Felicia saw this, too, and laughed.

‘He wants to be cop of the year,’ she said.

Striker nodded. ‘No big secret there. Bernard always has. Too bad the guy doesn’t get it.’

‘Get it?’

‘Yeah, get it.’ Striker turned to face her. ‘The cops who win that award are never trying to win it. They get it, ’cause they’re good cops and they do a good job, and eventually they get recognized for it. It’s not a checkbox list.’

Felicia looked at the list one more time. ‘You never know. Bernard might get it; he is pretty ambitious, after all.’

‘Well, let me know when he does. I’ll start playing Russian roulette with six bullets.’

The door opened, and Bernard Hamilton walked in. He handed them both a cup of coffee, each with sugar and powdered cream, and they both thanked him for it. Felicia sipped hers; Striker just held the cup.

‘So: Dr Erich Ostermann,’ he said immediately.

Bernard let out a heavy breath. ‘Look, I tried to dig up some stuff on the man, but the file’s gone.’

‘Gone?’

Bernard nodded. ‘Like I said, they got rid of most of the personnel files a while back, after the leak. Department shredded every single one of them.’

Felicia stepped forward. ‘But there should still be a copy of Dr Ostermann’s employee record,’ she said.

‘Exactly,’ Bernard replied. ‘That was what I was looking for, but I can’t seem to find it.’ He looked around the small office and gestured to the boxes at each corner. ‘It’s probably here somewhere, but with the move going on, everything seems to be everywhere. Half the boxes are already in storage. I’ll keep looking though, and I’ll call you if I find something.’

‘When you find something,’ Striker said.

‘Sure. When.’

Striker watched Bernard avoid eye contact, and had little faith in ever receiving a phone call from the man. ‘So Ostermann’s out. What about this Dr Richter?’

Bernard shrugged and raised his hands. ‘Same thing. I can’t find any of the files right now, not with all this mess around here. For all I know they’ve already been taken out east.’

‘This isn’t helping us,’ Striker said.

Bernard sighed. ‘Look, I know Dr Ostermann well, and I have the utmost respect for the man. He’s a good man and he’s connected to management – he donates quite heavily to the PMBA, you know. As for this Dr Richter though, I’ve never heard of him.’

Striker nodded. He took out his notebook and wrote this information down – for the sole purpose of showing Bernard that everything he did was documented. ‘We’re trying to find Larisa Logan. You ever deal with her?’

For a quick moment, Bernard looked lost. Frozen. His fingers tightened on the Styrofoam cup he was holding. Then he blinked and sipped his coffee.

‘The name is familiar,’ he said.

‘It should be,’ Striker said. ‘You ran her this morning.’

Bernard said nothing, but his face turned red.

‘I know, Bernard. I saw the call.’

‘Well, so what if you saw the call?’ Bernard threw his cup into the garbage and moved around to the other side of his desk. ‘That call should never have been put on the board in the first place. It was private. Goddam dispatchers.’

‘So what’s going on?’

‘Nothing’s going on.’

‘Then why all the sensitivity?’

Bernard sat down at his desk and wiped his brow with the sleeve of his shirt. His long drawn face looked even longer at that moment, and the muscles beneath his sagging skin looked tired and flaccid. ‘I can’t say too much on this one.’

‘Can’t, or won’t?’

‘Both,’ he finally said, and the irritation in his voice was audible. ‘There are rules, Striker. Privacy issues. Sensitive ones.’

‘I’m aware of the legal issues.’

Bernard laughed bemusedly. ‘Not just legal ones. And not just departmental policy. There’s also the Mental Health Board to consider.’

Striker said nothing; he just looked at Felicia, saw the hard expression on her face, and knew that she wasn’t falling for the stream of bullshit either. She stepped forward, came right up to the desk, and looked down at Bernard.

‘We’ve gone through all the PRIME files,’ she explained, ‘and all the CAD calls, too. We know you’ve been running the woman through the system. But there also seems to be something missing here. Something happening behind the scenes. We were hoping your file could connect the dots.’

‘Our file?’ Bernard said. ‘What file?’

‘She’s had depressive issues,’ Striker said. ‘Surely, the Mental Health Team—’

‘There’s nothing here,’ Bernard said. He brushed his hand over his ponytail, as if making sure the braid was still in place.

Felicia turned to Striker and frowned. ‘The woman’s got to have a mental health file,’ she said. ‘Given what’s happened. But I’ve been through the database three times. There’s nothing there to be seen.’

To be seen.

Her words clicked something in Striker’s mind, and he smiled at Felicia.

‘I know why,’ he said. ‘You can’t find the file in PRIME because the system won’t let you. The file has been hidden. It’s privatized.’

Thirty-One

There was much to do. Plans – good plans – always took time. Preparation. Rehearsals. Risk management.

The Adder took nothing for granted.

The morning sky was finally turning blue when the old clerk from Home Depot shuffled up the walkway in his bright orange work apron and unlocked the front doors. The Adder watched him go, then waited for a few minutes until other customers entered the store. When at least ten had gone in – a high enough number to blend in with as an ordinary shopper – he adjusted his hat, put on his glasses, and entered the store.

He made his way under the harsh artificial lights of the warehouse as the PA system broadcast details of all the great sales that were available today. Something to do with bathroom renovations. He wasn’t really listening; his mind was focused on the supply list.

He found Aisle 6: Building Materials, and bought himself one hundred ten-inch wood screws and six steel brackets.

He found the lumber yard and grabbed himself three two-bysixes, cutting each one into six-foot lengths. Then he found a solid oak door. It was heavy as hell and by far the most expensive item on his list.

Lastly, he picked up five large canisters of Steinman’s wood varnish – this was essential.

On his way to the checkouts, he passed the power tool section and stopped. A thought occurred to him. Sound; it was ever so important. He steered his buggy of lumber and supplies into the area and found the cordless drill section. There were many brands to choose from – Bosch and Milwaukee and Ridgid – but each unit was not what he was looking for.

A young sales clerk came over and spoke to him uninvited. ‘The DeWalt there has the most power, if that’s what you’re looking for – 450 unit watts of power. But the Makita has the longest battery life.’

The Adder picked up each of the screw guns and hit the triggers on each, one at a time. He heard the loud, high-pitched whirr of the motors and shook his head. ‘No good,’ he said. ‘I’m looking for one that’s quiet.’

‘Quiet?’ the clerk asked.

‘Ear problems.’

‘Oh, we have hearing protection in Aisle—’

‘I’ll look through them myself, thanks.’

The clerk nodded, then walked down the aisle to assist another customer. With him gone, the Adder turned back to his task. He took his time, testing each one of the drills. It was the seventh one that made him smile. A simple Black & Decker. Less power than some of the others, but still plenty enough for the task that was required. But most important was the noise level. The Adder hit the trigger and listened to the soft whirr of the motor.