by J G Alva
Dunn flicked through some pages.
“A bar fight. By all accounts, he was provoked and never did any time for it.” He looked at them expectantly.
“Continue,” Yilmaz said.
“As I said, commendations from his time in the Navy. Currently managing director of a company called Mitchell Cole.” Nick and Yilmaz exchanged a look. “His financial records seem to be in order. No significant debt. He has a second mortgage, but only ten years left before he has completed all payments on it, and owns the property free and clear. No irregularities of any kind, that we have come across anyway. But as I said, this is only a preliminary assessment. A more detailed assessment might reveal more.
“And then we move on to Arthur Keats, accountant. Fifty eight years old, married, to a Sandra Keats, formerly Sandra White, aged fifty four, and they have one daughter, a Melissa Keats, aged seventeen. Currently Accounts Co-ordinator at Mitchell Cole. Got his accountancy degree from the University of Wolverhampton. His employment record is a little spotty. There’s some missing years that need to be investigated more fully, in order to fill in the blanks. Mr Keats owns his own home, free and clear, and has done so for fourteen years now. He also owns a property in Nice, in the south of France, and another in St. Petersburg, Florida. Again, his financial records appear to be in order – hardly surprising for an accountant. The daughter,” Dunn said, and stopped.
Nick said, “what?”
“Criminal charges. More than one. Drugs. And one for prostitution. She has just been released from a rehabilitation centre, part of the condition of her bail, I believe.”
Nick looked at Yilmaz again. Well, that was something.
“And finally, Jessica Mitchell,” Dunn said, flicking to another file.
Nick felt his stomach muscles knot, and the urge to bolt flittered through his mind once again.
“Jessica Mitchell, neé Taylor, thirty three years of age. Widower. Formerly married to Nicholas Mitchell, now deceased – but I’ll come to that later. Currently owns Mitchell Cole. Not really much to say about her. Took a HND in Beauty Therapy at the University of the West of England but left before finishing the course. Previously worked for Roadeq” – Roadeq had been the company Nick’s cousin worked for – “before she got married to Mr Mitchell. Father deceased, mother still alive, and re-married, to a Mr Gayle Broadman. No children.” Dunn paused, shuffled the papers and then looked at Yilmaz and Nick in turn. He seemed to be debating something, and then said, “let me tell you a little of our procedures here. When your secretary called, Mr Karipidis, to ask us to investigate the names you had given him, our first course of action is a preliminary assessment, which I have detailed for you. Part of this assessment is a dump of files of the subjects from various publicly accessible sources, such as the electoral register, but another part of the preliminary assessment is something we call a vis-rec. Short for visual reconnaissance. This is essentially to confirm that what we have on paper is correct. A visual reconnaissance usually consists of following the subject through a working day, with phone calls to establish location and routine. As many of your subjects are involved in this company Mitchell Cole, it was not unusual for the vis-recs to overlap. However, in the course of the vis-rec on Mrs Mitchell something unusual came up. She only owns one property, the home she shared with the late Mr Mitchell in Mangotsfield, but in the vis-rec we conducted on her she never went home. Instead, she went spent her time at another address.” Dunn sighed. “Seeing as I didn’t think this was a typical day for Mrs Mitchell, I ordered another vis-rec, but at the end of that second day she returned to the same residence as she had on the day previously. To the home of Michael Ross.”
“What?” Nick said. He wasn’t processing, it wasn’t going in.
“Mr Michael Ross,” Dunn repeated, tapping his files in to order on his desk with the palms of his hands. “It is possible that they are only friends, but the vis-rec confirmed that they are...more intimate than that. A doorstep kiss goodbye, no less, but it was reported by one of our men that it got...quite heated.” Dunn looked at them over the tops of his glasses. “And that she is about four months pregnant.”
Nick made a noise, part cough, part moan, which he stifled by putting his hand over his mouth and turning away.
Yilmaz asked, “do you know if this Mr Ross is the father?”
