Blood Work (31 page)

'And?'

Kate held up the photo from her file. 'And in this
one you can't see anything. The mirror is clear, no
reflection. No foot.'

Delaney shrugged. 'So? What does that mean?'

'The second is from our files and the first isn't. We
don't have it. It means that whoever it was who put
these pictures up on the Internet in the first place
hasn't hacked into our files. Because that photo
wasn't in our files in the first place.'

Diane nodded, taking it in. 'So that means—'

'Christ!' Delaney interrupted her as the implications
hit him. 'Where's Sally Cartwright?'

Skinner ran a hand over his head. 'She said she had
a hot date tonight.'

'Michael Hill.'

'That's right,' Skinner answered him. 'Danny Vine
wasn't too happy about it, been moaning all
afternoon.'

'Who's Michael Hill?' Kate asked, puzzled by their
tone.

'He's the scene-of-crime photographer, Kate. He
took those pictures and if there is one on that site
that isn't on our files then he took that one too, and
made a mistake when he was putting them up on the
Net.'

Diane stabbed her cigarette in the air. 'We've got
the bastard then.'

Delaney shook his head angrily. 'Not yet we
haven't.'

Kate Walker stood up. 'For Christ's sake, Jack. Are
you telling me he's got Sally?'

'He doesn't know we're on to him. There's no need
to panic.'

Diane Campbell shook her head. 'He's been
playing games with you all along.'

'It doesn't fit the pattern, Diane. She never worked
at the hospital.'

'And what if she mentions what she asked Kate to
look into?'

Delaney didn't answer her, what colour left in it
was draining from his face.

Jessica Tam smiled at the sour-faced receptionist as
she headed for the exit but, as usual, got nothing in
response. The woman had been working there long
enough to recognise most people by now, but there
was no sign of it on her stony face. Maybe she
reserved the smiles for the doctors and consultants, in
that regard she wouldn't be unlike many others that
worked at the South Hampstead. Seemed to her that
if you didn't like people, being a receptionist wasn't
exactly the best job in the world. Jessica loved people,
loved helping people in need, and for her nursing
wasn't just a job, it truly was a vocation. Shame it
didn't pay any better, though, she couldn't help
thinking as she stepped out into the cold car park not
at all surprised to see it was raining again. Be nice to
be able to save up enough to buy a better car. One
that had heating that worked properly, that didn't
steam up every time in wet weather. One that would
start first time in the winter. She looked up at the sky
above her, far too dark for this time of year. It was
nights like these she wished her paternal grandfather
hadn't come all that way and fallen in love with an
English barmaid. Mind you, if he hadn't come to
England, she thought with a little wry smile, she
wouldn't have been born.

She slipped her handbag off her shoulder and
fumbled for her car keys, thinking to herself that her
car might be a bit of a heap, but at least she didn't
have to walk across the common and through the
heath. She shuddered thinking of the poor woman
who had been found there and said a silent prayer for
her colleague Mr Collins who was probably one of
the nicest registrars she had ever worked with. A
loving father, a kind and generous man. She couldn't
even begin to imagine why anyone would want to
hurt him. Her hands shook slightly as she tried to fit
the key in the car door and fumbling she dropped
them to the ground. She bent over and startled
slightly as a man stepped up from behind her and
snatched them up from the ground. She looked up a
little scared, but then smiled, relieved, as she saw who
it was.

'Dr Archer. You startled me.'

Paul Archer smiled back at her, his brown eyes
almost black in the gloom of the poorly lit car park.
'Then for that I do apologise. I really must make it up
to you in some way.'

Jessica Tam held her hand out for her keys and
Paul Archer smiled once more.

Some pleasures are to be savoured. Michael Hill
thought. Some to be played out over time, like a symphony.
But some morsels you want to rush at, devour
and move on to the next.

