Blood Work (6 page)

Kate shook her head. 'Just tea would be great.' She
smiled gratefully, pleased that her friend was letting
her take her time and hadn't demanded to know what
had happened straight away. If she could have
answered that question she wouldn't be here in the
first place. Jane had been her friend for many years. In
her forties she was older than her and wiser than most.
She had been pestering her for years to join her in
private practice at the teaching hospital and clinic
attached to the university, but Kate had always had
different ambitions, a different agenda. Now, as she
sat cocooned in an armchair behind mullioned windows,
she was not sure she had made the right choices.
But what she did know was that she didn't know
anyone she would rather turn to if she ever needed
help. And if she ever needed help, it was certainly now.

A short while later Jane handed her a mug of
strong, sweet tea and sat opposite her.

'Ready to talk about it?'

'I don't know what happened, Jane.' Her voice was
strained, she felt on the verge of tears.

'Then tell me what you do know.'

'I was at the Holly Bush. Taking a swim in a bottle
of vodka.'

'That's not like you.'

'I met Jack yesterday.'

Jane nodded understanding. 'It didn't go well?'

Kate shook her head. 'I decided to drown my
sorrows. Bad enough to get dumped by the man.
Now I'm turning into him.'

Jane smiled sympathetically. 'Go on.'

'I got chatting to a man at the bar. He'd started
talking to me. I didn't think he was trying to pick me
up.'

Jane Harrington frowned.

'Yeah, I know, you don't have to say it. His name
is Archer. He's a doctor so I thought I could trust him
for goodness' sake.'

Jane reacted at the name. 'Paul Archer?'

Kate looked up, surprised. 'Do you know him?'

Jane jerked her thumb at the window. 'He works
here. He's a paediatrician.'

'What do you know about him?'

'I know he has a reputation.'

'Reputation for what?'

'As a ladies' man. He's married but it doesn't stop
him apparently.'

Kate put her head in her hands. 'Shit.'

'Or didn't stop him, I should say. His wife's
divorcing him.'

'What am I going to do, Jane?'

'Tell me exactly what happened.'

Kate stood up angrily. 'That's just it, I don't know
what happened. I don't remember leaving the pub, I
don't remember going home. I remember being in the
pub, listening to Madeleine Peyroux, drinking
Bloody Marys, talking to Paul Archer and the next
thing I remember is waking up in my bed at seven
thirty this morning, bare as a jaybird with a stark
bollock naked man lying beside me.'

'Dr Archer?'

'Yes, Dr bloody Archer.' She sat down again and
looked at her friend with sore, bloodshot and
devastated eyes. 'I think he raped me, Jane. I think he
slipped some Rohypnol, or something like it, in my
drink and he raped me.'

Jane took her friend's hand and held it as tears ran
down her cheek. 'It's going to be okay, Kate. We're
going to find out what happened and if he has done
what you say, then we are going to make him pay for
it.'

'But if I can't remember . . . ?'

'The first thing we are going to do is take a blood
test. See if there is anything in your system.'

'And then what?'

'I've asked Dr Caroline Akunin to come over here.'

Kate looked up agitated. 'No, Jane. I don't want
that.'

'You haven't showered, have you?'

Kate shook her head.

'So you must have had it in mind.'

'I don't want to go to the police. I can't.'

'That's why I asked her to come here.'

Kate held her head in her hands again. 'I've
performed the procedures often enough in the past.
Feeling sorry for the women. Pitying them. Christ,
Jane, I never thought I'd be in their shoes.'

Jane took her hand again. 'You're not at fault here,
Kate.'

'Aren't I? I went out and got smashed. Maybe I did
want to act like Jack. Wash my problems away in a
lake of alcohol, have meaningless, emotionless sex.'

Jane shook her head. 'Are you saying this is what
you wanted?'

'If it's what I wanted, I would have remembered,
wouldn't I?'

Dr Caroline Akunin was a stunningly beautiful, black
woman in her late thirties. She was tall, elegant,
shaved her hair and was seven months pregnant. She
looked sympathetically at Kate as Jane Harrington
closed the door behind her office, leaving the two
women alone.

Kate nodded at the doctor's swollen belly. 'Nearly
due then?'

