Someone To Save you

by Paul Pilkington

  Sam knew he was right, but he hadn’t gone looking for her. ‘She came to see me.’

  ‘Then you should have refused to talk to her,’ he responded. ‘Shirley Ainsley is a very upset and confused lady. She’s grieving and looking for answers. Surely you can empathise with that.’

  Sam nodded. Maybe he should have done that, but it would have been difficult and cruel under the circumstances to just have shown her the door, not to mention fuelling Shirley’s suspicions about him.

  ‘Shirley Ainsley was adamant until a few days ago that you were somehow responsible for her daughter’s death.’

  ‘I know,’ Sam said, ‘but she doesn’t think so now.’

  ‘Not at the moment,’ Cullen corrected, pressing home his point. ‘But things can change Sam, and you don’t want to put yourself in a vulnerable and dangerous situation. If she contacts you again, call me.’

  Sam conceded with another nod.

  Cullen seemed satisfied with that gesture. He turned his attention back to the screen. ‘Sam, I’m not convinced by this.’

  Sam wanted to protest loudly, maybe replaying the recording again and again until he was convinced. But it wouldn’t be wise. Cullen would make up his mind in his own time. ‘Why not?’

  ‘Because I’m still not sure what I’m listening to here. I know you say you’re certain, but I’m not. Not enough to be sure anyway. And the idea that all this was set up for you, just seems so far-fetched.’

  Sam tried one last time. ‘But what about the girl who pretended to be Alison Ainsley? Surely that indicates that something isn’t right about what happened?’

  Cullen was impassive. ‘Sam, we still only have your word that the girl at the scene wasn’t Alison Ainsley.’

  ‘But she wasn’t.’

  ‘So you say. And I’ve got no reason to disbelieve you. But still, it’s just your word.’

  Frustration was now getting the better of him. ‘So you think I might be lying?’

  Cullen held up his hands. ‘Or remembering incorrectly. After all, you went through an extremely traumatic event. The mind can play tricks after something like that.’

  Sam checked himself. ‘But the girl in the river, it was the same girl.’

  ‘And we’re still trying to identify that young lady. Tell me Sam, do you think that this has something to do with the murder of your sister?’

  Sam was thrown by this unexpected line of questioning. ‘I, I don’t know.’

  ‘I read about what happened,’ he revealed. ‘It must have taken a lot of getting over.’

  ‘I’ve never got over it,’ Sam admitted, meeting Cullen’s gaze.

  Cullen nodded. ‘I also know about what happened during this past week – I know about Richard Friedman, what he said and did.’

  Sam felt on the defensive. ‘What’s that got to do with the train crash?’

  ‘I don’t think it’s got anything to do with it. But do you?’

  Sam considered his answer. ‘I don’t know.’

  Cullen nodded to himself, as if his suspicions had been confirmed.

  ‘Sam, thanks for drawing my attention to the recording. And I assure you, we will take this seriously. But please, for your own sake, your own sanity, stay out of this investigation and let me do my job.’

  Carla Conway looked over at the stack of papers piled high in her in-tray and blew out her cheeks. It was late, too late, and her husband was once again manning the fort, ensuring that the children had been fed and put to bed with a story. Alice in Wonderland was their current favourite. This wasn’t the way she ever wanted it to be, and she had sworn to herself upon taking up the job that her family would no longer come second-best. Of course, the job had always demanded long hours, and she knew that from the outset, but in the past few weeks things had become intolerable. She picked up the next bundle of papers and slid it across the desk. Skimming through the paperwork, she signed where needed, and moved on to the next item.

  Then the phone rang.

  Her first reaction was to let it ring and cut onto divert. But Chrissie, her PA, was long gone by now, some five hours ago in fact. She grabbed for the phone, wondering who was calling at this late hour. Possibly it was security. Sometimes they called just to check everything was okay. After all, she was the only person left up here on the top floor. Everyone else had more sense and less responsibility.

  ‘Hello, Carla Conway speaking.’

