*
Earlier that morning, James had come into the Duty Room just after Susan.
‘No boyfriend today then, Jo? I thought something was missing.’
‘If it’s Mr Jones you’re referring to, he went home on Saturday,’ I said in a bored voice.
‘And good riddance,’ muttered Debbie Hillard from the corner.
‘Why?’ James demanded. ‘I didn’t think he was that bad.’
‘I don’t suppose he dropped you in it the way he did me.’
But would Susan take the bait so soon after Tom’s departure …?
*
It had been decided that I shouldn’t be on the ward when Susan went in, in case my presence put her off, so I got the story from James later.
He was sitting with Mr Dunn at the time, an RTA who’d apparently been drunk when he’d crashed his car. Susan came in, glanced at her forms and approached a bed.
‘Mr Bridges?’ she said softly.
‘That’s right,’ said Gail, an edge to her voice.
Susan set out the sample bottles and punctured Bridges’s vein (‘Ooh, that’s a nasty prick you got there, miss.’ Gail rolled her eyes).
Next came Mrs West, then Mr Dunn …
‘Am I in your way, love?’ asked James.
‘If you wouldn’t mind, just for a minute.’ Her quiet voice was as assured as ever.
‘The lady’s going to take a sample of your blood,’ James said to Dunn, then eased his way past her. Dunn mumbled something unintelligible. His head was so heavily bandaged that only his eyes were visible, and one arm was encased in plaster.
James wandered over to the nurses’ station, said something to Armitage, then wandered back as Susan was setting out her sample bottles. He watched her for a moment, then nodded once in Dunn’s direction. She put a bottle in the barrel of the vacutainer assembly. As she went to puncture Dunn’s arm, his hand appeared from beneath the bedclothes (the plaster was a blind) and fastened on to her wrist …
‘Susan King, I am arresting you for attempted —’
In a flash, she twisted her hand away and rammed the needle into his biceps … he roared and tried to pull it out …
James went to grab her, but she picked up her tray and flung it at him, its edge catching his forehead before crashing on to the floor, then she bolted for the left-hand patient transfer air-lock, where she propped the outer door open (so that the inner door was locked).
The policeman outside had been fooled by her plain appearance and had a knee in the groin and fingernails in his eyes before he knew it, and by the time Anslow and Co had reached him, she’d completely disappeared.
Anslow quickly organized the hunt before venting his spleen on the unfortunate Dunn (his real name) and his colleague outside (whose eyes were still watering).
The hospital was painstakingly searched and road blocks set up before someone thought to tell him that Susan always travelled by push-bike. Her flat was broken into, but there was no sign of her.
Then, two hours after she escaped, it was reported that someone answering her description had boarded a Birmingham train with a bicycle. The headquarters of her religious sect — Disciples of the One True God — was based in Birmingham, so the search was concentrated there.
‘At least her guilt’s beyond doubt now,’ Tom said to me. ‘I was worried that she’d just flatly deny everything. Even with this’ — he indicated the pressurized bottle of insulin in its plastic bag — ‘they might have had a job convicting her.’
Dunn had been admitted the evening before with the word Atheist firmly planted in his record (Tom had discovered that Susan looked through the new patient records on the computer every day, using the password of one of the lab workers). The word had been put round that he had been driving while drunk and that a child had been killed in the accident.
Tom had been reported to have left at last and a request for blood samples from Dunn put into the basket at midday. James had sat with him until Susan appeared. After moving away, he’d waited until he’d seen her take a bottle from her pocket, then nodded at Dunn. The rest, as they say, was history.
Tom agreed to stay in the area until she was found and took me back to my house a little after five.
‘I wouldn’t half mind a coffee,’ he said when we got in. ‘Why don’t you put the kettle on?’
‘Why don’t you?’ I said. I felt I could afford to say it now.
‘Because I need to take a leak. Stupid expression,’ he continued as he made for the stairs. ‘How can you take a leak? But that’s the Americans for you.’
