I'll Find You

by Liz Lawler

  Shelly was nodding. ‘Yes, a minute or so later I heard a car. It wasn’t parked outside, because I couldn’t see one through the window, so it must have been down the drive, because I definitely heard one.’

  Geraldine pulled out a kitchen chair and sat down. ‘Do you mind if I sit down? It’s awfully hot in here.’

  Dalloway moved across the room to open a window. ‘It’s the Aga, and I’ve kept the windows shut just in case.’

  Geraldine returned her attention to Shelly. ‘You said Emily’s name as if you know her.’

  ‘I do,’ she replied, sounding surprised. ‘I’m a healthcare assistant at the hospital. I’ve worked with her. Yesterday I was questioned at work about her, and about Sister Barrows as well.’ Her mouth trembled. ‘I thought she liked me.’

  Dalloway put a reassuring hand on her shoulder. ‘This isn’t about you, Shelly, it’s about me. Isn’t that right, Detective?’

  Geraldine gave a noncommittal look. ‘Well, that’s what we’ll find out. Was anyone else injured?’

  Dalloway shook his head. ‘No, my wife is out with our daughter. It’s the school holidays. Isobel has a playdate today.’

  Geraldine was not fond of words like playdate, the modern term for saying your child was at a friend’s. Recently Tommy had been invited for a playdate by a mother from the nursery. She’d have felt more comfortable if the mother had just said would he like to come over and play. Maybe she was an inverted snob, she realised, associating the word with wealth and status. She hoped not, and that it was more a case of hanging on to a language used by her own mother.

  ‘So, what happens now?’ Dalloway asked.

  ‘Well, I’ll report this back,’ Geraldine replied. ‘We’ll need to take statements from you both. The search for Emily will be widened to take in this area, though I’m not sure how much that will help, if she has a car. What were you doing here, Shelly?’

  She shrugged. ‘Like Rupert said, I’m helping out. I babysat last night.’

  ‘I thought you had a replacement for Maria?’ Geraldine directed this at Dalloway. ‘The lady I met.’

  ‘Yes, well, she only stayed a day,’ he answered. ‘Isobel didn’t really take to her. She only wants Maria.’

  ‘I see,’ she said, thinking how nice it must be to have a nanny to ease the load while you worked. She had to make do with a husband as they passed like ships in the night, juggling shift patterns, taking over from each other to mind the kids. ‘I’ll take the knife back with me. We can put a watch on your home.’

  ‘Do you really think that’s the best idea?’ Dalloway asked. ‘She probably won’t come back here, but if she does and sees a police presence, she may scarper again. I have a man at the hospital who can rig me up with a camera so that we can watch for anyone approaching the house. At least that way we’ll have warning, and I can call 999 immediately if she turns up.’

  His suggestion may be worth considering, thought Geraldine, but it was not her decision to make. She would have to report back to Crawley and let him know what this fishing expedition had landed them. He was going to be mad as hell with her for not coming to him in the first place. If she’d told him of her concerns last night, he would already have had a watch on the Dalloways’ house and Emily may have been caught by now, keeping safe the public at large.

  The chance of getting to the wedding was moving further away. An unpleasant feeling that she was going to be blamed for the incident here was creeping up her spine. If the worst should occur, like another death, she could kiss goodbye to stepping one day into Crawley’s shoes.

  *

  Gary had just found Emily dressed in a hospital gown in a video recording when he heard a knock on his door. Clicking pause, the screen held the image of her standing in a corridor on Allen Ward. He was slightly thrilled when he opened the office door and saw a police officer, his rank evident by the three stripes on his shoulder. Gary made an awkward movement with his hand and elbow as he almost saluted.

  The tall, angular man took off his cap and tucked it under his arm. His hair was sandy grey, his complexion a similar tint. ‘Good afternoon. I’ve been pointed in this direction to see a Mr Burge, who I’m told will be able to assist me. I take it that’s you? There seems to be a lack of anyone else in charge upstairs. Everyone I’ve spoken to so far says he or she is new and only here for the day to help out.’

