Someone To Save you

by Paul Pilkington

  Maybe he was too late.

  The young police officer broke off her conversation as she saw his approach.

  ‘Can I help you?’

  Sam strained to look past the officer towards the door. He couldn’t see if Louisa was in there. ‘Louisa, is she alright? I’m the one who called security; Sam Becker. I’m a close friend.’

  ‘She’s fine,’ she replied, stepping aside. ‘Go on in.’

  Sam nodded, passing through the guards and into the office. Thank God she was okay. Louisa was sat at her desk, talking with a young male officer.

  She looked up and smiled weakly. ‘Sam.’

  Sam had never been so pleased to see her. She looked exhausted – pale and certainly not her usual self, but at least she was safe. ‘Thank God you’re alright.’

  ‘I’ll leave you to it for a moment,’ the officer said, rising to his feet and exiting.

  Sam sat down. ‘Are you okay?’

  Louisa nodded. ‘I am now.’

  ‘Where is he?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ she replied. ‘They think he might still be somewhere in the hospital. He left just before security arrived.’

  ‘It was awful, listening to what was happening on the other end of the phone and not being able to do anything. The things going through my mind; I thought he was going to hurt you.’

  ‘At one point, so did I.’

  ‘And when the phone cut out, I thought something terrible had happened.’

  ‘My battery ran out,’ she admitted. ‘I’m really sorry.’

  ‘Don’t be silly,’ Sam said, reaching out to her. ‘You did well, using the phone like that - very clever. So what happened? Did he force his way in here?’

  Louisa shook her head. ‘He took me by surprise. I had my back to the door, and by the time I realised he was in the room, asking to talk with me. I couldn’t call security, so I thought it was best to just talk to him, try to deal with it the best I could and hope he might just go away. And then I had the idea of calling you.’

  ‘Why did he want to see you?’

  ‘For help, I think. He’s really unstable. I’ve never seen him that bad before.’

  ‘But he didn’t touch you.’

  ‘No,’ she replied. ‘I think he’s more likely to hurt himself. He had a knife.’

  ‘A knife? But he didn’t threaten you with it?’

  ‘No. He was just holding it.’

  ‘And he just left on his own accord?’

  Louisa nodded. ‘He virtually ran out of the door - after he said a lot of quite worrying things.’

  ‘Like what?’

  ‘He started reliving his wife’s death, telling me that he was responsible. It was like he was standing there, watching it happening. He’s been like that before, but never so agitated. He was angry, mostly at himself, but that’s when I started to think I might be in trouble. Then he said something else. It was about Cathy.’

  ‘Cathy? What did he say?’

  ‘He starting talking about her – he knew how she’d died, when she’d died, what she looked like. He was speaking as if he’d known her. And then he was mixing up Cathy with his wife, saying he was responsible for Cathy’s death.’

  Sam shook his head in anger. ‘It was him. He’s been researching Cathy.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘He emailed me, Louisa - sent me a link to a dating site which had a profile of Cathy on.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Did you ask him about the phone calls?’

  ‘I asked but he wouldn’t answer me.’

  ‘They’ve got to find him and put a stop to this.’

  ‘I know. They’ve got all of hospital security out looking for him. People are watching the front entrance with a description. The police are looking too.’

  ‘I just don’t understand why he’s become so obsessed with Cathy.’

  Louisa shrugged. ‘The train crash?’

  ‘The crash?’

  ‘He read about you in the news, found out about the connection between me and you, and then did some looking on the Internet. That’s probably how you’ve become caught up in all this.’

  ‘But why do all this? The phone calls, the threats, the website?’

  ‘Maybe in his head, his wife’s death and Cathy’s are all messed up together now.’

  ‘And he blames me?’

  ‘He blames himself; certainly for Margaret’s death,’ Louisa corrected. ‘Sam, you’ve got to understand that he’s just not rationale anymore. He’s living in another place. It’s hard to empathise. But at the heart of it, he’s grieving, for a loss that he can’t recover from. We can both empathise with that, can’t we?’

