by Liz Lawler
‘Shelly, it wasn’t me. Maybe Sister Barrows found out that I didn’t imagine that patient beside me. Maybe she found out something that got her killed. I’m not the killer, Shelly. You have to believe me.’
A terrified scream suddenly pierced the air and Isobel came running to them, fear stamped on her pale face. ‘You have to come, Shelly. There’s blood!’
Shelly turned on her heel, shouting over her shoulder to Emily to leave. Emily made to follow and Shelly swiftly turned and shoved her back. ‘Where do you think you’re going? Get out of here or I will call the police.’
Isobel was grabbing Shelly’s clothes trying to drag her forward, using her small body to push her. ‘You have to hurry, Shelly. Please,’ she pleaded.
Isobel managed to move Shelly into the hallway, and with the child in the way Emily pushed past and moved though the archway into the living room. There was no sign of blood anywhere, no one standing there, injured. The living room looked the same as when she’d visited before.
Shelly was furious. ‘Who do you think you are? Get out of here now,’ she said.
Emily looked at the desperate child crying. She looked frightened by Shelly’s anger. Emily took a step back. She put a hand up and backed away. ‘It’s OK. I’ll go.’
‘No, you won’t. I need you,’ a voice said.
Emily raised her head. She stared up at the gallery, stupefied, her heart thumping, her mind unable to assimilate what she was seeing. Her eyes fixed on Meredith as if she were an apparition. Everything she thought she knew clouded with confusion. The friendship formed, the kindness given; it was all play-acting, trickery with intent to take her mind off what she’d discovered – they had all tried to get her to believe it was all in her mind.
‘Snap out of it, Emily,’ Meredith shouted, making her focus. ‘We’ve got an emergency. We need to act fast.’
Emily took the first tread of the staircase, all aches and pains in her body now forgotten. Meredith needed her help. Emily acted instinctively. Meredith said it was an emergency, and Emily was good in emergencies.
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Geraldine wondered how much longer she would have to wait for her chicken chow mein. The Chinese takeaway was not particularly busy, which is why she’d pulled up outside in the first place, but it seemed to be taking them an age to get her order ready. She flicked through the car magazine at hand, seeing flashy cars on every page, and wished there was something more interesting to look at. Her mobile buzzed in her pocket and she discarded the magazine gratefully. She recognised the number and groaned inwardly.
‘Hi Tony,’ she said quickly, in the hope that the call would be equally quick. ‘What’s up?’
‘Sorry Geraldine,’ the duty sergeant said. ‘I know you’ve only just left the place, but we’ve had a call from a doctor asking to speak to you. He wouldn’t make do with one of us. Wouldn’t tell us what it was about.’
‘You get a name?’
‘Yes, a Jerry Jarvis. I’ll text you his number.’
‘OK. Cheers, Tony. Have a good night.’
When she finished the call, she saw the tiny Chinese woman, barely able to see over the countertop, smiling at her widely.
‘I put prawn crackers in to say sorry for your wait.’
Geraldine took the white paper bag and thanked her. She heard her phone buzz again and knew it would be Tony’s text.
In her car she phoned the number. A confident voice answered. ‘Jerry Jarvis speaking.’
‘Hello, this is Detective Inspector Geraldine Sutton. I believe you wish to speak to me.’
She heard the intake of breath. ‘I do. Only I’m just in the middle of something. Any chance I can call you back?’
Geraldine could hear background noises and made a guess. ‘I take it you’re at work?’
‘Yes, A&E.’
‘Which one? Bath? Bristol?’
‘Sorry, didn’t think. I’m at Bath.’
Smelling the aroma of her late dinner, her mouth watered. ‘Is it urgent?’
He sighed. ‘I really don’t know. I think it is. I—’
She cut in. ‘I’m on my way. I’ll be there in fifteen minutes, give or take.’
Before pulling away, she made one more call to let her husband know she would be home even later.
