by Nic Roberts
“Remind me again of the doctor’s name?” Olivia asked, their steps punctuated by the clack of their shoes against the waxed tile floors. The whole building smelled overwhelmingly of antiseptic and cleaning supplies; a subtler smell of death and decay lingered just beneath it, threatening to burst forth if the cleaning ever stopped being quite as thorough.
Olivia hated everything resembling a hospital, especially after the incident. She’d spent enough time surrounded by fluorescent lights and sterile white walls to last a decade—if not a lifetime. But of course, she’d keep that part to herself. She wouldn’t tell Dean that the deeper she walked, the more she felt her pulse quicken.
The memory of waking up on a bed hooked up to drips and screaming was going to haunt her the rest of her life, and even once that attempted to fade, the scars would make sure she never forgot.
“Dr Elliot James,” Lawrence responded with a smile. She’d been so deep in her thoughts that she’d almost forgotten her question. “He’s about as new as you are to the department—you could really bond over that,” Dean continued. “He went to school in the States but returned to Cornwall to aid his ill father. You didn’t hear that from me, though.” He muttered the last part quickly as they turned a corner.
A receptionist typed away at a keyboard, barely looking up as they entered the waiting area.
“He’s the second door on the left,” she offered after glancing up to look at the two detectives. She gave DI Lawrence a double take, her eyes alight with something Olivia couldn’t quite put her finger on.
“Good to see you, Dean.” She smiled softly, putting her pen down in anticipation. Olivia did her best not to scoff. So, this was the rapport he’d been building here. It was getting crazy now. Surely, not another conquest. Where did this man not get to?
“Likewise, Lizzie.” Lawrence flashed a quick smile at her before returning the pair to their original walking pace. As they walked towards Dr James’s office, Olivia shot him a pointed look.
“What?” he asked, arms pulled up into a defensive position.
“I just didn’t know you got around so much,” Olivia huffed, half joking with her partner. It felt nice to give him a bit of shit. It helped distract her from the dread that clung to her bones more and more with each step further into the labyrinth of the medical building. Besides, he gave it out as much as anyone.
“I don’t ‘get around,’” Lawrence responded, exasperation coating his voice, though his face showed a hint of amusement. “I went on two dates with Lizzie,” he commented, glancing past his shoulder to make sure no one was within earshot. That earned him a high brow raise from Olivia. “We decided we were better off as friends,” he finished as they knocked on a nondescript wooden door. A plaque with the inscription DR ELLIOT JAMES sat on the wall next to it.
“Well,” she added with a light whisper, “try not to turn any of these women into enemies. We need them on our side.”
And that was most certainly true. She couldn’t think of anything more annoying than to bump into a scorned ‘acquaintance’ of his when they needed every connection they could muster to find Ella.
She heard him inhale, chest expanded, ready to respond but before he was interrupted by the opening of the door. It revealed behind it a dark-haired man who appeared to be about Olivia's age, perhaps a smidge older. His skin was lightly tanned, and his eyes reminded Olivia of crystal clear tropical waters, crisp and protective. His shoulders were level with Olivia’s eyes, and she found herself peering up towards his face. His expression was rather warm, especially for a medical examiner, and she found herself studying the bridge of his nose and the gentle squint of his eyes that hinted at a smile, although his mouth rested in an undistinguishable smirk. Humour played behind those dark brown eyes. What is he up to? Olivia found herself wondering.
"Detective Lawrence," he nodded, gesturing into his office. “I know you. But I don’t know you...” His eyes rested on Olivia, and she smiled.
"Detective Austin," she introduced herself. “Dean’s new partner. Well, not new to the police force, but new here.” She heard herself fumbling a little. “Not new, new here. I mean, I’m originally from Cornwall, but I moved away and...” She trailed off when she noticed Lawrence turn to look at her from the corner of her eye. She was saying too much. Right.
