The hospital bedroom was white, white walls and ceiling, the bed was white, as were all the machines which surrounded it. The only jarring colours were the grey leads which sprouted from the machines in a crazy spider’s web reaching the patient at different angles, testing her, pumping her with fluids, keeping her alive, and the black television on the wall which she couldn’t see. Maisie brought flowers every day, the brightest colours she could find to offset the whiteness and make the room more tolerable for her as she sat and waited. But just in case, just in case that might be the day, the flowers were for her mother as well. She lay there still, her face poking out from the geometrically arranged sheets and blankets, her breaths coming in shallow but regular gasps. Maisie held on to the hand which protruded on to the top sheet, a hand which had held her more times than she could remember. Even the hand was white.
She drank from a glass of water as she heard a tap on the door announcing the visit from the nurse who came every fifteen minutes. They knew each other well. “I’m sure she knows I’m here,” Maisie announced, her eyes never leaving her mother’s face. “I’ve seen her eyelids flutter more than once and every so often she seems to squeeze my hand.”
The nurse’s smile was practised as she checked dials and pressure points on the different pieces of equipment in the room. Then she stroked Sarah Richardson’s forehead and stared lingeringly at her. “The surgeon’s just coming by,” she responded. “We’ll see what he says.”
As if on cue the door opened again, a little more forcefully this time, and the burly figure of Ian Foreman came in, his white coat billowing around him and stethoscope hanging from his neck. Drainpipe-style tan trousers protruded from below the white coat, neatly draping on to tasselled brown loafers and the collar of an unbuttoned dark blue shirt showed round his neck. The nurse had explained to Maisie before that he had had a successful rugby career before turning to medicine and he liked to dress casually rather than in the more traditional suit. Maisie saw him every day as well and each time she hoped there might be some message of hope. “You’re not going to lose her,” he’d told Maisie more than once. His delivery was invariably calm and straightforward, his hands thrust into his coat pockets or ruffling his thinning ginger hair. “Her leg’s mending nicely. Horse-riding and cycling aren’t out of the question either, but…” and this was the inevitable but, “up top, how long will it be? It could be today; it could be next year. We don’t know. And we don’t know either what state her brain will be in. There was severe trauma caused by the collision but it was the shock as well. You have to take into account the fact that a car popped up where there should never have been one. The helmet saved her. We can’t say more than that.” The speech was more or less the same whenever he made it and provided Maisie with a measure of comfort. She’d become used to the situation and, however unwillingly, had accepted it. At least the news was never worse.
Foreman listened as the nurse repeated what Maisie had told her. He studied Sarah’s face intently. Maisie saw movement again. “There you are,” she cried. “Her eyelids moved. I saw them. I know I did.” The surgeon reached out and touched Sarah’s face with the very tips of his fingers. There was a slight twitch of her cheekbone. “It’s progress,” he said, “little baby steps. Have you been talking to her?”
“All the time,” Maisie assured him, “about anything I can think of, the weather, the house, our horses.”
“Ask her a question please.”
Maisie went on holding her mother’s hand. “Mum, it’s Maisie, can you hear me?” The hand she was holding found some traction. Both the eyelids were on the move. Suddenly one eye opened a crack, followed by the other. They closed again almost immediately. The surgeon and nurse looked at each other and then Foreman checked his watch. “I have to be in theatre shortly,” he said. “And I don’t know how long that will take so keep Mr Mallender informed if there are any further signs.” He turned back to Maisie. “She’s moving forward, no doubt, but there’s still no way of knowing how fast. How long are you planning to stay?”
“Until about six—then time off with my husband. I’ll be back tomorrow. Obviously if she wakes up while I’m here, that will change.”
“I wouldn’t get your hopes up too high but you never know.” He swirled out of the room with the same energy with which he’d entered. The nurse’s practised smile came back but Maisie thought she detected a slight hint of puzzlement too. “He clearly doesn’t want you to get too excited,” she said.
“But…?” Maisie regarded her closely.
“She opened her eyes. She knows you’re here. Neither of those applied before all the time she’s been here. He’s right of course—these things are unpredictable and he’s immensely experienced with these cases.”
“But…?”
“But each one is different. Let’s say I’d be surprised if there isn’t more advancement in the next twenty-four hours.”
“Really?”
