The Operator (Bruce and Bennett Crime Thriller 2) (33 page)

Sally took the cue. ‘Not everybody appreciates
that surgeons aren’t magicians. His wife told us. Gupta had enemies.’

Much of this detail
emerged publicly over the next few days. Gupta’s family were too upset to
comment and it was left to the hospital trust to parade a spokesman to trot out
the usual platitudes. Whether he’d ever actually knowingly met Raj Gupta was
doubtful.

The media were not shy about giving their
opinions. The Operator had clearly struck again, and this time, outside. He was
‘devolving’ or ‘escalating’ or whatever vocabulary they’d picked up from TV
crime series about serial killers. The police came in for criticism for not
making the streets safe; they in turn were appealing for witnesses. The only
sighting that had emerged was by another dogwalker, in a nearby street, who had
seen a couple of separate joggers relatively near the time Gupta would have
been approaching; a broad-shouldered man, wearing jogging clothes and a knitted
hat, and a dark-clothed youth in a hoodie, hood up. He had not seen a face
clearly, nor any obvious blood on either of their clothes.

Police wanted to talk to the joggers to eliminate
them from their enquiries, or as witnesses. The police further infuriated the
media by refusing to confirm that Gupta was a victim of the serial killer known
as the Operator. They were keeping open minds; members of his immediate family
were not under suspicion, having been at home together with some dinner guests;
Mr Gupta had been heading home to join them. When he had not arrived, they
assumed some emergency had come up, and that he had not had a chance to contact
them, which was unusual, and had stayed the night at the hospital, which was
not. But officially police were considering a racial motive for the attack as
another possibility. No-one else was.

Wasn’t he a doctor? A surgeon? Hadn’t he been
killed in a way which referred to his specialism, coronary surgery? Weren’t
there nails in his hands? Wasn’t his wallet still in his pocket? What more did
anybody need to know?

As any pleasure at being in her own place was
spoiled by this new murder, Erica thought she might as well make herself
thoroughly annoyed, so she rang Gary Thomas.

‘Come to your senses, Erica? Realised only I can
give you what you need under the duvet?’

‘In your dreams. I just wondered if you had any
inside info about this new killing.’

‘Ah, the Operator strikes again! I hope... Well, I
might have, but I’m much in demand right now, pretty busy, and let’s face it,
Erica, what’s in it for me?’

‘I thought you might like to show off your inside
knowledge now you swim with the sharks from the big nationals, that’s all. You
never know, I might be in a position to give you an exclusive one day, if my
researches into these killings pay off. And if not, it won’t cost you anything
to drop a few words in my ear.’

‘Well, I did pick up one or two things. But that’s
enough about my evening, ha ha! The police need to be seen to be looking at a
possible racial motive here, but no-one I’ve spoken to thinks that likely in
this case. The Operator’s an equal opportunity psycho. Gupta had an excellent
record, considering them with dodgy tickers are likely to kick it at any
moment. Some evidence is contradictory or confusing. The nails in the hands
weren’t properly driven in, just a token really - but then he was on the
ground, not a table. The killer would be in a hurry, afraid someone would go by
and notice something.’ He gave her a brief run-down of the killer’s MO and the
figures seen in the area at what might have been the relevant time. ‘Doctors’
organisations are screaming for protection, hospitals are issuing them all with
attack alarms and they’re going about in pairs when possible. Even the men! But
you’ll know all about lonely doctors needing protection at night, won’t you?’

‘I’m not rising, Gary.’

‘Well as long as he is, eh?! Fnarr, fnarr. Of
course, some are saying the Operator is a doctor or health professional
himself. Be easier for him to find out where doctors lived and if they lived
alone. Could have a grudge against the medical establishment. Or a failed
medical student. There’s some argument about how much medical knowledge is
involved in the mutilations.’

‘Yeah, right, like Youtube hasn’t got films of every
operation you can name in glorious close up.’

