The question still remained. What to do about the note from Jason? One redeeming factor was that Mrs Baxter didn’t know that her son had seen Antimone. The boy had said that he hadn’t told his mother … yet. There was definitely an implied threat, but if she was honest with herself, she wouldn’t even be contemplating the idea without some form of coercion. Would he carry through with it if she refused to do as he asked? Probably not, she thought, but what was the downside? The girl would more than likely want to write a reply. If it ended there, that wouldn’t be too much of a problem, but Jason didn’t seem like the type to give up. The safest thing to do was to keep the note to herself and tell him that she had abandoned the plan.
Her mind made up, she pushed through the door. A woman wearing a nurse’s uniform sat at the solitary desk. She looked up at the new arrival then glanced at her watch. “You’re late.”
“Sorry,” said Rose. “A doctor wanted to speak to me.”
The woman humphed. She was in her mid-fifties, grey hair tied back in a ponytail and carrying four or five stone of excess weight. “Oh, that’s alright then. I don’t mind working unpaid overtime just so you can chat up one of the doctors.”
Rose knew better than to argue. “How are the patients?”
The woman gestured towards the screen before her. “It’s all written down in the log.” After a brief pause, she relented. “They’re all okay apart from the sixteen-year-old girl. She’s not in a good shape at all. They took biopsy samples a few days ago, and she’s been in a lot of pain. I gave her oxycodone a couple of hours back, but she can barely move.”
“Biopsy samples? That shouldn’t be too bad. I don’t understand.”
The older woman pressed her lips together. “I think you should see for yourself. When I say they took biopsy samples, they took them from everywhere, and bone marrow too.”
“Right. I’ll pay her a visit.”
The other nurse stood up, groaning from the exertion as she did so. “See you, then.”
Rose watched as the woman waddled to the door. Her eyes slid across the row of wall-mounted monitors until they rested on the one displaying Antimone’s room. She approached the screen and peered intently at the image. The girl lay on the bed with her eyes closed, her scalp totally devoid of hair. A regular pattern of dark brown patches dotted her skin, interspersed with larger white areas. It was unusual for her to be in bed at this time rather than in the wheelchair. “What have they done to you?” Rose muttered.
She settled herself in the chair behind the desk, the seat still warm from the previous occupant. She signed into the computer, selected the log and waved her hand in front of the monitor to scroll down the entries. She went straight to Antimone’s data. The last recorded item was the prescription of the painkillers just over two hours ago. As her gaze ran down the list, she noted that the same drugs had been administered almost every four hours over the past three days. It was also apparent that she had eaten practically nothing over that time period.
Rose logged off and headed out into the corridor. She turned the corner and strode towards the man in the brown uniform sitting outside the door. He hurriedly returned the mobile device he had been playing with to a pocket inside his jacket.
Rose didn’t recognise the man. The napkin seemed to press into her breast. She made a conscious effort not to glance down. “Hi, I’m Rose,” she said.
“John,” the man replied. “I assume you’ve just started your shift. I’ve got another two to go and then I’m off.”
“Twelve hours for me,” she said, flashing a nervous smile. She held her identity card to the reader and pushed the door open. The first thing to affect her senses was the smell of urine.
“Hi Antimone, it’s Rose. How are you?”
A groan was the only response.
Rose approached the bed. She took a sharp intake of breath as her eyes took in the prostrate girl.
Antimone lay on her back, the white sheet pushed down to her waist. Small brown plasters were spaced in an even grid pattern across her exposed skin, one every two or three inches. The grid extended to her face and scalp. One or two had fallen off leaving small circular scabs surrounded by an area of pink inflammation. A line of larger, evenly spaced, white dressings held down with surgical tape ran up both arms. The one on her left wrist hung loose, exposing an angry looking, dark-red disc at its centre.
The girl lying before her was a shadow of the feisty teenager Rose knew from before. Beneath each eye was a purple-coloured, half-crescent hollow. Her complexion was pale, the skin a pasty colour. Rose was staggered by the decline in her appearance.
“Um, Antimone, can you look at me?”
The girl opened her right eye and stared blearily at the nurse. “How’s my son?” she mumbled.
“Oh … he’s fine. When was the last time he was here?”
“Dunno. Two, three days ago. Before they did this to me. I’ve not been well enough to look after him.”
“Look, I’m really sorry. I’ll see if we can get him brought down here so you can at least see him. I’ll give you a hand with him. Why don’t we get you to the bathroom and get you cleaned up first?”
“Can’t move,” Antimone whispered closing the open eye.
“I’ll give you a hand. I think you’ve had a bit of an accident, and we need to sort you out.” She withdrew the sheet and winced at the scabs covering her legs where the plasters had fallen off. The smell of urine was almost overpowering.
With excruciating slowness, Rose manoeuvred the girl off the bed. On several occasions, Antimone cried out in pain as pressure was applied to one of the sample sites. Finally, she was seated in the wheelchair.
Rose propelled the chair forward into the cramped bathroom. She found it telling that Antimone didn’t complain about being pushed. “Why don’t you brush your teeth while I sort out the bed? When I’ve done that, I’ll come back and help you wash.” She grabbed the toothbrush from beside the sink, applied some toothpaste and handed it over.
