Chapter 7 – Investigation
James blinked and shook his head to try and re-orientate himself. He couldn’t focus. He could see fire and smoke, and he could hear Sam’s screams. For a moment he thought he was back on the coach. He blinked rapidly to try and clear his vision. Were the other patients attacking him? A flailing hand knocked him on the side of the head. A body crashed into him. He could feel the heat of the flames and he could taste the smoke filling up his lungs. He started choking.
There was a clunking noise and the lift shook as it ground to a halt. James’s vision started to clear. He was facing in the direction of the lift doors. The lift had stopped between two levels. There was about half a metre of the upper floor visible.
As James took stock, he realised that one of the three kidnappers now lay unconscious at his feet. A second was clutching his head, and suddenly pitched forward onto Sam’s bed before reeling to the floor. The third patient, a girl, sunk to her knees and curled up like she was settling down to sleep.
“Help!” James bellowed in the direction of the doors, which to his surprise opened with the bone-jarring sound of torn metal. Fresh air was sucked into the lift and, to James’s even greater surprise, when he looked back at Sam’s bed the flames had been extinguished. The bed was charred and black, and the plaster cast on Sam’s left leg looked scorched. Sam herself appeared otherwise unhurt, just shaken and teary. He rushed over and hugged her.
A million thoughts flashed through Sam’s mind as she gripped her brother. The bomb; her injuries; those freaky weird happenings in her room and now being kidnapped by her classmates. Sam had hoped she was a brave person, but this was too much. She released her brother’s arm and checked her body for any sign of injury. She was relieved to see there were no new ones. She looked fearfully at the three patients who had just walked into her room and, without a single word, had trundled her bed out to the corridor and into the lift. They were like sleepwalkers, she thought, unconsciously echoing her brother’s conclusion. She recognised them all. Mark Berridge, fastest boy runner in the year, was lying to the left of her bed. The girl to the right of her bed was Thara Khan, arguably the prettiest girl in their year, and the other boy was Kyle something-or-other. He had been excluded from another school and his parents had got him in to South Ealing. She barely knew him. But that was their old lives – before the bomb. Everything was different now.
“What were they doing?” she asked, when she finally managed to find her voice.
James just shook his head, his eyes wide. Now that his adrenalin rush was subsiding and he was sure Sam was safe, it finally crossed his mind to wonder how he had managed to get into the lift. The doors had been closed – hadn’t they? Or was he misremembering? So much excitement, so much confusion; maybe he couldn’t trust his own recollection of events anymore.
Jasmin Sharma arrived at Brent Valley General at 6.30am. Her first broadcast wasn’t scheduled until eight o’clock, but Tommy – wonderful Tommy – had texted her at five o’clock this morning and told her something dynamite. The text read:
‘2 of the bomb kids caught in a lift fire at hospital this morning. Police all over the building. Think they want it hushed up.’
Jasmin had been fast asleep in her Paddington flat. She’d leaped out of bed and showered and changed in record time, much to the disgruntlement of her boyfriend, Alec. When Jasmin arrived at the hospital, she quickly found Tommy. He explained that all hell had broken loose in the night.
“At about two o’clock this morning, the fire alarms start going off. Somehow, five kids had managed to get themselves stuck in a lift. One of the kids claims she was kidnapped by three others. She reckons that her brother rescued her. Her brother is the one they found in McDonalds yesterday. Him and the girl are twins.”
Jasmin’s mind raced. Chief Superintendent Harden had feared that maybe the kids on the bus had been deliberately targeted and that the bomber might strike again. But he hadn’t expected the children to start kidnapping each other. If there was a connection between the bomb and the lift incident, she couldn’t begin to imagine what it might be.
“What about the fire?” she asked.
“There definitely was one. The girl’s bed is charcoal and there’s smoke everywhere, but by the time rescue teams arrive, the fire is out. I helped get them out. Three of them totally unconscious. The twins are fine. First thing they ask for is a Mars bar each.”
“They should definitely be on TV, those two,” mused Jasmin. “They’re like a circus act. Have the other three kids woken up?”
“This is where it gets even odder. The others were all coma patients. No one knows how they even managed to get out of bed, let alone get dressed and do a body snatch. Shouldn’t be possible. They’re back in their beds now and they haven’t woken up. The parents of all five kids have taken it to Chief Superintendent Harden and he’s desperate to stop all this getting out.”
“I bet he is. What about the twins? That’s the Blake twins isn’t it? They said anymore?”
“Don’t know. I haven’t seen them since. Been on other duties.”
“Do you live here, Tommy?” asked Jasmin, suddenly realising that Tommy had been working every time she had come to the hospital. Didn’t the man ever go home to sleep? Tommy just winked at her.
