Текст книги "The Electrician's Code: An Evans and Blackwell Mystery"

Автор книги: Clarissa Draper

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Текущая страница: 10 (всего у книги 17 страниц)

Chapter Thirty-Three

Sophia spent the afternoon going through all the files she could find on Gikhrist Stewart. Although there was a lot of information and countless missions, they had always failed to catch him. Sophia stared at the face of the man who killed Liam’s wife.

She laid the picture to her right and piled other papers on top. The papers were the notes from Doc Tipring’s Uncle Earnest. She had forgotten all about them. The events of the last few days completely occupied her thoughts. And she had assured Theo she would get back to him.

Sophia dropped those thoughts and headed for Crystal’s desk instead. “I need you to track Liam’s mobile for me.”

Crystal just stared at her but didn’t respond. That’s why Sophia loved her; she didn’t ask questions. “It’s available on your computer or mobile.” She handed Sophia a paper with some login information.

Sophia preferred to follow Liam privately and chose to use her mobile instead. A small flashing light indicated where Liam was, but he was on the move. A half hour later, the light finally stopped. Where was he? She pulled out her A–Z and looked around. He must be in one of the shops along the street.

Halfway to Liam’s location, Sophia almost turned her car around. He was a grown man and could take care of himself.

The rain turned from drizzle to downpour and the traffic almost stopped. By the time she reached him, he would have moved on. However, after forty-five minutes, the dot indicating Liam’s location still hadn’t moved. The GPS locater wasn’t getting her closer than five hundred meters which left her a large area to search, and Liam’s four-door non-descript surveillance car did not help either. The light turned red. She put her car into park and turned around to look. She couldn’t see anything with the rain running down her windows.

The light turned green and a car honked behind her. She moved on, but she couldn’t slow down enough to examine each car. No, she would have to make a search—on foot. Liam’s car should be parked nearby. At the end of the street she circled around and parked down the street in one of the few spaces available for her larger Merc.

The prospect of getting out of the car wasn’t a pleasant one for none of the men and women who made their way on foot outside her car looked happy. Most stood under the protective cover of the shop’s doorways or inside. She reached in her back seat for her black umbrella and soon realized it wasn’t there so now she would have to tromp through the rain in her leather flats instead of her more practical Wellies. She pulled off her socks and placed them on the passenger seat. She rolled up the legs of her trousers but knew it wouldn’t really matter; she would be drenched anyway.

Her first step from the car landed her in a puddle of frigid water. What was she doing? She ran into an off-license and grocery shop and asked the man behind the counter for an umbrella. The man grunted and pointed toward the front of the shop. She scanned the aisles until she finally saw one umbrella in a bin. One of the arms of the umbrella flopped sideways when she lifted it from the space.

“It’s broken,” she yelled to the owner.

He shrugged. “It’s all we have.”

“How much?”

“A fiver.”

“What, for a broken umbrella?”

He shrugged again.

With a huff, she reached into her handbag and brought out a five pound note from a zipped pocket. “This is thievery, plain and simple thievery. You’re only charging this because it’s raining.”

“Then don’t buy it.”

She bit the side of her cheek to hold her tongue. This wasn’t the time to make a scene. Back in the rain with a limpy umbrella, she scanned each car along the street. She could barely see, but halfway down the street, on the other side, she spotted his car. As she approached from behind, she could see a form in the driver’s seat.

What was he doing? The car wasn’t running and he wasn’t moving. For a split second, panic hit her. He wasn’t depressed, was he? He did yell at her but he wasn’t angry enough to take his own life. She laughed aloud at her stupidity.

The closer she came to his car, the clearer Liam appeared. She saw he wasn’t sleeping but looking ahead, down the street. He didn’t seem to see her but he was focused on something.

The light turned red and Sophia made her way across the street between the stopped cars. She hesitated when she reached the pavement. The last time she spoke to Liam, he yelled at her. What could she possibly say to him that wouldn’t get the same reaction?

Distracted in her thoughts, she didn’t see the group of six people walking down the street toward her until she and her umbrella walked headlong into a burly man. The man pushed her aside, pressing the umbrella against her face.

“Get your gamp out of my face,” he said.

“I’m so sorry,” she replied and placed the umbrella upside down on the pavement. Another spoke had broken against her cheek and the device now resembled a parachuting spider.