*
Emily stared around the room in disbelief. While on automatic pilot she tapped glass ampoules of drugs, snapped nibs off the top of them and drew up the liquids into separate syringes to have ready to hand to Meredith on her command. She was not familiar with the names of some of them, only the steroid and diuretics, so had little idea what they were for. The lofty space, big enough for three good-sized double bedrooms with room to spare, was presently sectioned off into two areas divided by hospital screens on wheels. Through a gap she could see an operating table and anaesthetic machine and shivered at the thought of surgery taking place there. She had yet to look properly at the patient in the bed, knowing only that he was young and small, and that there was a pool of yellow bile and a patch of fresh blood on the sheet. She gazed at him now and was shocked to see he was a boy of maybe five or six, it was hard to tell. His eyes were closed, his small face half covered by an oxygen mask and tubes invading several parts of his body: his arms, his neck, up his nose and from his penis. The catheter bag held a few thimbles full of dark orange urine. He was hooked up to monitors and machines, and wires trailed across his narrow chest attached to him by sticky pads.
‘Who is he, Meredith?’
Meredith had yet to say what the emergency was but looking at his colour Emily was guessing that the problem was with either his kidneys or his liver. His skin was yellow, his face puffy and his abdomen swollen. A large dressing covered the right side of his abdomen, looking freshly leaked with blood. She suspected this was the blood Isobel had seen. She placed her hand on his skin and it was hot to the touch.
‘What’s wrong with him, Meredith?’
Meredith ignored her and carried on injecting the next drug, her eyes on the monitor as it beeped his heart rate, blood pressure, respirations and oxygen levels. He’d barely passed any urine, was running a fever and wasn’t responding. If these readings were calculated on an early-warning score chart and Emily was at a hospital, she would be pulling the bell right now to have the whole emergency team attend with every available expert at hand.
‘Who is he, Meredith?’ she asked again.
Meredith raised her head, anxiety stamped on her face. ‘He’s Rupert Dalloway’s son. My nephew. Shelly’s nephew. And he needs our help.’
Chapter Thirty-Eight
Jerry Jarvis made tea for them both. He put sugar in hers and carried the mugs to a treatment room so they could talk. He shut the door. Geraldine thought him incredibly attractive. His very dark hair and blue eyes would certainly cause a flutter to the heart. She wondered what he wanted to speak to her about, and was feeling strangely bemused after following him from room to room, patiently waiting for him to tell her the reason. She suspected it was his ease with dealing with people that was leading her by the nose so willingly.
She took back the lead. ‘So, Dr Jarvis, what do you wish to speak to me about?’
‘Jerry,’ he said. ‘Call me Jerry. I’m concerned about Emily Jacobs.’
Geraldine abruptly rose from the chair she had just sat down in. ‘Jesus, you should have said immediately that this was about her. Have you heard from her?’
‘No, no, please sit back down. I have no news to give you. I’m aware you’re all out looking for her. It’s been on the news all day. I haven’t heard from her, but I am extremely worried about her.’
Geraldine sat back in her chair, immediately firing questions. ‘How do you know her? What’s your connection?’
He leaned against the examination couch, looking very much the doctor in his uniform of dark green tunic and trousers, his expression concerned. Geraldine imagined he would show a similar demeanour if he was about to impart bad news to a relative he�
�d made to sit down.
‘I treated Emily last night. I saw the condition she was in. She’s battered and bruised and has an infection in a recent operation site. I’m worried that she’s out there alone and possibly ill.’
‘How ill are we talking?’
He shrugged. ‘Anything from a bad infection to sepsis.’
Geraldine could tell he was keeping something back, but for now she’d press lightly. ‘And what’s your personal connection?’
He shook his head as if he didn’t know the answer. ‘Friends, I hope. I’ve worked with her a long time. Eight years, I think. I was teasing her after the car accident that she should get herself back here to work. We miss her.’
Geraldine had forgotten about Emily being hit by a car. So much seemed to have happened to her in the last week, it was hard to keep track of it all. ‘So you saw her then as well?’
‘Yes. She seems to be having one accident after the other. She’s going through a pretty tough time, I would say.’
