by M. W. Craven
Poe could see the scalpels the Curator had used to open her up and the three-inch needle he’d used to close her. A semi-professional job, competence achieved through practice. Special Agent Melody Lee was right; it was a black swan event. The motive for Rebecca and Amanda’s abductions, impossible to understand at the time, now all too obvious.
But where was Flynn’s baby?
His eyes were drawn to the bin in the corner. It was the kind found in doctors’ surgeries all over the country. Moulded plastic with a push-pedal to open the lid. Cheap and easy to clean.
The lid was smeared with blood.
Poe stopped breathing. He began shaking. His mouth turned to sand. The blood pounded in his ears, drowning out all other sound. He didn’t want to open the lid. Didn’t want to see what was inside. But if he didn’t, Bradshaw would have to.
And that was unacceptable.
The walk to the corner of the room was the worst thing he’d ever had to do. It was only seven steps but it felt like seven thousand.
He stepped on the pedal but didn’t dare look. Nothing happened. It was broken. If it were a GP’s surgery it would have to be replaced. Atkinson wasn’t bound by the same rules.
He’d have to lift the lid himself.
He reached out but withdrew his hand. Found he didn’t have the courage. He turned and saw Flynn lying on the table. An involuntary groan escaped his lips.
Bradshaw grabbed his arm and steadied him. ‘I’ll open it, Poe.’
She was trembling as well, her eyes wide and scared. She’d do it. He knew she would. Just so he wouldn’t have to, Bradshaw would confirm what they both knew.
She was so much stronger than he was.
He shook his head. Knew he couldn’t let that happen. Bradshaw was one of life’s innocents. True evil had never really touched her. If he allowed her to open that bin the world wouldn’t be as nice a place tomorrow.
And if Flynn were ever to get over this she’d need Bradshaw’s uncomplicated view of the world. That couldn’t happen if she looked in that bin.
He took a deep breath, reached down and lifted the lid.
Poe frowned. The bin was full of bloody tissues and cotton wool and swabs. He reached inside and moved things around until he was sure.
There was no sign of Flynn’s baby.
Chapter 82
‘Wake up!’ Poe said, slapping the Curator’s head.
Nothing.
His face was grey and clammy, his breathing rapid and shallow. Poe opened his eyelids and saw his dilated pupils. He was in shock. Probably needed urgent medical attention.
He didn’t care; he needed answers.
Bradshaw was still in the treatment room. She wouldn’t leave Flynn’s side now. That suited Poe given what he was about to do.
He tapped the bone sticking out of the Curator’s elbow with the tip of his finger.
His eyes fluttered open. He moaned.
‘Do you believe me when I say I’ll do what it takes?’ Poe said calmly.
‘I do,’ he grunted.
‘Where’s the baby?’
He told him.
Ten minutes later and Poe was quivering with barely suppressed rage. His face was grimmer than a carved mask.
‘Who hired you?’ he said. His voice was low and ominous.
‘I don’t know. Anonymous.’
‘What did they pay you to do?’
He shook his head.
‘You’re going to tell me. It’s up to you how much pain you want to endure before you do.’
Poe tapped the protruding bone again. A bit harder this time.
‘If I have to, I’ll pull this out of your fucking arm.’
The Curator said nothing.
Poe gripped the bone.
‘OK! Stop!’
And so he told Poe what he’d been hired to do. All of it. He spoke flatly and without emotion. When he’d finished it took every ounce of Poe’s willpower not to grab a scalpel and open up his throat.
Instead, he leaned into the Curator’s ear and spoke for five minutes, his voice never getting above a murmur.
When he’d finished, Poe said, ‘Are we in agreement?’
The Curator nodded.
‘We are.’
Chapter 83
Poe stood alone in the hospital room. He hadn’t been in one quite like it before. He’d ended up in a private ward after the Immolation Man case but that had been because his burns had been so susceptible to infection. But whereas his had been sparse and functional, Flynn’s was … well, Flynn’s was an example of what money could buy.
