SEVENTY-ONE

9.30 A.M.

The house in Hagley was not what Kim was expecting. Yes, it was nice enough, a cottage-style property set back off the road with a tall hedge surrounding the front garden. But after quickly googling the woman during the drive, she’d learned that Nazeera Khan was the leading paediatric heart transplant surgeon in the county.

For some reason, she’d expected something grander.

The limited space in front of the property was crowded with three regular cars and one squad car.

‘You really think this could be connected to our case?’ Bryant asked, switching off the engine.

That was her colleague’s code for saying they were wasting their time.

‘I bloody hope not,’ she said, getting out of the car.

She was praying that Nazeera’s colleagues already had an answer as to her whereabouts and this had been a pointless detour.

That hope died as she entered the grounds and two smartly dressed people looked at her with worried expressions.

The police officer with them gave her an odd look, probably wondering why CID was attending a late-into-work call.

‘Are you a detective?’ the woman asked, stepping forward.

‘I am.’

‘I’m Audra Wilkinson, clinical director at Russell’s Hall. This is Robert Dickens, my assistant, and we’re very worried about Nazeera.’

As if to prove her point, she immediately started wringing her hands.

‘Have you knocked?’

‘Continuously. Doors, windows. The other officer is looking to see if he can see anything. Can we not just break in?’

It was exactly what Kim wanted to do, but it wasn’t something they could go around doing without good reason.

‘I understand your concern, but people?—’

‘I know what you’re going to say, but not Nazeera,’ Audra replied as the second officer appeared.

He shook his head to indicate there was nothing open.

Kim acknowledged him and turned back to the clinical director. ‘Even surgeons can have days when they don’t want to go to work.’

‘Not today, Officer. Definitely not today,’ Audra said, shaking her head. Although he didn’t speak, her assistant obviously agreed with her.

A pit was forming in Kim’s stomach.

‘It’s Jessica’s surgery today.’

Kim waited, wondering why Audra thought that was enough of an explanation for someone that didn’t work at the hospital.

Realising her mistake, the woman frowned. ‘You don’t watch the local news?’

Kim bit back the retort on her lips about being a bit busy. ‘Assume not.’

‘Jessica Styles is an eight-year-old girl in desperate need of a heart transplant. Without one she will die. A suitable match will be available at three this afternoon.’

‘Will be?’ Kim asked. Surely a donor heart was available or it wasn’t.

‘A little girl in Bristol in a coma will be removed from life support this afternoon.’

One little girl for another. One family’s despair and another one’s hope.

‘There is no expectation of the poor child making any recovery,’ Audra said, with genuine sadness. ‘She is brain dead and being kept alive only by machines. Once her family has had the chance to say their goodbyes, she will be allowed to rest in peace.’

Kim appreciated the woman’s sentiment, but in her mind was the picture of a team ready and waiting to open up the small body and harvest organs before the child was even cold.

‘We have to save the ones we can, Officer, and right now our priority is Jessica Styles. We only have a window of six hours. Surgery is booked for seven this evening. No one else can do this surgery. Only Nazeera knows the case well enough.’

‘No plan B?’ Kim asked.

The woman opened her hands. ‘Why would we need one?’

The pit in Kim’s stomach was growing.

‘Maybe she’s decided to come in late,’ Kim tried. ‘If she’s got a long day ahead of her.’

Kim wasn’t sure if she was trying to convince herself or her audience. The possibility that their sicko had taken the surgeon was too horrific to contemplate.

‘She wouldn’t,’ Audra answered. ‘Jessica was admitted at 8 a.m., and Nazeera should have been there to settle her and speak with the parents. She’s known this child for three years. She would have been there, I swear. I’ve just spoken to her next of kin, her mother, who knows of no reason Nazeera would be late.’

Kim took one more look at the woman’s face before turning to the officer.

‘Break it down.’

Within minutes, he’d retrieved the big red key from his car and slammed it against the front door.

It was a latch-type lock that caved on the second attempt.

‘Wait, wait, wait, what is going on here?’ Kim heard from behind.

The heavily accented voice came from a diminutive Indian lady barrelling towards them, holding a set of keys and a phone.

‘Mrs Khan?’ Audra asked.

‘Yes. Yes. A lady called me about Nazzy.’

‘That was me,’ Audra said, stepping forward. ‘Thank you so much for?—’

‘I live up there,’ she said, pointing to the top of the road. She offered a cursory glance to everyone present. ‘Well, where is she?’

