by CS Savage
'Stop, police,' reverberated through the building.
Tall grey picked up his radio, shouted into it, 'The suspect is not cooperating, he's exiting through the back door, over. Exiting through the back door.'
'Yes, Gov, suspect identified, heading down back alley,'
'Stop him...'
'We are in pursuit, Gov, in pursuit, request back up…'
By the time the team had proceeded through the hallway and out into the back garden, neither the officers nor Mr Lowe were in sight. Clancy walked back through the kitchen. The house was infused with a smell, almost bleach-like, and the hallway was lined with plastic containers, similar to those you would find on a water cooler.
'Let's check upstairs.' She raced up two at a time. At the top of the stairs, a door was open to her left, she could see a white bathroom suite. Opposite, two doors, most likely bedrooms. Both were closed. She walked towards the first, grabbed the handle and pushed it down, leant against the door. It was locked.
'Up here…quick,' she screamed, and leant against the wall as she listened to the heavy footsteps pile up the stairs. The officers arrived at the top of the stairs, the landing seemed to be crammed with them.
Clancy motioned to the door. 'It's locked, for some reason.'
The battering ram was passed along, one of the officers put the sling over his shoulder, swung the steel column. There was the sound of splintering wood, the door flung open. Clancy's view was obscured by stab proof vests, she pushed through the damp smelling uniforms, eventually reached the front, could get a view of the room. The light was dim, the sunlight obscured by blinds pulled firmly shut. The first thing that struck her was the smell – strong and chemical, like a dentist’s surgery. Her eyes were drawn to the wrought iron bed in the centre of the room – she could see the outline of a person, lying still as stone. She reached her hand to the right, ran it up and down the wall, eventually felt a light switch under her fingers. The sound of collective gasp hit her as soon as she flicked the switch.
The person was definitely a female and was naked, lay spread-eagled – fastened to the bed posts by what looked like silk ties, and lay on a white sheet. The body was like marble, almost shone. To the left of the bed, on a side table, stood a large silver urn, topped by a large glass bowl filled with pink fluid. From the bottom ran a tube, again pink in colour, which led to a needle inserted into the neck. Clancy's eyes ran from the tube to the face of the victim. Despite the pallor, there was no doubt. The wide set oval eyes were unmistakable.
79
Hamish
Hamish pulled his coat around him, his collar up against the rain before he opened his car door and stepped onto the pavement. The street was tree-lined, the houses classic Victorian, the gardens neat. Typical suburban Wimbledon. He checked the house number on his immediate left – thirty-nine. He wanted number fifty-one. Turning to the left, he walked up the street towards the common, counting the door numbers as he passed. He hadn't realised Hussein was so well off, had so much money. Hamish wouldn't mind living up here himself.
As he drew up beside number fifty-one, he could see signs of life inside. The lights were on downstairs. He stood, head tilted to the side listening for any noise, before walking up the neatly-trimmed path towards the glossy red front door. He thought about calling for back up, knew he shouldn't really knock when he was alone, but frankly, he couldn't be bothered to wait around, just wanted to set eyes on him and then get on with the rest of his day. He raised his hand to the doorbell, gave it a firm press, heard the electronic ring. All was quiet, and then footsteps approached, he heard a rattle of the lock, and the door opened just a fraction. He saw Hussein's face peek through at him, a loud exclamation, and then, the door swung open. Hussein had a hostile expression on his face.
'What are you doing here? It's not a convenient time. I've got company.'
'Oh right…well, I don't need to be long. I just wanted to check everything is okay with you…you've missed a few appointments.'
'I said, it's not convenient.' He opened the door a little wider, Hamish got a glimpse into the lounge. He could see a girl sitting curled up on the sofa, her curly hair flowing down her back. Her profile looked familiar. As he stared at her, she turned towards him, looked straight at him. He gasped. No wonder she looked familiar. His favourite colleague’s daughter.
80
Clancy
Clancy couldn't draw her eyes away from Beth's face. She looked like she was asleep – there were streaks of blue eye shadow on her closed eyelids, her lashes – despite their blondeness – visible against her ivory cheeks. Smears of blusher across her cheekbones made it look as if she was wearing a grotesque mask. Clancy took a few steps forward, reached for her foot, felt for a pulse at the ankle. The skin was cold to the touch, and Clancy knew she was not mistaken. The officers with her had not entered the room, and she looked up at one of them, shook her head. ‘She's gone…there's no doubt, I'm afraid. This is a crime scene.'
As she stood back, she looked at the tube running from the glass container to Beth's neck, and then noticed another running from her foot back to the machine. Clancy took a double take, couldn't quite believe what she was seeing – but it looked like she was being embalmed. She managed to step backwards out of the room before the bile hit the back of her throat, pushed past the officers and leant over the banister, taking deep breaths, just about managed to contain the vomit inside her. She felt the sweat cold and clammy on her forehead, managed to mutter to the officers. 'Going to get some fresh air...'
