by Hylton Smith
“Hello darling, it’s Mummy.”
The boy turned his head slightly and saw Olivia. “Hello Mummy, I’ve got a new best friend.”
The puppy jumped on to his lap. “His name is Mickey.”
“Oh he’s lovely isn’t he? Where did you get him?”
“The nice man gave him to me.”
“Are you ok, darling?”
“Yes, I’ve got some new computers and I like the nice man.”
The line went dead.
“Oh no, please, just a little longer, please, I’ll do anything, please.”
“Not right now. Listen very carefully. Just go home, do nothing. I will contact you in an hour. There is one question you’ll need to answer when I call. Go.”
The darkness didn’t feel quite so threatening.
*
Martha’s lungs were aching, the damned elevator was out of order again. She interrupted Prentice and Jones, but struggled to get her words out. “We, we need to look, look at the other hospital records, sir.”
“What other records Martha?”
“I overheard two nurses saying admin had screwed up again. One of them had been mixed up with a patient of the same name.”
“Shit,” said Jones, “of course, the bloody staff and the patients will be on different databases. How could I miss that?”
“I confirmed that with the admin manager, sir. But they want a signed warrant, data protection assurances and all that crap. We should hurry.”
*
Olivia couldn’t wait to tell Tom that it had apparently gone well. “He’s promised to call me in an hour or so. I felt he was about to make a proposal or something, but then he seemed keen to do more checks of the evidence I gave him. And he said he was going to ask me a question later. I’ve no idea what it is.”
“It sounds really bizarre. Did he give the impression of being deranged or anything?”
“No, quite the opposite really, sophisticated in a way. I never saw his face so I can’t say for sure whether he’s the man in the picture the police showed us, but the voice sounded the same as the message which summoned Peter to the hospital.”
“Tell me more about Kieron, it’s great that he’s in good spirits.”
“He’s got a dog, a Labrador, says he got it from ‘the nice man,’ presumably meaning the guy I met. You know, he seemed tremendously happy with the puppy on his lap. He’s got no signs of having been through any trauma. I’m getting a bit edgy about the call, I don’t want this to go wrong now. I’d better run through the evidence again, he was studying it intensely. I need to take a shower to steady my nerves again. I’ll call you back.”
*
Prentice had managed to rush the authorisation through for the hospital and he gave it to Martha. She said she’d call them if she found anything.
“No you won’t,” said Prentice, “we’re coming with you, three pairs of eyes Martha.”
She was disappointed, Jones was relieved, and Prentice said he’d drive. When they presented the paperwork, they met a new roadblock. Senior admin people were conducting their monthly meeting, and weren’t to be interrupted. Prentice assumed a distinct military persona. “I don’t think your pen pushers and paperclip distributors have got anything better to do than help us follow up an urgent lead on the missing son of one of your top surgeons. Do I have to get the Chief Constable to come? Or perhaps the predators from the tabloids? One way or another, we’re going to see these records, I’d rather it’s now, and believe me, so will you if the finger of suspicion settles retrospectively on your head. I can see the headlines now - ‘Jobsworth at Hospital Reception Halts Rescue of Abducted Boy’ – do you get the picture now?”
“Yes sir, I’ll be back in a minute.”
Chapter 36
The call came. Olivia could scarcely get the word ‘hello’ free from her throat. She repeated it, more clearly this time. “Hello.”
“I’m minded to take your evidence seriously. However, I’m even angrier than I was six years ago, it shouldn’t come as a surprise, but the extent of the deceit is sickening. You see, I lost my son because of people who’d taken the Hippocratic Oath. It feels very different to having to come to terms with James being taken by the tumour itself. There’s been a blanket of immorality over his little face until now. I said I had one question for you, and I’m afraid I now have two. You saw Kieron with his puppy, will he be allowed to keep Mickey if I return your son?”
“Of course, we didn’t think it was a good idea for him to have such a pet, he can’t be expected to look after an animal with a mind of its own, even when he’s older.”
