Doctor and Protector Read online

  ‘Please, Suzy—it is Suzy, isn’t it?’

  Suzy assured him it was her, and took his mobile number, promising to get Cassie to ring him as soon as she was found.

  A nagging anxiety in his gut told him he shouldn’t have offered to stay in June’s place, but now that he had, he couldn’t just drive away. Cassie wouldn’t come to any harm in the hospital, and she’d have enough sense not to leave.

  Or would she? She’d been chafing about his and Dave’s protective attitude. Would she have seized the first opportunity he’d offered with his absence to slip out somewhere on her own?

  He couldn’t answer his own questions, so he decided to take his mind off the problem of Cassie’s unavailability to have a look around. He couldn’t walk into the operating theatre because it was a crime scene—suicide still being a crime—and even though the ambulancemen had been in and trampled around the place, there still might be something for the SOCOs—the scene-of-crime officers—to pick up.

  McCall gave a huff of laughter. He’d be willing to bet Dave’s SOCO team was Dave himself—small-town police stations calling in someone from regional headquarters when they had a suspicious death on their hands.

  And until Judy, who’d reported the letters, the deaths really hadn’t been suspicious.

  Standing in the doorway of the operating theatre told him nothing. Yes, there was a lot of blood, and a scalpel lying on the edge of the largest puddle. A clean area where Lennie must have been lying, smudges from the feet of the ambulance attendants, though they’d mainly walked around it, not to protect possible evidence but, McCall surmised, to keep their shoes clean.

  He pulled his phone out of his pocket, checked it was charged, hesitated a minute then phoned the hospital again.

  Suzy, a woman he didn’t know reported, was out looking for Cassie. Yes, she’d page Cassie for him and ask her to phone him on his mobile, and get Suzy to phone him as well.

  The churning in McCall’s gut became a gripping panic, and he walked out of the building, thumbing Dave’s mobile number in as he went.

  ‘Dave! McCall. You’ve heard about Lennie?’

  Dave assured him he had.

  ‘I’m on my way to the hospital now. Are you there?’

  ‘No, I’m out at the vet’s and I told young June, who found Lennie, she could go home—she was pretty shaken. I said I’d wait for one of your men, but I can’t get hold of Cassie at the hospital and I’m worried.’

  ‘You’re worried?’ Even on a static-ravaged mobile Dave sounded incredulous. ‘But we’ve got Lennie at the hospital.’

  ‘We had Joe at the hospital yesterday,’ Dave reminded him. ‘Did you know Lisa worked for Derek at one stage?’

  ‘No, I didn’t. Who told you that?’

  McCall was about to explain when he reached the back of the building, out where the runs were. Dusty, a lot sprightlier than the previous evening, came out to greet him but there was no sign of Blondie. The run was empty.

  ‘Dave, Blondie’s gone. Cassie’s dog. If someone wanted to get Cassie away from the hospital, a story about her dog might just do it. She adores that dog. Get someone out here as soon as you can to keep watch on this place. I’m coming back in.’

  He ran to the car, heedless of the fact the surgery was open. Dave had said his constable was already on the way, and as McCall started the engine he saw the police car turning in over the grid at the bottom of Derek’s drive.

  McCall met him halfway, explained what had happened, cautioned him about touching any surfaces where there might be prints, although the young man probably knew more about that than he did, then headed into town, driving as fast as was safe along a road he didn’t know very well.

  A grim-faced Dave met him before he reached the hospital, signalling for him to stop, then get in his vehicle.

  ‘You’re right. Cassie got a call about her dog. She was in one of the wards and the ward sister heard her say, ‘Don’t worry, she’ll find her way home. I’ll go over to the house and have a look.’

  ‘But how would she get over there?’ McCall asked, as Dave sped towards Cassie’s house.

  ‘We’re assuming Wayne took her. The sister saw her go outside, look around, as if looking for her car—’

  ‘Which I had,’ McCall said bitterly.

  ‘Then the sister saw her talking to Wayne and they walked towards the back of the staff carpark where he parks his car.’

