The History Suite (#9 - The Craig Modern Thriller Series) (36 page)

While all those thoughts ran through Ken’s head Carmen was having her own. They were shorter and less complex, ranging from ‘how dare he’ to ‘I quite enjoyed that’. She heard them and realised something; nowhere in her thoughts was one that said she hated Ken Smith, in fact quite the opposite. But he was a man and she didn’t trust men on principle so she had to be in control. Her next words were cool.

“Don’t ever do that again.”

Ken’s heart sank but what happened next confused him even more. There, in the hospital corridor, against every regulation, Carmen McGregor decided to take a risk on a man, but only on her terms. She stared into Ken’s eyes and when she was completely ready she leaned in to kiss him, oblivious to the people passing and the job that they were there to do. She added a caveat to her sentence.

“Unless I tell you to.”

Then she stood up, entered the unit and they got back to work.

***

Liam wasn’t quite sure what reaction he’d expected when he’d told Ferdy Myers he was being held. Nonchalance maybe; that’s what men usually attempted when they were looking at charges that could put them away for life. Perhaps some token act of defiance, like reaching for a cigarette in a no-smoking zone. The odd young lad would cry for his mum, but that was to be expected at that age. None of it moved Liam at all; they never shed a tear for their victims, only for themselves, not even when they were being sent down.

Some people deserved to be locked up; they were animals. Actually, to call them animals was unfair. Animals killed for food or defence, some of the scum he’d put away had killed for the change in a pensioner’s purse. His only doubt about prison was the cost; why they couldn’t just dump the whole bunch on a desert island with only their own gender beat him. They could fight and bugger each other to death for all he cared, just as long as they left the innocent alone. He glanced around High Street’s staff-room as if someone could hear his thoughts; that was all he needed, some telepathic Human Rights’ lawyer to appear. But the room was empty, with only his tea and a packet of digestives to silently disapprove.

Still…he admitted he’d been surprised when Myers had crumbled so completely. He wasn’t a kid; he was a fifty-year-old man. A wet eye would have been acceptable but not the full blown tsunami that Ferdy Myers had cried. There was none of his interview bravado, just denial after denial. At one point he’d actually dropped to his knees and begged Liam to let him go, saying that he hadn’t killed Rudd or Cooke, just hated them both, that was all. Here’s a hint, Ferdy. Telling a cop you hate a victim has a nasty habit of getting you charged.

Liam dunked another digestive in his tea. He was almost ashamed to admit it but he’d felt quite sorry for the porter by the end, not that anyone but him and Jack would ever know it of course. Letting that sort of thing leak out got you a rep for being a soft touch and that way lay Armageddon on the streets. Next thing you knew prisoners would be sending you Christmas cards saying ‘thanks for being kind’. It would disturb the natural order of things. Me cop, you scrote, me shout, you confess and go to jail. Do not pass go and definitely do not collect two hundred.

Just then the door opened and Jack slumped in, looking like a defeated man.

“Is there any tea left?”

“It’s a bit stewed but it’s OK.”

He poured a cup, shooting Liam an annoyed look.

“Thanks for that.”

Even Liam spotted the sarcasm.

“Is he still bad?”

“Take a look for yourself. The doctor was in there for ages trying to calm him down. We thought we’d have to send him to St Mary’s at one point.”

Liam nodded. “Sedatives?”

“Aye.” The sergeant glowered at him. “What the hell did you say to him? He was fine during the interview.”

Liam raised his hands in denial. “All I said was that we were holding him. You should know, you were watching from your hidey hole.”

Jack shrugged. It was true; Liam had done it strictly by the book. He thought for a moment and then said the words that every copper dreads.

“Well, for him to take on like that I’d say you’ve got the wrong man.”

