“For my sins. And I’m lucky enough to score the night shift, too. Now, let me tell you, night shift in ER isn’t for the faint of heart.” She smiled.
“I can imagine.”
They stepped out onto the street, and Don motioned he was heading in the opposite direction. “Nice to meet you, Diane.”
“Yes. You, too. We’ll have to catch up properly sometime.”
“You can count on it,” he said, as he watched her walk towards the train station.
***
Hannah arrived home just after six. When her knock on Diane’s door went unanswered, she let herself into her own flat. She dropped her bag, kicked off her shoes, and began running a bath. She felt totally done in and highly emotional. She’d hung around at the office for an extra half hour, hoping Max would find the time to seek her out. But, Diane was so wrong—he couldn’t care less about her.
After soaking in vanilla-scented bubbles for half an hour, she was ready to fall into bed. She ate several rye crackers topped with canned tuna, washed down with a cup of milky tea.
As she slid between the sheets, she heard a vague tapping sound.
What the hell was that?
She held her breath, waiting for the sound again. Sure enough, a few seconds later, she heard it again.
Getting out of bed, she crept to the window, and peeked around the edge of the curtains. Her heart missed a beat when she saw a man dressed in jeans and denim jacket. She immediately knew who it was. She’d recognise that delicious posterior anywhere.
Max turned and smiled that heart-stopping smile of his, and lifting his arms, indicated he had two full grocery bags.
“What the…?” Shaking her head, she dropped the curtain.
She switched on the overhead light and baulked at her reflection in the mirror. She didn’t have a scrap of makeup on, and her nipples stuck out like fingertips through the fine fabric of her nightie. She pinched her cheeks, and licked her lips, as she shrugged into her robe.
Max was leaning against the doorjamb, as she opened it. He smiled and raised his eyebrows, as though trying to establish if he was going to be welcome, or not.
“What are you doing here, Max? I was in bed.”
“Really? Are you sick?”
“No. Why?”
“Because it’s not even seven-thirty.”
“I’ve had a busy day, if you must know.”
“Are you going to ask me in? These bags are pretty heavy.”
She gave an exaggerated sigh and stepped backwards, allowing him to enter. “What have you got in the bags?”
“Dinner. I’m going to cook for you.”
“I’ve already eaten,” she said.
He screwed his lips to one side. “Ah, yes. I didn’t actually think this through, did I?”
A reluctant smile tweaked at the corners of her mouth. “Not really. What did you bring?” she asked, as she led him through to the kitchen.
He placed the bags on the benchtop. “I was going to make chicken in a white wine sauce, dauphinoise potatoes, and broccoli.”
“Sounds delicious. If only you’d let me know earlier.”
“I wasn’t sure if you’d answer my call, after the telling off you gave me the other night.”
“So, you thought you’d just turn up, and hope for the best?”
“Pretty much—yeah.”
She rolled her eyes. “Do you want a cup of tea or coffee?”
“I have a lovely Australian Shiraz in here somewhere.” He rummaged in the bags and lifted out a bottle of wine. “Fancy a glass?”
Hannah searched the cupboard for a couple of decent glasses, but she only had mismatched ones. “I don’t own many glasses, and the ones I do have are meant for white wine, sorry.”
He shrugged. “Doesn’t matter. A glass is a glass.”
She handed him a corkscrew. “So, are you going to tell me why you’re here?”
“Because I’ve not been able to get you out of my mind since last Friday.” He pulled the cork out, and held the bottle towards her.
She leaned her glass towards him. “So much so, you waited almost a whole week to see me again.”
“Hardly fair. I did have the death of a friend to contend with on Saturday morning. I was working with the police most of the weekend, only going home for some rest on Monday. I called you that very evening.”
Hannah shrugged.
“I’m still a little confused by what you said, by the way,” he said.
“I don’t see why.” She sipped her wine, and walked through to the lounge.
He followed.
Once they were seated at either end of the beige velour sofa, she placed her glass on the coffee table. “You’re my boss, Max. We’re from opposite ends of the spectrum. This will never work. Plus, like I already said on the phone, I don’t want to be just another conquest.” She couldn’t believe she was talking to her boss like that, but he was in her house, outside of office hours. That made them equal in her eyes.
“Now that’s the part I don’t get.” He shuffled to the edge of the seat. “I’ve never dated anyone from the office. Not once. So, who’s been saying differently?”
Hannah picked up her glass again and stared into it, not wanting to drop Angela in the poop.
“And so what if I’m your boss? It doesn’t mean we can’t enjoy each other’s company. I haven’t asked you for anything else. Have I?”
“No. Not yet. But, I was told you make a habit of schmoozing all your young, pretty employees.”
“That’s bullshit, Hannah. Tell me who’s been lying to you.”
“I’m not going to break their confidence.”
He got to his feet and walked from the room.
Hannah’s stomach fell. Was he leaving? When he returned with the wine bottle, she wanted to cry. She realised, at that moment, she wouldn’t have allowed him to leave. She didn’t know why, but she believed him. And so what if he’d had affairs with lots of different women? She was hardly whiter than white herself.
