“Look gent’s bloody awful news but the ambulance service are on strike. They are sending an Advanced Paramedic but we may have to get her to hospital by other means.”
Cade didn’t have time to respond – he was planning priorities: transport, detection and revenge.
All had their place, but the first was getting his girlfriend to hospital – by any means.
“Jason, ring nine nine nine for Christ’s sake. Then try the Yard. Stop a taxi if you have to. Do something.”
Cade was between the proverbial rock and its harder cousin. Police officer? Or caring, loving partner? His primary coping mechanism was to be a law enforcement officer. He knew his selfish mix of paranoia and stupidity had allowed her to be alone and he now believed – rather he now knew, that either the man they had been hunting or an associate was responsible for the likely death of the single best thing to occur in his relatively disordered recent life.
“She’s unresponsive Jack.”
Cade was deep in thought.
“Jack!”
“For God’s sake Jason, do you think I cannot see that?” He looked up at the neighbour who was dumbstruck, “Sir, do you have a towel or a dressing gown? Anything, just give her some of her dignity back would you?”
The neighbour scuttled away and returned with his wife’s dressing gown. They eased her into it. Although she was lifeless at least she her self-esteem had been returned.
Cade held onto her, willing the intrusive noise of motorcycle sirens to grow louder. His singular prayer was answered as the BMW machine negotiated traffic and pulled up outside the flat. Its green-suited rider grabbed a pannier from the bike and was met by Roberts on the stairs, who identified himself to the medic.
“Normally healthy female, found unresponsive on the floor of her flat. My colleague who rescued her said he could smell a chemical of some kind. He was almost passing out. We’ve closed the door and called the fire brigade. I’ve got a patrol car en route too as there are no bloody ambulances.”
The medic pulled a half smile, half grimace. “I’m here now mate, let’s see what we can do to help this lady shall we?”
Cade acknowledged the biker and stepped out of the way.
“She’s a photographer.”
It made no sense to the ambulance officer who was used to hearing normally balanced people offer a raft of potentially valuable and often conversely useless information. He looked at him momentarily and then continued checking O’Shea’s vital signs.
“This lady is in a critical state gents. We need that patrol car.” He paused, unable to do a great deal more. “Photography?”
“Yes, I think that might explain the chemical smell in the flat, it was intense, over-powering. She was on the ground when I got in there. She was naked too. We don’t know why. I can’t think of anything else that might help.”
It was obvious to the trained paramedic that Cade was also suffering partial symptoms of poisoning.
He walked into the hallway. He needed more than fresh air.
“Jas, I’ll be outside if you need me.”
A mile away Lucy Thomas was preparing for the night of all nights with a man who paid well and, when the mood took him, performed even better. But he was yet to arrive – metaphorically speaking.
“Where are you, my naughty boy?” Thomas dialled Constantin’s number.
Unexpectedly he answered immediately. Quietly spoken he responded to her first question.
“Where are you? I’ve been waiting…”
He almost hissed his response. “I told you, there was something I had to do.”
“Good, well, have you done it yet? And, how long will you be? I’ve got a bottle of Moet with our name on it and I’m wearing your favourite outfit…”
Thomas could hear the ambient noise but the man she was bizarrely attracted to failed to reply for a few seconds. His mind was otherwise engaged.
“Connie…what have you done…remember earlier, you said you were angry with someone? Have you hurt them? Come on darling, tell Lucy…”
Constantin was now the empty shell of a human being, stood in the poorly lit corner of a beautiful listed building, a doorway to a thousand stories and now his temporary refuge. What had happened to him? Had drugs deprived him of a life? And, if so was it so wrong to steal somebody else’s?
He exhaled and spoke.
“Lucy, I cannot come to see you. I will send money but I must leave. I have killed people and now the police will kill me too. I do not…want you…to be near me anymore. I am hideous in many ways.”
A moment of salvation and charity was entwined in a shroud of desperation.
