by Liz Lawler
Jakie saw how small and defenceless she was and felt sorry for her. He hadn’t liked sitting in the room for most of the day. It felt strange to be guarding a doctor, and the truth of it was that to his experienced eyes she just didn’t look like a killer. He knew he was being daft. There was no blueprint of a killer’s face in any book. The stereotype of close-set-eyes and eyebrows that joined in the middle was just nonsense. A killer only looked like a killer when you knew they were one, and that’s where he had a problem. This slip of a girl didn’t look like one, even though he knew she was.
Over the screeching alarm he shouted to be heard. ‘I’m just going to check if it’s for real.’ He held up a pair of handcuffs.
‘Don’t! Please! I’ll stay here,’ Alex shouted back.
Jakie Jackson hesitated. The doctor had yet to be officially arrested. His job was to guard her until DI Turner returned to do the deed. ‘It’ll only be for a minute.’
‘Please, it could be real and you may not be able to get back to me. Please. I’ll stay here. I’ll wait for you. But don’t leave me chained up.’
‘Just let me check. It won’t be real, and then I’ll be back.’
The door burst open and a nurse frantically waved her hand at the police officer. ‘Can I grab you? I need help quickly. The fire’s real and I’ve got a patient trapped in a bathroom. Bloody door’s jammed.’
Jakie Jackson did something he had never done in his thirty-four years on the force. He left his charge unguarded. ‘I’ll be back in a jiff.’
From along the corridor Maggie watched the people darting past her, nurses and porters pushing patients to safety on trolleys and in wheelchairs. Doctors were still trying to give treatments along the way. On Christmas Eve the place was packed with people rushed in from accidents, fights and illnesses, and then there were the ones who were there because they had been unable to get appointments with GPs and just wanted to be better for the big day tomorrow.
The tall burly police officer stood head and shoulders above most of them.
*
It was Nathan who spotted it, but he didn’t need to explain what it was to Greg. Greg had seen plenty of needle caps on the ground before, in alleyways and on the floors of public toilets. The white plastic sheath was a protective cover for an injection needle.
Like an experienced detective, Nathan retrieved a rubber glove from his pocket. ‘New. I haven’t worn it,’ he said of the glove. He wrapped the sheath in the glove and handed it to Greg.
‘I’ll bet you anything we won’t lift a print. It’s too small, and the killer would certainly have worn gloves as well.’
Nathan Bell gave a rare smile. ‘You’ve never seen Maggie Fielding with a syringe in her hand. She always bites the cap off and keeps it like a matchstick in her mouth. You’ll have DNA, Greg – even better than a fingerprint.’
*
With the fire alarm still screaming, Alex couldn’t hear what was going on outside the room. She didn’t want to risk bumping into the policeman, but knew that this would be her only chance of escape. Carefully she inched open the door and peered out. There was no sign of the police officer, or anyone else for that matter. She had been left behind while everyone else was hurrying out of the building. She could hear them down the corridor, their voices raised with excitement. She could smell smoke and suspected it was a rubbish bin set alight by someone – a patient, visitor or even staff – having a crafty cigarette in one of the cubicles.
Risking opening the door another few inches she saw the corridor was still empty. If she was going to escape she had to do it now, because there wouldn’t be another opportunity. It was the first time she had been left entirely alone since being brought in last night. She must seize the moment to try and undo all the damage Maggie had done and somehow find a way to prove she was innocent. If she could contact Seb she would ask for his help. She needed time and a place where she could think. Out of everyone she knew he was the only one with the means to help her escape.
Before she could change her mind she quickly moved along the corridor; she could see the throng of people gathering outside through the windows. As she passed the staff room she slipped inside, and a couple of minutes later emerged dressed in a white doctor’s coat and green tunic trousers. Her feet were bare, but there was nobody around to notice.
