The Mazda slid into a gap in the traffic heading into Manchester. I didnt. By the time I squeezed out into a space that wasnt really there, the Mazda was three cars ahead and I was the target of a car-horn voluntary. I gave the kind of cheery wave that makes me crazy when arseholes do it to me and smartly switched lanes in the hope that Id be less visible to my target. The traffic was so slow down Cheetham Hill that I was able to stay in touch, as well as check out the furniture stores for bargains. But then, just as we hit the straight, he peeled off left down North Street. I was in the right-hand lane and I couldnt get across, but I figured he must be heading down Red Bank to cut through the back doubles down to Ancoats and on to South Manchester. If I didnt catch him before Red Bank swept under the railway viaduct, hed be anywhere in a maze of back streets and gone forever.
I swung the nose of the Rover over to the left, which pissed off the driver of the Porsche Id just cut up. At least now the day wasnt a complete waste. I squeezed round the corner of Derby Street and hammered it for the junction that would sweep me down Red Bank. I cornered on a prayer that nothing was coming up the hill and screamed down the steep incline.
There was no silver Mazda in sight. I sat fuming at the junction for a moment, then slowly swung the car round and back up the hill. There was always the chance that theyd stopped off at one of the dozens of small-time wholesalers and middlemen whose tatty warehouses and storefronts occupy the streets of Strangeways. Maybe they were buying some jewellery or a fur coat with their ill-gotten gains. I gave it ten minutes, cruising every street and alley between Red Bank and Cheetham Hill Road. Then I accepted they were gone. Id lost them.
Id had enough for one day. Come to that, Id had enough for the whole week. So I switched off my mobile, wearily slotted myself back into the thick of the traffic and drove home. Plan A was to run a hot bath lavishly laced with essential oils, Cowboy Junkies on the stereo, the pile of computer magazines Id been ignoring for the last month and the biggest Stoly and grapefruit juice in the world on the side. Plan B involved Richard, if he was around.
I walked through my front door and down the hall, shedding layers like some sixties starlet, then started running the bath. I wrapped myself in my bathrobe which had been hanging strategically over a radiator, and headed for the freezer. Id just gripped the neck of the vodka bottle when the doorbell rang. I considered ignoring it, but curiosity won. Story of my life. So I dumped the bottle and headed for the door.
They say its not over till the fat lady sings. Alexis is far from fat, and from her expression I guessed singing wasnt on the agenda. Seeing the stricken look on her face, I kissed Plan A goodbye and prepared for the worst.
Chapter 6
Chris? I asked, stepping back to let Alexis in.
She looked dumbly back at me, frowning, as if trying to call to mind why I should be concerned about her partner.
Has something happened to Chris? I tried. The baby?
Alexis shook her head. Chris is all right, she said impatiently, as if Id asked the kind of stupid question TV reporters pose to disaster victims. She pushed past me and walked like an automaton into the living room, where she subsided onto a sofa with the slack-limbed collapse of a marionette.
I left her staring blankly at the floor and turned off the bath taps. By the time I came back with two stiff drinks, she was smoking with the desperate concentration of an addict on the edge of cold turkey. Whats happened, Alexis? I said softly, sitting down beside her.
Shes dead, she said. I wasnt entirely surprised that somebody she knew was. I couldnt imagine anything else that would destroy the composure of a hard-bitten crime reporter like this.
Shes dead, she said. I wasnt entirely surprised that somebody she knew was. I couldnt imagine anything else that would destroy the composure of a hard-bitten crime reporter like this.
Who is?
Alexis pulled a scrunched up copy of the Yorkshire Post out of her handbag. I knew it was one of the out-of-town papers that the Chronicle subscribed to. I was going through the regionals, looking to see if anybody had any decent crime feature ideas, Alexis said bleakly as she spread the YP out on the table. DOCTOR DIES IN RAID, I read in the top right-hand section of the front page. Under the headline was a photograph of a dark-haired woman with strong features and a wide, smiling mouth. I read the first paragraph.
Consultant gynaecologist Sarah Blackstone was fatally stabbed last night when she disturbed an intruder in her Headingley home.
You knew her? I asked.
Thats the doctor who worked with us on Christines pregnancy.
It was a strange way of expressing it, but I let it pass. Alexis clearly wasnt in command of herself, never mind the English language. Im so sorry, Alexis, I said inadequately.
