“Don’t lie to me. You’ve done enough damage as it is. I have a good mind to turn you in myself and see you rot in prison for the next fifteen or twenty years.”
“Mum, I didn’t do it.”
“DO – NOT – LIE – TO – ME. There’s no doubt. I double checked the results. You’re definitely the father of that child.”
“But there’s a warrant out for Daniel Floyd.”
“They’re incompetent tossers. I just hope they don’t study the baby’s blood samples too carefully.”
“Seriously Mum. If I did it, I don’t remember anything about it.”
Rosalind’s glare pinned him like a butterfly to a board. “How can you not remember raping a girl?”
“Somebody spiked the drink. I woke up on the sofa an hour later. I swear to you, I know nothing about it.”
“If you’re lying to me, I’ll drag you down to the police station myself.”
“Honestly, Mum. You must know I’m not like that.”
“I don’t know a thing about you anymore.” Rosalind finally sat down. “What a bloody mess.”
“So the baby’s been born? Antimone’s dead?”
“Yes.”
“Shit.”
Jason hung his head. Several moments of silence passed while they each considered the implications of what they had learned. “I’ll turn myself in,” he said.
“You’ll do no such thing.”
“But you just said I’m definitely the father.”
“You are, but that doesn’t necessarily mean you’re to blame.”
“I don’t understand.”
“Think about it. That bastard, Daniel Floyd, has been plotting his revenge for years from that prison cell. What better way of discrediting me than by making my son look like a rapist?”
“But I don’t see how he could have done it. How could a stranger wander through a party without anybody noticing him?”
“I don’t know. But he was definitely in the house.”
Jason took a sharp intake of breath. “Unless …” He ran the theory through his head. The more he thought about it, the more plausible it became. “I think I know who might be behind this.”
He explained his suspicions to his mother.
When he had finished, she stared out of the window, deep in her own thoughts. “I suppose it’s possible, but we have to keep this between us until we have proof.”
Rosalind turned back to Jason. “I need you to go downstairs and get some tests done.”
“I don’t understand. What tests?”
“Just do as I say, Jason. Go to the Medical Diagnostics department and wait there. Somebody will come and get you.”
Jason stood up to leave.
Rosalind waited until he had left the room then picked up the phone. She explained what she had learned. “I think he’s telling the truth. He was drugged when it happened. He’s on his way down to Medical Diagnostics. I want full blood, DNA, body scan – in fact, the same as the girl and the child. Maybe there’s something there to explain how she survived, and we need all the facts. He doesn’t know they’re alive, so keep it that way.”
“Oh, one more thing, Nigel. There’s something else I want to talk to you about. Come up to my office once the tests are underway.”
Chapter 27
Thursday 6th January 2033
Nigel Perrin paced in front of the desk. Every few seconds he glanced at his watch. In his hand, he held a ballpoint pen which he clicked in and out several times a second.
Rosalind Baxter stared at the column of figures but found it impossible to concentrate. “For Christ’s sake, Nigel, sit down. And stop that damned clicking. You’re driving me nuts. He’ll be here in a minute.”
Perrin returned the pen to his jacket pocket and lowered himself onto the leather bound chair. He leant forwards and tapped his hands on his knees. Rosalind sighed. The tapping was almost as distracting as the clicking and the pacing.
“Oh, sorry,” he said. Rising to his feet again, he crossed to the window. His eyes roamed the barren flowerbeds, slashes of black against a background of green. He put his face against the glass, straining to get a glimpse of the path leading to the entrance, but the angle was against him.
A knock at the door broke the silence.
“Come,” Rosalind said.
Perrin spun around expectantly but seemed to deflate when Julian Stefano’s bespectacled head appeared in the gap.
“Do you have a moment, Mrs Baxter?” He held up some pieces of paper. “I just need some signatures.”
Rosalind beckoned him in and snatched up a pen. “What are these for?”