  Less than a minute later she put the phone down, shocked by what she had just been told and hoping to God that it wasn’t true. She called through to the security room and requested that a senior member of the team be sent up to her immediately. Then she dialled Adil Khan’s number.

  ‘Adil. It’s Carla. Sorry to disturb you so late, but we’ve got a potentially extremely serious situation here. It’s regarding Sam Becker.’

  30

  Sam strode into the cardiac centre and immediately longed to be back at work. He missed it all so much. This was where he belonged – the general bustle of the team as they moved purposefully between stations, the adrenaline as the operation approached, the camaraderie of a team that was really making a difference. He nodded hellos to a couple of the nursing staff, who looked pleasantly surprised to see him, as he made his way past the nursing desk and down the corridor towards Professor Khan’s office. The Professor had called him first thing, requesting that he come in as soon as he could. He hadn’t expanded on why, but that was Adil Khan’s way – if he had something to say he would do it face to face, not over the telephone and certainly not by email.

  The door was closed so he knocked and waited.

  ‘Sam,’ Professor Khan said, too solemnly for Sam’s liking, as the two men locked eyes.

  His face matched his tone. Whatever this was about, it didn’t look good. He followed him inside, Professor Khan shutting the door gently and gesturing for him to take a seat. For a few seconds they both eyed each other across the ornate desk. With anyone else, Sam would have already asked what the matter was, but not with this man.

  There was something in his dark brown eyes, in his expression, that Sam had never seen before.

  Disappointment. Pity, maybe. It made his stomach lurch.

  Professor Khan clasped his hands together and cleared his throat. ‘Sam, I’m not sure how to approach this.’

  Sam waited, dreading what was about to be said. Maybe they’d decided to withdraw the new consultant post – after all, these were tough economic times and the hospital may have decided to make do with what they already had. If that was true, then he would handle it. But maybe it was much worse than that. It could be what all doctors feared, a serious complaint from a member of the public, or a clinical error from an unsuccessful operation that had been picked up on post mortem.

  Professor Khan exhaled. ‘When we last met, I asked how you were dealing with everything that has happened to you recently. You said you were okay.’

  ‘I am,’ Sam replied. ‘It’s difficult, but I’m dealing with it.’

  ‘Dealing with it,’ Professor Khan repeated slowly, as if processing something of great significance.

  ‘The time off has helped,’ Sam added. ‘You were right. I feel I’ll be better prepared for the interview.’

  Professor Khan pinched the bridge of his nose, lost in thought. Sam wasn’t convinced that he’d really heard his response. ‘Sam, is there anything you would like to tell me?’

  ‘Tell you?’

  He faced Sam with those searching brown eyes. ‘Yes. Anything you would like to tell me?’

  ‘I don’t understand.’

  ‘Stress can lead us to desperate actions, Sam. I’ve seen it happen before, to strong people who have buckled under intense strain.’

  Desperate actions? Now this did sound serious. ‘What is it you think I might have done?’

  He shook his head. ‘I shouldn’t be doing this, Sam, I really shouldn’t, but I wanted to tell you first, give you chance to say something to me, explain things, before the boar
d meets. It might help.’

  The drip-feed approach was killing him, and the Professor must have known it. ‘Tell me what? What’s happening with the board?’

  ‘If I said that they have found some items in your possession, in your locker, would you now be ready to talk to me?’

  This was so crazy. Items in his locker? Someone had been searching his personal possessions? ‘What items?’

  Professor Khan went to speak, then checked himself. ‘Sam, have you ever used controlled drugs to, help you, help you through difficult times?’

  The question, no matter how delicately it was asked, still came like a shock to the system. ‘No,’ Sam said, struggling to believe this conversation was really happening, ‘of course not, I’ve never taken drugs, never. Is that what they’ve found? Drugs in my locker?’

  ‘I’m sorry, Sam, I can’t say any more than that.’

  He needed to know more. ‘What drugs were they?’

  ‘I can’t say any more than that,’ he repeated.

  Sam’s mind worked quickly through the possible explanations for this. There was only one. But who would have done such a thing? ‘Whatever they are, they’re not mine,’ Sam said. ‘Someone must have put them there. Someone must have set me up.’