Dunn smiled thinly.
“That would not be covered with the preliminary assessment. But...” He paused, weighing his words. “She stayed there both nights we surveilled. That would be my guess, yes.”
So. Mike had certainly secured Mitchell Cole in one way. Nick thought he might be sick. He got up from his chair, caught his foot on one of the chair legs, almost fell, and then walked to the other side of the room. He wasn’t sure what he was thinking, he couldn’t detect any words, he just seemed to be consumed with something like static in his head, a waterfall of chaos that seemed to blot out everything. Dimly, he heard the two men behind him talking, but he didn’t bother to take in any of the words. He felt a hand on his arm, and looking down he saw that it was connected to Yilmaz, and he let him lead him to the door, and then to the lift, down and out through the lobby on to the pavement, where he finally thought he could draw breath, but when he did, on his exhalation he released some sort of noise, half wail, half war cry, that he had no control over, and Yilmaz had to struggle somewhat to get him into the limousine.
◆◆◆
CHAPTER 14
“She can’t have kids,” Nick said, almost desperately, after they had returned to the penthouse suite. “We both went to the doctor and he told us: we can’t have kids. Dunn’s information must be wrong. He must have the wrong woman.”
“There are pictures in the files,” Yilmaz said carefully. “You should look.”
“I don’t want to look at them,” Nick shouted, pushing past Yilmaz and walking to stare through the patio doors.
The women were out somewhere, shopping he supposed, and Nick was grateful for that, he couldn’t face them, especially not Rebekah. No, no, it couldn’t be Jessica, she couldn’t have kids, Dr Karr had told them that, Nick had been sitting there in the office holding Jessica’s hand while he told them. Jessica hadn’t cried, Nick suddenly remembered, but then again he hadn’t shown much emotion either, they had just been...quiet. Had she seemed relieved? No, no. He didn’t think so. But had she?
Yilmaz was behind him suddenly, and he thrust the picture under Nick’s nose. Nick turned away but not before he caught a glimpse of it, and almost against his will turned back to look at it. Yes, it was her. She was standing at the edge of a wall, looking off somewhere to her right, a little puffy around the edges from sleep, a loose dressing gown around her, and the bulge, unmistakable, it could only be one thing.
“Oh Jesus,” Nick said, swallowing something, and leant his head against the glass.
“It is her?” Yilmaz asked, from behind him.
Nick couldn’t answer.
“It is her?” Yilmaz pressed.
“Yes,” Nick croaked.
“So. It is a miracle.”
Nick laughed, short and bitter.
“I don’t think so. Somehow, I just don’t think so.”
“Then what? She has put on much weight?”
Nick laughed again, another short, bitter bark.
“If you knew Jessica, you’d know she’d never allow herself to get that fat.”
“Then what?”
Nick shrugged, stepping away from the doors. He wandered aimlessly in to the room, looked around himself, wondered fuzzily how he had come to be here, wasn’t sure he could remember, wasn’t sure he wanted to remember.
“She’s with him,” he spat, like he was coughing up mucus.
“Yes,” Yilmaz said. “Not so difficult to believe. They must now be working together, no? She is sad. She needs a friend.”
“No,” Nick said, with surety. “She’s with him. Maybe she was with him when she was with me. But they’re together.”
“And she is to have his child.”
“Don’t,” Nick said, putting a hand up to stop Yilmaz, closing his eyes. He had never felt so empty. He didn’t know why he should care so much. He had lived without her for two years, she had faded from his life, why should he be upset that she had carried on with her life without him? Hadn’t he expected as much? He wasn’t sure. Perhaps because she was with him; that it was this that was the final betrayal.
“So. It is not a miracle baby, no?”
Nick shook his head.
“Maybe she has a pillow under her dress, eh?” Yilmaz said. Nick looked at him to see if he was joking but his face was grim. “Maybe she put the pillow there for you, so that the photograph man would be able to show you. You think this is what happened?”
Nick shook his head again.
“No.”