Caroline ran her hand instinctively across her
bump. 'How can you tell? A couple of months to go.'

'And how's your gorgeous husband?'

'My gorgeous husband is being a pain in the butt
right now.'

'Why?'

'He wants this little one to be born back in his own
country.'

'Russia?'

'Yup. Moscow, just where I want to be in the
middle of winter.'

'Will you go?'

Caroline smiled, the brilliance of it lighting the
room. 'I don't mind really. Quite looking forward to
it. Never let him know though. You have to keep
your man on his toes, don't you?'

Kate looked away. 'I guess.'

'I'm sorry, Kate.'

Kate put her hand on her arm. 'That's okay. Let's
just get on with this.'

Caroline nodded sympathetically. 'We should
really do this back at the station.'

'White City?'

'Yes.'

'You can't be serious?'

'Any evidence I collect here won't be admissible in
court, you do know that?'

'I know, Caroline. But I can't go there. Not with
this.'

'You wouldn't be the first.'

'I just want to know what happened. After that . . .'
Kate shrugged. She had absolutely no idea what she
would do if her fears were confirmed.

Dr Akunin opened up her medical bag, took out
some plastic bags and a pair of latex gloves. She
pulled the gloves on, snapping the latex tight to her
fingers. 'You'd better get undressed then.'

PC Bob Wilkinson scowled as he looked down at the
body that lay barely hidden in the undergrowth. He
sighed, unclipped his police radio from its holster and
he shared a look with his colleague, a young, black
constable called Danny Vine. The boy was ashen, he
looked down at what lay on the ground and then
dashed off to the bushes to be violently sick.

'Foxtrot Alpha from thirty-two.'

His police radio crackled. 'Go ahead, Bob.'

Wilkinson looked over at his colleague who had
stood up and was now wiping the blue serge of his
uniformed arm across his mouth. He felt sorry for
him, you never got used to it, though, even after
nearly thirty years. 'We have an IC1 female. Somewhere
in her twenties.' He paused. 'It's not an
accidental death.'

Kate stood in the centre of the white cotton sheet that
Caroline had spread on the floor. The doctor was on
her knees in front of Kate with a comb in her hand.
Kate looked away as she worked, carefully placing
the combed hairs in a small, clear plastic bag.

'When was the last time you had consensual sex,
Kate?'

Her memory flashed back to around three weeks
ago. She had no trouble recalling that.

Jack Delaney.

'Tell me, Jack. Talk to me.' Low, breathless,
husky.

'Dig your nails in. I want to taste blood.'

'Pleasure and pain, Detective Inspector. Very
Catholic.'

Delaney laughed, looking into her eyes, at the
mischief sparking within them. 'I want to
remember the moment.'

And Kate dug her nails into his buttocks,
pulling him deeper into her. 'Oh, you'll remember.
I'll make sure of that.'

She remembered the savagery of their lovemaking.
Remembered him on top of her, penetrating her
almost painfully, his powerful arms clutching her
tight to his muscular body like a life raft as he rode
the waves of their passion. She remembered his soft
eyes wet with emotion as he shuddered to a climax,
taking her with him. She remembered the absolute
nakedness of his emotions as he held on too long
afterwards, kissing her salty shoulder and whispering
her name like a prayer.

And she remembered the love she felt for him.

She looked over at the curtained window and felt
tears running down her cheeks again.

Caroline Akunin looked up at her. Misunderstanding
her tears. 'I'm sorry. I have to ask.'

'That's okay, Caroline. It was three weeks ago.'

Caroline nodded. 'I am going to take some swabs,
is that okay?'

Kate nodded. Her body was already feeling like it
was something apart from her once more. Distancing
herself from her feelings, something she had learned
at a young age. Something she had lived with for
years until Delaney had made her feel connected with
her body again. Now she felt violated and ashamed
and wretched. But most of all, she felt angry.

A buzzing sound then a sharp ring. Kate looked
across at her mobile phone that was vibrating on Jane
Harrington's desk. 'You better pass that to me,
Caroline. I told the office to call me only if it was
really urgent.'

