I hacked into the G.P. surgery where she was registered. The computerized records only went back five years. She had been prescribed drugs for the swellings on her face, but there was no referral to the Harley Street clinic. Who had arranged and paid for that?
I sat back in my chair and looked out into the night. The streetlights were dulled by rain that was hitting the windows. I checked my e-mails. Nothing; and no texts from Andy. I went back to the dead woman's past. The magistrates' courts: maybe she had a criminal record. I followed the instructions and found myself in a well- maintained archive. Unlike the surgery, the paper records dating back twenty-five years had been scanned and classified. I typed Lauren Cuthbertson's name in and found a single entry, referring to a shoplifting charge in 1986, her last year at school. I opened the case file. It seemed she had been caught leaving a Woolworths with three music cassettes, a book and a chocolate bar. Because she'd been stopped numerous times before, the store decided to make an example of her. I scrolled down the record. Lauren had been warned as to her future conduct by the magistrates and ordered to do a week's community service during her next holidays. A fine was not considered appropriate because of her "troubled family situation." That made me sit up. What family situation? I got into the local Social Services database and searched for her name. She'd been through six different sets of foster parents since she was six, as well as being in care several times. The root of the problem was that her father had murdered her mother when Lauren was in her first year in primary school. I scrolled down farther. Wrong. Her adoptive father had murdered her adoptive-Jesus, she'd been adopted.
I felt the blood rush through my veins. The White Devil and his twin, Sara, had also been given up for adoption. That Lauren had, too, was a hell of a coincidence. I got into the Adoption Register. That was tricky because there was a better firewall, but Rog had left me a program to get past it. I typed in Lauren's full name and waited for the details of her birth parents to come up. It took nearly a minute, but I'd already guessed who her mother was. The archive showed her to be Doris Merilee, now known by her married name, Doris Carlton-Jones. Christ, Sara and the White Devil had a half sister. The records were incomplete, the mother having declared that she'd given birth in France and had lost the certificate. She'd also given a different man's name as father. That had been enough for me to miss the fact that Sara's mother had given birth to three rather than two children when I researched my book. All three children had turned out to be murderers. What did that make their mother?
I told Pete and Rog what I'd discovered.
"But where does that leave us, Matt?" Boney asked. "Lauren Cuthbertson's dead. How do we find Sara?"
"How we find Andy is more urgent," I said. "Though he and Sara might well be in the same place."
"Where are you thinking?" Rog asked.
"Where's that cottage you found again?"
"Oldbury, Berkshire."
"Right, we'll hit it first. If it's no good, we'll move on to Earl Sternwood's castle."
We started gathering up our weapons.
Andy Jackson couldn't be sure how long the van had been moving, but he guessed it was about two hours when it stopped and the engine turned off. He'd spent the time persevering with the blade, but the movement of the vehicle and the fact that all the nails on his right hand were now broken meant that he hadn't succeeded. He listened as the front doors were opened. The wind was blowing through trees and he could hear cars in the distance. The curtains didn't permit any helpful visuals. After stopping and starting frequently in the first half hour of the journey-standard city driving he figured-the van had stopped and a helmeted figure in black leathers had maneuvered the motorbike up a plank into the cargo space. He tried to see where they were out the rear doors and was rewarded with a heavy punch to his jaw.
After that the van moved more quickly. He reckoned they'd been on a motorway. Then it was driven more slowly again. Now it was stationary, he wondered if he'd reached the end of his road. He struggled desperately, but still couldn't get the knife open.
The rear doors opened and a torch was shone in his face. He tried to make out the person holding it, but saw only a helmet with the visor down. Was it Sara Robbins? Why was she still hiding her face? Was there some hope, if she didn't want him to be able to identify her later? Then he saw she was carrying something, a motionless bundle wrapped in blankets. Jesus, was it a person? The face and head were covered, though loosely enough to suggest it would be possible to breathe. As he was sizing up the bundle, which had been laid on the floor on the other side of the bike, the torch was switched off. He'd seen enough to realize it wasn't large enough to be an adult.
Andy Jackson was in the dark in the back of the van, but he wasn't alone anymore. He had to see if the new arrival was alive. He slid his fingers back into his back pocket and started trying the knife again. The van's engine was started again and it moved off. Soon it was being driven at speed, presumably back on a motorway. But where were they heading? Andy realized that Matt and the others could have no idea of his location. He had to save himself and the person who had been wrapped in the blankets, if that person was still breathing.
Fortunately Rog's cousin had a half-decent set of wheels, a Suzuki 4x4, and Rog knew where the spare keys were.
"You drive, Dodger," I said. "West for the M4."
When we were under way, I took out my cell phone and called Karen.
"Where are you, Matt?" she demanded. "You do realize you're looking at prison now?"
"Never mind that," I said. "Remember I told you about Sara's birth mother?" She got the name right. "Yeah, that's her. Can you notify the authorities at ports and airports, especially in the southeast?" I gave a description. "She might have altered her appearance."
"What's she done?" Karen asked.
"For a start, she's Lauren Cuthbertson's mother, too."
There was a pause. "You mean Lauren Cuthbertson was Sara Robbins's sister?" Karen said.
"Half sister. You'd better advise them that Sara might be trying to go through, as well."
"They were issued with her details and description after the White Devil case."
"Yeah, but she might well look different now and you can be sure they'll both have different identities."
"All right. Matt, please tell me where you are and what you're doing."
"I'm trying to save Andy's life," I said bluntly.
"I can send backup."
"Uh-uh. I have to do this on my own." I felt Pete's eyes on me again. "I'm not losing another of my friends. I'll be in touch." I cut the connection.
"You have to do it on your own?" Boney said ironically.
I caught his gaze. "If this gets messy, which it could well if Sara's around, you two are in the clear as far as the authorities are concerned."
"If we don't get wounded," Rog pointed out.
"Or killed," Pete added.
"Matt," Rog said, turning his head. "Something's been bothering me about the properties Sara bought. Why did she put them in her mother's maiden name? Surely she'd know we might spot that."