“You might be surprised. I always do overkill on research whenever I take on a serious task. Check it out for yourself, it has been found in several case studies that a companion someone can relate to, which isn’t a source of authority can help in developing confidence. I know everything about your work, and I can appreciate that you’re in a good position to help him in surgical terms, if new techniques are developed. But Kieron is living in the now, and he is developing, albeit in a different manner to what we expect of other children. I did a lot of research before James went under the knife, but I didn’t have any say in the decision. My offer of help was refused. Things truly could have been very different. Enough of this self-pity, will you make a solemn promise that Kieron can keep Mickey?”
“You know that I’ll do anything for him, and I won’t make idle promises. I give you my word, and I will look up this research you mentioned. I do agree that surgery isn’t always the only way. Can I ask something about James?”
“I think it would be better just left alone now that I know the truth.”
“I was only going to ask about how you think you could have helped him. I’d always understood that James’ father died a few years ago, but you just said he was your son.”
“Perhaps another time. It will depend on how you answer my second question. If indeed you can answer it truthfully.”
“I’ll certainly try.”
“If you hadn’t been the surgeon, but in my position, as the real father of James, and you had unlimited financial resource, would you have endorsed the surgery?”
Olivia felt the tenor of the conversation had altered and she stiffened. “Much has changed in the last twelve years and James would have had a much better chance of surviving the procedure now. However, at that time, what had to be faced was the certainty of him losing his battle against the tumour if nothing was done. I can’t claim to have researched diverse treatments outside my level of expertise. The only analogy I can think of is in the construction industry, where the objective of restoring the property is the same, but generally alteration of brickwork is done ahead of carpentry. There is more concern about removing load-bearing walls than the odd timber lintel. But it doesn’t always work out the way it was planned, despite the precautions. The alternative, in some cases may to return to timber-only buildings, capable of ‘treatment’ rather than major surgery. As I said, surgical intervention isn’t always the answer, but in James’ case time was critical. If I’d known of any alternative medicine which had better odds, I’d have said so. In your position but without my experience, I would have given James the chance to live. In your position with my experience, I’d have done the same thing. The question you’re really asking, is would I do it again. Yes, I would, because deep down I still believe I could have given James a few more years at worst. I believe that was preferable to merely accepting divine intervention. That’s the honest answer regarding the actual decision. Turning back to the operation, once I’d got to see the tumour directly with my own eyes, I was more confident that I could succeed. The only regret I have about the entire saga, including the case brought by Edward Mitchell, was that I felt powerless with respect to revealing the truth. I could have become a martyr and made no difference whatsoever to the closing of ranks. Coming back to your question, if I’d had a child of my own at that time, I may have sacrificed my career regardless of the
consequences. I don’t know. That’s the brutal, honest truth. If this happened now, when I have a beautiful boy with certain difficulties, and the prospect of a shorter life than his parents, I would have to tackle the hypocrisy somehow.”
“You’ve touched on the timeline of all this. James would have been eighteen, he died twelve years ago, and your son was born six years ago. This Edward Mitchell died six years ago. I started out on my intention of retribution six years ago. It isn’t a coincidence. Come and see me. Don’t bring a phone.”
*
Prentice said they should have a break while he called Cartwright. “Have you got the DNA results yet to back up Edward Mitchell’s dental records?”
“Funny you should ask right now, we’re just having a debate about it. Why the sudden interest?”
“I just thought you might want to consider the possibility he had a brother, even though his wife and fancy woman said he didn’t.”
“What are you up to? Mind reading?”
“Not at all, detective work isn’t all about science, intuition counts for a lot at times. We’ve dredged up a janitor at the hospital, and his record has a photo attached. He has a bit of a likeness to Edward Mitchell, and he even has an earring. Guess what, his name is George Mitchell.”
