The Coercion Key Page 12

  Davy nodded. “Yes. No s…serious illness of any kind.”

  “Good. OK, so for people with everything to live for to commit suicide there has to be a bloody good reason. Somehow our killer found out which button to press for each of our four victims and he pressed it hard. Agreed?”

  He was answered by a series of nods, each of them still thinking of the worst thing that could happen to them in life. Craig carried on.

  “But that doesn’t explain why these four people were chosen in the first place. What did they have in common with each other or the killer? Whatever that is we need to find it because it will give us our killer’s name.” He waved Davy on.

  Davy scratched his chin hard before starting and Nicky winced. The black hairs peppering his jawline were sparse and blunt. They looked nothing like a beard, they just made his face look dirty and she wanted to give it a good scrub. Davy saw her look and scratched again very deliberately.

  “I’ve been running every possible connection between our victims and s…so far there’s nothing that links all four. For example, two of them bank at NIBank and two don’t, three had dark hair and one didn’t, and so on. On their own there’s nothing nasty lurking in any of their backgrounds…”

  Liam interjected. “Unless you count casual polygamy and affairs.”

  Davy shrugged. “True, but they w…wouldn’t show up as crimes.”

  Nicky muttered. “Even though they ought to.”

  “S…So I’ve found no links between the four of them yet.”

  Craig interrupted. “Have you looked at their professional lives?”

  “Not in depth yet. That’s next. But on first look there’s nothing obvious. OK, w…we now have three of the USBs and the four numbers from the s…suicide notes are on the pages that Nicky’s handing out.”

  Nicky passed around a pile of pages and they each took one. The numbers 111012, 740150, 501760 and 070645 were printed on each sheet. Davy restarted.

  “We know the w…wording for the suicide notes was exactly the s…same but the numbers on the notes were all different. I’ve searched under everything general that I can think of and the numbers don’t fit. S…Same with any important dates in the victims’ lives.” He paused and turned to Craig. “Can the families be asked about these numbers, chief?”

  “We’ll get onto it tomorrow. I don’t want us going back to annoy them again today.”

  “OK. The other thing I’m trying is a Fibonacci sequence to see if that makes any sense.”

  Davy paused, waiting for the inevitable roar from Liam. He wasn’t disappointed.

  “A fibber what? Have you been messing about learning Italian again, son?”

  Craig chipped in. “Actually you’re right. Leonardo Fibonacci was a thirteenth Century Italian mathematician.”

  “His s…sequence is made up of integers….”

  Liam mimicked being hanged, implying that it was preferable to a discussion on thirteenth Century mathematics. Davy sniffed haughtily.

  “If you don’t understand you only have to ask.”

  Nicky slapped Liam hard on the arm. “And it’s very bad taste to pretend to hang yourself during a suicide case.”

  Craig laughed. “Not only then. Go on, Davy.”

  “Anyway. I’m not holding my breath. I don’t think it is a s…sequence, although I’ve got The Met’s code-breaking team looking at it as well. So that leaves us with the numbers being relevant to the victims, or something I haven’t thought of yet that links them. If it wasn’t for the numbers showing s…seventeen months and fifty days, I’d say they were dates over the years that refer to some event.”

  “An event that ended in the suicide of someone linked with our killer, sir?”

  Craig nodded. “That’s possible, Jake. But the event could have been anything, and unless we find out what links our victims and what these numbers mean then we could be here all year. Davy, how are you getting on with the list of suicides?”

  “S…Slowly. I’ve extended the search to include s…suicides up to the current day, just in case.”

  Craig nodded. “OK, good work. Jake, any joy on the online game forums?”

  “Davy and I are getting onto that this afternoon.”

  “Right. Good work everyone. You all know what you’re supposed to be doing.”

  Craig paused and swallowed hard, not wanting to remind them they were under threat, but needing to ask the question nonetheless.

  “Has anyone noticed anything strange? Anybody following them or any odd phone-calls for instance?”

  He was answered by a chorus of ‘no’s’.

