3 The Surgeon's Blade

by Faith Mortimer

  “Voila! And now, my darling girl, I believe we need to celebrate in style. I want to show you how much.” His eyes glittered strangely as he scooped her unresisting body up into his arms and carried her into her bedroom. A startled, pale ginger cat flew from the bed and shot out of the door, its hair standing up in spikes and uttering a meow of alarm as Nigel aimed a kick at its departing body. The cat tore down the hall towards the kitchen and hid behind the door.

  Libby vaguely realised where she was as Nigel began to slowly undress her, savouring every part of her body that he uncovered. She made one last attempt to make a protest before a penetrating blackness descended on her. Through the darkness, she felt a sharp pain tearing deep within her, and she unwillingly uttered a cry as Nigel entered her savagely. As she felt panic engulfing her, Libby mercifully fell into a deep oblivion of total blackness.

  Chapter 40

  Jem was half way through his shift when he espied the two policemen entering the emergency room. Despite being in plain clothes, Jem knew a policeman when he saw one. A young student nurse turned her startled eyes towards him as she directed the two officers over towards the nurses’ station.

  “Mr Brookes, sir?”

  “Yes that’s me. How can I help you, Officers?”

  “Do you know a Mr Foster? Peter Foster?”

  “Indeed I do. He’s a porter here.”

  “Is there anywhere we might have a few words in private, sir?”

  Jem indicated the office half way down the corridor and shooed an inquisitive staff nurse from the room. “Please sit down,” he said, wondering what all this was about. The older policeman informed Jem he was a detective inspector. He sat forward in his chair, while the younger constable took out a notebook and pencil. He licked the tip of the graphite while waiting to take notes.

  “So, what’s Peter done?” Jem asked, thinking how on earth someone as benign and placid as Peter could have got himself into trouble. “Don’t tell me he’s finally nicked a train up in London. He’s fascinated by all those engines, you know.”

  The inspector sat up in his chair. “When was the last time you saw Mr Foster, Mr Brookes?”

  Surprised, Jem looked from one policeman to the other. “Yesterday evening, why?”

  “Where was that, sir?”

  “We met at the pub. You know the one, The Jolly Sailor, down at Hamble village. We stayed chatting for a while, and then he left. We were supposed to be meeting a friend of mine, but he couldn’t make it.”

  “And what time would this be?”

  “Well, we were there quite late. I suppose Peter left just before last orders. I remember wondering why he left before finishing his pint. It was rather sudden. Anyway, I wandered up to the bar and ordered another pint and the barman told me to—”

  “Yes sir?” The constable looked up, a quizzical look on his face.

  Jem wondered if he should let on about the time as he didn’t want to get the bar staff in trouble. “Well, actually it was over time, but the bar man let me have another as long as I drank it quick. They’d been pretty quiet all evening, and I guess the takings were low.”

  “I see. Go on.”

  “Well, there’s nothing much else to say. We met, had a chat, and Peter left just before closing time. I was about ten or fifteen minutes after.”

  “Did you speak to anyone else in the pub? Do you go there regularly?”

  “Pretty regularly, a few times a month I suppose, especially if I’ve been out sailing on someone’s boat. I don’t know about anyone else in the pub. I might have said 'hello' to one or two that I recognised. Can you please tell me what this is all about? What’s Peter done?”

  When the two policemen looked from one to the other, Jem felt a shock pass through him.

  “Is he all right?”

  “I’m sorry, sir, but we have to inform you that Mr Foster is dead.”

  Jem felt the blood drain from his face at the policeman’s words. Shocked, he looked from one to the other. “Dead? How? When? Oh my God!”

  “Mr Foster was found late this morning. His body was discovered by a walker and his dog on the lower shores of Warsash, near where the River Hamble enters the Solent. We need to establish where he was before he entered the water. We believe you might be the last person to have seen him alive.”

  “Well, it was high tide at about eleven last night. If he fell in after leaving the pub, then the current must have carried him down the river. On the shore you say?” Jem found his heart was pounding with the appalling news. Peter dead!

  “Yes, the marshy bit past where the ferry is.”

  “I suppose it’s possible he fell in near the marina. But why he was near the water, I can’t say.”

  “Can you tell us what sort of mood he was in last night? Had he had much to drink? We’ll be checking with the pub later, of course.”

  “Yes, of course. Well no, he only had part of his pint, as I said earlier. Mood? He seemed a bit nervous, agitated almost. Look, I don’t know what you’ve been told about Peter, but he was a nice guy; quiet and respectable and kept himself to himself. He actually suffered from Asperger’s Syndrome and preferred his own company. He was an enthusiastic railway buff, and the only other hobby of his was stage make-up. He belonged to a local amateur drama group.”

  “Which one, sir?”

  “Sorry, I don’t know. I think I’d better tell you why we met last night.” Jem looked towards the office door to check that it was closed.

