Private London - James Patterson [40]
Chapter 51
MISTER ALISTAIR LLOYD gestured to his assistant, a thirty-year-old Canadian woman.
‘Close her up, Michaela,’ he said.
As he walked out of the theatre he was surprised to see a couple of police officers, his colleague John Ferguson, and an animated young woman with an unhappy expression on her face waiting to see him.
‘There’s a bit of a problem, Alistair,’ said Ferguson.
‘Oh?’
‘My brother would never have signed a donor card. There’s been a mistake,’ said Penelope Harris.
‘I’m sorry? I don’t follow.’
‘I want the operation stopped.’
The surgeon shrugged. There wasn’t much apology in the gesture. ‘It’s too late, I’m afraid. The transplant has been done. It was clearly what your brother wanted.’
‘I don’t believe it. I want to see him.’
‘Of course. You have to understand that he was in a serious accident. He suffered major injuries.’
‘I know that. I need to know it’s him.’
One of the police officers stepped forward. ‘We need a formal identification.’
‘Of course you do. Come with me, then.’
A short while later Alistair Lloyd nodded at the mortuary assistant who slid open the drawer and revealed the body. The dead man had suffered considerable trauma but his face, although lacerated, was recognisable. Penelope gasped holding a hand to her mouth. Then she nodded, unable to speak.
The surgeon gestured to the assistant to close the drawer again. As he did, Penelope’s brother’s left hand flopped loose from the covering sheet.
‘What happened to his hand?’ Penelope asked, puzzled.
John Ferguson looked down, shocked. The third finger of the dead man’s hand had been severed at the second knuckle.
‘It wasn’t like that when he came in,’ he said.
Chapter 52
SAM WAS PARKING the car as I jogged up the stairs to our office.
There was some activity in the offices of Chambers, Chambers and Mason. But not a great deal of it. Lawyers, it seemed, were not always on the case. Not on Saturday afternoons, at any rate.
Lucy was back at her reception desk, typing on her computer.
‘Where’s Suzy?’ I asked her.
‘She’s still down at the university.’
‘You get anything more?’
‘We made contact with Laura Skelton. She’s pretty shell-shocked by what happened.’
‘She would be. She add anything new?’
Lucy shook her head. ‘Suzy’s still with her. They seemed to be getting on pretty well. She thought it might be useful to strike up a friendship.’
‘Keep me posted. And tell her to dig into a meatball by the name of Ashleigh Roughton while she’s down there. Captain of the rugby team. Make him a priority.’
‘On it!’ She snatched up the phone.
Maybe we’d make a field agent out of her yet. I walked across the office to the water cooler, pulled a cup out of the dispenser and poured myself some.
Sipping on the water, I strolled over to Adrian Tuttle’s workstation. He had three computers on it, a big Apple cinema display screen and two laptops. The footage of Hannah bound and reading the message that her captors had given her was freeze-framed. Adrian looked up from the laptop he was working on as I approached.
‘You got any good news for me, Adrian?’ I asked.
He shook his head apologetically. ‘The email address is a hotmail account, as you know. Use it and lose it kind of thing.’
‘And the YouTube account?’
‘Linked to that address. I’m trying to get the computer signature but I’m not having any luck.’
‘YouTube won’t release it?’
‘Not short of a warrant. And the original film has been taken down.’
‘You can’t trace the ISP remotely?’
Adrian shook his head. ‘Sponge might have been able to but …’ He shrugged. ‘Outside of my pay grade.’
I nodded. Nothing I didn’t expect. ‘Keep on it.’
The phone rang. Lucy answered it and waved me across.
‘It’s them,’ she said.
‘Put it through to my office, Lucy, I’ll take it there.’
I gestured to Sam to follow me and headed into my office. As Sam closed the door behind me I hit my speakerphone button.
‘It’s Dan Carter. Talk to me.’
‘There’s a trade on the table if you’re interested.’
‘Of course we’re interested.’
‘Good. Ten o’clock tomorrow