The Rock

‘Meet him? Meet Laytham? How long’s this been going on?’ Broderick asked, incredulous.

‘It hasn’t been going on, guv. She’s been trying to shake him off. He’s a bit of a letch on the side.’ Calbot was cut off by the sound of his mobile phone ringing. ‘Shit.’

‘What?’ Questioned Broderick.

‘Shouldn’t be on in here. It’s a hospital – could interfere with the patients’ machines and stuff.’

‘Jesus, Calbot. We’re in the pathology department! It’ll take more than your crappy ringtone to upset the bodies lying around down here.’

‘Yeah, good point,’ Calbot replied as he answered the call. ‘Calbot. Yeah... right... what’s it called again? Okay, thanks.’

Ending the call, he turned once more to Broderick.

‘That was Kemp, guv. They’ve sourced the tobacco. Dutch brand called Dollsberg. Not available in shops over here, you have to order it online.’

‘Dollsberg?’ Broderick interrupted.

‘That’s what he said...’

‘Dear God.’ Broderick stood still, momentarily stunned.

‘What, guv?’

Broderick quickly moved to Laytham’s desk and picked something up from beside the telephone. It was a large colourfully designed pouch of tobacco.

‘Dollsberg, Calbot! That’s the brand of tobacco Laytham smokes!’

‘That’s a coincidence, guv,’ Calbot replied blandly.

‘Is it, Calbot? Is it really?’

Broderick’s eyes now darted about the room. They settled on a door which obviously led to a large cupboard. Broderick was at the door in a moment, turning the door handle. It was locked. Taking out his pocket knife, Broderick crouched and picked the lock.

‘Where did you learn to do that?’ Calbot asked.

‘Zumba class,’ replied Broderick. The lock gave. ‘Ah-ha, got it.’

The cupboard door opened to reveal a plethora of bound files and folders. A black hold-all caught Broderick’s eye and he leaned in to open the zip. Reaching inside, his hand met a large coil of climbing rope. Both he and Calbot recognized it on sight.

‘Jesus, guv-’ Calbot exclaimed. ‘ I just don’t bloody well believe this.’

Broderick moved to the cupboard door. Hanging from a hook was a scarf and a blue quilted jacket. He swiftly checked the sleeves of the jacket, before turning to show Calbot what he had found.

‘Look! There’s a tear.’

‘Guv, will you tell me what’s going on?’

‘The coat, Calbot! It’s Laytham’s! It’s torn on the sleeve. Laytham is a pipe smoker – his brand of choice is Dollsberg. We have particles of that tobacco at the scene of both Bryant and Ferra’s deaths. The rope in that hold- all looks pretty bloody familiar to me as well, and if you check the photos of the professor’s mountaineering expeditions on his wall through there, it seems he knows how to bloody use it.’

‘Wait, are you saying...?’

‘On the morning of Bryant’s death, Laytham turned up with a plaster on his forehead, remember? Said he’d slipped in the bath.’

‘Yes!’ Calbot said, realisation slowly dawning on him. ‘Or cut his head on a nail running from Bryant’s apartment, perhaps?’

‘He was also wearing this jacket.’

‘Jesus.’

‘Not only that. That smell of disinfectant present at both scenes... it was driving me crazy, remember? I know now why it was so familiar. Stick your head in Laytham’s Cutting Room and you’ll recognize it too.”

‘But why? Why would Laytham want to...’ Calbot stammered.

‘I don’t know, but we need to find out fast’ Another thought suddenly hit Broderick.

‘And where the bloody hell’s Sullivan?’

* * *

The sun beating down on Broderick’s head in the hospital car park did nothing to alleviate the many stressful thoughts that were racing through his mind.

‘Laytham’s only been on the Rock eight or nine months, Calbot. I want to know where he was before. I want to know everything about him, and I need to know now. Understood?’

‘Yes, guv. Sullivan’s not answering her mobile.’

‘Right. Organise a search of the hospital and its grounds. Did you get Laytham’s home address?’

‘Sir,’ Calbot replied, handing Broderick the sheet of paper.

‘Right, that’s where I’ll be.’

Broderick opened his car door and got in. Neither he nor Calbot had noticed the dark green Peugeot estate drive past them a few moments before. If they had, they might have recognised its driver and discovered the unconsious body, wrapped in hospital bed linen and covered in a tarpaulin sheet, that lay in the back of the innocuous looking vehicle.

* * *

Five minutes later Broderick had driven past the Victoria Sports Stadium and turned right onto Devil’s Tower Road. The address Calbot had given him was an apartment on the east side of The Rock at Catalan Bay. His police radio crackled and buzzed feverishly as Broderick managed to escape the heavier traffic and put his foot down.

‘DC Calbot reports search underway at the hospital, sir,’ Sergeant Aldarino said over the radio.

‘Tell Calbot to join me at Laytham’s house straight away. Oh, and bring back up.’

‘Yes sir,’ came the response.

18

Consciousness started to return to Sullivan in small waves as she was carried up the stairs and placed on a large four poster in a bedroom. She was aware of someone thrusting open the French windows, allowing the warm breeze to flutter the net curtains. She knew she should be afraid, fearful, but she was not. Her head swam with images from her childhood. Her mother and father on a beach on holiday - smiling and laughing. Her pet dog, Bruce, running along a country lane. A Christmas tree, heavy with lights and glitter. All benign. No threat at all.

A sliding noise and a short click preceded Dave Brubeck’s Take Five starting to play. The music filled the room as Sullivan once again slipped into unconciousness.

* * *

‘Hey, what’s going on?’ the neighbour called out to Broderick, in response to the vast number of flashing blue lights and assembled police officers gathered outside the exclusive apartment building overlooking the bay.

Broderick, who had been knocking on the door of apartment number seven, turned to answer.

‘Police. I’m looking for Professor Laytham. He lives here, I believe.’

The elderly man looked concerned. ‘Yes, that’s right. Gerry’s okay, isn’t he?’

Broderick peered through Laytham’s window; the apartment looked to be deserted.

‘Is he in, do you know?’

‘Haven’t seen him. Works at the hospital.’

Something was niggling away at the back of Broderick’s mind.‘I know.’

‘He keeps pretty irregular hours,’ the man continued. ‘Mind you, he’s been spending quite a bit of time up at his cousin’s place.’

Broderick spun round to face the man. ‘And where is that?’.

The man looked slightly startled at the brisk response and stuttered as he answered. ‘The Captain’s House, Up on...’

Broderick interrupted. ‘Yes. I know exactly where that is.’

‘His cousin’s quite elderly and lives on her own. He’s been looking after her a fair bit.’

Broderick had been about to try and gain entry to the apartment, but now suddenly realised what had been nagging him.‘Wait. Did you say Gerry?’