The Face Stealer

by Robert Scott-Norton

  Nixon was referring to Southport’s own forensics team. Payne had seen them sitting down on the car park wall.

  “They don’t look like forensics though do they?” he said.

  “No. They’re something else,” Payne said.

  It had taken two hours to convince the chief of the fire brigade to let them back into the building. A lot of the civilian staff had been allowed home, with services transferred to Crosby where possible. Most officers and uniform however had been determined to get back into the building and reclaim it as their own. People were prepared to stay on long after their shifts had finished and they’d been none of the usual discussions about overtime. It was rare moments like these that made Payne proud to be in the force.

  Payne had rounded up his own team and had briefed them all in the incident room about what had happened. He didn’t think it was going to serve any constructive purpose in keeping anything from his people so he was as frank as he could be under the circumstances. The gun, his gun, was now safely tucked away back at the bottom of the filing cabinet. That had been the only white lie he’d told. He’d told the team that the gun had been brought in by the attacker. There was a chance of course that witness testimony would contradict that, but right now, it was all he could do.

  The reception area was sealed off of course. A small team of builders had done what they could to ensure the safety of the forensics teams.

  Payne never saw the team from the black SUV again. The corridor where Payne had taken down the attacker had been sealed with large sheets of black polythene and as far as Payne could ascertain, no police had crossed the seal. They’d done the same to the reception area. When he’d returned to check a couple of hours later, the polythene sheets were down and the body had gone.

  A small team of builders was in the building and were measuring up the windows that had blown. Payne had been lucky in his office but the windows in the incident room had gone and cold air was streaming through the space.

  Payne picked up the phone and dialled through to the pathology lab. A young woman put him on hold while she transferred him to Charlie’s mobile. After a few minutes a tired sounding voice answered.

  “Yes?”

  “Charlie, it’s Spencer.”

  “Hi. Are you OK? You’re national news. I’ve been watching Sky. They’ve had a helicopter flying overhead.”

  “Didn’t take long did it? There’s been a few deaths though. We haven’t made any statement yet but I wouldn’t put it past them to find out before we’ve had a chance to tell the families.”

  “Who was it? Anyone I know?”

  Payne paused. “Don’t you know?”

  Charlie laughed nervously. “If I knew I wouldn’t be asking.”

  Payne was getting that niggling sensation in his stomach again. The one that made him think he was hungry but had nothing to do with his appetite. “It was Alan Diggins and Bill Sanders.”

  “Oh, I don’t think I know them. I’m sorry to hear it though.”

  “Haven’t the bodies come to you?”

  “No. We’ve had no new arrivals. The last was your girl from under the pier. There’s been nothing since. Maybe they’ve just sent them to the hospital. The ambulance crews do that sometimes.”

  “Maybe you’re right. I’ll find out. I’ll come by later to catch up on Heather.”

  “Who?”

  “The girl from the pier.”

  “Oh yeah, right.”

  Payne said bye and hung up. He didn’t like this one bit.

  He went to see Taylor.

  Taylor's office was down the next corridor only his boss wasn't alone in there. The door was closed yet Payne could hear raised voices; Taylor's and a woman's.

  Payne did what he always did in these situations and jumped in with both feet. He knocked and entered the room without waiting for a response.

  Taylor was standing with his back to the window, a mixture of anger and surprise on his face at the intrusion. There was something else as well, embarrassment perhaps?

  “I should be going. We can continue this later, when you're not so busy.” The woman who said this rose from the chair in front of Taylor's desk and headed towards the door, towards Payne. It was the woman from the SUV. Her blond hair shimmied across the top of her shoulders and shined under the fluorescent lights. Payne smiled politely as she approached. She looked like a business woman, in a dark trouser suit, well made up like she was more used to working in an office than a police station. She returned the smile when she passed Payne in the doorway. “He's all yours,” she said dryly. Payne caught a whiff of expensive perfume as she brushed past.

  “Haven't you heard of knocking?” Taylor asked, sitting back down.

