Dead Scared (41 page)

‘What happened to the vicar?’ I risked.

She smiled, let go of my hand and gave it a little pat. She didn’t reply immediately, but I didn’t think she minded my bringing him up.

‘There was news footage of him helping you into your car,’ I said. ‘It looked like the two of you were together.’

Sad little shake of the head. ‘We never quite made it to that stage. Harry and I were instrumental in a woman’s death. She was one of my patients.’

‘Instrumental how?’

‘Long story, and it wasn’t Harry’s fault, it was mine. I thought for a while I was going to lose my practising certificate over it. In the end I just got a reprimand for a temporary lapse of judgement, but …’

‘You can’t forgive yourself?’

She sighed. ‘Losing a patient in your care is hard enough, Laura. When it’s because of a selfish act on your part, it’s close to unbearable. I couldn’t be with Harry and deal with it. And nor could he.’

She looked at her watch and pressed a button to close down the laptop. Time was running on and both of us had other places to be.

‘A long time ago I made a big mistake,’ I said. ‘And the repercussions of it will go on for as long as I do. I know exactly what it’s like to really care for someone you can’t be with. I know about obstacles that just won’t go away, no matter how much you want them to.’

‘Sucks, doesn’t it?’ said Evi.

‘Oh, big time. But with all due respect, what you’ve just told me about you and Harry doesn’t cut it.’

Eyebrows up, glint in those deep-blue eyes. ‘Oh, you don’t think?’

‘Trust me, as insurmountable barriers go, yours is strictly little league,’ I told her. ‘If he means that much to you, you’ll deal with it.
I’d
call him if I were you.’ I reached into my pocket, pulled out my phone. Well, Joesbury hadn’t said I couldn’t call a man of God. ‘Fully charged up,’ I told her, waggling it in her direction.

‘You’re nuts.’ She made no move to take the phone but I could tell she was on the verge of smiling.

‘I believe that term’s rather frowned upon in professional circles,’ I said, putting the phone back in my bag. ‘Right, when this is all over and the bad guys are banged up, either you call him yourself or I’ll do it for you.’

I borrowed Evi’s keys and went off to take Sniffy out for a run. When the dog had settled back down I locked up carefully and took the keys back to Evi at the hospital, then jogged down a couple of flights of stairs to Bryony’s floor and made my way to her room.

‘Hi,’ I said. Bryony’s blue eyes softened and I thought perhaps she’d smiled at me. Then, before I could speak, the door opened behind us and two men stood there. The first was George, the porter from St John’s who’d showed me to my room on my first day. The second was Nick.

‘Hello, Miss Farrow,’ said George. ‘How’s our patient?’

‘I’ve just arrived myself,’ I replied. ‘But the nurse outside told me she’s doing well.’

The two men stepped further into the room. I saw both glance down at the pad in Bryony’s tent. ‘Well, that’s very good news,’ said George, pulling up a chair and settling himself down beside Bryony. ‘Hello, my dear. How are you this evening?’

Nick gestured with his head that we leave the room and I followed him out. As the door closed, we could hear George talking to Bryony is a soft, low voice.

‘Did he know her well?’ I asked, knowing I was getting suspicious of everyone but wondering why a college porter should be visiting a student.

‘He’s been to see her a lot,’ said Nick. ‘Some of the porters do get quite close to students. Surrogate sons and daughters for many of them.’

‘For a GP, you spend a lot of time here,’ I said, before I could think about whether it was wise or not.

‘Bryony’s my patient,’ he replied. ‘Jessica was registered with one of my partners. And I could say the same about you. What’s your excuse?’

‘I just said goodbye to Evi,’ I said, by way of a reply.

‘How are your plans for the evening shaping up?’ he asked.

‘Still unclear,’ I replied, thinking that by the time darkness fell I might be in serious need of a bed for the night. Not that I was going anywhere near Nick’s house. Not now.

MY ROOM WAS
exactly as I’d left it. Except that this time Tox was there.

‘You dark horse, you,’ she greeted me. ‘Why didn’t you tell me you had such a gorgeous brother? Is he single? Is he straight? Oh God, please tell me he’s not gay?’

‘What?’ I said, which I admit wasn’t the most intelligent response in the world but I’d had a tough day.

From further down the corridor came the sound of a lavatory being flushed. Tox gave a tiny wiggle, twisted round so she could see her own arse in the mirror and tucked a straggle of hair behind one ear.

‘Here she is,’ she trilled at a tall, dark-haired man walking towards us along the corridor. ‘I told you she wouldn’t be long.’

‘Hey, squirt,’ said Joesbury, bending down to kiss me on the cheek and pat me on the bottom in a manner that would probably have earned a real brother a split lip.

‘Yo, bro,’ I replied, and yes that was lame, but, as I say, tough day.

Joesbury was wearing pale cream chinos and a pink and lilac striped button-down shirt with a lilac sweater slung over his shoulders. I’d never seen him look so wholesome. He was positively preppy.

‘Mum asked me to pop in,’ he said. ‘Gran’s had another one of her turns.’

‘That’s three this year,’ I said, before remembering it was only January. ‘Academic year,’ I added, turning to Tox, who seemed unable to take her eyes off Joesbury.

‘Are you going to be here for the evening?’ Tox said to him. ‘We could take you out somewhere, couldn’t we, Laura? Unless you’re seeing that delectable GP of yours, in which case I’ll look after Mick.’

Good to know my brother’s name, I suppose.

‘Actually I need to hit the road,’ Joesbury said, smiling at her in a way I swear he’d never smiled at me. Sort of cheeky and flirty and … ‘I just came by to pick up little Laura’s laptop. She’s broken it again. Walk me to the car, squirt?’ he finished.

