It felt like an eternity before Jorja found herself buzzed into the ICU and she followed the nurse to one of the rooms. Ewan lay in the only bed in the room. A thick tube ran from his mouth into a nearby machine. She couldn't help noticing how peaceful he looked. She recognized the doctor. He was a local St. Ives resident, one of her less regular clients with a passion for abstracts. Paying attention to his body language, she watched as he stood deep in thought at the foot of the bed making notes on a medical chart on a metal clipboard. When he spotted her, he quickly pressed it against his chest as if he needed to keep its contents a secret before his arms crossed over it. Extra security, she thought.
"Miss Rose, I understand you were the one who brought Detective Reid in."
His eyes told the friendly nurse to stay. It sent a bolt of panic into the pit of Jorja's stomach.
"Quit the formality, Gerald. It's not like we’ve never met before. Is he okay?" Jorja said, ignoring the backhanded question, her voice steely and without expression.
The doctor's cheeks flushed with embarrassment as if he’d just been caught in a lie, then he answered, his voice less formal.
"For now, yes. His case is complicated but we think he’s stabilized and out of immediate danger. We'll monitor him and know more over the next twenty-four hours."
"You think he's out of danger. What does that mean?" Jorja pushed, suddenly annoyed.
“As I said, Miss Rose, his case is a complicated one, it's simply—”
"You said that already. Complicated isn't an answer so break it down for me, Doctor. Is he going to make it?"
Two could play this game, she thought, and crossed her arms while holding his gaze. He frowned and let out a sigh, looking irritated with her, but she didn't care. The look in her eyes intensified, letting the good doctor know that she wasn't playing around. He succumbed.
"The bullet did a lot of damage and he lost a substantial amount of blood. It shattered his scapula and deflected, rupturing his subclavian artery. We managed to remove most of the bone fragments but there is a significant risk of hemorrhages and pseudo-aneurysm formation. I am afraid it becomes a waiting game. We will monitor him very closely but he will be under sedation to reduce the risk and it is highly possible he will need a second operation. There is just no way of knowing at this moment. It is best you go home and try to get some rest, Doctor’s orders. We will call you if anything changes. I'm sure the police will be in touch with you very soon too."
Dr. Barker dropped the clipboard into the basket that hung from the foot of Ewan's bed, sending a message that he was done with the conversation as directly as anyone could. When he walked past her the look in his eyes became accusing, as if he thought her to be involved with something illegal. The town's gossip had undoubtedly reached his ears, which also explained why he’d kept the conversation so formal. He promptly turned and left the room, nodding to the nurse to escort Jorja out.
When the taxi dropped Jorja off at home, her head was still spinning. How was it that suddenly everything was caving in around her? Everything had been just fine for years, decades. Why had it suddenly changed? Could the patient with the piercing blue eyes have been right? Was this God's way of nudging her into correcting what she had done wrong, finding closure instead of hiding from her deepest, darkest past?
Deep in thought, she cuddled Vincent then popped a bowl of fresh food in front of him. He reminded her of Charlie's theory the night before. If Charlie was onto something, Myles' murder could very well have had everything to do with her. For one, the art he bought through her was missing, and then there was the murder weapon.
She glanced back at the clock on her kitchen wall—it had just gone 7 a.m. Her hands fumbled for her cell phone in her purse—she had snatched it from her desk at the gallery without checking if her phone was still in it before she and Charlie left for the hospital. Relieved when she found it at the bottom of her bag, she dialed the police station.
"Hello, is Sergeant Chapwyn in, please?" She didn’t recognize the receptionist's voice.
She transferred the call without hesitation and Charlie's voice came on in less than two rings.
"Jorja, I thought you'd never call. How's Ewan, any news?"
"Hi, Charlie, sorry, I didn't have news until a short while ago. He's not doing that well. The bullet shattered his clavicle and ruptured an artery. He's in ICU, under sedation. There is a chance it might lead to an aneurysm so they need to keep an eye on him. The doctor said his case was complicated and that there's nothing we can do but wait."
Charlie sighed heavily, his voice less enthusiastic when he spoke again.
"We're going to catch whoever did this, Jorja. I have every station from here to Bristol looking for this guy. Thanks to Ann's curiosity, her shop's security camera picked up an image of the man. Blurry, but at least it's something. A week ago, I mocked her for using it to spy on everyone, but low and behold, it finally served its purpose. Anyway, like I said, we're going to find this guy, Jorja."
"Thanks, Charlie. Any chance you could show me his picture. Maybe I can corroborate that it was the same guy."
"I thought you said you didn't really see the guy."
"I didn't, but maybe I’ll remember something." She quickly corrected herself. She needed to see for herself if it was the same man who was outside her shop the day Myles died.
Charlie groaned telling her he was wrestling with the decision then he whispered, "I'm supposed to wait for clearance first, that's why I haven't been able to bring you in for questioning yet. Give me a day or so. I think since you were a victim too it's only fair to see if it might jar your memory or something. I will send it to your email once I get the thumbs-up. You can have a look and let me know if you recognize him. Sound good?"
"Sounds good, yes, and, Charlie, any weight behind that theory of yours? Do you still think they were after the Claude Monet collection?"
She bit her bottom lip as she waited for his answer.
"Yep, my chief inspector agrees. The paintings are nowhere to be found so it has become our primary motive. He's in talks with someone at Scotland Yard as we speak. I guess we will know more soon. We don't usually handle this type of thing here in St. Ives, you know. With Ewan in hospital, I’m a bit out of my depth here. But I do know they will most probably need you to hand over Myles' purchase receipts and all the paperwork related to the paintings, so hold onto those for now, please. And Jorja, perhaps don't leave town or anything. I know with the art fair coming up and all you probably need to pop up to London, but you might want to stay put. We don't want to draw any more suspicion to you."
He bit his tongue the moment the last sentence left his lips, but it was too late. Jorja had already realized what was going on behind the scenes.
"Of course," she responded without emotion.
When they ended the call Jorja knew exactly what she needed to do. It didn't take much time for her to lock her doors and windows before she made her way up to the hidden space beneath the floor inside her bedroom cupboard. Her heart thumped as she retrieved the small leather duffle bag and tipped the contents out onto her bed. With nervous energy now pumping through her body, her fingers moved quickly over the contents on her bed, snatching up the radio pager when she found it. From the drawer in her bedside table, she found a new single cell battery and popped it into the pager. As she waited for the device to come alive she threw her head back, shut her eyes, and drew in a deep breath, exhaling slowly as her fingers moved between the buttons.
The device connected to the private radio signal almost instantly and a fresh wave of nerves washed over her. She typed in the message.
‘You said to get in touch if ever I was in trouble. Well, I'm in trouble.’
When she was done, she tossed the pager onto her bed as if it were hot and had just burned her hand, and then took a seat next to it to wait. She stared anxiously at the small LCD screen, it took longer than she remembered it taking back then, so she jumped up and nervously paced the bedroom. For a brief moment doubt dropped into her stomach. Perhaps the radio transmission was obsolete—it had been so long and no one used pagers anymore.
But a few moments later, the message notification blinked on the small screen. Her heart nearly stopped, causing her fingers to shake as she opened it to read.
Pick me a few sunflowers
The corners of her lips instantly lifted when she saw the single line of text flash across the screen. Some things never change, she thought fondly as she turned the pager off and dropped it back onto the bed. The alarm clock next to her bed flashed 7:42 a.m. If she left by eight she should be in London around two, leaving her an hour to get to their meeting place. It would be tight but she might just pull it off if the traffic played along. The meeting should be quick, a few hours at the most, so she could be back home before midnight, before anyone realized she had left town.