She would pass through the crowd. With all the commotion, she expected it to be easy. She stopped dead as she spotted the policeman outside and decided against this escape route. She would head to the north side of the hospital instead and leave that way. His back was towards her, and not wasting the opportunity she rushed past the windows, keeping her head down, and walked fast along the south corridor, taking quick checks over her shoulder to see if she was being chased. It was less noisy here; quiet enough to hear her own unsteady breathing. She heaved a jagged breath as she planned her next move. She needed to get to a phone, call Seb, and decide what to do. She needed clothes, money and proof that Maggie was guilty. She would find Oliver Ryan’s agent, find out how he died, and find someone who knew he was involved with Maggie, someone who had seen them together.
Almost running now, she reached the end of the corridor, turned a sharp left, and then almost collapsed in fear as Maggie Fielding gripped her by the neck and stuck something sharp into her skin.
‘One word and I will cut your throat,’ Maggie said in a vicious voice. Her face was white with hatred, and Alex could feel Maggie’s hand shaking badly as she held the blade against her neck.
Keeping perfectly still, Alex tried to review her options. Fight Maggie off and risk being killed? Cooperate and face the threat of something worse? She thought of everything that had already happened to her and everything waiting to happen. She saw the ending clearly, like a film in her head, and then she made up her mind. She was tired of running and being afraid. She was tired of it all. She spread her feet apart, making sure she was properly balanced, and then swiftly, without hesitation she jerked her head to the side so that the blade sliced right across her neck. Her blood immediately began to flow and Maggie looked at her as if she had gone mad.
‘You stupid woman, you’ve barely nicked the skin. I’m not going to kill you here, Alex, no matter how much you try to make me.’
Grabbing a handful of Alex’s hair, Maggie jerked her head hard and pushed the blade into her side, piercing clothes and then flesh. Alex sucked in breath at the pain as the blade penetrated her body.
‘Just enough pain to keep you in check,’ Maggie growled into her ear. ‘Now walk, and don’t make me stab you harder.’
Chapter fifty-four
Jakie Jackson scanned the empty room in the hope that Alex Taylor would somehow materialise. He was becoming frantic. He had already looked under the bed and checked the en suite shower room, and even gone back outside the department where everybody was gathering, but had seen no sign of her.
Taking out his mobile he called the station and asked for more officers to be sent so that a search for the missing doctor could be made. Then he ran back down the corridor to start the search alone. He felt relief when he saw his boss coming towards him. He didn’t care about being in trouble. He only cared about the safety of the young woman left in his charge.
‘Where is she?’ Greg Turner asked, already guessing the situation.
Jakie didn’t waste too much time explaining or wondering how his boss had got there so quickly. ‘The fire alarm went off. I left her while I checked it out, and when I returned she was gone.’
‘You let her escape?’ Greg Turner yelled above the still shrilling fire alarm.
‘Yes, and I’ve got a bad feeling about it, sir.’
Greg’s phone vibrated against his chest. He pulled it out of his shirt pocket and stabbed a finger in one ear as he put the phone to the other. He was shouting down the phone when the fire alarm suddenly ceased. ‘Who is it and what do you want?’ he continued to shout in frustration.
‘It’s me, sir,’ a voice came back. ‘PC Norma
n. I got that information you wanted. On the painting.’
Greg’s heart beat a little faster as he waited for a name to be given. The name of the killer, perhaps? For one awful moment he wondered if he would be given the name Alex Taylor. That it was she who sent the painting to herself. The name slipped off the young officer’s lips and Greg was both shocked and relieved. Alex had been telling the truth, and he had thought it too far-fetched to be true.
‘A Margaret Fielding. She paid by Visa and had it sent to the address I’m guarding.’
Greg thanked him and hung up. Then he faced Nathan Bell and Jakie Jackson. ‘Let’s find her.’
*
Her side was burning and Alex suspected the wound would require stitches – if she lived that long. For the third time in as many months Maggie had her strapped down on an operating table. Only this time she knew exactly which one she was lying on: the trauma theatre table. She had Velcroed her arms down and then bound them with bandages to secure them even tighter. She had used a sheet to bind her legs to the trolley and now stood over her with a scalpel in her hand.
