by LJ Ross
Phillips looked at Ryan as though he’d sprouted three heads. His SIO was rarely given to displays of flattery, or humility, come to that.
Still, it seemed to work because the mention of national coverage was enough to have the surgeon’s ears pricking up.
“What exactly is it you want me to do?”
“We need you to look at the wounds,” Phillips said, pulling out a file of photographs. “There are some close-up images here taken from both women. We’d like you to tell us what kind of level of skill we’re looking for in the man who did this because it’s not your bog-standard cut-and-run, that’s for sure. It’s a difficult question to ask but, do you know anyone who might be capable of this?”
Draycott sat down briefly on one of the easy chairs and studied each photograph with single-minded intensity. They waited while his long, artistic fingers turned over each page and listened to the sound of ambulance sirens outside, signalling an emergency was imminent.
“Amateurish,” he concluded.
Ryan and Phillips stared at him. Draycott was the first person to claim the incisions were anything short of highly skilled and it was enough to grab their attention.
“How so? We were led to believe these wounds demonstrated a high level of surgical skill.”
Draycott shuffled the photographs and thrust them back at Phillips.
“Those women have been hacked apart. As for knowing anybody capable of doing it?” He laughed shortly. “As far as I’m concerned, absolutely anybody could have achieved that sloppy job. If you want my honest opinion, you’re barking up the wrong tree sniffing around the hospital when the person you’re looking for is probably a bin man—or a butcher at best. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have to get back to my patients.”
Ryan waited until the door clicked shut behind him before turning to Phillips.
“Funny, isn’t it? He’s the only one who seems to think our killer’s nothing special.”
“Downright peculiar, if y’ ask me.”
“He is the best,” Ryan mused. “Could be that he has very high standards and anything less won’t do. On the other hand—”
“He might not want us hanging around his department,” Phillips finished. “Poking our noses in.”
“Got it in one.”
* * *
Less than a five-minute walk away, Nicola Cassidy was transfixed with fear.
What if he came back?
Her body was weakened by blood loss and severe dehydration, but her mind was clear.
She was still alive.
He had not killed her, not yet. She was still alive and there was a chance of escape, if only she could muster the strength to move.
Move!
Her fingers clutched at the sodden sheets and she tried to pull herself up. The action brought a cry of pain as the wounds on her belly oozed and wept, the muscles in her stomach ripping apart.
“Hiiim, hiiiim,” she panted against the gag at her mouth, her nostrils sucking in deep breaths of stagnant air.
The sounds she made were guttural as she fought to survive. He had left her alone, but he might return at any moment and that was more terrifying than anything else, even death. The drugs had worn off and this may be her only chance of escape. Her mind begged her to take it, to grasp at the life she had left, while her body wanted to collapse into unconsciousness again, to retreat from the horror of reality until he came back and finished what he had started.
She would not allow it.
His would not be the last face she saw; his would not be the last sound she ever heard as he sliced her skin again. She would love and grow old and die peacefully in her bed, not writhing in agony at the mercy of a sadistic killer.
She gathered her strength, gritting her teeth against the pain she knew would come, and pulled against the surgical tape at her wrists and ankles.
Her scream was muffled against the gag and her chest shuddered. For one horrible moment, she thought she would faint, or worse.
She tried again.
Then again.
She pulled at the tape until her wrists were bloody and torn but, eventually, she worked her left hand free, twisting her arm until it fell away like a dead weight, the circulation having left it hours ago. It fell against her bedside table, disturbing the lamp so it clattered to the floor.
Nicola froze, listening for any sound, any indication that he might be there.
He did that sometimes. He waited at the end of the bed where she could not raise her head to see him, watching her silently until she sensed his presence.
He liked those times the best, she thought. He liked to watch her come around, just enough to believe she could survive, then he would stand up and she would discover he had been waiting there all along.
Like a spider.
She twisted her head to look down at the arm that was now free and began to shake. Hysteria threatened to overwhelm her over when she saw he had taken three of her fingers. There was nothing left, only bloody, infected stumps of flesh. She started panting again, willing herself to stay strong, to endure.
In an enormous act of defiance, she ordered her broken arm to move, turning white with pain as she lifted it to her face. She used her remaining thumb to pick at the gag around her mouth, sucking great, gulping breaths of air into her body as it finally gave way.
Her lips were cracked and bone dry, but she didn’t notice.
Black spots swam in front of her eyes again and she bore down, ordering herself to continue just a little longer.
The scream was little more than a croak at first but then she was howling, crying out because her life depended upon it. But her neighbours weren’t at home and there were no convenient passers-by to come running.
“Help,” she sobbed, brokenly. “Please. Please.”
Nobody came and, after minutes passed, she knew she could not wait around for a miracle. She must be her own saviour.