Another man, with a woman on each arm—in order to use his raincoat as a cover—stopped and stared at her in contempt. Sophia placed a hand on her cheek, both to stop the stinging and the shock at who she faced—Stewart. She studied the killer’s eyes—he was clearly annoyed.

“I’m so sorry,” she said again, barely audible, and ran past.

Damn that man. What game was he playing? Liam got pulled from the case for a reason. Tailing Stewart would only fuel the hatred he felt for the man. He didn’t get out of his car but turned in his seat to watch the group get into their SUV. Did he see her? He didn’t seem to notice her at all. Perhaps he meant to threaten Stewart. But that would be dangerous and unnecessary. Liam obviously wasn’t thinking clearly.

She stood shivering in the rain for a moment longer and decided to head home. The debate within herself to confront Liam ended quickly; the sod probably wouldn’t hear a word she had to say.

After collecting her umbrella and forcing it closed, she hurried toward her car. On the way, she threw the umbrella into the metal bin at the shop she brought it from. The owner only grunted.

Chapter Thirty-Four

Dr. Marjorie Peters had only watched a human die once. She would never forget—it was one of the most powerful experiences a person could witness. They had tried everything in their power to stop it, the hospital staff, but as Marjorie held the tiny, lifeless form in her hands, she knew the bleeding would only claim the life of the mother as well.

Marjorie had looked into the mother’s eyes as she took her final few breaths. Although Alice would die along with her son, but it looked as if she didn’t care. She wanted to hold him, if it was the last thing she ever did. And it was the last thing. Pale and lifeless they both were, surrounded by a sea of red. So final. So unchangeable. So absolute. So scary.

And yet, soon another would die, this time, at Marjorie’s own hand. She couldn’t turn back now, could she? Her heart began to race and she could feel her face grow numb. Seventeen minutes. After she pushed the button, it only took seventeen minutes for the anger to wear off and the regret to sink in. But there was no turning back. They had asked her multiple times if she was sure, and when she was angry or scared, she was sure. But then she remembered Alice, who didn’t deserve to die. Did anyone deserve to die? Did she have the right to kill?

Her whole body had become numb now and she shook out her arms. What was she thinking?

One thing was for sure, she couldn’t think about this now. She must concentrate on work. After taking a deep breath, she turned the handle on room one.

She had to concentrate on other things—she had to remember why she pushed the button: for the children—her lost children. Children.

“What? Did you say children?”

Dr. Marjorie Peters looked up at the woman whose foot she was holding in her hand.

“Children?” Marjorie asked, finally realizing that she had said the word out loud. “Ah yes, I asked if you had any grandchildren.”

“Oh yes I do, and I have pictures, loads of pictures. They are adorable.” The patient had started into her favorite subject. It was lucky for Dr. Peters that Ms. Campbell was sitting upon her medical exam table and unable to reach her handbag, which sat on a nearby chair. “Oh dear, I cannot reach them, that’s too bad. I will have to show you after you finish up. Have I shown you the photo of Carlie’s first tooth?”

“Perhaps you have.”

“Well, one never tires of it anyway. So, what do you think of my toe?”

“Definitely an ingrown toenail,” she replied. “Perhaps your shoes are too tight, or you keep your nails trimmed too closely.”

“I did buy new shoes lately, I thought they were too tight, but I just fell in love with them and the price. I couldn’t pass it up. What do you think I should do about it? Must I give up the shoes?”

“That depends. Do you want to keep having these ingrown toenails?” After prescribing treatment, she left the room and gave instructions to the nurse, avoiding the photos.

Sitting in her office, she looked into the waiting room. It was full. From her desk drawer, she took a bottle of tablets and placed two small pills under her tongue. The clock read ten minutes to two. Only one hour and ten minutes to go. She didn’t want to be here anymore. She didn’t want to be a doctor anymore. How could she call herself a doctor when she took an oath to do no harm and here she was, planning a murder? In university, she used to live for the future. And now, she had everything she dreamed about: lots of money, large house, and nice car. But she didn’t have what she now considered most important: happiness. And it was because she couldn’t have children. Children.

She lived day to day, not caring how her life turned out. That was why she knew she had to start it. His death was the only way she could live. Waking up next to him every day and pretending that everything was all right was killing her. Her anger and hatred for him was eating her up. But soon it would be over; she had to put up with him for only a few more weeks.