  Sam nodded, holding Louisa’s gaze. There were tears in her eyes.

  ‘I still miss her, Sam.’

  Sam looked away and fought his emotions. ‘We all do.’ He turned back to face Louisa. ‘He’s got to stop doing this.’

  Just then the young male officer re-entered the room. ‘You’re Sam Becker?’

  Sam nodded.

  ‘We’ve located Richard Friedman. He’s up on the roof, threatening to jump. But he’s asked to speak with you.’

  Sam followed the uniformed officer to the lift, travelling up to the top floor. From there, they walked along to a metal emergency exit door and climbed a spiral metal staircase, heading for the roof. At the top, it opened out into a small, concrete floored space. Another police officer was waiting there for them.

  ‘Dr. Becker,’ he said, proffering a hand. ‘Sergeant Robert Anderson.’

  Sam shook his hand, glancing towards the door that led out onto the roof of the hospital. This all just seemed unreal. Why did Richard Friedman want to talk to him? Why would this man, who Sam had never properly met, attach so much meaning to the murder of his sister all those years ago?

  ‘He asked to see you,’ the officer continued. ‘Any idea why?’

  ‘Not really,’ Sam replied.

  ‘Well he wants to speak with you. Are you okay to do this?’

  Sam nodded, even though he wasn’t sure at all that this was the right thing to do.

  ‘We don’t want to pressure you. I mean, if you’re not comfortable doing this, then that is absolutely fine. We certainly don’t make a habit of involving civilians in this kind of thing, but he was insistent on talking to you.’

  ‘It’s okay,’ Sam said, swallowing his doubts. ‘I’ll do it, if it could help.’

  ‘Okay, as long as you’re sure. Well, we’ve got one officer out there, speaking with him. That’s Sergeant Will Thomas. There are trained people on the way, but for now, we’re just trying to do our best.’

  ‘Do you really think he might jump?’

  ‘Who knows - but he’s right on the edge of the roof, and he is threatening to do it. We haven’t got any reason to suspect he isn’t serious.’

  ‘Did he say why he wants to speak to me?’

  ‘I’m afraid not.’

  ‘What do you want me to do? Talk him down? I’m not sure I’ll be able to do that.’

  ‘We don’t expect you to talk him down. Just listen to what he has to say. Talk to him. Maybe he’ll then decide to come down. Or maybe we can keep him talking long enough for the trained officers to arrive. Just do your best, but under no circumstances put yourself in any danger. And if it gets too much, then just turn around and come back inside.’

  Sam nodded. Two suicide rescues in one week. He just hoped this one ended better than the first.

  ‘If you’re ready, I’ll open the door and you can walk out. Take things slowly. Will is expecting you, so just follow his instructions.’

  ‘I’m ready.’

  The officer nodded and moved towards the door, pushing it open. Sunlight burst through the growing gap. ‘Good luck.’

  Sam stepped out into the light, feeling heartsick. Surely he wasn’t the person for this. He was a doctor, trained to save people, but not like this.

  The other officer was waiting for him on the other
side, standing a few metres away on the flat roof. About the same distance on was Richard Friedman, looking out over the drop and the city beyond from the top of the boundary wall. He didn’t seem to have noticed Sam’s arrival.

  ‘Sam.’ Another handshake. ‘Sergeant Anderson has briefed you?’

  Sam nodded as the wind swirled and buffeted his body. He glanced off to the right, seeing the London skyline spreading out eastwards. They were high up. No one would survive a fall from here. He felt faint.

  ‘Just take it slowly,’ he advised. ‘I’ll keep a distance. We don’t want to scare him into doing something stupid.’

  ‘And if you want to go back inside, again, just take it slowly, and come back to where I am.’

  ‘Okay,’ Sam said, feeling sicker than ever.

  The office patted him on the back. ‘Whenever you’re ready.’

  Sam moved past the officer, walking at funeral march pace towards Richard Friedman, who still had his back to him. The wind whipped up again as Sam considered his first words. He feared that calling out might precipitate Richard falling over the edge, but he didn’t want to get too close before announcing his presence.