He filled her glass again, and returned to his seat. His stomach growled. “Sorry.” He smiled.
“You’re starving. Shall I make you some…” She racked her brain, trying to remember what she actually had in the fridge. “… toast?”
“Toast would be lovely. Thanks.”
“Hardly lovely. Just haven’t had a chance to go to the shop.”
They both headed back to the kitchen.
“What shall I do with this lot?” He patted the bags.
“Take it home, I suppose.”
“There’s no point. I don’t have a cooker in the flat, and I’m not dragging it all the way to the lake house.”
She put two slices of bread in the toaster.
“I could always come back tomorrow and cook for you, if you like? Just to cook for you. No strings.”
“What if I want strings? What if I want ropes and chains, and strings?” She looked at him hopefully.
His beautiful eyes twinkled. “Let’s see if you still feel the same after you’ve tasted my cooking, shall we? And then we’ll renegotiate from there. Deal?”
“Deal.” She giggled.
Chapter 17
“What the fuck?” Don screamed at the monitor. “Why is this happening to me?” He tore at his hair, and bit down hard on his lip as he paced the compact security hub. Well, he wouldn’t have her. No fucking way was he going to let Maxwell-fucking-Myers have her. Snap-snap-snap.
He kicked the swivel chair, then picked it up and slammed it back down to the floor. Bits of black plastic and chrome flew in every direction.
Standing in the corner, his forehead placed against the cool wall, he forced himself to breathe slowly, calming himself down. Snap-snap-snap.
Then, he set about clearing away his mess.
After doing his rounds, he checked on Ken and Aaron, the two youngest, and most gullible, members of staff, before exiting via the service doors.
***
It was 1.47am at Cheadle
Royal Infirmary. The emergency department was always busy, but thankfully, Diane enjoyed her work. The world of emergency medicine was her calling, and she thrived on the chaos and the individuality of every person, every case, and every scenario.
Paramedics had brought in a 21-year-old black male a couple of hours before. He’d been shot twice with a small calibre pistol, once in the neck and once in the shoulder. He didn’t look like the normal type of thug they usually admitted.
Because the police didn’t know him, the young man’s family hadn’t been informed. The officer in charge was trying to piece together what had happened to lead him to this potentially fatal attack, but none of the supposed witnesses had admitted to seeing anything.
He’d had an emergency tracheotomy performed at the side of the road to help him to breathe, which had stabilised him for the trip to the hospital.
Once there, Diane established both of the bullets had exit wounds, and had managed to miss any major arteries, but the lad was in a bad way. Any muscle or nerve damage would be dealt with if he actually survived, which, in her professional opinion, seemed unlikely. The next few hours would be critical. She cleaned and dressed the wounds, and arranged for six units of blood, before placing him on life support.
Although the patient needed to be admitted to ICU, because of overcrowding, they had no choice but to administer critical care in the stabilisation room, a room off the ED, while they waited for a bed. Diane had found she needed to use the room more and more in the past few months. It was quiet and peaceful in there. Apart from the sound of the life support systems, you could not hear any chaotic activity out in ED, and it was technically a place for cases with little or no chance of recovery.
Unofficially, patients would be placed in the room, and monitored for around two hours. In most cases, the patients would pass away within that period. One in twenty-five would stabilise, and be taken to intensive care. The savings in man-hours, medicines, and care were huge, justifying to the financial team the use of the room. It was a costing issue pure and simple.
***
Don stood in the shadows waiting for his opportunity to deal with his loose end. He watched as Diane finished with a patient, and turned towards the Stabilisation Unit to check on the young gunshot victim she seemed concerned about.
He was ready.
Inside the room, the combination of low lighting and the life support system created an eerie glow. She walked toward her patient, checking the monitor, and examining his pupils using her penlight. Hearing the door open, she turned.
“You’re not allowed in here, sir. Please wait outside, and I’ll be with you shortly.”
He continued towards her.
“Sir?” Then, she seemed to notice his uniform. “Oh, sorry, I didn’t realise. Can I help you?”
As he approached, he watched the smile drop from her face, as she suddenly recognised him.
“What are you doing here? You don’t work for security.”
“You’re right. I don’t!” he said.
Suddenly, with the stealth and speed of a trained killer, he produced a hunting knife in his blue, latex-gloved hand. Before she could react, he stepped forward, and thrust the knife deep into her chest, twisting it slightly to the right—pointing across to her left shoulder, and he hugged her closely with his other arm. He knew this would pierce her heart, causing it to bleed out into the lungs and chest cavity. One thrust, an almost instantaneous death, leaving very little blood outside the body. Clean, very clean. This happened to be his favourite, close combat kill position.
He held her, until the life drained from her eyes. “You should’ve kept your nose out, shouldn’t you? You stupid, stupid woman.”
He allowed her lifeless body to slump over the bed, and placed the handle of the knife into the boy’s right hand. Using his elbow, he crushed the tracheotomy tube cutting off his air. The boy began to shake around in a small pool of Diane’s blood. He made a gurgling sound. Thirty seconds later, the flatline confirmed he was dead.
