Dead Of Winter (Willis/Carter #1)(71)

‘She wasn’t a child then. She was twenty-seven. That’s hardly a kid. She was a grown-up that no one has ever really heard about till now.’

‘What’s the point in this? What are you thinking?’

‘That she was the child in the attic. That she was hidden away. Her dad is a bit controlling, possessive maybe?’ Ebony waited for Harding to react, but she didn’t. ‘Do you know whether he’s had many relationships?’ continued Ebony.

‘He had a good few. I would say he’s definitely a ladies’ man, but now he keeps it to sex only. He has a lot to lose, after all. The divorce settlement would make you think twice.’

It wasn’t hard for Ebony to see that Harding was talking from experience. ‘What about Carmichael – did you get to the bottom of his relationship with Chrissie?’ asked Harding.

‘He still maintains they were never lovers. But she contacted him again after all those years?’

‘And she had a child by that time.’

‘That’s exactly what I was thinking too. She must have wondered whether he was worth a second shot, whether he was father material? But would she go so far as to break up his marriage?’

Harding shook her head, opening her hands out in a shrug.

‘I don’t know. I am the worst judge when it comes to looking inside people’s heads. I can tell you what their last meal was but I can’t tell you whether they enjoyed it. I’ve had more affairs than I care to mention or can pretend to feel guilty about. Some have broken marriages some haven’t. Some have even done some good for marriages. But . . . the one thing I do know is that if a woman is determined to get a man she will.’ She looked across at Ebony’s expression. ‘Yeah . . .’ Harding continued: ‘. . . Maybe I’m not the best at dishing out pearls of relationship wisdom.’

‘What about her husband, Justin de Lange? Do you know him, Doctor?’

‘I know the name. I didn’t know he was Mr Martingale’s son-in-law. I know him as one of the trustees of the Chrissie Newton Foundation. We correspond about charity matters, that’s all. I see his name whenever we get a donation to the department. I haven’t met him yet. Can I help you with anything else? I need to get on with these slides.’

‘Sorry, one more thing – I wanted to ask you about cosmetic surgery practices.’

‘Okay, you can ask . . . not sure I can be much help. I don’t work in that field.’

‘I know Mr Martingale does, and some stuff’s come to light about cadaver products being used?’

‘Common practice. No secret.’

‘Is it legitimate?’

‘Yes. In this country we stay within the guidelines. Of course I could take you to twenty private clinics in Moscow where you’ll be able to get foetal stem cells injected into your face.’

‘What about Poland?’

‘Fast becoming the place to go if you want private work done.’

‘Mr Martingale has a hospital there.’

‘He has hospitals everywhere. You can be sure that whatever he’s doing he’s staying well within the law. I have to crack on now, Ebony. Is there anything else?’

‘Can I just ask you to read this when you have a minute? It’s just some extra information on Justin de Lange. I’d like your take on it.’ She left the file on Harding’s desk.

An hour after Ebony left, Harding phoned Martingale.

He was at home; in the background she could hear music, a female opera singer, she didn’t know which one.

‘Thanks for the other evening,’ she said. She felt apprehensive, never ceasing to feel overawed by his achievements.

‘Thank you. I haven’t enjoyed myself so much in a long time.’

‘Really? I had you down as a man who entertains a lot.’

On a sexual level Harding hadn’t enjoyed the night as much as she had expected to. Martingale was a man who made love by numbers; there was no passion. By the end she’d felt exhausted by the constant manoeuvring into positions. It was clear he’d read all the books about sex, but he’d missed the point.

‘Not at all. I spend my entire life pleasing others; I forget to please myself sometimes.’ Harding resisted the urge to laugh. If he was waiting for a compliment he would be a long time waiting. ‘You have no idea how lonely it can be moving from place to place.’

‘I bet . . . so about the news . . . about the investigation.’

‘I saw the headlines. Is it true that these recent victims were killed by body harvesters, Bloodrunners?’

‘Yes. It looks very likely.’

‘And where does that leave my daughter’s case?’

‘We cannot be certain, James, but I think we have to accept it was the same scenario. Whoever killed Chrissie did it for her organs. Has to be a reality. Has to be considered. I’m sorry.’

‘How close are you to finding out who did it?’

‘The latest victim provided some clues; more than previous victims. She has fingerprint imprints on her body. She has semen in her vagina. We think someone is getting careless. You can be sure we’re doing everything, James.’

‘I hope so. I appreciate your help with this. I cannot stop the thought that I am at the heart of it. Someone targeted Chrissie because of me. I worry every day for my other daughter, Nikki, with these killers still around.’