And sometimes, it was simply better to try to build a rapport and let the interviewee talk at his own pace.
He sighed and then straightened. Whatever he did, he had only one chance. According to the doctor he’d spoken to on his arrival, the man in the room wasn’t expected to survive for long.
His thoughts turned to the homeless man that had died. The doctors weren’t sure about the exact dose of radiation he’d been exposed to, but had to agree that his already ill health had contributed to his quick demise.
And the man in the sealed room beyond the waiting area had been carrying the damn stuff.
Dan couldn’t imagine the terror the criminals would have felt at their discovery. Despite the fact they were intent on stealing the isotope, then selling it on, he would have rather they were found in good health, with the canisters intact, not like this.
The door at the far end of the waiting area opened, and Dan turned at the sound of a busy hospital corridor. The door shut, and the silence returned, save for the footsteps of the tall greying man in a white coat that approached him, his face grim.
‘I wish you’d change your mind,’ he said as he approached. He held out his hand. ‘I’m James Howard. I understand you want to go in there to speak with him, rather than use the video link we recommended?’
Dan nodded and realised his throat was dry. ‘Yes, that’s right.’ He shook the man’s hand. ‘I’d prefer to talk to him face to face, rather than be another face on a screen.’
‘You understand the risks?’
‘Yes. But this is a matter of national security, Mr Howard. And I don’t believe we’re going to get the chance to do this twice, do you?’
Howard exhaled. ‘No,’ he conceded. ‘You’re not.’ He checked the clipboard in his left hand. ‘All right. Come with me. I’ll hand you over to my colleague, Jennifer Hayes. We’ll get you suited up, and then you can go in.’
‘Thanks.’
Chapter 36
Dan fought down the urge to panic in the claustrophobic atmosphere of the radiation protection suit and instead turned his attention to the comms equipment, testing it to ensure he’d be able to record everything the man in the treatment room divulged.
The sound of his breathing filled his ears, and he realised he was sweating already. He couldn’t work out if it was from the confines of the suit or his fear that somehow some of the radiation emanating from the man would seep through the clothing.
‘Okay, we’re ready,’ said the female doctor. She waited until he turned to face her. ‘What I’m going to do is lead you into the room through a series of air locks,’ she explained. ‘At the second air lock, I’m going to open the door so you can go through to the third one on your own. When I’ve closed the door – and only when I’ve closed the door, you can open the last door that leads into the treatment room, do you understand?’
‘Loud and clear.’
‘All right, let’s go.’
Hayes spun on her heel, evidently more comfortable in the bulky plastic clothing than Dan felt, and punched in a security code next to a steel door.
It hissed open, and lights flickered on across the ceiling of the small enclosure.
As the door slammed shut behind him, Dan’s throat constricted.
Calm down, he told himself. These guys know what they’re doing.
He stood to one side as Hayes stepped past him, careful that their suits didn’t touch or snag on each other, and made her way to the second door.
She glanced over her shoulder at him, her face partially obscured by the angle of the large visor.
‘Last chance to turn back,’ she said.
Dan raised an eyebrow. ‘Like I’ve got a choice,’ he murmured. ‘Let’s do it,’ he said, louder and more confident than he felt.
She nodded and then reached out and punched a different code into the keypad next to the door and pushed it open.
As Dan followed, he noticed small holes covered the walls and moved closer to take a look.
‘Water jets,’ explained Hayes, ‘with a decontaminant agent included. When you come back from the treatment room, make sure you’ve shut the door securely. A green light will go on here,’ she said, pointing to the bulb fitted above the door. ‘Then I’ll let you back in from the control room.’
‘Okay.’
‘Once the door closes, you strip off the suit, push it all through that hatch in the wall there, and the water jets will come on.’ She held up a packet. ‘This is a special soap. Make sure you wash everywhere thoroughly.’
Dan turned his head to the camera fixed to the wall in the corner and then pointed at it. ‘No privacy?’
‘No privacy,’ she confirmed. ‘We can’t risk you infecting us, so we make sure you’re clean before you’re let through to the first airlock. Your clothes will be waiting there for you.’
‘Right.’ Dan exhaled, trying to let go of some of the nervousness that was beginning to cloud his thoughts.
‘Breathe normally,’ said Hayes. ‘The regulator will take care of the rest. Try to relax; you don’t want to hyperventilate in one of these.’
‘Okay.’ Dan closed his eyes and concentrated on getting his breathing under control. When he opened his eyes, the doctor was watching him.
‘Hey,’ she said. ‘You’ll be fine. Just make sure you remember everything I’ve told you.’ She pointed to the ceiling. ‘This place is wired anyway, so if I see any problems, or if I think you’re panicking, I’ll talk you through it.’
‘Thanks.’
‘No problem. Ready?’
‘Yeah.’
‘Come on then.’
Dan followed her towards the third door in the airlock sequence and waited while she punched in a third code, opened the door, and stood aside to let him through.
He nodded at her as he passed and then stepped into the next chamber.
The steel airlock swung shut behind him with a dull thud, and then he was alone.