He looked at the blonde woman, dressed only in
her underwear, one hand hanging from a manacle. At
the moment she was unconscious, but she would be
awake soon enough. Would he do her quickly like the
others, or would he leave her for a while? She wasn't
part of the original plan but then she had made
herself part of it, wrote herself into a leading role
when she was only supposed to be a supporting
extra. Jack Delaney's eager-eyed sidekick, lusting
after the Irishman like the rest of them. Asking
questions, beavering away, keen to get on the arrogant
prick's good side. She had asked one question
too many, however, and the thought of how Delaney
was going to react to what was going to happen to
her . . . well, that was just going to make it all the
more enjoyable. He smiled at the prospect and then
collected himself, he needed to focus, there was other
work to do first. He went to the side table and picked
up a dark, curly-haired wig and put it on. Looking at
himself in the mirror on the wall he smiled again. The
perfect disguise. Jack Delaney, eat your heart out.
'Hey, cowboy. Time to ride,' he said out loud.

A coughed laugh behind him made him spin round.

'You're really pathetic, you know that? You're not
a tenth the man he is.'

Michael Hill spun round and shook his head
angrily. 'The way I see it, one of us looks pathetic,
but it isn't me.'

Sally grimaced as she tried to loosen the manacle
on her wrist.

'Hurts, doesn't it?' He held up his right wrist. 'I
should know. My aunt used to hang me from the
manacle and beat me when I was a child.'

'That's a tattoo, Michael.'

'Shut up!' he barked angrily at her and slapped her.

'And you never lived with your aunt as a child.'

'You don't know anything about me.'

Sally fought to keep her voice level, she had read
the books at college. She knew that people like him
got off on fear. It was all about power and control.
The moment she showed herself as weak, the
moment he smelled her fear, was the moment she was
lost. 'I'm a detective, dickhead. I don't just go out on
dates with men without finding out about them first.
Your parents died when you were ten years old and
your twenty-one-year-old sister took custody of you
because your aunt was registered blind.'

'I told you to shut up!' He raised his hand as if to
slap her again but then dropped it, his voice almost a
whisper. 'You don't know anything about me.'

Sally softened her own voice. 'I know that you're
scared, Michael. But it's not too late. You can put a
stop to this. You can get help.' Her eyes pleaded with
him. 'Let me help you.'

Hill walked across to the table again and picked up
a length of cloth, then stepped forward and tied the
cloth round her mouth. He leaned in and whispered
in her ear. 'I've someone to take care of first. But I'll
be back for you. Then we'll see who's scared.'

Sally twisted her head away, the feel of his moist
breath in her ear far worse than the slap he had given
her.

He headed to the corner of the cellar and up the
steps. Sally stared at him defiantly until the small
square of light disappeared as he closed the hatch
above.

Sally howled with rage as best she could through
the tight gag, then slumped against the wall. Her eyes
scared now, filling with tears as fought to keep
control of her bladder. She wasn't sure she had done
the right thing provoking him, but she knew one
thing: if she was going to die it wasn't going to be
without a fight. After a few minutes working her jaw
she managed to loosen the gag, enough to shout for
help, but as her voice echoed in the thick walls of the
cellar she realised it was a futile exercise. No one was
ever going to hear her. She twisted her wrist once
more, grunting with pain and desperation as she tried
to slide her hand through the manacle.

And failed.

Delaney hung up the phone and shook his head. 'He's
not at home.' An army of flak-jacketed officers had
descended on Michael Hill's flat. But there was no
sign either of him or Sally Cartwright.

Diane lit up another cigarette. 'He may not be
meaning to hurt her.' But her voice betrayed her true
feelings.

Kate walked across from the printer. 'This is a list
of everyone working at the South Hampstead over
the last year. And the smaller list is ones who have all
at one time worked with the three victims so far.'

Delaney scanned the small list – names, addresses
and phone numbers – and two of the names jumped
out at him straight away: Paul Archer and Jessica
Tam. Jessica had been one of the team who had
fought so desperately to save his wife's life. He
remembered her genuine grief that they hadn't been
able to save either of them. He remembered her kind
words, her genuine solicitude. He remembered her
small, delicate body, her almost oriental features.
Most of all he remembered her gentle smile and her
humanity. And then he remembered what had been
done to the other two women.

He snatched up the phone, looked at the list and
punched in a number. It rang for a while before it
was answered.

'South Hampstead Hospital.'

'Can I speak to Jessica Tam please?'

'She's off shift, I'm sorry. You've missed her.' The
voice at the other end of the line was curt.