It was light years away from anything available on the NHS.
It was larger than Poe’s croft, a light and airy room with views of the landscaped garden, an ornamental lake and the rolling Cambridgeshire countryside beyond. Warmly wrapped patients took strolls or rested on one of the many benches and seats. A lone gardener tidied one of the raised flowerbeds.
Poe didn’t know if Zoe or Flynn’s sister was paying for it, but whoever it was they were getting their money’s worth. The monitoring equipment was state of the art, sleek and polished and expensive-looking. The en suite was modern with a bath, a shower and a bidet. There was even a guest room off to the side.
It was spotless and dust-free. No lemon-scented disinfectant to strip the inside of the nostrils, just the pleasant and fragrant bouquet of lavender.
A fifty-six-inch 4K television hung on the wall. Instructions on how to access Netflix, Sky and Amazon Prime were in the welcome pack Poe had read. A Bose sound system and DVD player were on shelves underneath the TV.
Fresh flowers in expensive vases and original watercolours completed the décor.
The room had everything.
Everything that is except a patient. There was an ominous space where the bed should have been.
Flynn had been in surgery when he’d been driving down. She was now in recovery. He’d been there for two hours and so far hadn’t spoken to anyone he knew. Someone had brought him a pot of coffee and a selection of pastries. Poe had eaten the lot then worried they hadn’t all been for him.
He picked up what passed for a hospital menu. It was simply an instruction for Flynn to write down what she wanted and, after her consultant had reviewed it, the ingredients would be sourced and it would be freshly prepared.
It was blank.
Of course it was blank.
Flynn wasn’t going to be hungry. Not for a long time.
He’d brought flowers. The NHS no longer allowed them on their wards. Something to do with the water being a breeding ground for bacteria. This hospital had the staff to do regular water changes, though, and flowers were encouraged.
Until he’d been forced to spend time in one, he hadn’t understood the purpose of flowers in hospitals. Although they made the room look pretty and smell nice, that wasn’t their primary purpose. They were there to remind the doctors and nurses that patients weren’t just units, there to be fixed and sent home. They were humans, and humans needed more than technology and medicine to get better. They needed to feel alive again.
Flowers were essential to the healing process.
Even the bed didn’t squeak.
A smartly dressed orderly wheeled in Flynn. He was followed by a doctor and two nurses. Jessica, Flynn’s sister, and Zoe, her partner, brought up the rear. They looked dog-tired, worse than he did, and he wouldn’t have thought that possible.
The orderly manoeuvred Flynn’s bed into the gap and the nurses fixed it to the machines. One of them handed her the remote control that raised or lowered the bed, then left the room.
Poe smiled at Flynn. She ignored him. He wasn’t sure she’d even registered who he was.
She seemed to be radiating heat. Her skin glistened like warm cheese. Her lips were cracked and hollow sockets framed her bloodshot eyes. Her face was still bruised. She looked small and vulnerable.
It wasn’t a look he recognised.
‘My baby?’ she said to no one in particular
. ‘Where is he?’
There was no strength to her voice and it came out as a half whisper, but it was manic nonetheless.
For a moment no one spoke.
Eventually Zoe stepped forwards. She took hold of her hand.
‘He’s coming, Steph,’ she said. ‘You remember? The nurse is feeding him.’
‘Oh, yes,’ Flynn replied, relaxing back against the pillow. ‘That’s right. I’d forgotten. The nurse is feeding him.’
The room descended into silence.
Flynn broke it.
‘Why is the nurse feeding him?’ she said, tears rolling down her face. ‘Why aren’t I feeding him?’
‘You can’t, Steph,’ Zoe said gently. ‘Not just yet. You’ve been through a terrible ordeal and your body has stopped producing milk. The doctor says it shouldn’t be long before your system reboots, though.’
‘Here’s the little scrapper now,’ one of the nurses said.
Another nurse walked into the room and headed to the bed. She handed Flynn a small bundle swaddled in blankets and a bonnet.