“Nick?”
“I don’t know,” Nick said, pacing the room, and eventually came back to the patio doors. There was a patio beyond the doors, three lines of shrubs tracing the edge of the patio, and beyond that a small lattice archway and more flowers.
There was silence a moment. Nick tried to stop his head going around and around, like a dog chasing its tail.
“I am thinking,” Yilmaz said, and then paused. “Maybe it is the doctor.”
Nick turned.
“What?”
“Maybe the doctor does not have it right.”
Nick thought about that. Dr Alan Karr had always seemed to be a kind and understanding man. But that didn’t make him infallible.
Another thought hit Nick; he didn’t like it, but it made more sense to him.
He turned to Yilmaz.
“Call up Dunn. Get him to get me the home address of a Dr Alan Karr. That’s kaye aye are are. And I need some money.”
Yilmaz nodded, went to the phone in the corner, and stopped.
“What are you going to do?” Yilmaz asked.
Nick smiled, but the smile felt like a rictus grin on his face.
“Find out the truth,” he said.
◆◆◆
Karr lived in a clean, three storey Georgian house on the edge of Redland.
It was a nice neighbourhood, with trees and parks, old couples walking dogs, new or nearly new cars lining the curbs.
Karr’s house was ringed by a stone wall, and hidden behind two old oaks. Nick closed the wrought iron gate softly behind him, and walked up the path to the front door. The oaks swayed softly in the breeze. He rang the doorbell, and waited. As he heard footsteps approaching from inside he wondered what he would do if Karr recognised him. But the man must see hundreds of patients every day, and it had been more than two years since his last visit. It was a dim possibility, but if he did...just what would he do?
A pleasant, healthy looking blonde woman answered the door with a smile.
“Hello?”
Nick tried his most disarming expression and said, “I was wondering if I could speak to Dr Karr, please?”
“He’s in, but...” She looked over her shoulder. “Who should I say is calling?”
He wasn’t going to get anywhere without a way past this woman. Nick thought quickly.
"I'm here to collect a parcel," he said.
The woman frowned.
Nick explained, "the courier said that it was delivered here. By mistake. To a Dr Karr."
"Oh. Okay. I'll just go and get him. Can you wait here?"
Nick smiled.
"Of course."
She retreated in to the house, leaving the door slightly ajar. Nick looked around, stepped in through the front door, and closed it behind him.
He was in.
He looked up to see Dr Alan Karr coming down the hall towards him.
Nick had money on him, but looking at the house he thought bribing Karr would be a ridiculous idea, he already had a lot of money, why would he risk his reputation for only a little bit more, no, he’d have to use more than monetary persuasion to get him to talk.
He was shorter than Nick remembered, a thin serious man in his forties who wore glasses and, when Nick had visited him in his professional capacity, suits that seemed a little too tight for him. Now he was in chinos and a grey sweater over a light blue shirt.
“Hello?” Karr said pleasantly, peering at him through his glasses.
“Dr Karr,” Nick said pleasantly.
"Yes?"
"I believe you took receipt of a parcel last week." Nick smiled. "It was actually for me."
Karr frowned.
"I don't remember getting a parcel."
"The courier told me you signed for it."
Karr shook his head.
"Sorry. No. I didn't sign for any parcel last week."
Nick pretended to think.
"There must be some mix up," he said. "Can I use your phone?"
Karr wasn't completely convinced, but he didn't sense any danger, so he nodded and said, "there's a phone in my study."
"Thank you."
"Come with me."
The study sat directly off the front hall, a converted lounge now home to bookshelves full of medical texts, a large mahogany desk, a computer and a printer, and an old fireplace with a potted plant in it.
Karr indicated the phone on his desk but Nick ignored it.
"Nice study," he said, looking around.
Karr's frown deepened. Now he sensed something.
"What's going on here?"
"What do you think is going on?"
Karr looked grim.
"I don't think there ever was a parcel."
He picked up the phone.
