The Police Doctor’s Secret

by Marion Lennox

  She’d hardly been able to see them. She’d kept back-Amal hadn’t known that she’d followed, but she’d been so fearful. So fearful.

  We’re doctors. We’re trying to help you.

  Could she believe it?

  No. She could believe no one. Trust no one. Not any more.

  And Amal was no longer capable of helping. There was only Noa between her son and death. Amal had done what he must and now it was her turn.

  She ran her fingers through her little son’s soft curls, and with her other hand she cradled her last hope.

  The cold, grim comfort of a small and ugly pistol.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  SHE might be feeling useless and exhausted, but Sarah had no wish to go home. After staring at Mariette’s washing, acting on impulse, Sarah called into Max’s store.

  She found him distraught. ‘If he needed the stuff so badly I would have given it to him,’ he told her, and she believed him.

  And here at least she could be useful. In Sarah Max found someone he could use to debrief. She spent almost an hour with him, and by the end of it, as well as carrying home an armload of ingredients for a decent dinner, she also carried away information about Howard’s shopping habits. What he’d told her cemented her impressions. Howard was in this up to his neck.

  Howard might well know who these people were. He had their passports prepared and waiting. Maybe he knew their backgrounds.

  Back at the hospital, she went to search for Larry. The team were starting out at dawn to begin their sweeping search of the area, and they’d taken over the pub as accommodation, but they were using the hospital meeting room as a base.

  She found Larry with Alistair. She walked in and one glance told her that Alistair was feeling as uncomfortable as she was. The atmosphere between them was dreadful-what he’d said was rolling over and over in her mind, making her sick at heart. Comparing her to Barry…

  ‘I’m sorry. Am…am I interrupting?’

  ‘No.’ They’d been sitting at the big meeting room table, used for an assortment of community health meetings, but as soon as he saw her Alistair was on his feet. ‘I was just going.’

  ‘There’s no need.’

  ‘I have work to do.’

  Right. Of course. His leaving should make her feel better.

  It didn’t.

  Somehow, with him gone, she gave a stiff, faltering account of what she’d learned, and if Larry, who had worked with her often before, found her demeanour strange he obviously put it down to the events of the afternoon. They’d been enough to shake anyone. Sarah’s work was usually in the aftermath of crime. Not in the forefront.

  ‘You think this is part of some systematic scheme?’ Larry demanded, and Sarah nodded.

  ‘The place is set up out there to receive people, and it looks like it’s been done professionally. There was equipment for taking passport photographs. There were clothes. There were blank passport books.’

  ‘It makes more and more sense,’ Larry said grimly. ‘We’ve been looking at people-smuggling for a while. We’ve come across a few people who’ve used black market means to get here. They’ve all paid an absolute fortune to get here and then been dumped in the cities with nothing. All of them say they were brought initially to some remote farm that none could describe. And the worst thing is that nearly all of them are genuine refugees. They’ve taken the black market option because of panic. They had reason to panic, but if they’d been pointed to the correct authorities they would have been helped without payment. Someone’s making a fortune out of their desperation.’

  He rose, purpose in his face. Sarah knew this man well. Larry was a big man, with a ruthless exterior, but inside he was as soft as putty. Sarah had seen him deal with the worst type of criminals and she knew he didn’t hold back. But when he needed to be gentle…there was a core of humanity in the man that made his pursuit of the criminal element take on a dimension not often seen in a man in such a position.

  ‘I need to talk to your Howard,’ he told her, and Sarah nodded.

  ‘Do you want me to come with you?’

  ‘I’ll ask Alistair. He’s the charge doctor. It’d look better on the reports.’

  She nodded.

  ‘Are you getting on okay with Dr Benn?’ Larry asked-almost casually. But Sarah wasn’t fooled. Larry asked nothing casually.

  ‘We go back a bit,’ she told him. ‘There was a relationship.’

  ‘Right.’ Larry’s expression cleared. He’d noticed and he’d needed an explanation. He had one now that satisfied him and he’d take it no further.

  ‘Can you work with the man?’

