Bryant was ahead of her and opened the door as the counsellor spoke again.
‘Officer, it’s probably no more than a coincidence but there’s probably something else you should know about Alistair Minton.’
‘Go on.’
‘He’s the ex-boyfriend of Saffron Winters.’
Seventy
‘Okay, let’s see what Alistair Minton has to say,’ Kim said, tapping on the door to the physics lab. A quick call to Thorpe’s assistant, Nancy, had revealed his location.
Stepping into the room, Kim was again struck by the privileged surroundings. Less than twenty students were in the class and each had their own workstation, which reminded her of the layout of Masterchef. It was a far cry from the ten kids she’d been among all huddled around one Bunsen burner at her old school.
The white-coated teacher moved towards them, a questioning smile on her face.
‘Alistair Minton,’ Bryant asked as Kim looked around the room.
Her eyes fixed on a kid whose goggles were perched on his head like an aviator rather than covering his eyes. Kim was not surprised when he began walking towards them.
He removed the goggles, offered a smile and a hand.
Kim turned away and headed towards the corridor. No way was she shaking a hand that had tortured an animal that way.
Bryant closed the classroom door behind them.
* * *
Alistair ran a hand through his straw-blonde hair and leaned against the wall. She didn’t miss his quick up and down appraisal of her. He smiled lazily, revealing white, even teeth. There was a cockiness emanating from him that tickled the hairs on the back of her neck. The fact that police officers wanted to speak to him appeared to be a bit of a lark.
‘Alistair, we’d like to talk to you about the murder of Sadie Winters, do you know anything about it?’
‘I know she’s dead and that other little twerp too, what of it?’
‘You sound incredibly sorry about that,’ she observed.
‘Why would I be?’ he asked, simply.
‘We were wondering if there was anything you’d like to share with us?’ Kim asked.
He shook his head. ‘Not really kids I hang around with,’ he answered.
‘I’m not asking if you were in the same social circle,’ she snapped. ‘But you do like to hurt things, don’t you?’
Understanding shaped his features and then a smile. ‘Oh, this is about the cat, isn’t it? Straight out of the Psychology for Dummies book. Animal cruelty equals serial killer. Bloody hell, officer, give me a chance to finish school. Even I don’t know what I want to be yet.’
Kim resisted the urge to slap him.
He reminded her of her overfilled laundry basket at home, so full of items that it was misshapen, bulging. It was like he’d been stuffed to overflowing with good looks, a lean athletic body, excessive charm and charisma bursting out of his sixteen-year-old body. Once he emptied the basket and learned moderation, he’d be a dangerous individual.
‘Look, it was a mangy cat and I don’t get the fuss over it, but I’ve got no reason to hurt kids that mean nothing—’
‘It wasn’t a prank that went wrong that you then had to cover up…’
‘You can save that shit for the morons in the not-so-secret groups, officer. Not my bag.’
‘But you knew Sadie’s sister?’ Kim pushed.
He shrugged. ‘Not as well as I’d have liked but hey ho, you can’t win ’em all, eh?’ he said with a wink.
Kim simply stared at him for a few seconds.
‘Your charm didn’t work on her then?’ Bryant asked.
He smirked. ‘Would’ve done with a bit more time but the golden couple cock-blocked me.’
‘Sadie’s parents?’ Kim clarified. It wasn’t the first time she’d heard them referred to as such.
‘Yeah, well, Queen of Hearts and all that. They wanted their precious daughter spending time with someone more appropriate.’
‘Eric?’ Kim asked.
He rolled his eyes. ‘Yep, the good old King of Spades. Power couple.’
‘So, Laurence Winters managed to get rid of you before you got what you wanted?’ Kim asked, thinking it had been impeccably good judgement on the man’s behalf.
‘I was warned off, all right, but not by him. He’s a wimp. It was Hannah who did the deed. Now if you want to talk ruthless—’
He stopped speaking as her phone rang.