Dr James extended his hand to shake both of theirs. His grasp was firm though not overbearing, and he seemed oblivious to her tumble of words.
“Well,” he started, and did he ever stop smiling? “Cornwall’s glad to have you back, Detective.”
Olivia cleared her throat as she and Dean entered the doctor's office. Compared to the rest of the unit, his room was warm, almost inviting. Duck egg blue covered the walls instead of the stingy, clinical white of the hallways. While there were still fluorescent lights, a warm lamp on his desk added more colour to the room. A mahogany-coloured desk occupied the bulk of the room—it wasn’t much larger than a double bedroom, now that Olivia started sizing it up—but somehow it didn’t feel terribly cramped.
"Welcome to my office," he said with the hint of a smile as he watched her survey it. "It’s full of majesty and pomp, I know, but it does the job. And it's nice to meet you, by the way. Sorry I didn’t add that before."
"Likewise," Olivia responded, warmth flooding her chest. “Thank you. And don’t worry, it has a good energy about it.”
He gave her yet another slightly lingering smile at her comment, and she found herself intrigued by this doctor with his guarded eyes, mischievous grins, and slightly awkward persona.
“Drink?” he asked before closing the door, and she remembered the water machine out in the reception area.
They both declined politely and crossed the room. Olivia noticed the scent of Amberwood as he passed her.
"You're here regarding the Hebden case, correct?" Dr James asked, stepping around his desk to sit down. Absentmindedly, his knuckles wrapped against the sturdy wood as he made his way to a rather unremarkable chair. He gestured to the two chairs that sat facing the desk, inviting the detectives to sit down.
"Correct," Lawrence responded, taking a seat to the left of Olivia. "Have you found anything of note with the finger?"
Dr James sighed as he opened a manila file on his desk.
"There's not a whole lot to go off, what with only one digit.” He paused. “But I have a bit of information for you.”
Olivia could feel the despair in his voice, though he tried to mask it well. So, a face that held secrets with a gentle soul. Interesting...
"The mother was right. X-rays suggest that the finger is her left hand's ring finger, based on size and bone structure," Dr James started, lifting a glass of water as he looked over the file. He took a sip. "Beyond that, the cut was fairly clean, although with a limb as small as a finger, that could be achieved with many different impact items. I'm inclined to think gardening shears; it looks as if there was impact at both the top and bottom of the finger."
Olivia winced, gently flexing her hand at her side before jotting down the observation on her pad. The poor woman. She couldn’t imagine how traumatising that must have been for her, providing she was still alive when it happened, of course.
“Goodness...” Lawrence breathed.
"Precisely,” Dr James sighed. “Other than that, the flesh didn't seem to already be suffering from rigor mortis, so either she was still alive or very recently deceased when her digit was severed from her body."
Lawrence cleared his throat.
"Thank you. As horrific and painful as it sounds,” he responded, his tone all shades of professional. “For her sake, I hope she was alive when it happened. Better chance of us finding her alive.” He paused and looked over to Olivia and then back to his notes. "Right, so, left ring finger. That’s where an engagement ring would go.” Lawrence pinched the bridge of his nose as Olivia nodded solemnly. “Definitely a crime of passion then. Anything else of note, Elliot?"
Dr James closed the folder at that que
stion. He folded his hands together and rested his chin on them, leaning into the direction of the detectives.
"Nothing else remarkable as of yet,” he answered, and his eyes connected directly with Olivia’s. “We've got the finger on ice in the hope that Ms. Hebden is found alive. The chance of a surgery going well to restore her finger is looking fairly slim at this point, but the skin hasn't become fully necrotic, which is something."
Olivia quickly made a note of that. Something that Det Supt Collins would probably want to know at some point.
"Does that suggest a timeline as to how recently her finger has been severed?" she inquired, cocking her head slightly to one side. She studied the doctor’s eyes; there was something inviting about them, even as they spoke about horrific events.
