‘It’s me, sir,’ a voice came back. ‘PC Norman. I got that information you wanted. On the painting.’
Greg’s heart beat a little faster as he waited for a name to be given. The name of the killer, perhaps? For one awful moment he wondered if he would be given the name Alex Taylor. That it was she who sent the painting to herself. The name slipped off the young officer’s lips and Greg was both shocked and relieved. Alex had been telling the truth, and he had thought it too far-fetched to be true.
‘A Margaret Fielding. She paid by Visa and had it sent to the address I’m guarding.’
Greg thanked him and hung up. Then he faced Nathan Bell and Jakie Jackson. ‘Let’s find her.’
*
Her side was burning and Alex suspected the wound would require stitches – if she lived that long. For the third time in as many months Maggie had her strapped down on an operating table. Only this time she knew exactly which one she was lying on: the trauma theatre table. She had Velcroed her arms down and then bound them with bandages to secure them even tighter. She had used a sheet to bind her legs to the trolley and now stood over her with a scalpel in her hand.
‘You get your wish, Alex. No more messing. We end it right here. They find you dead and pronounce it suicide.’
‘Suicide?’ Alex stared at her in disbelief. ‘You stabbed me in the side and my neck is sliced. No one will believe it.’
Maggie gave no answer, but Alex didn’t care. She felt no fear any more; her mind had grown immune to it. Her thoughts were now only of her mother, her father, Pamela and her dear friend.
‘Why did you kill her, Maggie? Why Fiona?’
Maggie shook her head.
‘Please .?.?.’
Maggie finally stared at her, and for the first time Alex thought she was looking at the real Maggie Fielding. A woman troubled by her conscience. Her chest heaved and then she looked away from Alex. ‘She found me with your phone, and I tried to brush her off. She said she’d texted you, but that you hadn’t replied. I said you’d just called your phone, that you’d realised you’d left it at work. Fiona didn’t believe me. I said I was going to meet you and she could ask you herself. I told her where I was going and she marched away.’ Maggie paused. The silence stretching. She seemed to be making up her mind about something. Then she locked eyes with Alex. ‘If she hadn’t looked back, I wouldn’t have followed, but she did and she said, I don’t believe you. What was I to do, Alex? Except to let it be thought that you had done something serious .?.?. like murder your best friend.’
‘You’ll go to hell for this, Maggie.’
In an instant the blade flashed in front of her eyes and she felt agonising pain as it sliced deep into her right wrist. Her blood spurted high and fast. Alex watched it splash the theatre lights above.
‘I liked you, Maggie. I really did.’
The blade swiftly moved again, this time slicing through her left wrist. The pain was worse because she was expecting it. She felt her hand become quickly wet and her fingers were warm and slippery.
She was dying. Within a few minutes her heart would stop. Her birthday was next month, but she would never reach the age of twenty-nine. She breathed in deeply and felt the thud of her heart beneath her breastbone.
‘Hold my hand, Maggie,’ she whispered. ‘Don’t let me die alone.’
There was no response, because Maggie had moved away from the table, but Alex knew she was still there. She was waiting for her to die. Then she would undo the straps and leave the blade beside her so that whoever found her would think she had taken her own life. Her other wounds might be considered previous attempts. Maggie was going to win in the end, and everyone who had ever known or loved Alex would think she had died a murderer.
Her mouth was dry and her body felt cold. She could no longer see the arc of her blood nor feel the pound of her heart. She was floating, and a gentle buzzing rang in her ears.
Then her eyes fluttered closed.
*
They were following the regular pattern of blood along the corridor, each man silent, each worrying about what they would find. But the blood that led them to the operating theatre in no way prepared them for the sight they were presented with. It was on the floor on each side of the operating table. All three men stood still at the theatre doorway. There was too much of it. Pints of the stuff had been spilled; it had settled thick and red and had spread as far as it could go. Alex lay on an operating table with her arms strapped down and her head to one side.
Nathan was the first to rush forward, throwing out commands to the other two as he ran to her side. ‘Ring 333. Tell them it’s in trauma theatre. Pull that emergency red button on the wall behind me and grab any cloths you can and cover this floor. Greg, get over here and help me.’
Jakie Jackson went to the phone and Greg, careful not to slip in the blood, went and joined the doctor.
‘Take off your tie and tie it hard around her wrist and then raise her arm above her head.’
While Greg did as he was told, Nathan attached a blood pressure cuff around her other wrist and pressed a switch on a machine so that the cuff quickly inflated and acted as a tourniquet. He then took a regular tourniquet and pulled it tight around Greg’s tie. He pressed a foot pedal and the head of the operating table lowered. Then he rushed to a drawer and pulled out orange cannulas. ‘Lift her chin and put your ear to her mouth and check if she’s breathing.’
Greg again did as he was told while Nathan got two large intravenous needles into her arms. He grabbed two bags of fluids and within seconds had them attached to drip lines and had fluid pouring into Alex’s veins. ‘Can you feel her breathing?’
Greg raised desperate eyes and shook his head. Nathan took his place at the head of the table and at the same time placed two fingers against her throat. ‘She’s got a pulse, but she’s not breathing. Breathe into her mouth, Greg, until I get the oxygen on and bag her. Pinch her nostrils, tilt her chin and cover her mouth with your own.’
Her lips were cool against his lips and Greg felt his insides quiver in panic. You mustn’t die, he prayed. You’re too young. Fight, Alex. Please, please fight.
He was grateful as Nathan took over the job with an inflated bag and mask. He took a gulp of air and tried to calm himself and then he saw her chest rise. ‘Is she breathing?’
‘Not on her own yet. She’s too weak. Greg, I want you to bag her. I want you to do exactly what I’m doing. I need to get more fluids into her ASAP. And I need to get blood fast.’