  Gary stepped aside so that the man could move into the small room. ‘Yes,’ he agreed. ‘There’s a lot of agency staff on today. The whole place has been bedlam since the death of Sister Barrows. I’m beginning to think that she used to run the whole place.’

  Gary unfolded a chair which he kept at hand for the occasional visitor. He set it right so that the man could sit down. ‘Would you care for some tea or coffee?’ he asked.

  ‘No, thank you. I’ll just get to the point of why I’m here, if it’s all the same to you.’

  Gary swivelled his desk chair so that he too could sit down, and at the same time took in the mess of the desk behind him, wishing someone had at least called to forewarn him of the visit.

  ‘Of course.’

  ‘My name is Sergeant Tony Martin. I was the arresting officer for Mrs Jeffries. The purpose of my visit now is to see if you have any CCTV footage that will show her prior to the incident happening. I had hoped to speak with the doctors who attended Mr Jeffries, but it’s my understanding that they’re both off duty today. Though I already have a statement from Mr Dalloway, the consultant.’

  ‘Yes, a lot of the more senior staff will have booked annual leave today. They are probably nursing hangovers, hence the reason for agency staff today. The hospital was up for an award last night. The minions weren’t invited,’ he said with a conspiratorial wink.

  Sergeant Martin made a movement with his lips which might have passed for a smile. ‘So, down to business. I see behind you two monitors, so I’m hoping one of these will give me what I want.’

  Gary shuffled his chair further along the desk to make room for Sergeant Martin to move closer and saw the man’s gaze fix on the still image on the screen.

  ‘Emily Jacobs,’ he said. He looked at Gary curiously. ‘Remind me when we’re done looking for images of Mrs Jeffries to come back to this.’

  Gary felt his face warm and hoped the sergeant didn’t think he was spying on female staff. He’d explain why he’d been looking at her image afterwards, when this other business was dealt with. Clearing his throat, he knew he was about to make Sergeant Martin’s day by handing him irrefutable evidence.

  ‘I have the whole crime on tape, Sergeant Martin. You’ll be able to see exactly what she did.’

  Tony Martin raised an eyebrow.

  ‘Show me what you have,’ he simply said.

  Gary started eagerly tapping away at the keyboard, his heart beating in excitement. He would ask this man to put in a good word for him and would give him one of his printed cards with his details on so that his name would not be forgotten. This could be him one day, coming into an office and seeing someone like himself with all this crap of sweets and crisps across the desk, knowing the man had less important things to do. He sat up straight and then saw a hand reach for a tube of Pringles.

  ‘Do you mind?’ Sergeant Martin asked. ‘It makes the time go quicker.’

  Gary grinned. So they were human after all. ‘Help yourself,’ he invited, flipping off the cap of the smarties. ‘If it helps us concentrate, it’s what we gotta do.’ He missed the resigned look on the man’s face beside him, or the intake of a long-drawn breath. His eyes were straight ahead as he sucked on a sweet.

  Chapter Forty-Five

  Geraldine could hear Crawley’s teeth grinding and hoped he didn’t snap a tooth in anger. She’d decided this conversation was best had face to face, and not over the phone from the safety of her own office. She’d driven to the Major Crime Investigation Team base to let him bawl at her, if he saw fit to.

  He had listened without interrupting, but his face had become re
dder and she was now waiting for the explosion.

  Instead, he inhaled deeply through his nose and seemed to calm down with his eyes closed for a moment.

  ‘Dalloway’s suggestion is out of the question. The man can still keep a watch without a camera. I want officers at every entrance to his property, keeping a proper surveillance on the place.’

  ‘There is only one entrance. He has a long private drive.’

  ‘I thought you said the house was on a hill? If that’s so it can be reached up a hill.’

  Geraldine grimaced, feeling foolish. She’d described the property and layout only minutes ago. A house out in the middle of the countryside up on a hill. She had been thinking that there was only the one route Emily could have taken if she had a car. Only one driveway.