Jasmin considered carefully. She wanted to run this story, but knew if she asked Chief Superintendent Harden about it directly, he’d fob her off. And without witnesses or evidence, it would have no credibility. She needed to get Harden on TV and, if he didn’t want to do it willingly, she knew a way in which he could be persuaded.
Samantha Blake’s private room was uncharacteristically crowded, and she liked it. It felt comforting. Sam was lying on a replacement bed. Her hair still smelled of smoke. James sat next to her on a comfy armchair. Her mum and dad stood next to the bed, facing Dr Soames, Dr Okocha, and Chief Superintendent Harden. This was the first time Sam had seen Harden but evidently everybody else, including James, had met him before. Sam liked him. He was big and a bit scary looking, but he was nice to her and had the manner of someone who was in charge.
When Sam and James began relaying their story to him, it was obvious to Roger Blake that Harden assumed some kind of childish prank had been pulled. But by the end of the story he looked worried, which reassured Roger that Harden was taking it seriously.
Chief Superintendent Harden looked ruefully at the assembled group. He had to be very careful over what he said. He’d feared that some kind of second attack on the bomb survivors was a possibility, but had assumed it would come from a person or persons infiltrating the hospital. He hadn’t expected three of the injured kids to rise up from their sick beds and kidnap one of their own.
“Well, obviously we can’t take any action against the other three children involved. Dr Soames has confirmed that, medically speaking, none of them have come out of their coma since the bombing.”
“That’s correct,” Dr Soames asserted. “I can’t explain how they ended up in the lift, as in my opinion it’s a physical impossibility.”
“It’s like they were sleepwalking,” said Sam. “Like Emma Venton when she came into my room.”
“And those nurses who tried to stop me helping Sam,” piped up James.
The adults looked at each other. Sam hated that. Like they were silently deliberating on whether to believe the story, or chalk it up to childish imagination.
“I have officers speaking to the nurses who were on duty last night,” said Harden. “Given the commotion that was going on, I can’t understand how nobody raised an alarm earlier. I’ve also got people reviewing the CCTV footage.”
Sam liked Harden more and more.
“Now, what about this Emma Venton person?” he asked.
“Emma has severe burns,” said Dr Soames, uncomfortably. “She has been conscious, although under heavy medication. I’ve spoken to the night staff on her ward. They claim she didn’t leave her bed all night.”
“She walked
in here. I saw her,” insisted Sam, looking at Harden.
Harden looked at Dr Soames and raised his eyebrow. Dr Soames shrugged.
“I would have said it was impossible, but given what seems to have happened last night...” he tailed off.
“Well, if this Emma girl is the only one who is conscious,” Harden considered, “perhaps we can go and speak to her. Where is she?”
“On the next floor up. But I can’t guarantee she’ll be able to talk to us.”
Harden found his thoughts interrupted by the sound of chocolate-bar wrappers crackling loudly. Sam was looking at him expectantly while chomping on the finger of a Twix. James was staring out the window as he tucked into a Mars bar.
Harden’s mobile started ringing. He excused himself and walked out into the corridor to answer it.
Seconds later he burst back into the room. He still had the telephone to his ear.
He marched up to the TV and switched it on. There was a very loud, very annoying children’s programme on, featuring CGI characters and squeaky voices.
“Does this thing get 24/7 News?” he asked Sam. She nodded, biting off another chunk of her Twix.
Harden looked around the room.
“Where’s the blasted remote?”
Sam told him there wasn’t one, her mouth full of chocolate. Grumbling, Harden began scanning the TV to find the manual controls. Seeing he was struggling, Dr Soames tried to help. Sam and James exchanged smiles.
“There’s a little panel at the front,” offered Sam, helpfully. Harden saw it, pulled with his large fingers, and the panel came off in his hand. He pressed a button repeatedly until the channel changed to 24/7 Interactive News.
The attractive news anchor in the studio was speaking from within a mass of graphics that swamped the screen. A news ticker relentlessly delivered headlines, while a bombastic music score built up the dramatic tension. It was too much for the senses to take in. The news anchor’s authoritative tones reverberated around the room.
“Coming up, live from Brent Valley General Hospital, the latest on the victims of the terrorist car bomb. We’ll be talking exclusively to the parents of one of the survivors about their ordeal.”
They were now watching footage of a hospital ward. James recognised his own empty bed. It was Uxbridge Ward. In shot, hovering anxiously over their son’s bed and dressed as if for a wedding, were Mr and Mrs Randerson.
Chief Superintendent Harden went red.
“Did you authorise this, Soames?” he asked.
“Of course not,” snapped Dr Soames.