  They pulled up into the drive at Cassie’s place, already covered in huge tarpaulins to add truth to the fumigation story.

  ‘There are no cars here.’ Dave pointed out the obvious. ‘He’s taken her somewhere else.’

  ‘But why would Wayne have phoned her about Blondie?’

  ‘Maybe he said he was Derek. Maybe he saw her car wasn’t in the carpark and thought—’

  ‘No, that’s ridiculous! Wayne wouldn’t know anything about the dog.’ McCall said. ‘Forget Wayne—think about Derek.’

  ‘Derek? He’s not even on the list. You said twenty to forty.’

  ‘Let’s not argue ages. Think about him. How well do you know him? How badly was he affected by his wife leaving? Could her departure have triggered a dormant psychological problem? And while you’re thinking, let’s do something practical. Get an all-points bulletin out for both Wayne and Derek’s cars.’

  McCall was staring at the back of the house while he was speaking, thinking of the times he’d been here. Thinking of Cassie—of the night she’d brought him here, and the little boy and the dog going in through the laundry.

  ‘That laundry door is open. I can see the bottom of it beneath the tarp. Cassie locked up before we left, so someone’s been inside. I’m going into that house, just to be sure.’

  ‘But the power’s off,’ Dave reminded him. ‘We needed to put the tarps over it to make it look authentic, and to do that you have to disconnect the power. It’ll be black as pitch. What the hell do you expect to find?’

  The painful thudding of his heart told McCall not what but who, but his fear was too great to put into words.

  ‘You must have a torch. Let me have it. I’ll go ahead while you make the calls.’

  But Dave stopped him.

  ‘What if someone does have Cassie in there? By going in you could be creating a hostage situation.’

  ‘A hostage situation?’ McCall growled. ‘What do you think this is already? He’s going to kill her! I’m going in—you get reinforcements here.’

  But as he made his way towards the house, Dave’s words made him think.

  Could he do Cassie more harm than good rushing into a house he didn’t know his way around in the daylight, let alone in pitch dark?

  Cassie crouched in the darkness. She was squished up in the bottom of the linen cupboard, a favourite hiding place when she’d been five, but not exactly comfortable now she was fully grown.

  She could hear the softest of shuffles as Derek made his way through the house, searching every room with the methodical intensity of a madman. Every now and then, through the crack at the bottom of the cupboard door, she saw a flash of light from the small torch he must be carrying. And all the time he was talking to her, telling her he was getting closer, playing hot and cold as if murder were a game.

  She could feel her pager pressing into her hip—useless thing, she’d had to turn it off lest its soft buzz alert Derek to her presence.

  Thinking of the pager made her think of McCall.

  So much for finding him a pager. Things had happened far too quickly for it to be of any use.

  She wondered where McCall was, and what he’d have to say when he learned how stupid she’d been, and how angry he’d be when he learned how stupidity had led her to her death. For Derek certainly intended killing her. He’d told her so not long after she’d crawled beneath the tarps around the open laundry door, calling to Blondie, terrified her dog might die, injured and alone.

  Derek’s phone call had been clever, she realised now. Something had happened to Blondie.
He’d gone to check on her early this morning, and seen a great gash in her side. When he’d opened the gate to get her so he could treat her, she’d rushed straight past him and he hadn’t been able to catch her. He’d been out searching for hours, but without luck—had Cassie any ideas?

  And Cassie had fallen for it, telling Derek Blondie would head home. She’d go at once and see if she was there, she’d said, not suspecting for a moment that Derek might be the man they were all seeking. Not until he’d grabbed her in the darkness of the kitchen and told her so.

  ‘You never guessed,’ he’d boasted. ‘And nor did the police. Questioning poor Lennie about where he was yesterday morning—as if he’d have the intelligence required for something like this! Murder takes smarts, Cassie. Real smarts!’

  She’d let him talk, though she’d felt like throwing up when he’d told her how she’d die—poisoned by the same chemicals the pest exterminators would use, then left in the house.

