The Invisible Dead by Lesley McEvoy

Author:Lesley McEvoy
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Bonnier Books UK
Published: 2024-07-09T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter Thirty-Eight

Kingsberry Farm – Thursday

Back in my office, I looked again at the postcard from Ibiza that Tess had given me. Scrawled, in an untidy hand at the bottom, Vicky’s signature included a mobile number.

I wasn’t sure what I expected to hear – or even what I was exactly looking for. At best, I was on a fishing expedition. Hoping Vicky would be able to confirm my half-baked suspicions. That she would be able to add that one piece of the jigsaw that would confirm I was on to something.

At worst, I was fumbling in the dark, towards a dead end.

There was only one way to know.

I picked up the phone and dialled the number.

* * *

Jen looked over at me from her own desk. ‘Vicky confirmed she was a patient at Parkfield Medical Practice?’

I nodded, tapping the notes I’d made when I’d spoken to Steve Lowry’s ex-girlfriend early that morning.

‘Registered with them when she moved into Lowry’s flat on the Butterfield estate. I realised when I saw the prescription list in the back of Lowry’s file. He used the pharmacy next door to the medical practice. Vicky used to pick his prescriptions up for him when she went to the doctors.’

‘Was Lowry a patient at Parkfield too?’

‘That would be nice and neat, wouldn’t it? But, no. He’d stayed with the GP he’d had since he was a kid, at the medical centre in Fordley.’

‘Did Vicky say she’d been a patient of Dr Stanton . . . specifically?’ Jen’s laser-like reasoning was doing what I always wanted it to do – probing my initial hypothesis for holes.

Jen had spent her working life assisting some of the best forensic psychologists in the country, long before she decided to ‘adopt’ me. A fact for which I was eternally grateful. She had an encyclopaedic memory for cases she’d been involved with and I was constantly amazed at the number of contacts and sources she brought to the table.

Her input and opinion were priceless, which is why I ran my ideas and theories past her. She knew me better than anyone and I could trust her to be totally – and sometimes brutally – honest with me. If she thought I was barking up the wrong tree, she’d say so.

‘She confirmed what Stanton told us. Patients don’t have an assigned GP. They see whoever has available appointments. She couldn’t remember the name, but said it was a male GP she saw when she went about her depression. The description she gave sounds a lot like Stanton.’

Jen was already tapping keys on her keyboard. She turned the screen round so I could see the web page of Parkfield Medical Practice. A gallery of photographs of the staff.

‘Only two male doctors registered there.’ She peeked round the edge of the screen. ‘One looks younger than your Alex . . . the other is Colin Stanton.’

We both sat in silence for a moment – considering what options this new piece of information gave us.

‘What exactly are you . . . we, saying here?’ Jen was choosing her words carefully.

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