Never mind being sorry. I want you working, she said abruptly. She crushed out her cigarette, lit another and swallowed half her vodka and Diet Coke. Kate, theres something going on here. Thats definitely the woman we dealt with. But she wasnt a consultant in Leeds called Sarah Blackstone. She had consulting rooms here in Manchester and her name was Helen Maitland.
There are days when Im overwhelmed with the conviction that somebodys stolen my perfectly nice life and left me with this pile of shit to deal with. Right then, I was inches away from calling the cops and demanding they track down the robber. After the day Id had, I just wasnt in the mood for chapter one of an Agatha Christie mystery. Are you sure? I asked. I mean, newspaper photographs
Alexis snorted. Look at her. Shes not got a face that blends into the background, has she? Of course its Helen Maitland.
I shrugged. So she uses an assumed name when shes treating lesbians. Maybe she just doesnt want the notoriety of being the dykes baby doctor.
Its more than that, KB, Alexis insisted, swallowing smoke as if her life depended on it. Shes got a prescription pad and she writes prescriptions in the name of Helen Maitland. Weve not had any trouble getting them filled, and its not like it was a one-off, believe me. Theres been plenty. Which also makes me worried, because if the bizzies figure out that Sarah Blackstone and Helen Maitland are the same person, and they try and track down her patients, all theyve got to do is start asking around the local chemists. And there we are, right in the middle of the frame.
All of which was true, but I couldnt see why Alexis was getting so wound up. I knew the rules on human fertility treatment were pretty strict, but as far as I was aware, it wasnt a crime yet to give lesbians artificial insemination, though if the Tories started to get really hysterical about losing the next election, I could see it might have its attractions as a possible vote winner. Alexis, I said gently. Why exactly is that a problem?
She looked blankly at me. Because theyll take the baby off us, she said in a tone of voice I recognized as the one I used to explain to Richard why you cant wash your jeans in the dishwasher.
I think you might be overreacting, I said cautiously, aware that I wasnt wearing protective clothing. This is a straightforward case, Alexis, I continued, skimming the story. Burglar gets disturbed, struggle, burglar panics, pulls a blade and lashes out. Tragic waste of talented test-tube baby doctor. I looked up. The cops arent going to be interviewing her Leeds patients, never mind trying to trace people she treated in a different city under a different name.
Maybe so, but maybe theres more to it than meets the eye, Alexis said stubbornly. Ive been doing the crime beat long enough to know that the Old Bill only tell you what they want you to know. It wouldnt be the first time theres been a whole other investigation going on beneath the surface. She finished her drink and her cigarette, for some reason avoiding my eye.
I had a strong feeling that I didnt know what the real story was here. I wasnt entirely sure that I wanted to know what it was that could disconcert my normally stable best buddy as much as this, but I knew I couldnt dodge the issue. Whats really going on here, Alexis? I asked.
She ran both hands through her wild tangle of black hair and looked up at me, her face worried and frightened, her eyes as hollow as a politicians promises. Any chance of another drink?
I fetched her another Stoly and Diet Coke, this one more than a little weaker than the last. If she was going to swallow them like water, I didnt want her passing out before shed explained why she was in such a state about the death of a woman with whom shed had nothing more than a professional relationship. I slid the drink across the table to her, and when she reached out for it, I covered her hand with mine. Tell me, I said.
Alexis tightened her lips and shook her head. We havent told another living soul, she said, reaching for another cigarette. I hoped she wasnt smoking like this around Chris or the baby was going to need nicotine patches to get through its first twenty-four hours.
You said a minute ago you wanted me working on this. If I dont know whats going on, theres not a lot I can do, I reminded her.
Alexis lifted her eyes and gazed into mine. This has got to stay between us, she said, her voice a plea Id never heard from her before. I mean it, KB. Nobody gets to hear this one. Not Della, not Ruth, not even Richard. Nobody.
That serious, eh? I said, trying to lighten the oppressiveness of the atmosphere.
Yeah, that serious, Alexis said, not noticeably lightened.
You know you can trust me.
Thats why Im here, she admitted after a pause. The hand that wasnt hanging on to the cigarette swept through her hair again. I didnt realize how hard it was going to be to tell you.
I leaned back against the sofa, trying to look as relaxed and unshockable as I could. Alexis, Im bombproof. Whatever it is, Ive heard it before. Or something very like it.
Her mouth twisted in a strange, inward smile. Not like this, KB, I promise you. This is one hundred per cent one-off. Alexis sat up straight, squaring her shoulders. I saw shed made the decision to reveal what was eating her. This baby that Chris is carrying its ours. She looked expectantly at me.