"Unfortunately, not definitively,” he answered. “We'd have to know more about how it was stored or transported prior to its discovery by her parents. My guess is approximately 8 to 12 hours, but it's just that—a guess."
Olivia nodded.
"Lawrence, do we have a record of the package's timeline as to when it was posted?" she asked.
He chewed the corner of his mouth as he looked between them.
"We only know that it was picked up by the Hebdens around 6.30 this morning," he offered.
Olivia made note of that alongside her other writings. Every bit of information, no matter how small, was useful.
"Do we know if that's early for their post?" she asked, wincing a bit as she thought about the logistics. Why hadn't she thought of this sooner? She saw realisation dawn on Lawrence's face as well; he saw it too.
"Not sure on that one, but now that you mention it..." He trailed off.
Olivia took a moment to notice that Dr James was observing this interaction like a tennis match, bouncing his gaze from one detective to the other as they spoke, silently intrigued by their interaction.
She smiled at him.
"Thank you for your time, Dr James," she said, standing abruptly. Both men rose at her statement.
"Glad to be of help," he offered. His chair scraped against the carpet beneath it as he pushed it back. He seemed slightly confused by the sudden shift in pace. "You both have my number, and I believe I have yours. I'll make contact if I can think of anything else."
"You've been very helpful, Dr James," Lawrence added, rebuttoning his suit jacket.
Olivia could hear the attempt to downplay urgency in her partner's voice.
"Just trying to do my job," Elliot explained. He walked over to open the door. "Best of luck detectives. I really hope you find her and catch whoever did this." He said the last part with such longing and sincerity that she found herself with a renewed vigour to not let him down.
"Thank you, Doctor," Olivia spoke, a small smile dancing across her lips as she stepped through the threshold. "We'll be in touch."
"As will I," he replied, that glimmer of hope returning to his eyes.
Olivia had seen that spark too frequently already today—first in Mrs Hebden and now in the doctor. Added pressure. Many detectives she knew thrived on it. Lawrence she was sure, was one of them.
After saying their goodbyes, they crossed the reception area where she watched her partner say a quiet word to Lizzie behind the desk who was smiling at him expectantly. She waited patiently at the curve of the corridor for his return, albeit with more of a spring in his step.
“Everything okay?” she asked as he joined her side.
He nodded, quickly.
“Not what you think...” he muttered.
Olivia narrowed her eyes at him suspiciously while he avoided her stare.
“Well...” she started as they made their way back along to the exit, but her words were cut short by a loud bang that reverberated around the clinical walls of the building.
Olivia jumped back as claustrophobia clawed at her throat, shrinking her awareness of the hallway around her, and instantly she was taken back to the incident. The screams after the bang. The shouting, the chaos, the running... and Rhys.
“Olivia?” Lawrence asked, his eyebrows furrowed as he looked at her, and she admired the genuine concern in his eyes. At the same moment, sweetheart Lizzie came running around the corner from her desk. She looked slightly dishevelled, though her appearance was nothing compared to the havoc within Olivia’s own chest.
“I’m so sorry!” she breathed, looking awkwardly between them. She heard more confused voices as people left their rooms to find out the source of the noise. “It gave me a fright too! Nothing to worry about, though. The window cleaner for the building dropped all of his equipment from height. I saw it from my desk.”
“Goodness!” Lawrence tutted. “Is he alright?”
“Well, only his pride’s hurt...” Lizzie pointed out, but she trailed off when she saw the look on Olivia’s face. “Um, are you okay, Detective?”
Liv quickly muttered something about the ladies' room to Lawrence and apologised before rushing off, desperate for a moment away from other people—It was all too much.
She stood in front of the sink, fingers curled around the cheap porcelain, water running, and splashed her face.
Were things really that bad? Were the dark depths of her fear really that shallow beneath the surface? So shallow that an innocent window cleaner dropping—and most probably breaking—his equipment could send her heart into a freefall?
