Ward Zero: The dead ward

by Linda Huber

  At that moment Mrs Grant saw him and raced back to the policeman, who was attaching his tape to someone’s gatepost. The cop yelled over his shoulder and two other officers appeared. They all charged down the street towards Jack.

  And he stood there, because there was nowhere to go, and nowhere to hide. If he’d known, he could have gone to the hospital to lie in death with Sarah. He sank to his knees on the grubby pavement and waited for them to reach him.

  Her throat hurt so much. She was breathing through her mouth now, because the tears that came when Jack left her had blocked up her nose and nearly choked her. Why had he done this to her? Was he some kind of psychopath? He must be. And if she’d had half her brain switched on back in the restaurant, she’d have realised something was wrong when Jack mentioned Glynis. He was right; she’d been a fool, sitting there worrying about greasy banana fritters. Now she was paying for it.

  She thought of the Jack she had first known, way back at primary school. He’d been small then, a mere sliver of a child in a grey school pullover. His uniform was always freshly ironed; he was the only boy in the class with a school cap, and he’d had one of those short back and sides haircuts that were popular in the 50s. And his mum had never let him go to anyone’s home to play after school. He was a little comedian, though. He’d made the other kids laugh, and because of that he’d been accepted. All the little girls had secretly fancied him. He could turn on the charm and he could act, even then. He’d been acting with her, all the time. He’d murdered Petra. Lucky Petra – she had her peace.

  The silence was absolute. Wherever this was, it was well away from the cheerful camaraderie of the wards. Maybe she was down near the mortuary, some long-forgotten corner in the oldest part of the hospital. This place would have no cheerful river name, no. This was the dead ward. Ward Zero. Oh God, she was going to die here.

  The mattresses on top of her were heavy and ill-smelling, even through the sack over her face, and they were pressing hard on her chest. Her head was twisted to the side – it was the only way she could breathe at all. Countless times she’d choked and spluttered, and each time she’d thought she was going to die right then, and it was so painful and so frightening. She didn’t want to choke to death. But she would die here unless someone found her very soon, and what hope was there of that? If they’d been going to find her they’d have done it by this time. Oh, Mama. She didn’t want to die.

  The pain in her ankles had been replaced by blessed numbness. She could hardly feel her feet. Maybe the numbness would creep up and up her body until she was dead. Mim and Rita would be so grieved, and baby Ailsa would never know her Auntie Sarah. Even Jamie wouldn’t remember her long. And she’d never know if Frankie stayed with Mim or went to Australia – stay with Mim, Frankie love. She’ll need you.

  Please let her die soon… Let it be over. She would never have a proper, loving relationship; never have a baby, be a mum… It was too late, and it was all her own fault.

  The blackness was frightening. It was hard not to panic, but she knew if she started to cry she would choke again, and that would be such a horrible way to go. Better to wait for the numbness.

  Was there life after death? Soon she would find out.

  Caitlyn wiped sweating palms on her jeans as the police car sped towards the hospital. Her stomach was churning, but this was better than sitting at Mim’s.

  ‘What makes you think Sarah’s at the hospital?’ she asked, and Harry glanced across.

  ‘We don’t know where she is,’ he said bluntly. ‘But she’s not at Morrison’s house, and she’s not in the lock-up affair he has, which is where Petra Walker was kept before he disposed of her. And apart from the hospital and the place where the sandal was found, there’s nowhere else to search.’

  Caitlyn swallowed. There was nothing positive about any of that. He didn’t think Sarah was alive, Caitlyn could tell. The radio buzzed and a voice croaked into the car. ‘We’ve got Morrison, boss, but he’s not talking.’

  ‘Make him talk. Report back as soon as he does.’

  Caitlyn clenched her fists. There was hope, wasn’t there? But Petra had been killed quite quickly, then dumped in… Her mouth went dry.

  ‘The canal?’ she whispered.

  ‘We have teams up in the woods and along the pathway where Mrs Walker was found,’ said Harry, turning into the main gate of the hospital. ‘If they find anything we’ll be the first to know.’

  He pulled into a parking space outside admin. Caitlyn got out and stared round the sundry buildings. It was a huge complex, but surely there could only be so many places a missing woman could be hidden. It was a case of searching until everywhere was covered – it wasn’t rocket science. Could Sarah really have been secreted away here, where thousands of people were in and out every day? Or were they were looking for a needle in a haystack where no needle was hidden?