“I am sorry.”
She could hear him sobbing.
The skilled performer that she was Thomas allowed him to cry before asking a few more pertinent questions.
“Talk to me my love. I know you said you had been bad. Tell me where these people are. Tell me what you did. I would love to know all about it you very brave man.”
Thomas used every trick in her extensive repertoire to extract a prompt response.
Valentin drained the last of the brandy from his favoured glass and lowered it onto the green leather-bound desk.
“Come on, where are you? Show yourself.”
He strained his eyes onto the screen. Adjusting the brightness, trying to force the picture to improve.
And then for a brief moment he saw him again. A moment of clarity allowed the hunter to stare into the quarry’s eyes. They looked as shallow as ever but more vivid, even within the monochromatic view that Valentin held they looked miserable. He was crying. Something had disturbed him into a state of emotion that was no longer just drug-fuelled. He was preparing for his next act.
Cade’s phone vibrated in his pocket. It was a distant sensation, almost imperceptible, but he managed to engage his brain for long enough to open it and look wearily at the screen. What he saw caused him to exhale and let out an audible moan. It was Thomas. Too tired not to answer he pressed the green button.
“Put me on hands free Jack.” He did.
“Is Jason there?”
“Hang on I’ll go upstairs. Look, Lucy, this is not a good time. There has been an incident and I’m erm…”
“Jack, shut up and listen. Is Jason there yet?”
“Yes, go ahead,” replied Roberts, using a vague form of sign language towards Cade, trying to establish what his most unconventional informant wanted.
“It’s Constantin. He’s told me everything. I’m scared guys. I think he’s coming for you and then me. He talked about a boy being taken from him – I knew nothing about that – anyway…it doesn’t matter. He blames you both. Look, the point is he’s in town and I think he’s near to wherever you are. I know about your girlfriend Jack. I’m sorry.”
Roberts hurried her along. “Yep, we hear you Lucy but listen love we are in a serious state here. Carrie is dying, and your bloody boyfriend…”
“Client love, client.”
“Whatever! He is guilty of a whole bloody pile of trouble Lucy and you need to do whatever it takes to help. Do that and I’ll personally ensure you get a Get Out Of Jail card. If you don’t I’ll have you locked up for something within the hour.”
Thomas could feel the alter ego slipping and was reverting to his natural self. Thomas’ voice deepened and became more direct.
“Listen sunshine, if it wasn’t for me, you and the rest of fucking Billy Smart’s Circus would still be running all over town. He’s nearby. Very nearby from what he has described and I don’t think he’s in a hurry to leave. He’s got a gun too. And nothing to live for. Your call.”
Both men knew she, or rather he was right.
“OK, this is what I need you to do.” Roberts continued talking to her whilst Cade stood, impotent and empty, watching his girlfriend’s life ebb away.
He turned to the medic once more, “Is there nothing you can do?”
“There would be if I knew what those chemicals were. Sounds lik
e Fire are here. Let’s give them some room. You do something useful and brief them whilst I maintain her airway. I’ve got a colleague on the way to help – we’ve been at breaking point Mr Cade. I’m sorry.”
The first of the firefighters joined Cade who had found a new lease of life – again reverting to professional mode. He explained what had happened, what he had observed, what he had experienced. Roberts continued to talk to Thomas, explaining that when they gave the signal, he was to call back his number one client.
Thomas suddenly stopped Roberts in mid-sentence.
“Rewind, rewind!”
“What?”
“I heard Jack say something about a chemical, something about photography. Jason put me back on hands free now!”
He shouted so that everyone could hear him. The consummate performer, performing.
“It’s cyanide! Constantin talked about taking a chemical to the flat to mix with something that your girlfriend had there already. He’s mixed cyanide with hydro…look, that doesn’t matter. Tell the fire crew to vent the place and get the paramedic to treat her for cyanide poisoning.”
