by Liz Lawler
When he next came to her she wouldn’t fight her fear; she wouldn’t try to block out what was happening to her and what he was about to do. She would let him into her mind, and then hopefully her heart would betray her and she would die.
She held her breath as she felt his presence, and then she made herself open her eyes.
Joy of great magnitude instantly filled her and more tears flooded her eyes. She couldn’t speak for the tightness in her throat. Her prayers had finally been answered. Maggie’s face stared down at her.
She couldn’t think fast enough to ask when and how she had got there because already she was thinking they had to get out fast. He was close by, and if he caught Maggie then she too would be in danger.
‘Get me up,’ she whispered urgently. ‘Hurry before he comes back.’
Maggie looked over her shoulder and then down at her friend. ‘He’s not here.’
‘He’s not far, then,’ Alex answered fiercely. ‘Hurry, Maggie! He’ll come back any second. Undo my arms.’
Maggie raised the green drape and dropped it back in place. ‘You’re naked.’
‘Forget that!’ Alex hissed. ‘Just get me off this fucking table.’
Maggie bit her lip and for a moment looked as if she was about to cry. ‘He’s left all these things out,’ she whispered. Her hands lifted surgical instruments, wasting precious seconds. ‘I told you it couldn’t have happened the way you said it did.’
‘Maggie, we haven’t got time! Alex whispered urgently. ‘Please, he’ll kill us both.’
Maggie raised something in her hand, her voice excited. ‘Look, Alex! Look what I found!’ A small black rubber disc was held between her fingers, a thin wire dangling from it. ‘You know what this is, don’t you?’ She moved things noisily on the metal tray, clanking instruments, urgently searching for something.
‘Leave it!’ Alex desperately hissed. ‘Please, Maggie!’
‘I can’t! Do you realise what this means?’ She moved away from the head of the bed and Alex could hear her frantically searching. ‘It’s here somewhere. I know it is!’ She crossed back over to Alex, quickly patting the space around Alex’s head and then she heaved a sigh of relief. ‘God it was so . . .’ she held up something square, silver and no bigger than a matchbox. She deftly attached the two things she’d found together. She sighed again. ‘It was just so damn . . .’
She placed the black rubber disk close to her mouth and spoke: ‘Easy to fool you.’
Alex bucked violently as if electrocuted, her eyes stretched in horror. The voice! His voice! Coming from Maggie’s mouth! Sweet Jesus, it couldn’t be true? Maggie, the person she had come to trust, the one who believed in her, helped her . . .
Maggie laughed cruelly, her male voice terrifying Alex. It had never occurred to her that it was a woman speaking.
A simple little voice changer, the gadget hidden behind a surgical mask, confusing her into thinking that it was a man speaking to her. When all the time it was Maggie beside her wearing a mask, a gown, a pair of purple gloves, creating a work of make-believe. With the operating lights blinding her and her arms strapped down, she had even believed that cannulas had been inserted in her veins, when in reality no needles punctured her skin. Just a bit of tape holding the cannula against the skin like they would do in a medical drama; she was, as Maggie said, easy to fool.
Maggie moved the gadget away from her lips. She sighed, and smiled down at Alex. ‘Are you comfortable?’
*
Both sides of the road were cordoned off, and behind the blue and white tape two police cars were parked. Very little traffic had passed this way and Greg understood why. The exit from the north side of the hospital was closed at night, so all traffic into and out of the hospital used the main entrance. It cut down on noise for the neighbouring houses.
The hospital security guard was stamping his feet with the cold. He was here when Greg got to the scene, having been stationed here from the start by Laura Best. Greg realised the poor man was probably perishing.
‘You,’ he called out, and the man gazed over. ‘Go and warm up, get a hot drink.’
The man’s shoulders shrugged stiffly. ‘Cheers. You want me to send my colleague in my place?’
Greg shook his head. ‘No. There’ll be more police officers swarming round the place soon enough. You could let the site manager know what’s going on. We haven’t informed anyone in the hospital yet.’