  Two brown and white dogs, some kind of spaniel, were waiting with their trainers, and Harry West took them the plastic bag containing Sarah’s sweater and slippers. Caitlyn blinked hard. That was the sweater Sarah’d been wearing the day they sat in the supermarket coffee shop, talking about the case for the first time. If they’d left well alone…

  ‘Caitlyn.’ Harry West’s voice was firm. ‘Come on.’

  Caitlyn swallowed the tears. ‘I’m okay.’

  ‘Right. I want to go over the wards and departments Morrison worked in myself.’ He reached into his jacket and produced a plastic folder. ‘We’ve got a list of all the places he went to over the past two weeks. We’ll start with maternity, rehab, and geriatrics.’

  Caitlyn got back into the car and they drove to the end of the hospital. The rehab car park was distressingly familiar. She’d brought Mim for physio several times now, and she’d asked people here about Petra, too.

  Harry West led the way into the nearby maternity block. ‘Obstetrics and Gynaecology’ was above the door, and Caitlyn winced again. Last week she’d been in another maternity unit, waiting for Rita’s baby to be born, and Sarah had been there too, longing for a baby of her own. Caitlyn had seen the expression in her eyes.

  This unit was the same vintage as the rehab unit – modern in a retro, 70s way. An administrator was waiting for them at the reception desk inside the main door, a bunch of keys in his hand.

  ‘We’ll start at the bottom and work up,’ Harry said to the waiting man. ‘You can lead the way.’

  The administrator led them downstairs and they started to go through the cellar rooms. Caitlyn felt despair creep over her. They were going through the motions here, that was all, eliminating the impossible.

  Cellars searched, they went back upstairs and walked through the wards. There were several little rooms to look through, storerooms and cupboards, not to mention offices and treatment rooms. The atmosphere was lively and bright; there were babies here, mums and dads and happy families.

  ‘No attic?’ said Harry, staring up at the ceiling when they’d completed the top floor.

  ‘No. It’s a flat roof. There’s a terrace, if you want to put your head out, but nowhere anyone could hide,’ said the administrator, leading them to a tiny stairway leading to the roof.

  Harry did put his head out, grunted, and came back inside. ‘Let’s go over to rehab next.’

  Caitlyn followed him, the heaviness back in her middle. She wasn’t helping, but she didn’t need to because even Harry didn’t think they would find anything. She should have stayed with Mim and Frankie.

  ‘What are the dogs doing?’ she asked.

  ‘Checking the grounds. If Sarah walked anywhere from a car yesterday, they’d scent her.’

  Caitlyn swallowed. That didn’t sound likely either.

  The cellar in the rehab block was similar to the maternity cellar. Harry and Caitlyn pushed open doors and rummaged round storage rooms while the administrator talked on his phone.

  Caitlyn bit down on a trembling lip when they were back on the ground floor. This was where everything started; where
Sarah met Petra and Frankie and Wilma. If that hadn’t happened, Sarah would be at home now, helping Mim through Friday afternoon, safe and happy. How cruel life was. There were only a few cupboards to look into here, then they went up to the wards. Caitlyn’s head buzzed. This was where Sarah met Jack…

  Nick’s head appeared out of an office as they passed. His face was drawn. ‘Caitlyn. I’ve heard what’s going on. I can’t believe it… How’s Mim coping?’

  Caitlyn had to fight not to burst into tears. The last time she’d spoken to this man was at a memorial service. Please God they wouldn’t attend another together. ‘Not great,’ she managed.

  Nick pursed his lips. ‘Let me – oh, here’s Mr Benson back from getting his shunt cleared. Straight into his room, Evan.’ He turned to help manoeuvre the bed through the doorway, speaking over his shoulder. ‘I’ll catch you up in a moment.’

  Caitlyn followed Harry into two more storerooms. Trolleys, wheelchairs, stools, weird machines she had no idea about – everything but clues as to where Sarah might be. This was a waste of time.

  Footsteps thudding along the corridor and men’s voices shouting had Caitlyn racing to the door. Nick and Evan were hurtling towards them while patients and staff alike scattered out of their path, craning their necks to see what was going on.