“But nothing’s guaranteed—remember that.” She was clearly keen to quell Maisie’s excitement. “It’s important we all stay calm and take each step as it comes.”
Maisie stood up and gave her a hug. “Thanks for that— I understand completely.”
“I’ll leave you in charge for a bit. Keep asking her stuff. Ring the bell if you need me.”
She closed the door behind and went along the corridor to the nurses’ station where she did her usual checks to make sure there no immediate emergencies. “I’m going to have some down time,” she announced and entered the privacy of her small office. Once there with the door shut she unlocked a drawer in her desk and extracted the phone they’d given her. Her hands trembled as she held it and called the number. It was answered after only two rings.
“Andy Croft,” said the voice at the other end. “Go ahead, Nurse Willmot. You’re on speaker here with me and DCI Stuart.”
“You told me to call you if there were developments.”
“What’s happening?”
“Our patient is definitely on the move. I think she could come out of the coma any time. The thing is…”
“Go on.”
“Well, Mr Foreman was there when she started to react to her daughter. He was quite strange about it.”
“In what way?”
“He underplayed it completely. I’ve worked with him for ten years now and I’ve never known him to be anything other than totally straightforward with patients and their relatives, whether the news is good or bad. The evidence was there in front of our eyes and yet it was as though he didn’t want to see it.”
“Was Mrs Hardwick there?”
“She was—she was ready to get all excited but he punctured the balloon effectively. He just said he’d see her tomorrow.”
“What time does she go?”
“She told me she’s leaving at six unless something momentous happens.”
She heard a whispered conversation going on. “Where is Mr Foreman at the moment?” Croft asked when he came back.
“He’s in theatre and after that he’s off shift.”
“Who replaces him?”
“Mr Mallender—he’s been here for ever and he’s close to retirement. I would regard him as totally trustworthy; he’s like everyone’s favourite uncle but I’m not sure now who to trust.”
“Do you know how long Foreman will be in theatre?”
“That would depend on how long his operation takes. I could find out what it is and an approximate time.”
“Good—do that please. It’s coming up to four now. We can be there in half an hour. Is there somewhere we can meet—off the premises, I mean?”
“There’s a Starbuck’s round the corner. Will that do?”
“It sounds ideal—we’ll see you there. Is it used a lot by the staff?”
“Not at this time of day.”
“Good—can you change out of your uniform?”
“I can do that—you don’t want me to stand out, is that it?”
“That’s it. Before you go out, make sure Maisie’s plans are still the same. It’s vital she’s there while you’re out with us. Does she know any of the other nurses?”
“She knows Nurse Carmichael. She’s just come on shift today.”
“Tell Nurse Carmichael you’ll be missing for a short while, find some excuse, and tell her to watch the patient—nobody else.”
“That’s how we work anyway.”
“Great, and tell Maisie only Carmichael should be coming in. Try not to make a big thing of it.”
“I won’t but I’m getting more scared by the minute.”
“Don’t worry—we’re on our way.”
**
Croft called DC Ben Gibson from the car. “Where are you?” he demanded to know.
“At the main entrance of the hospital.”
“Right—stay there. We’re on the way. There may be action soon.”
“I’m still on the watch for Foreman?”
“You are—he’s supposed to be conducting an operation, but if you see him come out of there, tell us. You stay put—understood?”
“I don’t follow him?”
“We have both the exits from the hospital covered. I repeat, you stay put.”
“Understood.”
**
Nurse Willmot had found a table in a corner at the back of the coffee shop. Stuart and Croft went directly to her and they formed a tight-knit group round the table. “She’s on the move now all the time,” she informed them. “She hasn’t opened her eyes anymore but I’m sure that will come soon.”
“Mr Foreman didn’t return?” Stuart asked.
“No—he told me he was going directly to theatre but that’s another thing I don’t understand.”
“What’s that?”
“The operation is an appendectomy, and all the indications are that it should be straightforward. Mr Foreman wouldn’t normally undertake operations of that kind but apparently he took it over.”
“Took it over?”
“Yes—it was re-allocated today. A more junior surgeon was going to perform the operation.”
“Was the re-scheduling before or after the most recent occasion he was in Sarah Richardson’s room with you and Mrs Hardwick?”
“Before, but…” She hesitated and appeared to be wondering whether to go on. Stuart put a restraining hand on Croft’s arm as they waited. She gathered herself. “But a surgeon with Mr Foreman’s experience might well have seen signs before I did. This is awful—I’m doubting a man whom I’ve respected and worked with for years.”
