‘Will? What are you doing here?’ Russell jumped up from his chair and strode across the room. ‘Shouldn’t you be home, or at the hospital, or…’
‘Probably. I need your help, though.’ Will glanced around the room, the IT department’s floor covered with spare computer monitors and hard drives. Two graduate IT specialists sat at their desks, their faces turned towards him. ‘Is there somewhere more private where we can talk?’
‘Sure.’
Will followed Russell across the open-plan office until they reached a small room set off to one side.
‘My manager’s on annual leave, so we can use his office.’ Russell flicked a light switch and pulled out two chairs from under a glass-topped desk. ‘Here – sit down.’
Will dropped into the chair and put the backpack between his feet.
‘How is she?’
Will shrugged and checked his phone. ‘Still in surgery. They’re going to phone me when they know something more.’
Russell nodded, and Will realised no one knew what to say to him about Amy. They were all lost for words.
He decided to launch straight into his idea. ‘Russ, can I use your computer?’
The other man shrugged. ‘I suppose. Where’s yours?’
Will leaned down and pulled the second hard drive from his bag. ‘I can’t go back to the apartment at the moment.’
‘Why not?’
Will ran his hand through his hair, and then exhaled. He had nothing to hide from Russell, but he needed to be careful. ‘While I was at the hospital, the apartment was broken into.’
‘What? Have you told the police?’
Will ignored the question and instead held up the hard drive and turned it to face his friend. ‘I think Amy has some files on here, and I’d like to see what’s on them.’
‘What sort of files?’
Will glanced over his shoulder, then stood and closed the office door. He returned to his chair and hugged the hard drive against his chest. ‘Some very important files.’ He raised his gaze to Russell, who was staring at him, worry creasing his brow. ‘Files that someone might harm people to get.’
Silence filled the room, the sound of the wall clock filling the air. Eventually, Russell leaned forward in his chair, rested his elbows on his knees, and exhaled.
‘Do you think this is why Amy was shot?’
Will nodded.
‘And you think someone ransacked your apartment trying to find it?
‘Yes.’
‘And this is why you can’t go back home?’
‘Exactly.’
Russell eased back, held his hands to his lips as if in silent prayer, and then held out his hand. ‘Give me the hard drive. Let’s see what we can find.’
While his colleague connected the hard drive to his computer, Will stepped away and moved over to the window. Resting his forehead against the glass, he peered down at the gridlocked traffic moving along Montague Place.
‘There’s something else you need to know, Russ.’
‘What?’
‘I’ve got to work through whatever’s on that hard drive to stop what’s happening. If I don’t, they’re going to kill Amy. Even if she survives surgery, they’ll get to her.’
He closed his eyes as Russell cursed.
‘Have you told the police?’
‘No. Not yet.’ He turned to face his friend.
‘What are you going to do?’
Will pointed at the hard drive. ‘Whoever did it was after that. Or what’s on it, at least.’ He leaned against the window sill, before folding his arms across his chest. ‘A man phoned me on our landline while I was at the apartment. He said I had to bring Amy’s laptop to him.’ He held out the notepaper with the scrawled instructions on it, his hand shaking.
Russell snatched it from him. ‘What did you do?’
‘I – I told him I had to go and get it. I had to collect the laptop from our computer expert, because Amy was having an upgrade done to it.’ Will turned away and wiped his eyes. ‘I phoned ahead to our computer guy and told him I needed to take a look for the files.’ He sniffled. ‘When I got there, he was dead. The police were crawling all over the place. One of the neighbours told me it sounded like a robbery gone wrong.’
‘Jesus, Will.’ Russell’s eyes opened wide, his jaw slack. ‘What the bloody hell is going on?’
‘I don’t know,’ said Will. ‘But whatever it is, Amy’s life depends on it. The police interviewed me at the hospital. They haven’t got a clue who attacked Amy, so they can’t guarantee her safety, can they?’ He pointed at the hard drive. ‘But, maybe – if I can access the files she’s got on there – I can find out who they are and stop them.’
‘Will, if you find out who’s doing this, go to the police with that information,’ said Russell. ‘No fucking about either, got that?’
‘Okay.’
‘Did anyone follow you here?’
‘I don’t know – but even if they did, they’re probably thinking I have to clear the time off with Jack to look after Amy and sort this mess out, right? I mean, I don’t think you’re in danger, okay?’
‘You don’t think?’ Russell raised his gaze to the ceiling. ‘Bloody hell, Will.’
‘Can you open the files for me?’ said Will. ‘I need to know what I’m dealing with. Amy’s messages didn’t tell me. I think she ran out of time.’
The computer engineer leaned forward, his fingers jabbing at the keyboard in front of him. ‘I can try. We sometimes have to access people’s computers here if they’re off sick or go on holiday and forget to put their files on the shared server, so I’d imagine it’ll be a similar process. Give me a minute or two.’