She staggered down the stairs and out into the front garden, where she stood swallowing great gulps of the outside. The silence was broken by the shrill tone of her mobile phone ringing. Clancy started to ferret through her pockets, eventually located it and picked up the call. She could hear Hamish’s voice, loud and insistent.
'I'm outside Hussein's house. You've got to come over, now. You're not going to believe this.'
'What? What's going on?'
'He's at home. He seems okay…but you're not going to like this. He's got someone with him.'
'Spit it out…' Clancy replied.
'God, Clancy. He's got Rowan in there.'
Clancy almost dropped the phone. This must be a mistake. How could Rowan be there? She was at a party with Amy…
'Is she okay? Has he hurt her?'
'She looked okay to me. She was just sitting on his sofa. She looked straight at me, but I'm not sure she recognised me. It's been a while. But I'm sorry, Clancy, there is no mistake. It is her. Hussein wouldn't let me in, he shut the door on me, so they're still in there. That's why I said, get over here now. I'll wait for you.' Before Clancy could say anything, explain about Beth, he had ended the call.
Thirty minutes later, she pulled up outside Hussein's house in Wimbledon. Hamish was sitting in his car, engine running. She slipped into the passenger seat next to him. He reached over, took her hand.
'She looked okay. Try not to worry.'
'Not to worry?' Even Clancy was shocked by the shrill tone in her voice. 'She's a baby…and she's in there with that monster. Of course I won't worry.' She dropped her face into her hands.
'I've got to try to get her out.'
She leapt from the car and raced up the road, aware of Hamish's door slamming and his footsteps following behind her. When they got to the front door, she leant heavily on the doorbell, the shrill tone screaming down the street. Clancy didn't take her finger off the bell until she heard footsteps approaching, a clatter of the lock. She stood back as the door swung open.
Hussein stood before her, his face a sneer. 'Dr Mclean. Why are you bothering me at home? What do you want?'
'You know damn well,' Clancy screeched. 'Where is she, what have you done to my baby?'
He turned, called over his shoulder. 'Ro, there's someone here to see you.'
Clancy heard a rustling, soft footsteps approaching. Her heart was pounding in her chest. Rowan came into view, her face curious. Clancy watched as he
r expression changed to surprise and then the colour flared up her cheeks.
'Mum…what are you doing here?'
'Ro, you don't understand. You need to come with me, get away from here. You don't know this man. He's not what you think he is.' But she could see the stubbornness set into Ro's face.
'How dare you come round here like this, make a scene. I'm eighteen, it's not up to you who I see.'
Clancy reached out, grabbed her arm. 'I'm not messing about, Ro, get your stuff, you're coming with me, now.' She looked up, caught Hussein's sneer.
'It's okay, Rowan, you can go with your mum, I was going to drop you off soon, anyway. Don't worry, babes, I'll see you next weekend.'
Over my dead body.
'I'll go and get your bag.' Hussein left them on the doorstep as he turned on his heels and walked up his staircase, making it blindingly obvious where Rowan had spent the night. Clancy felt a flood of revulsion flow through her. She looked at Rowan's mutinous face, her lips set in a hard line, her eyes damp with tears.
'I'm doing this for you, darling, you don't understand.'
Rowan wrenched her arm away, turned as Hussein came down the stairs, took her bag from his outstretched hand. She leant towards him, he lowered his face and gave her a soft kiss on the lips.
'Laters, babes, it's been great. And don't worry.'
Rowan squeezed his hand before marching past Clancy and down the garden path. At least she was safe. And she wasn't lying cold as stone on a bed. Even so, Clancy was aware of her world turning on its axis, everything forever changed.
81
Clancy
The atmosphere at work was tense. When Clancy walked down the corridor, she was aware of people avoiding her gaze, turning away from her as she approached. News had got out then. Great. Although God knows what people thought they knew, so much shit had hit her fan over the past few days. She didn't hang around, strode down the corridor, head lowered to hide the flush she could feel rising up her cheeks. As she sat down at her desk, she stared at her lakeside picture, tried to imagine sitting there to see if the stress would flow out of her, but it wasn't going to work today. She stabbed at her desktop on-button and sat and stared at the screen while the ancient machine croaked into action. The thought of Beth reverberated round her head. She couldn't shift the blanket of guilt that sat round her shoulders, oppressing her every move. She still had Ro, but guilt was eating her up.
She was interrupted by a gentle tap on her door. She spun round on her chair, gave a small sigh of relief as she saw Hamish's face appear.
'How are you doing?' he asked.
Clancy didn't answer, but clearly, she looked as bad as she felt.
Hamish moved across the office towards her, leant forward and touched her on the arm. 'I popped by to tell you that they have arrested someone for the attacks on the site. A Samuel Cole? I heard the risk committee had been monitoring him?'
'Well that’s something. At least we caught up with someone.'
'It's not your fault…none of it,' he said. 'You did everything you could do there, Clance. You tried to bring Lowe in, not your fault you lost him.'