  He stopped a few feet away. Seagulls called out, gliding overhead, looking for their next scavenged meal. Richard still didn’t turn around.

  ‘Hi, Richard.’

  Now he did turn to face him, wobbling on the small wall that acted as a ledge along the edge of the roof. He was every bit the man on the brink. His face resembled that of his self-portrait – pulled in many directions, tortured, afraid. Suddenly Sam forgave him everything – all the phone calls, the taunting over Cathy. None of it mattered anymore.

  ‘You wanted to speak to me.’

  Sam spoke as calmly and softly as he could. The feelings of nausea, his self-doubts had gone, and his professional persona kicked in.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ he said. ‘So very sorry.’

  ‘It’s okay,’ Sam replied.

  Richard shook his head. ‘No, it’s not okay, really, it’s not okay.’

  ‘Everything will be okay.’

  ‘Cathy is dead, and it’s my fault.’ Richard turned to look down at the ground below.

  Sam thought back to what Louisa had said. He was mixing up Cathy with his wife, Margaret. The two had become one in his mind. So he played along. Now wasn’t the time to challenge these delusions, no matter how much it didn’t make sense.

  ‘Don’t blame yourself, Richard. There was nothing you could have done.’

  Richard closed his eyes, unsteady on his feet. For a split second Sam thought about making a move, somehow trying to wrestle him to safety. But it was too risky.

  ‘You don’t understand,’ he said. ‘I did it. I’m the killer.’

  ‘Richard, please, come down and we can talk about this.’

  He shook his head.

  Despite what the police had said Sam knew that this was now his responsibility. The officer might have only been a few metres away, but it might as well have been a mile. It was just him and Richard, locked together in this life-changing moment, with the outcome depending as much on Sam as the man on the ledge threatening to jump.

  He wasn’t going to let it happen. ‘You’ve been through a lot, Richard. You’re still grieving for your wife, but you weren’t to blame for what happened to her.’

  ‘I did it. I’m the killer.’

  ‘Come down, Richard. Talk to me. You said you wanted to talk.’

  ‘I have something,’ he announced. ‘For you, from her.’

  Sam watched as Richard delved into his pocket, again swaying on the edge. He brought out something shiny and with trembling hands threw it underarm towards him.

  Sam caught it, grasping the chain and locket. The shock hit him like a sickening, winding heavyweight blow to the stomach. He shook his head. ‘No.’

  He opened the locket and there was the confirmation.

  A photograph of his parents.

  The locket had been Cathy’s sixteenth birthday present. Sam had been with his mother and father when they had bought it. It hadn’t been seen since her murder. The police surmised that it had either been lost in the struggle, or that the murderer had kept it as a trophy. Sam had prayed that it still lay somewhere on those dunes. He went back dozens of times during those first few years, looking for that all important piece of her, digging through the sand in a vain attempt to recover something of his sister.

  He looked up, in total shock, grasping the necklace. Richard was looking back. ‘How did you get this?’

  ‘I’m so sorry,’ he replied, ‘so, so sorry.’

  And then he pulled out the knife, slicing across his neck in a single sweep. Blood erupted and spewed towards Sam, like a large brush-flick of paint, splattering his clothes and face.

  Before Sam could react, Richard toppled backwards over the edge.

  17

  Sam raced towards the ledge, hearing screams from below. Peering down in horror, the ground seemed to rise up towards him as the true height of the building became apparent. Richard was sprawled out far below on the car park tarmac, surrounded by four uniformed officers, who were standing a few feet away. There was no attempt to touch him.

  They could see it was already too late.

  Gathering crowds watched from a distance behind the police line. A few spotted Sam stood where just a few seconds earlier Richard had ended his life with that stunning revelation. Maybe they thought he was planning to follow him, or even that he had pushed Richard to his death.

  Sam looked again at the necklace in his grasp, catching the sun’s rays. He was still in shock as the police officer reached him. ‘It’s okay, Sam. Come with me.’

