by Liz Lawler
*
Tom Collins was walking along the main corridor when Greg saw him. He waved and caught up with the tall forensic medical examiner. The man looked tired and Greg guessed he’d been on the night shift.
‘Bad business, hey, Tom?’ Greg said, making conversation.
‘Shocking. Fiona Woods was a nice lady. Last time we talked she asked about working in New Zealand. She’d have got snapped up. It’s a real tragedy.’
‘What are your thoughts on Dr Taylor being the killer?’ Greg asked.
Tom Collins stopped walking and his shoulders slumped a bit. ‘Be a shame if it was her. Another very talented lady.’
‘You were there the night she was brought into A & E. What did you make of that business?’
Tom shook his head. ‘I don’t know. Difficult to say. She was definitely shook up, and initially I believed we had a rape case, but nothing added up. She had all her clothes on, no signs of any tears in them, and nothing was found in the examination, just a bit of a bump on her head.’
Greg wanted to take the man into his confidence and share with him Laura Best’s thoughts. He wanted the opinion of someone neutral. ‘One of my officers has an idea that she made it up, that she could be suffering from some form of Munchausen’s by proxy.’
The forensic medical examiner’s eyes widened at the thought, and Greg could see his scepticism. ‘That’s a bit of a stretch. Not the first thing I would have concluded. There would normally be a pattern of behaviour on which to base that diagnosis.’
‘What if there was?’ Greg suggested, and told the man about Alex Taylor’s connection with the deaths of Amy Abbott and Lillian Armstrong, the drug error she made, the anonymous call and the message left on her car.
Tom Collins frowned. ‘With this mental disorder the idea is to make a person sick, not kill them. This sounds closer to ‘Mercy Killings’ rather than Munchausen. And even then, it’s still a stretch.’
They carried on walking while Greg talked and they neared the hospital exit. Tom Collins’s final comments gave Greg no answers and no comfort. ‘First case, she was right to call in the police and it did prove suspicious, didn’t it? The woman did an illegal abortion on herself. Second case: can happen to anyone. Drug errors are made, not often – especially given the amount of drugs they give in A & E – but it happens. Third case: your hit and run, sounds like Lunchtime Lilly got herself into a bad situation with a whacko punter. And the anonymous phone call and message left on Dr Taylor’s car I’d say were malicious pranks.’ Tom stretched his shoulders back and rolled his neck. ‘Christ, I’m tired.’ Then he focused back on Greg. ‘The thing is, Greg, everything you’ve told me would be scoffed at by the CPS. You don’t have any evidence.’
‘What about Fiona Woods?’
Tom grimaced. ‘Whoever killed her, Greg, as far as I’m concerned, is a cold-blooded psychopath. Long time since I saw such a brutal murder. Goes without saying that I hope you’re wrong about Dr Taylor. I don’t envy you one bit going down that avenue.’ As Tom exited the glass doors he gave a casual salute. ‘Be seeing you soon, no doubt.’
Greg wished he could go home to a warm bed too. He could then bury himself under the blankets and not be the one who had to investigate Alex Taylor.
Chapter forty
The sky was getting darker and heavy clouds were shutting out the moon. A cold breeze was making her shiver and her thigh and calf muscles were stiffening.
She was alone on the path, and watched the leaves on the trees shake with each gust of wind while she steadied her breathing and let her heart slow down. There was nothing here to disturb her, and she leaned against a tree and tried to relax.
During the last couple of miles, thoughts of the evening ahead had almost buckled her legs with fear. She wasn’t ready to face him again and her biggest fear was that Richard Sickert and Maggie had got it wrong. She had begun to allow herself to believe they were right, to believe that her abduction from the car park was only in her imagination. But supposing they were wrong and she really had been abducted, not by some unknown psychopath that she had made up, but by the same man she was meeting tonight. It might have been him who abducted her from the car park. He was an actor. He would know all about disguises. He had learned the role of a doctor with her help. She had been unable to recognise the voice of the man who attacked her, but what if it was him all along?
