‘Try to stay still for me.’
I squeezed my eyes tight shut as the paramedic probed the cut to the back of my scalp. I could smell the plastic of her surgical gloves. Could feel her hip pressing into me as she raised herself on tiptoes for a clearer look.
I was propped up on a wheeled stretcher in the back of an ambulance with the rear doors open ahead of me to reveal the chaos on the street.
Everything outside flickered blue and black. More emergency vehicles had arrived and uniformed police officers had taped off the scene. A trio of firemen were carrying out a stunned debrief at the rear of their unit, their helmets and masks in their hands, their overalls soaked, their faces smudged with sweat and soot, hair flattened and greasy.
Behind the police tape, some of my neighbours were staring with shocked, blank-eyed expressions towards the charred and smoking remains of Sam’s house and the privacy screen that had been erected around Sam’s body. One woman was rubbing her upper arms. Another man cradled a sleeping boy in pyjamas, a worn teddy bear hanging from the child’s hand.
‘I’m so sorry for what has happened to you and for what you’ve been through tonight. But just to be clear, you’re alleging that this man – Sam – had been holding you against your will?’
This was from the sympathetic, middle-aged detective standing in front of me who had told me her name was DS Sloane. She had streaks of grey in her hair, kind but tired eyes, a considerate manner. She’d been at pains to make sure I was feeling capable of talking before questioning me, and she was the one who’d agreed it would be OK for Bethany to perch on the end of my stretcher as Sloane jotted down notes in her pocketbook.
Bethany had a foil blanket draped over her shoulders that crinkled every time she moved. She’d been checked over carefully by the paramedic before me and now she was resting her hand on my foot, occasionally drawing on oxygen from a mask that she raised to her mouth. I was grateful she was with me. Happy she was safe. Glad to have someone with a strong personality in my corner.
‘Ow!’
‘Sorry,’ the paramedic said, backing off and tearing open a pack of sterile swabs before returning to continue her work.
The paramedic was dressed in a bottle-green jumpsuit, her hair tied back in a ponytail, black training shoes on her feet.
‘He brainwashed me,’ I said.
I was aware of the paramedic tensing by my side, as if she couldn’t quite believe what she’d heard, but Bethany clenched my foot in a show of solidarity as DS Sloane absorbed my words.
‘And how did he do that?’ she asked.
‘He kept me in the basement. Sometimes he held me under the shower, did other things, I think. There are photos, in John’s house.’ I motioned towards John’s attic with my chin. ‘I can’t explain it completely, but Sam’s a lecturer at LSE. Was, I suppose. He taught psychology. I met him at a support group he ran.’
‘A support group for what?’
‘People with phobias and irrational thoughts. I thought I’d convinced myself I was being stalked. But it turns out I was being stalked. By Sam.’
‘He wasn’t right,’ Bethany cut in. ‘You could tell that when he was blocking our way out of the house with the knife. It was in his eyes. The way he talked. He was giving off a really nasty vibe. I’d never seen him like that before.’
As she was talking, I could see John being guided along the pavement by a police officer and a paramedic who were gently supporting his arms.
‘What will happen to John?’ I asked.
Sloane turned for a moment, following my gaze. ‘He’ll be taken care of. We’ll be getting social services involved.’
‘Can I visit him later?’
‘I’m sure something can be arranged.’
‘Someone needs to check his bank accounts.’
Sloane raised an eyebrow. ‘Why is that?’
‘We were running low on money. For the house renovations. And with John the way he’s been . . .’ I bit the inside of my cheek, trying to stop myself from crying, thinking of the cash I had seen in Sam’s backpack. ‘Sam was supposed to be looking after him but now I’m worried he might have gained access to John’s finances. I’m worried that’s where some of the money came from.’
‘Do you have any proof of that?’
‘No.’ But I thought again of John’s wife, Mary, and how I suspected Sam had killed her. ‘Just a really bad feeling.’
Sloane assessed me for a moment, then nodded and added a note to her pocketbook.
‘What more can you tell me about this man Donovan?’ she asked me.
‘Excuse me, Detective?’
The paramedic had placed a hand on my shoulder and now she was drawing Sloane’s attention to the readout on the monitor that she’d hooked me up to. I could see that my heart rate was high and erratic. The readout from the oximeter attached to my finger made it clear that my oxygen level was low. I couldn’t seem to shift the scratchy constriction in my chest.
As if on cue, Bethany passed me the oxygen mask and I used it to cover my nose and mouth, drawing a cleansing breath.
‘Can’t this wait?’ the paramedic asked. ‘She’s in shock. She has a head injury. I need to get her to the hospital.’
‘Understood,’ Sloane said, flipping her pocketbook closed and giving me a compassionate smile.
I pulled down my mask. ‘He told me he was the brother of somebody Sam killed,’ I blurted. ‘Oliver Downing? It happened in Farringdon. Two years ago. The police thought Oliver jumped to his death from the roof of his apartment building but he didn’t jump.’ I sat forwards on the stretcher too fast, the interior of the ambulance beginning a slow spin. ‘He was pushed. Sam did it. He—’
I grimaced and cradled my temple as a fresh lancing pain tore through my head. The white flickers again. Remembering still hurt.
I returned the oxygen mask to my mouth and inhaled deeply from it as Bethany nodded beside me. ‘He confessed to that. I heard him.’
Sloane paused and then looked between us with a stunned expression of deep concern.
I lowered the mask. ‘I was still on the line to your call handler at the time. He might have heard us, too.’
‘Those calls are recorded. We can check. What else?’
‘Detective, she needs a break,’ the paramedic said, helping me to return the mask to my face. ‘You can see that she does.’
Sloane seemed to think about it for a moment before switching her focus to Bethany. ‘I think now would be a good time for me to take a more detailed statement from you.’
‘I think so too.’
Bethany reached out from under her blanket to hug me gently.
‘You take care,’ she whispered.
I nodded.
‘You know that you saved my life, right?’
I exhaled into my mask, shaking my head.
‘No, you did. And don’t you forget it, because I’m not going to let you. You got me out of there. And now I’m going to be there for you whether you want it or not. We’re going to get through this together.’
Suddenly, it was all too much.
The tears that had been welling in my eyes began to spill down my cheeks. I couldn’t supress my shakes and I was overcome by a wave of intense, numbing cold.
‘Then good, that’s settled, then.’ Bethany patted my leg and Sloane reached up to help her down out of the ambulance. Once she was safely outside, Bethany spun back to look at me one last time. ‘I’ll call you. We’ll meet up, OK?’
I nodded. I wanted that, more than I would have guessed. I’d isolated myself from other people for too long. If I was going to get past this, I was going to need a friend like Bethany.
The paramedic stepped forwards and leaned out of the ambulance to swing the cargo doors closed, but I had one last question for Sloane first.
‘How is he?’ I asked, after lowering my mask again. ‘Donovan?’
She rasped air through her lips as if she wasn’t sure exactly how to answer me. ‘Too early to say. He’s lost a lot of blood. But I’ve seen worse cases pull through. We’ll get an update to you at the hospital, I promise. In the meantime, I’m going to have two of our officers follow you there.’