I’d just turned the tap on when I heard a thump upstairs. I turned the tap off, put the kettle down and went back into the living-room.
‘Tom …?’ then I heard him coming down.
She appeared at the bottom of the stairs. In her hand, Tom’s gun was pointing at my midriff.
19
‘Back, Sister.’
‘What have you done to Tom?’
‘Back.’ She gesticulated with the gun and I shifted a couple of paces. ‘D’you have string?’
She must have knocked him out. ‘I — no …’
‘Tape?’
‘Only Sellotape,’ I said, remembering how we hadn’t bothered to set a marker on the door.
‘Where?’
‘In the kitchen.’
‘Get it, quickly.’
She followed me to the door and watched as I took the roll from the drawer.
‘Upstairs, to the bathroom. Quickly.’
I went as slowly as I dared, in case there was a chance he might recover, but he was stretched on the floor, not moving. Beside him lay the bottle of bath salts she must have hit him with.
‘Tape his wrists,’ she ordered.
‘I ought to check his pulse.’
‘After you’ve taped him. Go on. I’m watching you.’
Taping a person up is not something I’ve had much experience with, so I didn’t have to pretend to fumble.
‘Make it tighter than that,’ she ordered. ‘Wind it round between his wrists and pull it tight. Go on, do it.’
I passed the roll between his arms a couple of times and pulled, tightening the turns I’d already made.
‘Harder … Now make it fast.’
She threw me a pair of nail scissors, then told me to move back while she checked it.
‘Now his feet. Go on.’
I repeated the performance on his ankles.
‘Now drag him downstairs.’
‘How can I —?’
‘You’ve had enough practice moving patients, Sister. Do it.’
I put my hands under his shoulders and pulled. He was heavier than he looked, but I managed to get him through the door and to the top of the stairs.
‘I’ll go down first; you pull him after.’
‘But what if —?’
‘Just do it.’
I wondered for a moment about pulling him hard enough to send us both rolling into her, but she went down nearly to the bottom.
‘Go on, pull him.’
It was as he bumped over the first step that he let out a small groan and I felt a surge of relief — at least he was still alive.
She made me drag him to the middle of the floor before telling me to sit on the sofa.
‘Lean back … that’s right.’
It was the first chance I’d had to look at her properly. She was the same, superficially. The same flat features and mousy hair, still the same quiet voice, although there was a new edge to it now … but the main difference was in her eyes; they met mine defiantly, as though she was challenging me, trying to stare me down.
I felt compelled to say something. I said, ‘They’re going to find you sooner or later, Susan. Why make it worse for yourself?’
Her lips moved slightly in what might have been a smile.
‘How could it be any worse?’
What could I say without provoking her?
‘Susan, if you give yourself up, I promise
I’ll try and help you. I won’t make anything of this’ — I indicated Tom and the gun — ‘and I’ll be a witness on your behalf.’
‘I’d still go to prison.’
Now, the difficult bit …
‘I don’t think so, Susan.’
This time she really did smile.
‘You mean a hospital. A so-called hospital. For the insane. There’s only one problem there, Sister — I’m not mad. I’ve known perfectly well what I was doing from the start.’
My tongue touched my lips. They felt very dry. Keep her talking. They like to talk …
‘Why did you do it, Susan?’
‘Somebody had to.’
‘But why?’
‘You know why.’
‘I don’t, really.’
She blinked rapidly a few times, then took a breath and she began, haltingly at first: ‘Everything’s a mess. Corrupt. The whole world. This country. People in Africa starving, but the richer we get, the more greedy we get. It all springs from selfishness and indulgence and greed …’ Her eyes slid away from me for a moment, her mouth still open; I tensed, but as though she’d felt it, her eyes flicked back to me.
‘I agree with you, Sus —’
‘Do you? Are you any better than the rest?’ She sucked in a breath. ‘Oh, perhaps you are, a bit. It all comes down to Godlessness, you see. Greed comes from Godlessness. People look around and think that what they see is all there is, so they try and snatch as much of it as they can for themselves. While people can see God, they are reminded of their duties, their obligations; they stay on the path and — I suppose you think this is funny?’