He could be getting back at her for rejecting him. In his sick mind he might think she deserved to be raped last year and was now targeting her again. If so, then maybe he was involved in the death of Amy Abbott. He may also have killed Lillian Armstrong. But why would he? Why would he target them as well? What was the connection between these other women and herself? Amy Abbott had been a nurse. Was it possible he met her in the hospital during the time he was shadowing Alex? Over three and a half thousand people worked at the hospital and Alex had only met her because she became a patient. And Lillian Armstrong had been a prostitute. Could he also have known her? Could he have stolen Alex’s fob key and lured the woman to where Alex lived?
Alex was terrified that she could be right, and that the man who attacked her last year could in fact be a serial killer and a rapist.
She needed to get back to Maggie’s and discuss it with her. She did not want to put either of them at risk if there was the slightest chance that she was right.
There was a sound in the bushes behind her and she was sure it wasn’t leaves rustling in the wind. She tensed and waited for someone to come hurtling out at her and felt fresh sweat break out on her skin. A minute or more passed and the bushes stayed still. Releasing an unsteady breath she pushed away from the tree and headed up the slippery embankment, towards her car.
*
The senior consultant of the emergency department had the beginnings of a black eye and an obvious bump on her forehead, but it didn’t hamper her as she hurled fresh bales of hay into a row of stables. Her husband had pointed Greg in the direction of the yard and told him the stables were to the left. He promised to bring out tea shortly, leaving Greg to find Dr Cowan by himself.
The doctor was well muscled, dressed in a checked shirt and jeans tucked into wellingtons. He couldn’t imagine her dealing with intricate situations, having to use fine motor skills to suture or cut into flesh. She looked like a farmer’s wife, very at home with a pitchfork.
She was not surprised by his visit and said that after she finished in the stables she had planned on going to the hospital to talk to her staff. Some of them might need counselling. She had already rung Fiona Woods’s parents and offered her condolences and she had spoken to the chief executive several times since the morning. Her cheeks were puffy and Greg wondered if the cause was her recent injury or from crying. Her eyes had welled up at the mention of Fiona Woods.
‘I just can’t believe she’s dead,’ she now said, stopping work and leaning on the pitchfork. ‘I can’t believe I’m never going to see her again.’ She rubbed her eyes with the back of hand.
‘And when was the last time you saw her?’ Greg asked.
‘Yesterday,’ she sighed heavily. ‘It seems a lifetime ago.’
‘Did she say anything to you about anything troubling her?’
‘Only about Alex. That’s all we seemed to talk about lately. How worried we were about her. Her! And now poor Fiona is dead!’ She closed her eyes and shook her head in despair. ‘I blame myself! I should have forced Alex to take leave when I first felt she was having a breakdown. This is my fault – mine entirely. She’s been screaming out for help for a long time now and I should have done something about it. She’s been drinking. I suspect she’s been taking other substances. I should have done it yesterday, after this.’ She pointed at the bump on her head. ‘Alex attended me and after checking me over she asked me if I thought my car accident was connected to her.’ She sighed heavily. ‘As you’re probably aware, the driver who drove into the back of me has owned up. I should have put her on sick leave immediately. I’ve got
a young woman’s death on my conscience now because I didn’t deal with it when I should have.’
Greg was shocked by how ready she was to condemn Alex Taylor. Everything she said was damning.
‘You seem positive that it’s Alex who killed Fiona Woods. I thought they were best friends?’
‘They were,’ she said. ‘But who else could have done this? Alex has been falling apart for weeks. I’ve had colleagues ring me up with their concerns, which I should have listened to more carefully. I had to get another doctor to shadow her in case she made any more errors. You’ll probably – if you haven’t already – hear about it, but she nearly gave a drug to a man that would have killed him.’
‘Would it be an easy mistake to make?’
She shook her head. ‘Most definitely not. She’d been drinking; that’s the only reason, and Fiona Woods was trying to cover it up.’