“You have been busy, and I do believe you may have called a halt to this debate. Using STR analysis, that’s short tandem repeats, we can assess familial relationships, including paternity and siblings. In this case we have reached the unanimous conclusion that Edward Mitchell’s DNA from the remains is a not an exact match to those on the tablet and stun gun, but the two are related. The discussion then moved to whether they are merely brothers, twins, or identical twins. We’ve agreed to shelve the option of identical twins. It would help if we could talk to the living brother, or had a birth certificate for each of them. Now you can check that yourself, you have a name. My team are divided on this, but I believe they are just brothers, not twins. We weren’t looking specifically for this, it just came up when making comparisons, so we’ll now have to amplify the DNA further and compare the STR profiles in much greater detail.”
“It’s always refreshing to talk with you Cartwright, cheers.”
Prentice explained and told Martha to get on to this, while he and Jones asked where they could find George Mitchell. They were told he hadn’t turned in for work for over two weeks and they couldn’t reach him by phone. The address on his record was checked, but when they arrived there the property was empty, and displayed an estate agent’s ‘sold’ notice.
*
Olivia was overflowing with adrenalin. She had some difficulty in finding the property, her satnav was in need of being updated. She rang the doorbell thinking he would open the door. She didn’t recognise the woman, but was obviously expected. She became more apprehensive when she was led to a poorly lit staircase to a basement. Having descended the steps, the woman opened a door and disappeared. Olivia gasped in horror. There were three occupants, well strictly speaking there were four. George Mitchell bade her to enter. Kieron ran to her and she picked him up, feeling his warm breath on her face. Mickey wanted to be cuddled as well.
“I believe you two know each other,” said Mitchell, pointing at Ian Gladstone.
“Yes, he’s, was my boss. Why is he here?”
“So that you have a life and death dilemma, like the one I had. One in which the decision itself is hard enough, but then it is ignored. Don’t argue with me, you can’t change my mind. You can only make up yours.”
“I don’t underst…”
“Just take your boy or this apology for a human being and leave. There’s nothing to discuss. The longer you stand there the more danger you’re in.”
Olivia looked Gladstone in the eyes and he nodded. She turned to run upstairs and was checked by Mitchell’s voice. “You forgot Mickey.”
She put Kieron down, and the boy took Mickey’s lead, placed it around the dog’s neck and took her hand. They scrambled up the stairs and out through the open front door. She bundled Kieron and Mickey into the back of her car and sped away from the house, watching it shrink in the rear view mirror, heavily shrouded in burning rubber fumes.
Chapter 37
Olivia drove directly to the police station only to find that Prentice wasn’t there. She was told that he was still at the hospital. She was allowed to use the phone. “You need to get to his house immediately, he’s got Gladstone and I think he’s going to kill him.”
“Slow down Olivia, you aren’t making any sense.”
“You can’t afford to slow down, I met this guy at his house and he let me take Kieron, but he wanted me to choose him or Gladstone.”
“Where the hell are you?”
“I’m at the station and I’m not going home until you’ve got him under lock and key.”
“Ok, stay there, give me the address.”
He noted it and dragged Jones with him to their car. “Get back-up organised pronto, I think we’ve got him Jonesy, Olivia has Kieron at the station. It’s all about this bastard now.”
*
Martha hit the ground running with the registrar of births and deaths. Edward and George Mitchell were born to John and Margaret Mitchell, whose registered address matched the first address the police had investigated when the initial search was conducted for Edward. She called Prentice and let him know.
There was no answer at the house, and Prentice debated whether to wait for back-up. They both said it at the same time. “This place looks familiar!”
Jones had the better recall. “We spoke to Angela Mitchell here.”
They couldn’t hear any sound from inside the property, and the lights weren’t on. The curtains weren’t open. Prentice kicked in the front door. Tiptoeing around the bungalow, Jones whispered, “Boss, a bungalow with a basement.”
They descended cautiously and found the door. There was still no hint of any kind of sound. They decided, at least Prentice did, that the residents had flown the coop. He turned the old pitted brass doorknob and it creaked open under its own weight. Jones switched on the light. A rope was swinging from a ceiling beam. On the end of it was a chair gently swaying and twirling. Gladstone’s eyes bulged in protest from his swollen face. He was still strapped into the chair. They tried to undo the knots, but in vain. Jones ran upstairs and found the scissors, decided that a saw-toothed kitchen knife would be better, and hurried back to the basement. “It’s no use, Jonesy, he’s gone. Leave the scene for forensics, I’m on the phone to them now.”