After she’d got rid of Gary, she thought about
Jack the Ripper. Old Jack had operated in dark alleys, near places where people
were going by. He had been in a hurry. In one case he had killed twice in a night,
the first time doing little damage to the body, apparently interrupted. So, his
perverted needs still driving him, he had killed again and done his ripping.
But the worst mutilations had been reserved for the only victim to be attacked
inside a room. The added time and privacy had enabled him to go to town on his
victim. Intestines draped over picture rails and so on. But the Operator had
done it in reverse, going from indoor attacks to outdoor. Maybe it was getting
harder to get surgeons to let him in as they were getting very wary.

Gary’s point about whether the Operator could be a
doctor himself was another parallel with Jack the Ripper. Some had believed
that the mutilations were proof that a medical man, or one trained in medicine
to some extent, had been guilty of the killings. But surely the crude nature of
the present killings belied that. The murder of Gupta had been rather a botched
job. The killer had made a mess of getting at the heart, being unable to prise
the ribs apart. She knew from descriptions of roadside emergency operations
that the ribs had to be cranked apart with retractors before the heart could be
reached for massage by hand, or in this case, presumably, removal.

On the other hand, the ancient Aztecs were adept
at removing living hearts from sacrificial victims armed with only an obsidian
knife. But then, they got plenty of practice.

Such gruesome speculations were cut short when
emails and texts started piling up. Jamie wanted to see her. It turned out he
hadn’t been away after all, but had had to stay on duty over Christmas to cover
for sick staff. Funny he hadn’t let her know but then she’d been away herself
and they’d been sexting over Christmas rather than exchanging news. Her
patients, suffering from holiday excesses, expected her to put them right with
a pill. Some wanted hangover cures in advance for the New Year parties where
they intended getting paralytic. Sometimes she could see Anderson’s viewpoint.

She organised some appointments, texted Jamie to
arrange a meeting, and decided to get outside before cabin fever set in. A run
along the beach would put things in perspective as always.

It was a bleak afternoon, with tiny dry wisps of
gritty snow whirling suddenly out of a sullen sky, like a heavy lead lid over
the earth, with the sun sending some dull yellow rays under it. A large golden
retriever bounded up, its coat matted with sand and water.

‘Go away, pooch,’ she said, but the thing shook
itself all over her. As she was brushing wet sand from her clothes, the dog’s owner
also bounded up.

‘Hi,’ he said enthusiastically, with the same
simple expectation of welcome as his dog. ‘Lovely to see you! Alone, are you?’

She was about to repeat herself when she
recognised him. Mel’s golfing partner, whom she had met at the Golf Club dance,
and had danced with. Howard, that was it. With the networking wife. There was
no sign of her today, which probably explained the enthusiastic welcome.

‘Had a good Christmas Erica?’

‘Very quiet.’ She gave the conventional answer
everyone gave, even if they’d spent the festive season in a haunted castle with
a rock star lover of each sex and a few minor royals.

‘Saw old Mel the other day,’ he remarked. ‘Boxing
Day, in fact. In the street, near his house. Thought he was going skiing - oh,
god have I spoken out of turn? I assumed he’d be skiing with you. You haven’t
broken up have you?’

‘Mel and I have nothing serious going, Howard. He
was going skiing with Miles. They enjoy going on the hunt together, you know - each
other’s wingmen - some very attractive women there, all that apres ski social
scene...’ She was burbling, awkwardly trying to keep up the pretence of the Odd
Couple which Miles and Mel seemed to maintain at the Golf Club.

‘Ah, right.’ Howard brightened. Omigod, he was
pleased she was fancy free again. ‘Maybe he came back early. Only saw him from
the back, maybe it wasn’t him. ‘

The conversation was brought to an end by a boxer
dog which was taking an unhealthy interest in Howard’s retriever. Erica ran off
while he was attempting to disentangle them and avoid a black eye from the
boxer’s bulky and aggressive owner.

The further she ran from the car park the emptier
the beach was. She revelled in the open space and the boiling wintry sea. She
thought about Jamie. She felt about Jamie. Her few days away had intensified
her desire for him; as she ran, the little shocks of her feet hitting sand
seemed to climb up her legs and collect as an ache, a pool of heat in her
groin. She was awash with lust, and couldn’t wait to see him, touch him and
taste him. She remembered their pre-Christmas dates and how he always seemed so
quiet and nice, in the old fashioned sense, and how it contrasted with his
total lack of inhibitions when they were alone. Sod Mel, Howard, dogs and all
murderers. Except that Jamie had been around for the third murder… and possibly
Mel too, from what Howard just said.