* * *
Greg Iveson steered his van along Claremont Road, humming along to Tina Turner telling him he was simply the best. He could have done without taking on another plastering job, but his wife fancied a new pair of boots and they were hoping to buy an old VW campervan and take it for a spin around Cornwall, so he was racking up as many hours as he could. His mind was pleasantly occupied with thoughts of surfing and shellfish suppers when he spotted something in his peripheral vision.
“Shit!”
He slammed his foot on the brake as a woman stumbled into the road, half-naked and covered with blood. The van skidded to a stop, swerving dangerously to the side but not quick enough to avoid clipping her as she ran blindly towards freedom.
“Oh my God!”
He punched the hazard lights on his van and clambered out, practically falling over in his haste to see if she was alright.
He found her collapsed beneath his headlights, gasping for breath.
“Oh, Jesus. Wait—wait there. Don’t die. Please, don’t die. I’m going to call for help.”
But his hands were shaking so hard he dropped his phone.
There was so much blood.
And—oh, Jesus—parts of her were missing. His treacherous body wanted to retch, to pretend he hadn’t seen this woman who was only half alive, but she was trying to say something. Her mouth was opening and closing but no sound was coming out. Her eyes started to roll back, and he realised there would be no time to wait for an ambulance.
He acted like lightning, bending down to lift her up into his arms.
“Stay with me,” he begged her. “Please, stay with me.”
He was crying now, big, shuddering tears as he felt her slipping away. She was only a stranger, a woman he’d never met, but already he grieved.
He lifted her into the passenger side of the van and strapped her in as best he could, draped his hoodie across her body for warmth, then hurried around to the driver’s side. He willed himself to keep it together for just another few minutes.
“Come on. Come on!”
; His hands were trembling so badly he couldn’t turn the ignition key but, on the third try, the van roared into life. With a final look at the woman slumped against the window beside him, he put the engine into gear and pushed the accelerator to the floor.
CHAPTER 18
Ryan and Phillips were crossing the foyer at Accident and Emergency when they spotted the van’s arrival at breakneck speed. Instinct had them surging forward through the automatic doors as a man in his mid-twenties leapt from the driver’s side and raced around to retrieve his passenger.
“Help! Somebody, help!”
Ryan covered the tarmac in seconds, long legs eating up the ground. When he saw the woman’s face and the wounds on her body, he understood the situation immediately.
Without a word, he helped to lift her from the car and held her close as they hurried back into the foyer, grateful to find Phillips had alerted the team of their new arrival. A group of men and women rushed forward with a gurney, taking her from him with gentle hands and wheeling her towards the resuscitation room. All around them, the waiting room forgot their burns and broken ankles, falling silent as they sensed the fear amongst medics and police alike.
Their faces became a blur as Ryan and Phillips watched their only witness disappear through a set of double doors.
“Adult trauma, call A&E resus department.”
The tannoy sounded above their heads and they saw Sebastien Draycott run across the waiting room to join others from the Major Trauma Unit—nurses, junior doctors and hospital porters bearing blood products—to try to save the woman’s life.
Ryan picked up his heels and ran after Draycott, who turned on him in anger.
“You can’t be in here! Stay back!”
“That woman is a victim of crime. I have every right to be here,” Ryan replied, flashing his warrant card and muscling aside the security guard who tried to stop him entering the resuscitation room. He followed the sound of urgent voices behind a half-veiled screen and waited to one side where he would not be in the way.
Phillips found him there.
“I’m praying for her,” he said, quietly.
Ryan was not a religious man, never had been, but he would have prayed to Old Nick himself if it would help.
“The van driver found her on Claremont Road,” he murmured. “Take down his statement while it’s fresh and send a car down there to preserve any evidence. Tell Faulkner to get down there, too. She can’t have run far by the time she was picked up.”
Phillips was ashamed he hadn’t thought of it himself.
“Aye, I’ll do that now.”
“Frank?” Ryan swallowed back a sudden constriction. “Find out her name. She has a name.”
* * *
A team of medics surrounded Nicola Cassidy, from the most revered specialist to the lowliest of hospital porters. They fought to keep her alive while Ryan stood guard, silently watching their every move. His eyes followed them fitting an oxygen mask over the woman’s face and an IV tube, hooking her up to a monitor so they could check her blood pressure and heart rate. He watched them arrange a sats probe to check the oxygen levels in her bloodstream, and then quickly administer fluids and begin a blood transfusion.
It all looked right.
But the woman was in cardiac arrest, Ryan realised. He heard the loud, ominous alarm sound on the heart monitor and knew they were losing her.
Everything moved in double speed.
He watched them prepare the woman’s body and heard Draycott shout, “CLEAR!”
Her feet shuddered and her body reared up on the gurney in reaction to the defibrillator. She was missing several toes and the soles of her feet were dirty and scuffed from the road.
There was a deafening silence.
“Again!”
They went through the process again and more people arrived, responding to the fast bleep on their pagers. Ryan noted each of their faces and every action they took.
The woman’s body reared up.
“How’s she doing?”
Phillips hurried back and took stock of the situation immediately, falling silent as they waited.