  “I did sir, I don't think you could have heard me.”

  “I'm sure I'd have heard you Inspector.” Taylor said and a simple smile appeared on his face. Payne felt like he was twelve again.

  Quick change of subject was called for. “Well sorry for interrupting at any rate. The lady was part of the special investigation team?”

  “What special investigation team?”

  “The SUV earlier,” Payne replied. “I guessed it was some kind of bomb team or something.”

  “Ah yes. New team.”

  Right, Payne thought, and I'm Shergar.

  “Missed you at the briefing earlier.”

  “Damn, sorry. Going to be busy for a while.”

  “Right sir,” Payne replied automatically. “Well, I’ve been onto Charlie and he says he doesn’t have the bodies yet.”

  “He won’t be getting them. They’re at the hospital. The bomb team want to check them over first.”

  “Sir?”

  “I’m sure you don’t have a problem with your hearing Inspector. Charlie will get his chance to examine them shortly.”

  Payne turned to go and had one foot outside in the corridor when Taylor spoke.

  “Any word on Harding yet?”

  “No sir, nothing yet. We’re still out looking for him.”

  “Better get on with it then.”

  Payne slammed the door on his way out.

  12

  Cindy woke up.

  Daylight streamed in through the window and stung her eyes. It took her a while to establish that she was lying in a hospital bed. She tried to sit up right but it hurt to move, her chest throbbed like she’d been punched. She was alone though, a private room.

  The needle taped to the back of her hand itched, and she followed the tubing with her eyes to a bag of fluid beside her bed.

  Where was everyone? Had she just been left here?

  Memories of that morning’s fight with Max were fuzzy and indistinct, like they didn’t quite belong to her.

  Someone had been thoughtful enough to leave the call button draped over her arm. She thumbed it now and soon heard footsteps approaching from outside.

  A young nurse entered. She was short and squat and as she neared the bed, Cindy caught a whiff of a flowery perfume. The nurse's badge read Sadie Jones in faded lettering and when she spoke it was with a faint Liverpudlian accent.

  “How you doing love?”

  “Thirsty,” Cindy croaked through cracked lips.

  Nurse Jones poured a glass of water and passed it to Cindy who gulped it greedily.

  “Small sips.”

  Cindy slowed but downed the glass without taking her eyes off Nurse Jones who tutted before taking the empty glass away.

  “You'll make yourself sick.”

  “I was thirsty.”

  “Doesn't matter. You should listen to us. We want to make you better.”

  “Am I OK? What's happened?”

  Nurse Jones raised an unshapely eyebrow. “You’re doing well love. You were stabbed with a pair of scissors. You'd lost a lot of blood. Do you remember?”

  She remembered the point of the scissors breaking a hole in her flesh, then the icy warmth of the blade sliding inside her.

  “I could've died.”

  “You
don’t know how lucky you’ve been,” Nurse Jones said.

  Cindy drew her eyebrows together in a frown. “Lucky? How?”

  “The scissors went slap bang into the main chamber of your heart. You should’ve been dead before the ambulance arrived.”

  Cindy’s hand instinctively went to her chest.

  Nurse Jones nodded. “The surgeon's pleased. He doesn’t know quite how you managed to survive, but you did. Perhaps you’ve got yourself a guardian angel looking out for you.”

  Cindy didn’t know what to make of the situation. She should be dead. How are you meant to react when someone tells you that?

  “When can I go home?”

  “You were only sent up from recovery a couple of hours ago. You've got some healing to do first.”

  “I really do need to go. Please get my clothes.”

  Cindy glared at the nurse: Nurse Jones glared back.

  The nurse adjusted Cindy's blankets, fussing over the corners and tucking the edges in tight. “They're in your side cupboard but you won't be wanting to wear them, they're covered in blood. You'll need to get someone to bring you some new ones—but don't think about that now. As I said, you're not in a fit state to leave.”

  “There's no one else, I'll wear them. My mother will be worried.”