While Antimone brushed, Rose returned to the main part of the room and stripped off the sheets. The dried yellow stains indicated that it had happened several hours ago. “Couldn’t be bothered to get off your fat arse, you lazy cow,” she muttered under her breath. Anger seethed through her. She knew this girl was important in finding a cure, but what they had done to her amounted to torture. If she was undecided about what to do before, what she had seen in this room had made up her mind. The least she could do was hand over the note. She needed to be careful, though. Cameras recorded everything, but they didn’t extend to the bathroom.
Rose wiped down the plastic undersheet and remade the bed. She glanced surreptitiously at the camera then headed back to rejoin Antimone. The girl sat in the wheelchair staring blankly into the mirror, still holding the toothbrush. Rose gently took it out of her hand. She turned on the taps and crouched down so her eyes were at the same level as Antimone’s.
“Antimone, I need you to listen to me.”
Antimone’s gaze rose listlessly to meet the nurse’s.
“Before I tell you this, you have to understand that it’s vital you don’t discuss it with another soul. If anybody finds out, we’ll both be in a lot of trouble.”
“What are you talking about?” Antimone rasped.
Rose hesitated for a second. “I’ve got a note from Jason. He asked me to give it to you.” She placed a hand beneath her uniform and withdrew the folded napkin.
Antimone unfolded the paper with quivering hands.
GLAD YOU’RE ALIVE. ARE YOU OK? LOVE JASON
She raised her eyes. “He knows I’m alive?”
“Yes. He was down here three days ago, and he saw you as they took you to the operating theatre.”
The girl became animated for the first time since the nurse had arrived. “Can you get a message back to him?”
“Yes. Write it on here.” Rose took a pen from her front pocket and handed it to Antimone.
Antimone clutched the pen
in her right hand, pondered for a moment then wrote below Jason’s words with slow, deliberate strokes. When she had finished, she folded the napkin and passed it back.
“Do you mind if I read it?”
Antimone shook her head. “Go ahead.”
Rose unfolded the paper and stared at the message.
YOU HAVE TO GET US OUT OF HERE. ANTIMONE.
Chapter 46
Thursday 13th January 2033
Karen Atkins shifted her chair sideways to allow the skinny technician to sit beside her. They said that it was a sign of getting old when policemen started to look young, but this man looked like he should still be in school. He was not technically a policeman but a civilian who worked as an analyst for the police. He had a pallid complexion and several large, angry looking spots across his forehead. His black hair was greasy and parted to the side. He wore jeans and a faded T-shirt bearing the slogan ‘Even duct tape can’t fix stupid but it can muffle the sound.’
Despite his appearance and the inappropriate T-shirt, he was good at his job. That entailed poring over video footage and analysing it to obtain nuggets of useful information.
“May I?” he asked, sliding his chair in front of the monitor. He tapped on a keyboard that seemed to float in mid-air and brought up a list of files. He selected the first, set the time bar to a point just over halfway through and hit the play icon. “Right, this is footage from the drone. The quality’s not great, but you can see our man entering the post office compound here. Now, if we run the footage backwards, we see him talk to this man walking his dog. He’s an elderly local, and we got one of the uniforms to have a chat with him. According to the officer, the old geezer wasn’t quite all there, but he was adamant that the person he talked to was a boy of fifteen or sixteen.”
“That’s strange. Go on.”
“Let’s go back further. We see him walking along the road, and here he is emerging from the train station. Look at the time stamp. Nine minutes past one in the afternoon. The drone hasn’t got an angle onto the platforms so it can’t tell us which train he arrived on.” The man paused.
“So that’s it then?”
“No, not at all.” The technician smiled, displaying his bad teeth. “There was one working camera near the entrance. Unfortunately, it’s facing outwards so all we can see is his back.” He opened a second file and froze the picture showing a figure dressed in a dark blue winter jacket exiting from the station. Once again he hesitated.
“I’m guessing there’s more,” Kat said, sighing in exasperation.
“Yes, there is. Two trains arrived at around this time. One was from Leicester and the other from Saint Pancras. We managed to pick him up on the cameras at Saint Pancras.”
“So if he came from London, he could have started his journey just about anywhere, then?” Kat asked.
The man seemed to deflate. “Yeah, sorry. We went through the footage from Saint Pancras, and we spotted our suspect getting on the train, but it would take too long to work out where he came from.” He selected another file and the monitor displayed a grainy picture of what appeared to be a teenage boy wearing a blue jacket, his head angled downwards.
Kat leant forwards in her chair. “Is this the best you can get?”
“I haven’t finished yet. So, we saw him arrive, but we also know he returned to Bedford train station when he left.”
The technician opened the next file. The view changed back to an aerial shot. “Here we see him walk along the road and enter the station at …” He paused the video and pointed at the time stamp in the top right corner. “Three twenty-one.”
“And this time, you should get a clear look at his face as he enters the station,” Kat said excitedly.
The man grinned. “Exactly.” He selected the final file in the list.
