Private London (Private 4)

DETECTIVE INSPECTOR KIRSTY Webb closed her car door behind her.

She ducked under the police-cordon tape that had once again been put up to keep the public away from the lock-up in King’s Cross. The same lock-up where the gruesome discovery had been made by the hapless Jason Kendrick just a week before.

Two lock-ups were open now. The one that Kirsty had already seen and the one beside it. The serious-crime squad had worked through the numerous files and boxes of paper that the deceased surgeon Alistair Lloyd had kept in his garage and had made a connection between him and Edward Morrison, the owner of the original lock-up.

Morrison had been part of the ring with the surgeon and a few others, it transpired. They were still compiling a list. Adriana Kisslinger only knew some of the contacts the surgeon had.

Kirsty nodded to Adrian Tuttle as he came out of the building, his camera bag slung over his shoulder.

The inside of the lock-up had been turned into a child’s bedroom. A young child’s, with a cartoon bedspread on the adult-sized bed, stuffed toys everywhere, including an enormous giant panda. There was a video camera mounted on a tripod facing the bed.

Doctor Wendy Lee was handing some paperwork to Kirsty’s boss, DSI Andrew Harrington, for him to sign. She nodded briefly to Kirsty as she passed, clearly in a hurry to get out of the place. Kirsty didn’t blame her. Just being there made her skin itch, made her want to turn around and stand in a hot shower for thirty minutes.

Instead, she reached into her pocket and drew out an envelope with her letter of resignation inside and looked across at her boss.

DSI Harrington was a slightly built man in his mid-forties. He was of average height with a sallow complexion and a receding hairline. His teeth were slightly nicotine-stained and his eyes could not hold her gaze for long. She had never liked the man.

‘I’m sorry you didn’t get the job, Kirsty,’ he said.

‘Most likely the better man did.’

‘You’re a field operative. It’s what you’re good at. Do you really see yourself behind a desk, juggling phones and computer files?’

‘No, I don’t, sir. Which is why, as I said, I’m resigning.’

She held out the envelope.

‘You absolutely sure about this?’

‘Yeah, I am.’

‘I’ll keep it in my drawer for a week or so. You’re due the leave anyway.’

‘Won’t make any difference.’

‘Still.’

Kirsty nodded, then looked around the ‘set’ that had been constructed in the lock-up. She didn’t care to think about what had taken place there and was heartily glad she didn’t have to view the DVDs they had found, or try to identify the victims.

‘So this just about wraps it up?’ she said.

‘I guess it does.’

Kirsty knew that her failure to get the job was partly down to Harrington and the testimonial he had written. She wasn’t supposed to have seen it but she had. She had access to resources of her own. Maybe it was flattering that he had been careful enough to praise her, but Harrington had left enough between the lines to edge her out. He wanted to keep her on his team. Keep her on his terms. And she’d had enough of that.

Which was why she walked out of the lock-up and didn’t tell him how wrong he had been.

Wrong about everything.

This didn’t wrap it up at all.

Chapter 113

THE SURGEON KNELT down and removed the wilted flowers from the vases on the left and right of the small plot.

She laid them neatly to one side. Replaced them with fresh flowers as a shadow fell across the white pea shingle.

‘Can I help you?’ she asked without looking round. The surgeon was of medium height and dressed in a dark grey trouser suit. Her hair was silver, the colour of brushed aluminium. Her eyes were alert, intelligent but filled with sadness.