Eager to get away from this kid, Kim headed to the end of the corridor to take the call.
‘Hey Stace,’ she said, giving Bryant a nod to let him go back to class.
‘You’re not gonna believe what we’ve found,’ Stacey said, excitedly.
‘Go on.’
‘Not only were Laurence Winters and Anthony Coffee-Todd at Heathcrest at the same time. They were in the same year.’
Kim frowned. So why had Laurence Winters played down their acquaintance?
‘But even more interesting is that another of their classmates, Gordon Cordell, works at the Oakland Hospital in Stourport-on-Severn.
‘Stace, don’t tell me…’
‘Oh yeah,’ she said animatedly. ‘The man is a gynaecologist.’
‘Jesus,’ Kim said as her head spun.
‘Hang on, Kev wants a word,’ Stacey said, passing the phone.
‘Boss, I know it might not mean anything, but all three of them were in the Spades.’
Seventy-One
‘How the hell did they find all that out?’ Bryant asked as they drove over the Stourport road bridge that straddled the River Severn.
‘Apparently, Dawson let Stacey do it the hard way before guessing that the annual yearbooks that grace the halls of Heathcrest would probably have been uploaded electronically too. Each yearbook has a section on the achievement of previous students, and Cordell’s graduation from medical school was right there.’
‘What about the Spades thing?’
‘Right there in the book under their graduation photos. Remember the clubs weren’t secret back then.’
‘Trust Dawson to find a shortcut,’ Bryant observed as he took a left into a wide tree-lined street.
Kim knew that Oakland Hospital was a private healthcare facility that had opened on the outskirts of Stourport-on-Severn in the mid-seventies. Ten years later it was absorbed into a larger chain when private healthcare boomed. In the years since, the minor operations had developed into life-saving transplants along with cosmetic procedures. And just about everything in between.
If the entrance to Russells Hall Hospital sometimes resembled a Black Friday electronics sale, then Oakland was more like a leisurely stroll around Harvey Nichols.
Kim took a moment to assess her surroundings as Bryant introduced them both and asked to see Doctor Cordell.
Soft music replaced the din of agitated voices. Plush, pastel furnishings took the place of plastic, functional seating. Warm and friendly reception staff sat in the place of terse, stressed administrators. Framed prints of old movie posters replaced noticeboards screaming information on health issues.
Oakland did not resemble any hospital that Kim had ever visited, and Gordon Cordell did not resemble any nimble-fingered surgeon she had ever met, she thought, as a chubby, clean hand reached across the desk towards them.
Gordon Cordell was a short, rotund man with a chin that was fighting to remain separate from the neck.
Kim didn’t try to ignore the immediate sensation of mistrust for the man in front of her. There was a guardedness that seemed to be emanating from him and they hadn’t yet opened their mouths.
‘Mr Cordell, thank you for seeing us at such short notice,’ Bryant said, pleasantly. If her colleague was feeling the same wariness as she was he was hiding it well.
‘I’m afraid I only have a few minutes.’
‘Of course, doctor. We’ll try not to take up too much of your time. We’re here in connection with Heathcrest Academy. We understand you were a student there?’
Cordell nodded uncertainly, which did nothing to quiet the growing suspicion in Kim’s stomach. It was a simple enough question and required no hesitation. He either was or he wasn’t. The cynical part of her felt he was deliberating over every question for fear of revealing something.
‘And you graduated?’
‘In 1992,’ he answered.
‘Good school?’ Bryant asked.
He nodded.
It appeared the man barely trusted himself to speak.
‘You kept in contact with some of your old school friends?’
‘Some,’ he answered.
Kim had learned that there were two kinds of nervousness when being questioned by the police. Over-talkers and under-talkers. For some the nervousness went straight to the vocal chords and they said more than they needed to, filled every silence in an effort to reinforce their truth, often repeating a phrase over and over. Others clammed up completely and offered as few words as possible, not even trusting their own tongue.
