Chapter 53
They moved Rachel and the baby to a bed in the maternity ward, and because it was night-time, I wasn’t allowed to stay. They told me to go home and get some sleep, come back in the morning. Visiting hours began at eight. Right then sleep seemed impossible, but I went home anyway.
I texted Laura to let her know that everything was okay and immediately got a reply. It made me smile. Despite everything that had happened, and the late hour, she had been waiting to hear from me.
At home, I lay down on the bed, and without much hope of success I closed my eyes. It was pointless – but then the next thing I knew there was sunlight streaming through the curtains and it was coming up on nine o’clock in the morning.
As I parked up back at the hospital, my mobile rang. I was expecting it to be Laura, but it wasn’t – the number was unknown.
‘Yes?’
‘Detective Hicks?’
‘This is me.’ I recognised the voice. ‘Professor Joyce?’
‘It is indeed. I’ve had a chance to look over the documents and information you gave me. Assuming you’re still interested, of course?’
‘You’ve seen the news, obviously.’
‘Yes. But only what’s been reported. So I don’t know if my services are still required.’
‘I don’t think so.’ I got out of the car and locked it. I didn’t really want to talk to her right now; I just wanted to get in and see Rachel and our son. ‘We know more or less what happened. We don’t think there ever was an actual pattern or code. It was all just a piece of misdirection.’
‘I suppose that’s good, in a sense.’
‘Why good?’
‘Because it’s the conclusion my team and I reached after analysing the data. We couldn’t find any indication of a sequence.’
I nodded to myself.
Just misdirection.
Over the last few days, I’d had time to ponder the case.
Each time, I’d come up empty-handed. If we believed Miller, he’d been paid to create and deliver snuff movies – as diverse a collection as possible – but the General had no other connection to him.
He couldn’t have influenced the victims Miller targeted, or where or when those murders took place.
So if the General existed, there couldn’t be a pattern.
If he didn’t, Miller was still denying sending the letters or any knowledge of a code, which didn’t make sense.
And yet, my mind still kept turning it all over.
I said, ‘You found nothing at all?’
‘Nothing useful. Given any large enough pool of data and variables, it’s possible to find patterns, but we didn’t come up with anything conclusive. For what it’s worth, we’ve made a note of what we did find, along with the clusters and anomalies.’
‘Thanks.’ I paused a second. ‘Anomalies?’
‘Oh, nothing to get excited about. Just instances where the data points were unique. For example, the third item, “SP”, had a unique variable for ethnicity. The eighth, “MW”, was the only interior location. And so on. I’m looking through the documents now …
well, there are a handful of others, but not many. ’
I nodded to myself, understanding what she was getting at. Sandra Peacock, the only black woman murdered; Marie Wilkinson, the only person killed inside a building. And so on. The kind of apparent anomalies any random data set invariably throws up, just as it does coincidences.
She said, ‘The clusters were much as we discussed. They’re obvious – you’ll have already seen them. To be on the safe side, we removed different combinations in case there was a pattern hidden in between them.’
I remembered the term she’d used. ‘Static.’
‘That’s right. And there was nothing.’
‘No.’
And of course – once again – there couldn’t be. So why was something still nagging at me? Someone had sent the letters. To that someone, it had been clear that the code was important. Beating us with it had mattered to him. My gut was telling me there was something there, something that –
‘Shall I send my report by email or … ?’
‘Email is fine,’ I said. ‘Along with your expenses, of course.’
‘There won’t be any expenses.’
I started to reply, but she didn’t let me.
‘Normally there would be. But given the circumstances – and the fact that I’ve been of so little help to you – I wouldn’t consider it ethical.’
‘You have been helpful, I promise.’
‘Well … still.’
‘Thank you, Professor Joyce.’
After she hung up, I phoned Laura back at the department and related what Joyce had told me.
‘Report should be on its way,’ I said.
‘Already here.’
‘She’s very efficient.’
‘Like me then. Whereabouts are you?’
‘I’m only just arriving at the hospital now. Because I’m not very efficient.’
I started to walk across the car park towards the reception. Clusters of patients were standing smoking underneath the balcony by the entrance. One man was propped on a pair of crutches, a bandaged foot held off the ground, while a friend held the cigarette for him.
‘So no other news yet?’ Laura said.
‘No. But everything was okay when I left. And he’s beautiful, Laura. He really is.’
‘Takes after Rachel then.’
‘Ah ha ha. Nobody’s ever used that joke before.’
Laura laughed softly in return, and I was about to say something else, when – up ahead of me – the doors to the hospital reception slid silently open and a man stepped out from the bright light into the morning gloom, pack of cigarettes in hand.
And I stopped, halfway across the car park.
Laura said, ‘Give her my love, won’t you?’
But I didn’t reply. I stood still, watching the man tap a cigarette from the pack and raise it to his mouth. He cupped his hands round the lighter, and I heard the distant click-click-click as he tried to get a flame.
‘Hicks?’ Laura said.
The man lit the cigarette, and a plume of smoke appeared in front of his face. Then he looked up, slipping the lighter back into his pocket.
Tony Wilkinson.
Of course, it was no real surprise he was at the hospital.
His own son remained critically ill in the special care baby unit here, so of course he was here.
The only reason I’d hesitated was the conversation I’d just had with Professor Joyce – because his wife had been mentioned a few moments ago, and then suddenly here he was, right in front of me.
Just a coincidence. It was odd, but it meant nothing.
And yet the back of my neck was tingling.
An anomaly, I thought.
The only victim murdered inside.
‘Hicks?’
‘Just a second, Laura.’
I started moving then, heading towards Tony Wilkinson, keeping my eyes on him. I had no idea what I was going to say. But a second later, he turned his head slightly and saw me walking purposefully towards him. Phone still held to my ear. With God only knew what expression on my face.
Our eyes met.
He had been in the process of raising the cigarette to his lips, but it faltered, and then he slowly lowered his arm again.
‘Mr Wilkinson?’ I called over. ‘Detective Hicks. You remember me – ?’
Wilkinson dropped the cigarette, turned around and walked quickly back into the reception.
I started running.