by Tom Wood
‘Any talent at all is still a gift to treasure,’ she told her student.
He nodded.
‘Tell me about the pieces you love,’ she asked him.
He spoke of Beethoven and Chopin, Tallis and Wagner. His knowledge was vast and intricate. He surprised her with his ability to dissect the merits of the most obscure nineteenth-century tune and how modern composers had both improved upon and devolved from the teachings of those who came before them. He could have talked for hours, had she not interrupted.
‘I think I know the problem,’ she told him. ‘You can tell me the virtues of every great composer, of every piece of music; you can deconstruct anything I put before you and I would agree with everything you told me. But that’s not what I asked for. I said tell me about the music you love. I wanted to know what moves you, what makes your soul soar. You can’t do that, can you? I now know what is holding you back. There is no passion in your playing. You can’t tell me what pieces you love because there are none. There is no love inside of you.’
It had been a foolish thing to say, so silly in retrospect, given his character, and she wished she had not had that second tongue-loosening daiquiri because she never saw him again.
EIGHT
Lionel wheeled Raven out of the room and along the corridor, nice and slow. It was almost relaxing. She leaned to one side so she could glance back. Officers Heno and Willitz stood watching her go. She couldn’t help but give them a little wave. Juvenile, perhaps, but satisfying nonetheless. Her heart was hammering and she felt slightly dizzy from the stress of it all, so it was nice to get some release.
The nurse eased the chair to a stop outside an elevator and hit the down button. A light came on and glowed. She heard the whirr of machinery. It was faint. Lots of good insulation and background noise to mask it.
The elevator arrived and he waited for the doors to open then wheeled her inside. She heard him thumb a button behind her and the doors hissed shut a moment later.
‘Why were those two giving you such a hard time?’ he asked her as they descended.
Raven said, ‘Who knows? Not enough sex. That’s usually why people are in a bad mood, isn’t it?’
He laughed. It seemed forced. A little nervous or uncomfortable with her humour. Which was funny in itself, because she was being serious. But it was hard to have a proper conversation when neither person could see the other’s face. She was facing the rear wall. He stood behind her. She could see a blurred, distorted reflection of them both on the elevator’s interior metal walls, but not clear enough to make out any details. In a way, she looked as she felt – unfinished.
Now the imminent danger was over, she thought back and was unsatisfied with her previous conclusions. The two cops who responded to the hospital’s call about a poisoned woman with no memory just happened to be working for the bad guys? A thousand-to-one coincidence, at best. Her enemies were everywhere, but they weren’t everywhere.
They could have been sent because they were on the payroll, of course, but that would have required knowledge of Raven’s real identity from the get-go, before Heno and Willitz showed the first time. Impossible.
So they were just a couple of cops, as they seemed to be. But there was no precedent, no protocol, for taking an amnesiac woman recovering from being poisoned to a police precinct. That would never happen. Not in a million years. Not ever.
Heno and Willitz were real cops told some cover story, some lie, some order to get them to lure Raven out of the hospital. They didn’t know who she was or why they had to get her out of there, but orders were orders.
Heno and Willitz, clueless but decent, would follow their orders and hand her over to someone, to a team maybe, and then she would never be heard from again. Willitz wouldn’t care – not my problem – but Heno would be curious. She would want answers. She would pick holes in any spurious cover story. So it had to be good. It had to be convincing. It had taken time and resource to prepare, hence the delay. They had left her in the hospital while they put things in motion. We have time. She’s not going anywhere.
Raven imagined there was some national security pretence behind it all, that maybe started with some pliable senator who got a call from an unlisted number with specific instructions, which were fed to an ally at the Bureau or Agency or other position of authority, who drummed up a report or file or actionable intelligence brief that was then fed through legitimate channels that went across the border and found its way to someone with power, someone who they trusted, who made sure it got to the right precinct to the right cop who wouldn’t ask too many questions but would send out two cops on patrol to make everything look above board. It was how her enemies worked. It was what they were good at, disguising their movements under the pretence of legitimacy. She hated them as much as she feared them.
The doors pinged and opened and Lionel wheeled her out into a corridor. It was quiet. She couldn’t hear anyone else.
‘So, where are you taking me?’
He said, ‘Physiotherapy.’
She said, ‘Really? I thought you were just being a hero. I figured you were coming to my rescue. I didn’t think you were actually serious. The doc yesterday said it wouldn’t be starting until next week.’
‘Which doctor?’
She blew out some air. ‘I’ve seen so many I’ve given up trying to remember their names. Anyway, he said physio would only start when I was strong enough.’
‘You seem pretty strong to me.’
‘Stronger than you, probably.’
Again the nervous, uncomfortable laugh. Again, she wasn’t joking. She didn’t find Lionel so cute any more. Had to have a personality to be cute. Dimples weren’t enough on their own.
On a whim, she leaned to one side so she could glance back past him. She couldn’t see what she wanted to see.
‘You okay?’ he asked.
‘Never better,’ she said, thinking hard. ‘How long have you worked here?’
‘Not long.’
Something in his tone.