“We asked you to do it, nurse,” Stuart reassured her. “And we wouldn’t have done if we didn’t have reason to suspect him. Tell me, can you think of any medical reason why Mr Foreman should have taken over responsibility for this operation?”
“Unless he knows something we don’t, no. There was nothing in the paperwork to suggest problems.”
Croft’s phone trilled into action. “Yes, Ben,” he said. He held the phone in the middle of the circle.
“I’ve just seen him—Foreman.” The tone was hushed.
“Where was he going?”
“He wasn’t going—he was coming in.”
Nurse Willmot shook her head. “That’s impossible.”
“I tell you I saw him, just now. Or. If it’s not him, he’s a twin. He’s dressed the same too—the clothes we were told Foreman was wearing today. No other surgeon dresses like that.”
“We’re round the corner from you—we’re on our way.”
“Do you want me to follow him?”
“No,” Stuart intervened. “We don’t want to do anything to scare him off. We know where’s he’s going anyway. Wait outside for us.” He turned to Croft as the call disconnected. “Call the Hardwick woman—tell her to get the hell out of there and be out of sight—now.”
Croft nodded and spoke rapidly into the phone. “She’s confused,” he said when he’d finished. “We told her before it was essential she stayed there.”
“That was before—I hadn’t expected this. Come on.”
They took off at pace, leaving the nurse to follow in their tracks. Gibson was waiting for them. “He took the stairs over there.” He pointed past the crowd waiting for the elevator.
“We’ll do the same,” Stuart said, “but no commotion and no rush. He won’t be rushing either. He’ll want to be in and out of there with minimum fuss—do the job and go.”
“What job?” The nurse had caught up with them. Her face paled. “Oh no!” she exclaimed in a voice loud enough to turn heads.
“Keep calm,” Stuart commanded. “Stay in a group. We don’t want to stand out. He won’t be alone. Any sign we’re here, he’ll abort. Now let’s do this.”
He led the way up the stairs, overtaking wherever he reasonably could. They stopped at the nurses’ station on Sarah Richardson’s floor. “Have you seen Mr Foreman?” Willmot asked a colleague.
“Why yes—he just went off to Mrs Richardson’s room. He said something about he’d been able to hand over the operation and wanted to check on her. He’s in there now.” She looked at their taut faces. “Why—is there anything wrong?”
“Don’t worry,” Stuart told her. He set off again.
“Wait,” she cried, “you can’t…”
“Oh yes, we can.” Croft showed her his police pass before taking off in Stuart’s wake.
As they burst open Sarah Richardson’s door they saw a white-coated figure in the process of extracting one of the wires connected to the apparatus beside her from its source. “Stop that now, Kelmert,” Stuart commanded.
The figure turned around. “I’m Mr Foreman. I’m making some adjustments. How dare you come into the patient’s room. Get out at once.”
Stuart advanced several steps towards him. “Stop it,” he repeated.
The man slid his hand into the pocket of his white coat. “I’m going to call security to get you removed. You’re going to be very sorry you did this.”
“Don’t let him get any further,” Stuart ordered.
Croft produced a taser gun and fired twice in the direction of the man in the white coat. He crumpled to the floor. Croft approached him carefully and felt in the pocket where the man had been searching. He produced a phone. There was nothing else there, even though he searched down to the depths. Then he fingered the dog tag round the man’s neck. His look at Stuart was full of anxiety. “This is Foreman,” he whispered.
“You’re right,” announced a guttural voice from behind both of them. “And he was doing a job for me. By blundering in you’ve helped the process.”
Stuart wheeled round at the sound of the new voice and gasped. It was like seeing twins, only the intruder was a little bulkier, a little taller and swarthier in the face. Apart from that at first glance the two versions of Foreman could have readily passed for each other. It was only now they were together that the differences between them became apparent. And the most visible difference was the black gun which the new Foreman held in his right hand, pointing directly at Stuart’s midriff. “Not bad, eh?” quizzed the intruder, ruffling his ginger hair while still holding the gun in an unwavering grasp in his other hand. “I’m not too keen on the hair colour but it did the trick. Now you…” he switched the gun at Croft, who was still kneeling behind the quivering body of Foreman. “Get up and come and stand by your colleague over here. Do it slowly and no false moves.”