'So why does it feel like it is? I've got a performance hearing at the end of the week. You can imagine Dan is bloody loving it. All his wishes come true. You know they're reporting me to the GMC?'
Hamish looked at her, his face a picture of sympathy. But she knew that nothing he could say would make things better.
Friday, 1st May 2016
Clancy
She really didn't want to be here, hated funerals. She kept her head down, tried as far as possible to avoid anyone’s eyes. People were sobbing, the sound of snuffles filled the room. She wished she could screw up her ears to block it out. She focused on her breathing. Do not cry, do not cry. Taking a peek over her shoulder, she saw the crematorium was rammed, all the seats full. People stood in the aisle, and the standing room at the back was filled like the stands at a football pitch. The double doors at the rear of the church-like room were wide open, through them the crowd could be seen, God knows how many people were here.
Incongruously, the spring sunshine was bright, many of the people in the crowd wore dark glasses. Although, of course, this may have been to hide their tears. Clancy wished that she had thought of it. She hated the idea of public demonstrations of emotion. She dared to take a look along the pew beside her. Rowan was standing, clutching her new boyfriend’s hand. Clancy felt a surge of anger. How the hell had it got to this? He was standing, head bowed, dark shoulder-length hair hanging forward, his dark jacket, for once, appropriate. If she'd had a knife, she would have reached across and stabbed him. She'd risk a long prison sentence to get him out of Rowan's life.
As she watched, he turned his face to her, caught her eye and stared straight at her, a small smile playing on his lips. She knew it had been him that had written the notes, sent the photo. He wasn't interested in Ro…he just was just using Ro to hurt her. But there was nothing she could do. Ro was hardly speaking to her, blamed her for Beth. And Hussein was being her “perfect” man. She could have screamed, had to remind herself that she was lucky that Ro was still alive. She would get through to her in the end.
She couldn't stop herself from looking across to the opposite pew. Beth's mother was dressed in a long black coat, had her head covered with a black scarf. A man beside her, tall, held his arm around her, as if without the support, she would have just wilted to the ground. Try as she did, Clancy just couldn't imagine being in her position. What must the pain be of losing your daughter forever? She shuddered, tried to count her lucky stars. But looking at Hussein…it was hard. Rock and a hard place didn't even come close.
Suze was speaking, saying how sweet and kind Beth was. It was true. Often people’s descriptions at these events left you wondering if you had come on the wrong day, but as Clancy thought of Beth, she couldn't disagree with anything that was being said. How the hell had she got involved with that nutter? Clancy felt the guilt sweep over her. She watched as Beth's mum’s shoulders shook, tried to tell herself it wasn't her fault, but it was no good. She didn't think she'd ever shed the guilt, and she knew that in the eyes of others, she was to blame. She clenched her fists together, discreetly checked her watch. Couldn't be much longer now before this damn thing was over, and she could get out of here.
Ten minutes later, the drapes drew closed around the coffin. The music continued to play as the crowd started to file from the room, their clothes merging into an anonymous group, all their faces downturned. Eventually, the people on Clancy's pew rose and started to follow, and she was able to escape. As she walked into the sunshine, she was struck by the size of the crowd. But then, young people always attracted a large turnout. She was in no mood to socialise, so walked towards Rowan, touched her on the shoulder and mouthed goodbye, deliberately avoiding any interaction with Hussein. She couldn't avoid saying something to Beth's mum. She approached, stuck out her hand, started to speak.
'I'm so sorry for your loss…'
The look she received was colder than ice. The woman dropped her hands to her sides and turned herself physically away.
Clancy hadn't been expecting a warm response, but neither had she thought she would be so hostile. It was as if she thought Clancy had killed the girl herself. She had no alternative but to withdraw and leave her to mourn. But guilt slashed through her like a knife. She turned and scurried down the drive, away from the crematorium, ignoring all the laid-out flowers and small name-boards on sticks. She sobbed as the tears rolled down her cheeks. Beth was dead, everyone hated her, and she'd been suspended from work. As she trudged towards the car park, she kept her head down, stared at the path, avoided all eye contact. She didn't see the scruffily dressed figure standing by her car until she got there, heard him say her name.
'Clance…' Hamish said.
She looked up, stared at him and, despite everything, managed a weak smile.
Her breath caught in her throat…and then she moved towards him
, their arms locked around each other, Clancy's sobs soaking his shoulder.
THE END
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Acknowledgments
This is a work of fiction. All the characters are fictitious, and the work does not relate to any particular hospital, trust or institution. Yet, to all my patients past and present and to my hard-working colleagues, I thank you for inspiring me with your strength and courage, often in the face of great adversity.
Holly - thank you for being my sounding block and unsticking me so many times.
Mum and Dad, and my sisters Claire, Nicole and Simone - thank you for your ongoing love and support.
Chris – thank you for only saying ‘You’re no JK Rowling, are you?’ once. I know it was a joke, and would have emptied the dishwasher anyway.