Geraldine’s thoughts turned inward for a moment. The mention of having more than one accident jarred something in her. His words described someone who was accident prone or just unfortunate. Or, she realised, worryingly, someone suicidal. Maybe, like the attack she’d orchestrated, she’d also caused that car to hit her by deliberately walking out in front of it. She gazed at the young doctor and was done with going lightly. As much as his manners and handsome face pleased her, she had a job to do.
‘What aren’t you telling me, Jerry?’
He stayed silent, his eyes averted.
‘You helped her escape, didn’t you?’
Geraldine felt sorry for him as he told of his involvement in helping Emily flee, of the supplies he’d given her to help her on her way. She was sorry for him, because if it proved that Emily was involved in the death of Nina Barrows, then his career was over and he could be facing jail time.
‘Did she hint at what she might do or where she might go?’
He hung his head in despair. ‘She said she was going to prove that she was sane, and also something that she uncovered at The Windsor Bridge Hospital.’
His answer eased Geraldine’s concern somewhat. If she was really intent on doing that then she was not intending to take her own life. If she was looking to prove something had happened at her hospital then it stood to reason that she would start with the people she thought were involved, which put Emily right back in the frame for Nina Barrows’ murder. Had she murdered the woman because she wasn’t taken seriously? If so, then who else might she feel hadn’t taken her seriously, or was, in Emily’s eyes, to blame for her being put in a psychiatric ward? Dalloway? They had a watch on the hospital, a watch on her parents’ home and on Emily’s home. Where they didn’t have a watch was at the Dalloways’ home. Emily knew where Rupert Dalloway lived. She had visited him once before.
Her heart beat faster as a rush of images filled her mind. Emily with a knife in her hands, a manic look on her face. Jemma Dalloway talking too much, her husband trying to calm things down. Their child running from parent to parent for comfort, not knowing how dangerous their visitor was and getting in the way. She stood up fast, already making for the door.
‘I’ve got to go, Jerry,’ was all she could say.
Chapter Thirty-Nine
He had a son. A second child. Dalloway had only spoken of Isobel. He also had a son, and the child was clearly very ill. Meredith said the boy was her nephew, Shelly’s nephew. They were family, all related to Dalloway somehow, and she hadn’t had a single clue as she’d worked alongside them. They had kept it completely hidden from her. Never once mentioning the fact that they were family. They were caring for this child in his home when he should clearly be in a hospital. Meredith was trying to save him. This was not a hospice setup. Not with all this equipment surrounding him. They therefore had a reason for wanting no one to know how ill he was.
The hospital bed was raised high and it was surrounded by the same tools and machines, in the same arrangement, as in a high-dependency unit. There was room to get to the head of the bed if airway management was needed, and oxygen and suction were within easy reach. The boy should be in a hospital was the constant thought on her mind. Surely Meredith must see that?
She could sense the character of the boy from this room. He was a lover of cricket, that was for sure, unless it was his father’s choice of décor. Posters of a dozen players adorned the walls. On a bookcase were a pair of off-white cricket pads, two bats, a bundle of wicket stumps, gloves, cricket helmet and brown leather cricket balls. Some shiny and new, others worn and dulled. She wondered how long ago he had last played and how long he’d been ill.
‘Why isn’t he in hospital, Meredith?’
Meredith stopped pacing the floor. She had started pacing just a few minutes ago, but it seemed like for ever. She stared at the monitor as it bleeped a fresh set of vital signs. She wrung her hands, clearly agitated. He was not improving and Emily was growing alarmed. Surely he would die here if they didn’t get him urgent treatment?
‘Meredith, you need to get him to hospital. He needs scans, maybe surgery. You’re a good doctor, but he needs a team of good doctors to get him out of this crisis. What’s wrong with him?’
Meredith moved closer to the bed. She stroked the boy’s brow. ‘I told you I was here for family, because he is part of my family. I didn’t lie to you. His name is Walter and he already has the best doctor, his father, looking after him.’
There was a flicker of movement at the bedroom door. Shelly stood inside the doorway. She carried three bottles of Coke in her hands. ‘I thought you could do with a hit of sugar,’ she said to Meredith. ‘She’s asleep. I had to read her a dozen stories before she’d go off.’