‘You get your wish, Alex. No more messing. We end it right here. They find you dead and pronounce it suicide.’
‘Suicide?’ Alex stared at her in disbelief. ‘You stabbed me in the side and my neck is sliced. No one will believe it.’
Maggie gave no answer, but Alex didn’t care. She felt no fear any more; her mind had grown immune to it. Her thoughts were now only of her mother, her father, Pamela and her dear friend.
‘Why did you kill her, Maggie? Why Fiona?’
Maggie shook her head.
‘Please . . .’
Maggie finally stared at her, and for the first time Alex thought she was looking at the real Maggie Fielding. A woman troubled by her conscience. Her chest heaved and then she looked away from Alex. ‘She found me with your phone, and I tried to brush her off. She said she’d texted you, but that you hadn’t replied. I said you’d just called your phone, that you’d realised you’d left it at work. Fiona didn’t believe me. I said I was going to meet you and she could ask you herself. I told her where I was going and she marched away.’ Maggie paused. The silence stretching. She seemed to be making up her mind about something. Then she locked eyes with Alex. ‘If she hadn’t looked back, I wouldn’t have followed, but she did and she said, I don’t believe you. What was I to do, Alex? Except to let it be thought that you had done something serious . . . like murder your best friend.’
‘You’ll go to hell for this, Maggie.’
In an instant the blade flashed in front of her eyes and she felt agonising pain as it sliced deep into her right wrist. Her blood spurted high and fast. Alex watched it splash the theatre lights above.
‘I liked you, Maggie. I really did.’
The blade swiftly moved again, this time slicing through her left wrist. The pain was worse because she was expecting it. She felt her hand become quickly wet and her fingers were warm and slippery.
She was dying. Within a few minutes her heart would stop. Her birthday was next month, but she would never reach the age of twenty-nine. She breathed in deeply and felt the thud of her heart beneath her breastbone.
‘Hold my hand, Maggie,’ she whispered. ‘Don’t let me die alone.’
There was no response, because Maggie had moved away from the table, but Alex knew she was still there. She was waiting for her to die. Then she would undo the straps and leave the blade beside her so that whoever found her would think she had taken her own life. Her other wounds might be considered previous attempts. Maggie was going to win in the end, and everyone who had ever known or loved Alex would think she had died a murderer.
Her mouth was dry and her body felt cold. She could no longer see the arc of her blood nor feel the pound of her heart. She was floating, and a gentle buzzing rang in her ears.
Then her eyes fluttered closed.
*
They were following the regular pattern of blood along the corridor, each man silent, each worrying about what they would find. But the blood that led them to the operating theatre in no way prepared them for the sight they were presented with. It was on the floor on each side of the operating table. All three men stood still at the theatre doorway. There was too much of it. Pints of the stuff had been spilled; it had settled thick and red and had spread as far as it could go. Alex lay on an operating table with her arms strapped down and her head to one side.
Nathan was the first to rush forward, throwing out commands to the other two as he ran to her side. ‘Ring 333. Tell them it’s in trauma theatre. Pull that emergency red button on the wall behind me and grab any cloths you can and cover this floor. Greg, get over here and help me.’
Jakie Jackson went to the phone and Greg, careful not to slip in the blood, went and joined the doctor.
‘Take off your tie and tie it hard around her wrist and then raise her arm above her head.’
While Greg did as he was told, Nathan attached a blood pressure cuff around her other wrist and pressed a switch on a machine so that the cuff quickly inflated and acted as a tourniquet. He then took a regular tourniquet and pulled it tight around Greg’s tie. He pressed a foot pedal and the head of the operating table lowered. Then he rushed to a drawer and pulled out orange cannulas. ‘Lift her chin and put your ear to her mouth and check if she’s breathing.’
Greg again did as he was told while Nathan got two large intravenous needles into her arms. He grabbed two bags of fluids and within seconds had them attached to drip lines and had fluid pouring into Alex’s veins. ‘Can you feel her breathing?’
