by Liz Lawler
‘It can be modified. It’s a great story, Maggs. Any producer would jump at the chance.’
She had smiled and he had plonked down at her feet wanting to tell her how it would make him a big star. ‘It opens with this serial killer and the police closing in on him. He’s a doctor and the police are racing to his home. Then you see him hang himself and the police find him dead. But the thing is, he’s not dead. He’s faked the suicide. As a doctor he knows how to make his heart stop and make it look like he’s dead. Then the killings start again and the police think they’ve got a copycat killer on their hands until he starts sending them messages.’
There was only one thing on her mind when she suggested she show him how it could be done, mocked him, dared him to prove to her it could work, because it sounded ridiculous. It would be completely safe; after all, she was a doctor. There was only one thing on her mind: did he want her to go with him to LA?
As he stood on a stool, foolishly drunk, with a rope secured around his neck, he told her how to operate his camera and how to zoom in for close-ups. ‘Five seconds on my feet, Maggs, and then put the stool back. I don’t want a bloody accident.’
‘Do you want me to come with you?’ she asked.
He smiled carelessly and said sure. Maybe not straight away; he needed a bit of time to make contacts and get started. But later he’d get her over there – as soon as he was set up.
She waited while he tied the rope to the beam above his head, and then she pulled away the stool. He let his legs dangle and his feet drop. ‘Be quick, Maggs,’ he panted. ‘I’m too fucking heavy! Put the stool back! PUT IT BACK!’ There was no sudden drop as he let go the rope. His grip had simply slipped further down it until he was left grappling with the knot at his neck. She quickly picked up the camera to film him. His eyes had bulged desperately after the first half a minute, the veins popping and streaking the whites with red; his tongue swelled and pushed out fat and purple between his lips. He clawed at his neck for over three minutes until finally his hands dropped, his fingertips twitched, and his toes danced a last few steps in the air.
Before she left she tipped over the stool and packed everything that had ever belonged to her; she wiped her presence from his life and erased the images of his death from his camera. His last role – the one he would be most proud of if he had lived to see it – was an Oscar winner.
Her beloved Oliver was dead. He could do no wrong until his eyes told her it had all been a lie.
Maggie saw the single-decker bus, saw the driver’s face clearly, coming from the left. The blue flashing light on her right was almost upon her. She gazed at both drivers coming her way and, at just the right moment, she pressed her foot on the accelerator.
*
The ambulance driver only just managed to brake before crashing. The bus driver didn’t get the chance. Maggie’s Explorer was hit sideways on by close to fifteen tonne of steel. Later both drivers would recall glimpsing a dark-haired woman at the wheel, and both felt that she had placed herself in harm’s way deliberately.
Chapter fifty-six
It was Laura Best who brought the news to Greg. Maggie Fielding had been declared dead outside the hospital after being hit by an ambulance and a bus. Both drivers were being treated for injuries in A & E. The second crew member in the ambulance had also been admitted with a suspected heart attack. And a baby was delivered at the scene as its mother died.
Greg felt the news like a depression. She had taken another life, and two were still in the balance. Alex’s condition was still critical, which was why he was still at the hospital.
Laura Best held a clipboard in her hands as if she were doing a tour of inspection. Her chocolate suit and cream shirt were of good quality. Her hair shone and her skin and make-up were immaculate. She would one day reach the higher ranks, if only because she looked good.
‘Is Alex Taylor up to talking?’ she asked.
He raised his eyebrows. ‘What do you think?’
She tapped her pen on the clipboard impatiently. ‘I’m asking you, Greg.’
He snatched the pen out of her hand and snapped it in two. ‘You will address me as Inspector, DC Best. Why do you want to speak to Dr Taylor?’
Her face flushed and her eyes immediately sparkled with temper. ‘Because I want to clear up this mess and all the rubbish I’m now hearing about her being innocent.’
Before Laura Best knew what was happening or could utter a word of protest, Greg dragged her halfway down the theatre corridor. He shoved her through the double doors and let her see the place where Alex Taylor almost died. The blood-soaked cloths and towels still lay on the floor, the equipment used to save her life left abandoned. They had only just moved her down to ITU, and no one had yet had a chance to clean up.
‘That blood you see is Alex Taylor’s blood. She is fighting for her life, you stupid woman!’
Laura’s face had now gone white. ‘Well, she tried to kill herself, didn’t she? Jakie Jackson let her escape. She was bound to try and commit suicide.’
Greg clamped his hands around her shoulders and dragged her over to the operating table. He pointed at the blood-stained armrests. ‘Alex Taylor was strapped to this table, her arms pinned, her legs bound, unable to defend herself, and Maggie Fielding slit her wrists and left her here to die. Everything Alex Taylor told us was true. All of it. Maggie Fielding abducted her and put her through unimaginable torture. She killed Amy Abbott, Lillian Armstrong, Fiona Woods, and tonight she attempted to murder Alex Taylor.