  “OK. Nicky and Davy, how are you getting on with your close protection officers?”

  Nicky smiled. She’d invited her C.P.O. in for a Chinese meal the night before and he’d ended up playing scrabble with Jonny, her son. Davy looked less amused.

  “Couldn’t you have given me an ugly one, boss? Mine looks like Brad Pitt. Maggie s…spent all last night flirting with him!”

  Craig fought a smile. “Sorry. I’ll write ‘ugly’ on the request form next time.” Something occurred to him. “Does he have a goatee beard by any chance?”

  Davy blushed to the roots of his hair and then disappeared off the floor to shave.

  ***

  John peeked through the door of his corner office and watched Marlene Carey strolling around the room outside. She was staring curiously at his deep-rose coloured walls covered in renaissance prints and lifting his collection of antique medical instruments one-by-one. She snapped them open and closed briskly, as if she was imagining herself as a Civil War surgeon, operating on Stonewall Jackson. John smiled as he watched her trying to work out what each item was for. The collection was his pride and joy, gathered from all over the globe in his travels. He was considered an expert in his field and that meant he was invited to every war zone, natural disaster and psychopath’s playground to advise, no matter where in the world it might be. He was living proof that tragedy was universal. His collection of antiques was proof that it had ever been thus.

  He’d developed an interest in history when he was a student and started his collection then. At first he collected whatever he could find in local junk shops, but now he had medical memorabilia from Japan, America and elsewhere, stretching back as far as the fifth Century. John wondered what Marlene was thinking as she examined the pieces. This man’s a nutter? Or worse? Or perhaps she was as curious as he was about what had happened in the past.

  John opened his office door quietly and coughed so that she wouldn’t be surprised. Surprising a protection officer could get you shot. Marlene swung round and her hand flew automatically to her gun. John raised his hands in peace and she laughed. Her soft smile made her look more Charlize Theron than Arnold Schwarzenegger and he couldn’t help thinking that she made an unlikely looking bodyguard. He blushed and held up an empty mug.

  “Coffee?”

  “That would be lovely, Dr Winter.”

  “John. Please. There’s no-one here to be official with.”

  She smiled again, sending his heart soaring towards Des’ lab and John wondered fleetingly how he was getting on with Joseph Cohen. He’d definitely got the best of the bargain, although he couldn’t imagine Natalie being impressed when she met Marlene that night. John was just heading back into his office to make the coffee when a loud noise in the corridor made him turn. It sounded like one of the waste bins tipping over and he was about to go outside to check when Marlene signalled him to stand back.

  She backed John into his small office and closed the door then moved quietly across the lab. John peered through the door’s frosted glass, tracking her outline and kicking himself for not being fire-arms trained. He’d meant to do it years before, when Craig had returned from London. It made sense given the number of Craig’s cases he ended up working on, and how personal they often got. But something had made him reluctant; perhaps it was the thought that he could never take the shot. Still, at least if he had a gun he wo
uldn’t be hiding in his office now, letting a girl do all the work. He didn’t care how well-trained Marlene was. It just felt wrong somehow.

  As John berated himself for his inadequacies Marlene Carey was moving stealthily through the lab, viewing each object and creak as a potential source of pain. She pressed her back against the wall and listened for noises. There’d been nothing since the single crash they’d heard. It had been a bin, she could see the dark-green outline on the corridor floor outside, but she couldn’t afford to take chances. She pushed the PVC double-doors open cautiously and scanned the corridor’s deserted length. The only movement came from the bin’s contents fluttering in the breeze from the outside world, and the only sound from their flapping to and fro. Marlene glanced quickly back towards John’s office, satisfied that his door remained firmly shut then she stepped out into the corridor to do her job.

  John had just sat down behind his oversized desk when he heard the noise behind him. It wasn’t familiar and yet he knew exactly what it was; it had been in every movie he’d ever watched. A slide pulling back, a bullet clicking into the chamber and the slight creak as a killer’s finger tightened on the trigger, releasing their gun’s charge.