She didn’t respond to it straight away because they took a corner, a right angle, letting her look along the corridor they had just traversed to the elevator at the end and the single up button next to it.
She said, ‘What does that mean? A year? A couple of months?’
He said, ‘About a week.’
‘Wow, you are new then. A real noob.’
He laughed, more comfortable. This time she was joking, but for a reason.
‘Where are you taking me exactly?’
‘Physiotherapy, of course.’
‘Of course,’ she echoed. ‘Funny, because all I’ve seen are signs for the boiler, the incinerator and the morgue. We’re in the basement, right?’
‘It’s a new facility,’ Lionel said. ‘Signage hasn’t been installed yet.’
‘Is that the best you can do?’
‘I don’t know what you mean.’
‘You’re a good actor,’ she said after a moment. ‘So I wonder why you said that?’
‘Said what?’
‘Come on,’ she urged. ‘You’ve stopped pretending so stop pretending.’
‘Doesn’t mean we can’t still have fun? We’ve been getting along so well up until now.’
‘This is fun to you?’
He said, ‘Isn’t it fun for you?’
She shook her head. ‘No, not really.’
‘I appreciate you saying that I’m a good actor. That means a lot to me, honestly. I lost character a moment ago, didn’t I? I was too focused on the task at hand. Couldn’t flirt back. That’s why you became suspicious.’
Raven said, ‘I didn’t have a clue beforehand. You’re terrific. You should be on TV. I only knew for sure because you stopped trying.’
‘You know, I was Hamlet back in high school. I had dreams of Broadway, maybe the West End, but Dad wanted me to get a proper job.’
‘I really wish you hadn’t listened to him.’
‘Me too, sometimes. But acting�
�s a tough gig. Hard to make it.’
‘Ain’t that the sad truth. Easier to make it as a paid killer, I bet.’
‘Much easier.’
‘I thought the police were my biggest problem,’ Raven said. ‘That Heno and Willitz, I really thought they were going to hand me off to guys like you. Funny, isn’t it? If I’d have gone with them, I’d have been safe. Ah, which is why you stepped in when you did.’
‘That’s right. I didn’t want to risk it, but they left me no choice. Heno’s a thorough police officer. It’s taken a lot of work to keep her away. They took us by surprise this afternoon. We thought we had a few more days.’
‘You and me both,’ she said. ‘Why have you waited so long? Surely it wouldn’t have taken much to finish me off in the bed while I was barely conscious.’
‘We found you too late. You were already a curiosity by then. Already famous, medically speaking. Had you died here they would have performed every test imaginable. They would have found the cause of death and known it was suspicious. So, things had to be arranged. Cover stories prepared. A whole new identity created for you. A criminal with a past. A charlatan, a fantasist. Someone with a history of claimed amnesia. An addict. It took effort. I’m sure you know how time-consuming a convincing alias is to prepare. Now, when you go missing, it will fit in with the pattern already established. No one will ask any further questions about who you are.’
‘What about you? You’re not a real nurse.’
‘I go too. Tomorrow or the next day. The hospital’s system will be updated and my contract status revoked. It’s all taken care of.’
‘You guys really are thorough, aren’t you?’
‘We have to be. Also, I can bluff being a nurse. I was a corpsman,’ he explained, using the naval term for a medic.
‘Teams?’ she asked.
He nodded.
‘Isn’t doing what you’re doing now the opposite of being a medic?’
He smiled. ‘I like the irony.’
‘Must be useful too. All that training in treating wounds must give you a lot of insight into how to make them.’
‘Exactly,’ he said. ‘And it’s good to know all that experience didn’t go to waste.’
She said, ‘Want to hear how loud I can scream?’
‘We’re underground. There’s no one on this entire floor. There’s three feet of concrete above our heads. Scream all you want. I won’t try and stop you.’ He stepped back and gestured for her to begin. ‘Go on, knock yourself out.’
She didn’t scream. It wasn’t her style to do so, though if there had been any chance, no matter how remote, she would have done. But he was right, it wouldn’t do any good here. And screaming would burn energy she couldn’t spare.
When they reached their destination he stopped the wheelchair and applied the foot brake. She heard him lock the door behind them.
‘Fitting that it’s the morgue,’ she said.
NINE
The mortuary had several rooms accessible through a swing door. He wheeled her past a wall of refrigeration units with their square metal doors and corpses beyond. He stopped in a room that had tiled white walls. He used the back of his hand to hit the lights. She squinted against the glare on the tiles and all the stainless steel.
On the wall opposite was a row of sinks and counters, all stainless steel. Cabinets lined the wall to her left, full of drawers and cupboards. Opposite the cabinets was a huge whiteboard with the marks and stains of a long life of usefulness. Between the whiteboard and the cabinet stood two dissecting tables, about two metres in length and a metre wide. Like the cabinets and the sinks and counters they were stainless steel. What made them different from regular tables were the drainage holes set at regular intervals and the narrow moats that framed the table edges to prevent blood and other fluids spilling to the floor. From the ceiling above each table was a retractable hose for cleaning purposes. Either side of the door were wheeled trolleys, a set of organ-weighing scales, cleaning supplies and a rack for coats and other belongings.