‘Right you are. I’ll get on to it,’ the guard answered.
As he trotted away on cold, stiff limbs, Greg donned a pair of latex gloves as he prepared to examine the vehicle. He stepped carefully so as not to disturb possible evidence and peered through the windows. Empty; she wasn’t hiding inside it. He knelt down by the driver’s seat and located the catch to pop open the boot. Pulling out a pencil torch from his jacket he switched it on and prepared to look inside. Images of Fiona Woods crowded his mind and he realised he was fearful of finding another body.
He relaxed as his eyes took in the contents of the boot, which thankfully didn’t contain a body. A Fitness First logo on a sports bag, which he unzipped to find gym clothes, toiletries and a towel. A pair of green wellingtons, an open pack of six 500ml bottles of water, one missing. A cardboard box of medical equipment, dressings, bandages and various sealed needles and intravenous tubing. He placed the box to one side and saw that it had been resting on clothing, and his heart skipped a beat as he identified a large dark hooded top.
He lifted it up to reveal a bundle of blue plastic hospital drapes, the type used in operations. From the way they had been folded, they had already been used. He unravelled an edge slightly so that he could separate the layers, and by the light of the torch he saw dark red stains. His hand trembled and he let the layers fall back into place. He moved the drapes to one side and there beneath everything else was a spare tyre. A Pirelli.
Aiming the torch along the rubber grooves he saw bits of embedded black grit. He touched his finger in a groove and the tip of his blue rubber glove came away slightly tacky. Tarmac. Now he knew why Laura had been so excited. She’d already seen inside the boot. She already knew what he would find, but instead of staying with the car she had hurried back to the station so that he would be the one to find the evidence, and she would be the one standing with all their colleagues when he had to tell them what he found. She would then bask in the glow of being proved right. No doubt she’d be of the opinion that if they’d searched her car sooner, then the murder of Fiona Woods could have been prevented. He could have stopped her death from happening.
Hearing the sound of a diesel engine he glanced up the narrow road and saw the forensics van coming towards them. He waved at the unseen driver, indicating to him to keep coming.
Greg felt sick to the core. Each time he resisted believing in Alex Taylor’s guilt something else showed up to prove him wrong. And that something, right now, was overwhelming. Everything in the car indicated that she had killed Lillian Armstrong.
‘Sir?’
‘What?’
The police constable who had driven him to the scene was shining a torch inside the Mini.
Greg walked over to him.
‘There’s empty pill packets on the passenger seat.’
The man shone the torch through the driver’s door and Greg saw three empty blister packets. He reached in and picked one up and made out the word through the torn bits of foil: diazepam.
Shit. Fucking hell, he thought. She’s taken an overdose.
Chapter forty-five
Alex was still reeling with the shock of being deceived by her friend. Maggie’s eyes that told her it was true. They were full of hatred, raging with a malevolent need.
She had yet to feel fear, because at the moment, mixed in with the shock, was grief at the loss of someone she had come to like so much.
Through pale dry lips she managed to ask, ‘What have I done? I don’t understand, Maggie. What did I do?’
The spit on h
er face felt as shocking as any physical assault. The vile action was almost impossible to believe. Yet the wet sliding down her cheek was testimony to what Maggie thought of her.
Maggie leaned very close so that their faces were only inches apart. Her breath was hot against Alex’s cheek as she spoke: ‘Have you ever watched someone die?’
Alex briefly closed her eyes in the face of so much hatred.
‘Of course you have,’ Maggie said in the same icy whisper. ‘You see it every day . . . but it’s not the same when it’s someone you love. I watched Oliver die. It wasn’t pleasant. The rope . . . His face . . . His black tongue . . . I live with that image in my head.
‘I blamed them, Alex. I blame every one of them. And I was right to. There are women out there . . . tarts, prostitutes, sluts, who parade their goods and then say no. And then there are the clever ones who entice and tease. Women like you, who think they have the right to lead a man on. A good man.’