‘You were wrong, DC Best, and so was I. But guess what? I’ll probably get a promotion for collaring Maggie Fielding, while you, Laura Best, all the time you’re working for me, will stay a DC. So you might want to think about a transfer, far away from me, where you can dig your spurs into some other fool’s back.’
There was a brief silence after she left the theatre suite before Nathan took her place. ‘I take it that was personal?’
Greg shook his head. His voice was firm. ‘No, not any more. That was professional.’
Nathan gave a faint smile. ‘Alex is stable. She’s going to make it.’
Then Nathan suddenly doubled over and vomited. Greg grabbed the only clean cloth he could find, discarded swabs from the suture tray, and handed them to him.
He felt the depression inside lift as hope took its place. ‘That’s great news, Nathan. You’re a bloody good doctor.’
Nathan shrugged, spitting hard before wiping his mouth. ‘I had a good assistant.’
Greg remembered her cold bloodless lips beneath his own and knew that it had been a close call. He looked at the two clocks on the far wall – one counting minutes and the other simply telling the time – and was shocked to see it had just gone midnight. ‘What time do you knock off?’
‘Four hours ago,’ Nathan replied.
‘You want a Christmas drink?’
Nathan nodded. ‘Yeah. A big one. A hell of a big one.’
They walked back along the corridor, seeing Alex’s blood still on the floor. It had dried now and would soon be washed away. Greg kept his eyes on the trail all the way down the corridor, and then suddenly he realised: Alex had let them know where she was being taken. She had led them to her. He didn’t know how she did it, but he was sure she had somehow let herself get cut so that she could leave them this trail.
His admiration grew stronger. She was the bravest person he knew – in the face of no one believing her, she still coped.
*
Alex opened her eyes and knew she was safe. She could hear ventilators and monitors beeping and the noise of colleagues working. Nathan was the first face she had seen when she opened her eyes earlier, and he had quickly reassured her that everyone knew she was innocent and that the police were now out looking for Maggie Fielding. He had also spoken to Patrick and let him know that she was safe. Patrick, he said, had cried. Nathan said it in a way that would allow her to forgive Patrick. Allow her to walk away from Nathan.
She had see
n the greyness in his face and the strain in his eyes and, separated from all other emotion, standing alone, she saw his uncertainty. Questioning his right to be in her life? They had only just begun the first step on this new path. It was a beginning. When he placed his hand against her cheek she had leaned into its warmth.
Maybe one day she would tell him how she had tried to kill herself. The clear decision she had made as Maggie Fielding abducted her in the corridor. She had so badly wanted to die there and then, and put an end to her fear. It hadn’t mattered to her in that second as she sliced her neck along the blade that she would die – only that it would be over.
Maybe one day she would tell him when she was brave again. When she accepted that she was Alex Taylor, a doctor who saved people’s lives, who had faced things that most people can’t even imagine. . . . .
Acknowledgements
This book would not have been possible without the support and encouragement from my husband, Mike, our three children, Lorcan, Katherine and Alexandra, and daughter-in-law, Harriet. You guys inspire me daily with your utter selflessness and determination to be good people. Thank you for allowing me time to finally finish!
Thank you also to my six brothers and five sisters, especially to Sue, Bernie and brother-in-law, Kevin, for reading the earlier drafts – how lucky are we to have shared so much, especially our incredible parents.
A very special thank you to Dr Monica Baird, Consultant Anaesthetist, and Dr Peter Forster MBBS FRCA for their generous time and expertise. Thank you both so very much. Any mistakes are of course mine!
Thank you to Martyn Folkes for always keeping opinions honest!
Last but not least, thank you to Joel Richardson, editor and publisher extraordinaire. Thanks to you and the amazing team at Twenty7 for making this book the very best it could be.
Without working in the medical profession I would not have been able to draw on past experiences (I promise no nasty stuff ever happened, bar eating patients’ left-over cold toast), and I would not be able to give true praise to the medical and police professionals out there fighting the good fight to make all our lives better. There are no finer people.
For you, mum – who I miss sharing books with.
And for Darcie – who I love reading to.
About the Author
Born in Chatham and partly raised in Dublin, Liz Lawler is one of fourteen children and grew up sharing socks, pants, stuffed bras and a table space to eat at. Liz spent over twenty years working as a nurse, and has since worked as a flight attendant and as the general manager of a five-star hotel. She now lives in Bath with her husband. Don’t Wake Up is her first novel.
First published in Great Britain in 2017 by Twenty7 Books
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Copyright © Liz Lawler, 2017
All rights reserved.
No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored or transmitted in any form by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying or otherwise, without the prior written permission of the publisher.
The right of Liz Lawler to be identified as Author of this work has been asserted by them in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act, 1988
This is a work of fiction. Names, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.
A CIP catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library.
Ebook ISBN: 978-1-7857-7058-6
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