The Blood Detective by Dan Waddell Page B

and the screen burst to life. There was nothing on this database that would be much use to the investigation, it only went back a decade or so at most. It was the recent past, but still he fancied losing himself in it for a short time.
    He wondered how high-profile a cop Foster
    was. In the search field he typed ‘Detective+GrantsFoster’
    and hit return. The machine chuntered reluctantly then produced its results: nineteen hits. The first few were reports of murder investigations in which he’d been quoted. But it was the seventh that caught Nigel’s eye: ‘Top Cop Cleared of “Killing”
    Father’.
    The story was nearly eight years old. Nigel clicked the link immediately.
     
    A Scotland Yard detective suspended after being suspected of murdering his father in a mercy killing has been cleared and reinstated after no charges were brought against him.
    Detective Inspector Grant Foster, 39, was arrested two months ago after his father, Roger Foster, a retired detective, was found dead at his home in Acton last July. His son made the call to the emergency services reporting his father’s death.
    Last month an inquest into Mr Foster senior’s death recorded an open verdict. The coroner said at the time: ‘It is clear that Detective Inspector Foster helped his father end his life. It is not the duty of this inquest to decide whether that help was criminal. That is a matter for the police and the Crown Prosecution Service.’
    The news that DC I Foster will not be charged and will return to his job has already attracted criticism from anti euthanasia compaigners.
    Last night, Adrian Lewis, Conservative MP for Thewliss, said: ‘I’m not sure what message this sends out to the general public. It is not for us to decide whether someone has the right to die - it is our Lord’s decision. I do hope this isn’t a case of one rule applying to members of the public, and another to members of the Metropolitan Police.’
     
    Nigel sat back to absorb what he’d read. Regardless of whether he had been charged, there seemed to be an admission that Foster in some way assisted his father’s death. In that case, how did he keep his job?
    Nigel checked his watch. He could plough on and find more stories, but it had been half an hour since Ron had descended into the bowels of the building and time was getting on.
    Back in the reading room there was no sign of life.
    He decided to go and find Ron himself, hurry him up, get an estimate for how long it would take. He walked across the reading room to the double doors through which the attendants disappeared when they retrieved an order. Nigel had always wondered what lay behind them. A vast cavernous hall stacked with shelf upon dusting shelf of yellowing files? He opened the door and stepped on to the landing of a brightly lit staircase. In front of him was a lift.
    He pushed the button and it opened immediately.
    He half expected Ron to step out, clutching his microfilm or file. But it was empty. He entered and looked for the list of buttons on the wall. There was only one: B. He pressed it, the doors closed and with a slight judder the lift began its long descent.
    It juddered once more when it hit the bottom, and with a weary clank the doors parted. Nigel was faced with an area with three exits: one ahead, one to the left, the other to his right. Which to choose? The window of each door was frosted, so he could not peer through. There was no light behind the glass on either side, but the path ahead appeared to be lit. Ron must be down there, he thought.
    He opened the door to a long corridor, its walls uninterrupted by doors or windows. At the far end was another double door. Nigel hesitated. What if Ron wasn’t down here? What if he was upstairs wondering where the hell Nigel was? He should turn back. But, no, he was certain Ron was down there and he needed those newspapers. He started to walk, his footsteps the only sound.
    He reached the door, dark green and swinging
    slightly