*
Although they alerted the train station and airport, it seemed obvious that he wouldn’t be quite as stupid as that, he’d expect to be apprehended at the other end. He would be in a car or holed up in a pre-determined hideaway. Prentice couldn’t actually believe what he was hearing. It was Olivia again.
“Angela Mitchell is here, I think you need to speak to her.”
“Put her on.”
There was utter resignation in her voice. “I can’t do this anymore. I need you to take me into custody. I’d like to make a statement.”
“I’m at your house, I have to wait for some of our forensics team before I can get on my way, but you need to tell me where George Mitchell has gone.”
“He wouldn’t tell me that, so I asked him to let me out of the car. I feared that he thought I was turning against him, but he dropped me off in the middle of nowhere. I had to thumb a lift to get into Newcastle.”
*
George Mitchell felt he had done his best to set the record straight, even if he’d been thwarted for so long, and in finally wresting the upper hand from the medical whitewash clique, he’d found that his angst had been directed at the wrong person. He was intent on ending this twelve year saga by effecting his own spectacular exit. The plan was forming as he drove, meticulous in observing speed limits.
*
A gaunt Angela Mitchell awaited Prentice, the interview room was cold, with only the basic requirements of seats, table, re
cording equipment, low wattage lighting, and the obligatory but obvious viewing screen for those not apparently involved in the interrogation. She was cautioned and the recorder turned on.
“You wanted to talk to me Angela. Bearing in mind that you lied about Edward Mitchell having a brother, I must warn you that this statement has to be true. You are facing a charge of accomplice to murder amongst others yet to be considered. Just take your time and begin with the birth of your son James.”
“Yes, well, you may have gathered that James was George’s son. I was young, impressionable and naive. George swept me off my feet with his flamboyance and promises. Looking back, I should have known he was always going to leave the northeast. He was drawn to making his fortune in London. When I told him I was pregnant, he asked what I wanted to do about it. He made it clear that he would do everything to help, but he wasn’t going to give up his dream to run his own company. I was devastated, and Edward kept at me to let him go. I eventually gave in and we got married. I was happy to accept George’s financial help for James’ sake, but Edward wouldn’t have it. Everything was a hell of a struggle but we were happy, until the discovery of the tumour. Once again George asked if he could help, and by that time his software company had made a lot of money. He offered to get the best consultants in the world to examine every possibility for James, but Edward kept telling him that the official adoption meant he’d forfeited his right to influence the boy’s life. They fell out big time. You see Edward was the steady one and he didn’t take George’s brash success at all well. I think this is what really pushed Edward to take his own life, realising that maybe George could have helped James. I was amazed when George appeared at my door after the suicide. He said he was going to do what he should have done at the start, take control. He impressed on me that it flipped him over the edge when this surgeon who’d ‘killed’ his son had given birth herself. He sold his company but retained his London apartment, telling me it was part of the plan. This ridiculous plan. He kept that London apartment because he knew you lot would find your way here at some time, and he thought it would be safer to take the boy there. George was eight years younger than Edward and although there was a likeness, they weren’t like two peas in a pod. Edward was naturally bald and a bit overweight. George wanted to be able to pass for his older brother, to attract attention. He had a wonderful head of hair, but shaved it off. He deliberately pigged out, and I was amazed at how much this transformed his appearance. He always had power over me, and I just did what he told me. He moved in, and eventually got a job as a janitor at that hospital. He was compiling a dossier on the surgeon. He ended up knowing everything about her. I was sure he was going to kill her, but he said not. He wanted her to feel the same pain we had all suffered. He intended taking me and the boy to a remote location where no one would ever find us, it was all set up. I let him know that I didn’t want someone else’s child, but he just dismissed that and repeatedly told me to get ready for the move. He was also obsessed with doing all of this when the boy was the same age as James was when he died. I need you to keep him away from me.”