The paramedic looked at Cade and nodded, picking up his cell phone. The fire crew were already in the flat, inhaling forced, clean air via their breathing apparatus and ventilating the rooms whilst attempting to preserve the crime scene.
Cade interrupted the medic. “John, it says that on your overalls, so I’m guessing it’s your name. I cannot express just how much this girl’s life depends on your hard work, my prayers and her incredible fighting spirit. Now, we have a great chance to sort this out thanks to that person on the other phone, so tell me, John, why do I sense a lack of urgency on your part?”
“Mr Cade, I don’t carry hydroxocobalamin, OK? I just don’t have the space on board the bike. Most of the basic road ambulances don’t either, it’s such a specialised piece of kit – normally, we can get one of the other advanced crews here but they are flat out. You’ll be aware of the incident running further north? And, you know a lot of the crews are on strike?”
It was a rhetorical question, designed to give him some breathing space.
“I am doing all I can to save your girlfriend’s life. For now, I can keep her in a state of unconsciousness until we can get her to a hospital. Trust me on this?”
Thomas called out over the phone. “If the medic can’t get hold of Cyanokit, then you need to listen to me – and listen very carefully because what I am about to say will make no sense at first, but you have to trust me more than you do John, Jason and yourself. Agreed.”
“OK, go. Whatever you need to do.”
“I need you to get a police patrol to head to a club on South Lambeth Road. It’s called The Rack. The local cops will know where it is. When they get there ask for Master Toby. I will ring ahead, it’s only minutes in a patrol car. Toby will hand a package to the officer – no questions asked, then meet the girl and the medics on the way to the hospital, she won’t make it if you wait until you get there. Do this as fast as you can and your girl will probably live.”
The paramedic spoke first.
“What’s in this package?”
“Amyl nitrite.”
It was Roberts now. “Lucy how the hell do you know about all this stuff?”
She laughed – a strangely relaxed moment given the circumstances. For a second he was a full-blown male again, the voice deeper once more and supremely confident.
“Do you think I’ve always been an overpriced feisty hooker Jason darling?”
Roberts offered no response.
“No, I thought not. I was a successful medical technician in the late nineties and dragged myself into the early part of 2000 as a trainee chemist.”
“What went wrong?”
“Nothing, nothing at all. In fact, everything was very quickly on the up the moment I quit my job and walked into The Rack for the first time. Right, clear the line in case Constantin rings me. Let me know about your girl as soon as possible. Or else.”
Two patrol vehicles arrived, the first took Roberts south across the river as instructed. He had abandoned his own private car in the street, quietly hoping the business card in the windscreen would mean it wouldn’t be towed by the morning.
The second car, an aging Rover 800 was parked half on the pavement, its strobe lights still flickering off the surrounding buildings. Its double-crewed team helped Cade and the paramedic manhandle O’Shea down the staircase as O’Shea’s neighbour held the doors and then opened the rear door to the police vehicle.
With the patient on board and strapped in as best they could, the newly created team sped off with the medic following closely behind and talking to his own control room.
With the advantage of lights and sirens, Roberts soon found himself outside a faceless railway arch that contained the target address supplied by Thomas. As they pulled to a halt the younger of the two constables turned to Roberts.
“Jesus Skipper, you really going in there alone?”
Roberts was unsure what he meant and pulled an encouraging face.
“Seriously boss, that’s one weird place and us being in uniform, well, not being funny and all that but we ain’t going anywhere near the place.”
Roberts had limited time so discounted what they were saying. But his instinct wanted quick answers.
“What the hell are you two muppets on about?”
The older of the two, Constable Sean Doyle replied in a Northern Irish accent that was sharp enough to slice bread, “Don’t get us wrong here governor, we’re not afraid, so we’re not, it’s just…”
“Just fucking what boys, I’m in a hurry?”
“You’ll see, so you will.”