Will glanced down after his mobile phone began to ring and recognised the number as that of the hospital switchboard.
‘I need to take this,’ he said.
‘Sure – use the office next door. It’s empty.’
‘Thanks.’
He left Russell scrolling through the files, opening an occasional one to gauge its content, and closed the door before answering the phone.
‘Will Fletcher.’
‘Mr Fletcher, this is the Prince George Hospital. Please hold the line. I’ll connect you to Mr Hathaway,’ said the receptionist.
Will pushed open the door to the abandoned office, switched on the lights, and sank into a worn swivel chair while the dulcet tones of Faure’s Berceuse filtered down the line.
He swung round on the chair as he waited, the bare walls offering no clue as to the role of its previous occupant, save for a calendar depicting an autumn scene, the page turned to a date six months earlier.
There was no window in the room, and Will had begun to loosen his collar to counteract the stuffiness, when the surgeon’s voice cut into the music.
‘Hello, Will.’
‘Hi.’ Will tried to detect from the tone of the man’s voice how Amy’s operation had gone and quickly gave up. ‘How is she?’
The surgeon sighed, and Will heard the squeak of the man’s chair as he moved.
‘The procedure went well,’ he said. ‘I’m satisfied we’ve done all we can at this stage.’
‘But?’
‘It’s very early to be speculating, Will. There’s an incredible amount of trauma and bruising to her skull, as you can imagine.’ He cleared his throat. ‘I noticed during the surgery that she has a scar above her eyebrow – an old injury,’ he said. ‘Do you know anything about that?’
‘Not really – I think she hit her head as a kid and needed stitches.’
‘Okay, good to know,’ said the surgeon. ‘I don’t think it’s going to cause us any additional problems with her recovery.’
‘So, what happens now?’ Will leaned back in his chair and stared at the ceiling. A cobweb floated in the breeze from the air conditioning vent, and he hugged his arm across his chest, stuffing his hand under his arm to try and stop the shaking in his limbs.
‘We simply have to wait,’ said Hathaway. ‘We’ll be monitoring her constantly, but you need to understand, it could be days, rather than hours, before I can give you an indication of her prognosis.’
‘What do I do now?’
‘Stay by the phone, and keep in touch,’ said the surgeon. ‘If you’d like to come in and sit with her for a while, let my secretary know, and she’ll make the necessary arrangements.’
Will leaned forward and pressed the phone closer to his ear. ‘I’ll do that,’ he said. I’ve just got some things to sort out first.’
‘I understand,’ said the surgeon, and Will heard the note of disappointment in his voice.
Hathaway continued. ‘I’ll ensure we phone you every few hours with an update, even if it’s just to say there’s no change. I’ve also been asked to notify the police the moment Amy regains consciousness,’ he said. ‘But you’ll be the first to hear anything. I’ll make sure of that.’
‘Thank you,’ said Will.
He ended the call and wiped his eyes, composing himself before leaving the empty office and returning to the meeting room. He pushed open the door, closing it quietly behind him.
Russell stood by the window, hands in his pockets, his spine stiff. He turned as Will entered the room, his face pale.
‘What is it?’ asked Will. ‘Are you okay?’
‘Not really. No,’ said Russell. ‘This doesn’t look like a newspaper story, Will. This is obsessive. It’s like she’s got a personal vendetta or something.’ He pointed at his laptop. ‘What do you make of that?’
Will strode over to the desk and spun the computer round. On it, an enlarged black and white photograph filled the screen.
A group of four men stood in a row, their hairstyles short, clipped close to their skulls. Two wore camouflage-printed clothes and lace-up ankle height boots in a dark colour. The others appeared to be wearing jeans and long-sleeved dark sweatshirts, with no logos.
Will frowned. ‘Not much. Four blokes. Two in army fatigues. All looking a bit smug.’
Russell’s fingers swept across the keyboard, until the top right hand corner of the picture was enlarged. He spun the screen round to face Will.
‘Now tell me what you see,’ he whispered. ‘Look closer.’
Will’s hands trembled as he pulled the laptop nearer. He peered at the photograph, and then pulled out one of the chairs, sitting down heavily. He rubbed his hands over his knees in an attempt to stop his legs from shaking.
‘How is that even possible?’ he said. ‘Can you get this photo cleaned up? I mean, I know what I think I’m seeing, but it’s not exactly conclusive evidence, is it? It’s too blurred.’
‘I could take a copy of this file. See if one of the IT guys can do something with it, if you like?’
Will thought for a second, the image of Simon’s body being carried away on a stretcher fresh in his mind. But if they were right…
‘Can he be trusted not to tell anyone else?’
‘Yeah – he’s good.’
‘Okay. Do it,’ said Will. He rubbed his hand over his eyes. ‘What’s going on, Russ? What do you think this all means?’
‘I think it means you’re in a lot more trouble than you realise.’