“At last,” Kat muttered under her breath,
“And there we have him.” The monitor displayed a figure wearing jeans and a dark blue winter jacket. This time, the face was clearly visible.
“I don’t believe it,” Kat said, sitting back.
A confused expression worked its way across the technician’s face. “I take it you recognise him, then? Not who you expected?”
“I didn’t know who to expect, but yes, I do recognise him. That’s Jason Baxter, Rosalind Baxter’s son, you know, the head of Ilithyia Biotechnology. But what the hell is he doing helping Daniel Floyd?”
***
Kat drummed her fingers on the desktop. “Yes, I’ll hold.” Before her lay several printed sheets relating to the investigation into Antimone Lessing’s rape. Whilst all the records were computerised, she still liked to feel them in her hands and scribble notes on them. Her eyes roamed over the page. Jason Baxter and Daniel Floyd working together? She would never have guessed it in a million years, but the evidence was on the screen. Jason Baxter had broken into the old sorting office and had left at the same time as Floyd. She had asked the technician to go over the footage of the pair leaving the building one more time. The two men had clearly shared a conversation before going their separate ways, but it was impossible to detect facial expressions or read body language from the drone’s vantage point. How did they even know each other? There was a link between Rosalind Baxter and Daniel Floyd, but how did Jason come into it?
Several witnesses had seen Floyd at Rosalind Baxter’s house, and he had been sent on his way by the security men before later returning. But what had made him return? Was he meeting with Jason? Was Jason somehow involved in the rape? One thing was for sure, though – she intended to ask the boy.
A click on the line preceded the imperious voice of Rosalind Baxter. “Hello, Ms Atkins. What can I do for you?”
Now that it came to it, Kat hadn’t really thought through what she was going to say. “Um, thanks for talking to me, Mrs Baxter. I’m calling about the Antimone Lessing case.”
“Yes, poor girl. Have you found Floyd yet?”
“Actually, that’s why I called. Floyd’s still on the run, but I came across some surprising surveillance video, and I was wondering if you might be able to shed some light on it.”
“Okay,” Rosalind said.
“Well I – um, I don’t really know how to put this. We discovered footage of Jason meeting with Daniel Floyd.”
The line went silent.
“Mrs Baxter, are you still there?”
More silence then a more subdued voice. “Yes, I’m here. When was this?”
“Last Saturday afternoon in Bedford. Do you have any idea why they might talk to each other?”
“No. As you know I have some … ah … previous history with Mr Floyd, but I wasn’t aware that my son had any interaction with him.”
“Where is your son at the moment, Mrs Baxter?”
“Well, he’s at school. They went back this week after the holidays.”
“Okay. I’d like to have a chat and ask him why he met with Floyd. Your son’s still under seventeen, isn’t he? That means he needs to have a guardian present while we question him.”
“You’re not arresting him, are you?”
“No. I just want to have a talk with him for the time being.”
The threat that it might turn into something more hung between them.
“Right,” Rosalind said. “I’m really busy today.”
“It doesn’t have to be you.”
“No, I want to sit in on this. Could you come here?”
“I assume here means Ilithyia,” Kat said. “I could manage that.”
“I can leave a message and get him to come to the hospital after he finishes school, say around five thirty or six o’clock.”
“Okay, let’s make it six. I’ll see you later. Goodbye, Mrs Baxter.”
There was a click on the line, and Kat replaced the handset in its cradle.
“This should be interesting,” she muttered to herself.
***
No sooner had she ended the call than Rosalind Baxter placed another one. A voice responded before s
he even heard the ring tone.
“Hello, Mrs Baxter. What can I do for you?” The unctuous tones of Julian Stefano.
“Julian, I need the lawyers here in my office at six o’clock. No, make that five thirty. I want to have a chat with them first.”
“May I ask what this is about, Mrs Baxter?”
“No, you may not. I pay you to do what I ask, not ask what I do.”
“Um, sorry Mrs Baxter, I wasn’t prying, I just wanted to know which particular lawyers you need.”
“Right, Julian. The ones you contact before you talk to the police. Is that clear enough?”
“Yes, perfectly, Mrs Baxter. I’ll sort that out. Is there anything else?”
Rosalind ended the call without speaking again. She stared out of the window at the glowering winter sky, but her mind was elsewhere. What the hell had the ungrateful imbecile done now? How did he even know Floyd? It must have been a coincidence or the police had made a mistake, but the boy hadn’t mentioned it to her. Surely he would have told her about an accidental meeting but maybe not. Over the last week or so, the distance between them seemed to have grown greater. She knew that she didn’t spend enough time at home, but Jason was more than capable of looking after himself. After all, he was practically an adult now.
She wondered if it had anything to do with the girl. Maybe he still resented her for telling him to forget her, but if what the policewoman had said was correct, Jason had rendezvoused with Floyd before the night at the restaurant. Try as she might, she couldn’t see any link that would lead Jason to deliberately seek out Floyd. The only way to find out was by speaking to her son and preferably in advance of the police arriving. She retrieved her mobile from her handbag and signed in by holding the inbuilt camera up to her eye. She dictated a message and tapped the send button.
Decimation: The Girl Who Survived Page 19