  ‘I already have. It’s fine. Just don’t expect us to like each other.’

  ‘I won’t do that.’ Larry’s eyebrows rose. Well, well, his expression said. Dr Rose with a love-life?

  Yeah, fat chance, Sarah thought grimly as he disappeared in search of Alistair. Dr Rose with a love-life?

  Dr Rose with nothing.

  Feeling closer than ever to breaking point, she made her way back to the doctor’s quarters and spent an hour making a casserole from Max’s offerings. It didn’t help her aching heart, but at least… Well, cooking was comfort. Cooking was something she turned to in moments of absolute bleakness.

  Like now.

  Alistair walked in as she was spooning the casserole onto a plate. Not that she felt like eating. It was the cooking that was important.

  ‘Help yourself,’ she told him, and sat and started to eat. Or sat and started to toy with the idea of eating.

  He cast her an oddly questioning look, but she wasn’t giving any answers. Finally, without comment, he helped himself to a plateful of casserole and sat down with her. He took a forkful and paused.

  ‘Mrs Granson didn’t make this.’

  ‘You’d make a fine detective.’

  ‘You made it?’

  ‘Well done. Great deduction.’ She wasn’t looking at him. She was concentrating fiercely on her food. ‘Did Howard give any information?’

  He sighed. And moved on. It was the only thing to do. ‘No.’ He shook his head. ‘Larry’s pretty sure he knows little himself. Larry showed him the three passports and he said he hadn’t a clue how they got there. He’s still in a fair amount of pain, and he retreated into feigned sleep, but he said enough for us to realise he’s no brain. He’ll have been used. He provides a base, and food for people as they come through, but he asks no questions and is told little.’

  ‘You don’t think he knows their nationality?’

  ‘I suspect he hasn’t even heard of any countries smaller than the United States. He’s a serious no-brainer.’

  She winced. Another avenue blocked.

  More pain, she thought. Her feeling of helplessness was intensifying by the minute-and this man’s presence on the other side of the table didn’t help at all.

  There was a deathly silence, broken only by the sound of Flotsam scratching a flea under the table. It was almost unbearable, Sarah thought. Unbearable…

  ‘Sarah?’

  ‘What?’

  ‘What I said to you in Theatre,’ he said at last. ‘Putting your actions in the same context as what Barry did to Amal. It was unforgivable.’

  More silence. Flotsam’s leg thumped the floor in a steady rhythm. He was really enjoying his scratch. Sarah stirred her casserole a bit. It was chicken in an orange sauce with Asian vegetables. Max had done her proud, delving into the depths of his cold store for things he kept for his favourite customers and insisting she take them all. But she couldn’t face it. She might just as well be sitting before one of Mrs Granson’s offerings.

  What was she supposed to say to this man? she wondered. What? There was nothing.

  It seemed he knew he had to speak again.

  ‘I was appalled,’ he said at last. ‘Shocked. Sick at heart. I wanted to lash out and you were there.’

  ‘So you lashed out at me?’

  ‘Yes. Unforgivably. I’m sorry.’

>   ‘But you’ve wanted to lash out at me for six years.’

  There was a further silence. It was becoming a habit. Some more casserole stirring. Finally Alistair put down his fork and sighed. He looked up and met her gaze straight on, unflinching.

  ‘That’s right,’ he told her. ‘I have. Of course I have. And you’re right in that my anger with you is behind a lot of my tension now. Grant was my twin. I don’t know whether you can understand it, but twinship…it’s as if you’re half of a whole-and when it’s ripped away…’

  She swallowed and stared at her plate. Half of a whole? Was that how Grant had seen his own twinship? She didn’t think so.

  ‘You didn’t get on,’ she said bleakly.

  ‘No,’ he admitted. ‘We didn’t. We were different people. But that didn’t stop me being Grant’s twin brother. I’m sure he felt the same. We had our differences, but we would have defended each other to the death.’

  Would they? Sarah stared across the table at Alistair and thought, Yes, she could see that in this man. But in his twin?

  As he said, they were very different people.