Croft slowly and deliberately uncoiled himself from the floor and moved next door to Stuart. “That’s good—now both of you in the corner behind the door. That’s very good. You can see how this is going to pan out, can’t you? You came in here unannounced and disturbed Foreman doing a tricky task looking after his patient. With the shock when you fired on him he disengaged that tube right there.” He indicated the tube which Foreman had disconnected, which was now pouring a colourless liquid on to the cream wood floor. “And unfortunately the patient expired.” He took a quick glance at his watch. “Foreman gave me a tutorial on what he was going to do in here. So I know it only takes two minutes from her losing that intake for her to leave us. And one of those minutes has passed already.”
“You wouldn’t dare fire that gun in here, Kelmert,” Stuart challenged him. “You’d have the security all over you.”
“You want to try it, Chief Inspector? I don’t care if I leave you alive or dead. It’s a trade-off. You’d be a lot less trouble to me in the future dead. On the other hand another two bodies would make it untidy in here. Let’s see, the seconds are ticking away.”
While he was staring at them, Stuart became conscious of movement on the floor in front of them. “You know,” Kelmert mused, “It doesn’t take much to turn a surgeon into a killer once you get them into the right mood. They only have to see where their interests lie.” The movement went on and out of the corner of his eye Stuart could see Foreman reaching for the tube and gliding it back to the apparatus where it belonged.
“What did you promise him, Kelmert?”
“An assurance that his wife wouldn’t be told about his mistress on the nursing staff here at this hospital, oh, and money to pay back the credit card debts he’s run up keeping his mistress. Tried and trusted methods learned from my father. Find the weak points and exploit them. You know why they called him the Grouper—because he swallowed his victims whole without a pause. Poof—they were gone. And you call me the Grouper Junior—I regard that as insulting. I’m every bit the equal of my father.” He suddenly caught sight of Foreman on the floor and how close the tube was to reconnecting. “Oh no, you don’t,” he cried and stepped forward with his foot raised to kick the surgeon back. At the same moment Stuart pushed Kelmert hard against the bed. Before he could recover and raise the gun to shoot, Croft clubbed him on the back of the head. He slumped on to the bed and the gun dropped to the floor. Stuart picked it up and pointed it at the Grouper Junior. “Quick,” he screamed at Croft, “help Foreman reconnect that tube. There are only seconds left.”
Croft hauled Foreman up and he made the reconnection, even though he was still shaking from the impact of the taser shots. He checked over all the dials and then turned round with a smile. “She’ll be all right,” he muttered. “I would never have killed her, you know.” Then he drifted down on to the floor.
“Get the cuffs on this one,” Stuart ordered as Kelmert straightened up and eyed his chances of making the door. “Don’t even think about it,” Stuart said to him. “It’ll be somewhere very painful if I shoot—and I will.” Defiance blazed from the man’s eyes and the handcuffs were fastened. “Now go and fetch a nurse to attend to him.” Stuart indicated the prone form of Foreman. “And to check on her patient. We need Gibson in here as well.”
Croft quickly reappeared with Willmot, who gave a little scream when she saw the tableau in front of her but went to work fast, reviving Foreman and then tending to Sarah Richardson. “He’ll need hospital care,” she said, pointing at the surgeon.
“He’s in the right place then,” Stuart responded. A stretcher was summoned and Foreman was carried away. At the same moment Gibson squeezed his way in. He took hold of one of Kelmert’s arms and Croft grasped the other. “Watch out,” Stuart commanded as he filled a plastic jug full of water and then hurled it over Kelmert’s head. A trail of ginger hair dye began to trickle down his face. “There we are,” he said with satisfaction. “The imitation revealed. You know,” he went on addressing Kelmert, “the Grouper Junior is the right title for you. You’ll never be the equal of your father. He died a free man—you’re going to end your days in a cell.” As Kelmert started to thrash around, testing the arms holding him, Stuart took a step forward and kicked him as hard as he could in the right kneecap. Kelmert howled in pain. “That’s for resisting arrest. Now, for Christ’s sake, take him away.”
“We found two of his buddies downstairs,” Gibson said.
“He was bound to have back-up.” Stuart followed them out as astonished faces watched them go. “The end of the Grouper organisation—it’s been a good day.” He looked back at the open door leading into Sarah Richardson’s room. “A seriously good day!”