  Time was a strange thing. Einstein said that it was relative; my time isn’t yours and the earth’s time isn’t the same as the sun’s. Faster, slower, a road-runner’s dust or a snail’s slow progress across the floor. Movies loved time as a device; it gave them the chance to display special effects, like a bullet skewering quickly through the skin. Yes, time was relative and John Winter’s time had never felt shorter in his whole life, yet in another way it was longer than it had ever been.

  John didn’t know where he’d learned to move so fast, throwing himself to one side just as the bullet left the gun. He watched himself move like it was a film clip. Slowed down, frame by frame, turning first to his right, his dominant side, and hurling himself across the desk, trying frantically to avoid the bullet that would end his life. Natalie was there and he leapt out to touch her, so many words left to say that he’d thought were yet to come. No time left; all gone. Then the moment of impact and John Winter’s world went dark.

  Chapter Ten

  The C.C.U. 2 p.m.

  Craig was gazing out of his office window searching for inspiration when someone hammered furiously on his door. He kept staring at the river and threw ‘come in’ over his shoulder, then he heard the click of Nicky’s heels. The sound stopped suddenly, signalling that she needed him to turn; when Craig did the tears in her eyes said that something awful had happened. The appearance of Annette behind her said it was something that would affect him more than most.

  He leapt to his feet urgently. “What happened?”

  Nicky shook her head, incapable of speech, so Annette stepped forward and moved her to one side. Her tone was calm and Craig knew that she was using it just for him.

  “It’s Dr Winter, sir. He’s been shot.”

  Craig froze behind his desk. He couldn’t move or speak; only his eyes answered her, saying ‘tell me the worst’. Annette reached over and touched his hand.

  “He’s still alive, but it’s bad. One shot through the back of his chest, close to the pulmonary artery. He’s in theatre now.”

  Craig was out of the office and across the floor before Annette could say anything more. She gave Nicky a look that said ‘get Liam’ then she flew after him, catching up at the lift. They descended in silence, the only sound Craig’s rapid breathing. Annette watched his fists clench and unclench slowly as he struggled to regain some control. When they reached his car she held out her hand for the keys. Craig ignored her, raking the gears into reverse and screeching his Audi onto Pilot Street then towards the motorway and St Mary’s Healthcare Trust.

  In the ten minutes it took them to blue light and park, Craig didn’t utter a word, but Annette could hear his thoughts. John Winter was a civilian, an innocent bystander. A scientist whose job it was to give them facts and clues, not risk his life. He hadn’t signed up for this, not in the way they had. Where the hell was John’s protection officer while he was getting shot? He’d have her sacked. Worse, he’d shoot her himself if John died. Even as Craig had the thoughts he knew that it hadn’t been Marlene Carey’s fault. If someone really wanted to kill you there were pretty good odds that they would. John would have been an obedient charge and done whatever she’d told him to do. Carey had done her job, he was certain of it. These were just the breaks.

  Craig tried to focus his anger onto something neutral as they raced towards the theatre block; Marlene’s job, John’s job, anything but let himself think about what he really felt. This was his friend, a man he’d known since he was twelve-years old. They’d kicked footballs together and chatted-up girls. They’d got drunk in town more times than he could count. He would be John’s best man at his wedding in August and godparent to his first child. John was more than his friend; he was the brother he’d never had. As he thought it Craig stopped dead in the corridor. People walked past him on either side and Annette stared up at him, saying something that he couldn’t hear, then tears filled her eyes and Craig realised that he’d thudded to his knees on the floor. John couldn’t die, he wouldn’t let him. But what if he did? What if his sheer force of will wasn’t enough to make him breathe? Craig wanted to howl and rip the place apart and kill the man who’d done this to his friend with his bare hands. Instead he wept – right there in the hospital’s main corridor with Annette gripping hard on his hand, until finally he had no tears left and unrestrained fury took their place.