  “Oh,” Nurse Jones busied herself checking the drip. “Do you want to call her? You’re meant to use these inbuilt things,” she gestured at the combined television and telephone system that swung on a big metal arm beside her bed. “But you need to buy a card to operate it. I can get you a phone.”

  “Yes, thank you.”

  She shuffled out the room. “Won't be a minute.”

  Cindy took the moment to close her eyes again against the sunlight. Why hadn't she asked the nurse to close the blinds? With her eyes closed an image came to her of the policemen in her house last night. One of them had been talking heatedly to Max. Then Max had been arrested. A smile appeared on her face.

  Cindy's arms and shoulders broke out in goose bumps and so she pulled the blankets up to her neck and lay her hands under the blanket by her sides. Her fingertips brushed a mound on her abdomen. She lifted the blanket and pulled up her gown so she could see the wound. There was a dressing in place, small with a tiny dark spot in the centre.

  Is that it? That's all she's to show for the pain at her side. Pathetic. She prodded it.

  “Arrgh.” The pain was intense. Cindy gasped a breath and clamped her teeth together in an effort to fight against it. She grabbed the blankets on either side of her and curled her hands into tight fists around the material, trying to focus on something other than the burning wound.

  By the time Nurse Jones returned it had subsided somewhat.

  “Here you go, it's my mobile so don't be using all my credit.” She handed a chunky Nokia over, then noticing the signs of distress said, “Do you want some more painkillers?”

  Cindy nodded. Painkillers must be about the best thing on the whole damn world about now.

  “Excuse me, are you Cindy Harding?”

  In the doorway stood a man. He looked to be in his mid-forties, medium build with greying hair and a thin scar across his left cheek. He wore a slightly ruffled black suit with a delicate pinstripe running through the material. But it was his eyes that pulled her attention so strongly. They were the most wondrous cobalt blue.

  “Can I help?” Nurse Jones said, walking towards the newcomer.

  “Cindy Harding?” the man asked again, peering around the nurse.

  “Yes.” Cindy replied.

  “I'm sorry but who are you? It's not visiting hours yet. You're going to have to leave. Who let you on to the ward?”

  “Hello Cindy. I'm Dr Thadeus.”

  Nurse Jones face had gone the colour of strawberries. “I'm sorry Dr?”

  “Thadeus.”

  “I've never heard of you.” Nurse Jones’s eyes narrowed.

  “I've come to check on Cindy's progress.”

  “But Dr Bennington is the consultant.”

  The man with the blue eyes answered. “And he's fully aware I’ve come to see his patient. Go and check with him if you like.” The man straightened, stepped over the threshold and picked up the notes from the end of Cindy’s bed.

  “So how are you feeling?”

  “OK I guess. Tired.”

  “And the wound? Still very sore is it?”

  “Tender but I'll survive.”

  Thadeus looked up and nodded.

  “Have we met before? You’re very familiar.”

  “No. I don’t think so.”

  Only his face was familiar. Or was it just the eyes.

  “We've been contacted by your husband's health insurance. You've got a room waiting for you at our private hospital.”

  Nurse Jones visibly stiffened. “Wait just a moment. No one's mentioned anything to me about a transfer. Does Dr Bennington know about this?”

  “Of course. He approved the move. If you can help gather the patient's belongings I'll be out of your hair in a jiffy and you get a bed back.”

  Cindy sat and listened to them debate without saying a word. Max had never had health insurance in his life and he wasn't the kind to organise something like this without telling her.

  “Excuse me?”

  Eyes turned to Cindy.

  “This is me you're talking about. Only the way you're talking it's like perhaps I'm retarded.”

  Dr Thadeus tilted his head and smiled a razor sharp grin. “I’m sorry. I’m being rude. It’s your choice of course. But wouldn’t you prefer to recuperate in a nice environment?”

  “Yes. But I think maybe later today would be better. I'm not feeling very—you know—with it right now.”