  ‘It will be another accident. I’m good at accidents,’ he’d said, ‘though I realise Judy must have told Dave about the letters and, of course, a little goody-goody like you would have reported them as well, so even someone as dumb as Dave must have been starting to suspect something was going on. That why he got you a man?’

  A man! McCall.

  Thinking of McCall—of how she felt about him, of the possibilities that might lie ahead for both of them—gave her the will to fight and the strength to plan an escape.

  The opportunity came when they left the kitchen for the general purpose room just off. Knowing there was a chair just to her right, she managed to trip over it, pulling Derek down with her because his grip was so tight.

  As they struggled to their feet in the darkness, he cursing her clumsiness and she shaking with fear, she broke away, racing down the hall, through the dining room, making sure he could hear her, then turning to come back a different way, tiptoeing this time, sure he’d hear the panicked gulps of air she was dragging in.

  She found the linen cupboard and crawled inside, pulling the door as far closed as she could.

  Not a good choice of hiding places, she realised later. If she’d gone into the bathroom, she might have found a weapon—even a toilet brush would have been something. With sheets and towels, all she could hope to do was smother or strangle him, which was about as likely as a good fairy suddenly appearing to rescue her.

  ‘I’m coming closer. I can smell you, Cassie,’ Derek whispered, the words scarily sibilant in the darkness.

  And he was coming closer—the shuffle and his voice told her that.

  McCall slipped off his shoes just inside the laundry door, then, praying no boards would squeak, made his way up the three steps to the kitchen. He was visualising the place as he moved, trying to remember where furniture was and what room led where.

  Navigating his way safely to the kitchen door, he stopped to listen to a silence so intense he wondered if his theory had been totally wrong. Maybe Cassie was with Wayne—being taken to a place where he could kill her accidentally.

  Were there cliffs in the hills beyond the vet’s place?

  He shook his head, trying to clear the doubts, then heard the soft whisper and softer shuffle of feet.

  ‘I’m getting hotter, Cassie!’

  Derek’s voice! Derek, the man who saved animals, yet could callously kill human beings.

  ‘You’re making it more fun for me, hiding like this. Shall I tell you how you’ll die? How the chemicals will scorch into your lungs, making it impossible to breathe? How your body will burn with agonising pain as the poison destroys the tissues then the organs, leaving your brain for last so you know all the way through what is happening? It won’t take much, Cassie. I have it in a glass flask, small enough to fit into my pocket but potent, Cassie. Oh, so potent. All I need to do is find a cupboard that’s fairly airtight, and shut you in. But perhaps you’re already in a cupboard? Making it easy for me. Playing hide and seek with Derek.’

  Through the red haze of rage that the man could torment Cassie in this way, McCall listened intently. He could tell which direction the voice was coming from, but how to get there, in this rabbit warren of a house?

  Should he get Dave and they could both announce their presence? But if he did that, and Derek found Cassie before they found him…

  No, McCall had to find him. Derek would still think there were only two of them in the house, so if he heard a movement, he’d assume it was Cassie. If McCall could get away from the kitchen, then make just the slightest of noises somewhere else, he might get Derek to come after him.

  Feeling his way, McCall found the dining room and passed through it, not towards the bedroom where he’d been staying but in the other direction. As far as he could tell, Derek was somewhere near the bathroom over which Cassie and Anne had squabbled in what seemed like another life.

  He made his way through what, by feel, must be a bedroom—Abigail’s, McCall guessed—then felt along a wall to one of the French doors he knew would lead out onto the wide veranda that ran around a large part of the house. The door was locked and, anyway, the veranda was too open. He needed Derek in a small space. Abigail had an en suite. If he could find his way into that…

  He felt along the walls, found a door, eased it very quietly open, then his plan fell apart. Something grabbed his feet, Cassie screamed, a light shone in his face, and from directly in front of him he heard Derek’s voice, triumph making it obscenely shrill.

  ‘Ah, got two of you!’