I never felt less like laughing in my life.
‘No, Susan, I don’t, but —’
Her eyes gleamed with a momentary cunning. ‘You’re just saying that because you’re frightened I might kill you, too.’
‘Of course I’m frightened, but I said it because I understand, and —’
‘Understand what?’
‘What you mean, and why you did the things you —’
‘I had to.’ She spoke with a sudden change of emphasis, like a teacher speaking to a child. ‘A person may lose God, that happens, but it’s a thing to be sorry about, ashamed of. To be silent about, not to boast … These people, by proclaiming their Godlessness, they undermine those who waver, who might otherwise have found God again and …’ She broke off, her lips opening slightly and shutting a few times.
I said, ‘Susan, if you give yourself up and explain that, then no harm will come to you. I can promise you that.’
Again, the fleeting look of cunning. ‘But my work. I wouldn’t be able to continue my work …’
I closed my eyes for a moment, then said, ‘Susan, do you really think that God wants you to go on killing people?’
‘Of course.’ No hesitation. ‘It says so in the Bible.’ Then, slowly, almost like a mantra: ‘The wages of sin is death. Death.’
I swallowed. ‘But —’
The phone rang.
I looked at her.
She said, ‘Don’t answer it.’
‘They know she’s here,’ said a man’s voice. Tom. ‘They’ll only come round looking for her if she doesn’t answer it.’
Her tongue touched her lips. ‘Tell them you were in the bath. You’ll ring back later.’
I stretched over and picked it up.
‘Hello?’
‘Sister Farewell?’
‘Yes?’
‘Took yer time, didn’t you?’ Sutton.
‘I was in the bath.’
‘Sorry. Is Jones there?’
‘No, I’m afraid she isn’t.’
‘I said, is Jones there?’
‘I know. She’s not here. I think she’s on a nursing shift.’
‘You aw right?’
‘No, I’m not’ — Susan was gesticulating — ‘I must go now. I’ll tell her you rang if she contacts me. Goodbye.’ I put the phone down.
‘Who was it?’ Susan demanded.
‘A boyfriend of Mary’s. Sister Tamworth.’
‘Why did he ring here?’
‘He’d tried her flat, and she’s often here.’
‘You told them she was on duty. She’s not on duty …’
‘I know. It was all I could think of.’
‘She’s profane — Sister Tamworth.’
‘She’s … lost,’ I said.
She sat back in her chair and looked at us in silence. Tom’s gun in her hand never wavered. I hoped that Tom wouldn’t say anything more …
He said, ‘You realize that someone’s going to look for us sooner or later?’
‘Yes. By then, I will be gone.’
Panic was beginning to steal over me. ‘D’you want us to help you, Susan?’
‘You will help me,’ she said flatly.
‘Yes.’
‘Do you have a passport?’
‘Yes.’
‘How old?’
‘Er — five years.’
‘Where is it?’
‘In my desk. Upstairs.’
‘Credit cards?’
‘Yes.’
‘How many?’
‘Two.’
‘Car documents?’
‘Yes.’
She said, ‘Is that your natural hair colour?’
‘Almost.’ I’d said it before I realized what she was getting at.
‘So you’ve got some hair dye?’
Sick, appalled, I said, ‘Not dye, no. A tinting compound, that’s all.’
‘We’ll go up and look. Now.’
After a moment’s hesitation, I got to my feet. I was shaking all over. She waved me forward with the gun. I went upstairs. Would Tom be able to work himself free …?
Into the bathroom.
‘All my hair things are in there,’ I said, indicating the wall cabinet. My voice was shaking too.
‘Open it.’
I did so. She pushed the contents aside, knocking some to the floor. No dye.
‘It doesn’t matter. I’ll get some later.’
‘Susan’ — I couldn’t stop myself — ‘are you going to kill us?’