‘That’s what we’re trying to find out,’ Kim explained. ‘We’re not sure she’s home.’

‘I will check,’ she said, stepping towards the open doorway.

‘No, no, no,’ Kim said, blocking her path. She had no idea what they were going to find in there. Now the door had been forced, it was a police matter.

The woman swatted away Kim’s efforts but took out her phone. ‘I will call her. She will answer me,’ she said confidently.

Kim seriously hoped so.

The woman frowned when there was no response, but Kim could hear the phone ringing somewhere inside the house.

‘Okay, Mrs Khan, could you please go back home, and we’ll come and speak to you shortly.’

The woman folded her arms and shook her head. ‘I stay right here until I know where my Nazzy is.’

Kim supposed she would feel exactly the same.

‘Come with me, Mrs Khan,’ one of the uniformed officers said, gently guiding her away from the front door. ‘Let the detectives do their work, and they’ll be along to speak to you in a minute.’

Satisfied the woman was out of earshot, Kim turned towards the open door.

The second officer stepped aside for Kim to enter, and as she did so, her heart immediately sank.

The living room bore the signs of a mammoth struggle. Cushions littered the floor, and furniture had been overturned. A vase of flowers had been smashed on the laminate flooring.

‘No other family?’ Kim called out to the administrator. She needed to know how many people she was looking for.

‘Divorced, no children,’ the woman called back before asking, ‘Is she in there?’

Kim offered no answer as Bryant headed up the stairs two at a time.

She searched the ground floor, finding no further signs of disturbance. She suspected Bryant would find the same upstairs.

‘Nothing up there, guv,’ he said when he came back down. ‘Except for her work clothes hanging up on the front of her wardrobe.’

‘Shit,’ Kim said, now able to picture the scene.

Whoever had her had taken her during the night. He’d got her to answer her door, and on seeing that it was someone she didn’t know, she had backed up into the living room where the struggle had ensued. And boy had she given him a fight. Even so, he had prevailed, and Nazeera had been abducted.

‘Shit,’ she said again, taking another look around the room.

And then she saw what she hadn’t noticed when she’d stepped in, her focus on the carnage.

To the left of the front door was a petty cash tin. The same kind of tin she’d been collecting since yesterday.

Inside was no Dictaphone, no video camera and no body parts. Instead there was just a white index card and a tiny red pin cushion shaped like a heart.

Bryant peered over her shoulder. ‘Knows exactly who she is and just what she’s scheduled to do.’

‘Next clue,’ she said, handing him the card.

‘“Very tall but almost little. Find my next by 12 p.m. or…”’ he read out.

Kim handed Bryant the box and took out her phone. Woody wouldn’t be expecting to see her calling him voluntarily.

He answered immediately.

‘Stone, you’d better get yourself to my off?—’

‘He’s taken someone else, sir,’ she said, knowing the update would take priority over how much he wanted to kick her ass right now. Any bollockings could wait.

She could imagine him putting his rage to the back of his throat.

‘Who?’

‘A heart surgeon. Due to carry out a transplant on a little girl later today.’

His silence was deafening as he weighed up his next course of action.

On the one hand, he wanted to order her back to the station to tear strips off her following her performance at the press conference. His phone had probably been ringing off the hook.

On the other hand, they now had a second victim who would most surely be missed, and the people calling Woody’s phone would be far more interested if this one turned up dead. It pained her to admit that the loss of Hiccup would barely register on their radar, but a paediatric heart surgeon would bring out the politician in all of them.

When Woody did speak, it was in a voice she rarely heard.

‘Okay, get to it, Stone, but make no mistake: if this surgeon doesn’t come back alive, this will be the last case you ever work.’

The line went dead in her ear.

It was exactly what she’d expected, but hearing the words convinced her that he meant what he said.

It wasn’t the first time she’d done things under the threat of losing her job. Hell, it seemed to happen with almost every case she worked. Woody trusted her instincts. He had faith in her ability and her passion, and he afforded her a great deal of leverage in the interest of getting the job done.

But this time the higher-ups were involved. Woody wasn’t the only one watching her every move. The top brass would ensure that, should anything go wrong, someone would be shoved front and centre to take the fall.

So although the threat wasn’t new to her, this time it wouldn’t be Woody’s decision to make.