  ***

  It had been nicely done although Jenna did say so herself. Tip over the bin as a diversion to get the guard-dog out of the way then one shot and bye-bye John Winter. She’d nothing against the man in particular but Marc Craig had been warned. Hunt me and I will hunt you. Perhaps he’d take her warning seriously now.

  Jenna turned the Browning HP over in her hands, admiring its lines. Very elegant and very effective; it was probably why police forces around the world liked it so much. She’d never taken a shot before outside the internet and she’d been surprised at how pleasant it felt. Perhaps she’d made things overly complex for herself with the suicide game? She could have just shot them all. As soon as she thought it she shook her head. No. They’d had to suffer much more than a single shot would allow and the game had needed to be played.

  Jenna gazed down at the gun for a moment and then reluctantly wiped the handle down. She checked there was no-one around then held it over the fast-flowing Lagan as it tumbled over the Belfast weir, and dropped it silently into the foaming waves. She watched for a moment as the gun sank then she straightened her hair, brushed down her suit and strolled casually away.

  ***

  The C.C.U.

  “How’s the boss?”

  Liam’s face was grim and it grew even grimmer when he saw Nicky’s swollen eyes. Why the fuck didn’t people think before they acted? They didn’t just hurt the person they shot, they hurt everyone around them as well. Or maybe they had thought and that was exactly what they’d wanted to achieve.

  Liam pulled up a chair and sat down beside Nicky’s desk, smiling at her in sympathy. They were all fond of John Winter but he knew that Nicky was mostly crying for Craig. He was losing his friend and there wasn’t a thing any of them could do to help.

  After a moment’s silent sympathy Liam’s need for action kicked it. He dragged his chair into the centre of the floor, beckoning Davy and Jake across. Annette was at the hospital with Craig so they would both be out of commission for a while. It was up to him to push forward with the case.

  “Right. You’ve all heard about the Doc and I’ve a few things to say on that before we start. He’s still alive, so can everyone please stop burying him, OK?”

  He scanned their blank faces then raised his voice. “OK?”

  A staggered ‘yes’ echoed feebly around the room.

  “Good. The second thing is this fucker obviously means business.” H
e turned to Nicky with a sheepish grin. “Sorry about the language.”

  Nicky gave a weak smile. “Carry on. That’s just how I feel.”

  “OK. He means business and we’re all at risk until he’s caught, so let’s catch him. The boss is going to be at St Mary’s until he isn’t, so we need to get on with things here.” He turned to Davy. “Davy, call Annette at the hospital and find out what sort of bullet the Doc was shot with and then work with Des on that. Find out who purchased the gun and where. I’m going back to Diana Rogan’s house. If three of them had USBs then she did too and I’m going to turn the place upside down until I find it. Jake, I want you to go to Rogan’s office and search for the key there. Call me ASAP, then get back here and check every online forum you can by four o’clock. I need the name of every geek who plays ‘Justification’ then I want you to get onto the internet provider and get their real names and addresses. If you need warrants come back to me. Meanwhile, Davy, keep going with those numbers and anything else Des can give you, and hurry up and find out what ties our Vics together, for God’s sake. Like the boss said this is the link to everything.”

  Liam rose and gazed down at them from his six-feet-six inch height, then he nodded once and was out the door, leaving the others staring at each other incredulously. They liked and respected Liam, but sometimes his affable clown act made them forget he had nearly thirty years of policing under his belt and was a Chief Inspector for a reason. Now he was taking the lead he was impressive, and he was going to crush anything that stood in the way of him catching their perp.

  ***

  4 p.m.

  Annette walked into the waiting area carrying a coffee and a sandwich for Craig. He’d been keeping guard outside the operating theatre like a centurion for two hours. Time he had a break.

  Craig was sitting bolt upright on a leather banquette as Annette approached. His stillness was unsettling. The only sign of movement was an occasional blink of his eyelids and even that had slowed to an almost Zen-like rate. Annette went to sit six feet away, loath to disturb his thoughts, but Craig turned towards her with a thin smile, beckoning her to approach.