The bundle sighed. Poe could see a wrinkled face, eyes tightly shut. His heart missed a beat. The last time he’d seen him, he’d been in a canvas bag on Edward Atkinson’s bed.
Wet and red and covered in vernix, the greasy substance that protects the skin from amniotic fluid, he’d been alive but only just.
Poe had got there just in time. The doctors he’d spoken to said that a baby born before the thirty-seventh week of pregnancy would ordinarily need specialist support if it were to survive for more than a few hours. The marine unit had rushed Scrapper and Flynn to Furness General Hospital. While Scrapper was being assessed in the neonatal unit Flynn was undergoing emergency trauma surgery. The Curator had also been taken there and, for a while, all that had separated the three of them were walls and armed guards. Zoe had flown Flynn and Scrapper down to the private hospital as soon as they were stable enough to leave.
Flynn hugged her son. A look came over her face. The transformation was immediate and remarkable.
She no longer looked small and vulnerable.
She looked fierce, like a lioness protecting her cub.
‘Hi, Poe,’ she said, refusing to look away from her son’s face. ‘Where’s Tilly?’
Poe waited for the nurse to attach the finger-clip that monitored her vitals before he replied.
‘Still in Cumbria. She’s going through the Curator’s computer. I’m hoping to hear from her soon.’
‘Tilly will untangle it all,’ Flynn said.
‘She will,’ Poe agreed. She almost had. He was waiting for a text to say she was ready to brief him.
‘It’s funny, Poe,’ she said, ‘but you don’t realise how many people you hate until you have to name a baby.’
He smiled. ‘I can imagine.’
‘Zoe wanted to call him Washington but I said it’s a foolish name.’
‘He’s been through enough already,’ he agreed.
Flynn laughed as a tiny hand grabbed her finger.
Zoe leaned in and kissed her. She straightened and said, ‘Washington, can I have a word?’
‘Poe,’ Flynn croaked. ‘He prefers Poe.’
‘Poe, then, can I have a word?’ She gestured towards the guest room.
‘Of course.’
‘Jess, can you join us?’
Flynn’s sister nodded. So far she hadn’t said a word. Her distraught look changed to one of resolve.
After Zoe had gently shut the door, she turned and said, ‘Why did Edward Atkinson want to steal our baby?’
Poe shook his head. ‘Edward Atkinson didn’t want to steal your baby, Zoe.’
Both women frowned.
‘Explain,’ Jessica said.
‘Edward Atkinson’s dead,’ Poe explained. ‘Whoever the Curator is, and Tilly says she’ll ID him soon, he killed Atkinson and took his place on the island with the express purpose of luring Steph there.’
‘But how?’ Zoe said.
‘The how is easy. Montague Island is deserted during winter and he had the place to himself.’
‘His scars, though, how did he fool you all?’
‘Rigid collodion,’ Poe said. ‘It’s a readily available special effects liquid used in the film industry. It wrinkles any skin it’s applied to. With a bit of practice it’s not difficult to create a scarring effect. And underneath one of Atkinson’s burn masks …’
‘It was enough to fool everyone.’
Poe nodded.
‘But … but why?’
‘All I know is that … under duress, he admitted to being paid to remove Steph’s baby before it went full term. The details had been left to him and the Black Swan Challenge is how he chose to do it. It’s a variation of something he’s done before in the States.’
‘Human traffickers?’ Zoe asked. ‘Some fucked-up plan by someone who couldn’t conceive naturally?’
Poe shrugged. ‘Probably. He was to get further instructions when it was done.’
Jessica stared at him. ‘You don’t think that, though, do you?’
‘There are easier ways to steal a baby,’ he said. ‘I think this is personal. I think this wasn’t just about stealing a baby, this was also about punishing Steph.’
‘That fucking job of hers!’ Jessica growled.
Zoe’s hand went to her face.
‘Oh my God,’ she said. She slumped onto the guest room’s bed. Jessica sat down and held her. For a moment the two women drew strength from each other.