Don exited into the busy ED, leaving via the medic’s access. He discarded the gloves in the yellow biohazard bin.
Everything was almost back on track, excluding Max. Pleased with himself, he zipped up his jacket, and walked into the night, heading back to work.
***
Hannah went to bed with a huge grin on her face, and it remained in place for the whole of the following day.
She avoided Angela, fearing the woman would see right through her. She didn’t know if Max was telling the truth, but she wanted to give him the benefit of the doubt. However, she knew how awkward it would make things with Angela, who was her direct boss. And, if Max was being honest with her, she didn’t know why Angela would have lied to her in the first place.
When she got home from work, she knocked on Diane’s door, but she wasn’t home, again. She was itching to tell her friend her news.
She rushed into her flat to get ready for Max. He intended to do the cooking, so she guessed he’d arrive quite soon.
***
Max arrived at Hannah’s door just after 6 pm. He’d brought flowers, and was casually dressed in jeans, trainers, and his favourite pale blue Ben Sherman oxford shirt. He had a thin cotton jacket over his arm.
He couldn’t remember feeling this jumpy since his first date back in college. Back then, it was the first time he’d really felt something for a girl, and he’d arranged to meet her outside the movies.
“Grow a pair, Maxie-boy,” he grumbled to himself, then he took a deep breath, and rang the doorbell.
Moments later, Hannah flung the door open, and her face lit up when she saw him.
Her welcome helped settle his raging heartbeat.
Insisting she leave him to it, he set about his business in the kitchen, while Hannah put her feet up, reading her book in the lounge.
***
Hannah sipped on a glass of wine, while she listened to Max banging and chopping. He popped in every so often to top up her glass, but wouldn’t allow her into the kitchen. She could certainly get used to being treated like this.
Startled by the doorbell, she bumped into Max in the hall.
“Are you expecting anybody?” he asked.
“No. Unless it’s my neighbour. She usually calls in for a drink, but I thought she’d left for work already,” she said, as she walked to the door.
The sight of two uniformed cops caused her to gasp.
“Good evening, ma’am. Are you the registered occupant of this flat?” one of the officers said.
“I am, yes.”
“I wonder if we could step inside for a second. We need to ask you a few questions.”
Feeling suddenly guilty, the way she always did around the authorities, she backed up allowing them to enter. She glanced towards Max, who was standing in the kitchen doorway, and his forehead crinkled as he saw who was behind her.
Max wiped his hands on a towel, and stepped towards her. “Is everything alright?”
“Sorry to disturb your evening, sir. We just need to ask you and your wife a couple of questions, and we’ll be out of your hair,” said the older, grey-haired officer.
“Max isn’t my husband. He’s just… he’s just a friend,” she stammered.
She ushered them into the lounge.
The younger cop pulled out a pad and pen, then glanced at his colleague.
“Firstly, do you mind confirming your name for me, please?” the older officer said.
“Of course. Hannah McLaughlin.”
“How long have you lived here, Ms McLaughlin?”
“Not long, three or four weeks. Why?”
“How well do you know your neighbour, Diane Nagel?”
Hannah’s mouth dried up. “Well, I guess. She’s a good friend. Why?”
The officer ignored her question. “When did you last see her?”
“Erm… Tuesday or Wednesday. We often have a coffee together when I finish work, and before she leaves for hers, but I haven’t seen her for
a couple of days. Is she alright?”
The officers glanced at each other. “I’m sorry, miss, but I have bad news.”
Hannah gulped, and Max reached for her hand. “Go on,” she said.
“I’m sorry to have to tell you, but Ms Nagel was killed at the hospital last night.”
Chapter 18
Hannah felt as though she was in a bubble. She could see the officer’s mouth moving, and warbled sounds infiltrated her mind, but she couldn’t hear a word. Diane, her lovely, funny, and only friend, was dead.
Forcing herself to breathe, she shook her head. “How? Who killed her?”
“It’s still under investigation, but it appears a young man, who’d been admitted with gunshot wounds, must’ve had a knife on his person. We’re not certain until we get the SOCO report, but he apparently stabbed your friend, before dying of his own injuries.”
She shook her head. “It doesn’t sound right.” A sob escaped her, and she turned towards Max.
He wrapped his arms around her tightly. “It’s okay, Hannah, let it all out.”
When she regained a little composure, she wiped her eyes, and turned back to the officers. “I’m sorry, but I don’t understand. How could somebody so sick find the strength to kill Diane?”
“As I said, it’s still under investigation.”
“So, why are you here?”
“Routine. We need to look into all aspects of a murder victim’s life to see if there are any discrepancies. One thing I’ve discovered since being a police officer is that criminals will go to extraordinary lengths to cover up a crime.”
“So you think it may not have been this guy after all?” Max said.
“That’s up to the homicide team to establish. We’re just interviewing anybody who knew the victim to try to build a picture of her life. Did she have any enemies you knew of? Any boyfriends, including exes?”
The Watcher : A Chilling Serial Killer Thriller Page 10