  Professor Khan put up a finger. ‘Do not name names,’ he warned. ‘Not here, or now.’

  ‘I wouldn’t,’ Sam said, struggling to hold back his emotions. His whole professional life was on the line. This could end everything. ‘But if drugs have been found in my locker, then someone has put them there. I swear it’s got nothing to do with me.’

  Adil Khan remained silent, just watching Sam, scrutinising him.

  Sam took the opportunity to continue his defence. ‘I would never do anything to jeopardise my career; I love this job too much. You believe that, don’t you?’

  ‘It doesn’t really matter what I believe,’ he said.

  ‘It matters to me.’

  He considered the question. ‘I had to ask you, Sam, given the uncomfortable reality of the circumstances with which we find ourselves. But now I have heard what you have to say you have my full support. I trust my team, and I especially trust you. I know you wouldn’t let me down.’

  Sam felt a genuine rush of gratitude. If the Professor, his own mentor, doubted him, then there would surely have been no hope. ‘Thank you. It means a lot to me.’

  Professor Khan’s expression remained solemn.

  Sam knew there was more. ‘What happens next?’

  ‘The board have called a meeting,’ he replied. ‘It takes place this afternoon. They are planning to tell you this morning. You are expected to attend.’

  ‘What time?’

  ‘Three o’clock.’

  Sam bit his lip. He wouldn’t be able to pick Anna up from the airport. He would have to make alternative arrangements. ‘Will you be there?’

  ‘I will,’ he replied. ‘And I will support you. But I do not have control here. Some influence, that’s all, but I know my limitations.’ He spread his hands. ‘In the theatre Sam, I am all powerful, but up there, in the board room, things are very different.’

  Sam needed all the allies he could get. And he knew how well respected the Professor was among the hospital’s hierarchy. ‘I’d still really value your support.’

  Khan nodded. ‘Use these precious few hours to think extremely carefully, Sam. The implications of what you say will be great. For you, and for others who work here.’

  ‘Did the drugs come from hospital supplies?’ Sam asked, guessing what Professor Khan was alluding to. If they were, then it meant he had been set up by a colleague. Only they would have access to the secure drugs cabinets located on each ward.

  He remaining poker faced. ‘I can say no more, Sam. Just use these hours wisely.’

  Sam retreated to his office, trying to both come to terms with what was happening and also consider who might be responsible. As far as he knew, there was only one colleague who disliked him, and that was Miles Henderson. But to plant drugs and destroy his career? Would he really be capable of that? And for what – so he could get the consultant post? There were other jobs, in other hospitals. It seemed too much. But if not Miles, then who else? Desperate to talk this through with Louisa he journeyed down to her office, but she was in clinic.

  Sam got the call just twenty minutes later. It was from Carla Conway herself. She requested that he attend an emergency meeting of the hospital board at three o’clock, but didn’t offer an explanation of its purpose. Instead she informed him that one of the hospital trust solicitors was waiting to speak with him. Sam didn’t reveal what he knew – Professor Khan had put his own job on the line by telling him the details, and he wasn’t going to betray that act of bravery. So, he acted suitably confused, and promised to wait in his office until the solicitor arrived.

  Five minutes after the phone call there was a knock on his door.

  ‘Come in.’

  The solicitor, a man in his mid to late thirties with trendy messy hair, entered and smiled tightly. Sam had seen the guy before; he’d been involved in supporting and vindicating a senior nurse who had been accused – wrongly – of verbally abusing a patient. Word had it that this guy was good, and on the side of staff.

  The solicitor proffered a hand, while cradling a file against his chest. ‘Ed Stansfield,’ he said. Sam stood up and the two men shook hands. ‘Sam Becker. Take a seat.’

  ‘So, what’s this all about?’ Sam began, aware that he wasn’t supposed to know any details.

  Ed Stansfield opened up the file he had been carrying and cleared his throat. ‘I’ll get straight to the point. Last night, the hospital commenced a search of staff lockers, and they found a quantity of tablets from the hospital stock, in your locker.’

