Cuthbert's Way (DCI Ryan Mysteries, #17)(60)

“Phil.”

“What’s that, love?”

“Phil. Bill.”

Kim looked blank, and then the memory came back to her.

“Oh, my goodness, yes!” she cried, giving her husband a kiss on the cheek. “Well remembered.”

She turned to MacKenzie and Phillips, eager to share the information, if it could be helpful.

“About two years ago, when Mark was first diagnosed, I used to head down to the hospital canteen for half an hour while he was having his physio,” she said. “Now, the physio comes to us but, back then, we drove in, didn’t we?”

Mark bobbed his head.

“Anyway, I’d seen this chap a couple of times in the canteen and, this one time, he came over and sat beside me—completely uninvited, I might add,” she said, with a squeeze of her husband’s hand. “He started chatting and, to be honest, he seemed harmless enough, so I didn’t mind humouring him. But then, he said he’d seen me a couple of times with my husband, who looked to have had some bad news. Now, back then, you have to understand, it was all very new, and I was feeling quite raw about everything.”

“Of course,” MacKenzie said. “Who could blame you?”

“Well, I think he must have spotted me and thought that I looked like an easy target, because he started on about whether I believed in miracles and, if I didn’t, then I would by the time I’d heard his story.”

“What was his story?” Phillips asked, very casually. If you showed too much interest, a witness could clam up and forget the juicy bits, he’d often found.

“Now, let me think,” Kim said, raising a hand to her forehead. “I think he said he’d been diagnosed with terminal cancer sometime before that, and the doctors had no hope for him. He’d turned to God and had got in the habit of praying at Cuthbert’s Shrine over at the Cathedral, because it was a peaceful place to be while he prepared himself for the end. Well, at this point, I felt sorry for him, I really did, especially as he was still wearing a toupee and it was slippin’ right off his head…”

There was a slight detour in conversation while several other members of the group exchanged their opinions about where to get a good quality wig, if you needed one, and how much better they were than in days gone by.

“Anyway,” Kim said, returning to her story. “After he’d been prayin’ for a couple of weeks, he went back to his oncologist and they said the tumour had stopped growing. Just like that! Well, I felt pleased for him, but I had my eye on the time and he was goin’ on a bit, so I was only half-listenin’ to the rest of his story, but he might have said something about it lightnin’ having struck twice, and that he knew how to summon a miracle, if I needed one.”

“What did you make of that?” Phillips asked.

“Whey, I thought the poor sod had gone barmy,” she said, and the whole table laughed. “I mean, I was happy that his tumour had stopped growing, if it had, and I told him so. But I worked for twenty years as a nurse, and I know there are all kinds of reasons why a tumour might suddenly stop growin’ and we don’t know the half of them. Still, I thought, if he wants to believe it was a miracle, where’s the harm? Then he started talking about secret codes, runes—all sorts! I drew the line when he started trying to convert me, and I said I had to get going.”

A lucky escape, MacKenzie thought.

“Do you remember his name? How he looked?”

“He was definitely over thirty,” she said, but didn’t sound so sure. “Mark thinks he was called Bill or Phil—but it might have been something really ordinary, like Mike, or Kevin, you know? I’m sorry, I just can’t remember, and I’d be pretending, if I did.”

“It’s all right, you’ve been wonderful, remembering as much as you have.”

“Here, listen, you don’t think this feller got to Justine, maybe?” Kim asked, having suddenly realised what could—and probably had—happened. “If he was hangin’ round the canteen, she could have seen him when she was in there visitin’ with Danny.”

MacKenzie took down as many details as she could extract, and Phillips tried a few tactics of his own to try to help the woman remember what the mystery man looked like, but it had been more than two years since she’d seen him.

They stayed a bit longer for a cup of tea, enjoying the company, and then left the group to their cake and scones.

Outside, the sun was heading rapidly towards the horizon, and it was time for them to collect their little girl.

“At least we know where he likes to hunt,” MacKenzie said. “He chooses vulnerable people, especially those who could be useful to him, and tries to convert them.”

“How was Kim useful to him?”

MacKenzie turned her phone to face him, and he saw a professional profile of Kim’s husband, Mark, who was evidently a very wealthy man.

“It might not always be a question of money, but he’s not ignorant to its uses,” MacKenzie surmised. “That’s an interesting insight.”

“I’ll get in touch with the hospital and see if they have any CCTV coverage down in the canteen, or in the main areas. It’ll be a job for the analysts, but we might hit lucky.”

“There’s all kinds of power, isn’t there, Frank? There I was, thinking gangs were the problem, but you’ve got people out there suggesting suicide pacts, preying on people’s weaknesses, exploiting them for their own gain…and then, there’s the fanatics.”