“Letters of condolence,” he replied. “The first one’s for the Lessing family.”
Rosalind signed the letter without bothering to read the content.
“This one’s for Nick Jenkins, the guy from the mortuary. He and his wife were killed two days ago when an out of control lorry ran into the back of them. A terrible shame. The letter’s to his parents.”
Rosalind scrawled an illegible mark above her printed name. “Most unfortunate,” she said, without a hint of irony. “Is there another one?”
“Um, no. Were you expecting something else to sign?”
“No, that’s okay, thanks, Julian. Is there anything else?”
“No, Mrs Baxter. Let me know if you need me for anything.”
The slightly built man left the room, closing the door behind him.
“I know you like him, but he gives me the creeps,” Perrin said, turning back from the window.
“I don’t like him,” Rosalind replied, “but he is very efficient. I know what you mean, though.” A thin smile crossed her lips. “He is a bit creepy.”
Perrin returned his attention to the glowering winter sky, lost in his thoughts.
A second knock at the door, this one more tentative.
“Where’s my bloody secretary?” Rosalind muttered. “Come,” she said in a louder voice.
Max Perrin shuffled into the room, his face a mask of trepidation. He seemed shocked to see his father glaring at him from beside the floor to ceiling glass.
“You asked to see me?” Gone was the cocky confidence.
“The Lessing girl,” Rosalind said.
The colour drained from Max’s face.
“You didn’t have anything to do with her getting pregnant, did you?”
The boy glanced towards his father. The older man frowned and provided no offer of support. Max turned back to Rosalind and swallowed hard. “Er …” He remained mute, acutely aware of the two pairs of eyes boring into him.
“For Gods’s sake, it’s a simple question,” Perrin senior yelled, although the boy’s delay was all the answer he needed.
“Um … I …”
“Tell us what happened, Max,” Rosalind said.
“I didn’t mean for her to get pregnant,” he gabbled. “She deliberately tripped me. I was injured for weeks. I was just trying to get even.”
“Go on,” his father said in a menacingly low voice. “What did you do?”
“You’d talked about those drugs that make you, like, do things that other people say. I was in your office, and I saw this sort of little bottle. I looked it up on the Internet and realised it was some of that stuff.”
“I’ve told you before, Nigel, dangerous drugs like those need to be kept locked up,” Rosalind said.
“Go on, Max,” his father said, ignoring the admonition.
“I put it in my pocket and took it home. It was a few days before Jason’s birthday. At the party, I poured it into the fruit punch just before he picked it up. I didn’t expect it to do anything.”
“So what happened?”
“Well, I followed him back to the group of them sitting on the sofa. They all seemed, like, spaced out. I didn’t know whether it was the drug so I told one of the boys to kiss the other, and he just, like, did it, snogged him right on the lips.”
“And …”
“So I told her to follow me to the bedr
oom, the one on the ground floor, and she pushes herself along behind me. I told her to take her top off, and she does it, just like that. Then I said to take everything off, but she couldn’t do it in the wheelchair so I put her on the bed. Next thing I know she’s lying there naked. I took some pictures.”
“Where are they?” Rosalind snapped.
“They’re still on my phone,” Max replied.
“Did you show them to anyone?”
The boy shook his head.
“Nigel, when we finish in here, get Grolby to delete them permanently.” She turned back to Max. “What did you do then?”
“Um …”
“You didn’t …” his father began.
Max lowered his head.
“You raped her?”
He nodded.
“Jesus Christ,” Perrin senior bellowed. “What the hell were you thinking? I raised you better than that.”
“His brain wasn’t doing the thinking,” Rosalind said drily. “Did you wear protection?”
“What do you mean, like a condom? Yeah.”
“So let me guess. After that, you went back to the group and got Jason to have sex with her too?”
“Yes.”
“What did you tell him?”
“I dunno. I think I just told him to shag her, or something like that.”
“What, while you watched?”
“Yes.”