Maybe she wasn’t as over it as she made out. She closed her eyes and tilted her head back. The bang had sounded so vivid, so real. She almost heard those blood curdling screams that followed after the initial shock had worn off.
A knock on the door made her stand up straight.
“Olivia?” It was Lawrence. Shit.
“One minute,” she called out, splashing her face with cold water one last time before turning off the tap. The knowledge that Lawrence was on the other side made something in Olivia shift. You have a job to do, she reminded herself.
“There’s a family relying on you,” she muttered at her reflection. Her green eyes looked back at her, at once both full of sorrow and determination. “It’s over,” she assured those green eyes, fingers turning as white as the porcelain they clung to.
“Sorry about that. Indigestion,” she said under her breath at Lawrence as she exited the bathroom. It was a weak lie; they both knew it.
“Olivia...?”
He watched her walk past him, and she knew he probably had a dozen questions, but she turned and bestowed him with a glare as icy as the water from the tap, shutting down any attempt to make sure she was okay.
“Right,” Lawrence replied to his own question somewhat sheepishly. “So… shall we head to Kitty Allen’s?”
“Yes!” Olivia answered quickly, walking back towards the exit.
“Liv…” Lawrence spoke almost against his own will it seemed, so strained was his voice.
“What, Dean?” she asked, wheeling to face her partner. “I’m fine, okay? I just needed a quick... breather.” Again, she willed her fierce glare to make her partner back down. A small voice in her head—sounding eerily like her psychotherapist—suggested that this perhaps wasn’t the best way to go about discussing her trauma. She pushed it to the side.
“Fine,” he breathed, catching up to walk astride with her. “You just have to promise to let me know if it does end up being too much. Okay?”
Olivia could feel his gaze staring into the side of her face. She purposefully kept her view forward.
“I promise,” she muttered, pushing open the door. The cold air rushed to greet the duo, and Olivia felt grateful for the cool feel on her face. Every second brought her further away from her living nightmare and closer to the reality she was in. I’m here, she told herself. In this silly car park, next to the stubbornly kind DI Lawrence, after having met with the seemingly pleasant Dr James. I’m here.
They crossed the tarmac in silence until they reached their vehicle. Lawrence was the first to speak.
“I contacted the Royal Mail while you w
ere indisposed,” he mentioned.
That gave Olivia pause. Yes, there was a reason they had rushed out of Dr James’s office. She couldn’t lose sight of the big picture. She looked up at him expectantly.
“The postman usually doesn’t arrive to the lane where the Hebdens reside until after 12pm.”
“Shit,” Olivia whispered under her breath. “So, someone else dropped it off, which makes sense. There’s no way they could have kidnapped her that late, taken her somewhere, cut her finger off, and made the post for the next morning. Why would they put a stamp on it and false postage marks for something they were going to hand deliver?”
“Exactly,” Lawrence replied. “Possibly to throw us off course... precisely what he did end up doing.”
Olivia ran a hand over her neck whilst deep in thought. Whoever it was would have likely drive up to the Hebdens’ house right under their noses. For all it was worth, Ella could have been dying in the vehicle on their drive and they would have had no idea. The thought made her shiver inwardly.
Some people in this world were the worst kind of humans. She checked her watch.
“I have Officer Hershel keeping track of the cars,” she sighed. “I’ll call her shortly. Hopefully, she’ll spot something. I just wish this town had more CCTV.”
There weren’t many things that Olivia missed about London, but the access to a wide array of camera footage was one of them. It was much easier to catch a killer when there was a digital recording of their every move.
“We’ve still got leads,” Lawrence reassured her. “We’re not out of the game yet!”
Olivia let out an exasperated sigh before turning to her partner. She knew he was right. Calm and steady. Don’t let your emotions rule you. She allowed herself to close her eyes for a moment and take a steady breath.
“Well?” she asked as she pulled open her door to the car. “Shall we?”
“We shall,” Lawrence sighed, climbing in after her.
