‘You know, if Alex is telling the truth, the real killer would have had to know about these underground corridors. And if Maggie Fielding is the killer, she must have had an accomplice. There’s no way she could have carried Alex down here by herself,’ Nathan commented.
‘I was thinking nearly the same,’ Greg answered, trying to imagine a woman carrying another person this far by herself. He suspected that it was highly unlikely that he and Nathan would come across this mysterious theatre, and that maybe there was no such place to be found.
Greg wondered about the painting. Could it have come from Oliver Ryan? He was dead. It was possible of course that before he died he’d arranged for it to be sent to her as a Christmas present. A taunt, perhaps? Or maybe it was one of the dead women who had sent it? Maybe these women were dead because Alex Taylor had been in love with Oliver Ryan. Oliver Ryan—
He stopped dead. He remembered where he’d met Oliver Ryan before. He remembered the restaurant manager apologising to him for allowing the woman to disturb him. He remembered him trying to hide behind a menu, and at the time thought it was because he was embarrassed. But Oliver Ryan had been trying to hide his face because he thought he would be recognised, because his unwelcome visitor had been Lillian Armstrong – a woman that, in public, he clearly didn’t want to be associated with. Especially as Lillian Armstrong – while telling everyone to piss off – had said she’d been invited.
At the time Greg hadn’t believed her, but now he thought that maybe she had been invited. Maybe Oliver Ryan hadn’t actually invited her into the hotel’s restaurant, maybe it was only to his bedroom.
‘We need to find proof that Dr Fielding was involved,’ Nathan said.
Greg shook his head. ‘We need to find proof that Alex is innocent. Otherwise it’s game over.’
*
It was by sheer chance that he saw the outline of a door behind an upright bed base. His torch had glanced off it and he saw a metal plate on the wall. On closer inspection he saw the metal plate was attached to a door, a place where once a handle had been secured. Putting down his torch he moved the bed base to one side, and then prised the door open using his fingertips.
Both men shone their torches inside. Sweeping the floor, the ceiling and the walls they could see the place was approximately twenty-foot square. Against one wall four rusty oxygen cylinders were stacked and chained. A low metal stool and a folded wheelchair were over by another. A tall bulky object was covered by cloudy old polythene. In the centre of the room was the one thing they had been searching for – an operating table.
‘It’s an Eschmann table,’ Nathan said. ‘We don’t use them any more. It’s probably been down here for years.’ He walked over to the polythene and dragged it off to reveal an outdated-looking operating lamp, nearly as tall as Nathan. Its adjustable arm bent over like a giraffe’s neck, supporting a wide glass plate that would light up when switched on. If the arm was raised it would stand several feet taller. ‘Nor this, the glare was too stressful on the surgeons’ eyes. And there,’ he said, shining the torch on the wheelchair, ‘is Maggie Fielding’s accomplice. She could have done it. Alex was telling the truth, Greg. This is where she must have been taken.’
Greg’s eyes revealed his scepticism. The man was clutching at straws. They had found an old operating table and a wheelchair, and Nathan Bell was jumping to conclusions in his desperation to prove Alex innocent. Greg was not convinced by any of it. He looked intently around the room, searching for signs of recent activity, but there was nothing to indicate any. The air was cold and still. The floors clean. The operating table clean. The wheelchair— A shiver ran down his spine as he gazed back around the room. Both their jackets were covered in dust and cobwebs, and yet this place, which they had to prise their way into, was spotlessly clean. No dust. No cobwebs. And, to his astonishment, he realised there had been no previous search. Laura had said Sergeant McIntyre had conducted a thorough search, and he probably had. His objective was to find an operating room or a man dressed as a surgeon on the run. If they had been searching for a missing person then this location would not have been missed. According to Alex Taylor, she had been a missing person, not a fugitive.
Greg tried to shut out this uncomfortable thought. He knew they still didn’t have enough yet to prove her innocent. They had to find more than this to back up Alex’s story. The CPS could argue that Alex had known of this place and elaborated her story to fit the evidence. They had to find evidence to prove she was innocent and that someone else was guilty. ‘You ever see that film, The Bone Collector?’
Nathan shook his head.
‘Never mind,’ Greg said. ‘Just do as I tell you. We’re going to fingertip search every inch of the place by torchlight. We probably won’t find a thing, but we’ve got to at least try. Alex deserves that.’
Chapter fifty-three
Jakie Jackson, as he was known to everyone, including his wife, was standing up to stretch his legs when the fire alarm went off. The sound box was on the wall outside the cubicle, and the whooping sound was deafening. His prisoner shot bolt upright, clearly terrified, and was trying to throw the blankets off and get out of bed.
Jakie saw how small and defenceless she was and felt sorry for her. He hadn’t liked sitting in the room for most of the day. It felt strange to be guarding a doctor, and the truth of it was that to his experienced eyes she just didn’t look like a killer. He knew he was being daft. There was no blueprint of a killer’s face in any book. The stereotype of close-set-eyes and eyebrows that joined in the middle was just nonsense. A killer only looked like a killer when you knew they were one, and that’s where he had a problem. This slip of a girl didn’t look like one, even though he knew she was.
Over the screeching alarm he shouted to be heard. ‘I’m just going to check if it’s for real.’ He held up a pair of handcuffs.
‘Don’t! Please! I’ll stay here,’ Alex shouted back.
Jakie Jackson hesitated. The doctor had yet to be officially arrested. His job was to guard her until DI Turner returned to do the deed. ‘It’ll only be for a minute.’
‘Please, it could be real and you may not be able to get back to me. Please. I’ll stay here. I’ll wait for you. But don’t leave me chained up.’
‘Just let me check. It won’t be real, and then I’ll be back.’
The door burst open and a nurse frantically waved her hand at the police officer. ‘Can I grab you? I need help quickly. The fire’s real and I’ve got a patient trapped in a bathroom. Bloody door’s jammed.’