The History Suite (#9 - The Craig Modern Thriller Series) (22 page)

Craig shook his head. Ellie Rudd wouldn’t have had time to stash the book anywhere once her killer had telegraphed his intentions. The book had been returned to its regular hiding place long before; a hiding place that Adrian Cooke had known about all along.

The look in Craig eyes said he’d returned to his original question. Even if the deaths were somehow linked to the E.M.U. why kill both victims in such a public place? OK, the area didn’t have CCTV but the bodies were bound to be discovered soon after death. Craig smiled in realisation.

“Our killer wanted the bodies found. He wants people to see what he’s done.”

Annette looked shocked. “But that means he doesn’t care if he’s caught! Or worse, he doesn’t think he will be. Who would have known Cooke was coming here tonight?”

Craig glanced at her. “You’re positive you weren’t followed?”

Annette shook her head vehemently. “I would have noticed a tail.”

“All right. So that leaves someone who knew that Cooke was coming to the ward before he arrived or, less likely, someone who just saw him here. Unless he was due on duty, which he wasn’t, that could only mean someone that Cooke told. Davy can check his phones for calls.”

“It could have been opportunistic. Someone who saw Cooke here tonight and took their chance?”

Craig didn’t answer, just pushed open the fire-door, startling the officers standing there.

“What were Dr Cooke’s movements from the minute he entered the unit?”

A series of puzzled faces turned towards him and he asked the question again. A middle-aged uniform was the first to speak.

“The sister said he dropped in to say hello.”

Craig strode across to the man. “Which sister?”

A voice answered from behind the tape. “Both of us.”

It was Jane Norton. Craig lifted the tape and beckoned her through.

“Dr Cooke said hello to both you and Sister Gormley, you’re sure?”

“Positive. He called in to see me in Newman, but I was busy with a new admission so he said he was popping into Reilly. He looked sad, like he was saying goodbye.”

Cooke had been on the wards, hence donning his white coat. Craig swung round to find Annette. “Check that out with Sister Gormley.”

One minute later she returned, nodding. “Sister Gormley said Cooke popped in to say a quick hello and goodbye.”

“Damn. That means the staff and patients on both wards knew that he was here.”

Jane Norton screwed up her face quizzically. “What difference does that make?”

Craig suddenly realised he’d said too much and ushered her away with a request to give them a list of every patient, visitor and staff member on her ward.

“Annette, get Hazel Gormley to do the same.”

“You think one of the staff killed Cooke?”

Craig’s quick shake of the head told Annette that they’d said enough. He needed more information before he’d know exactly what he thought.

***

Midnight

Craig yawned and Annette caught the bug, yawning a moment later. They had good reason; it had been a long day. Adrian Cooke’s body was safely in the morgue, along with his erstwhile girlfriend, Eleanor Rudd, waiting for John to do his thing. They also had a list of every patient, visitor and member of staff who’d been on the unit that evening, waiting for Davy to do his. One name jumped out at both of them. Annette yawned again, stifling it with a hand, then she pointed to the page Craig was holding.

“Why was he here at that time of night, sir? I thought rank brought some perks.”

Craig laughed. “Tell me what they are someday, will you?” His face became serious. “But you’re right. Why was Tim Taylor wandering around the unit at seven o’clock in the evening and why had he conveniently disappeared by the time we arrived?”

Annette wondered if the question was rhetorical then decided to risk a reply. “He was here when Cooke arrived; he saw him, took his chance and killed him, then legged it when he heard someone scream.”

Ah yes, the scream. That reflex that activated when you happened to find someone dead. He knew that dead bodies were a shock to the uninitiated but he did wish that occasionally people would think more like cops. Cops saw dead bodies and got straight on the radio. Civilians saw them and screamed at the top of their lungs, giving the killer ample warning to run away.

Craig sighed and Annette waited for a reply to her comment. It came in the form of a question.

“Tell me who found the body again?”

Annette recited from memory. “Nurse Kelly Gill. Second year student on her way to the sluice.”

“Young?”

“Eighteen.”

“That explains the scream.”

Annette was going to ask what he meant but she knew he was finishing some conversation inside his head so instead she glanced at the clock.

“It’s after twelve, sir.”

Craig glanced at the time-piece, surprised, but he still made no move to leave.

“Someone who didn’t want the Black Book but was here tonight…Davy will have to compare who was here tonight with who was around when Ellie Rudd died.”

“Except that they had hours to get away that time, before the place was sealed off.”

“If they’d wanted to. OK, then, whoever was here tonight is our suspect pool.” He leapt to his feet. “Time to go home.”

As they walked towards reception Annette hazarded a question. “Carmen?”

His expression became glum. “I’m telling you because you’re a nurse and I know that you’re discreet, but don’t discuss it, please.”

She gave him an ‘as if’ look.

“I’ve sent her to Occupational Health with the suggestion that she sees the psychologist. She has real issues with men.”

“Nicky thinks she was hurt badly by someone.”

Craig nodded. “And if that’s the case I feel for her, but she can’t bring it into work. If this was a man treating you and Nicky the way she treats the men on the team, the gender equality people would come down like a ton of bricks. It has to be dealt with. If Carmen can’t sort it out then she’ll be off the squad.”

“Is she out for the rest of the case?”

Craig shrugged. “Depends what O.H. says.” He sighed. “If she is then that just leaves us with Jake part-time because of his grandfather, you, Liam, Ken and me.”

Annette grinned. “We’re more than a match for the St Mary’s Strangler, sir. You wait and see.”

***

It was finished. The evil had been purged and life could return to its usual peaceful flow. Hospitals were supposed to be sanctuaries. Places where the sick were healed or passed peacefully into another world, not places where people took their misery out on the vulnerable and peddled filth to make profit for themselves.

