Dead of Winter Tr (39 page)

‘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.

In the basement below them, Ebony left the room and doubled back along the corridor; she opened the first door on her left and heard the sound of a ventilator. She saw a young lad amidst a sea
of tubes and machines that flickered and beeped. She crept nearer to look at his face. It was hard to tell whether it was Alex: his face was so bloated. She looked around the room and saw the
Arsenal shirt on a chair. She backed out of the room and sent a text:
Have found Alex.

Nikki walked down the corridor to the service lift at the end. She checked her phone on the way and saw a message from her father:

. . .
run, my darling, run . . .

Carmichael packed up his belongings from the office in the Velvet Lagoon. He took his rifle from behind the bar.

‘Alex Tapp? Is he still alive?’

‘Yes.’

‘Where is he?’ Carmichael let a minute pass then he aimed his rifle. A bullet burned past Justin’s earlobe.

‘Fuck you, Carmichael. Fuck you . . .’ He screamed as the pain pumped into the ends of his finger stumps.

Carmichael watched Justin hanging; he saw his shape sway in the darkness.

‘Who else? Tell me everyone who was involved that night thirteen years ago.’

Justin’s breathing grew coarse, laboured. His voice rasped through the air:

‘We didn’t go there that night to kill your wife. We went to harvest Martingale’s daughter. It’s your fault your wife and child are dead and you know it is.’

Carmichael lowered the chain until Justin hung a foot from the ground. He was bleeding badly from his gunshot wounds and his hands. He could see the floor now. He struggled against the chain as
the rats watched him and crept forward in the darkness.

Ebony was walking back along the corridor towards Alex’s room when she heard the click of the lock releasing on the door. She stepped into the treatment room and hid
behind the door as she heard what sounded like a very agitated woman running along the corridor and straight past her. Someone was crying, hysterical. The door to the far room opened and Ebony
listened. There was a frantic pulling-out of drawers. Ebony stepped out into the corridor and walked towards the open door. Nicola stopped and turned as she saw her in the doorway.

‘You are under arrest, Nicola de Lange. You have the right to remain silent. You—’ Ebony didn’t get the chance to finish her caution as Nicola picked up a knife from
beside the microwave and took a step towards her. Ebony fought the urge to run. She looked at the knife in Nikki’s hand and saw her mum turning on her too as Ebony had walked into the kitchen
and seen the blood. ‘Nikki de Lange, you are under arrest—’

‘You move or I’ll kill you. I’m leaving now. I have to go . . . please . . . I don’t want to hurt you . . .’

Ebony could see how her hand was shaking. With her other hand Nikki picked up her passport and a small bag she’d hastily stuffed with a few possessions and she walked towards Ebony.

Ebony instinctively looked away from the knife . . . ‘Nicola de Lange, I am arresting you . . .’

‘I haven’t done anything wrong. I’ve been looking after him. I’ve kept him alive down here.’

‘You helped to kidnap him and you’ve kept him hostage down here with the intention of murdering him and stealing his organs. You have to give up now. You’re not going to get
any further than this hospital, Nikki. Believe me . . . it’s the only way. Alex is alive. That’s the main thing.’

‘No. The main thing is he was my only hope of life. Let me go; I’m dying. You need to look after him. He needs constant care. Bring him back slowly.’

Nikki de Lange was edging closer to Ebony as they spoke. She knew she had one purpose and that was to escape.

‘Put the knife down . . .’ Ebony hadn’t faced this fear since the day she faced her mother in the kitchen. She couldn’t stop her mother then. She couldn’t stop
Nikki de Lange now. But she knew she had to. She stood in the middle of the doorway.

‘I’m not going to let you pass, Nikki. Put the knife down.’ Nikki just stared. Ebony steeled herself ready for Nikki’s attempt at passing her but when it came she looked
away for a second and was knocked backwards as the knife sliced across her jacket. She fell against the doorframe as Nikki de Lange got away.

Nikki ran down the corridor, through the doors, and turned right into the delivery area towards the doors to the ambulance bay at the back.

Outside, Jeanie called Ebony on her phone and got no reply. She began walking back around the side of the building and stopped as she heard the back doors being unlocked. She came back to see
Nikki de Lange running towards the ambulance bay.

Ebony rolled over onto her knees and traced the slash across her chest. It had gone right through the first layer of her stab vest and nicked the inside of her arm. She was angry with herself.
‘Shit.’ She looked at her phone and saw that Jeanie had tried to ring her. Ebony felt a new rush of panic now. She’d left Jeanie vulnerable. She’d failed in her job. She got
to her feet and raced down towards the doors.

‘Don’t come near me . . .’ Nicola was fifteen feet away from Jeanie.

Jeanie stayed where she was. ‘I’m sorry for you, Nicola. You are just as much a victim here as all the others your father has killed. He’s used you all these years. He’s
used you to help him murder just to make sure he created the perfect world. Just to make sure he went down in history as a genius.’ Jeanie took a step towards her.

Nikki shook her head. ‘Please . . . don’t come near me . . . I don’t want to hurt you.’

‘I only want to help you, Nicola. I can’t let you get in the ambulance. Trust me . . . I can help you.’

‘Let me go. You don’t understand.’

Jeanie walked quicker, her feet crunching over the gravel. She wasn’t as fit as she used to be. She needed to get back to the gym. She was still a stone overweight from having Christa. She
broke into a jog. She had to get there. She began running. Nicola’s hands were shaking so much she dropped the keys to the ambulance. Jeanie reached her as she bent down to pick them from the
gravel.

Jeanie felt the pain as she looked down and saw the knife sticking out of her groin before Nikki pulled it back out and ran. Jeanie remembered that as a child she’d been running with a
bottle of red lemonade in her hand and had dropped it. It had hit the pavement and smashed and sent a jet of red liquid out into the air just like now; but this time it was her blood. Every beat of
her heat sent another spurt out from the wound. She fell slowly to the ground . . . slow motion . . . such a long way . . . she stayed where Nicola had stabbed her, sandwiched between two
ambulances, and watched Nicola drive away. She heard the sound of the helicopter above whoosh-whoosh, as it glinted in the sky. She shivered and she looked down: the blue of her trousers was
turning red.

With his rifle on his back, Carmichael kicked his bike off its stand and into life. He was near to the Mansfield hospital now; he looked into the sky and saw the helicopter
hovering over. He spun his bike around and kept the helicopter in his sights as he headed past the roundabouts and joined the M25; caught up with the ambulance speeding along the outside lane.

Ebony ran around to the back of the hospital towards the ambulances. She found Jeanie on the ground. ‘It’s alright, Jeanie . . .’

She grabbed Ebony’s arm. ‘Don’t let me die here . . . I want to hold my baby . . . please, Ebb, don’t let me die here.’ Ebony looked up at the sound of a helicopter
in the sky above. She looked around; there was no one about.