The writing was on the wall. The evidence was all there for them.
“SOCO found that tape recorder and brought it straight here, just after you’d left to go and see Armitage. I called him myself a few minutes ago. You two were on your way back. He told me he’d installed the machine so as he didn’t miss any calls, but also so as he could listen back in case of discrepancies. It was just a better way of keeping the customer happy, he reckoned.”
“Good old Armitage,” said Gardener.
Thornton and Anderson had returned to the incident room, a slight smell of cigarettes enshrouding them. He had Cragg play the tape again for their benefit.
He had all the team together. “Full steam ahead lads. We need to find Gary Close and Robert Sinclair. Who knows, we might even find Lance Hobson in the middle of all this mess.”
Chapter Fifty
“I want a word with you!”
Gary Close had spent three hours at the Foundation. He’d been in terrible shock when he’d first heard the news that his mother had actually died. Guilt followed. He’d begun to wonder whether or not he could have done more himself. Had he let her down? Even if he hadn’t let her down, he had certainly been let down by the one man who’d said he could save her.
Anger now replaced any other emotion.
The staff had been terrific with him, but he’d told them about an hour ago that he would like to go home. What he had done instead was sit in his car in the car park and wait for Robert Sinclair, the man who’d led him to believe that everything would be okay. He’d known the surgeon would return at some point, and he’d been prepared to wait all
night if necessary. The longer he’d waited, the more infuriated he’d become.
After he stepped out and locked his car, Sinclair turned to meet Gary’s intense stare.
“Gary. I’m sorry.”
Gary Close thought he must have been hearing things. His mother had died yesterday – not today, but last night – and no attempt had been made to inform him of that. And all Sinclair could say was sorry. That didn’t cut any ice with Gary.
In fact, the man hadn’t even called and asked him to make a mercy dash so he could be at his dying mother’s bedside, like any normal surgeon in any other hospital would have done. He’d told Gary that she was still asleep, and there would be no point in visitors. How bad, not to mention unethical, was that?
While Gary’s thoughts had festered in his mind, he failed to notice that Sinclair had walked towards the building.
Gary followed him. “Hey, I’m talking to you.”
Sinclair stopped and faced him. “Then have the common decency to do so inside.”
“And you’d know all about decency, wouldn’t you? My mother dies, and you don’t tell me till the day after. In fact, come to think of it, you never told me at all. Still want to preach about common decency?”
Sinclair kept walking, leaving Gary to talk to his back. Gary stopped and stared as Sinclair kept walking through the front door, closing it on Gary behind him.
What the fuck is he on, thought Gary. But then, what could he expect?
The young PC followed Sinclair all the way down the corridor, past glaring, disbelieving staff, into the surgeon’s office. Sinclair laid his suitcase on his desk before turning to face Close.
“Don’t you dare walk away from me anymore!” shouted Gary.
“And don’t raise your voice to me, Mr Close.”
Gary noted the change immediately. The surgeon had not used his first name. Suddenly, it was Mr Close. Now he had what he wanted.
Gary took a step towards the desk.
“Didn’t you hear me? My mother died. Do you have anything to say for yourself?”
“Should I?” replied Sinclair.
That sentence stopped Gary’s thought processes. If he didn’t know any better, he’d say that he had been taken over by some alien life force. He was a totally different man.
“Should I?” repeated Gary. “What’s that supposed to mean? You were looking after her, and now you’re talking to me as if neither of us counted for anything. What the fuck’s wrong with you?”