Delaney looked at the bloodshot eyes of Martin
Quigley. Eyes that darted nervously back and forth.
Eyes that squirmed under his scrutiny with pain and
with fear. His right arm was suspended in a sling and
covered with plaster. His fingers, that were visible,
flexed nervously. His lower jaw was covered with
wire and metal and held immobile. He grunted
through the metal but quite clearly couldn't speak.
He was a large man, somewhere in his forties. His
nose had been broken many times in the past, and the
home-made tattoos on his neck would quickly dispel
any lingering suspicions that this man was employed
in white-collar work.

Delaney didn't know the man, but he knew the
type. Bruisers who communicated with their
knuckles. Strong-arm men for cleverer criminals. A
foot soldier, cannon fodder, a gorilla just like Kevin
Norrell. He moved around the side of the bed, closer
to him. 'You attacked Kevin Norrell, and I want to
know why.' The man grunted again, an animal in
pain. Delaney couldn't make out what he was saying.

Sally Cartwright took out a pad and a pen and held
it out to Quigley's good hand. He flicked his broken-veined
eyeballs to the left, where she stood, then back
at Delaney and grunted again, but made no move to
take the pen or notebook.

Delaney smiled at him. 'You taking what our
American cousins would call the fifth, Quigley?'

Quigley glared at him with defiance in his eyes and
didn't move.

Delaney glanced over at Sally. 'Give him the pen,
Sally.'

Sally put the pen in his left hand but he made no
move to hold it. Delaney reached over, put his own
hand over Quigley's broken one and pulled it.
Quigley grunted, loudly, his face red with pain and
tears starting in his eyes. Delaney released his grip.
'He'll take the pen now.'

This time Quigley held the pen. Sally put her
notebook under it so that he could write.

'Why'd you attack him, Quigley?'

Quigley wrote one word. The scrawl was nearly
undecipherable but Sally could just make it out. 'He's
written "Nonce", sir.'

Delaney looked at Quigley. 'You saying you
attacked Norrell because he was a paedophile?'

Quigley grunted an affirmative.

'Who put you up to it?'

Quigley grunted again and wrote some more. Sally
read it out again. 'He says no one.'

'Just doing your civic duty, were you?'

Quigley grunted again, trying to keep his head as
still as possible. Sally looked over at her boss. 'Do
you believe him?'

'I don't know.' Delaney smiled at her then tugged
on Quigley's hand again. Quigley's breath hissed
through the metal mask of his teeth and he gurgled in
pain. Delaney let go of his hand. 'You telling me the
truth, Martin?'

Quigley's eyes pleaded with Delaney, his gurgling
incoherent but comprehensible as Delaney reached
towards his plastered arm once more.

Quigley pleaded with his eyes as Delaney's mobile
phone rang. He grabbed it out of his jacket pocket
and flipped it open.

'Delaney.'

'Jack, it's Diane.'

'I'm at the South Hampstead, interviewing
someone.'

'It'll have to wait. I heard about Norrell and I'm
sorry, but something's come up.'

'What?'

'We've got a dead body in the woods, South
Hampstead Common. A young female.'

'We know who she is?'

'Not a damn thing. Uniform are securing the site,
but given the weather we want it processed as soon
as possible. Paddington Green should be handling it
but they've got some big anti-terrorist initiative tying
up their manpower.'

'Lucky us.'

Delaney looked across at the rain-speckled
window and through it at the grey clouds overhead.
'Give me the details.' Delaney listened for a moment
or two then closed his phone. He put his mobile back
in his pocket and gestured to Sally. 'We're out of
here.'

The sigh of relief from Quigley was audible.
Delaney turned back to him. 'I'll talk to you later.
Meanwhile, you better pray Norrell makes it.
Because if he doesn't I'm going to come back here
and finish the job he started. And I'm a professional.'

Quigley glared at his back as they left his field of
vision then closed his eyes nervously, snaked a
tongue around his dry lips and swallowed with
evident pain.

Kate Walker flicked the end of her long, multi-coloured
scarf over one shoulder and walked
quickly across the quadrangle and around the
corner, passing the main entrance to the South
Hampstead Hospital as she started for the car park.
Her head was down and although the rain, for the
moment at least, had stopped, the north-east wind
still had a chill edge to it. She fumbled in her pocket
for her keys when a voice called out to her.