  He searched Sam for a reaction. When he got nothing, he continued, glancing down at the file. ‘The tablets were Alprazolam, a controlled-drug, used for the treatment of...’

  ‘Anxiety and insomnia,’ Sam finished.

  ‘Yes,’ he said, ‘of course, you’ll know all this…’

  They were strong stuff. And yes, one of the drugs of choice for doctors who, unable to cope, seek a lifeline in a desperate attempt to save their career. Professor Khan’s earlier line of questioning made total sense. ‘How much was there?’

  ‘Half a box – thirty tablets,’ he replied.

  Although it wasn’t a large amount, no more than a few days’ supply, it was still enough to raise serious questions, especially given their source. ‘And they definitely came from the hospital?’

  ‘Definitely,’ he replied. ‘The stock number matches those in the hospital pharmacy.’

  ‘They’re not mine,’ Sam said. ‘Someone must have put them there.’

  Ed Stansfield blinked a few times, never taking his eyes off Sam. ‘You’re claiming that someone has set you up?’

  ‘Yes,’ Sam replied, facing him down. ‘Why did the hospital start searching people’s lockers?’

  ‘They received a call tipping them off.’

  This was all now so transparent. ‘From who?’

  ‘The caller didn’t give their name.’

  ‘Was it a man or woman?’

  ‘A man.’

  ‘And did the caller specifically mention my name?’

  ‘Yes,’ he replied. ‘The person named you.’

  Sam shook his head, consumed by confusion and anger. This person aimed to ruin him, and they might succeed yet. ‘Then someone has definitely set me up. Someone’s trying to wreck my career.’

  Ed Stansfield let that claim sink in. ‘Have you got enemies, Sam? Someone who would go to these lengths? Someone who works at this hospital, maybe?’

  Sam again thought of Miles. ‘There’s only one person I don’t get along with, but I’m sure he wouldn’t do this.’

  ‘Don’t rule out anything, Sam. If what you say is true, then you have to consider everybody. Think the unthinkable. Who is it?’

  Sam put a hand to his head,
wondering whether to say the name. He felt terrible making the accusation. ‘Miles Henderson. He’s a surgeon too, a colleague. We’re going for the same job next week. We don’t get on.’

  ‘But you said you don’t think he would have done this?’

  ‘No, I don’t think he would,’ Sam replied. ‘I don’t think he’d go to such lengths, I really don’t.’

  ‘Then if not him, who?’

  Sam closed his eyes. Maybe there was someone else - someone who would certainly do something like this, although how Sam didn’t know they would have got access to the drugs. ‘Did you hear about the rail crash last week which I was involved in?’

  He nodded. ‘I saw it on the news.’

  ‘The whole thing was a set up. They made it look like a suicide, but it wasn’t. They wanted to get at me.’ No matter how many times Sam said this, to himself or others, it didn’t sound any less crazy.

  Ed Stansfield remained silent as Sam explained the video of the train crash, and the mystery of the girl who had led him to the scene.

  ‘So you think this person might have also set you up with this?’ His voice was neutral, with no clue as to whether he took this idea seriously.

  Sam shrugged. ‘Maybe. I don’t know what to think. But I can’t rule it out.’

  ‘But they would need to have access to the pharmacy stock of controlled drugs.’

  ‘I know.’

  ‘Or they would need to know someone who does have access.’

  Sam had already thought of that. ‘Maybe.’

  Now he did look interested. ‘And what do the police say about all this? About the train crash being a set up?’

  ‘They’re not convinced,’ Sam said.

  Ed Stansfield drummed his fingers on the desk, looking off into mid-air for inspiration. ‘Sorry,’ he said, realising what he was doing. ‘Old habit.’ He pulled at his lip. ‘We’ve got to play this very carefully,’ he said. ‘I want you to defend yourself in there – hold your ground and don’t let the board bully you into saying something you might regret. But I don’t think at this stage it would be at all helpful to tell them what you’ve just told me. Don’t talk about the rail crash, or this person who you think might be responsible. Keep to the bare facts – the drugs aren’t yours, and you don’t know how they got into your locker.’