  Nick was in front. ‘Evan saw Jack Morrison in geriatrics at lunchtime!’

  ‘Show me where!’ shouted Harry.

  Caitlyn was already running for the stairs, her heart in her mouth.

  ‘I was taking some things to a patient and he was walking up to the front door,’ said Evan, panting as they thundered downstairs and tore across the car park towards the neighbouring building, the administrator following on. ‘Now I think of it he looked a bit wild, but we didn’t say much. It was around twelve. Bloody hell – I didn’t know, I hadn’t heard…’

  ‘Save your breath and run, man,’ said Harry, dodging between parked cars.

  Hope and suspense were vying for top place in Caitlyn’s mind. If Jack had come back here, did that mean Sarah was still alive? Not necessarily, her journalist’s logic pointed out. Weren’t murderers supposed to revisit the scenes of their crimes?

  They clattered through the geriatrics doorway and stopped. Caitlyn was panting, fear mingling with wild hope in her heart.

  ‘He was there,’ said Evan, pointing to the floor about five metres from the stairs.

  ‘Up or down?’ demanded Harry. ‘What’s more likely?’

  ‘Down!’ Nick charged down the shadowy stairs, the others following more carefully until he switched on a dim light. ‘There aren’t many rooms here. It’s never used. Shit, oh shit, it’s locked. Evan, go and –’

  ‘I have a master key,’ said the administrator, pulling it from his pocket and unlocking the door.

  Caitlyn was trembling. The terrible fear that Sarah was going to be dead on the other side of this door was almost stopping her breathing. They went through the door into a little hallway, and saw footprints in the dust, telling them which room to unlock next. Darkness leapt out as Harry pushed the door open. Nick pressed a switch but nothing happened, and they moved slowly into the room, the administrator holding the door wide open to let some light in.

  ‘Sarah! Are you there?’ called Nick, his voice shaking.

  Caitlyn stared wildly round the room. Piles of goodness knows what, old beds, mattresses –

  ‘She’s here!’ Evan was pulling mattresses from a pile. Caitlyn took one look, horror and dizziness washing over her. She crouched to the floor, fighting faintness.

  Sarah’s head was covered by a sack, which Nick pulled away to reveal a dirty rag tied round her mouth, and dried blood on her chin and neck. She was dusty and white, whiter than Caitlyn had ever seen anyone except bodies on TV, and her eyes were closed. Caitlyn suppressed a scream. Sarah’s hands and feet were bloody and tied, and her dress was torn, twisted up past bloody knees. Oh God – had she been raped? Nausea swept over Caitlyn, and she knelt on the floor taking shallow breaths.

  Nick and Evan pulled the mattress to the door where the light was better and crouched over Sarah, checking her pulse and her breathing.

  ‘She’s alive,’ said Nick. He patted Sarah’s cheeks, and a faint sound came from her mouth. For a second he leaned his head down to touch hers.

  Evan pushed him aside and started to work on the gag with his scissors. ‘Nick, get a grip. Undo her hands. Caitlyn, come over here and talk to her.’

  Caitlyn crawled over to Sarah’s head. ‘Sarah. It’s okay, we’ve got you,’ she whispered, and saw Sarah’s eyelids flicker.

  Harry was on his phone in the hallway, and Caitlyn heard him ask for Mim. She put a hand on Sarah’s brow. It was hot. ‘You’re safe now, Sarah, it’ll be all right,’ she said, and Evan pulled the gag away. Sarah coughed.

  Nick was examining the cords round Sarah’s wrists. ‘This is impossible. Let’s get her upstairs into a treatment room. Rob, run on ahead and tell them in Ward One, will you, and see if there’s a doctor around.’

  The administrator ran up the stairs, and Caitlyn saw Sarah’s eyes crack open to look at Nick. Her lips moved but no sound came.

  ‘Don’t try to talk,’ said Nick, gathering her into his arms, and the expression on his face made Caitlyn want to cry.

  Sarah’s eyes opened again as they all trailed out. ‘It was Jack,’ she whispered, her voice cracking.

  ‘We’ve got him,’ said Harry. ‘And Mrs Dunbar’s on her way in.’

  Sarah blinked across at him and nodded before closing her eyes.