The detective sergeant left the car, now unsure what fate lay before him. More concerned about his colleague’s life than his own he made a rapid mental note to regale his wife with his stories of bravery, when and if he ever made it home.
Cade held onto O’Shea, her skin was grey and lifeless. Her hands were cold, clammy almost.
Worst of all she was unresponsive. His thought processes were hurried but now more rational than they had been in the flat. He knew he also needed primary medical care, but he was recovering faster than the woman, who was very recently described as his girlfriend.
His thoughts turned to the females in his recent life. And it was recent too. In a matter of a few months he had left his wife, started a new role, moved again, been shot at, spat at, bitten and abused. He had also immersed himself in one of the world’s most exciting cities and met some incredible people, some incredulous people and if that wasn’t sufficient, some quite simply bizarre members of the human race.
But notwithstanding the drama and excitement, he had also met an incredible woman. The perfect stranger. Compulsive at times, charming, flirtatious and possibly positively lethal, she may not have been everyman’s fantasy, but she was Jack’s.
His thoughts were interrupted for a moment.
The driver turned to Cade.
“Governor, we need to take a detour, there’s an RTA on Westminster Bridge. We’ll head south and meet the other team. It will all work out.”
He nodded. Of course there was a car crash, why would there bloody well not be? Why not shut the hospital down with a fucking anthrax threat too and halt all the power supplies and cancel Tuesday whilst you are at it?
He turned to look at O’Shea as the orangey shadows of illuminated images from regularly spaced street lamps cascaded off the vehicle windows. Brightly lit shop windows beckoned. He was unable to focus on any of them, upon no one other than the lifeless female.
He loved her from the moment he first heard her, it genuinely did not matter what she looked like. Her voice had captivated him. She was livid, yelling at a manager, technically her superior, but only in rank.
The fact that she was above-average to look at helped. Her ability to place the jigsaw pieces into the puzzle was a professional advantage. That she was a vixen behind closed doors was a glorious
plus point.
And now she was slumped against him, en route to hospital and possible deliverance, or on a journey to a better place. He loathed not being able to control the situation. Unable to talk he pulled her closer still and for the first time since he had been a child he prayed.
“Not much further boss. Hang in there. She’ll be fine.” The detached words of his colleague in the front passenger seat swirled around the patrol car cabin remaining unprocessed.
Her dreams were rich and colourful; a pity they were so intensely upsetting. Her skin pellucid, her eyes motionless, black. Ceaseless, prevailing low-pitched noises haunted her every footstep, petrifying her as she walked through a derelict building; alone.
Opening a door with a translucent hand she saw a hospital bed and equipment, tarnished but arranged in such a way it appeared to be waiting for her. She allowed the door to swing back into place, her senses were so alive she could smell Ether, taste blood and hear moans and distant screams.
She tried to pick up a note, seemingly left on an adjacent medicine trolley, however the message passed physically through her skin, bypassing her ivory-coloured bones, crushing miniscule blood vessels and allowing them to bleed into the surrounding air.
The note fluttered to the floor, face down. She tried again and again to pick it up, conscious that it contained something of great importance. Hour after hour she stood there using every possible means to turn the page over.
Footsteps. Somebody was approaching.
A nurse, in her fifties, greying blond hair tied neatly into a bun and looking immaculate in a dark blue uniform strode down the corridor towards O’Shea who froze, desperate to avoid being seen. This was a dream, right?
The nurse walked slowly past her, looking straight into her face, her equally lifeless eyes staring back. Had she seen her? She could feel her breath on her face, it was cold and smelt of decay. She walked to the note, bent over, picked it up and looked at it. Then she smiled, folded the note precisely in half and placed it back on the trolley.
As she walked away, she created a cool draught. O’Shea shuddered and began to cry, her name was visible on the foot of the document. The date and time alongside the location and cause of death were now very evident, each letter shrinking on the page until they were gone.
Seven Degress (The Seventh Wave Trilogy Book 2) Page 24