The heart monitor beside her betrayed Alex; it was beeping as her heartbeat went over the safe limit. She relived the morning, saw Maggie standing in the kitchen waving the sheets of paper she’d printed off the Internet. Oliver Ryan was appearing in a period drama in Bath. He couldn’t be dead . . . unless Maggie had lied. Which of course she had. It was a set-up, staged so that Alex would believe she was meeting him.
The realisation that it had all been planned terrified her more. Maggie had wanted to hurt her very badly for a very long time.
‘I never enticed him, Maggie. He attacked me.’
The cloth suddenly pressing into her mouth nearly drove her teeth backwards. The pain in her jaw was passing into her neck. Maggie’s full weight was behind the hand.
‘Shut your filthy mouth. Oliver would never attack any woman. He would never defile himself with a woman like you.’
Maggie shifted the cloth so that it covered her nostrils as well and Alex could no longer breathe. She tried inching her head up, moving her nose out of the way, desperate to draw air.
She gasped as the cloth was lifted off her face.
‘I nearly gave in and killed you quickly,’ Maggie said, breathing hard. ‘I expect that’s what you’re hoping for. But we have a long night ahead of us, Alex. Plenty of time to do what I plan. You need to rest. I want you fit for what I intend. But you better keep quiet.’
She held up the staple gun for Alex to see.
Despite her fear, Alex was not yet ready to give in to it. She had resolved not to fight it, but instead to let it in in the hope that she would literally be frightened to death, then this could finally be over. But she couldn’t. She had to believe she still had a chance.
‘You won’t get away with it, Maggie. When they find me, they’ll come looking for you. They’ll find a connection that will lead them to you. Oliver will lead them to you. They’ll find out he was your boyfriend.’
Maggie laughed but the sound was false. ‘Oliver was an actor. His private life was his own. No one will connect me to him. He loved me and wanted to protect me, so he kept me a secret.’
Alex wanted to hurt and shock her; anything to bring her out of her present mindset. ‘He didn’t love you! He was probably using you. You have money, Maggie. A house worth a fortune. You told me yourself he only came to your house to use your parents’ studio. He was using you! And the only reason he kept you secret was so that he could try it on with other women.’
The sharp click of the staple gun sucked the newly drawn breath back out of her lungs. Maggie slammed it against her skull and fired it again and again.
‘You slut. You lying little slut. If you don’t shut your mouth, I’ll staple it shut.’
Tears drenched Alex’s eyes and through them she blurrily saw Maggie’s face. Bravely she fought to carry on taunting her. She would rather rile her and take the chance of being killed in an instant than put up with this slow wait for death. ‘Richard Sickert will connect me to you. He’ll tell the police you sent me to him. He’ll lead them to you, Maggie.’
This time Maggie’s laugh sounded genuine. ‘You fool. Why wouldn’t I send you to get professional help? Everybody knows you’ve been falling apart. Dr Sickert will only confirm what everyone already believes. That you’re mad.’ Her grin looked manic and she spoke in a high, sickly-girly voice: ‘Oh Maggie, I’m so scared. Help me, Maggie. Help me.’ She prodded Alex’s forehead with a hard finger. ‘Why Oliver ever wasted his time with you I don’t know. You really are quite stupid. But none of that matters any more. He’s dead, and by tomorrow you will be too. Now, I have a lot to prepare. I want you to lie here and rest. You’ll need all your strength.’
She smiled pleasantly. ‘Did I tell you what I have planned?’
All Alex could do was stare. Maggie had to be mad to behave like this. Her hatred was completely out of control.
She realised now that the disintegration of her life had been engineered. Maggie Fielding had deliberately entered her life to destroy her.
‘They’ll come looking for you, Maggie.’
‘No, they won’t. You told them I was a man.’
*
In the hospital canteen, which had been opened by the site manager especially for this meeting, a large number of police officers were gathered. Greg brought them to attention.
‘Settle down and listen up,’ he said loudly.
Laura Best was at the front, still looking wide awake and immaculate. She was fuelled with adrenaline at the prospect of the hunt.