And then, when they thought all hope had gone, the monitor began to beep slowly.
Beep…beep…beep.
Ryan closed his eyes and sent up a prayer of thanks to a God he didn’t believe in.
* * *
When Nicola’s eyes opened, there was a sea of white light.
Heaven.
Shapes began to emerge. The edge of the heart monitor, the line of the curtain, the shape of their heads. Faces came into view, so many faces, some in surgical masks. Doctors, nurses.
The hospital.
She blinked against the light and, suddenly, his face appeared.
She would have known his eyes anywhere.
“Hi-hi…” she gasped, her fingers twitching as she tried to point.
“She’s going!”
Across the room, Ryan and Phillips heard the monitor flatline again as her body collapsed. Ryan ran forward, refusing to believe they’d lost her, only to be held back by Phillips as the medics performed manual CPR on her inert body.
“No, lad! Let them try. They have to try!”
They watched Draycott take charge, rapping out orders. They tried for long, painful minutes to revive her until he told them quietly to stop. One of the doctors was taking a turn to manually pump her chest and they could see the muscles of his arms contract as he continued to work on her, long after she was gone.
“Come on,” he muttered. “Come on!”
“Edwards, it’s too late. We’ve lost her.”
“No, we haven’t!”
“She’s gone, Keir. She’s gone,” one of the older nurses said.
They saw Draycott step forward to pull the other man gently away in a rare show of compassion.
“You did everything you could,” he told him. “Nature has taken its course.”
Ryan and Phillips watched the other doctor stumble back and raise a forearm to wipe the sweat from his brow, looking down at the woman lying on the trolley with intense sadness.
“Whatever people say, you can’t knock the NHS,” Phillips said, with admiration. “They gave it everything they had.”
“True,” Ryan said. “But nature had nothing to do with what happened to that woman.”
Phillips remained silent, watching them go through the motions of recording the time of death for the coroner, removing tubes. There was a moment of quiet in the room while the crowd came to terms with losing her, and one revelled in the thrill of it all.
The brrrriiing of a red telephone interrupted the silence.
A blue-light ambulance was on the way and the cycle needed to begin again. Several members of the crash team peeled away to prepare another resuscitation area for the next person in need, and it seemed Nicola Cassidy was already forgotten.
In the residual quiet, Ryan walked across to her body. He found Draycott standing beside the doctor who had performed CPR, and a nurse.
“I thought we had her,” Draycott said, in the kind of unemotional tone that set Ryan’s teeth on edge. “A pity.”
“You did your best,” one of the nurses murmured to the other doctor. “Nobody could have done more.”
“What happened?” Ryan asked.
They looked up in surprise, seeming to notice him for the first time.
“Who’re you? You shouldn’t be in here,” the nurse began heatedly, seeking out the security guard.
“This is DCI Ryan, from Northumbria CID.” Draycott stopped her with calm authority and removed his glasses to polish them against the edge of his scrubs.
“Major cardiac arrest,” the surgeon said, reaching across to cover her body. “She was resuscitated once but we couldn’t do it again. She was too weak.”
“Wait.”
His hand paused on the blanket at Ryan’s sharp command.
“We need to move her,” he explained gently. “I’m afraid she can’t stay here.”
“I just need a minute,” Ryan said.
The other doctor’s pager beeped, and he gave them an apologetic half-smile before heading to the next emergency. Draycott gave him an absent pat on the shoulder as he left.
In his wake, Ryan stepped closer and forced himself to look down at the woman, at her bruised face and body which bore the evidence of days’ worth of torture. Her skin was so pale it was almost translucent, and he had no way of knowing how many days she had survived without food or water. It was a miracle she’d made it this far and yet, he’d hoped. He’d hoped so very much that she would live.
Ryan fell back on training while his heart quietly shattered.
“You were here when they brought her in,” he said, as the nurse moved around disconnecting tubes. “Can I have your name, please?”
“Me? I’m Joan Stephenson.”
“And who was I just speaking to?” Ryan enquired, glancing over his shoulder in the direction the other doctor had taken.
“That was Doctor Edwards. He’s one of our senior consultants here,” Draycott told him. “You must excuse me, I’m needed elsewhere.”
Ryan gave him a straight look.
“I’d appreciate it if you could make yourself available at the first opportunity. I’ll also need you to set aside time for each of the attending members of staff here today.”
For once, Draycott didn’t argue.
“I’ll see to it.”
After he left, Ryan watched the nurse tuck the dead woman’s hands beneath the blanket and give them a motherly pat.
“I can hardly believe it,” she said. “Nicola was such a lovely girl.”
Ryan gave her a searching look.
“You knew this woman?”
Joan was startled.
“Well, yes. I-I think so. I recognise her from a placement she did in the department last year. She’s a student doctor. I’m sorry, I assumed you knew.”
“Do you know her full name? Anything else about her?”
Joan looked down at the girl’s face and her chest tightened.