His breathing still sounded heavy to his own ears, and a trickle of sweat began at his hairline, tickling as it made its way down his forehead. He automatically lifted his hand to wipe it away and then cursed under his breath.
‘Everything okay in there?’ said Hayes.
‘Yes. Just getting a new appreciation for what you guys do every time there’s a situation like this.’
‘Thankfully it doesn’t happen too often.’
Dan eased himself towards the final door and peered through the reinforced glass that acted as a window through to the treatment room.
The view was limited, but he could make out a single, standard hospital-issue linen covering the occupant, who was surrounded by an assortment of machines. Wires looped across the space between the machines and the bed, disappearing under the covers.
The patient was propped up slightly on pillows, and even from the distance at which he observed him, he could see the blisters that covered his pale face.
He noticed the man was bald and then remembered the lead doctor explaining that the patient had told him that both of the criminals kept their heads shorn, so they hadn’t noticed the typical hair loss that so many other victims of radiation poisoning suffered. It was partly why the men had taken so long to notice their symptoms, compared with the homeless man.
Dan took a deep breath, spun the steel handle on the inside of the door, and then stepped over the threshold, trying not to let any fear show in his face.
Stay calm, he told himself. Get the answers.
He made sure the door shut behind him, giving it a firm push with the palm of his gloved hand, and then padded across the tiled floor towards the bed.
He noticed that a curtain could be pulled around the patient to separate him from a second bed, already set up by the medical team in case the other criminal was located, and a fleeting thought of what it would be like for the last man to die crossed his mind.
He blinked, shook off the mental image, and flicked the comms equipment so the man could hear him.
The patient opened his eyes as Dan approached, and Dan had to stop himself from automatically recoiling at the sight of the man’s bloodshot eyes.
The man’s frame seemed shrunken as well, as if the whole effort of trying to stay alive was consuming his body.
‘Hello,’ said Dan.
‘Who are you? You don’t look like a doctor,’ the man croaked.
‘My name’s Dan Taylor. I’m from an organisation called the Energy Protection Group.’
‘What do you want?’
‘I’m hoping you can help me.’
‘Why should I?’
‘How about I ask some questions, and you decide if you want to answer them?’
The man chuckled, a death rattle that shook his shoulders. When he smiled, Dan noticed the man’s gums had been bleeding, staining his teeth.
‘Go on, then,’ he said. ‘But make it quick. I don’t know how long I’m going to be around for.’
‘Yeah. I heard about that,’ said Dan. ‘When did you find out when you were in trouble?’
‘Night before last,’ said the man. ‘When we arrived at the apartment. I’m Ben, by the way. I’d say ‘nice to meet you’, but, y’know–’
‘Yeah,’ said Dan. ‘I know. Where were you staying?’
‘Someone’s mother’s,’ said Ben. ‘She died nine weeks ago. Council couldn’t organise a piss-up in a brewery, so the house is still in her name.’
‘What happened at the drill site?’
Ben groaned, and Dan saw the man’s thumb punch a button attached to a drip that led into a vein in the back of his hand.
The man shuffled under his blankets and then sighed. ‘We didn’t know one of the canisters was leaking, okay? It was a last-minute decision. More money to split between us.’
‘Who shot Mark?’
‘I did,’ said Ben. ‘I’ve already given my statement to the police.’
Dan narrowed his eyes. He was sure the man in front of him was lying. ‘Where’s the other guy? There are two of you, right?’
Ben frowned and turned his head to glare at the second bed. ‘He refused to come with me,’ he said. ‘Reckoned he’d take his chances.’
‘But you gave yourself up?’
The man turned back to Dan, tears in his eyes. ‘I hurt, man. All over. I just want it to end.’
Dan hovered at the foot of the bed. He wanted to reach out to the man, but his bulky suit and common sense prevented him from moving too close. He simply couldn’t risk snagging it on the machines or have the man reach out and try to tear it.
‘Where is he now?’
‘I can’t. I promised.’
‘Who paid you for the job?’
‘I can’t tell you.’
Dan gritted his teeth. ‘Where’s the isotope now, Ben?’
The man shook his head, his mouth downturned.
‘Fuck,’ Dan hissed under his breath. ‘You do realise that there’s a danger of other people being contaminated?’ he said, his voice louder. ‘Don’t you give a shit about them?’
Ben wiped at his eyes with the back of his hand, and then his jaw tightened, and he looked Dan in the eye.
‘No,’ he said. ‘I don’t.’
His hand moved under the blanket, and as he removed it and crossed his arms over the bed linen, an alarm started to go off above Dan’s head, the sound making him spin round to see if he’d knocked against one of the machines and ripped his suit.
He patted the surface of his arms and legs, cursing as he tried to peer through the restricted view the visor provided.
When he realised the alarm hadn’t been caused by him, he turned back to face Ben to see the man watching him, his head lolling to one side, a serene expression across his face.
‘Oh, shit.’
Dan realised what had happened a split second before the air lock door swung open and three of the medical team led by Howard hurried into the room, slamming the door shut behind them.
He stepped out of the way so they could reach their patient, utterly helpless as they moved around the bed, checking machines and stripping the bed linen away from the man’s body.