Door number three contained a child of four with the symptoms loss of appetite and an itchy rash all over his body. She groaned. There was a pregnant woman in the next room—hopefully the nurse knew better and put the boy in the room straight away. When she came in, the boy was jumping up and down to see out the window, he stopped and looked at her curiously.

“My mum says you is a doctor, are you Doctor Seuss? Do you eat green eggs and ham?” The boy laughed contagiously at his joke while he reached down and scratched his stomach.

“Your name is Sam, are you Sam I am? Do you like green eggs and ham?”

He giggled some more and his mum, who sat in the corner frazzled from what was most likely lack of sleep from preventing her son from scratching, smiled at her.

“Sam I am,” Dr. Peters said, “can I look at your tummy? Because your mum said your tummy is itchy. Can I see?” She propped herself against the table. Why did she feel so light-headed? The pill didn’t normally act that fast.

Sam pulled his shirt over his face and she immediately knew what it was, turning to his mother, she told her, “I can confirm that your son has chicken pox. If your son is in pain, or has a fever, then you can give them him a mild pain reliever, such as Paracetamol. Let him drink plenty of water to avoid dehydration. Sugar-free ice-lollies will help lower his temperature as well as sooth his sore mouth if it has become infected, so you can give one or two. And use calamine lotion on the itchy spots, it will help him feel better.”

“Are you feeling all right?” Sam’s mother asked. “You look very pale.”

“Yes, I’m all right. It’s been a long day.” She smiled reassuringly.

The mother thanked her and she took her son home.

Majorie had developed endometriosis twelve years back and had to have a hysterectomy. It was that fact that irritated her the most. From the first moment she walked down the aisle with her husband, she wanted to have children. Yet, he told her to wait. Wait until she finished medical school. Wait until she started her practice. Wait until they had more money, and a house, and two cars. There was always an excuse. Now her husband shagged a younger girl. How stupid she was to wait.

She always wondered if she would have felt different if he had been faithful to her. He was no longer her rock, but a stone in her shoe. An irritation. It almost made her vomit the day she saw the lipstick. All the excuses she made to herself for what it could mean, but she knew, she didn’t have to ask, but she did anyway. He gave her one of his many excuses.

“It was your lipstick, sweetheart,” her husband lied to her. “Remember the other night when you kissed my neck, I noticed it then. I just thought it would come out when I dry cleaned it. No problem, darling, I’ll just get another shirt.”

She said nothing, but it was not her lipstick. Later, she found a receipt, for flowers and jewelry, but he always had an excuse and she always pretended to believe him. It was no use. He had by then managed to drain all the life they had together, all the love she had for him was gone. The worst part being that he neither noticed nor cared.

Before she entered the next room, she splashed water onto her face. She felt so hot.

Mr. and Mrs. Tolleson looked up at her as she entered the room. They seemed so happy. And who wouldn’t be when in a month or so they would welcome their bundle of joy into the world? Mrs. Tolleson was young, comparably, only twenty-six and had had a very healthy pregnancy. They had the names picked out and had bought all the nursery items. She remembered the age where she didn’t feel much different from Mrs. Tolleson now.

Now she would do her job and rely on the fact that soon she would get what she wanted. A new life, as new as she could get.

As she sat at her desk, with her files spread in front of her, she thought about prison, was he worth going to prison over? Did she have a choice if he wasn’t?

It all didn’t matter now. It was a bargain with those who carried with them the same hatred, the same hatred she lived with every day. A promise she made. Besides, the first murder went off without a hitch. Unsolved. Clean. Almost too simple. Gratifying. One less person on the earth draining the life out of another innocent person. There should be more people like her, willing to take life into their own hands. Make the risks they needed to make themselves happy. She deserved happiness.

Chapter Thirty-Five

For Sharon Yoder, Saturday was one of the busiest days of the week. Although she wanted to sleep in, she woke at her usual five alarm, and all the better for it—she had a hundred things to get done.

A load of laundry went into the machine, and she separated a pile to take to the dry cleaners. During her first cup of coffee, she planned her grocery list, wading through her cupboards and fridge for needed items. She cleaned the tub while she showered and cleaned the sink while she brushed her teeth. After she had dusted the computer while waiting for her email messages to download, she wanted to go back to bed. The multitasking was depleting all her energy. She reached into the box of chocolates her boyfriend had given her the previous afternoon.

