(1995) By Any Name (7 page)

Simmonds turned back away from the bloodstains.

‘He has proved himself an accomplished assassin, capable of attacking and eliminating men with their own weapons.’

‘Who is now, courtesy of the army’s decision to place armed guards in this ward, running free with a gun in this hospital,’ Trist stated forcefully, determined to shift the blame for the entire episode on to anyone’s shoulders but his own.

‘We’ll get him,’ Heddingham assured. ‘It’s only a matter of time.’

‘Time is in short supply, Lieutenant-Colonel. This hospital is run by a trust, and as such paid on results.

Not that we’re going to generate any income today, with the clinics, half our wards and casualty closed, and all emergency cases diverted to other units.’

‘You’d prefer to put your patients’ lives at risk by allowing them to enter a building with an armed madman roaming free?’ Heddingham enquired.

‘All I am saying is, if you want to avoid litigation, you’ll find him, and quickly.’

‘As soon as we have sufficient armed personnel we will conduct a floor to floor search.’

A security guard burst into the ward. ‘Hostage situation on Ward 6, Mr Trist.’

‘Got the bastard!’ Heddingham exclaimed.

‘No, Dr Santer, Mr Watson,’ Trist looked from one to the other, as the lieutenant-colonel and the major ran down the corridor. ‘On no account are either of you to go near Ward 6 until this man is apprehended and disarmed.’

Dave took Elizabeth to the canteen. The place was almost empty. All non-essential hospital personnel had been sent home, including the service and cleaning staff. The staff who had been kept on the wards were busy, allaying the fears of the patients who were too sick to be moved.

‘Do you think it’s possible to get used to this coffee?’ Dave attempted to distract Elizabeth as he stirred sugar into his cup.

‘I’ve heard it’s possible to get used to anything given time.’

‘You think so? What are you doing tonight?’

‘If you weren’t a happily married man, I’d wonder at your motives for asking me that question.’

‘I’m serious.’

‘So am I. There’s a good film on television at ten.’

‘You look beyond tired, absolutely drained. Why don’t you join us for dinner? Anna would love to have you. She’s hardly seen anyone since the twins arrived.’

‘Seeing as how they only arrived five weeks ago, I think that’s a pretty good reason for pulling up the drawbridge and curtailing your social life.’

‘We’re having Spaghetti a la Dave.’

‘Thank you, but not tonight.’

‘It’s a while since you’ve seen your god-daughters.’

‘And by the look of things it might be a while before we leave here.’

‘The ward’s empty, clinic’s cancelled, there’s no reason for us to stay,’ he reminded her.

‘I think one of us should hang around until he’s caught.’

‘That’s us.’ A porter turned up the sound on the television in the corner of the room.

‘… Armed and dangerous in the vicinity of the local hospital… ’

‘Vicinity,’ the porter exclaimed. He’s loose in here.’

‘Quiet,’ Dave ordered abruptly.

‘… if seen, should on no account be approached by a member of the public… ’

The photograph of John West that had been shown on the news that morning flashed on the screen.

‘Come on, Liz,’ Dave coaxed after the newsflash ended. ‘They can manage without us here.’

‘My shift doesn’t finish for another hour.’

‘I suppose I could find some paperwork. As my registrar is so bloody pedantic about the hours she works, I can hardly swan off an hour early.’

‘Have you telephoned Anna since this started?’

‘Good point, if she’s seen that broadcast she’ll have me down as one of the corpses.’ He left his chair. ‘I’ll phone her now. See you in the office in ten minutes? We could go through those case files, lessen the work load for the morning.’

‘Just because I want to stay, doesn’t mean you have to. You should go home, Anna needs you.’

‘With the manpower those two chocolate soldiers have at their disposal they’re bound to corner him in the next hour. And an hour isn’t going to make much difference to me, or Anna.’

Elizabeth left Dave at the door to the lift and walked down the corridor to the Ladies. She gazed at her reflection in the mirror. Her long dark hair was straggling out of the chignon at the nape of her neck.

She pulled out the pins, unhooked the net and rummaged in her handbag for a hairbrush.

‘Hello, Dr Santer. I hope we have a quieter day tomorrow,’ a staff nurse from Ward 7 commented as she entered.

‘Don’t we all? How are things on the ward?’