One of them began chest compressions as the female doctor inserted a long needle into the man’s neck, their frantic activity sending Dan’s own heart racing.
Dan tried to make out what they were saying, but they were operating on a different frequency to his during the emergency, and their suits kept their voices muffled.
A single loud beep began to fill the room, droning on until Howard leaned across and flicked a switch on the front of one of the machines, and the room fell silent.
Dan ground his teeth, the urge to punch something only tempered by the need to keep his suit intact.
Howard turned and raised his eyes to a clock on the wall before speaking.
‘Time of death, three twenty-four.’
CHAPTER 37
‘What happened?’
James Howard tossed the clipboard onto his desk and played with the metal clasp of his wristwatch. ‘Morphine overdose.’
‘You let him self-administer morphine?’
The doctor’s eyes bored into Dan’s. ‘Yes, we did. I don’t think you can imagine the pain he was in, Mr Taylor.’
Dan held his hand up. ‘Sorry. It’s just that – couldn’t anyone foresee this happening?’
‘Maybe if you’d been less insistent on meeting him face-to-face instead of using the video link as I suggested, we wouldn’t be having this conversation,’ snapped the doctor. He sighed. ‘I’m sorry. That was out of order.’
‘He mentioned nothing to you or your team about where he and his accomplice were hiding?’
‘No.’
‘Damn. Then we still have one very sick criminal and a leaking container of isotope to find.’ Dan stood and held out his hand to Howard. ‘Thanks, anyway,’ he said. ‘I know you did all you could.’
‘I’m surprised he lasted as long as he did,’ said the doctor as he opened his office door and led Dan down the corridor in the direction of the elevators. ‘If I were in his shoes, I’d have hit that morphine tap a lot sooner.’
‘Mr Taylor?’
Dan glanced over his shoulder and saw one of the nurses hurrying towards him. He instinctively took a step back, just in case this one tried to kill him as well. ‘That’s me.’
‘You need to call your office. The woman who phoned our reception desk said it was urgent.’
‘Thanks.’
He excused himself from the doctor and hurried down the corridor, away from the biohazard area and towards the elevators. He pushed the button and pulled his phone out of his pocket as he waited.
Sure enough, there were three missed calls from Melissa, each ten minutes apart, starting half an hour ago. Whatever it was, it evidently couldn’t wait until he reached his car.
There was a soft ping, and then the doors to the elevator on his left slid open, and he stepped inside, hoping his phone signal wouldn’t be lost within the depths of the hospital.
Thankfully, he had the elevator car to himself. He hit the speed dial for Melissa’s mobile number as the doors slid shut.
She answered on the second ring.
Dan didn’t waste time with niceties. ‘What is it?’
‘George Heatherington has been found dead,’ said Melissa, her voice barely above a whisper. ‘Suspected drowning.’
Dan leaned against the wall, clutching the phone to his ear. ‘What? When?’
‘This morning,’ Melissa said. ‘At the river where you met him the other day.’
‘Hold on.’
The elevator doors opened, and Dan rushed through the lobby of the hospital and almost wrenched the sliding glass doors off their hinges as he waited for them to open. He raced across the forecourt, aimed his key fob at his car, and ripped the door open.
He thrust his phone into the hands-free bracket, turned the key in the ignition, and dragged his seatbelt across his chest.
‘All right,’ he said. ‘Talk to me
.’
‘I can’t right now. I’m at my desk,’ hissed Melissa. ‘Evans has got me running some analytics. It’s taking me forever.’
‘So how did you find out about Heatherington?’
‘Because it’s been all over the bloody news since he was found three hours ago,’ she replied. ‘Gotta go.’
Dan’s eyes flickered from the road to the phone as she disconnected.
‘Shit.’
He banged the steering wheel with the heel of his hand and concentrated on weaving the powerful car through the rush-hour traffic.
He’d had no idea he’d been at the hospital for so long; the procedures to get him in and back out of the radiation treatment room had been so thorough he’d lost track of time.
He pushed a switch on the wheel under his forefinger, and the radio flickered to life, and then he skimmed through the channels until he found a national BBC station, which guaranteed him news headlines every fifteen minutes.
It turned out he didn’t need to wait for the next quarter of the hour; Heatherington’s death was the top story of the afternoon.
He toggled the volume up and swung the car into the overtaking lane, pointing the vehicle towards the office.
‘Police say they have interviewed Mr Heatherington’s security detail and confirm that he had spent the morning attending to constituency issues and various meetings, before choosing to take a walk beside the river,’ said the male reporter.
‘It’s tragic that someone generally considered to be in the twilight years of his life would choose to end his life this way,’ said the female programme presenter.
‘Indeed it is, Michelle. Mr Heatherington is a family man, who leaves a wife, four children, and six grandchildren.’
Dan frowned. Were they reporting this as a suicide?
He indicated left, moved into the next lane, and pushed the accelerator to the floor.
He turned up the volume.
‘How do the police think this tragedy happened?’ the female announcer was asking.
Three Lives Down (A Dan Taylor thriller) Page 16