Carrying the basket inside, I stack a couple of logs on top of glowing ashes. In the heart of winter, the fire needs to burn constantly to keep the thick stonework of the hearth warm, holding the heat to radiate it out and keep the room liveable.
The doorbell rings.
Now who?
And there, on the doorstep, the last face I expect to see; two faces in fact: Kirstie and Ryan, he carrying a briefcase.
Kirstie bursts out. “Oh, God, Michael. We were away. I came as soon as I heard the news.”
“Kirstie… not that I’m not pleased to see you, but this isn’t a good time…”
“I’m not here to be sympathetic, Michael. I’ve come to help.”
“Help? How?”
“You remember I told you there was a ‘doctor’ asking about Charlotte at the hospital…?”
For a second my mind blanks out. “Christ, yes. That was months ago… What… August was it?”
“Yes, but even at the time, I thought he looked odd. More like a bouncer. Francis told me you have all the security footage here. I came to look through it with you. See if I can spot him.”
“You’d better come in.”
All heads rise in the dining room. Klempner rises, alarm flashing in his eyes.
“Kirstie, Ryan… This is… Larry Klempner, Charlotte’s father.”
Klempner inclines his head. “Kirstie? The same Kirstie who raised the alarm over Ben?”
“The same. She’s come to go over the footage…”
James interrupts, pulling out a chair. “Yes, we heard you in the hall. Sit by me, Kirstie. You can watch on my screen.”
“It’s alright.” Ryan opens the briefcase. We thought you might be short on laptops. I brought mine.”
*****
“How about this one?” Ryan aims a finger at a white-coated figure. “If you block out the bottom half of his face, he’s pretty similar to the one that followed her into the bathroom.”
All eyes gather around his screen.
“No,” says James. “Compare him with the woman he’s standing next to. He’s almost eye to eye with her. Both Charlotte’s attackers were looking down on her, and she’s tall for a woman.”
Ryan sighs. “You’re right.”
*****
Michael pipes up. “How about this guy? You see… height, build, hair colour… He could be the one that had the syringe.”
Beth looks over his shoulder, considering. “No,” she says at length. “He’s one of the doctors from the obstetrics unit. And he’s on-camera at the same time as they attacked Charlotte, but two wards away. It can’t be him.”
*****
Klempner
Mitch…
The alarm in her eyes from when she first saw me has faded, replaced by a kind of watchfulness. She’s listening to the others, paying attention to Alexanders, Summerford, Haswell and his woman; their comments on the hospital footage…
… but all the while, she has half an eye on me.
As though I were a dog that might bite.
I’m here to bite…
But not you…
Not you.
How can so much time have passed, and you’ve changed so little?
Still so beautiful.
Even despite the redness around your eyes, where you’ve been spilling your tears…
Jenny.
Mitch’s daughter.
My daughter.
Our daughter.
Regret wells inside, suffocating me. Almost disabling me.
Enough!
Time to think.
Time to act.
I return my attention to my screen.
*****
Michael
Kirstie sits bolt upright, aiming a forefinger at her screen. “That’s him! That’s the man who was asking about Charlotte.”
All heads jerk up. We rise as one, clustering behind her.
“You’re sure?” asks James.
“I’m sure.”
The figure is solid, broad-shouldered. He wears a white coat and a stethoscope dangles from his neck, but he doesn’t look like a doctor…
What does a doctor look like?
Not like this.
Kirstie’s right. If you saw him without the lab coat, you’d have him as the doorman at one of the less reputable nightclubs.
Beth leans in close. “Hmmm…”
She brings her own laptop across, setting it side by side with Kirstie’s then mouses up an image: the best still we have of one of Charlotte’s kidnappers: the one that waited in the corridor with the hypodermic. “Look at his stance,” she says. “The way he angles his shoulders. I think that’s the same man.”
I trace an invisible circle around the top half of his face. “James, can you capture the eyes and forehead side by side for the two? The parts of the face visible on both?”
But his fingers are already tap-dancing over the keyboard, selecting image sections, zooming in…
Two images sit alongside each other.
Definitely the same man.
All eyes turn to Kirstie. Richard pushes a coffee into her hand, perching a hip on the table by her. “Excellent work, Kirstie. Now tell us everything you remember.”
Her face falls. “Not much really. He said he was called… Oh, God… It’s months ago… Just before they discharged me from the hospital.”
Klempner isn’t looking at Kirstie. Instead, he’s peering in close at the image. “Which is an interesting point in its own right,” he says. “Definitely suggesting that Jenny’s abduction wasn’t opportunistic but planned.”
“I think we already knew that,” says James, “What with the timing, so close to the delivery. But this certainly confirms that.”
Kirstie is rubbing her forehead. “The name…”
“Ramora,” I say. “You told us he called himself Ramora.”
She snaps her fingers. “That was it. Ramora. But…” She swings her head… “He didn’t say anything, other than to ask where Charlotte was when he didn’t find her in that room we shared.”
“No matter.” Richard lays a hand on her shoulder. “You’ve done well, Kirstie. Very well. Once more, we’re in your debt.” He levers himself up from the table. “If you’ll excuse me everyone, I’m going to call Will Stanton and let him know about this. James, could you forward him those stills you have, the best quality you can manage, and the video reference too.”
“On it now.”
Klempner is still staring at the screen, the face, his expression intense.
“What?” I ask.
“That face…” All eyes turn to him.
“You know him?” I say. “Where from? Who is he?”
He plucks at his lower lip. “No… I don’t think I know him. Not as such… But there’s… something… familiar…” He shakes his head, irritation written there. “I can’t remember.”
“Someone you’ve met only in passing perhaps?” says Beth. “Or he was in the background somewhere?”
“Or maybe you were distracted by something else when you met him?” says Mitch.
He chews the lip. “Perhaps… James, could you print off that image, please.”
“Coming up.” James taps and the printer whirrs into life.
He prints half a dozen copies of the image, passing them around, then one more at A3 size, pinning it to the wall. “Good enough?”
“Perfect.” Klempner stands, looking closely, chewing at a thumbnail.
A minute later, James pins another up by it; a full body shot of the man. Klempner gives it a cursory glance then returns his attention to the face.
“You’re over-thinking it,” says James. Move onto something else. Let your back-burner work on the problem. And now we all start tracing where he goes, follow the cameras. Watching to see where he goes in the hospital. Klempner… maybe seeing him moving around, doing things… Perhaps his body-language will jog your memory.”
*****