  He placed a shepherding arm around Sam’s shoulder and led him across the roof top. At the same time his radio squawked to life.

  ‘Confirmed one fatality; the jumper - no-one else hurt. We’ve got a lot of shocked witnesses down here.’

  The officer pressed on the radio by his lapel. ‘He slashed his throat with the knife. It’s up here on the roof.’

  ‘Okay, got that.’

  ‘It’s okay, Sam, take it slowly.’ They continued across to the door, where they were met by Sergeant Anderson. From there they descended the steps, down the corridor and into a meeting room that had been commandeered for the police operation. There were several serious faced officers in there, watching as the group entered. ‘Just take a seat, Sam.’

  A chair was brought round and he slumped into it, still grasping the necklace tightly. His world was spinning, but not just for the reason that the police assumed. The horrific suicide of Richard Friedman, right in front of his eyes, was overridden by the significance of and feelings generated by what he held in his hand. It felt like he was touching Cathy; that the necklace was actually a part of her. And it had been. She had loved it, and never took it off. But the necklace was more than an emotional link to his little sister – it was a connection to her killer, a clue to what had happened that night.

  Had Richard Friedman really murdered Cathy?

  Sergeant Anderson pulled up a chair opposite. ‘Sam, I’m so sorry it ended like that.’

  ‘He planned to do that all along.’ Sam shook his head with the realisation.

  Sergeant Anderson waited a beat. ‘What did he say to you?’

  ‘That he was sorry.’

  ‘For what?’

  ‘For killing my sister.’

  ‘Killing your sister? I don’t understand.’

  Sam held up the necklace. ‘This is my sister’s necklace. The last time I saw this, was fifteen years ago, the night she was murdered. He had it.’

  ‘What?’

  Just then Louisa walked through the door, led by the female officer. Sam could see that she already knew what had happened. Her face was red and eyes puffy. She saw Sam. ‘Sam.’

  Sam got up and met her tight, all-encompassing embrace.

  ‘I can’t believe he did it,’ she sobbed into his shoulder. ‘I should have known, he was i
n such a state, I should have done more to stop this.’

  ‘You couldn’t have done anything.’ Sam squeezed her harder, looking at Cathy’s necklace as he held it behind her back. He wondered for a second whether now was the right time to tell her, but almost instantly he dismissed the thought. They had always gone through this together. It wasn’t going to change now. ‘He planned this all along,’ he said softly. ‘He wanted to die in front of me.’

  Louisa pulled back, confused.

  ‘I don’t understand.’

  Sam released his grip and brought the necklace up. ‘He gave me this, just before he died.’

  It took a second, but then her eyes widened. She looked at Sam, and then back at the necklace, focussing on the silver locket, cradling it in her hand. ‘It can’t be.’

  Sam nodded slowly. ‘It’s Cathy’s.’

  ‘Here you go.’

  Sam handed Louisa a mug of tea and took the seat opposite. They’d returned to his apartment after questioning by the police, exhausted from a frustrating interview. The police were prepared for discussing the acute incident of Richard’s suicide, but the link to a murder fifteen years earlier threw them. Much of the interview had consisted of a bemused Robert Anderson being filled in on Cathy’s death. ‘Thanks.’

  Sam leant back on the sofa, head turned up towards the ceiling, and closed his eyes. It was hard to stop the random thoughts, to get some kind of handle on the situation. For a few minutes they both sat there in silence, stunned. It had been like that since the revelation on the hospital roof – both seemingly unable to vocalise their feelings.

  ‘What does this mean, Sam?’

  Sam opened his eyes, looking across at Louisa. ‘I really have no idea.’

  ‘This is just so crazy. Absolutely crazy.’

  ‘I know,’ Sam agreed. ‘It feels so unreal.’

  ‘Totally.’ A pause. ‘Do you think he really did murder Cathy?’

  ‘I don’t know, I really don’t.’

  ‘He had the necklace.’

  Sam thought on that. ‘I know.’

  Louisa took a sip from her drink. ‘If he did it, then Marcus must be innocent.’