***

Carmen and Ken glanced at each other and then back at Brian Kirk. He looked like a typical doctor, or what the movies had thought was one for years. Male, fifties, greying hair, what was left of it, glasses set low on his nose. In fact if central casting had been looking for someone to play the part a decade earlier Brian Kirk would have been quids in. Since then the typical TV doctor had morphed into an intelligent looking woman, usually brunette, reflecting medical schools’ female intake across the world. When they cast one who looked like Marilyn Monroe there’d finally be true equality.

But even if Kirk looked like Dr Perfect that didn’t rule him out on murder charges; if they could narrow down where he’d been at the times of deaths they would ship him to High Street and take it from there. As Carmen stared at their interviewee, Kirk twiddled nervously at his wedding ring, sliding it up and down his finger like it was used to coming off.

“How long have you been married, Dr Kirk?”

The doctor blinked in the brightly lit office and shook his head, not because he didn’t know the answer but because the question puzzled him.

“Twenty-three years in January.”

“Children?”

The conversational tone of the questions created a relaxed mood where it seemed perfectly normal for Kirk to discuss his kids.

“Two boys. Twenty and sixteen.”

Carmen nodded. “University and school I suppose?”

“Yes.” The physician leaned forward, emboldened by the coffee-shop chat that the interview had become. “Look, can I ask you what this is about? I’ve already told you that I was on the unit on the dates you mentioned and I’ve given you the name of the patient I was called to see. Mrs Bains will confirm that I was with her, so I couldn’t have committed or seen who committed the murders.”

He sat back decisively, folding his hands in front of him on the desk. Ken noticed how starched and pristine his white coat was, and the fact that he was wearing one at all; every other doctor he’d seen in the hospital seemed to prefer a handbag or their stethoscope draped round their necks. It looked untidy; he preferred the coat.

Carmen wasn’t looking at Brian Kirk’s white coat; she was too busy staring at his face. After she’d done it for long enough to disconcert him her voice changed from chatty to challenging and she said what she’d come to say.

“You’re a liar, Dr Kirk.”

Kirk railed at her words then leaned forward so fast that Ken wondered if he’d have to intervene. A warning glance was enough to make Kirk sit back again. His indignant words would have to suffice.

“How dare you!”

Carmen was undeterred. Her voice hardened and her soft Edinburgh lilt took on an edge. She tapped meaningfully on the notepad in front of her. “I dare because, while Sister Norton confirms that you saw Mrs Bains both days, she also gave me the exact times you were with her.”

She reached for the pad, turning the pages slowly in a deliberate attempt to ratchet Kirk’s tension up.

“On the morning of the ninth of October you were with Mrs Bains from ten to eleven o’clock, yet the CCTV doesn’t show you back in the main hospital corridor until eleven-forty. On the evening of Dr Cooke’s death we have a similar story. That leaves approximately forty minutes unaccounted for on each occasion.” She set down her notebook and folded her hands, echoing Kirk’s earlier pose. “Would you like to tell me where you were during those times?”

Ken watched as the consultant searched for a plausible alibi; he arrived at the clinician’s failsafe. “In the ward office.”

Carmen shook her head. “No you weren’t. We have footage of people entering and leaving both wards and the unit. You appear on the tapes heading for Reilly Suite on both occasions but never entering. Now, would you like to tell the truth?”

Kirk opened his mouth to lie again and Carmen shook her head. “I should tell you, Dr Kirk that we know all about your affair with Sister Gormley. Now, carry on lying by all means but all it will get you is a visit to a cell.”

Brian Kirk shook his head, but not angrily, rather he shook it like a man who’d given up. What he was giving up on was anyone’s guess. His lies? His affair? His marriage? Whichever it was, in the next ten minutes he answered their questions and outlined his relationship with Hazel Gormley, recounting exactly what they’d been doing while people were being killed.

***

The C.C.U. 7 p.m.

“Did you believe Kirk?”

Carmen nodded at the small briefing group. “Yes. It’s almost impossible to turn that shade of purple from embarrassment if you’re faking it. He said they usually meet in the clinical room.”

Liam laughed. “There’s CCTV in there. If they’re not careful the tape will end up on the Net.”