‘And you were part of a group there, Clubs, I think—’
‘Spades,’ he corrected, promptly.
‘Maybe you could tell us about that?’ Bryant asked, clearly hoping an open-ended question would elicit more than one-word answers.
‘For what reason?’ he asked, rubbing at the skin on the side of his nose.
Or not, she thought.
‘Because it may help with our enquiries, Doctor Cordell,’ Bryant said, pleasantly.
Cordell glanced at the phone on his desk, either praying it would ring or it was an unconscious movement of the eyes.
‘We’re just here for background,’ Bryant assured him.
‘It’s just a club,’ he said, rubbing that same area of skin again. ‘It’s just some harmless fun when you’re at school, like a gang of friends. You must have had a set group of friends, officer?’ he asked.
‘Of course,’ Bryant said, pleasantly. ‘Kind of lost touch after we left school though. Is that the same at Heathcrest?’ he asked.
Kim could feel Cordell’s growing discomfort.
‘I’m sorry. I’m not sure what you mean,’ he said, buying time for a simple question for an intelligent, educated man.
‘Well, do all you little Spades stay in contact once you’re out in the big wide world?’ Bryant asked the question with just the right amount of dismissive amusement to get a jaw clench from the man. This was Bryant’s baiting at its best. Subtle but effective and a joy to watch.
‘I don’t think you quite understand how—’
‘Oh no, I get it,’ Bryant said, now cutting the man off when he wanted to speak, which was just going to add to Cordell’s annoyance. ‘When I was a kid, one of my mates took some money from his mum’s purse, and we went and bought as much pick ‘n’ mix from Woolworths as we could carry. We swore it would be our secret. Pricked our thumbs, exchanged blood and everything.’
‘That’s not exactly—’ Cordell said, trying to interrupt but Bryant was on a roll.
‘Thing is, by the time I got home I felt sick as a dog. Not just cos I’d swallowed enough sugar to fell a wildebeest but because I knew I’d done something wrong,’ he said.
The tension on Cordell’s face was very telling. She marvelled at how her colleague had an anecdote for every occasion.
‘I couldn’t eat my tea, and by bedtime I was convinced the police were going to be knocking on my door. And suddenly the promise I’d made earlier to keep my mouth shut was no longer as important. Not compared to bringing shame upon my family.’ He paused and then lowered his voice. ‘Do you have family, Doctor Cordell?’
The doctor met Bryant’s intense gaze, and Kim knew what was coming next, as did her colleague.
‘I’m sorry, officers but I have nothing that will aid your investigation and I really must get on with my work.’
Bryant stood and offered his hand.
‘Thank you for your time and I hope we can speak more fully the next time we meet, probably best at the station when you’re less busy.’
Yeah, leave that threat hanging there, Kim thought. Bryant mentioning the next time assured Cordell that their business was unfinished and the idea of attending the station had prompted three deep swallows.
* * *
Kim closed the door behind them and Bryant leaned down to re-tie his shoelace.
‘Nice story about the sweets,’ she observed.
‘No story,’ he admitted. ‘And I haven’t been able to look at a Jelly Baby ever since,’ he said, straightening. He looked at her. ‘You ready?’
‘Oh yeah.’
Bryant stood close to the door and listened. She saw his mouth count to three before pushing down on the door handle
He hesitated for just a couple of seconds before speaking but it was long enough.
Cordell stood at the window already speaking on his mobile phone.
‘Sorry, doctor, but… oh never mind, it can wait,’ Bryant said, holding up his hand in apology and backing out of the room.
‘Works every bloody time,’ Kim said, as they headed along the corridor towards the front of the building.
By silent agreement they had acknowledged that they were going to get nothing from Doctor Cordell, so Bryant had focused his questioning on simply rattling the doctor, knowing full well that if he were guilty of something he’d be on the phone to someone as soon as they’d left the room. And he hadn’t disappointed them.
‘So, what did you hear?’ she asked.