She couldn’t see WP today. It was Saturday and he would be with his wife and kids. Besides, she had loads to do. They had been together almost a year and they were really happy. The wife still didn’t know, but it was good for two reasons. It bordered on dangerous with WP’s psycho wife, and dangerous meant exciting. Every day she asked herself why she did it, why she put herself out like that, but she came to the conclusion that it was something that made her want to get up in the morning. Everyone deserved happiness, and she would not be happy if she couldn’t be with him.

By the time three rolled around, she was ready for bed. A normal workday for her would not end for another two hours, but she was more exhausted on her day off than she ever was at work. At work she sat behind a desk answering phone calls and playing on her computer.

She grabbed a beer from the fridge and poured it into a large glass she kept in the freezer. Refreshed, she sat at her computer and checked her email again.

“No one wants to talk to me, Carotene,” she said to the orange Siamese fighter that swam around the bowl beside her. “That’s all right, I’m too tired anyway. Who’s going to look after you when I go on holidays? Maybe Grandpa Frank next door? What do you think?”

The website she had bookmarked months back loaded on the screen: spa treatment, massage, swimming, treated like VIP. That was something she was looking forward to, time away with her man. They had been planning it for months: a conference. Well, that’s what WP told his wife anyway. Everything was booked and planned out carefully and she couldn’t wait. Only three more weeks.

She searched for bathing suits online—red ones, blue ones, large ones, and small ones. Revealing or not? Would it matter? He loved her no matter what she wore. He loved her. It made her smile to know there was someone out there that thought about her with a warm feeling inside. He was her family. Her only family.

The buzzer rang and she looked at Carotene.

“Who can it be?” she said lightly. There was every chance WP got away for an hour or two. Had he come to visit?

She went to the intercom and pressed the button. “Hello?”

“Package,” a woman’s voice announced.

“Come up, I’m on the third floor,” Sharon answered.

What could it be? Flowers? More chocolates? He really was most considerate. Shit. She realized she was only wearing her bra and knickers. She quickly ran to her room and put on a thin robe. As the knock sounded at the door, she ran a brush through her matted light-brown hair.

She opened the door and an older woman stood there. She smiled at her and asked, “A package for me?”

The woman just stood there for a moment staring at her.

“Sharon Yoder?”

“Yes?”

Her excitement took her off her guard. She never saw the knife, and it took her a brief span of time to realize that the blade was sticking out of her chest. She never felt pain or registered the fact that the woman was still standing there looking as shocked as she felt. Her past never flashed before her, just the future that would never happen. Before she could utter the name of the man whom she knew would mourn her death, everything went black.

Chapter Thirty-Six

Sophia ran her finger over Liam’s clean desk. Although he didn’t use the office much, he hadn’t been transferred yet. Now he spent most of his days out in the field. She had only seen him come in once that week and that was for an IT staff meeting. He barely uttered a word and left halfway through. When Sophia tried to ring him, he never answered his mobile.

She was worried about him, but amongst the IT unit her feelings were isolated. No one seemed to care he wasn’t around. One less halfwit around the unit to mess things up. There were moments when Sophia was unsure why she cared. He had caused her nothing but problems and why should she be his go-between? He should have to accept the consequences for his actions, shouldn’t he?

She entered Vincent’s office and sat down. He was signing papers.

“Yes?” he said, not looking up.

“What is Foxton working on?”

“Why do you care?”

“He hasn’t been around the office lately.”

“He’s on assignment, but you should’ve been able to figure that out yourself. So what do you really want?”

“I’m worried about him.”

“Are you? You complain daily about how much he irritates you. Why don’t you ring him?”

“He’s been upset because of the Stewart case. I’m worried he’ll do something stupid. Something that will make this department look bad.”

Vincent put down his pen and leaned back in his chair. “Something stupid? Like what? What do you know?”

“I don’t know what he’s planning to do. That’s why I’m coming to you.”

He sighed. “As far as I know, he’s on the Wilder case. Do you know it?”

“No. But I can get the file from Priestly. Should I check up on him?”

He nodded. “But don’t get in his face. Sometimes the best thing to do is just let them know that you’re there for them. Whatever you do, don’t spend all your time worrying about this. He’s got over his wife’s death in the past and given time, he’s bound to get over it again. If you keep bringing it up, it’ll just take longer. Understood?”

“Understood.”

Sophia went to Crystal immediately and asked for the Wilder case file. Crystal retrieved it but when she returned, she signed, “This is the file, but I don’t think he’s working the case.”