Delaney hung up and looked at the list again. She
didn't live far from the hospital. He dialled her home
number, it rang for a while but there was no answer.
He stood up and hunched as best he could into his
jacket.

'Come on, Kate. You can drive.'

'Let uniform deal, Jack,' Diane Campbell said, a
warning tone in her voice. 'You are in no fit
condition to do anything.'

'I can't just sit here, boss. By the time we get there
she'll be home.'

'He's right, Diane,' Kate said as she stood up and
put her own coat on.

Campbell sighed and lit another cigarette, calling
out from her perch by the window as they walked to
the door. 'Jack . . .'

'Yes.'

'Just be fucking careful.'

Jessica Tam fought desperately to stay awake as the
man above looked down at her with the cold smile of
an executioner.

It had all happened so quickly: she had opened her
door, hardly registering the dark-haired man
standing there before he had moved quickly forward,
there was a sharp prick in her neck and her legs had
gone rubbery beneath her. Unable even to speak she
had been bustled back into her house, the door
kicked closed behind them, and she was laid on her
couch. As the man looked at his watch, like an
anaesthetist waiting for a sedative to take hold, she
knew all too well what was going to happen next if
she lost consciousness; she could see it in the absolute
chill of his eyes. If she could just fight it. Keep awake,
then there was hope. But she could almost feel the
rhythm of her heart slowing. She tried to lift her
head, but it felt as if a sandbag had been placed over
it. Maybe it had. Her eyes flickered open very
slightly, she tried to seize the light, draw herself up
along it. But she just felt so tired. So very, very tired.
Her eyes closed again and she half formed the
thought to fight it, to open them again, and then the
thought died.

Kate pulled her car behind a Land Rover parked on
pavement outside the nurse's house, and cut the
engine.

'You wait here, Kate,' Delaney said.

'I'm coming with you. No arguments.'

Delaney shrugged and regretted it immediately as
spikes of pain shot through his battered shoulders.
They got out of the car and walked towards the
house. Delaney looked through the back windows of
a blue Transit van that was parked outside, but he
couldn't make anything out, the windows were too
deeply tinted.

Inside, Michael Hill couldn't believe his eyes as he
crouched low and looked through the window. Jack
Delaney and his bitch of a girlfriend walking towards
the door. How the hell had he tracked him down?
The man had the detecting skills of a blind goose. So
far everything had had to be laid out on a plate for
him. He hefted Jessica Tam under one arm and lifted
the tranquilliser gun, which he had reloaded, in the
other. There was nowhere to go. He pointed the gun
at the door and waited.

The doorbell rang. He stayed motionless. It rang
again. He could hear Delaney move around the side of
the house, peering in the windows, but he wasn't
visible in the hall. The bell rang a third time. He held
the nurse tighter to him, grateful that she was so small.

After another couple of minutes he heard footsteps
moving away. Then a car engine starting up and the
car pulling away. He let out the breath he had
unconsciously been holding and propped his arm
under Jessica Tam and around her waist. Walking
her to the door as if she had had too much too drink.

He opened the door and manoeuvred her clumsily
towards his vehicle. He was halfway there when
Delaney stepped around from the side of the van and
pointed a pistol at him.

'Your exhaust pipe is still hot.'

Michael Hill stiffened, holding the gun against the
petite nurse's head.

'I'll kill her.'

Delaney looked at the man's curly brown wig.
Could see the madness dancing in his dark eyes. He
had no doubt at all that he meant what he said.

'You pull that trigger and you're a dead man.'

'Maybe I'm a dead man anyway. But we're not
finished here yet. I'm a force of nature, Delaney.'

Delaney looked at him and wondered at his own
hesitation. Earlier that day he had been unable to kill
a man responsible for the death of his wife and the
death of his unborn baby. Something in him had
changed, that much was clear. A couple of months
ago he wouldn't have hesitated. He'd have put a
bullet in each of Mickey Ryan's kneecaps first and
then put one in his head. He looked at the frail
woman who had tried so hard to help him all those
years ago. He was powerless. He looked at the
expression in the man's eyes facing him. He took a
step closer, saw the pupils grow wider as though the
man had come to some kind of decision. He moved
slowly towards the man, positioning the barrel of the
gun in the centre of his forehead.