‘Under control. But Sister must be in shock. She told me to take all the time I wanted when I left for my break.’

‘Tell her I’ll be in shortly to check on the patients who couldn’t be moved.’ As Elizabeth brushed her hair she noticed dark circles beneath her eyes. Dave was right, she did look tired, but then she couldn’t remember a night she’d slept well since… an image flooded into her mind of her husband, Joseph, alive, vibrant and healthy. When they’d been together she’d thought he’d be there forever and she still couldn’t get used to the fact that he wasn’t, even after two years.

The sound of a closet flushing jerked her out of her reverie. She nodded as the nurse left. Tying her hair into a restraining band, she slipped on the net and pinned it into a knot. After washing her hands she reached into her handbag for her powder and lipstick.

‘Dr Santer.’

She turned around, unsure whether she’d heard her name being called, or not.

‘Dr Santer.’

It was a whisper but definitely there. A cold trickle of fear ran down her spine. ‘John?’

‘I’m in a cubicle.’

‘John, the police, army and everyone in the hospital is looking for you. You’re not going to get out, not without giving yourself up.’ She turned to the only door that was closed in the row of cubicles.

‘I didn’t kill that sergeant and corporal.’

She took a deep breath, and forced herself to remain calm. She’d never lied to a patient and wasn’t about to begin. ‘Open the door, John, and we’ll talk about it.’

‘I didn’t do it,’ he reiterated forcefully.

‘If you’re innocent it can be sorted, but not while you remain hidden here.’

‘If I leave here I’ll be dead in five minutes.’

‘You have my word, no one will harm you if you give up your gun and come out quietly with me.’

‘You’re going to guarantee my safety? Forgive my cynicism, Dr Santer, but you’re promising to do more than two armed guards managed to accomplish.’

‘You can’t stay in there forever.’

‘I know, that’s why I need your help. Get a wheelchair and a blanket. Bring them here. You can take me to the front door.’

‘The hospital is crawling with police and troops.

The building is surrounded.’

‘Just wheel me to the door. I can take it from there.’

‘John… ’

‘I have a gun,’ he reminded her harshly, ‘and I’ll use it on the hostage I’m holding in here. Do you want to take responsibility for the death of an innocent nurse?’

CHAPTER FOUR

Elizabeth stood in the corridor and leaned against the door of the Ladies’ room. She had to prevent anyone from entering but she couldn’t do that unless she stayed there and if she did, she wouldn’t be able to fetch a wheelchair. How long would John wait before killing his hostage?

She wished she’d offered to take the nurse’s place.

It would have made sense. She was the trained psychiatrist. She didn’t doubt that he’d kill again. Not after seeing the corpses of the two soldiers.

A door crashed back on its hinges further up the corridor and the porter who had turned up the television earlier, came whistling out of the canteen.

‘Thank God,’ she breathed in relief. ‘Could you please bring me a wheelchair? One of the nurses has fainted in the Ladies.’

‘No trouble, Dr Santer. Be back in a tick.’

Suppressing an impulse to call out and ask him to fetch the army officers along with the wheelchair, she tried to plan what she would do when he returned with the chair. She couldn’t understand why the corridor wasn’t crawling with police. Shouldn’t they be searching every inch of the hospital and wouldn’t it be logical to start at the top of the building and work down?

The porter returned with a chair. ‘Here you are, doctor. Only had to go down to five to get it.’

She blocked his path as he reached past her to open the door.

‘I’d be happy to give you a hand with her.’

‘I can manage. She’s in a bit of a state.’

‘So what’s new? I’ve seen it all before.’

‘She’d be embarrassed. You being a colleague.’

Elizabeth put her hands on the back of the chair and pulled it towards her, creating a barrier between them.

‘If that’s what you want,’ he capitulated. ‘Don’t try to take her down in the lifts on the west side. They’re out of commission.’

‘Packed up again?’

‘No, they’ve cornered him in a room near the lift-shaft on six.’

‘John West?’

‘If that’s the name of the psycho who topped the two soldiers.’

‘You sure they’ve got him?’ She tried not to sound surprised.

‘If they haven’t, half the army is down there for nothing. Rumour has it he’s locked himself into the sister’s office with a nurse. But he won’t be there long. They’ve assembled more hardware in that corridor than I’ve seen in the television footage of Iraq.’