  The two officers exchanged glances again and the constable shuffled in his seat as he leaned forward to catch Jem’s words.

  “It’s to do with the attacks on the nurses here. Peter reckoned that he might have seen someone acting suspiciously when the second nurse was attacked.”

  The two policemen raised their eyebrows with interest. “Go on.”

  “I think it was just a hunch, but he seemed quite positive at the time. Apparently, Peter called back into work that evening, something about picking up a magazine he’d left behind. He knows all the shortcuts around the place, and he noticed this guy, a doctor, hanging around an area that’s usually deserted at that time of night. Peter has an uncanny habit of remembering almost everything in minute detail, and he said this doctor was actually wearing a wig and stage make-up. But good stage make-up, he said. He indicated that the guy knew what he was doing when he made his face up.”

  “Interesting, and did he say what this ‘doctor’ looked like? Any distinguishing features?”

  “Nothing more than the nurse has already given you: short dark hair and a thin body of medium height. No, the point I’m making – in fact what Peter was making – is that the attacker was definitely disguising his face.”

  “I see. Anything else?”

  “Yes.” Jem looked troubled before carrying on with his explanation. “Peter said he was worried that the attacker was targeting nurses who were blonde.”

  “How did he make that assumption then?”

  “I’m not sure.” Jem paused and then sighed. “Look, if you must know, there’s a sister here who Peter reckoned looks a bit like the nurse who was attacked. Peter, being as he is – was – took it into his head to go and visit this sister with the thought of warning her. The sister, who’s called Libby, caught him loitering outside her house, and she was a bit startled. A mutual friend suggested he and I should speak to Peter, quiet like, and ask him what he thought he was doing. That’s all.”

  “And this mutual friend, what’s his name then?”

  “Robert. He’s the other friend who was supposed to meet me and Peter in the pub.”

  “Aha. So Mr Foster, Peter, was nervous because of what he’d been doing? Stalking this Sister Libby or whatever her name is.”

  Jem thought for a moment. Was that right? “I’m not sure,” he said, pausing as that evening in the pub went through his mind. “He was a bit agitated at first, and then he seemed to settle down. We were chatting, and then he suddenly stopped. He was looking out of the pub windo
w one minute, then stopped what he was saying and announced that he had to be somewhere else and couldn’t wait to meet Robert.”

  “So did he know Robert or not?”

  “No.”

  “And it was this Robert who failed to turn up. Do you know why?”

  “No, I’m sorry. He telephoned me a few minutes after Peter had left to say he’d been held up somewhere.”

  “This gets more and more interesting. I think we need to get in touch with Robert. Do you have a contact number?”

  Jem looked troubled as he got out his mobile and searched the address book for the number. Something wasn’t right, and he didn’t just mean Peter’s death. He felt that this was going to be a very long day, and by the look of things, the police hadn’t finished with him yet.

  Chapter 41

  Taking advantage of her daughter’s nap, Diana was relaxing in Robert’s garden with a cup of tea and idling with pad and pencil. Ten months had elapsed since she had finished writing her last book, Children of the Plantation, and for the first time since then, she felt the urge to write another novel.

  It the truth be known, she was feeling a bit puzzled over her cousin’s behaviour. She knew Robert had been devastated when Morwenna and baby Carole were found dead at the bottom of the cliff, and it had taken years before he could bring himself to talk about it. Ever since she had been staying with him, she was pleased to find he was coping and finally coming to terms with his loss. The arrival of Libby on the scene seemed to have fanned the fires towards the possibility of a romance too.

  So why wasn’t Robert making the most of it? Diana already knew from what she had been told that Libby was going to ditch her fiancé surgeon. When Robert talked about her, his fascination was obvious, but still he dithered.

  That wasn’t all. The whole scenario seemed odd. Diana swiftly went through the chain of events; there was an attacker at Southampton General with a ‘liking’ for blonde nurses; Libby had been the subject of an intruder, who had wandered around her home for some apparent reason, and as a result, Robert had checked all her doors and windows making sure they were secure; Libby was attached to this surgeon, whose ex-wife seemed to stay for unhealthy lengths of time with him, making Robert suspect there was still something between them. Diana agreed with him over this. It was obvious, surely.

  Then there was the hospital porter, Peter. Although Robert and Libby’s friend Jem said he was an ‘okay’ guy, he supposedly thought he had seen the hospital stalker during one night of an attack, and he had positioned himself at Libby’s house one day causing her a fright if nothing else. Now, according to the news and Robert’s own terse account, this Peter had been found dead. Moreover, he was found dead after his meeting with Jem and Robert was supposed to have been at that meeting.

  What a mixed bag of events. As she thought more and more, Diana realised that everything was surely connected. Was Peter killed, or was his death an accident? Nothing had been disclosed by the police yet.