  ‘I had no right to throw it at you this afternoon,’ he said heavily. ‘Sarah, you’ve changed. I know you have. I can’t get past my anger at Grant’s death-I never will-but it did happen six years ago, and I’m starting to realise that you’ve paid a price, too. You’re a different person to the one you were then.’

  ‘Gee, thanks.’ She’d been listening with a certain amount of sympathy, but at this her anger surged again. She’d changed, had she? Learned remorse? Learned not to be such a bad little girl that she’d drive a car when she was drugged? That was so good of him. To concede that…

  ‘Hear me out.’ He was watching her. It was obvious that he saw her anger, but she could see that he didn’t understand. ‘All I wanted to say was that whatever’s changed in you, Sarah, keep it. With Amal this afternoon you were a caring and compassionate human being-’

  ‘As opposed to what?’ she said dangerously. ‘As opposed to the drug addict of six years ago?’

  His face shuttered and she could see him recoil. ‘I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have brought it up.’

  ‘You did bring it up,’ she managed. ‘And how do you think it makes me feel? To be put in the same category as Barry?’

  ‘I didn’t mean-’

  ‘You did mean.’ She ate a few mouthfuls of her casserole, heaven knew how. The lovely food was threatening to choke her. Finally she pushed her plate back and rose.

  ‘Grant had been drinking,’ she said conversationally, and Alistair met her gaze head-on.

  ‘I know,’ he conceded. ‘Of course I know. So he holds a share of responsibility. Grant got into the car with you when you were on drugs. You don’t think I blame him at all? Of course I do. He was stupid and reckless, and I’m not so blinded by loving my twin that I can’t accept his stupidity. But you were behind the wheel.’

  She could break this now, she thought. She could smash his memories of his beloved brother.

  But were those memories all she’d thought they were? What had he said? That Grant had been stupid and reckless. Yes. Yes, he had. And more.

  But Alistair still loved him. Could she destroy that? She’d come so far down this road. How could she back out now?

  She couldn’t. She found now that she didn’t even want to. She’d carried this with her for so long that to destroy it… She glanced across at the photograph on the sideboard-Grant laughing and Alistair smiling down at him.

  No. She couldn’t, and she didn’t wish to. Not now. Never.

  ‘I’m going for a walk,’ she told him. ‘I’ve eaten enough. I’ve listened to enough.’

  ‘I’ve apologised.’

  ‘Yes, and I’m very glad you did. It was incredibly noble.’

  ‘You lost your fiancé, too,’ he said, looking up at her with eyes that were intent and searching. ‘You loved Grant, too.’

  Had she?

  ‘Yeah.’

  ‘Sarah…’

  ‘Leave it.’ She bit her lip and carried her plate to the sink. ‘Leave the dishes. I’ll do them when I come back. I need to go.’

  Flotsam came with her. The little dog had decided Sarah was a fun person to be with. He attached himself to her heels and was the only comfort available to her.

  The night was still and warm. Sarah walked slowly down the track from the hospital leading to the beach behind.

  The tide was out. Miles out. She could barely see the glimmer of surf in the distance. The beach was a vast expanse of wet sand, shimmering golden in the moonlight. Waders-herons, cranes, sandpipers-were paddling in the wet sand, searching for food.

  Flotsam made a half-hearted attempt to chase, but she clicked him back to her side. He came obediently and sat beside her as she hugged her knees and looked out into the lonely distance.

  ‘I should never have started this,’ she whispered, and Flotsam gave an anxious wuffle and huddled close.

  Maybe I should get myself a dog. That was a good thought. It brought a faint smile to her face. She could do it. She could move from her hospital apartment into a bigger place, get herself a yard…

  I’m away for most of the day. What sort of life is that for a dog?

  No life at all. Her glimmer of pleasure faded.

  What am I thinking about? She gave herself a mental swipe-or tried to give herself a mental swipe. She didn’t really need it, she decided. She felt pretty battered already.

  But it’s nothing to what’s happening here, she told herself, and she turned so she was looking out at the crags and cliffs along the coastline.

