The Electrician's Code (15 page)

Chapter Thirty-Two

T
heo, and for that matter, Dorland, did not have much experience with autopsy. “Experience with autopsy.” What a way to describe it—as if it was something to be desired. The room was sterile except for the naked man that lay on the table. Theo watched Dr. Alfred Waynton lay out all his utensils one by one, picturing what each was used for, imagining the knives slicing through human flesh. His stomach turned over.

“Would you like a glass of water, Theo?”

Theo looked up at Waynton and swallowed sharply. “No. I’m all right. Just tired.”

“Well, don’t fall asleep during the autopsy. I don’t want to have to repeat myself.”

Dorland seemed happy in the room, laughing, making jokes. Theo supposed it was his uncle that calmed him. What must family dinners be like? Did they let him carve the turkey? De-bone a ham? One by one, each organ was removed, weighed, and examined.

“The old man was in fine health, save a missing leg,” Waynton said, removing his gloves and donning a new pair. “I can tell you this, the person who murdered him was shorter than him. Can’t tell you if it was male or female, only that it is possible for it to be either sex.”

“What about the wound? Did the killer know what they were doing?”

“I think that they aimed for the heart. Although he was only stabbed once, the knife didn’t go deep. Only half the knife entered the chest cavity. Fortunately for the killer, they struck right on target. The good news is that he was dead almost instantly.”

“As far as you can tell, this murder was not done by a professional?”

“No, well, I suppose it might have been, but it could have been committed by anyone else too.”

“Male or female.”

“Yes. Male or female.”

So, really we have nothing to go on?”

“I’ve collected a few fibers, but unless the killer screwed up and left some mark on the knife I’m not sure you’ll be able to find him or her from the autopsy results.”

“What about the leg? Why was it removed?”

“It’s hard to say. I looked up the man’s health records but all it said was his leg was amputated due to an infection. How he received the infection is unknown. The amputation was done by a doctor in the NHS. Can’t remember the hospital off-hand.”

The tox screen also proved disappointing. Other than a few common medications relating to high blood pressure all in their proper doses, there were no unusual substances found. He had not drunk in days and suffered from nothing life-shattering. If he had not been stabbed, he would probably have lived for years to come. How could the man manage to make someone angry enough to plan this murder? The reason was not apparent to either detective.

Three phone calls to forensics only depressed Theo further, for there were no useful prints other than what belonged to the deceased and the nurse. No footprints, no other blood. Any hopes for useful DNA leading to an arrest of a suspect were unrewarding. It was a standard kitchen knife. No unique brand name.

“The public doesn’t like a senseless murder of a crippled old man just heading out to retrieve his newspaper. It makes the populace afraid and their fears fall on us. It really is important, but I think you know how important it is. Don’t you?” Theo said.

Dorland nodded.

“We must be running backwards,” Theo said, walking toward his office, “because I sure feel like vomiting.”

Chapter Thirty-Three

S
ophia 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

D
r. 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.