The Infirmary (DCI Ryan Mysteries prequel)(53)

“Utter bollocks,” Ryan said, with such refinement that Gregson burst out laughing. “Phillips and I were both there to witness Nicola Cassidy’s arrival at A&E. She was in a bad way, that much was obvious, and her injuries resembled those we’d seen on two dead women. I helped bring her in and she was wheeled into the resuscitation area. As the attending officer, it was my duty to observe at a distance—to see how events panned out.”

He paused, the echo of the heart monitor ringing in his ears.

“Unfortunately, as you know, Nicola Cassidy didn’t survive.”

“Yes,” Gregson cleared his throat. “Sad business. You said she came around and then they lost her a second time?”

“Yes,” Ryan said, and a thought struck him like a bolt from the blue.

What if she’d seen her killer?

“—something we could do without.”

Ryan tuned back into the conversation.

“I’m sorry, sir?”

“I said, a complaint from a senior member of the hospital’s management committee is something we could do without. Particularly since it’s the second complaint I’ve received today.”

Ryan’s face remained impassive.

“It’s from PC Jessop,” Gregson elaborated. “He’s threatening to make a formal complaint about bullying, harassment and—ah—discrimination.”

“Oh? On what grounds? Unless you count his stupidity as a formal disability.”

Gregson laughed appreciatively.

“I’ve already asked around and heard the full story from MacKenzie,” he continued. “Jessop’s behaviour is already on record following his exploits with John Dobbs and it’s no great secret that he resents your rank and background. It’s an occupational hazard,” Gregson shrugged. “But he took a swing at you and that crosses the line.”

“I handled it.”

“Yes, you did. But he’s a liability to the team. I’m seeing to it.”

Ryan thought of Jessop and his attitude.

“I offered him the chance to make an apology,” he said. “Clearly, that was rejected in favour of making spurious complaints. I agree, he’s a liability.”

“Good. Now, what to do about Draycott? Have you seen the evening news?”

Ryan shook his head. There had been no time to surf the internet or tune in to the evening round-up, so Gregson walked around to his desktop computer and brought up a selection of articles.

The first headline screamed at him, in bold black capitals:

HACKER CLAIMS NEXT VICTIM

Northumbria Police have confirmed that a woman who has been named as Nicola Anne Cassidy (22), a medical student, died in hospital today from extensive knife injuries. Her death is being treated as murder and is being investigated alongside others believed to be perpetrated by the man people are now calling, ‘The Hacker’, after sources close to the hospital claim her body was ‘hacked apart’.



Ryan read the remainder of the article and stepped away from the computer, swearing viciously.

“They’ve given him a name,” he said. “It feeds into his ego and it’ll spur him on. He’ll feed off the attention. He craves it.”

Gregson chose not to pass comment on how Ryan could possibly know that. He was used to the way he operated by now.

“It was bound to happen, sooner or later,” he said. “A name like that is clickbait for the masses.”

“Sources at the hospital. It had to be Draycott,” Ryan said. “He was given clear instructions not to speak to the press. They all were. When we spoke to him earlier today, he said anybody could have hacked those women apart and he meant it as a professional slur. I think he knows it’s one of his own.”

Gregson sat down at his desk and tugged open one of the drawers, feeling around for the cigar box he kept hidden there. There were countless signs around the building reminding its occupants that smoking was strictly prohibited but he wasn’t about to traipse all the way downstairs to the depressing Perspex smoking hut outside. For one thing, he couldn’t be arsed. For another, he was the boss, and he hadn’t spent thirty years clawing his way to the top only to be thrown in with the plebs.

Ryan watched him strike a match and eyed the smoke alarm above his head with mild concern.

“Sir—”

“If you’re about to lecture me about my health, or yours, you can shove it up your jacksie.”

“I was about to say, I need more resources. I’ve allocated work to everyone in the division with a minute to spare but I still need more eyes on this. We’re drowning, just trawling through the CCTV, let alone anything else. I’d like your permission to set up a joint task force with Durham CID.”

“He hasn’t killed anyone within Durham’s catchment…yet,” Gregson amended.

“He’s been north and south of the river,” Ryan said. “Speaking frankly, sir, I think this has gone beyond lines on a map. We need all the help we can get, and we need it yesterday.”

Gregson breathed deeply of the pungent smoke and eyed him through the developing haze.

“If you’re wrong about the hospital, it’ll be your head on a block.”

Ryan’s eyes turned icy at the poor choice of words.