she said only the members of the team, unless they receive
a special request from someone wanting to do research on the same
group. It’s all incredibly tightly controlled. The police will need
warrants before she can even tell them the names of the people who
dropped out.”
“I thought so.
But the GPs would know.”
“Pardon?”
“The GPs
taking the blood samples from their patients.”
“Apparently
they have a study nurse researcher who does that. The collections
are done in some of the GP practices, but some are done in the
patient’s home.”
“What about
the names of the research staff?”
“That should
be on the study webpage. I’ll email you the URL. But I don’t think
any of the researchers would have anything to do with something
like what you suspect.”
“Probably not,
but maybe someone used them unwittingly for access. It’s a long
shot. You’ve done very well, Beth. Thank you so much.”
The temptation
to jump off the bus and grab a taxi so I could get home and start
looking up websites was almost too much to withstand. The traffic
was heavy enough that it would have saved me no time at ridiculous
cost, so I had to content myself with doing preliminary searches
for plastic surgery clinics on my phone. There were fewer than
hundreds, but more than dozens. I had a long night ahead of me,
because I wouldn’t be able to sleep until I’d made a solid start on
this. Beth’s information convinced me we were on the right track.
It took all my willpower to stop myself calling Andy and asking him
what he knew. I had to trust people to do what they’d promised. So
far, no one had let me down.
Andy’s call
woke me the next morning, even though he didn’t ring that early.
I’d worked through until dawn, listing all the clinics I could find
and all the staff listed. I had found ten with possible Brazil
connections based on names, biography or training, though the
connections were pretty tenuous. I planned to dig more when I had
some sleep.
I yawned and
half-swallowed the “Anton Marber?” with which I answered the
phone.
“Having a
lie-in, Anton?”
“Not exactly.
Tell me about these two vees.”
“I don’t know
what went on with one of them, but the coroner returned an open
verdict. That was only last week, in fact. The other is definitely
dodgy. Three months ago, he drove himself near to Severn Bridge and
disappeared, leaving his car behind but no note.”
“Beth said it
was a presumed suicide.”
“Yeah. Only
because the bridge is famous for it. The guy had no history of
depression, wasn’t in financial difficulties and there were no
marriage problems. Thing is, I think someone might have read about
the disappearance of a musician called Richey Edwards around twenty
years ago and decided to be a copycat.”
“Never heard
of him.”
“Manic Street
Preachers?”
“Sorry—before
my time.”
“Well, anyway,
the body was never found, but he was declared dead thirteen years
after he disappeared.”
“You think
it’s fake?”
“I think the
coincidence with the Edwards case, and the fact he’s a vee like
Nick who’s also missing with someone wanting us to believe he’s
dead, is too much to ignore. It could be a faked death but there’s
no motive. No insurance policy to pay out, and like I said, no
obvious problems to escape.”
“Tell me about
the other one. Another man?”
“Yeah. Weird
case, but this time there was definitely a body. Man driving back
to his home near Woking ends up in a burning car about a mile from
his house. He was definitely dead before the fire started, and the
fire was definitely arson, but the coroner couldn’t determine how
the man died. He had no enemies, lived alone and was a very quiet,
law-abiding person.”
“ What’s your gut feeling?”
“I think it
has to be connected to Nick and the other guy.”
“Here’s
something else.” I told him what Michel had told us. “Harry’s going
to chase down any rumours of clinics here
a special request from someone wanting to do research on the same
group. It’s all incredibly tightly controlled. The police will need
warrants before she can even tell them the names of the people who
dropped out.”
“I thought so.
But the GPs would know.”
“Pardon?”
“The GPs
taking the blood samples from their patients.”
“Apparently
they have a study nurse researcher who does that. The collections
are done in some of the GP practices, but some are done in the
patient’s home.”
“What about
the names of the research staff?”
“That should
be on the study webpage. I’ll email you the URL. But I don’t think
any of the researchers would have anything to do with something
like what you suspect.”
“Probably not,
but maybe someone used them unwittingly for access. It’s a long
shot. You’ve done very well, Beth. Thank you so much.”
The temptation
to jump off the bus and grab a taxi so I could get home and start
looking up websites was almost too much to withstand. The traffic
was heavy enough that it would have saved me no time at ridiculous
cost, so I had to content myself with doing preliminary searches
for plastic surgery clinics on my phone. There were fewer than
hundreds, but more than dozens. I had a long night ahead of me,
because I wouldn’t be able to sleep until I’d made a solid start on
this. Beth’s information convinced me we were on the right track.
It took all my willpower to stop myself calling Andy and asking him
what he knew. I had to trust people to do what they’d promised. So
far, no one had let me down.
Andy’s call
woke me the next morning, even though he didn’t ring that early.
I’d worked through until dawn, listing all the clinics I could find
and all the staff listed. I had found ten with possible Brazil
connections based on names, biography or training, though the
connections were pretty tenuous. I planned to dig more when I had
some sleep.
I yawned and
half-swallowed the “Anton Marber?” with which I answered the
phone.
“Having a
lie-in, Anton?”
“Not exactly.
Tell me about these two vees.”
“I don’t know
what went on with one of them, but the coroner returned an open
verdict. That was only last week, in fact. The other is definitely
dodgy. Three months ago, he drove himself near to Severn Bridge and
disappeared, leaving his car behind but no note.”
“Beth said it
was a presumed suicide.”
“Yeah. Only
because the bridge is famous for it. The guy had no history of
depression, wasn’t in financial difficulties and there were no
marriage problems. Thing is, I think someone might have read about
the disappearance of a musician called Richey Edwards around twenty
years ago and decided to be a copycat.”
“Never heard
of him.”
“Manic Street
Preachers?”
“Sorry—before
my time.”
“Well, anyway,
the body was never found, but he was declared dead thirteen years
after he disappeared.”
“You think
it’s fake?”
“I think the
coincidence with the Edwards case, and the fact he’s a vee like
Nick who’s also missing with someone wanting us to believe he’s
dead, is too much to ignore. It could be a faked death but there’s
no motive. No insurance policy to pay out, and like I said, no
obvious problems to escape.”
“Tell me about
the other one. Another man?”
“Yeah. Weird
case, but this time there was definitely a body. Man driving back
to his home near Woking ends up in a burning car about a mile from
his house. He was definitely dead before the fire started, and the
fire was definitely arson, but the coroner couldn’t determine how
the man died. He had no enemies, lived alone and was a very quiet,
law-abiding person.”
“ What’s your gut feeling?”
“I think it
has to be connected to Nick and the other guy.”
“Here’s
something else.” I told him what Michel had told us. “Harry’s going
to chase down any rumours of clinics here
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