‘OK,’ I said. ‘Let’s just pursue the medic-in-general angle before we get bogged down with specific practitioners. Could it be someone here, at the hospital?’
‘The girls would only be on the hospital’s records if they’d been admitted,’ Evi said. ‘I don’t remember many instances of hospitalization, do you?’
‘No. What about a GP?’ I said.
‘There are twenty different practices in Cambridge,’ Evi told me. ‘Patient information is confidential to each one. We can double-check if any practice had more of the victims than others but I think we’d have spotted it already.’
She was right, we would have done.
‘They’re getting into these girls’ heads somehow,’ I said. ‘Could it be someone at your clinic? A counsellor would be in the best position to know what freaks someone out, wouldn’t they?’
‘I’ve thought of that, too,’ Evi told me. ‘Only about half of the girls came to us for counselling. Even if someone at SCS has been hacking into his or her colleagues’ confidential files, they wouldn’t have found anything on the other half.’
I thought about that for a second. ‘I think I sort of assumed everyone at the university was somehow on your system,’ I said.
‘What gave you that idea?’ Evi asked me.
‘Well, probably that questionnaire your department sent round,’ I said. ‘I thought it said it went to all new students.’
‘What questionnaire?’ said Evi.
I looked at her, saw what was probably my own expression reflected on her face and dug into my bag for my laptop. ‘Give me a sec,’ I said, finding the email with its attachment that I’d received and completed a week ago. ‘There,’ I said, giving Evi the laptop.
She looked at the screen. Her frown lines deepened and she tapped her middle finger on the scroll-down button a couple of times. Finally, ‘I’ve never seen this before,’ she said. ‘This is nothing to do with the counselling services. There’s a whole section on phobias and irrational fears.’
‘Christ.’ I turned, walked to the window, giving myself time to think. ‘We can’t rule Megan, Nick and Thornton out,’ I said. ‘Between them they easily have the medical and psychiatric knowledge needed.’
‘Scott Thornton redesigned the medical faculty’s IT system about six months ago,’ said Evi. ‘He’s got the IT skills.’
The sky outside was the colour of unpolished silver and seemed to be pressing down closer to earth. I had a similar feeling in my head, as though there wasn’t enough space for all the information trying to cram itself in. Oh boy, had I picked the right day to fall out with my senior officer.
A sudden movement made me look round. Evi seemed to be spasming in her chair, a look of intense pain on her face. ‘Laura, could you give me my bag, please?’ she gasped.
Her bag was two feet away from her on the floor. I picked it up and handed it over, then watched Evi fumble inside before popping two oval-shaped pills into her mouth. The second made her choke. She coughed and wheezed for the few moments it took me to fetch a glass of water from the sink in the corner. I handed it over and she drank for several seconds. When she was calmer she looked at me with tears in her eyes.
‘What on earth do we do?’ she asked me, and something about how vulnerable she looked helped me decide.
‘You can make sure Jessica’s OK,’ I said. ‘You’re going to admit her, right? Does that mean she’ll be safe? That no one can get at her?’
Evi was looking scared. ‘Yes, of course,’ she said. ‘The psychiatric wards are secure. They’re kept locked and the patients are watched all the time.’
‘Then I think you should go home and rest. Later, if you feel up to it, you can try to dig up names of people who studied medicine here fifteen years ago,’ I went on. ‘We can go through the list together, see if anyone stands out. And I’d like you to give me Megan Prince’s address, if you know it. I already have Thornton’s. And Nick’s,’ I added after a second.
‘Why, what are you …’
I shook my head. ‘I’ve involved you enough in this already. You’re clearly not well.’
Evi shook her head. ‘I’m fine,’ she said.
‘No, you’re not. You’re ill,’ I told her. ‘Listen, I have to go now but I’ll come round later to walk the dog and see how you are. In the meantime, if Jessica says anything else, call me.’
Evi agreed that she would and I left the hospital. Back in my car, I dialled Joesbury’s number and held my breath. After two seconds I got a recorded message.
‘It’s me,’ I said. ‘I’m still in town. I have good reason. Call me.’
I set off again, wondering if plans to do a spot of breaking and entering were going to cut it with Joesbury.
SCOTT THORNTON LIVED in St Clement’s Road, a row of brick-built terraced houses about a mile outside the city centre. The red Saab was nowhere in sight.
The whole twisted business here was finally starting to take some sort of pattern. The psychological torture and abuse of young women immediately prior to their deaths was almost certainly the ongoing crime that SO10 were investigating here. How it was all being orchestrated I still had no idea. Nor could I begin to explain why it was happening. Thank God, though, I at last had a lead on who was doing it.
After thirty minutes I decided the house was probably empty. Time to get a closer look. I climbed out of the car and walked up the street. The house had three floors, including the basement. To the right of the front door were three tall rectangular windows, each directly above the next. No lights behind any of them. No sign of movement.
At the rear were narrow, walled gardens with high wooden gates and a cobbled alleyway. When I reached 108 I took a quick look round and vaulted up and over the gate.
Snow in the small back garden was largely untouched but I managed to follow the footprints of someone who’d taken a walk to the dustbins and back. Two performance bikes were chained up near the back door. I turned to the gate I’d just climbed over. Three bolts, at the top, halfway down and at the bottom, seemed like overkill for a garden.
Through the glass of the door I could see the kitchen. Not particularly tidy or clean but otherwise a perfectly normal kitchen. The door was locked, with two deadlocks. I leaned over to look in through the window.
There was no way I was breaking into this house. The window had a state-of-the-art lock on it, and from what I could see by straining forward, so did the door. As well as the deadlocks, there were bolts top and bottom. Scott took home security very seriously. Which was interesting in itself, I thought.
‘Any change?’ I asked Evi.
I was back at the hospital, outside Jessica’s room. From St Clement’s Road I’d driven to the cottage on the outskirts of town where Megan Prince lived. Once again, impressive home security but nothing out of the ordinary that I could see. As I’d watched the cottage from a distance, a tall, dark-haired man had left the house and driven away. Megan didn’t appear to live alone. After a few minutes I’d headed for Evi’s house, found she wasn’t home, and come straight back here.
I’d tried twice to get in touch with Joesbury and left two more messages. If he was in contact with Scotland Yard, he would know by now that I hadn’t arrived. I’d heard nothing from him.
Jessica, in the meantime, had been moved to a secure floor and was being watched 24/7. She was as safe as we could make her. A woman constable from local CID had interviewed her briefly but had learned nothing other than that Jessica couldn’t remember where she’d been for the past five days.
‘Her parents arrived an hour ago,’ Evi said. She was still in her wheelchair. She pushed it over to a row of
