Oliver pulled open the fire door on the floor above the kids’ ward and took the gun out from under his denim jacket. In a treatment room off the corridor, something colourful poked out beneath a white sheet in an oversized laundry bin. He clutched his weapon and slowly approached. With his left hand, he ripped off the sheet and pointed the gun, ready to fire if necessary.
‘Police,’ he said. ‘Come out, we know you’re there.’ His heart was pounding up to his neck.
Edging closer, he peered into the hamper, finger poised on the trigger. There was no sign of the baby, but he had just found the discarded scarf and coat.
He searched the next room, opening all the cupboards, then found his way to the nurses’ station. After flashing his badge, a nurse escorted him through each room. He thanked her and told her to seal the laundry room. No one was to enter or touch anything inside. She obliged. He dialled Kate but her phone immediately went to voicemail. He told her of the find and that he was headed up to the next floor.
On the upper ward, the layout was exactly the same. He repeated the order of the search, first with the laundry room and hall cupboards. He headed for the nurses’ station, but the area was empty. The only sign of activity was a board that lit up when buzzers were pressed. This was a much busier ward, with seriously ill patients.
He tried a room with a curtain pulled around a bed and the light on, but the stench of someone on a bedpan made him retreat. On the other side of the corridor, he pushed the treatment room door but it wouldn’t open. Through a round window in the door he could see syringe medications lined up in green plastic dishes alongside charts on the bench. Two of the medicine cupboard doors above them were open.
Oliver noticed a second entrance to the room on the other side and followed the corridor around to it. He looked in but it was still empty. More buzzers were sounding and he could hear someone calling for assistance. He almost gagged when a nurse scurried past with a vomit bowl filled with blood.
‘Bloody warfarin, ought to be banned,’ she muttered. ‘The tissues are right next to your bed, Mrs Palmer,’ she called to whoever continued to buzz.
Oliver entered the medication room and his eyes automatically focused on the linen trolley pushed against the opposite exit. Someone had shoved a broom through the handles, locking them. He hesitated before slowly stepping forward, gun propped in his sweaty hand. A short cry rang out from the trolley.
Thank God. With his left hand he peeled off the top crumpled sheet and the wail let loose.
‘You’re OK, little one,’ he said, putting the gun on the floor and reaching in. With the baby safe in his arms, he pulled out his mobile. Before he could press redial, he saw a flash of movement in his peripheral vision. Turning his back to protect the child, he felt a sting, then pain in the back of his thigh. Reaching down with one hand, he yanked out an empty syringe.
Kate was with the security guard when his phone rang. A nurse had heard a baby cry on the medical ward, he reported to Kate, but she was unable to get into the medication room to check it out.
Kate asked to speak to the nurse. ‘Is a detective on the ward?’
‘We haven’t seen one,’ the voice answered. ‘All the medications are out ready to give to patients, but we can’t get in. Someone’s wedged the doors closed on both entrances, and they’ve thrown sheets over the windows. We can’t see inside.’
Kate asked her to hold for one moment. She dialled Oliver’s number on her mobile and could hear his phone ring through the landline phone she held against her ear.
‘A phone’s ringing in the treatment room, but no one’s answering it,’ the nurse confirmed.
‘Stay away from the doors,’ Kate ordered, then she heard the gunshot. The line went dead.
Oliver had to be in the treatment room, locked in with the baby. Someone had fired a gun. Kate’s pulse drilled and she took the deepest breath possible. If the baby’s kidnapper had his phone he might already be hurt, or worse. She had to think fast. By the time the tactical response team arrived, it might be too late for Oliver.
‘Clear the ward of as many people as possible,’ she told the security guard, ‘quickly and quietly. I’m going up there.’
‘But you don’t understand,’ the director of nursing implored. ‘That’s a medical ward. Most of the patients are elderly and many are immobile. It’s where we keep some of our rehabilitation people as well, after their strokes or heart attacks.’
Shit.
The guard led the way. ‘I’ll show you the shortcut.’
The pair ran down the corridor, as fast as they could.
Oliver held the baby to his chest. He refused to hand him over.
Janine Penfold waved the gun at him again, careful not to get too close. ‘I don’t want to do it, but I’ll shoot. Give him to me.’
‘I can’t do that. He’s just a tiny baby.’
Janine’s eyes filled with tears. ‘It doesn’t matter. I just injected you with a bottle of insulin. In a few minutes you’ll be unconscious.’ She sniffed. ‘I didn’t want to hurt you, but there was no other way.’
Phones rang outside on the ward and Oliver could hear movement. He hoped the nurses were getting as many people out as possible and that backup was on the way.
‘Why do you want to hurt your own grandson?’ he asked, trying to buy time and keep her from going outside with the gun.
‘Don’t call him that.’ She reached for a syringe on the bench. The substance it contained was orange. ‘He has to be taken away before any more harm is done. I’ve been trying to work out what to do. Now I don’t have a choice.’
Oliver didn’t understand. Was the woman psychotic? She sounded like Polly Pringle. What wasn’t he grasping? He struggled to think clearly enough to calm her down.
‘Why? He hasn’t hurt anyone. He’s how Candice, your daughter, is living on.’
Oliver felt cold, then hot and began to perspire.
The woman looked at the baby, who appeared to have understood how important it was to be calm. He had stopped crying.
‘You don’t understand,’ she said, steadying the gun. ‘He isn’t just Candice’s. He’s Robert’s child as well.’