“I don’t fricking believe this,” his father said.
“But he didn’t have a condom?” Rosalind asked.
Max shook his head. “I didn’t think she’d get pregnant, what with her being in a wheelchair and all that.”
“So afterwards, you tell them to get dressed and forget everything that’s happened?”
“Yeah. Jason went back first. It took her a bit longer to put her clothes back on, and then I had to put her back in the wheelchair. I waited until they’d gone then waited a few minutes and followed them back into the room. When they woke up, I pretended that I’d been affected too.”
“Unbelievable,” his father muttered.
“Well, that explains a lot,” Rosalind said.
Several seconds of silence passed.
“So what happens now?” Max asked.
“You go down to Medical Diagnostics and get some tests done while your father and I discuss what to do with you.”
“Medical Diagnostics? I don’t understand.”
“Just do as you’re bloody told,” Perrin senior bellowed.
“Okay, I’m going.”
“We haven’t finished talking about this. Now get the hell out of here.”
“What about my phone? You said about deleting the photos.”
“Give it to me now.”
“It’s biometrically locked, though.”
“We know where to find you if we can’t unlock it.”
After his son had departed, Perrin retrieved his own phone from his shirt pocket. He made a couple of calls then turned back to Rosalind. “I’m really sorry about all this. I had no idea. I remember the vial going missing from my office. I thought Grolby had taken it.”
“Hmm. Your son does seem to have a problem understanding the concept of proportionate response. Well on the bright side, if none of this had happened we would’ve missed this opportunity.”
Perrin removed the pen from his pocket and began clicking the tip in and out again. “So, what do we do now?” he asked.
Chapter 28
Thursday 6th January 2033
Jason emerged from the MRI scanner changing room still trying to come to terms with what he had learned that day. Somehow he had been manipulated into raping Antimone and making her pregnant. Now both mother and child were dead. Maybe Antimone had subconsciously identified him as the rapist, and that’s why she had pushed him away. A heavy dread enveloped him. Even though he knew he was a victim too, a deep sense of guilt pressed down on him. Whether intentional or not, his actions had caused Antimone’s death.
Surely the police would eventually identify him as the child’s father. But why were they still chasing after Daniel Floyd? It didn’t make any sense unless they really were as incompetent as his mother had suggested. There had been one obvious suspect, and they seemed to have latched onto him without considering the alternatives. As far as he could remember, the police had never requested a DNA sample from him. How would he be able to prove his innocence if they ever did test him? Any evidence was long since gone.
If his hunch was correct, all of this stemmed from the incident at the track. He found it hard to believe that Max Perrin would go to such lengths just to get even for what was obviously an accident. The guy was a bully and would have interpreted Antimone’s actions as a direct challenge to his perceived status. But to rape and effectively murder her? Maybe he was wrong after all, and Floyd was somehow behind it.
As Jason passed an open doorway, a flashing red light at floor level caught his attention. He retraced a couple of steps and stared down. A man sat with legs extended, his face and body obscured by the angle of the walls. On the man’s feet was a pair of blue trainers with a familiar illuminated logo. If they were originals they were hugely expensive, and there was only one person he knew who could afford such an item. Jason read the nameplate above the door: ‘Medical Diagnostics – blood tests.’ Less than an hour ago he himself had waited in this same room to have a blood sample taken.
He stuck his head around the door and confirmed the person’s identity. That could mean only one thing. His suspicions had been correct. The likelihood of Max Perrin undergoing the same test on the same day by coincidence was tiny. Jason felt his ears burning, and his breathing quickened. With no thought as to what he was going to do, he strode through the doorway and stood in front of the seated boy.
Max raised his eyes and a flash of fear crossed his face. In that moment, Jason knew with certainty that Max was responsible for administering the drug and everything that followed. He reached forwards and grabbed his surprised classmate by the lapels of his designer jacket. He hauled him to his feet and shoved him backwards.