“Why?”

“Because he came into the office with an overnight bag. The Wilder case is a London case. The case Liam is working—and I can’t be sure he’s actually working a case—takes place out of town.”

“Can you trace his mobile or his vehicle?”

Crystal nodded. She went back to her workstation and returned with an address. “I tried to find out where this place is but according to satellite, it’s the middle of nowhere. Liam’s standing in the middle of nowhere.”

Sophia stopped at home before heading out of the city. She had no idea what to expect and Liam wasn’t picking up his mobile. It took five hours for her to reach her destination in the rain. Each minute that passed made her angrier. He expected her to get past her feelings with Marc, but it wasn’t bloody easy.

Guilt hit her. Why was she expecting him to get over a wife’s death? Especially when the killer kept taunting him? The killer didn’t have to face any consequences. She needed to be more understanding.

When she approached the address she had programmed into her GPS, police lights lit up the dark night. What was Liam up to? What had she stumbled across? She pulled out her government credentials. She rarely used them but today she would need it to get past the yellow line.

She was going to ask the officer listing personnel what had happened but she thought she should appear to know or perhaps she wouldn’t be allowed in. The police constable looked closely at her information, pointed in the direction all officers were heading, and lifted the police tape.

“Thank you,” she replied cautiously.

In the dark it was difficult to spot Liam, but finally she caught sight of him standing at the edge of a large hole in the ground. She couldn’t see what the hole contained but from the look of the other officers, it mustn’t be pretty.

“Fourteen,” one officer told another as they went by, toward where she came from, “and we haven’t even started. They must have been using this site for years. I can’t believe we’ve only discovered it today.”

Sophia approached Liam and stood by his side. He didn’t even turn to face her. When she finally mustered up the courage to look down, she saw a mass grave. Bodies wrapped in various types of plastic lay one on top of the other. One by one, the team of pathologists were lifting the bodies onto the ground under a setup tent.

“Who are these people?” she asked Liam.

He turned to look at her. “What are you doing here?”

“You haven’t been answering your mobile.”

“So you thought you should drive out all this way in the dark?”

“Who are these people?”

“The unwanted, Evans. Used and disposed of, like tissue paper.”

“Who did this?”

“Who do you think, Evans?” he said angrily. “Which sick bastard would be capable of killing to this degree?”

Sophia didn’t want to state that she knew plenty of sick bastards capable of this type of genocide, but she figured that would only anger him further. Besides, she knew who he believed the killer was and she didn’t really want to bring that up again, not that Stewart’s evil ways weren’t right before his eyes.

“So do the police have any idea why these people have been killed?”

“Sadly, they were killed because they were valueless. Useless to him. Probably prostitutes that worked for him or his high-end clients, those from Eastern Europe who weren’t here legally and when they weren’t going to make him money, outlived their usefulness.”

“But there are children. They could have been useful adults.”

“I’m sure some of the children are. However not these ones.”

“What makes them different?”

“So far, each child we’ve dug up has been missing organs, multiple ones. What does that tell you?”

“Stewart’s organization has been selling organs?”

“We think so. Unfortunately, a child can’t live without their hearts or their livers.”

“Surely they can’t be selling these. Who would perform the operation?”

“Don’t be naive, Sophia. If you imagine these things don’t happen in Britain, you’re sorely mistaken. Those with money live a lot differently than those without. When they get sick, they are able to buy themselves out of their health condition.”

“I thought that Stewart only involved himself in drugs and guns. How do we know this is his work?”

“He lures them here with the hope of a better life. I wonder how long it takes for them to realize that’s not what they’ll receive? I’ll place my bets that all of the women have drugs in their system at time of death. They keep them high to keep them dependent. Or it wouldn’t surprise me if they believe their family’s lives are in danger unless they obey.”

“How do we know it’s Gikhrist?”

He rubbed his eyes. “I know it’s him, Evans. This is his work.”

Liam’s face didn’t change expression.

A small bony hand fell out of the black plastic it was wrapped in and hung while the men pulled the body from the pit. Sophia put her hand to her mouth. It was so tiny. The hand of a small child.

“That’s one of the children. They’ve recovered five already.”

Sophia wanted to sit down on the dirt because she felt weak, but instead she grabbed at Liam’s elbow to steady herself. He placed his hand on hers.

“He’s not perfect. He’ll make a mistake and when he does, we will get him. I will get him.”