  Somewhere out there was a woman and a child, hiding in terror. They’d be waiting desperately for Amal to come back to them, and Amal was fighting for his life in a Cairns hospital. He was probably being operated on right now.

  ‘What can I do to help?’ she asked Flotsam, but there was no answer. She felt so…futile. There was nothing. She couldn’t search at night-no one could. Tomorrow there’d be a squad of highly trained professionals trawling the hills. Maybe if Amal pulled through they could at least find out his nationality. Then maybe they could pull in translators-people who could call out in the woman’s own language. Reassure her…

  Oh, sure. As if she’d accept reassurance from the people who shot her husband.

  ‘Can I join you?’

  She jumped a foot. Flotsam gave a yelp of excitement and whirled to face his master. Alistair was six feet away.

  ‘Stupid dog,’ Sarah managed, thoroughly flustered. ‘Great watch dog you’d make. You’re supposed to bark.’

  ‘He’s barking.’

  ‘When my attacker is right on me.’

  ‘Um…your attacker is the dog’s owner,’ Alistair said mildly. ‘Plus, I’m not exactly intent on rape or pillage.’

  ‘Yeah, but you might have been.’

  ‘You can be very sure I’m not.’

  She hugged her knees even harder. Of course. Rape? She had to be kidding? He wouldn’t touch her. She was Grant’s fiancé.

  And why would she even want him to? He’d kissed her once, out of anger and frustration, and there was no way in the wild world she wanted him to do it again.

  Was there?

  Where were her thoughts going? All over the place. She felt as if she was splintering, disintegrating into sharp shards that hurt.

  ‘I came down here for some peace,’ she told him, and he nodded and sat down on the sand beside her. Obviously her definition of peace wasn’t his.

  ‘You’re worried about these people?’

  ‘Of course I’m worried about these people.’ She flashed him a glance that was pure fury. He still thought of her as a careless, stupid…criminal.

  The knowledge cut like a knife.

  ‘There’s nothing we can do,’ he said heavily, and she nodded, forcing herself to think about problems that weren’t hers.

  ‘I can’t think of a thing,’ she managed. ‘They must be securely hidden by now. A
nd if she’s terrified when Amal doesn’t return…’

  ‘She’ll have to come out.’

  ‘There’s a gun,’ she said inconsequentially, and he stared.

  ‘A gun?’

  ‘The pilot was wearing a holster,’ she told him. ‘It was empty. In my experience when people wear holsters there’s usually a gun in the vicinity. We all know that. That’s why Barry searched. But there’s more than that. The smear of blood on the seat beside the pilot doesn’t belong to him. It’s AB. The pilot is O. So someone-a bleeding someone-checked the pilot before we reached the plane. Discovered he was dead. I’m deducing that whoever it was removed the gun.’

  Alistair stared. ‘You didn’t tell me that.’

  ‘I told Larry.’

  ‘Does Barry know?’

  ‘I’d have been a fool to tell Barry,’ she said wearily. ‘At least this way he yelled three times before he shot. If he’d known for sure that he had a gun, rather than just suspected it, he might not have given him even that courtesy.’

  Alistair sat and thought about it. The silence between them had changed. There was still the tension of anger, but overriding it was the thought of the unknown. A terrified, hurt group of people huddling somewhere in the hills. With a dreadfully wounded child.

  ‘What would you do?’ Sarah asked, almost conversationally. ‘Let’s assume your child is desperately ill. Mortally ill. Your husband goes for help and leaves you hidden. He doesn’t return. Two days. Three days. Maybe the child dies. You’re bereft in a strange country. Everything you have is gone. And you have a gun.’

  ‘You’re imagining things,’ Alistair said strongly. He knew where she was headed and the thought was dreadful. ‘Anyway…’ He hesitated. ‘The badly wounded one might be the mother.’

  ‘Would that make it better?’

  ‘No, but…’

  ‘It’s not, though,’ she told him. ‘The father’s blood group is O. Most of the blood in the back of the plane is A. There’s also a smaller amount of AB, and there’s also the blood in the cockpit. An O father and an AB mother can have an A child. An O father and an A mother can’t have an AB child.’