Nick said, "before you call anybody, I want to talk to you about a friend of mine. A Mr Nick Mitchell. I believe he was one of your patients.”
Karr swallowed, a confirmation, in Nick’s eyes, that he remembered him…even though he was staring at him and hadn't made the connection.
“Look, I want to know what you’re – "
“Actually I want to talk about his wife, Jessica Mitchell.”
“Impossible,” Karr said.
“Oh?”
“All my dealings with my patients are strictly confidential.”
“I don’t think so,” Nick said.
“What?” Karr blinked. “You – what?”
"Nice study," Nick said, looking around once more. "And is that your wife who let me in?"
"I really don't think – "
"Nice study. Nice wife. Nice life." Nick smiled. "It would be a shame if just one of those things were affected. It would be an absolute crime if all of them were."
Karr stared, motionless, weighing him, weighing how real was the threat of violence. His hand hovered above the phone.
"Who are you?" The doctor asked.
"You don't know me."
“What…what is this? Are you...are you threatening me?”
He was outraged…but at the same time just a little afraid.
“No, no, no. Just that what you decide to do in the next ten minutes decides what I should do to your wife. If anything. It’s up to you.”
Karr blinked. His face was so red Nick was afraid he would have a heart attack before he managed to tell him anything.
“Leave, or I'll call the police,” Karr said.
They both looked at the phone.
When Karr realised that Nick wasn’t prepared to leave, he started dialling. Nick got to it in a heartbeat and, with a vicious tug, pulled the cord out of the wall.
Karr seemed astounded.
“What are you doing –“
“Tell me what I want to know, or I’ll beat the living shit out of you.”
Karr licked his lips nervously. A fine patina of sweat had shown up on his top lip.
“Please. There’s no need for violence. I’m just trying to understand –"
“Don’t understand anything. Just answer me. It will be…less painful.”
“I can’t,” the doctor blurted eventually.
“Of course you can. If what I suspect about you is
true, you’ve already broken countless rules. I could go to the police. Or the General Medical Council. Medical Misconduct. You’d lose your license. But what’s another secret between friends? All I want is some information.”
Karr sat down in his chair, a little winded.
“Like what?”
“Well,” Nick said, and smiled. It was an unpleasant smile, he knew it, and it made Karr uneasy, all the more terrible for Nick’s calmness, even when he spoke. “You can start by telling me just how in the hell Jessica Mitchell is pregnant when you told her and her husband that she couldn’t have kids.”
Karr looked really shocked in that moment.
“I’m an old friend of the family, you see,” Nick said, and smiled a wide, sickly smile.
Karr hesitated, licked his lips, looked down at his desk.
“An ectopic pregnancy, that was what we thought – "
“Don’t bullshit me,” Nick grated. Karr shut his mouth with a snap, blinked. “Just give me the truth.”
Karr cleared his throat.
“Alright. She came to me...she said that her husband at the time, that her husband wanted to have a child, that he was a...hard man, and that she wasn’t sure she wanted to have a child and be tied to him. She begged me to come up with some way to help her. I insisted she go the authorities but she didn’t want to do that. So we...concocted the ectopic pregnancy story. And his low sperm count. This way, with both sides covered, there wouldn't be another route that the couple could go. So that he wouldn’t insist on a child. But of course by then...”
“What?”
Karr raised his head; he looked ill.
“By then, she was already pregnant.”
Nick coughed. His head felt light, detached, and he stumbled a little, and put a hand out, clutching the mantel above the fireplace to steady himself.
“She wanted an abortion.” Karr shrugged.
“And you helped her?” Nick said. He couldn’t believe it. Wasn’t there a law against that?
Karr shrugged again, but he looked uncomfortable.
“It’s not illegal in this country. And there is no law to support informing the other party. It was done quickly and painlessly.”
Nick bowed his head, grinding his jaw, an energy building up inside him to such an intensity that he might explode with it if he didn’t do something to burn it off. Like running a marathon…or smashing up an old practitioner.