  Then he flung something above McCall’s head and raced from the room, his escape made easy by the light from the torch he was carrying.

  ‘Keep your eyes closed, don’t breathe. This is the linen cupboard—grab towels, put them over your head and let’s get out of here.’

  Cassie gave the orders as efficiently as if she was in the operating theatre, and McCall responded, closing his eyes, feeling for towels, handing one to her as he pulled her to her feet, then putting one over his own head.

  He could smell the chemicals in the air, and feel dampness where some of the liquid must have spilled onto his shirt when Derek had flung something containing it into the wall above the cupboard.

  ‘This way,’ Cassie said, gripping his hand tightly. ‘Don’t breathe.’

  He held her hand and followed, bent so he could hold the towel to his face with one hand. Then they were in the kitchen, down the steps, through the laundry and outside, and Cassie was in his arms, sobbing hysterically against his chest.

  ‘Hush, love,’ he whispered at her, ignoring the yelling and other noises going on beyond the yard. ‘Hush now, there’ll be time to cry later. Right now I’ve got to hose you down.’

  Her sobs continued unabated and he knew she hadn’t heard—or hadn’t comprehended what he was saying.

  In fact, she was talking as she sobbed, telling him how scared she’d been that she might not ever see him again and have a chance to tell him how she felt.

  He kept his arm around her as he moved around to where a hose was connected to a garden tap, murmuring comfort all the time.

  ‘I know,’ she was saying as he reached for the tap, ‘you can’t really fall in love with someone in just a couple of days, but, McCall, something was happening between us, wasn’t it?’

  That was when he turned the hose on her, transforming her from a questioning perhaps-lover into an indignantly spluttering fury.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  ‘NOW you hose me,’ McCall offered, passing Cassie the hose and stripping off his shirt which he knew had some of the chemicals on it.

  She took the hose without comment, moving like an automaton, sending the spray up and down his body, telling him to turn.

  ‘That should do it,’ he finally said, moving away from the pounding water, taking the nozzle from her and turning a jet of water onto the towels they’d dropped as they’d run from the house.

  ‘I don’t know what concoction he made up, but water should dilute it,’ he said, finally tu
rning off the tap and coming to put his arm around Cassie, who was standing where he’d left her, the violent shivers rippling through her body the only sign of life.

  ‘Come on, Dave should have towels or a blanket in the police car,’ McCall said, putting his arm around her and leading her with gentle concern towards the deserted vehicle.

  He’d found a blanket and had wrapped it around Cassie’s shoulders when Dave reappeared.

  ‘Are you both OK?’ he demanded, then, taking in their dishevelled state, he added, ‘Why are you wet?’

  ‘I’ll explain later, but right now you should get your SES men to get the tarps off that house. Make sure they’re wearing breathing apparatus. You got Derek?’

  Dave nodded.

  ‘Only because I’d called for back-up. I grabbed him as he ran out, but he threw me off as if I were a child. I was chasing him up the road—he’d left his car a block away—when the patrol car arrived.’

  He gave a weary sigh, and shook his head.

  ‘It’ll take a while to sink in that it was him, but in the meantime what happened in there? I assume he had chemicals of some kind—hence the breathing apparatus and the fact that, for the second time in two days, the two of you are going around dripping wet.’

  ‘He had chemicals.’ Cassie found her voice and confirmed Dave’s guess. ‘I was to be another accident, found in the house when the tarps were removed.’

  She lifted her head from McCall’s shoulder—a place she’d been feeling might just have been made to take her head—and looked straight at Dave.

  ‘Would you have thought that?’

  ‘I don’t think so, given what’s been going on. For a start, I couldn’t imagine you being stupid enough to have gone inside the house when it was about to be fumigated.’

  ‘Well, I did. And I wasn’t being stupid. My dog was injured and just when I needed help neither of you two overprotective males were available,’ Cassie snapped, then she remembered why. ‘Oh, dear heaven—Blondie! I’d forgotten. She’s injured. She could be dead.’

  She shifted from McCall so she could look at him.