  Crawley looked at his wristwatch. ‘Time is ticking on. I want a team out there to find a good spot before evening. I take it the knife has already gone for analysis?’

  ‘Yes,’ she confirmed.

  ‘You asked for a rush job, I hope?’

  She nodded.

  ‘Well, that’s one good thing,’ he said. ‘Let’s hope it has blood from Nina Barrows and prints from Emily Jacobs on it, and then we’ve got her.’

  Geraldine nodded reluctantly, feeling almost tearful at the turn of events. This morning she would have bet her life on Emily being innocent, and now she was at a loss to come up with any reason to still think that. She’d left Dalloway’s home completely disturbed, telling herself as she drove the journey back that there must be another explanation for Emily’s behaviour, to not give up hope of Emily being innocent. It wasn’t hope she needed. It was a miracle. Emily had slashed a woman’s arm trying to get at Dalloway. She’d committed a crime! Was it her first or second one, though?

  Geraldine felt utterly miserable. Her husband was at her friend’s wedding eating lovely food and drinking champagne, her new outfit was in her car, and she would not get to wear it or taste any of the fine food or drink on offer.

  ‘Go and get yourself a cup of tea or something, Geraldine. You look shattered,’ Crawley said, not unkindly. She was lucky it was him in charge of this case, otherwise it might have been a ‘go and clear out your desk, Geraldine’. She smiled her thanks and closed his office door quietly behind her. She’d grab a sandwich as well as a cup of tea and then phone her husband and have a five-minute moan to him, tell him she was sorry she still wasn’t there and that she’d do her best to get away. But she wasn’t banking on it.

  Her mobile buzzed in her pocket and she pulled it out wearily. Tony had texted her. ‘Ring me urgently!’ it said.

  Feeling as if she were going to be slapped in the face with more bad news, she rang him.

  *

  Night had fallen when Emily came to. A lamp had been turned on by her bed and the lemon walls had more of an orange glow in the soft light. She was still being given fluids. The bag of normal saline attached to an infusion line was three quarters full and she watched the slow droplets of clear fluid hypnotically enter the chamber. They were keeping her hydrated, which was possibly why she felt little effect from whatever they had injected her with. They were either being kind or they wanted her healthy for selfish reasons. The pain in her breast had considerably lessened, leaving only a vague tenderness, and her body felt only a memory of achiness as the infection cleared. She imagined they had given her the maximum dose of antibiotics and then doubled the strength in their haste to get her well again, and she had no doubt she was receiving the best medical treatment on offer in this house. She wondered where they all were. She could hear no sounds coming through the walls. Perhaps, like her, they were resting, reserving their energy for what was about to come. The bottle of water had gone from on top of the bedside drawers and had not been replaced, so she had to think it was deliberately taken to keep her nil by mouth. If that was so, then they were planning for surgery soon.

  She spotted the plaster in the crook of her arm and guessed blood had been taken from her. But where were the blood tests taking place? There was no way Dalloway would have a path lab facility setup in his home. Maybe a pathologist was in on this sick set up, or Meredith was ferrying the blood into The Windsor Bridge and putting them under another patient’s name. Was that the real reason she was put in that room, as backup in case their first attempt failed? Sister Barrows had said she was put in that room in error. Was that the truth? That Shelly made a mistake? She wished she could believe that, but it just didn’t ring true. At the time, had Shelly been aware that Emily was blood type B? When she was put to sleep, after Sophia had died, was she tested as a match for Walter? Her blood work checked to see if she was a suitable candidate? Was she picked out as a future donor? Emily wished she knew more about transplants, but it was such a specialised area of medicine. She did know blood type O, the universal donor, was the only other blood group that was a match for a type B recipient? Why hadn’t they been able to find a match in this blood group for Walter? Had chances come along and he was too ill at the time to face surgery? He was ill now, and they were going to take a chance. Had he not been high enough up on the waiting list for a transplant? Or had Dalloway simply decided he was going to pay for it and find the perfect match himself?