This was the first time James had seen Dr Soames lose his cool. He looked at Sam, who was watching the screen in fascination. One finger of her Twix remained uneaten.
“Don’t you want that?” he asked.
Sam screwed up her face at him and took a big bite of the biscuit.
Harden still had the phone to his ear.
“Right. Soames and I are on our way, we’ll meet you up there. How the hell did she get into the ward without anyone challenging her?”
There was a pause.
“Well, someone is going to get there’s kicked!”
Harden left the room with Dr Soames so close behind him they nearly collided as they exited through the door.
Sam and James instinctively both looked to their mum.
“Have you got any more food?” they asked in unison.
Yvonne produced some cake wrapped in clingfilm from her bag, much to the bemusement of her husband and Dr Okocha.
“Samantha, I think this might be a suitable point to check your bandages.”
“Can we do it later? I don’t want to miss this.”
Dr Okocha looked back at the TV screen. A brief advert break had finished and immediately they were returned to the establishing shot of Brent Valley General Hospital, with the accompaniment of more hard-hitting music. Then it was Jasmin Sharma, looking stunningly attractive, talking confidently into the camera.
“I really fancy her,” said James, through mouthfuls of his Mars bar.
“And you’ve never looked more attractive. She’d be all over you,” replied Sam.
I wish I looked as pretty as her, thought Sam idly. She seemed to be a very good journalist. Very tenacious. That was the word people used about good journalists wasn’t it? Sam wondered if she had enough tenacity herself to be a journalist. Sometimes she felt she was perhaps just a little too... nice? Would she have the guts to defy someone like Chief Superintendent Harden, just to get a story?
“I’m talking to you from Uxbridge Ward in Brent Valley General Hospital, where the young victims of the recent Hangar Lane bombing are receiving expert medical care.”
James recognised Nurse Winter hovering nervously in the background.
“I’m joined by the parents of one of the worst-affected survivors from that terrible tragedy. Glennis and Dennis Randerson have maintained a vigil at the bedside of their son Philip since he was brought to Brent Valley General on Tuesday night.”
Sam and James looked at each other.
“Glennis and Dennis?!” they chorused, laughing.
“They have been touched,” continued Jasmin sincerely, “by the support and goodwill that has been pouring in from all over the world during the past week and have asked for the right to address well-wishers, and to talk about their own personal experience.”
Everyone in Sam’s room now watched in silence. Sam brushed some carrot-cake crumbs off her nightdress.
Up on floor 17, Harden and Dr Soames had reached Uxbridge Ward. Harden had made himself calm down en route. The last thing he wanted was to embroil himself in an unsightly row that would be broadcast all over the world. By the time he entered the ward the Randersons were talking in strained, hushed tones, to Jasmin Sharma. A cameraman stood at the end of Philip’s bed. All of the other children in the ward were awake and watching with eager fascination. Nurse Winter gave Dr Soames a helpless shrug as he entered.
Jasmin caught sight of Harden and Soames out of the corner of her eye. Perfect. Both of them together. She never took her eyes off the Randersons, though, who were in full flow, recounting their shock, their prayers, and how they hoped that Brent Valley General might be able to give Philip better care. No blame was attached to any doctors, they said, but they did feel that the USA would have better facilities and new treatments.
Jasmin imagined Soames and Harden blowing their respective tops, but they took careful, measured steps as they approached her. Both were wary of being caught out by the media.
Harden adjusted his jacket and straightened his tie. He stood just at the edge of the camera’s viewing range. Soames, equally smart, stood with him. Jasmin could feel their eyes boring into her head.
Jasmin waited for the right point to interrupt Mrs Randerson. She saw it quickly.
“We just want what is best for our son, as I’m sure every parent does for every child in this hospital,” said Mrs Randerson, who was enjoying talking on camera.
“Indeed...” Jasmin put her hand gently on Mrs Randerson’s arm in an apparent gesture of sympathy, but in reality to shut her up. “... and the men tasked with looking after all the victims and their families, and in doing what is best for all, are standing right with me. Chief Superintendent Harden of the Metropolitan Police and Dr Soames, the doctor who is in charge of the care and treatment of the surviving young children. Good morning, gentlemen.” Jasmin announced them like they were arranged guests.
“Good morning,” said Harden through gritted teeth. Soames just nodded. The camera was firmly on them both now. Mrs Randerson realised she had been edged out and didn’t like it one little bit.
“Dr Soames, if I may start with you. Mr and Mrs Randerson, like all the parents involved, are concerned about the level of care that the children are receiving. Is Brent Valley General able to cope?”
Soames smiled and smoothly reassured the watching public that the hospital was one of the most prestigious in the world, and that the children were re
ceiving the very best care.
