Disorder (Sam Keddie thriller series Book 1) (8 page)

Chapter 21

Reading, Berkshire

‘If this goes to bloody voicemail, I’m heading straight for her office,’ said Eleanor, as she waited for Jane Vyner to answer her phone.

   ‘Hello,’ she said, her impatience barely contained. There was a pause. ‘I need to speak to Jane.’ When she spoke again after another moment, her voice was softer, quieter. ‘Right. Thank you’

   Eleanor’s face, when she turned to Sam, had paled. ‘A policeman answered her phone. He said that there’s been a traffic accident. Two casualties have been taken to hospital in Reading.’

   Eleanor stared into the middle distance, then snapped back into reality. Her face seemed to flood with rage, with the look Sam had seen when he’d first met her and she was clutching a shotgun.

  ‘She cannot do this to me!’ Eleanor cried. ‘She cannot deny me my right to know why Dad died.’

   Sam had watched enough hospital dramas to know that Jane Vyner would probably be unconscious and, once in hospital, in surgery almost immediately.

   ‘We need to get to that hospital,’ said Eleanor.

   ‘That might not be a great idea,’ cautioned Sam. ‘It makes us very visible.’

   Eleanor looked sceptically at Sam. Of course, he thought, why would she be scared? To her, talk of knife-wielding pursuers was still just that, talk. It wasn’t real to her. He hoped to God it stayed that way.

   ‘This is my one chance to speak to her,’ said Eleanor. ‘I’m not missing it.’

   She jumped in the car. The engine started. Sam inwardly railed against this, but knew that any discussion would not be welcome. Besides, he’d dragged Eleanor into this. He had to protect her.

Chapter 22

Reading, Berkshire

Behind the glass-fronted reception of the hospital’s A&E department, the nurse on duty, an Asian man whose bloodshot eyes suggested sleeplessness on a grand scale, asked how he could help them.

   ‘A friend has just been admitted – Jane Vyner,’ said Eleanor. Sam could see her anger was barely contained. The prospect of being robbed of the chance to speak to Vyner had been further compounded by a frustrating hunt for a parking space and then A&E. ‘She’s been involved in a car accident.’

   The nurse looked blankly at Eleanor. ‘You’re not a relative?’

   ‘No, but –’

   ‘Then I can’t talk about a patient with you.’

   ‘But I need –’

   ‘I’m sorry,’ said the man, his voice calm but unyielding, as he returned to the screen in front of him.

    Sam drew Eleanor away. ‘Listen,’ he said. ‘Chances are she’s in ICU. Why don’t we try and find her? And prepare our lines a bit better?’

   Eleanor nodded. Nearby was a long list of wards, departments and theatres. Finally, they located the one they were looking for – Kennet Ward – and, thanks to a map of the site, a route to it.

   They were soon jogging down a corridor towards a bank of lifts, dodging hospital staff and slow-moving patients shuffling along in dressing gowns.

  On the hospital’s third floor, the reception at Kennet Ward was manned by three nurses – one with her head deep in paperwork, two others sharing a joke as they adjusted a saline drip. The corridor beyond was alive with activity – families sitting outside rooms, doctors clustered in small groups with nursing staff – and it was only as Eleanor approached reception that Sam saw, much further down the corridor, two policemen.

   ‘Stop,’ whispered Sam, grabbing her arm.

   Eleanor looked at him. He nodded in the policemen’s direction. ‘I bet they’re here for Jane Vyner,’ he said, his voice still low. ‘It’s a road traffic accident. They will need to interview her. I’m not sure we want to be drawing attention to ourselves by lying.’

   Eleanor’s arm, which had tensed against his hand, relaxed a fraction.

   The people in the corridor parted as a trolley was wheeled through their midst. A small group in green scrubs accompanied it. As it neared, Sam could see that the figure on the trolley – what was visible of her – was a woman.

   The patient was in a surgical gown, spotted with blood on her legs and arms. There was a large
dressing to the right side of her head. Her eyes were closed.

   As they passed, one of the figures in green handed a piece of paper to another in the group.

   ‘What do you see?’