The site manager had urgently summoned the chief executive, and architectural plans of the hospital had been obtained. The chief fire officer of the city was also in attendance as he knew the grounds of the hospital better than most.
He had commandeered a canteen table to lay out the drawings. When he was ready he would speak to the officers about the layout and then Greg would sort them into groups to begin the search. He had finally accepted that Laura Best was right, that Alex Taylor probably was hiding somewhere on site. She had the advantage of knowing where to hide. The hospital grounds and buildings made for a difficult search. The place was like a small town.
Before going into the canteen, his mobile rang and Greg was surprised to hear Seb Morrisey’s voice and the clear thrum of helicopter blades rotating.
‘What are you doing, Seb? You can’t get in the way here. What are you doing up there flying?’
‘We got a floater,’ he answered coldly.
Greg’s breath caught in this throat. ‘Is it Alex?’
‘No,’ Seb answered, less hostile. ‘Male, middle-aged – they just retrieved his body from the river. Said he’s wearing military dog tags, so you should get an ID.’
Grey was relieved it wasn’t her.
‘But I’m staying up here now to help search for her.’
‘You still can’t get in the way, Seb. This is police business.’
‘You’re wrong, Turner.’ The anger in the pilot’s voice was clear. ‘Alex wouldn’t harm a fly. You’ve got this so wrong if even for one minute you let yourself believe she’s your killer. Fiona Woods was like a sister to her, and her killer has got Alex.’
‘We have to find her, Seb. We need to question her,’ Greg said calmly. ‘And if you hear from her you need to let me know.’
‘I judged you wrong, Turner. I thought you were a sound bloke, I thought you had a bit of vision. I’m staying up here and don’t try and stop me. Alex is in danger and you’re too stupid to realise it.’
The man’s opinion – not the personal stuff, but his thoughts on what was happening – shook Greg. Supposing he was right and Alex Taylor was not hiding, but was trapped by the real killer. The empty pill packets found in her car could have been planted. She could be dead, and everyone who believed her guilty could be wrong. Uncertainty and indecision weighed heavily on him. But he couldn’t afford to blind himself with emotion, or hide from the truth any longer.
He had watched yesterday afternoon’s CCTV footage again, and had nearly overlooked the
porter pushing a trolley along the corridor. He had spoken to the man not long ago and been told the loaded trolley was carrying dirty instruments and laundry bags. It was normal practice at that time of the day to use a large cage trolley to take the load away; the dumb waiter was only used when in need of a quick return, usually for a particular or specialised type of equipment. The porter was filmed at just gone six and Fiona Woods was seen on the first floor near main theatres at twenty past. Alex Taylor may have known of this practice and could have taken the chance, guessing it might not be used for a while, to use the dumb waiter to hide Fiona Woods’s body. According to Nathan Bell, she was still in her coat when he called on her in her flat later that evening. Maybe the purpose of the coat was to hide Fiona Woods’s blood.
But the most damning piece of evidence of all was the one Peter Spencer handed him a half hour ago. Found in Alex Taylor’s locker was her mobile.
The last message was sent to Fiona: ‘Meet me in theatre. I found the operating room. Tell no one.’ It was sent at two minutes after six.
With this last crucial piece of evidence he could no longer ignore the truth.
The faces of the officers before him were attentive. They were waiting for him to begin.
‘Remember that there are sick people in these buildings and they still need looking after. Do not alarm any of the staff unnecessarily. Do each search thoroughly so that it doesn’t have to be repeated, and then move on to the next place. All the exits are blocked so if she is here there can be no escape. In a moment, the chief fire officer is going to explain the layout of the hospital and the grounds. Listen carefully so that nowhere gets missed.’
He drew breath and avoided clashing eyes with Laura Best. ‘Lastly, be cautious if you do find her. She may be armed and dangerous. Do not – I repeat – do not put yourself in danger. As soon as you have a sighting, call for back-up.’
‘Are you bringing in armed officers?’ Laura Best asked.
He shook his head. ‘No.’