Jasmin turned to her primary target.
“Chief Superintendent Harden, are you able to give any reassurances to the parents that those responsible for the bombing will be brought to justice? Are you able to say what type of bomb was used?”
Harden smiled and smoothly reassured the watching public that the investigation was proceeding satisfactorily, and appealed for witnesses to come forward with information. He did not want to go off message.
“And what about the other, more recent, incidents that have happened within the hospital? One of the children found roaming in the fast-food restaurant on the ground floor? And the children caught in a lift fire...?”
Harden looked caught out. How had the damn girl found out about this so quickly? He hadn’t even had time to issue a media blackout.
“I cannot comment on speculation regarding events that may or may not have taken place within the hospital last night,” he said, thickly.
“I didn’t say the event happened last night,” said Jasmin, sweetly. Brilliant. She couldn’t believe Harden had blundered into such a basic trap. She left it hanging for two seconds and then switched to Soames.
“Dr Soames, can you add anything? I believe one of the children caught in the blaze is the occupier of this bed.” The camera panned to show James’s bed. Then it returned to press in on Soames.
Soames looked momentarily startled. There was an agonising few seconds of silence.
“It would not be ethical of me to comment on any patient’s condition,” he said, eventually. “Now, if you’ll excuse us, this is a hospital, not a television studio. I’m sure you understand.”
“Indeed I do,” said Jasmin, smoothly. She turned back to the camera. “We’ll update you with the latest developments from Brent Valley General at nine o’clock. Back to Rebecca in the studio.”
Seconds later Harden was at Dave Sturn’s side and made sure the camera was switched off. Sturn said nothing. Harden was apoplectic.
Nurse Lucy Winter, not wanting to miss out on any of the action, made herself busy by checking Philip Randerson’s life-support apparatus and generally fussing over him. She watched Harden square up to Jasmin Sharma.
“You are in big trouble, young woman,” thundered Harden. “That will be the last stunt you pull. I made it crystal clear to you people regarding media coverage of this story. Now, one of my officers will escort you from the building or I may just toss you out the window myself. If you set one dirty foot back on the premises then you’re going to be nicked for obstructing the course of justice. Do I make myself clear?”
“Excuse me, Chief Superintendent,” piped up Mr Randerson. “But Miss Sharma is here at our invitation.”
Harden, remembering what these people had gone through recently, and conscious of adverse publicity, made an effort to be polite.
“Mr Randerson, I did ask that for the benefit of everyone, particularly the children themselves, we do not turn this into a media circus.”
“And we are not satisfied with that explanation, or the level of care Philip is receiving. Philip wants to be moved to the best room in the hospital, before he gets moved to America where he can be treated properly.”
“Philip wants...?” said Dr Soames uncomprehendingly. “Mr Randerson, your son cannot be moved. And who said he’s going to America?”
“Miss Sharma is going to arrange it for us,” said Mr Randerson, confidently.
Oops, thought Jasmin. Hadn’t expected them to jump on that quite so quickly.
“Miss Sharma, when will we be doing the next interview? Should it be at our home for the evening news?”
“Well, we’ll be running this interview for the rest of the day,” said Jasmin. “But I’ll be in touch.”
“You won’t!” said Harden.
“Philip wants to be on the evening news!” said Mrs Randerson, evenly.
“And we want what is best for our son,” said Mr Randerson, equally evenly.
Chief Superintendent Harden knew where to draw the line between good manners and his duty and decided that he’d given sufficient time to the Randersons. While they had his sympathy, they fell into the ‘very annoying’ sub-category of ‘general public’.
Mrs Randerson turned her attention away from Harden and on to Nurse Winter, who was still fussing around Philip’s bed.
“That will do, young lady,” she said in a sharp, headmistressy tone. “I’m perfectly capable of looking after my son.”
Nurse Winter took a step back from Philip’s bed and looked nervously at Dr Soames.
A tall woman with red hair and a sharp trouser suit entered the ward and stood in front of Harden. It took Harden a second to focus on her, so consumed was he by anger.
“Dr Soames, this is Detective Inspector Stannard,” he finally managed. “Stannard, this is Dr Soames.” He was pleased to see Stannard. Soames nodded courteously.
“Good timing, Stannard,” said Harden, brightening up. “First things first – get those two thrown out of the building and make sure they know to stay out,” he said, jerking a thumb in the direction of Jasmin and Dave.
“Then,” continued Harden, “please come and join me and Dr Soames in Southall Ward. I want to take a look at Miss Emma Venton.”
At this point Nurse Lucy Winter stumbled forward, put her hand to her head and collapsed on the floor.
A Class Apart Page 7