  “Don’t worry. I’ll take excellent care of you.”

  Cindy sighed and looked out of the window. Something was wrong. Under the covers, she brought her hands together. She felt for the tape holding the needle in the back of her hand.

  “Do I have some paperwork to sign?”

  “Paperwork?”

  “For the transfer?”

  “Oh I see. Your husband's already taken care of it.” He smiled.

  Nurse Jones was picking at the side of a finger nail. Finally she could hold it in no longer. “I'm going to have to ask you to leave until I can check with Dr Bennington. It shouldn't take long if you will just wait outside.”

  Dr Thadeus smiled and stepped forward.

  “Wait,” Cindy interrupted, “I think I'm going to be sick.” Cindy bent over the side of her bed. Husking, retching sounds emanated from her as her upper body curled in waves.

  Dr Thadeus paused. Nurse Jones reached for a cardboard basin from the side cupboard and held it under Cindy's mouth. “Get out can't you. Give her a minute.”

  He hesitated, then left the room, pulling the door closed behind him.

  “I'm sorry,” Cindy whispered in between the retching noises.

  “Don't worry.” Nurse Jones rubbed her back gently.

  “No. I'm sorry for this.”

  Cindy sat upright and clamped her hand to the back of the nurse's head before pulling down sharply on her hair. Nurse Jones had no chance to yell for help before Cindy drew the nurse's face down to her own and pressed their lips together.

  Although she knew time was short Cindy knew she had to do this properly or her efforts would be in vain. Cindy heard Dr Thadeus answer his mobile and then his footsteps as he moved away from the door. It was a gift that she wasn't prepared to waste.

  Seconds was all it took to lift Nurse Jones's blue tunic up and over her limp frame. The trousers took a few more seconds but she wasted no time in pulling them up her own legs. Luckily the nurse had been wearing a belt so she was able to fasten the baggy garments tight enough to stop them dropping down.

  Cindy lifted a now near-naked Nurse Jones into the bed and pulled the covers over her body. The nurse's face was obscured by a patina of white particles that looked like frost and Cindy carefully wiped with he
r fingers to reveal a smooth but featureless pale skin.

  She tried to feel something for the woman lying down motionless on the bed but she couldn’t. And more than that, she wanted to feel something, anything, but the feelings just weren’t there.

  Cindy danced her fingers across her new face and noticed the fine lines around the eyes, the puffy skin under her cheekbones and the unmistakable fine hair on her top lip. Cindy suppressed a shudder at the thought of this woman's lack of a beauty regime then spun her attention back to the matter at hand. Escape.

  She was a poor body match for Nurse Jones but there was no reason for this Dr Thadeus to pay much attention to her appearance and it probably helped that he’d already displayed a contemptuous disregard for the nurse. All she had to do was keep him out of the room for a few minutes while she made a quiet getaway in the other direction. It was going to be easy.

  Dr Thadeus was already heading back to the room when Cindy exited.

  “Is she ready to go? We really need to be getting going,” Dr Thadeus said with a frown on his face. It seemed pleasantries had been abandoned.

  “She's just been sick. I'm going to get her something to quell her stomach for the journey. I wouldn't want her being sick on you. If you wait out here, she said she'll get dressed then call you in when she's decent.” Cindy spoke in a perfect imitation of Nurse Jones' Liverpudlian accent: another little side-effect of the transfer.

  Dr Thadeus looked at Cindy curiously.

  “I'll sit in with her. She might want some help,” he said finally.

  He had his hand on the door handle and had pushed down when Cindy said quickly, “Please, give her a moment. She’s getting dressed.”

  He hesitated before letting go of the handle. “One minute,” he announced.

  Cindy smiled and turned away from him. “I'll be right back,” she called over her shoulder as she headed for the main doors of the ward.

  This was it. She didn’t think it would be quite this easy. She was going to get away.

  Cindy had just opened the main door to the ward and was stepping out when his voice made her stop.

  “Is that you Cindy?”

  She looked around.