‘I’ll give you his number,’ I promised Tox, as Joesbury picked up the heavy canvas bag in which I kept my laptop and led me out of the room. ‘If ever a man deserved you, it’s my big brother.’

‘Squirt?’ I said, as we crossed the covered bridge. Below us the river had taken on the blue-grey cast of wet slate, the banks were still frosted over with snow and the fields and gardens beyond stretched white as far as light from the colleges could reach.

‘Seemed siblingy,’ he replied. We stepped into Third Court just as a dusting of snow fell down on us from one of the window ledges. I indicated that we needed to turn left and head north to get to the forecourt.

It was properly dark by this time and everywhere we looked, warm yellow light was shining from medieval windows. When we reached Chapel Court I decided that if I was about to be fired, we might as well get it over with. ‘If you’re interested in why I’m still here …’ I began.

‘I know why you’re still here,’ he interrupted me. ‘I know about Jessica.’

A male voice, pure and light, drifted across the court from the chapel, asking God to intervene on our behalf and to do it quickly. Then the choir and congregation joined in with the response. Evensong was taking place, as it seemed to most evenings. ‘O Lord, make haste to help us,’ sang the choir leader.

‘I sent you several messages,’ I tried again.

‘Didn’t get them,’ said Joesbury. ‘We disconnected your phone this morning.’ He dug into his pocket and pulled out another mobile.

Candlelight from inside the chapel was glowing through the stained-glass windows. In the few places where the snow was unbroken, the religious images from the windows were reflected in perfect detail.

‘Take this for now,’ Joesbury said, holding the mobile towards me. ‘I picked it up at the Carphone Warehouse earlier. It’s for emergency use only. Don’t try to phone me with it, or Dr Oliver, or any of your colleagues on the force. And that includes DC Stenning. Is that clear?’

‘Perfectly.’

‘I need your old one,’ he said.

I dug into my bag, handed it over. ‘As it’s been disconnected, not much point hanging on to it.’ Joesbury wasn’t looking at me any more. He was staring at the chapel, a tiny smile on his face.

‘This is Haydn,’ he said. ‘“The Heavens Are Telling”.’

‘Like you’ve ever been to church,’ I grumbled. There was something about the music that was making me feel sad, and needy. As if I wanted to go into chapel and let it wash all around me and, at the same time, to run as fast as I could in the opposite direction.

‘The wonder of his works displays the firmament,’ sang Joesbury, perfectly in time with the choir inside the chapel, and in a surprisingly good voice. By this time, the music had become loud and jubilant.

‘I’m taking your laptop too.’ He indicated the bag he’d carried from my room.

‘How did you even get in here?’ I said. ‘You can’t just drive into a Cambridge college, claiming to be a relative.’

Joesbury looked down at me. ‘You think you’re the only undercover officer we have in town?’

‘I’ve just discovered you were a choirboy. Nothing will surprise me any more.’

As silence fell inside the chapel, Joesbury caught the look on my face and stepped closer. ‘I’m sorry about this morning,’ he said.

‘I stand corrected,’ I snapped, glaring at him.

A tiny twitch at the corner of his mouth. ‘Setting aside for a moment the fact that you’re a completely loose cannon who wouldn’t know the rule book if it jumped up and bit you on the arse, you’ve actually done quite well,’ he said.

There was a sudden need, on my part, to sit down.

‘The stuff you’ve been emailing me about Nicole and the other girls has been pretty helpful,’ he went on. ‘The only reason you’ve been kept in the dark and why we’ve been telling you repeatedly not to get involved is for your own safety.’

In the chapel a beautiful, soothing voice was reading prayers. I looked up into turquoise eyes that I knew I’d never tire of. ‘There’s more,’ I said.

Another twitch. Any second now he was going to smile at me. ‘Go on,’ he said.

He listened while I told him the theory that Evi and I had come up with. Sometimes almost shouting in his ear, to compete with the choir and congregation, sometimes dropping my voice when silence fell, I told him about the bogus questionnaire. That, armed with immensely private information on girls’ innermost secrets, someone was devising a targeted campaign of bullying and intimidation, feeding on their worst fears. That, when the girls were close to being nervous wrecks, the abuse became physical, aided by a powerful and highly dangerous cocktail of hallucinogenic and sedative drugs.

I went on to say that I was especially worried about Evi herself, that it looked as though she too had become part of the campaign of intimidation, not because she matched the vulnerable-young-woman profile, but because she’d been poking her nose in where someone didn’t want it.

As music that seemed too good for this earth rang around the court, I told Joesbury I suspected the girls were being abducted, for a purpose I couldn’t begin to imagine but didn’t have any good feelings about, and that, shortly after being released, they were pushed, probably again with the assistance of drugs, into taking their own lives. I told him that Bryony hadn’t bought the petrol that nearly killed her.

‘You’re sure about that?’ he interrupted me.

‘Absolutely. And does it bear repeating that Nicole’s wasn’t the only car on the road the night she died?’

‘No, I got that loud and clear. Go on.’

Only yards away, people sang of God’s wonders and glory. In the real world, I told my senior officer that we were looking for a group of people with both medical and IT skills and that three such people in town had been at Cambridge fifteen years ago, the last time a spate of suicides had occurred. His face didn’t flicker when I named Nick Bell, Scott Thornton and Megan Prince as possible suspects. I told him about Iestyn Thomas.

‘Bell has always taken more of an interest in Bryony than medical protocol demands. And Megan Prince is a psychiatrist, one who knows Evi very well. Thomas sounds like a twisted individual who has, very conveniently, fallen off the grid. The only one we have anything tangible on though is Scott Thornton.’