   ‘Crescent-shaped deformity so…’

   ‘Come on, come on. No time to hesitate in these situations.’

   ‘Subdural haemorrhage?’

   ‘Good. But not good for our patient. That said, for a car crash of this severity, she’s bloody lucky it’s not worse.’

   The group moved on.

   ‘It’s her, isn’t it?’ said Eleanor.

   ‘Yup.’

   ‘Christ,’ said Eleanor, with a shudder. ‘She’s in a right bloody mess.’

   ‘And unconscious for some hours yet.’

   Sam, who still held Eleanor’s arm, felt her tense again.

   ‘I have to talk to her.’

Chapter 23

Reading, Berkshire

It was 8pm when Eleanor and Sam returned to the hospital. Five hours had passed since they’d seen Jane Vyner on her way to surgery. They’d hidden in a dark corner of a pub for the afternoon, nursing one soft drink after another. Sam had insisted on a table with a view of the front and back doors.

   Returning to the hospital seemed to Sam like tempting fate. There was also the matter of the lie that needed to be told to gain access to Jane Vyner, who just might be out of surgery and awake, if still heavily sedated. If her family were present – or the police – it was out of the question.

   The lift doors opened on to Kennet Ward and a view of the town spread out in front of them, a mass of lights in a darkening cityscape. To their right was the reception desk and beyond, the corridor, now dimmed. Compared to earlier, it was eerily quiet. The reception was unmanned. Further down the corridor, there was no sign of the police, nor indeed anyone else.

   They moved down the corridor, through a set of swing doors into a ward. There were around twenty beds, about a quarter of which were occupied. Patients, many of whom were on drips and connected to heart monitors, appeared heavily sedated, barely reacting to the presence of two strangers wandering through their midst, scrutinising them.

   The doors ahead of them suddenly swung open and a tall male nurse in a lilac uniform rushed past before either of them had a chance to ask where Jane Vyner was. As the man passed, Sam caught a glimpse of his face – narrow eyes that flared briefly as they took in Sam and Eleanor.

   Sam felt an inexplicable chill run through him, as if he’d seen a ghost. He took Eleanor by the elbow, moving her swiftly through the next set of doors. 

   They were now on a corridor of private rooms. Sam and Eleanor scanned the windows to see if they could spot Jane Vyner. As they began to wonder whether they were in the wrong ward, they heard a commotion at the far end of the passage.

   The door to a private room was open and Sam and Eleanor saw two nurses and a doctor moving about the bed. The doctor was standing over the patient conducting chest compressions while one of the nurses was pumping a bag connected to a mask over a woman’s mouth and nose. Despite the commotion, Sam could hear the sound of an automated, American-accented voice: ‘Analysing rhythm,’ it said. There was a pause, then: ‘No shock required; resume CPR.’  

   ‘It’s her, isn’t it?’ said Eleanor.

   The doctor and nurse continued their ritual for a few more minutes. Then the metallic voice uttered the same three phrases. The doctor stopped for a moment, feeling the woman’s neck. He shook his head, then looked at his watch.

   ‘Time of death, 8.10pm,’ he said.

   ‘I just don’t understand it,’ said one of the nurses. ‘I passed by a quarter of an hour ago and Miss Vyner seemed comfortable.’

   Sam’s blood ran cold. Suddenly he remembered where he’d seen that face before. The narrow-eyed nurse was the man who’d chased him through the cemetery.

   The hospital, a place packed with skilled staff and sophisticated equipment dedicated to preserving and prolonging life, now felt as defenceless as the woman lying on the bed before them. Sam glanced over his shoulder. The walls of the empty corridor seemed to close in on him, their escape route suddenly loaded with danger.

Chapter 24

Reading, Berkshire

The narrow-eyed man reappeared in Sam’s mind more menacing than ever before. This had to be his work.

   A thought occurred to Sam, one that made his mouth go dry and the breath catch in his throat. They’d led the man right to Jane Vyner.

   Eleanor was standing in a state of shock, staring at the now slower activity around Jane Vyner’s bed. The doctor was filling in a form while a nurse pulled the sheets back over Vyner, as if making her comfortable. Another nurse gently closed her eyes.