Emily realised she was wearing her uniform, the same one she wore at the hospital. It hadn’t really registered before, having never seen her out of uniform. But it made sense that she would wear it here too. She was nursing, after all.
‘How’s he doing?’
‘He needs to be in a hospital,’ Emily answered.
Shelly glared at her. ‘I wasn’t asking you.’
‘Your nephew needs to be in a hospital,’ she repeated. ‘Or are you both blind? You’re covering up something and I am certain that it has something to do with Maria’s niece. You both know I didn’t imagine her.’
Shelly laughed. ‘You’re so wrong. Maria’s niece is back home. You saw nothing!’
Meredith began pacing again and Emily was enraged. ‘Stop fucking pacing, Meredith, and do something. Make the call. He needs an ambulance.’
‘I can’t,’ she said. ‘I simply can’t. I have a life to get back to. A child of my own. I can’t.’
‘You think you’ll be going back to that if he dies? You think you can hide your involvement in all this for ever? Who do you think they’ll blame?’
Meredith stopped still, her eyes finally showing some sense, a desire to do something. Emily nodded at her encouragingly. Meredith stared at the boy, then slowly she reached in her pocket and pulled out a mobile.
Shelly stilled her hand. ‘You,’ she said calmly, leaving Meredith’s side, walking slowly towards Emily. ‘You’ll be blamed. You forced your way in here, an insane woman on the run, having already committed one murder. They’ll blame you.’
Emily stared at her as if she were mad, and maybe she was. There was more madness in this room than anything she’d seen in that psychiatric wing.
‘You’d let him die to save yourself?’ Her eyes swung to Meredith, now seeing no sign of the mobile in her hand. ‘You’d both let an innocent child die? You despicable people. You call yourself a doctor, Meredith. You have no right to be one.’
Shelly held out one of the bottles. ‘Shut up and drink your Coke, Emily. You look like you could do with it.’
*
Geraldine munched on prawn crackers, washing away the saltiness with slugs of Coke. She wished she had another officer to keep her company, but this was an impulse
decision. She recalled the ‘subtle’ rebuke she got from Dr Green for bringing uniformed officers to catch Emily the last time. It was all very well for him to think that, but if he did her job he’d think in terms of safety at all times. She’d considered her options, one of which was whether to alert Crawley. He should really be the first to know now that Emily was marked as a possible suspect. But Geraldine was not yet ready to involve him. She’d rather find Emily quietly, without all guns blazing to frighten her away. She mashed another handful of crackers into her mouth, keeping her eyes on the road, her mind on the visit ahead.
It was a long shot. She knew that. But one she had to take.
Dalloway was going to be surprised to see her turning up at his house at this time of night. That’s if he was there and not at work. She’d already decided what she’d say. She was there on the basis of making him aware that Emily was still at large and could turn up, if she hadn’t already.
Yet she couldn’t see Emily as a murderer. Despite the earlier image she’d painted in her mind. She was gentle. Ill. But a killer? Geraldine shivered in the semi-darkness. She needed to keep thinking positively and not be sucked into that shite that came out of Emily’s mother’s mouth. How could she think Emily had anything to do with Zoe going missing? Was she just a malicious woman? Geraldine hoped Crawley hadn’t taken the woman’s words seriously. He’d be tearing his hair out if he didn’t get a firm lead soon. Crawley by name and crawly by nature, he didn’t let up until he unearthed something. She just hoped it was soon, to take the heat off Emily.
She chewed her bottom lip. Supposing she was wrong, though, and she was responsible for her sister’s disappearance? Eric said that Emily would have loved Zoe almost obsessively. Did love turn to hate between the sisters? Had she been reading Emily wrong all along? Did Emily know what had really happened to Zoe? Was she perhaps responsible in some way? And had she made herself ill as a result of keeping quiet about it? If she was there at the Dalloways’ home, Geraldine had no idea what mental state she would find her in. Maybe she should have taken someone else with her. For all she knew, Emily could be dangerous. The fucking maybes were driving her crazy.