TWO SHIFTS AND different staff during fourteen hours of labour and still there was no sign of the baby being born. Twice Ellis had been told there was nothing happening because Sharon’s contractions were still too far apart, and was advised to take at least an hour’s break to get some food inside him. On both occasions, scared that something might happen in his absence, he grabbed a coffee and sandwich and took only half an hour.
He had returned to Sharon’s side well over three hours ago, when the nightshift staff came on duty. He’d been at the hospital since ten that morning. Now that it was almost midnight, he was nervous and jittery, feeling something was wrong.
He held Sharon’s hand tightly, squirming in its claw-like grip, trying not to wince at the pain. It was trivial compared to hers. But worse than her fingernails digging into the back of his hand was the rancid smell from her breath, putrid like drains. He tried not to think about it and concentrated on giving her encouraging smiles and weak words of comfort. But, apart from her grip, she was unaware of his presence, and he saw the desperation in her eyes, like an animal in pain, incapable of rational thought.
And then he noticed the urgent way the staff exchanged looks and he knew something was wrong. A strange feeling of disorientation overwhelmed him and he wasn’t sure if time had speeded up or gone into slow motion.
The consultant entered hurriedly, worried about the foetal distress and the baby passing meconium which, he explained, was the infant’s first stool, and if it was expelled into the amniotic fluid there was a danger that the baby could inhale the contaminated fluid which could lead to respiratory problems. He strongly advised what Sharon was afraid of hearing – an immediate caesarean birth. For the baby’s sake, he stressed, they needed to act quickly. That was when Ellis saw and admired Sharon’s decisive calm, her guts and determination as she insisted on an epidural caesarean. It was explained to him by one of the staff that she would be anaesthetized from the waist down so that she would be aware of what was happening and could hold her baby as soon as it was delivered.
Neck aching from where he’d been lying back with his head twisted uncomfortably, Lambert woke, yawned and stretched. The train braked as it approached a station and the announcement gave Cardiff as the next stop. He had drifted off into a fitful sleep just before Bristol Parkway, weaving in and out of consciousness, unclear whether his thoughts were dreams or vice versa.
When he’d boarded the train at Paddington, he’d bought himself a toasted sandwich and two small bottles of overpriced red wine, but he’d been too tired to eat the sandwich and left most of it. Now his mouth felt sour and stale from the wine and he needed to drink some water, but he doubted the buffet would still be open.
As the train completed the last lap of the journey, he thought about Dennis Hilden, whose suicide set up a chain of events culminating in a series of brutal murders. Had the man been given the benefit of foresight, would he still have contemplated taking his own life? But there were hundreds of suicides each year, and the relatives of those suicides, after having survived the traumas of the deed, carried on living normal lives, their heartbreak eventually healed with the passage of time.
It still didn’t absolve Dennis Hilden from his act of self murder and its effect, and had Lambert been a religious man he would have liked to be a witness for the prosecution on Hilden’s judgment day.
As the train neared Swansea, Lambert sat up and blinked the sleep from his watery eyes. He was exhausted, and would be lucky if he got three hours’ sleep as he had to be up early to present the case to Marden prior to the arrest.
When the train pulled in to Swansea, Lambert felt the early morning cold blowing through the draughty station as he stepped down on to the platform, and for a moment it seemed to revive him after the heat of the sleep-inducing carriage. He hurried to the car park, and raised the collar of his leather coat as he climbed the freezing stairwell to the second floor where he’d left his Mercedes. Because of his tiredness, he thought he saw demons lurking in the shadows, waiting to attack him. He smiled at the foolish notion, knowing the only thing likely to jump out at him was made of flesh and blood, but as it was almost 2.30 in the morning, it was unlikely that even the most desperate mugger would be lying in wait.
As soon as he settled behind the wheel of his car and turned the ignition key, his tiredness returned. By the time he had driven carefully out of the multi-storey, he was fighting to stay awake. He was so tired he failed to notice the car that pulled away from the kerb and followed his Mercedes out of the city centre and along the sea front towards his flat.
As he cradled his baby daughter, smiling at her as she looked up at him, Ellis could have sworn she instinctively recognized him as her father.
Sharon was now asleep, exhausted after her ordeal but ecstatically happy. After the delivery she had cuddled her daughter and wept tears of joy, the baby had then been checked and weighed and found to be perfect, and Sharon had one more cuddle with her before allowing herself to lose consciousness.
After ten minutes of gazing into his daughter’s eyes, a nurse came and told him he ought to go home and get some sleep, offering to look after the baby for him. He was reluctant to part with his daughter, but also relieved after such an emotionally draining experience.
Once he had handed the nurse his child, and saw her looking down at his baby with such loving care, he felt reassured about leaving. And he knew as soon as he got home, and his head hit the pillow, he’d be spark out.
But as soon as he stepped outside the hospital into the cold air, he snapped awake with an elation he’d never known before. He was desperate to share his news with someone, but no one would thank him for being woken at three in the morning. On the other hand, what did it matter? And he suddenly knew who to contact; who might be finding it hard to sleep.
As soon as Lambert walked into his flat, the telephone rang. He had been so involved in the investigation, he had forgotten all about Tony Ellis and the birth, and he wondered who on earth could be ringing at three in the morning. He grabbed the phone.
‘Harry, sorry to ring so late,’ Ellis began.
‘Tony, what’s happened?’
‘Sharon was in labour for over fifteen hours, but she finally gave birth to a baby daughter.’
‘Congratulations, Tony! That’s fantastic news.’
‘I know. It’s brilliant. I’m sorry to ring so late, but I’ve just come from the hospital and I felt I had to tell someone.’
Lambert smiled, flattered he’d been chosen as the first to be told.
‘If you want to wet the baby’s head, I’ve got a bottle of Courvoisier sitting in the kitchen cupboard.’
‘Are you sure you don’t mind?’
‘I’ve only just got back on the late train, and I was debating whether or not to have a nightcap, so we’ll make it a celebration instead.’
‘Thanks, Harry. By the time you’ve poured the drinks, I’ll be there.’
Grinning, Lambert went into the kitchen, opened the cupboard, grabbed the cognac and two glasses, and was about to pour when the doorbell rang.
He laughed and said, ‘That was quick!’ Presumably Tony had driven over to give him the good news, but decided to ring before calling.
He walked across the living room, out into the small hall and opened the door. He was still smiling as the fist caught him on the cheekbone and he fell back, cracking his head on the living-room door frame.