Greg’s heart picked up speed at this information. He hadn’t known that Fiona Woods was a witness to the drug error. She may have been covering for Alex because it wasn’t an error, but a deliberate mistake.
He shook his head hard, trying to dislodge the uncomfortable thought. He felt treacherous for thinking it.
‘Fiona Woods was meant to have met with one of my officers yesterday evening. She didn’t show up for that meeting. The officer believes she was going to give her information about something that happened to Dr Taylor last year.’
‘She was attacked,’ Caroline Cowan blurted out.
Again he felt shock. ‘By whom?’
‘An actor we had in the department. He was playing the role of doctor in a TV drama and was shadowing Alex.’
‘And she reported this to the police?’
‘No. We tried to get her to, but she wouldn’t.’ Caroline Cowan raised a hand and gingerly touched the bump on her forehead. She seemed weary and sad at the same time. ‘The thing is,’ she said in a subdued and careful tone, ‘I never really pushed her that hard to report it.’
‘Why not?’
‘Because I couldn’t be sure it happened. She was tearful and very uncomfortable talking about it and there was no evidence.’ She looked at him earnestly. ‘I couldn’t be sure. You see, after she reported him to me, he telephoned me and said that he understood my ringing his agent requesting he no longer come to the department, but it was a shame I didn’t speak with him first. He told me he had been planning to come and see me. He was concerned that Alex was becoming a little attached to him. Making excuses to see him. He thought her a very nice woman, and was grateful for the help she gave him, but he felt a little uncomfortable because he had to rebuff her.’
Greg felt the interview was coming to an end and stood silently for a moment. In the longest time since he could remember, he was faced with a situation where he wanted to be wrong. He wanted Alex Taylor to be innocent. And now after what this woman just said he was beginning to feel angry that no one had made her feel supported. He was overcome with the thought that he couldn’t save her and he shivered as the first real doubts crept into his mind. She could be guilty. She could be a cold-blooded killer.
‘Forgive me for saying so,’ he said harshly, ‘but I think it was your duty to report that incident. Whether you believed it or not is irrelevant. You have a duty of care to your staff first and foremost, and you should have rung the police yourself.’ He turned away angrily and breathed heavily for a moment. She had tears in her eyes when he faced her again. ‘How do you know it didn’t set this whole thing off? How do you know she wasn’t attacked and that this is now the price she’s paying – having a major breakdown and destroying not only her life, but others’ lives as well. How do you know he hasn’t done this before? That he hasn’t attacked another woman since then? I want his name, because I most definitely will be paying him a visit.’
‘His name is Oliver Ryan,’ she said in a drained voice.
The name meant nothing to him.
‘Is he famous? A movie star? Television, Hollywood or what?’
She shook her head. ‘No. He’s one of those actors you would immediately recognise but can’t remember what he’s been in, and you don’t know their name. He’s been in lots of things . . . He was the diver, the main character in Black Waters, the one about Loch Ness, who goes down in a sub and discovers a woman’s body and tries to prove the history of the Loch Ness monster was an invention to cover up a murder that took place in the 1930s.’ She paused and then said, ‘It wasn’t that good, really.’
Greg hadn’t heard of the film. He would google both it and the man’s name when he got back to the station.
He turned to leave, but she stopped him. Her eyes were filled with regret. ‘I really am sorry. I don’t know what else to say. I care a lot about Alex Taylor, you must believe that.’
He softened his expression as best he could and acknowledged what she had said. ‘She’s going to need someone strong and supportive when we find her, Dr Cowan. She’s going to need people who care.’
Chapter forty-one
The paper bag was inflating and deflating like a bellows and Alex’s eyes were round with fear as she fought to slow down her breathing. Maggie was standing behind her, gently massaging her tense shoulders and offering words of encouragement. ‘All the way in and all the way out. Breathe nice and slowly. There’s no rush.’