Raven said, ‘I bet you bring all the girls here.’
He wheeled her between the two dissecting tables. In the chair, she found that the tables were taller than her. She felt tiny and vulnerable and trapped.
He stepped away and she pivoted her head to catch a look at him in her peripheral vision as he walked around the table to her left, to where the cabinets were located. Every time he looked away she glanced to take snapshots of her surroundings. She built a three-dimensional model of the morgue in her mind, highlighting any item that could be a potential weapon, every hard corner of metal that could hinder her or hurt him. She feared the floor the most. It was tiled. She didn’t have good balance right now, and she would be slow to rise if she fell.
‘Where is everyone?’
‘The mortuary is closed for the rest of the day. My employers have arranged the specifics, which I am unaware of. The salient point is we are alone and will be for several hours.’
‘I suppose begging won’t do much good.’
A scrape of metal on metal as he pulled open a drawer. ‘Not much.’
‘I have a friend on the way,’ she began.
He didn’t turn back. ‘Is that so?’
‘He’s a real badass. Best in the business. He’s going to hurt you so bad you’ll wish your mamma had strangled you at birth.’
Lionel said, ‘He sounds terrifying. I bet he’s just outside and if I run now I’ll be able to get away. Something like that?’
‘Something like that,’ she echoed without any conviction.
‘You’re a trier,’ he said. ‘I’ll give you that.’
‘Well, I can’t exactly put up a fight, can I?’
‘No,’ he agreed. ‘I’m grateful for that. I was told you are quite something when at full health. Truth be told, I’m not much of a brawler.’
‘Your arms say otherwise.’
‘Thanks,’ he said. ‘But that really isn’t me. I’m too slow. I prefer to outthink my enemies than outfight them.’
‘Wise,’ she said. ‘You’ll live longer that way.’
‘And keep my handsome face in one piece in the process.’
‘True enough. I like to think I wouldn’t have been so easy to fool if you had a big ol’ scar down one cheek.’
‘They’re disarming, aren’t they?’ He pointed to his dimples, smiling to emphasise them. ‘No one with a face this sweet could be a threat. That’s what everyone thinks.’
‘I was even thinking about asking for your number.’
‘You were? That’s adorable. You’re a little old for me, don’t you think?’
‘I would have knocked your world off its axis.’
‘You should give yourself some credit,’ he said. ‘You weren’t easy to fool. I’m just that good at this.’
‘You know what gets you killed faster than arrogance?’
He waited, intrigued for the answer. ‘No, what?’
‘Nothing.’
He smirked. ‘That’s good. Is that why you’re in that chair, because of arrogance?’
‘In a way,’ she explained. ‘That badass I mentioned. He’s the one who poisoned me. I thought we had moved beyond our differences. I thought he liked me. So, in a way, I was arrogant in thinking that.’
She remained in the chair while he walked around her and out of view. He was in no hurry. He thought she was bound to the wheelchair, weak and immobile. She was weak, but nowhere near as weak as he believed. She had to continue the ploy until the right moment. She would surprise him, yes, with ease, but she had neither the strength nor speed in her current state to capitalise in the way she needed. Wait, she told herself. Be patient. Pick the right moment because anything less than perfect means death.
She said, ‘Do you actually know who you’re working for?’
‘I don’t really care. They pay well, which is all that matters to me.’
‘I call them the Consensus,’ she said. ‘They’re like an insidious colle
ctive of the rich and the powerful, morally bankrupt and utterly ruthless. A shadow government.’
‘Do they have a clubhouse?’
‘You should take this a little more seriously. Once you’re a part of it, you’re a part of it for life. Which is dramatically shortened by association.’
He shrugged. ‘I don’t know anything about any consensus. I get phone calls every now and again. I don’t know who is on the other end of the line. All I know is that they pay well, they pay on time, and they have the power to make my life easy as well as the power to make it hard.’
‘That’s why we should talk. I can help you make sure it’s not you sitting in this chair one day. Because they’ll turn against you like they’ve turned against me.’
He ignored her and said, ‘I’ll give you a choice. I can make it quick, only a little pain, but I’m going to need your compliance. If you’re going to struggle and make my life harder than it needs to be, then I’ll have to hurt you in return. But I don’t have to. Help me to help you. Can you do that?’
She nodded. ‘I think so.’
‘I’m going to lift you out of the chair and on to the table. What do you weigh?’
‘One thirty,’ she said. ‘Usually. I might be a little less now. Muscle wastage.’
He squatted down and put his hands under her armpits. She let herself be slack so he had to do all the work. He grunted and pushed his hips back and straightened his legs, then back, until she was vertical.
He shuffled and pivoted before hoisting her up and setting her ass down on the dissecting table. He released her and stepped away.
‘I think you weigh a little more than one thirty.’
‘Do you really have to insult me when you’re about to kill me?’
He was strong, but it was never easy to move a person. Even a little fatigue could help her.
He took a step back and nodded, looking ashamed, as if manners were more important to him than taking a life. He reminded her of someone else in that regard. Maybe it was a trait of male killers. Some last vestige of chivalry in the amoral.