  Sitting in the afternoon sun letting her mind wander freely over the recent happenings, Diana had another thought. If Peter had seen the attacker, then he may have been killed to keep him quiet. The attacker had suddenly become a murderer.

  As the sun disappeared behind a stray cloud, Diana felt a chill and gave a shudder. She was sure she was right. There was something else that was niggling away at the back of her mind, which she couldn’t put her finger on. It just wouldn’t come. She gave a sigh. Maybe she would work it out later that day.

  Diana heard movement in the house, and when she turned round, she saw Robert walking out to join her in the garden. He looked tired and strained, she thought, as he gave her a thin smile and sat down on the grass. She pondered over what he had told her when they had shared cocoa together. Robert hadn’t spoken to Peter that evening in the pub as he had been detained at the base. If so, why had his jeans been wet at the bottom?

  “Any more news?” she asked, watching her clearly troubled cousin as he lay down at her feet. He put his hands behind his head and crossed his ankles in an effort to appear relaxed.

  “Jem says the police are definitely treating Peter’s death as suspicious. The autopsy will prove whether there was water in his lungs or not. If there was, I suppose he was killed before he entered the water.”

  Diana agreed, nodding. “That’s usual.” She let the silence between them grow as she finished her tea.

  “I’ve just had an idea come to me.”

  “What’s that then?” Robert swivelled his head round, squinting at her.

  “Something’s been niggling me for some time. You told me Peter was a train fanatic as well as being pretty good with stage make-up.”

  “Yes, so what?”

  “Have you realised that the nurses at St Thomas’s Hospital in London have also been stalked and attacked over the past few weeks?”

  “Ye–es. What’s your point?”

  “Well, my point is, could they be connected? Or is it pure coincidence or even a copycat at work?”

  “I get you. It’s possible I suppose – good grief! Are you suggesting Peter was the attacker all along? That he attacked nurses at both hospitals? That’s a bit far-fetched isn’t it?” Robert sat up, a look of horror on his face

  “Probably, but all the same, he used to visit the London train stations to watch out for particular engines. St Thomas’s is not that far from Waterloo. He could easily kill two birds with one stone: visit the station and the hospital. He’s also good with make-up. Just a thought.”

  “Except he’s now dead.”

  “Yes, and it all depends on whether he was murdered or had an accident. Or, there again, he could have committed suicide, I suppose.”

  “I don’t know, Di. An awful lot of people must commute between the two cities. There’s Libby’s lover or ex-lover for instance. He works here and in London, according to Libby. Wait a minute. He did lose his mobile at the time of one of the attacks. Now there’s a coincidence!”

  Diana laughed. “I’m sorry, this is serious. It’s just that you’re so transparent over your feelings towards Libby’s fiancé. Why don’t you admit you’re in love with her?”

  “I’m…not. And yes, Nigel is a complete and utter prick as far as I’m concerned. He has treated Libby so badly lately, ignoring her and then snapping his fingers when it suits him.”

  “Pooh, I don’t believe you, and as for Nigel being a prick, so he might be, but there’s no reason to believe he has anything to do with this.”

  The silence settled on them like a cape while they were lost in their thoughts.

  “You sure?”

  “Robert, nothing is sure until proven, but your theory is a long shot. No, I think the clue is in the stage make-up. The attacker didn’t want to be recognised. So the person must be local and well-known.”

  Robert shifted his body on the grass. “I think I’ll go in. The grass is getting damp. Would you like more tea?”

  “Yes please. I must wake Poppy, or she’ll never sleep tonight. I can’t wait for Steve to join us next week. By the way, have you spoken to Libby today?”

  “No, not yet. She didn’t tell me what hours she was working today, but she’s bound to be there now. I’ll make the tea, and then give her a ring.”

  Chapter 42

  It was inconvenient, but it had to be done. The porter had seen the face of the attacker, albeit under stage make-up. There was something in his eyes, a look that told the attacker to be very, very aware. It would be unforgiveable to be identified now.

  The game was nearly over. It was too bad that the final scene was to be played away from the water. That really was the attacker’s favourite place. No matter; in less than an hour it would all be concluded.

  She would be mine to do with as I please, no one else’s, and that is what surely mattered.

  Chapter 43

  Libby was barely awake as she stumbled from her bed. Her bladder felt as if it was bursting, and she wondered why her body ached so much as she sta
ggered to the bathroom. Standing in front of the mirror, she was horrified to see bruises around her mouth and neck. As she examined them closer, it looked as if she had been subjected to a series of bites from a small dog. What on earth had happened to her? She tried to clear her muzzy head and think back to her last unobstructed recollections. There was nothing there!

  Almost sobbing in terror, she teetered back to her bedroom and surveyed the scene before her eyes. Her bed was a complete mess with the covers hanging off, and as her vision cleared, she saw what looked like small spatters of blood covering the bottom sheet. What had happened?