Craig shook his head at how careless they’d been.

“Does Kirk wear a wedding ring?”

“Yes, though it looks like it comes off pretty easily.”

“Our killer wore no rings and it’s unlikely Kirk would have taken the time to remove his if he’d killed Cooke in a hurry.” Craig paused before asking something else. “Is it serious between them?”

It was an inappropriate question and he knew it, but he was tired of watching his suspects disappear one by one. He didn’t believe Ferdy Myers was a solid contender and now Brian Kirk’s peccadillo was going to rule him out; he was going to allow himself the details.

Carmen shrugged. “Kirk said so and so did Gormley when we asked. Whether it is or not, it’s unlikely that Kirk’s good for the deaths.”

Craig nodded. “OK, double check the times and Davy will watch the clinical room CCTV.” He stared at Liam. “
Only
Davy. Tell Kirk and Gormley not to leave Belfast as we may want to question them again.” He dragged his hand down his face, fatigued. “OK, that leaves us with Ferdy Myers in custody but denying it.”

“Well, as Mandy Rice-Davies said ‘he would, wouldn’t he’.”

“True. There are no guilty men in prison. What does your gut say, Liam?”

Liam made a face. “It says I’m not sure. Myers is perfect in a lot of ways but you should have seen the carry-on when I held him. Fair gave me a headache.”

“Headaches aren’t a defence in court but if Myers’ solicitor pleads diminished capacity, your interview might be thrown out.”

Craig was silent for a moment and Nicky seized the gap to pour fresh coffees and hand them round. He thought for another minute before he spoke, attempting a neutral tone; he didn’t want to bias opinions by revealing his preferred killer.

“OK. Let’s park Myers and Kirk for a moment, who does that leave us with? Caleb Pitt, an eighty-four-year-old amputee who spends most of his time in a wheelchair. Comments anyone?”

Nicky watched as Carmen glanced at Ken in a way that said something had happened between them. She made up her mind to call Annette for a gossip certain that none of the men would have noticed a thing. She was wrong. Craig had spotted the warmth between them the moment they’d entered but he wasn’t saying a word in case he jinxed it. Anything that improved Carmen’s mood worked for him.

Liam had heard Craig’s deliberate neutrality and he knew what it meant. He ventured a quip anyway. “Maybe Pitt beat them to the ground with his Zimmer and then strangled them.”

Jake had been quiet since they’d started but now he spoke. “He doesn’t use a Zimmer.”

His words had an edge to them and Craig knew accusing an elderly man of murder when his grandfather was sick was hard for him, but not considering Caleb Pitt as a suspect was an omission that he couldn’t allow.

“OK, let’s look at what we know about Pitt. Davy?”

Davy remained in his semi-recumbent position, not from insolence but exhaustion; none of them had had any rest for a week. He tapped on his smart-pad and read.

“Caleb Pitt. Aged eighty-four last month. Born in Atlanta, Georgia in 1930, lived in New York for a time then came to live in the UK in 1986. He w…was in the US military until 1977, reached the rank of Major General when he was thirty-five. Married Edna Crowe in 1950 and they had two s…sons: Nathan and Joshua. Both in the military and both deceased.”

Liam interrupted. “That’s rough.”

Davy nodded. “One died in 1974 and the other in 1980.”

It was Craig’s turn to interrupt. “Where?”

Davy scoured his screen and then shook his head. “Doesn’t say. Do you need me to find out?”

Craig nodded. The unease he’d felt for days was growing.

“Will do. Edna Pitt died in 1982 and Caleb got a job with an oil company than brought him to the UK in ’86. He lived outside London until he retired in 1995, then he relocated, first to two different parts of S…Scotland and then here in 2005.”

Carmen cut in. “Why keep moving?”

It was a good question. Why would a retiree move three times in ten years? Davy shrugged and added it to his list of things to check.

“He’d been living in Newtownards since 2005. There was a w…woman around till two years ago; Mary Hart.”

“What happened to her?”