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“Just a minute,” shouted Hobson.
The doctor faced the drug baron.
“The pump. What’s in the pump if it isn’t insulin?”
“Oh yes,” said the doctor. “The pump. Well, I was looking for something that would eat away at your tissues like you and your friends were eating away at society. It took me some time, but I finally found it.
“It contains a genetically modified strain of the Ebola virus. For it to work in the timescale I wanted, and to have any noticeable effect, it had to be held in a liquid suspension and injected into the tissue where the effect was desired. Anything going straight into the bloodstream tends to cause septicaemia, high temperature, circulation collapse, and maybe even generalized clotting. Which could have killed you, possibly painfully, but very rapidly.
“And whilst I want you to die in agony, I do not want you to die very quickly.”
The doctor stopped talking and left the room.
Chapter Forty-two
Back in the incident room, Gardener was still rocked by what he’d discovered at the Ross & Sinclair Foundation. They had questioned Ross further about the computer records. During that time, he’d used his PC and telephone to verify for them he had not been in the country. British Airways had been more than cooperative.
The two officers then drove back to St. James’s Hospital, where they encountered a pretty hostile Andrew Jackson, whom they had actually dragged out of an appointment with a patient. Jackson said he would have Gardener’s badge. The SIO said he didn’t care what threats Jackson made, he wanted information about the computers and the log-in details and who had access, and he wanted it today. Having spoken to the IT team, Gardener left the hospital satisfied that they would meet his demands within two to three hours.
The SIO glanced up at the ANACAPA chart, wondering where the hell to start with it all. He placed the two cards discovered in Ronson’s briefcase onto the board and stood back.
Sergeant Williams came into the room with a cup of tea in his hand, taking a brief sip. “I thought I’d help out for a few minutes, it’s pretty quiet out there.”
“How’s Gary? Have we heard anything about his mother?” Gardener asked.
“I’ve given him some time off. He’s going to see her this afternoon. Apparently she’s doing as well as can be expected.”
“Which is more than can be said for us.”
“I hear things didn’t go too well at the train station this morning.”
“That’s one way of putting it,” said Reilly. “Ronson stepped off the train and dropped down dead in front of us, which suggests he wasn’t our man.”
“Did you find out anything about the three doctors?”
“We have a couple of officers on it now, sir. I did come across something interesting regarding Sinclair’s parents.”
“His parents?” questioned Gardener.
“Yes, you mentioned after going to see Sinclair that he was a bit of a word puzzle buff, and that his mother compiled crosswords and won trophies for it, and that she worked for Walker Brothers games.”
Gardener nodded: all of it was true.
“I took the liberty of checking his parents out. Seems they have retired to a small country estate in Ilkley. I have the address if you need it.”
Gardener was curious. “And I would need it for what reason?”
“I just thought if he was one of the doctors in the frame, who better to ask about him than his parents?”
Gardener was beginning to think he had found two really good officers in Cragg and Williams: he would have liked both of them on his team. “Thank you, David. Good work. Anything on Graham Johnson?”
“Not yet, sir. No one has seen him since yesterday, and we have nothing from ANPR. He must be somewhere. When he shows his face, we’ll have him.”
Williams pointed to the cards on the chart. “I see we have two new additions.”
“Yes, but they don’t tell us very much. It’s obviously the same killer, but we’ve had a lot of trouble interpreting the tarot card.”
“Couldn’t you help, Sergeant Reilly?” asked Williams.