Had Craig Anderson also been around over the
Christmas holiday? He could be described as broad-shouldered like the figure
spotted near the scene, in fact it would be an understatement. He did hate
doctors after all.

She dismissed the thought from her mind, until the
papers reported more on the Gupta killing. Confirming Gary’s words, he seemed
to have been a respected surgeon with an excellent record. However, being a
cardiac surgeon, he often operated on people who were near death, and
unavoidably, some of them died in spite of his efforts. Almost a year ago, a
complaint had been made against him. A young girl had died on the operating
table, and her parents had accused him of negligence. He had come out of the
investigation well and been cleared, but they had been bitter and unhappy with
the verdict. The girl’s father had threatened Gupta: ‘It’s not over yet!’ That
was said in front of other staff.

The media tried to chase up this couple for a
quote but they had gone quiet. Presumably they would be questioned by the
police. Erica hoped they had an alibi.

The similarity of the situation with that of Craig
Anderson, whose son had died of meningitis which had not been spotted by
hospital staff, and who certainly felt bitter about it, made Erica wonder.
Could he have heard about the case and taken action like some muscular avenging
angel on behalf of the parents? In which case, was this killing inspired by the
other two murders, or was he involved in all three of them? She couldn’t see
why he would kill Kingston; most of the hatred Kingston inspired would not have
been known to Anderson. As far as you know, Erica reminded herself.

Similarly, Craig Anderson had nothing she knew
about against Paul Chambers. Though there was something in the bible, something
ludicrous, which she’d used in arguments whenever someone quoted Leviticus to
support persecution of gays. ‘He that is wounded in the stones, or has his
privy member cut off’ is an abomination or ought to be killed. Or something
like that, among a whole lot of bizarre rules about mixing fabrics and
suchlike, all with OTT punishments, texts conveniently ignored by those who
cherry-pick holy writ to back up their own prejudices. But maybe to a zealot
like Anderson, a vasectomy specialist like Chambers could be seen as performing
an operation which effectively excommunicated his patients, cutting them off
from heaven and perhaps making them unfit to live. That would give him a
motive, if his religious mania was extreme enough and combined with his hatred
of doctors.

Perhaps Anderson had such a fund of hatred
building up inside him he had turned to murder to assuage it, bypassing his
residual conscience by seeing himself as an avenger for the weak. Finding each
time it didn’t heal the pain of the loss of his wife and son. And it was
significant that those killed by the Operator had been powerful figures, high
status men. Maybe he regarded them as fair game, and in some twisted way felt
he was protecting the helpless from them.

Anderson worked out seriously and would have no
trouble overpowering and killing another man, especially white collar workers
like surgeons, especially as they had all been taken by surprise - the first
wound in each case was on the back of the head.

She remembered how Anderson had come to Ivy Lodge
and how scared she’d been. His tension, his suppressed violence. But perhaps
some kind of chivalrous impulse made him leave women alone, especially small
ones like Erica; it might not fit with his macho image to attack a woman. On
the other hand, if he seemed in danger of getting caught for the other murders,
self-preservation might kick in and chivalry would be kicked out double quick.
For the sake of his personal Crusade. Fundamentalists could always find
justification for their actions.

It would be dangerous to antagonise a loose cannon
like Anderson. Erica pictured him like Patrick O’Brian’s character Awkward
Davies, rushing into battle waving a butcher’s cleaver and foaming at the
mouth; or perhaps he would be more like Stephen Maturin, surgeon and secret
agent, who could kill when need be, coldly and efficiently with a steel blade.
Either way, she had to know more. Poke the bear.

‘Mr Anderson? Erica Bruce here. I was wondering if
you still wanted to be considered as my patient. You did give me your personal
details. I have them on file. I’m just sorting through my records for the new
year, and in view of the opinions you expressed when I interviewed you...’ She
let him pick up the cue.