Max crashed into the wall. The chair he had been sitting on skittered across the floor.
“You bastard,” Jason growled. He shot out his hand and dragged the other boy upright. His fist drove into Max’s stomach. Max doubled over gasping for breath.
Jason seethed with pent-up rage and frustration. “You’re a fricking murderer.”
Another blow slammed into Max’s face. Two more followed in quick succession as Max attempted in vain to fend off his attacker.
Jason was unaware of the shocked expressions of the other patients or the running feet behind him. He launched a vicious kick that connected with Max’s midriff, but before he could strike again, strong arms wrapped around him and hauled him away.
“Call security,” a voice from behind shouted as Jason struggled to free himself.
“Alright, alright, I’m stopping.” Jason allowed his muscles to relax and sensed a corresponding loosening of the grip on his arms. Without hesitation, he once again hurled himself at the other boy. His foot smashed into Max’s nose with a satisfying crunch of cartilage.
This time, the two men who had been caught by surprise wrestled him to the ground. Seconds later they wrenched his arms behind his back and bound them together with a plastic restraint.
A tall man in a brown uniform stood over Jason.
“I’ll take him to the security office. You better sort the other one out.”
Chapter 29
Friday 7th January 2033
Antimone inspected her new surroundings – monotonous white walls, a cream-coloured floor and no pictures or decorations of any kind. The only window in the small room was a small rectangle at the top of the door leading onto the corridor. Another door led into a cramped bathroom containing a toilet, sink, and shower. A white plastic chair with metal legs occupied the shower stall. The facilities were a definite improvement on the emergency ward where she had to be helped with even
the most basic bodily functions.
Earlier that morning, an orderly had turned up with a battered wheelchair and despite her protests, had insisted on pushing her to her new quarters. They had passed along a featureless corridor with sequentially numbered doors, all of them starting with a two. The wheelchair was a clunky, old model, nothing like the lightweight one she had arrived at the hospital in, but at least she had regained her mobility.
They had even returned her ear implants and music player to her. It was the loud song booming in her ears that prevented her from hearing the door open. The first she knew about it was when a nurse entered her field of view carrying a tightly wrapped bundle. Antimone stopped the thrashing beat and focused all her attention on the object in the nurse’s arms.
“Is that …”
“Yes, Antimone, it’s your baby.”
Antimone reached out to accept her son. Clasping him to her chest, she stared down at his tiny face. He stirred slightly, one eyelid opening a fraction then shutting again. He pursed his lips before settling back into an expression of contentment. I never thought I’d meet him. He’s perfect.
She glanced up at the nurse, tears of gratitude in her eyes. “Thank you.”
“I’ll leave him here for a couple of hours. I’ve brought this in case he needs feeding.” The nurse pointed to a pushbutton on the side of a plastic bottle filled with a white liquid. “Press that button there, and when the green light comes on, it’s warm enough. Is there anything else you need?”
“No, I think I’ll be alright.”
“Well if there is anything, just shout or wave your arms. I’ll be keeping an eye on you.” She gestured towards a small black circle in the ceiling, obviously a camera and microphone. “I’ll be back in a second with a cot.”
The woman strode to the door and waved her access card at it. Antimone’s eyes remained focused on her child, but out of the corner of her eye, just before the door closed, she picked up the outline of a uniformed man sitting in a chair in the corridor. Evidently she was still a prisoner.
She studied the baby’s face, the wispy, light brown hair, the button nose and the delicate eyelashes, imprinting the features on her mind. She raised a finger and gently touched an ear. The size of her hand seemed to dwarf the diminutive head. Her fingertips caressed the scalp, marvelling at the warmth and the softness. Strange to think this tiny, defenceless creature would turn into an adult one day. She watched in fascination as the child’s fists clenched and unclenched. A sensation akin to déjà-vu swept over her, a sudden revelation that she was studying an extension of her own body as if she and her son were one entity.
Decimation: The Girl Who Survived Page 12