  Nothing would surprise her, after knowing Dalloway had operated on his own son, in his own home. He most likely had every machine and device available for major surgery on hand, in case it would be needed, while Shelly collected spare donors.

  The night of his son’s operation would have required careful planning and timing, and she had difficulty envisioning him doing it all alone. There had been more than one carer at Sophia’s bedside that night when she was fighting for her life – she was sure of that now, because she had only stopped watching the action at Sophia’s bed because someone had startled her and shone a torch in her eyes. Therefore at least two people had been present, possibly Meredith and Shelly. So, who had helped Dalloway? Or had he simply kept Sophia’s liver on ice until the rest of his team could join him? She would ask him when she saw him next. If she was going to die she deserved to know the answers to all of it before her life ended.

  And her life would end, she believed. Dalloway had said he was going to get her well. Shelly said that her liver would regenerate in a few weeks. But now that she knew what they’d done, and what they now intended, how could they let her live?

  She trembled at the thought. Her parents would not miss her, she knew. It saddened her greatly to have been born their daughter and know they had no love for her. The truth was that her absence would make little difference to other people’s lives. Unlike the difference Zoe had made to hers. She mourned the loss of her sister, thinking how sad, how cruelly fate had set the score even, to think she might see her again, only for it to never happen. It would be she who would become missing. She they would look for. The chance to see each other again would be gone for ever. This was her punishment.

  The burden of guilt had all but crippled her. The weight of it was more punishing than anything she’d had to bear so far. She had tried so hard to believe that the version of events she had given the police were true; thinking with time it would get easier, that the lie she had told would make the pain go away. What she hadn’t banked on was hearing Zoe’s accusatory voice in her head all the time. For what she had never revealed to anyone was that she had seen Zoe that day, walking to that road, a skip in her step as she dangled her shoes, her face lifted in the morning sunshine without a care in the world. She had watched her and had been so angry. She had never felt anger like it before. Never felt hatred like she had in that moment for her baby sister.

  She closed her eyes to erase the images and then tensed as she heard the door open. Someone stood silhouetted in the doorway, their shape difficult to make out, hidden by the long flowing surgical gown. Whoever it was had come for her.

  *

  Geraldine ignored the security guard who stood like an excited puppy hopping from one foot to the other, eager to do their bidding or in
need of a pee. His voice was too loud as he invited her into the office, offering her tea, coffee and even a chair with a grubby pillow to sit on. She discarded the pillow to a corner and pulled the swivel chair to the desk to sit beside Tony.

  ‘I’m too nervous to look,’ she said.

  A paused image of Emily in a hospital gown was on the screen.

  ‘You’ll kick yourself when you do,’ Tony replied dryly. ‘I’ve already looked.’

  She breathed in, readying herself. ‘Hit me with it.’

  It was less than a minute of footage, and Geraldine had held her breath for most of it. The image now paused was of a small dark-haired young woman. She had walked out of the same room that only a minute before Emily had entered.

  Geraldine felt her stomach tie in knots. Everything that Emily went through to prove this woman’s existence had been ignored. Her medical history and past behaviours had been held against her in the most appalling way. They may as well have turned her mad by doing that to her. If they had broken her mind it would come as no surprise. She remembered the light going out in Emily’s eyes the last time she saw her, remembered the coolness she’d displayed towards her in the hospital after her accident. She must have felt utterly abandoned. No wonder she let herself get beaten, if it was her only means of escape. She would have been desperate to get out of the place to prove to them she hadn’t imagined or made up this woman. Geraldine felt guilty for giving up on her. Emily had not mentioned seeing the woman on CCTV in the recorded message she had left for Geraldine. Only that she had seen the missing patient, seen Katka, and Geraldine had jumped to the conclusion that she was hallucinating and had focused only on that.

  This footage proved that she had been telling the truth. What it was unable to prove was whether Emily was a murderer. Had she been turned mad or turned bad? Had she become a killer, created by them?

  ‘How did you find this?’ Sergeant Martin asked the man leaning against the wall.

  He shrugged. ‘I dunno. I just looked for it.’