Ken McClure - White death

His brow furrowed as he discovered that twenty-eight children had now had occasion to consult their family doctors: three had been admitted to hospital, fourteen had been referred to specialist clinics for further investigation and the remainder had been diagnosed and started on treatment. To the uninitiated, it would have looked as if they were suffering from a wide range of problems but Steven saw the common thread. The kids had skin problems. The three in hospital had been admitted for other reasons but skin complaints still featured somewhere in their notes. One girl had suffered severe lacerations to her left arm after an accident on an artificial ski slope and the failure of her skin to heal properly was giving concern. Steven heard echoes of Trish Lyons in every word he read. Another child, a boy, had crushed his foot in an accident involving farm machinery and post-surgical healing was not progressing as well as had been hoped. Doctors had expressed concern that an infection might be taking hold.

Steven put down the file and rubbed his eyes as he considered this latest instalment of the nightmare. He wondered if it would be worthwhile visiting any of these children and speaking to their doctors but concluded not, feeling that all that would yield would be a succession of medics puzzling over infections with persistently negative lab reports. It might be better to wait until Macmillan had set up the high-level meeting with health officials and hear an explanation of what was going on.

Steven was thinking about phoning Jenny when his own phone rang. It was John Macmillan.

‘We put a priority on identifying the two men who tried to kill you on the motorway and they’ve come up trumps.’

‘Tell me.’

‘Both were ex-security service men.’

Steven closed his eyes as his worst fears were realised. His own side was trying to kill him.

‘Ex-Russian security service men.’

Steven imagined his mind was playing tricks on him. ‘Say again.’

‘Oleg Malkov and Yuri Valchev, both ex-KGB operatives. MI6 had them on file but were unaware of them being in the country. Neither is known to be employed by the current regime but that is as much as they know.’

‘It just gets better…’ sighed Steven, not sure whether to feel relieved that his own side were not hunting him down or alarmed because the KGB — or whatever they were called these days — apparently were.

‘Bizarre, I grant you,’ said Macmillan. ‘I take it you haven’t done anything to offend our friends from the east?’

‘Not that I’m aware of. What about the car owner?’

‘The car was cloned. They copied the registration number of another Jaguar and stuck it on an identical model they’d stolen. The original is still in Dover with its owner currently wondering why his house was surrounded by armed police this afternoon. He’s a chartered accountant with the county council.’

‘At last… some excitement in his life,’ said Steven.

‘The security services will be in touch if they come up with anything more about the two Russians.’

‘Good. Any word about the meeting?’

‘3 p.m. Home Office, day after tomorrow. Come in earlier; we’ll have lunch.’

Steven sat wondering for fully ten minutes how two Russian hit men could fit into the picture. There was no obvious way but the fact that it was the car they had traced and followed rather than him made him wonder if it could have been a case of mistaken identity. The car had not been new when he’d bought it from Stan Silver; it had been eight months old. He phoned Stan and asked about the previous owner.

‘A little old lady who only used it to go to church on Sundays,’ said Silver with a chuckle. ‘Like all my cars.’

‘I’m serious, Stan. Someone tried to take me out the game today. They got to me through the car.’

‘Hang on a mo…’

A rustle of paper announced Silver’s return to the phone. ‘Lieutenant Cyril Ormsby-Frew, with a hyphen, Grenadier Guards officer, needed some readies to pay off some gambling debts as I remember.’

‘Mmm, I suppose he might just fit the bill if he didn’t actually use the money to pay off his debts,’ mused Steven, thinking to himself that Russian Mafia were not exactly thin on the ground in the capital at present. ‘Thanks, Stan.’

Steven felt better. Mistaken identity was by far the most attractive explanation. Even if it came to be known that there was no body in the wreckage of the Porsche, the good lieutenant would be the target of whatever vendetta was going on and not him. Embracing this explanation meant that he would no longer have to tell Tally about an attempt on his life… it would only be a white lie if he told about the car accident without giving too much detail… but first he would phone Jenny.

Susan answered the phone.

‘How are things?’ asked Steven.

‘Better after your last visit but we’re still having our moments.’

‘I’m so sorry.’

‘Don’t worry, Steven, it’s only a stage she’s going through. We’ll all ride out the storm, I’m sure. Can I take it you’ll be up at the weekend?’

‘Actually… that’s a bit doubtful. I’m in the middle of an investigation and I’m not quite sure how things are going to turn out in the next few days.’

‘I see,’ said Susan, making it sound like, ‘Oh dear’. ‘That’s a pity. I think Jenny wanted to show you off to her school friends. I said she could ask a few round for tea on Saturday afternoon.’

Steven closed his eyes. ‘Sorry… look, I’ll see what I can do but

…’

‘It’s okay, Steven, I understand, I really do. We’ve known each other long enough to know that we don’t bullshit each other. If you can’t come up, I know you’ve got a damned good reason and there’s nothing you can do about it with a job like yours. Unfortunately, it’s Jenny you have to convince.’

‘You’d better put her on,’ said Steven. He heard Sue call out her name above background hubbub. ‘Jenny… it’s your daddy.’

‘Hello, nutkin, how are you?’ he asked as the phone was picked up.

‘I’m good, Daddy. I’m playing a computer game with Robin and Mary. Robin’s winning but only because he’s been practising round at his friend Colin’s house after school. Boys always have to win.’

‘I suppose,’ said Steven.

‘My friends Louise and Carol are coming round for tea on Saturday so you can meet them. I’ve told them you’re some sort of policeman in London. They asked if you had a gun but I told them that was just silly.’

‘Absolutely,’ said Steven, eyeing the Glock pistol hanging over the back of a chair in its holster. ‘Look, Jenny… I’m afraid I’m awfully busy just now. We’re on the trail of some really bad people and Daddy may not be able to get away to come up at the weekend…’

There was a long silence, which Steven found deafening. ‘Jenny?’

‘Yes, all right. Well, I’ll have to get back to the game now. Bye.’

Steven let out his breath in a long sigh before Sue picked up the phone again. ‘I take it that didn’t go down too well,’ she said sotto voce.

‘Like a lead balloon,’ said Steven. ‘I’m sorry if you’re going to get the fall-out from this…’

‘Like I said, don’t worry about it. She’s been quite happy being one of our family for long enough. She’s just experimenting with the people around her, seeing if they’ll dance to her tune. It’s all part of growing up.’

‘Thanks, Sue. You really are a special person, Richard too. I don’t know what I would have done without you guys…’

‘Let’s not go into all that again,’ said Sue. ‘You know we love Jenny as our own and that’s an end to it. Get on with your job and don’t let this worry you. It’ll sort itself out.’