  Evan clapped Caitlyn’s shoulder. ‘Come on. Up to Ward One. You can entertain her while we get her sorted.’

  Caitlyn didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. They were going to sort Sarah.

  Sarah’s eyes were stuck shut again. They were full of dust, and it was so bright here. She fought the faintness that was threatening to overcome her. Nick was carrying her and she could hear his breathing; they were going up stairs. Caitlyn’s voice came from behind, reassuring her again that she was going to be all right. Everything hurt, but she wasn’t going to die. She had her life back.

  She felt herself being laid on a bed, and new voices were here now, talking to Nick. Someone took hold of her arm and wiped it with something wet and cold.

  ‘Sarah, we’re going to put up a drip, give you some pain meds, and get these cords cut. They’ll take you across to A&E afterwards and put proper dressings on,’ said Nick. ‘Sharp scratch coming up.’

  She barely felt it. ‘My eyes.’ It came out in a tiny whisper, but a moment later her eyes were being wiped. Sarah blinked furiously, and saw Evan with a damp cloth in his hand. ‘Again,’ she whispered, and Evan complied.

  Sarah took a deep breath, then another. She could see and she could breathe. It was wonderful.

  Her wrists jerked apart and she moaned.

  ‘Sorry,’ said Nick. ‘The cords are cutting in. We’ll cover them with gauze and leave them until the painkillers kick in.’

  She blinked up at him and saw concern written all over his face. This man cared about her and all she’d thought was he might have stolen Wilma’s money. Or worse. What a fool she’d been.

  He settled a blanket over her as two paramedics came in with a trolley. ‘An ambulance is here to take you down to A&E. Evan and I have to go now, but I’ll come and see you soon. Okay?’

  Sarah nodded, blinking as the two men left the room. How lucky she was.

  Chapter Twenty

  Saturday, 22nd July

  It was nine in the morning. The morning she’d thought she’d never see. Sarah moved her shoulders cautiously, then rolled on her side. She was in a single room off A&E, and everything hurt – especially her wrists. And her mouth. She ran her tongue round the inside of her lips, feeling how swollen they were; it was worse than yesterday. But she was alive, and she’d even slept, although it was a restless, dream-filled sleep which left her exhausted.

  Now that it was over, her ordeal seem
ed like a bad dream. She could dimly remember the sudden bangs and shouting, and the frantic tone in Nick’s voice when he shouted her name. The sheer, blessed relief that flowed through her at the sound of that voice. Another few hours in the cellar would literally have been the end of her.

  A nurse put her head in the door. ‘Oh good, you’re awake again. You’ve got a visitor. Just five minutes, then we’ll kick him out and I’ll help you up.’

  Wondering, Sarah pulled the cover up to her chest. Him? Was it Harry West?

  It was Nick. He sat down and gazed at her without speaking.

  ‘I was going to bring you chocolates,’ he said at last. ‘But I thought you might not enjoy them with a bashed mouth so I brought this.’ He reached into his pocket and put a paperback – 1001 Hospital Jokes – on her locker, and sat staring at her again.

  Sarah saw the longing in his eyes. What could she say to this man? He wanted to be part of her future, but she had to come to terms with the present and the past before she could begin to think of things to come. A tear glittered in the corner of his eye and he flicked it away.

  Sarah reached for the joke book and handed it to him. ‘Hey. I know I’m not very beautiful right now, but I hope it’s not so bad you have to blub about it. Find us a good joke – I could do with some humour here.’

  He gave her an almost-smile. ‘You’re a sight for sore eyes, that’s what you are. Who cares about being beautiful?’

  Sarah managed an almost-smile back. ‘Ouch. Well, I do. But they say I’ll have mended in a week or two.’

  He leafed through the book, then glanced up. ‘Okay – here’s a good one. It can be our joke.’

  Sarah settled back in her pillows. ‘Our joke’ was maybe a good place to start.

  Fury was tightening his gut. They’d kept him here all night, in a stupid little cell in the stupid police station and it was disgusting. He’d barely slept a wink on this narrow bench with its inadequate plastic-covered pad, but even if it’d been a king-sized bed, the shouting and swearing from the drunks they kept parading up and down would still have kept him awake. The front desk appeared to be just round the corner. And the smell of vomit and piss hanging in the air wasn’t exactly restful, either.