Skin

55

The manager of the clinic couldn’t think what Susan Hopkins had meant by ‘stealing’. The patients shouldn’t have anything of value in the recovery room: everything would have been placed in the clinic’s central safe upon admission. Signed for. She showed Caffery the register as proof. Her day wasn’t exactly working out as she’d planned it, and Caffery could sympathize with that, but he didn’t think it excused her rudeness. She was as tight-lipped as a camel’s backside in a sandstorm. And when he asked for the details of all the surgeons Susan Hopkins had been working with yesterday, that really tore the lid off for her. The clinic rented the space and facilities to the surgeons, she insisted, that was all. She’d happily give him the names of the three surgeons Susan Hopkins had been rostered with, but absolutely no details of the operations performed and under no circumstances details of the patients. He was welcome to takes his chances with the surgeons’ secretaries, but medical secretaries were notoriously hidebound about things like this, and, she explained, looking down her nose at him, she didn’t fancy his odds without a warrant.

But she was wrong, as it turned out. The secretary who managed the books for two of the surgeons, Davidson and Hunt, was sweet-faced. She knew Susan Hopkins and had heard what had happened. The whole clinic was talking about it.

‘I want to look into their records.’

‘I’m not supposed to tell you anything.’ She stood at the door of her office anxiously, her back to it as if she was guarding a treasure. ‘You know that, don’t you? I’m supposed to wait for a warrant.’

‘Susan didn’t commit suicide. Has that part of the news reached you?’

‘That’s what some of them have been saying.’

‘There might be other cases we’re linking her death to. Can you see what I mean?’

She didn’t answer. She was so pale even her mouth had lost its colour.

‘A serial killer.’ He leant in to hiss the words. The silver bullet. The most frightening words a woman could hear. ‘I’m saying we might be talking about a serial killer.’

The secretary bit her lip. Looked down the corridor to check they weren’t being watched. ‘Oh, Christ.’ She stood back to let him in. ‘I could get the sack for this. Quickly. Close the door.’

She went to the other side of the desk and leant over the computer, shook the mouse and the screen came to life.

‘We’ve been having trouble with the server. The men are due this morning, but it’s still… Ah – there. Now, what am I looking for?’

‘Both surgeons’ lists for the beginning of May two years ago.’ Caffery came to stand next to her and watched her scrolling through. ‘Specifically a tummy tuck and a sympathectomy in the same op.’

‘We keep records going back five years. You never know what claims people are going to cook up. I’m pretty meticulous about it. There.’ She stopped scrolling. ‘Mr Davidson did an abdomectomy on the fifth – that’s about it. After that it was mostly rhinoplasties. Mr Hunt did three corrective operations on the fourth – that’s one of his specialities, scar revision. You know, they come in with some other surgeon’s botches. He’s good, Mr Hunt. Really good. No sympathectomies.’

‘Who did you say did the abdomectomy?’

‘Mr Davidson. Paul.’

‘Patient’s name?’

‘Karen Cooper.’

‘Nothing under the name Mahoney?’

‘No.’ She tapped her pen. Looked at the screen. ‘That’s all. The names might be fake – people get embarrassed: we can’t control that – but the ops in the system aren’t. That was the only abdomectomy in those three days. And nothing on the sympathetic nerve. Not for Mr Hunt or Mr Davidson. I don’t think I’ve ever known either of them do that operation anyway. I’m sorry.’

Caffery got up and put his business card on the desk. ‘Where’s Mr Gerber’s secretary?’

‘At the end of the corridor. There are three secretaries in there. You need Marsha. If you get lost just follow the cold air.’

‘The cold air?’

‘That’s me being bitchy. I’m just saying, good luck walking into Marsha’s domain without a warrant and asking for a peep at her surgeon’s records. If you know what I mean.’

‘Not very amenable?’

‘The words “blood” and “stone” come to mind. Or “Cruella”.’

‘Thanks,’ Caffery said. ‘Thanks for the tip.’