, then he removed it. He couldn’t.

  Let the big boys deal with it.

  His phone rang. He looked at it for a moment or two, then fired the ignition, and turned the car around.

  The front door was wide open but there was no sign of anyone.

  From inside the house he heard a voice, a strident, angry yell. He couldn’t hear what was being said, but there was no mistaking the tone.

  He stepped silently through the door for the second time, and paused. The house was quiet, but as he listened he could hear the faint groan of the floorboards overhead. Bernard looked up at the hall ceiling and listened as the creaks moved from room to room. He wondered where he’d left the doorstop he had picked up earlier. He scanned the hall, but it wasn’t anywhere to be seen. The door to the living room was ajar; with some trepidation he pushed it open, but Kevin was still lying there, sleeping his restless sleep.

  Bernard placed one foot on the bottom tread of the stair and quickly withdrew after it creaked noisily. Giving up on stealth he walked as swiftly and calmly as he could up the rest of the flight. At the top of the stairs he could see the door to Heidi’s room was open, and a man was bent over searching through her stuff, scrabbling about like a rat on a rubbish heap. Bernard opened his mouth to speak, but his throat was so dry he couldn’t make a sound. He swallowed a couple of times and tried again.

  ‘It’s not there.’

  The stranger swivelled round. He was tall, easily Maitland’s height if not more, with thick, dark hair that fell forward in a long fringe, and a couple of days’ growth of stubble gracing his cheeks. His first thought on seeing him, was that he matched very closely Mona’s description of K from the rave. His second thought was that the guy looked both very tired, and extremely annoyed to see him.

  ‘Who are you?’

  Bernard held onto the door jamb for support and tried to stop his voice from trembling. ‘I’m from the Health Enforcement Team.’

  The man who was probably K stared at him for a second, then burst out laughing. Bernard realised that for a criminal, being caught red-handed by the HET was not the problem that being busted by say, the Police, or even Neighbourhood Watch, presented.r />
  K knelt down and went back to raking through Heidi’s possessions.

  ‘Really – the Loopy and H aren’t there.’

  K turned round, looking interested for the first time in their conversation. ‘What?’

  ‘Did you know that people have died after taking this stuff?’

  With a speed that took Bernard by surprise, K leapt to his feet and grabbed him by the lapels. ‘Are you calling me a murderer, mate?’

  Bernard struggled to get free. ‘Technically, I think it’s culpable homicide.’

  Just as quickly his assailant dropped him, sprinted along the hall and down the stairs. Bernard followed him at a safe distance. In the living room K made straight for the sofa, and grabbed hold of Kevin by his shirt front.

  ‘Wake up! Where’s my gear?’

  Kevin moaned but didn’t open his eyes. K pulled him closer and Kevin’s head fell back, as floppy as a marionette. Raising a hand K slapped him hard across the face. Bernard jumped down the last few steps.

  ‘I really wouldn’t do that.’

  The man stared at him.

  Bernard dived forward and clutched K’s arm. ‘He’s got the Virus.’

  The man dropped Kevin back onto the arm of the sofa. This failed to rouse the sleeper, and a ribbon of blood dripped from his nostril.

  ‘I’m immune,’ said Bernard. ‘Are you?’

  14

  ‘Congratulations, Mona.’ Paterson said. ‘This could really be what it takes to get the HET closed down.’

  Carole was looking at her. Mona could sense that every fibre of her colleague’s body wanted to help her, and that she was trying desperately to think of something to say that would calm the Guv down.

  ‘Is it really that bad, Mr Paterson?’ she asked.