‘Right, I’m getting some private security up here,’ Jessica said. She tapped a number on her phone and held it to her head. ‘James, I need you to get me the name of a reputable private security firm. One of those that only hires ex-special forces, that type of thing.’
She listened.
‘No, I’m fine.’
She explained what she wanted and then listened for a bit longer.
‘Thank you,’ she said. ‘And James, I want them here within the hour.’
Poe nodded in satisfaction. His phone beeped. It was a text from Bradshaw telling him that she was ready to brief him and he should get back to Cumbria.
‘I have to go,’ he said. ‘I’ll be back as soon as I can.’
‘Do you think he’ll talk?’ Jessica said.
‘Depends what Tilly’s found, I suppose. We’ll know soon enough. He won’t be in hospital much longer.’
‘How is he?’
‘In a pretty bad way actually. Eight broken bones in his hand, a shattered elbow, a fractured shoulder blade and dislocated socket. Oh, and a ruptured testicle.’
‘Your doing?’
‘The ruptured testicle wasn’t. I don’t think he got it all his own way. He might have caught Steph unawares but her training in Krav Maga has given her excellent reflexes. Given how close we came to being too late, I reckon the knee to the balls she gave him saved the day.’
Zoe smiled at that.
‘Good,’ she said. ‘And what about you? Will you come out of this OK?’
‘The official version of events will be kind to me,’ he assured them. ‘I know it will, as I’ll be writing it.’
He checked his watch.
‘Look, I can be back in Cumbria in five hours. If you keep your phones on I’ll let you know anything the second I know it.’
‘Make it four hours, Poe,’ Zoe said, throwing him a set of keys.
Poe caught them.
‘What’s this?’
‘There’s a Range Rover in the car park,’ she said. ‘Your director told us what you did. We know we can never repay you but Jess and I can certainly replace the car you lost.’
‘You didn’t have to do that.’ He then lied and added, ‘The insurance will cover it.’
‘You deliberately drove it into the sea. The insurance most definitely will not cover it. And anyway, it’s now registered in your name. If you don’t take it you’ll start racking up parking charges.’
Poe didn’t know what to say. He set
tled for, ‘I’ll keep it for now but only because of that shite thing the hire car company gave me.’
‘Leave the keys here and we’ll get someone to return it,’ Jessica said.
Flynn was sleeping and he saw no reason to wake her. Within seconds he was striding down the corridor.
He was at the front door when a voice called him back.
It was Zoe.
She had run to catch him.
‘One more thing, Poe,’ she said. ‘I know all about you. I know the things you’ve done and I know you’ll not rest until you find the person behind this.’
‘I’ll find them,’ he confirmed.
‘And when you do,’ Zoe said, her eyes monstrously calm, ‘you kill them. Do you understand me, Poe? You find the person who did this and you fucking kill them.’
Chapter 84
Poe had thought his X1 was a smooth ride but the Range Rover was something else. It ate up the two hundred and fifty miles to Cumbria silently and in no time at all.
He was soon turning into the car park at the back of Barrow police station. The Curator was still under armed guard in Furness General Hospital but would shortly be on his way.
Nightingale and Bradshaw met him as he got out of his car.
‘How’s Detective Inspector Stephanie Flynn, Poe?’ Bradshaw said immediately.
The stress of the last forty-eight hours had caused her to revert to using Flynn’s full, formal address. It was a habit she’d tried hard to break over the last year.
‘Out of surgery and she’ll make a full recovery.’
‘And the baby?’
‘Doing well. The nurses have named him “Scrapper”.’
Bradshaw silently mouthed the name.
‘I don’t like it, Poe.’
‘Zoe wants to call him Washington.’
‘Yes!’ she said. ‘That’s a marvellous idea!’
‘Nice wheels,’ Nightingale said. ‘The NCA must have a different pay scale to us country plodders.’
Poe smiled and patted the warm bonnet.
‘It’s a misguided present and I’m not keeping it. Where are we?’