‘Three words distinctly,’ he said. ‘I heard “know about Lorraine”.’
Yes, that was exactly what she’d heard too.
Seventy-Two
‘Just about to call you, boss,’ Stacey said, answering the phone.
‘Okay, but stop what you’re doing and search the list of current students at Heathcrest for the name Lorraine, and get Dawson over to the school to start asking in person.’
‘You think she’s the girl that had an illegal abortion?’ Stacey asked.
‘At the minute, yes. Doctor Cordell was as nervous as a turkey in December and was definitely hiding something. I have a real feeling he’s been doing something he shouldn’t have.’
‘Okay, will do and I have something for you, boss. Traffic have been on. They want you to meet them at the entrance to Hollytree estate.’
‘For what?’ she asked, frowning. Right now, Hollytree seemed a million miles away from their current investigation.
‘The hit-and-run on Joanna Wade, boss. They think they’ve found the car.’
Seventy-Three
It had been a few weeks since Kim had set foot on Hollytree and nothing had changed since. The sprawling estate of maisonette buildings still guarded the three tower blocks at its core.
Kim was reminded of Dante’s nine circles of hell. The circles were concentric, representing a gradual increase in wickedness and culminating at the centre of the earth, where Satan is held in bondage.
Kai Lord had once lived at the very centre of Hollytree; although not Satan he had been close enough.
Her last major investigation had removed the kingpin of the organised crime gang that ruled the estate. But as she had cut off one head another had simply grown in its place.
‘Jesus, is that it?’ Bryant said, pulling onto the car park.
Five uniforms and two detectives huddled around a grey Nissan Micra.
Kim understood his question. For the damage that had been done to Joanna, she too would have expected a bigger vehicle.
‘Inspector Adams,’ Kim acknowledged, heading towards the front of the car.
‘Inspector,’ he nodded in response.
Kim fell silent as she appraised the damage to the car. The dent in the bonnet measured two feet across and ended an inch away from the windscreen wipers. The radiator grille was indented, and the passenger side headlight was smashed.
Kim tried to ignore the image of Joanna being tossed into the air as the car struck her.
‘How’d you find it?’ she asked, tearing her e
yes away.
‘Collation of witness reports, CCTV and some observant police officers,’ said Adams. ‘You know, good old-fashioned police work.’
Kim wondered if he knew of her derogatory comments the previous day. If he did, there was egg on her face right now. She doubted her team could have got this result any quicker.
‘Why here?’ she said, looking around. She couldn’t help but feel that no one living on Hollytree was connected to the staff or students at Heathcrest.
Adams pointed to the left-hand tower block. ‘I’d say because the owner lives over there on the ninth floor.’
That information served to convince her this had been an untimely accident and had no connection to the death of Sadie Winters.
‘All right, Inspector, thanks for—’
‘Not so fast,’ he said, raising one eyebrow. ‘You’re missing the most important part,’ he said, moving to stand beside her.
‘Take a closer look at the passenger side front wheel.’
She took a step back. The rubber of the tyre was bulged, and the wheel trim buckled. She got it.
‘He hit and mounted the kerb?’ she asked.
Adams nodded.
This was no accident. The bastard had aimed right for her.
Seventy-Four
‘He couldn’t just see me for a minute?’ Dawson asked, as Nancy put through another call to Principal Thorpe’s office. He had headed to the school on the boss’s instructions to ask around about Lorraine Peters.
Following her call after meeting with Doctor Cordell he had returned to the yearbooks and searched for any student named Lorraine, and he had found one. Her photo had been included in the spring intake of 1990 as a scholarship student and then nothing. No graduation photo, no record of achievement. It was as though she had disappeared somewhere among the pages. Thorpe had been a student around that time and Dawson wondered if he remembered her.
The principal’s secretary shook her head. ‘I have five calls on hold, another seventeen messages from concerned parents seeking reassurance, and three mothers and fathers making their way here right now to speak to him directly.’