   Sam was desperate to get Eleanor out of here and by as public and busy a route as possible. If the narrow-eyed man was prepared to snuff out a woman in the midst of a hospital ward, Sam suspected he wouldn’t hesitate to take them out in whatever way was convenient.

   ‘Come on,’ said Sam, placing a hand in the small of Eleanor’s back. ‘We need to get out of here.’

   Eleanor, numbed by what she’d seen, snapped into the moment.

   ‘Why?’

   ‘I’ll explain when we’re out of the hospital.’

   Eleanor stiffened but still allowed Sam to lead her back the way they’d come. The ward felt darker and more threatening now, as if someone might spring from the shadows at any moment.

   As they approached the lift and stairwell, Sam began weighing up their two escape options. The lift, though direct, was a confined space and a primal instinct – one forged in his early childhood – was screaming ‘no’. The stairs seemed a better option – more open, and with a number of potential escape routes.

   Sam closed his eyes and re-opened them. Focus, he thought. As far as he could see, the murderer was no longer on this floor. In reality, what were the chances of him being on a floor below, waiting for a lift to descend from the third floor in the hope that it contained Sam and Eleanor – and they were alone? Sam pressed the button.

   ‘What the hell is going on?’ said Eleanor.

   Sam watched the red light above the button he’d just pressed. It was still on ‘0’. Finally it inched to ‘1’, then stopped. He turned to look into Eleanor’s eyes for signs of runaway anxiety. She was clearly hyper alert, but didn’t appear to be in a state of extreme alarm. He risked the truth.

   ‘The male nurse we passed,’ he said, ‘the man in lilac.’

   Eleanor nodded, frown lines appearing across her forehead.

   ‘I’ve seen him before. He was the one who pulled a knife on me in the cemetery.’

   There was a ‘ping’ heralding the arrival of the lift. The doors opened to reveal a trolley on which a sedated elderly man was lying, his chest connected via a series of pads and wires to an ECG monitor. Behind him were three men in green still wearing surgical bandannas.  

   The sight of these professionals seemed to calm Eleanor. Sam watched her take a deep breath as the trolley moved past. They then moved into the lift.

   They were silent as the lift descended, Sam experiencing every second of the journey as an eternity.

   On the ground floor, they passed through the crowded corridors to the hospital’s main entrance. Outside, a wiry man wearing pyjamas and a dressing gown was sucking on a cigarette as if it were oxygen and he’d just escaped a blazing building.

   They crossed a road to the multi-storey car park.

   The lift was out of order so they began to climb the stairs. They had two flights to ascend before they reached the level where the car was parked. The stairs, tagged in graffiti and smelling of disinfectant and urine, were well-lit, yet Sam was now sure that an attacker was behind every corner.

   On the second floor they walked slowly towards the car. There were now just a handful of vehicles in the car park. If the murderer knew that Eleanor drove a Mini – which, given his knowledge of their movements, was highly likely – then he was probably waiting for them.

   Eleanor reached into her coat pocket for the car fob. She pressed it and the Mini’s lights blinked to attention. If the narrow-eyed man hadn’t seen or heard them coming yet, he would have now. The car was on its own at the end of a row which meant that Sam could see right around – and underneath – it as he approached. There didn’t appear to be anyone hiding nearby. But that didn’t mean someone wasn’t watching from another place.

   They reached the car, Sam’s mind now alive with other possibilities: the car exploding the moment the engine started; the lights of another car facing them head on as soon as they turned to leave.

   Eleanor handed him the keys, clearly too shaken to drive.

   Sam started the engine then eased the car slowly out of the space and towards the ramp down to the first level.

   There were no explosions, no other headlights. They passed through the barrier and out into the street.

   Whatever relief Sam felt soon evaporated. Traffic was moving painfully slowly, their swift escape from Reading thwarted.

   Sam looked ahead and behind, to his left and right. The driver to his side, a man in his fifties; the woman on the pavement in a dark tracksuit and baseball cap. Suddenly he saw threats everywhere.