Greg raised desperate eyes and shook his head. Nathan took his place at the head of the table and at the same time placed two fingers against her throat. ‘She’s got a pulse, but she’s not breathing. Breathe into her mouth, Greg, until I get the oxygen on and bag her. Pinch her nostrils, tilt her chin and cover her mouth with your own.’
Her lips were cool against his lips and Greg felt his insides quiver in panic. You mustn’t die, he prayed. You’re too young. Fight, Alex. Please, please fight.
He was grateful as Nathan took over the job with an inflated bag and mask. He took a gulp of air and tried to calm himself and then he saw her chest rise. ‘Is she breathing?’
‘Not on her own yet. She’s too weak. Greg, I want you to bag her. I want you to do exactly what I’m doing. I need to get more fluids into her ASAP. And I need to get blood fast.’
Over the next few minutes several people arrived, and twenty minutes later the place was swarming with activity. Two bags of blood had already replaced some of what Alex had lost, and a third and fourth were hung ready to flow through a blood warmer.
Greg was leaning against a wall out of the way of everyone. Jakie Jackson was against another, looking shell-shocked. He had rung the station and alerted them to arrest Maggie Fielding on sight. Greg didn’t care about the capture of the other woman; he could only think about Alex. He could tell that she wasn’t out of the woods yet. He could hear them talking about clotting factors and about the fact that she had lost so much blood that the new blood was unable to clot. He imagined her blood being too thin, less sticky, like watered-down tomato sauce. His eyes were fixed on her chalky face and he found himself praying like he had never prayed before.
A trio of miniscule tubes were inserted into her neck. Cannulas were in both her arms. Another cannula was placed in her groin artery so that her blood pressure could be monitored accurately, and a urinary catheter had been positioned into her bladder so that they could watch her output. Several pieces of complicated equipment surrounded her. She was on a ventilator and her body was covered with the thinnest lightweight plastic, which looked like it would easily tear. They were waiting until she was stable before they could move her to intensive care. He heard someone mention that she had a sixty-to seventy-per cent blood loss, and from the strain on Nathan Bell’s face she was clearly critical.
A couple of times nurses had looked at Greg point
edly, clearly indicating they thought he shouldn’t be in the theatre, but he had no intention of leaving either Alex or Nathan Bell. If the outlook was bleak he wanted to be there for both of them.
A surgeon was suturing the arteries in her wrists and an anaesthetist was monitoring her airway. There was tension in the air, as the crisis was clearly not over.
Chapter fifty-five
The ambulance driver was concentrating hard on the road ahead of him. He had silenced the siren as they turned into the road leading up to the hospital entrance, but kept the blue light flashing. He sounded the siren briefly as he saw a car trying to pull out and then relaxed as the vehicle halted.
His partner was in the back of the ambulance with a woman who was fully dilated and on the verge of delivering her baby. He would have pulled over and assisted with the delivery, but from what his partner told him the baby was breech. They were less than two minutes from the maternity unit, and he felt the mother and baby’s best chance was to get them there without stopping.
*
Maggie saw the blue flashing lights rushing towards her and jammed the brake on. She was covered in Alex Taylor’s blood and knew the woman would be dead by now, but instead of feeling relieved she was filled with dread of the future.
It was over and she had no more purpose. Alex was gone, those other women were dead. And her beloved Oliver was also dead.
Dylan’s burnt eyes and red-coated fur and desperate squealing haunted her, and the memory of Oliver’s face in death constantly loomed in her memory. She couldn’t get away from the ugliness of it all. The person she had most loved had been taken away from her, and now she was alone with only memories.
The blue lights were drawing nearer, the ambulance still travelling fast, and Maggie remembered her last night with Oliver. After dinner they’d gone back to his place and he’d told her about his plans to move to Los Angeles. He would make a fresh start. He was drunk and optimistic and kept dwelling on the great part that had just been denied him. He wondered if some producer in Hollywood would be interested in making an American version of the movie. It didn’t seem to bother him that it would be plagiarism; he said there was always a way round it.