‘Shouldn’t you be helping with the evacuation of the patients?’ she suggested, willing him to leave.

‘Our Mr Trist’s got the army doing that. Here let me.’ He leant over her shoulder to push open the door.

She backed in slowly, trying to think how John could be in a room on the sixth floor, when she’d just spoken to him here, on the eighth. Then it came to her.

She’d taken so long to fetch a wheelchair he’d 68

panicked and moved on through the window – but the nurse…

‘You sure you don’t need me?’ the porter looked over her shoulder.

‘She’s in one of the cubicles. Thank you for your help, but I really can take it from here.’

‘As you wish,’ whistling again he went on his way.

‘Anything new?’ Major Simmonds negotiated a path through the squad of silent, grim-faced soldiers who’d trained their weapons over every inch of the corridor on Ward Six.

Ross Chaloner, the Special Forces captain in charge of the operation, shook his head. If he’d outranked the major he would have told him to bugger off. In his opinion all psychiatrists were pains, including the ones who worked for the army.

‘Getting ready to storm the office?’

The commander looked to the stairwell, where Lieutenant-Colonel Heddingham stood, deep in conversation with a senior police officer.

‘All we need is the command,’ he whispered.

‘Although it would be stupid to take any risks until we know the hostage’s condition. But, as it looks as though this particular bastard is cool enough to keep his wits about him, he’ll probably have too much sense to neutralise his hostage while he’s holed up.’

‘You think it’s going to be a long stand off?’

‘Maybe, maybe not,’ Chaloner replied unhelpfully.

‘Take over, Sergeant Price,’ he ordered a short, stocky, grey-haired man. He moved away from the group of men who knelt, poised, their guns trained on the door of the office. Walking silently on rubber-soled shoes, he proceeded into the stairwell.

‘Helicopters will be here in fifteen minutes, Captain,’ Heddingham informed him briefly. He disliked Special Forces intensely, regarding them as the prima-donnas of the armed forces, but HQ had insisted they be brought in. What was infinitely worse, they had remained under the autonomous control of their own officers.

‘Do we know if he’s closed the blinds in the office, sir?’ Chaloner asked.

‘He has,’ the police officer confirmed.

‘If they’re equipped with heat-seeking equipment, we’ll be able to put an exact fix on where they’re located in the room.’

‘You’ll be able to differentiate between West and the hostage?’ Heddingham asked.

‘Doubtful.’

‘You intend to break in through the window?’

‘It’s been done successfully before,’ Chaloner answered. ‘But it’s Command Cell’s decision, not mine, as to whether we go in or not.’

The chair wheels squealed when Elizabeth pulled it inside the washroom. Nerves jangling, she damned the porter for picking that particular one. There had to be at least one in the hospital with silent, smooth running wheels.

‘John?’ she called out tentatively, hoping against hope that he wouldn’t reply.

‘You took your time, Dr Santer.’

‘I had to send someone to fetch the chair.’

‘Who?’

‘A porter.’

‘He’s with you?’

‘No, I sent him away.’

‘Is anyone outside the door?’

‘No.’

Logic told West she was speaking the truth. If she’d alerted the police or the army they wouldn’t have allowed her to return. No commander in a hostage situation would allow a civilian to walk unarmed into a room with a gunman.

‘You armed?’ he demanded.

‘Where would I get a gun?’ She looked up as his head appeared above the cubicle door.

‘Strip.’

‘What?’ she stared at him in disbelief.

‘Strip. I need to see you’re unarmed.’

Her hands trembled when she unfastened the buttons on her surgical coat.

‘Drop it to the floor.’

She did as he asked, then pulled off her sweater.

‘Now the skirt.’

‘For pity’s sake, you can see there are no bulges that shouldn’t be there.’

‘The skirt,’ he repeated.

She unzipped it and allowed it to fall to her feet.

‘Step away.’

She obeyed, and stood shivering in a black bikini brief and bra set, and a pair of transparent tights.

‘I’m opening the door. Keep back. This gun is primed with eleven bullets.’

Inching away from him she crashed into a washbasin, and shuddered. There was nowhere left for her to retreat to. She watched, mesmerized as he hobbled towards her. The cubicle door swung back behind him to reveal a lavatory pedestal and nothing else.

‘Where’s your hostage?’