*
Alistair ran a hand through his straw-blonde hair and leaned against the wall. She didn’t miss his quick up and down appraisal of her. He smiled lazily, revealing white, even teeth. There was a cockiness emanating from him that tickled the hairs on the back of her neck. The fact that police officers wanted to speak to him appeared to be a bit of a lark.
‘Alistair, we’d like to talk to you about the murder of Sadie Winters, do you know anything about it?’
‘I know she’s dead and that other little twerp too, what of it?’
‘You sound incredibly sorry about that,’ she observed.
‘Why would I be?’ he asked, simply.
‘We were wondering if there was anything you’d like to share with us?’ Kim asked.
He shook his head. ‘Not really kids I hang around with,’ he answered.
‘I’m not asking if you were in the same social circle,’ she snapped. ‘But you do like to hurt things, don’t you?’
Understanding shaped his features and then a smile. ‘Oh, this is about the cat, isn’t it? Straight out of the Psychology for Dummies book. Animal cruelty equals serial killer. Bloody hell, officer, give me a chance to finish school. Even I don’t know what I want to be yet.’
Kim resisted the urge to slap him.
He reminded her of her overfilled laundry basket at home, so full of items that it was misshapen, bulging. It was like he’d been stuffed to overflowing with good looks, a lean athletic body, excessive charm and charisma bursting out of his sixteen-year-old body. Once he emptied the basket and learned moderation, he’d be a dangerous individual.
‘Look, it was a mangy cat and I don’t get the fuss over it, but I’ve got no reason to hurt kids that mean nothing—’
‘It wasn’t a prank that went wrong that you then had to cover up…’
‘You can save that shit for the morons in the not-so-secret groups, officer. Not my bag.’
‘But you knew Sadie’s sister?’ Kim pushed.
He shrugged. ‘Not as well as I’d have liked but hey ho, you can’t win ’em all, eh?’ he said with a wink.
Kim simply stared at him for a few seconds.
‘Your charm didn’t work on her then?’ Bryant asked.
He smirked. ‘Would’ve done with a bit more time but the golden couple cock-blocked me.’
‘Sadie’s parents?’ Kim clarified. It wasn’t the first time she’d heard them referred to as such.
‘Yeah, well, Queen of Hearts and all that. They wanted their precious daughter spending time with someone more appropriate.’
‘Eric?’ Kim asked.
He rolled his eyes. ‘Yep, the good old King of Spades. Power couple.’
‘So, Laurence Winters managed to get rid of you before you got what you wanted?’ Kim asked, thinking it had been impeccably good judgement on the man’s behalf.
‘I was warned off, all right, but not by him. He’s a wimp. It was Hannah who did the deed. Now if you want to talk ruthless—’
He stopped speaking as her phone rang.
Eager to get away from this kid, Kim headed to the end of the corridor to take the call.
‘Hey Stace,’ she said, giving Bryant a nod to let him go back to class.
‘You’re not gonna believe what we’ve found,’ Stacey said, excitedly.
‘Go on.’
‘Not only were Laurence Winters and Anthony Coffee-Todd at Heathcrest at the same time. They were in the same year.’
Kim frowned. So why had Laurence Winters played down their acquaintance?
‘But even more interesting is that another of their classmates, Gordon Cordell, works at the Oakland Hospital in Stourport-on-Severn.
‘Stace, don’t tell me…’
‘Oh yeah,’ she said animatedly. ‘The man is a gynaecologist.’
‘Jesus,’ Kim said as her head spun.
‘Hang on, Kev wants a word,’ Stacey said, passing the phone.
‘Boss, I know it might not mean anything, but all three of them were in the Spades.’
Seventy-One
‘How the hell did they find all that out?’ Bryant asked as they drove over the Stourport road bridge that straddled the River Severn.
‘Apparently, Dawson let Stacey do it the hard way before guessing that the annual yearbooks that grace the halls of Heathcrest would probably have been uploaded electronically too. Each yearbook has a section on the achievement of previous students, and Cordell’s graduation from medical school was right there.’
‘What about the Spades thing?’
‘Right there in the book under their graduation photos. Remember the clubs weren’t secret back then.’
‘Trust Dawson to find a shortcut,’ Bryant observed as he took a left into a wide tree-lined street.
Kim knew that Oakland Hospital was a private healthcare facility that had opened on the outskirts of Stourport-on-Severn in the mid-seventies. Ten years later it was absorbed into a larger chain when private healthcare boomed. In the years since, the minor operations had developed into life-saving transplants along with cosmetic procedures. And just about everything in between.
If the entrance to Russells Hall Hospital sometimes resembled a Black Friday electronics sale, then Oakland was more like a leisurely stroll around Harvey Nichols.
Kim took a moment to assess her surroundings as Bryant introduced them both and asked to see Doctor Cordell.
Soft music replaced the din of agitated voices. Plush, pastel furnishings took the place of plastic, functional seating. Warm and friendly reception staff sat in the place of terse, stressed administrators. Framed prints of old movie posters replaced noticeboards screaming information on health issues.
Oakland did not resemble any hospital that Kim had ever visited, and Gordon Cordell did not resemble any nimble-fingered surgeon she had ever met, she thought, as a chubby, clean hand reached across the desk towards them.
Gordon Cordell was a short, rotund man with a chin that was fighting to remain separate from the neck.
Kim didn’t try to ignore the immediate sensation of mistrust for the man in front of her. There was a guardedness that seemed to be emanating from him and they hadn’t yet opened their mouths.
‘Mr Cordell, thank you for seeing us at such short notice,’ Bryant said, pleasantly. If her colleague was feeling the same wariness as she was he was hiding it well.
‘I’m afraid I only have a few minutes.’
‘Of course, doctor. We’ll try not to take up too much of your time. We’re here in connection with Heathcrest Academy. We understand you were a student there?’
Cordell nodded uncertainly, which did nothing to quiet the growing suspicion in Kim’s stomach. It was a simple enough question and required no hesitation. He either was or he wasn’t. The cynical part of her felt he was deliberating over every question for fear of revealing something.
‘And you graduated?’
‘In 1992,’ he answered.
‘Good school?’ Bryant asked.
He nodded.
It appeared the man barely trusted himself to speak.
‘You kept in contact with some of your old school friends?’
‘Some,’ he answered.
Kim had learned that there were two kinds of nervousness when being questioned by the police. Over-talkers and under-talkers. For some the nervousness went straight to the vocal chords and they said more than they needed to, filled every silence in an effort to reinforce their truth, often repeating a phrase over and over. Others clammed up completely and offered as few words as possible, not even trusting their own tongue.
‘And you were part of a group there, Clubs, I think—’
‘Spades,’ he corrected, promptly.
‘Maybe you could tell us about that?’ Bryant asked, clearly hoping an open-ended question would elicit more than one-word answers.
‘For what reason?’ he asked, rubbing at the skin on the side of his nose.
Or not, she thought.
‘Because it may help with our enquiries, Doctor Cordell,’ Bryant said, pleasantly.
Cordell glanced at the phone on his desk, either praying it would ring or it was an unconscious movement of the eyes.