It was days since she’d had a panic attack, and this one had come out of the blue while she was drying herself in Maggie’s bedroom. She’d shut the door and then seen her bridesmaid’s dress hanging on the back of it. It was identical in colour to the one she’d worn on that fateful night. Her mind had filled with the terrible memory of lying on that operating table and suddenly she was unable to breathe.
Feeling air fill and leave her lungs more easily, she removed the bag from her mouth. ‘I’m sorry,’ she said wearily.
Maggie squeezed her shoulders comfortingly. ‘We can call it off . . .? I’ve thought over what you said, and even though I still believe you couldn’t have been anaesthetised in the way you say it happened, I now believe you, Alex. I’m sorry for everything you’ve gone through, and I’m sorry for ever doubting you.’
Alex shook with relief; her heart was pounding and quickly she turned her head and buried it against Maggie’s breast. ‘Thank you, Maggie. Thank you so much.’
‘I’m going to the police with you. I’m going to make them listen to what you have to say, and they better do something about it.’
‘They won’t believe me,’ Alex said. She raised her head, her eyes full of conviction. ‘They won’t, Maggie. The only way to prove this is to confront this man and get him to admit what he did. I want to do it. I want this over with. This man is not taking over any more of my life. It ends tonight.’
Maggie’s eyes were worried, but finally she nodded. ‘Well, I’ll be with you, don’t you forget that,’ she said. ‘We’re in this together.’
For the next hour Alex concentrated on getting ready and keeping calm. In a couple of hours she would meet Oliver Ryan again and she needed to be brave.
*
Greg didn’t like the ex-boyfriend. His righteous tone was getting right up his nose. The man seemed to be patting himself on the back for being right about Alex needing help. Greg had listened to Patrick Ford’s opinion for the last ten minutes and was still waiting for him to say something positive about Alex Taylor, but the best he got was how sorry he was not to have spotted her downward spiral sooner.
‘It’s so hard to watch someone you love behave this way. I tried to believe her. I truly did, but in the end you have to go with sanity.’
Greg would rather the man argued a case for Alex Taylor, stood by her side, insisting she be believed, until the bitter end, when truth prevailed. But he was just a normal man, Greg suspected, who perhaps could be a bit weak. Still, he’d like to wipe the satisfied look off his handsome face just the same.
Patrick Ford may well be an educated and professional man, and no doubt doing a sterling job helping sick anima
ls, but he was a prat.
He made it sound like he was bestowing a great honour by inviting Greg into the treatment room while he examined a dog, explaining he needed to finish his surgery first, and if Greg could wait a short while he would then talk to him at length about Alex.
Greg leaned against a wall, gazing at anatomical posters of cats, rabbits and dogs, waiting while the man showered. His behaviour was odd. Greg had come to see him on urgent police business wanting to know if he had any information on Alex Taylor’s whereabouts, and the bloke was having a shower before they could carry on their talk.
Greg stared at the array of drugs on display in an open cabinet and wondered if he could get him on some law concerning keeping drug cupboards locked. The ketamine on view was surely a no-no; any member of the public could slip in here and help themselves to an ampoule.
The door opened and a sturdy young woman in a green tunic and trousers came in. She briefly studied him and then reached for a grey quilted jacket that was hung on a coat peg. She put it on, zipped it up and then banged on the door to the shower room.
‘You left the drug cupboard unlocked, Patrick. I’ll see you in the morning.’
Then, without saying a word to Greg, she left by the door she came through.
They were an odd pair, and Greg had wasted enough time in the place. He wanted to be back at the station in case any new information came in. He now banged on the shower room door. ‘Mr Ford, do you know where Alex is?’
The door opened and the man popped his dripping head out. ‘No, but when she comes here, be assured I will call you.’
Grey eyed him carefully. ‘What makes you so sure she’ll come here?’
‘We’re an item, Inspector. Alex knows she’ll be safe here. She’ll come to me for help.’
Greg really felt like punching the man on the nose. His arrogance was astounding. Then he relaxed as he realised he had an easier and more effective way to punish him.