Lee Weeks - Dead of Winter

Jeanie could feel Ebony getting restless beside her.

‘Does Mrs de Lange ever help on the wards? What about nursing? Is she qualified to help?’ Jeanie asked.

‘I’ve never seen her here on the wards. She spends a lot of time here, but not nursing. She has an office on the lower-ground floor where she does a lot of the charity work for the Chrissie Newton Foundation.’

‘Where exactly is the office?’

‘Down the end of the corridor, take the far service lift down to lower basement. But. . you need to enter a code to get in.’

‘Have you seen her in her office?’

‘No. I never really had reason to go down there. I always just ring through if I want her. There are so many patients’ files down there that they have a security system separate from the main hospital. You have to have access and I don’t.’

‘Would anyone here know the code for gaining access?’

‘No. Sorry.’

‘Is there just one way in?’

‘There’s a door to the back of the hospital and the car park there but that won’t get you into her office. We take deliveries of cleaning materials for the hospital there.’

‘We’ll take a look. Thanks, Ivy.’

‘You’re welcome. Can’t you tell me what this is about? I love all the crime things on the telly; especially the Scandinavian ones. . brilliant. Always work it out before the end though. Always think I could have a crack at writing a crime novel. You must have some stories.’

Jeanie smiled. ‘Tell you what, Ivy, you keep in touch and if ever you get going with a crime novel I’ll be your inside source. How’s that?’

‘Brilliant. . thanks so much. . I’ll hold you to that.’

They walked along to the service lift, and went down two floors to the lower basement. They stepped out into blinking fluorescent orange light, which was activated by their arrival.

Jeanie took a scout to her right. ‘Cupboards, storage. Cleaners’ equipment. Nothing this way, Ebb. Not exactly a nice place to have an office.’ The rest of the floor was in darkness. To the left, at the far end, was a set of doors.

‘Ivy on reception was right,’ Ebony said as she walked over to take a look at the entry pad on the doors. ‘We’ll never get in without an invite.’ She phoned Robbo. ‘Can we get past this system?’

‘Yes. . probably. Text me the make and model, serial number. Take a photo of it for me. Then give me five. I’ll ring you back,’ Robbo said.

Ebony took the picture with her phone and sent it to him. She turned to Jeanie. ‘Five minutes, he says.’

‘Okay. . I’ll go and check out the back of the building. See what the other exits look like. Phone me when you get in.’

Jeanie went back up to reception. ‘Back in a min. .’ She smiled as she passed Ivy.

She walked down the front steps, turned right and walked around to the back of the building. Three ambulances, one unmarked, were waiting on a tar-macked area, under cover. Not far from them was a broad section of tarmac leading to the back entrance.

Robbo phoned Ebony back. ‘Here’s the sequence. It’s one used for the emergency services.’

‘Okay.’ Ebony tapped in the code and the lock released. ‘Thanks, Robbo. I’ll be in touch. I’ll ring you and tell you what I find. Where’s Carter?’

‘He’s gone to arrest Martingale.’

She texted Jeanie. . I’m in.

Jeanie replied: Found the ambulance.

Martingale’s fingers played piano on the mouse pad, humming away to Nessun Dorma . He felt the beads of sweat gather at his brow and begin the descent down the side of his face. He could still see her in his mind. The bittersweet pain of love remembered from summer days and summer nights brought a smile to his lips and a sting to his eyes, brought him pleasure in the pain; but only for a few seconds; his eyes snapped open. He wiped them irritably. Nobody understood what he was trying to do. Nobody ever would, but it was him that history would remember, not the small insignificant people. Nicola was the only other human being he had ever loved. She had become part of him, like his right arm, like his beating heart. All those years he watched her grow, only to find that she had a fault in her. A fault that he had given her. It was unbearable. . but luckily for Nicola he could even mend that. He could make everything right for her. He gave her life. He made her into his angel.

He stood and went to the window. He had seen the car parked down the street. As if he wouldn’t know he was being watched! As he shielded his eyes from the low sun he saw another car pass and park and he recognised it as another detective’s pool car. The number plate not fixed, the colour blue, an insignificant little car. He saw it pull in front of the surveillance car.

Ebony stood looking down the corridor, listening to the hum of the pipes overhead. There was a sickly heat in the corridor from the pipes that ran overhead and served the hospital central heating system. She walked on to the next room: a treatment room. Shelves packed with dressings and tubes, syringes in packs. Ebony looked at the floor; it was the same linoleum as in the room upstairs in Blackdown Barn.

The last door at the end of the corridor opened up into someone’s world. This was a place where someone lived and slept, dreamed of being somewhere else, thought Ebony. She stepped into a world with posters on the world of faraway places — Greek Islands and Asian cities. A small kitchen area and microwave was in the far right corner. There was a bed at the other end of the room, a bathroom off to the right. There was a woman’s pair of pink fluffy slippers at the end of the bed. There were photos of puppies and kittens and, on top of the television in the corner, there was a framed photograph of a man; Ebony recognized that it was Martingale in his youth and in his arms was Nikki. Her face was almost the same as it was now. Ebony walked across to the bed and knelt to smell the pillow. It was stuffed with lavender flowers. Next to the bed was an orchid.

Martingale turned back from the window and looked at the clock. He took a deep breath and switched up the volume on the music. He closed his eyes and listened to the girl’s beautiful voice that filled his senses. This was ultimate perfection. Martingale looked at the clock again. . he texted Nikki.

I can’t go with you, I’m sorry, my darling. Go straight to the plane. Run, my darling. I will be with you. Always. Run. .

He took a few deep breaths; he was calm now; his heart was racing but all around him he had gained a clarity; his life in high definition, 3D. The orchids filled his senses with memories of perfection.

He walked out through the kitchen and trailed his fingertips along the flowers that hung down from the ceiling or grew up from the floor. They bent a little to his touch and then sprang back, resilient. . survivors. . Martingale reached into the cupboard where he stored his gardening tools and took out the fuel he used to start up the bonfires. He took the bottle and the box of matches back to the living room and poured a third of the contents over the armchair before sitting in it and pouring the rest over his head, then he switched the music up as loud as it would go and he lit the match.

Nikki didn’t check her phone; it was on silent. She parked up in the hospital car park and stopped briefly at reception.

‘All ready for the operation at one, Mrs Morell?’ Ivy jumped at the sound of her voice. Ivy nodded. ‘Everything alright?’ She nodded again. She opened her mouth to say: ‘There are police officers here with a search warrant and they’re probably in your office right now’ but nothing came out and then it was too late because Nicola had passed her and was gone. Something told Ivy she’d done the right thing.