Well, it was done now and no-one would disturb the peace again. Best of all, the police couldn’t prove a thing.

Chapter Eight

Tuesday, 8 a.m.

Craig kept the eight o’clock briefing short and sweet, a task aided by the small number of people there.

“Adrian Cooke was found dead on the E.M.U. last night. Annette tailed him to the hospital from his flat and he was only inside for twenty minutes. He had Eleanor Rudd’s deal book in his hand and we can be fairly certain that he’d gone there to collect it. He also called in to say goodbye to the sisters on both wards, either because he knew he would be suspended or because he was planning to run. John’s starting the P.M. this morning but my bet’s on Cooke being killed by the same person as Rudd. Let’s hope they left some prints this time. Annette and I have a list of everyone there last night and Davy will dig into that.”

He took a breath and turned towards Liam. He was shaking his head.

“OK, out with it.”

“Aye, well. It’s just…how the hell did they spot Cooke and kill him in twenty minutes? It’s bloody fast. And no witnesses?”

“I didn’t say there were no witnesses; we don’t know yet. No-one’s come forward but that’s nothing new.”

He smiled meaningfully and Liam shook his head vehemently.

“Oh no, you don’t. I’m not spending all day taking statements again. Ask uniform to do it.”

“I already have. But you and Annette need to supervise, so get over there now, please.” He gestured at Ken who was gazing mournfully at Carmen’s empty desk. “Ken’s coming with me to see Professor Taylor.”

Liam made a face like a thwarted child. Craig ignored it and turned towards the door.

“You all know what you’re doing. Ken, follow me. Nicky, call John and say we’ll be at the lab around eleven.”

That was how Craig and Ken came to be standing outside Tim Taylor’s oak office door again. Craig contrasted it with the half-glass door he had; his seemed less imposing somehow. Taylor’s secretary was nowhere to be seen so Craig knocked on the oak and walked straight in. As he entered he saw why the P.A. hadn’t been sitting at her desk, she was sitting on Tim Taylor’s knee instead. The professor’s mouth said “how dare you?” but his eyes said that he’d been caught out.

He rose hurriedly, depositing the girl on his desk, and attempted to cover his embarrassment with stern words.

“That will be all, Rachael, and please ensure that meeting is organised properly next time.”

Craig couldn’t have cared less what Taylor did in his office, although he was sure Taylor’s wife would have a different idea. He waited until the red-faced girl left then he marched across to the desk followed by Ken and they both took a seat.

“What were you doing on the E.M.U. last night, Professor?”

Taylor’s flushed face looked puzzled, as if he’d expected Craig to make some reference to his indiscretion so that he could tell him a lie. Then they’d go through the niceties of ‘Good morning’ before the questioning would begin. But Craig liked his suspects off balance, so before Taylor could recover he asked him again.

“The E.M.U. Why were you there last night?”

“It’s…it’s my unit. I was…”

Both men watched as the academic searched for some significant reason why he’d been on the unit at seven p.m. and kept watching as he gave up and shrugged.

“I just thought I’d call in and see how everyone was.”

It was so lame that Craig’s heart sank. In his experience guilty people did one of two things. Either they said nothing, pleading their right to silence and yelling for some grubby solicitor to cover their ass, or they wouldn’t shut up. They would talk and talk about anything; blaming the weather or the world for their sad lives, or saying that they weren’t even there when their victim had been killed. They’d been in the supermarket or park, or watching a football match or movie somewhere far away. They would go into so much unrequested detail that eventually they’d make a mistake in their alibi and disappear down a big fat rabbit hole to jail. What guilty people didn’t do was give pathetic, mundane excuses like “I just thought I’d call in and see how everyone was.”

Taylor was telling the truth, no guilty person would give an alibi as pathetic as that. Craig decided to test his gut, checking what time Taylor had arrived and left. The professor had exited the unit and the building by five-past-seven.

“Didn’t you notice the police cars all over the place?”

Taylor nodded blankly. “So what? They’re always being called to the E.D.”

Craig decided to test something.

“Where is Dr Cooke today, Professor Taylor?”

Taylor’s face soured at the mention of his love rival. “Hanging his head in shame I should hope. Drug addict. He’ll be suspended and I hope they never let him practice again.”

Craig saw Ken’s eyes widen and he shook his head. Taylor caught the exchange. He leaned forward, setting his bony elbows on his desk.

“What was that look? What’s going on?”

Craig scrutinised Taylor’s face, wondering how long he could withhold the information about Cooke’s death and whether it was even useful to try. He decided it wasn’t and opted for watching Taylor’s reaction instead.

“Dr Cooke’s dead.”

As Craig watched, Tim Taylor’s expression morphed from shocked to pleased, then into the faux-sadness that he knew people would expect to see. It wasn’t a nice sequence but it was an honest one. Tim Taylor knew nothing about Adrian Cooke’s death.

When Taylor thought he’d pretended to be sad for long enough he spoke. “That’s dreadful. When did it happen?”

Craig kept his eyes firmly on the professor’s face, searching for ‘tells’ that would give him away.

“Last night. Between seven-ten and seven-thirty.”

“Where?”

As soon as he’d asked the question Taylor realised he already knew; that’s what the police cars had been about the night before. He answered himself, “St Mary’s” then he repeated the words, attaching a question mark. “St Mary’s?”

Taylor jumped to his feet and Ken jerked backwards as if he was going to be hit, but Craig could tell the difference between a jump that heralded a blow and one that came from shock. Taylor’s next words made Ken relax.

“On my E.M.U.? Are you saying Cooke was killed on my E.M.U. last night?”