James Patterson - Private London

Fat chance of that now. This case would put paid to all that. Chancellors University was all about old money. And that meant pressure from above. It always did.

So the garden would go untamed for a while longer. Which would have suited her ex-husband, Webb thought bitterly. Her mood worsening as she took another sip of coffee and wondered why she was even thinking about the bastard.

But she knew exactly why. Goddamn him! Tomorrow was their wedding anniversary. Ten years ago instead of punching him on the nose like he so richly deserved, she had simply slapped him and said yes.

She crumpled the styrofoam coffee cup in her hand and watched as the ambulance drove away. Its sirens shrieking into the night air and the noise bouncing of the cloistered walls of the warren of buildings that made up that part of the university.

The lead scene-of-crime officer ducked under the police-line tape and approached. He was followed by DS Andy Crane, Kirsty’s partner.

‘You got anything good for me?’

The SOC officer smiled. He was a handsome man, tall, lean, in his late twenties. ‘Detective Inspector Webb,’ he said, grinning wider. ‘I thought you’d never ask.’

‘You’re funny, Richard. Funny like chlamydia.’

‘They say God loves a trier.’

‘They say God loves everyone. Me, I hate most people, so stop flapping your lips like a fishwife and tell me what we’ve got.’

DS Crane shrugged. ‘The paramedic sedated the first one – the knife victim – so we didn’t get much from her. A black van. Hooded men. She wasn’t sure how many. More than three.’

‘They say anything?’

‘No. The one they beat up with a baseball bat tried to stop it, apparently. Some kind of karate nut or some such.’

DI Webb gestured to the taped-off area of the road. ‘Any sign of what we might call clues?’

‘There are some faint tyre marks, and some blood droplets which we are pretty sure are going to turn out to have come from the injured girl’s arm.’

‘Who phoned it in?’

The detective sergeant pointed across to the pavement where a woman in her thirties was drinking a mug of tea, a female uniformed officer speaking to her. ‘Jane Harrington, lectures here at the university.’

‘What did she see?’

‘Nothing. She was on her way home after a late tutorial. The van had gone before she got here. Found one student unconscious and the other hysterical and screaming, with blood pouring down her arm.’

‘Cut badly?’

‘Her wrist was sliced, is all, as the other girl tried to fight them off. Not too deeply. Nothing arterial.’

DI Webb made some notes in a small black book that she pulled out of her coat. ‘Names?’

‘Chloe Wilson is the girl hit with the baseball bat, the woman knifed is Laura Skelton and the woman they took is Hannah Durrant.’

‘All students here?’

The detective sergeant nodded again. ‘Coming to the end of their first year. Chloe Wilson reading law and psychiatry, the other two just psychiatry.’

DI Webb nodded to her assistant. ‘Okay, stay with it, sergeant. I’ll check back later.’

‘Where you going, boss?’

‘The hospital. See if Sleeping Beauty or her sedated friend are ready to be interviewed.’

Kirsty Webb nodded to the uniformed officer – another sergeant – who was standing by one of the police cars. ‘Come on then, Buttons – you get to take me to the ball.’

Laura Skelton was sitting up in the bed, her face as pale as the case on the pillow propping her up.

Her right arm was bandaged and tears had streaked her mascara, giving her a bedraggled, gothlike appearance.

DI Webb flashed her warrant card at the doctor and nurse who were standing by Laura’s bed. ‘I’m Detective Inspector Kirsty Webb. Is it okay to speak to Laura?’

The doctor looked across at the young woman who nodded weakly.

‘Thanks,’ said Kirsty. ‘I know you must be pretty shaken up by what happened.’

‘Have you found Hannah? Is she okay?’

‘I’m sorry. But we’re doing all we can. Which is why I need you to try and remember everything that happened.’

‘I told the others all I know.’

‘I understand that. But I want you to go through it again – some detail might be essential.’

‘It all happened so fast.’

‘I know. Start with you leaving the university grounds. You’d been drinking in the union bar?’ Kirsty prompted.

‘Yes. Since six o’clock. But Chloe wanted to get something to eat. She was feeling a little dizzy.’

Kirsty checked her notebook. ‘That would be Chloe Wilson?’

Laura looked over at the doctor, tears starting in her eyes. ‘Is she going to be okay?’

The doctor made a calming gesture with his hand. ‘She’s being closely monitored, Laura.’

‘He hit her with a baseball bat. The sound it made…’ Laura wiped her eyes again, fresh tears running down her face.

‘Take your time.’

Laura gulped some air into her lungs. ‘The street lamp was out and when we turned the corner there was a bunch of hooded men who jumped on us.’

‘How many?’

‘I don’t know,’ Laura said, clearly distraught. ‘It all happened so fast. One of them had a knife.’ Her hand went unconsciously to her bandaged arm.

‘What happened?’

‘Chloe came round the corner. She ran straight at them – kicking, punching. I’ve never seen anything like it. I didn’t know she could do that.’

‘Do what?’

‘Kung fu. Whatever it was. Martial arts. She was amazing – and then one of them hit her with the baseball bat.’

‘And they took Hannah away in the van?’

‘Chloe must have spooked them. The one who had hold of me pushed me away, cutting my arm. Then they threw Hannah in the van and drove off.’ Her face paled even more as the reality of it all hit home again. ‘It could have been me.’

‘What was the van like?’

Laura shrugged apologetically. ‘Just a black van. No windows. It looked quite new. A Ford, I guess.’

‘You didn’t get its number?’

Laura shook her head. ‘No. I don’t think there was a number plate.’ She squeezed her eyes shut. ‘I can’t remember.’

An alarm went off from the next room. Shrill. Insistent. Laura looked across for a moment and then screamed.

DI Kirsty Webb ran out of the room.

She was moved to the side and had to look through the window of the intensive-care room as the crash team went in.

The bed was disconnected from most of the monitoring equipment, turning it into a mobile gurney, and was wheeled out of the room.

Kirsty Webb looked at the unconscious woman who was in the bed. Half of her long dark hair had been shaved away and there was a thick padded bandage on the back of her skull.

Kirsty drew a sharp breath as the team hurried the woman towards theatre.

‘Shit!’ she said, not realising that she was speaking aloud.

‘What is it?’ the sergeant asked.

‘That girl…’

‘Boss?’

‘She’s not Chloe Wilson,’ she said simply and pulled out her mobile phone.

I looked at the caller display on my mobile phone.

Whatever my ex-wife wanted to tell me it wasn’t going to be good news. I ignored the hostile glares from the other diners, then clicked the button.

‘Dan Carter,’ I said pretending not to know who was calling.

I listened to what Kirsty was saying for a moment and her words took a moment or two to register. I mumbled something or other thanking her for letting me know, and clicked the phone closed.

‘We have to leave,’ I said. I stood up, pulled out my wallet and chucked a bunch of fifty-pound notes on the table. Our main course hadn’t yet arrived but I had suddenly lost all appetite. I felt sick to my stomach. ‘Did you drive here?’ I asked Alison.