‘Why should I do that? I just need to get away from this area.’
I pretended to believe her. I might have actually believed her were it not for the pure animal cunning that fleeted through her eyes again …
She made me find my passport and other documents and we were at the top of the stairs when the doorbell rang.
She stiffened. ‘Who would that be?’
‘I don’t know.’
‘Sister Tamworth’s boyfriend?’
‘It could be.’
Her mouth opened and closed again.
‘Don’t let them in. Say you’re not well, whoever it is.’
We went down the stairs. Tom didn’t seem to have moved. Our eyes met as I passed him on the way to the door, Susan behind me.
‘Remember,’ she hissed, ‘I’ve got nothing to lose.’ She moved behind the door.
My hand was on the latch as the bell pealed again. I opened the door on to the chain.
It was Polo.
‘I’m so sorry to disturb you, Sister,’ he said. ‘Mr Sutton sent me. He wants to see Mr Jones.’ He sounded abnormally polite.
‘Well, I’m afraid he’s not here’ — what could I say to alert him? ‘John.’
‘Oh. Do you know where I might find him, please?’
‘I think he’s gone back to London, John.’
‘Do you have an address? Phone number?’
‘I’m afraid not. But you should find him at the Department of Health in London.’
‘I’ll try that, then. So sorry to have bothered you, Sister.’
‘That’s all right. Bye, John.’
I shut the door. Swayed with dizziness. Susan’s eyes were like stones.
‘Go over to the window. Has he gone?’
‘Yes.’
‘Who was he? Why didn’t he phone?’
‘I’ll tell you who
it was!’ I shouted, having decided attack was the only defence. ‘That was … John’ — I’d nearly said Polo — ‘Len Sutton’s man. You know who Len Sutton is? The husband of the Mrs Sutton you killed. He’ll kill you without thinking about it if he finds you …’
‘How does he know Mr Jones?’
‘Because he was after you himself and we went round to his house to tell him to lay off, that’s why.’
It seemed to satisfy her. She said, ‘Lie down on the floor, next to him.’
My pulse missed a beat — was this it?
‘Susan, I —’ Then I saw that she’d picked up the Sellotape. I lay down. She put her knee in the small of my back and taped my hands. She was quite heavy and stronger than she looked. There was nothing I could do.
Tom said, ‘You know they’re going to get you in the end, don’t you, Susan?’
‘Oh, shut up, Jones!’ I said.
‘But I think she ought to know that,’ he said reasonably.
‘It’s in God’s hands,’ Susan said.
‘But doesn’t God help those who help themselves.’
‘I don’t like to hear His name on your lips,’ she said, dangerously quiet.
‘I’m sorry —’
‘I must continue to do His work for as long as He will allow me. It’s in His hands.’
‘But He wouldn’t want you to kill a true believer, would He?’
‘Tom, please be quiet,’ I said.
‘But I think this is important. He wouldn’t want you to kill a true believer, would He, Susan?’
‘But you’re not a believer. Not a true believer.’
‘Perhaps I’m not. But Sister Farewell is.’
She looked at me. ‘Are you, Sister?’
‘Er — yes, I believe I am.’
She poked her face close to mine. ‘When did you last perform an act of worship? When did you last enter the house of God?’
‘Yesterday. I went to St Chad’s Cathedral.’
Her mouth worked silently, then, ‘You’re lying. What time?’
‘It was just after five. There was a service — it was Thanksgiving.’
She stared at me. Her mouth opened to say something — closed — opened again.
‘It’s true,’ Tom said loudly. ‘I was there, waiting outside —’
‘What was that noise?’ She was on her feet.
‘The window!’ Tom said.
She turned to it … Polo appeared in the kitchen door … She whirled round, saw him, levelled the gun at my eyes … I wanted to close them, but couldn’t … Saw her finger tighten, then a knife sliced into her hand as the gun went off … I remember thinking: I heard the bang, didn’t I? That means I’m still alive, doesn’t it …?
Sisters of Mercy Page 14
