Someone To Save you (21 page)

Doug intercepted him as he approached the post trays.

‘Sam,’ he said brightly, his wide smile a welcome sight. He looked well; toned underneath his royal blue shirt and fresh-faced, despite being at the back-end of a long shift. His marathon training regime was obviously going better than Sam’s. ‘Great to see you back.’

They patted a hello. ‘Just a flying visit,’ Sam explained. ‘Have you heard how Sophie is?’

‘Sorry, no,’ Doug said, his Scottish accent seemingly getting stronger. ‘It’s been so busy today, absolutely manic, I haven’t had time to come up for air.’

‘I’m going to go up there now,’ Sam said, ‘to see how she’s doing.’

Doug nodded his approval, and then clicked his fingers as he remembered something. ‘I nearly forgot. You had a visitor, about an hour ago. I didn’t think you’d be in today, otherwise I’d have told her to wait around. She seemed pretty keen to speak with you.’

‘A visitor? Who?’

‘A woman. She came up to the nursing desk, asking to speak with you – said it was very important. I just happened to be at the desk.’ He fished around in his trouser pocket and handed Sam a piece of paper. ‘She left this number.’

There was no name.

‘Who was she?’

Doug shrugged. ‘An older woman, probably in her early seventies, maybe late sixties. Reddish hair, quite short. London accent. Feisty. Ring any bells?’

Sam tried to think of who it might be, but couldn’t. ‘She didn’t leave a name?’

‘No. Just said for you to call her as soon as you get the message. She seemed very keen to speak to you.’

23

Sam retreated to a quiet corner of the department and dialled the number. It went straight through to a generic answer service, giving no clues as to the phone’s owner. He left a short message, explaining that he was now back at work and would try to call again later. He then checked his mail and found the letter that he had been waiting for. It was a brief but important message. He’d been invited for interview in a week’s time for the consultant post. But the rare feeling of good news was tempered by the thought of whether getting the job was important anymore. How could he focus on that with everything that had happened? Still, life went on. He slipped the letter into his trouser pocket and turned towards his office. Miles was waiting for him by the door.

‘I assume that you got the letter too,’ he said, gesturing towards Sam’s trouser pocket.

Sam nodded. He must have been watching him at the post station.

‘I just wanted to say good luck.’

Miles turned to walk away, not waiting for an answer, but Sam called him back. ‘Miles.’

He turned around, hands in his pockets and raised his head expectantly.

Sam gestured towards his office. ‘Can you talk for a minute?’

Miles nodded and followed him inside.

‘Take a seat,’ Sam said.

He did as requested and sat facing him. Miles still didn’t look at his best – his eyes betrayed a genuine tiredness. His tired face was combative, as if ready for hostility, and Sam wondered whose fault this all was – he’d certainly played his part in maintaining the bad atmosphere between them over the past couple of years. It was easy to get caught up in things, sinking to new levels of animosity, so such so that it becomes the norm. But now he decided to do what Anna had advised him to do a long time ago – really try to make peace. She knew Sam had never liked the situation. And anyway, there were too many problems in the world without this.

‘I didn’t thank you properly,’ Sam said, ‘for picking up the slack while I’ve been off.’

‘No problem,’ Miles said, wary but obviously taken by surprise at Sam’s comment.

Sam continued. ‘I’m especially grateful for what you did with Sophie Jackson. You saved her life.’

‘For now,’ Miles replied flatly.

Sam nodded. ‘How is she doing?’

‘Better than I thought she would,’ Miles admitted. ‘You were right about her, Sam, she is a little fighter.’

‘Do you think she’ll pull through?’

‘Maybe,’ he said. ‘Depends on whether a suitable heart becomes available. But if one does, I think she could make it.’

‘So do I,’ Sam concurred. ‘And I really do mean what I said, so thanks for everything you did the other day. You’re a good surgeon. Whoever gets the consultant job will have deserved it, be it you or me.’

Miles’s forehead creased with suspicion and confusion. ‘Why are you doing this, Sam?’

‘What do you mean?’

‘Being so nice.’

Sam shrugged. ‘I just want things to change around here, between us both. We might never be the best of friends, Miles, but it doesn’t mean we have to be enemies. At the end of the day, we’re both here to do our best for our patients; patients like Sophie.’

Miles just sat there for a second, as if weighing up a decision of national importance.

‘Fair enough,’ he said, ‘that’s fair enough.’

He held out a hand across the table, which Sam shook. Miles’s grip was strong and Sam responded, fighting to suppress a smile – it would be very difficult if not impossible to banish the air of competitiveness between them. But this was a good start.

When Miles left, Sam powered up his computer and waded through the stack of emails that had built up over the past couple of days. There was very little of interest. Carla Conway had sent him a message, concerned about how he was coping following Richard Friedman’s suicide. She offered any support she could, in the way of private counselling, and also emphasised that the board had committed to inject more money into hospital security. There would be more security staff, and all CCTV cameras would from next week be fully operational. Access to the roof would be secured.

Sam wondered, maybe cruelly, whether Carla was trying to protect staff and patients or the hospital’s reputation. Suicides on hospital property certainly weren’t a welcome news story.

He closed the email and logged onto the internet, quickly checking his private email account. There was a message from Anna. Relief work that day had gone well, and they were on target to finish connecting a health centre back to the mains water supply before she returned in three days’ time. She was looking forward to coming home and seeing him. Sam typed out a brief but warm reply. He didn’t mention any of the recent events, including the visit to his parents, as it would just raise her suspicions that something was going on. There would be plenty of time for explanations when she returned. He pressed send and scanned down his inbox. The message from Richard Friedman was still there, along with the link to the dating website. Sam highlighted the message and selected delete.

There was a knock at the door.

Sam rose from his chair. ‘Come in.’

A woman entered, moving confidently into the room as the door closed behind her. ‘Dr. Becker?’

Sam nodded. She looked to be in her late sixties, and he immediately assumed that this was the woman who Doug had described. ‘Can I help?’

‘Not unless you can tell me where my granddaughter is.’

‘Sorry?’

She straightened up and proffered her hand, grim faced, clearing her throat. ‘Shirley Ainsley.’

She didn’t need to offer any further explanation.

Sam shook her hand, thinking quickly about how to approach this. He hadn’t expected to have to speak to the family face to face, and he wondered how wise it was to do so when the police investigation was on-going. He doubted whether Inspector Cullen would appreciate it at all. But it was too late really to stop it now, so he would just have to be cautious. ‘Please, take a seat.’

Sam pulled his chair from around the back of the desk, so there was no obstacle in between them. ‘First of all, I want to say how sorry I am about your daughter. I’m so sorry that I couldn’t save her.’

‘Thank you,’ she said solemnly, her lips pursed and her hands cupped on her lap. She looked down to her left, frowning at some thought. ‘They won’t let me have her back yet. We can’t bury her, can’t say goodbye properly.’

‘I’m sorry.’

She looked up. ‘They’re keeping her, doing some more tests, I don’t know what. I just want to bury her in peace.’

‘I know how difficult it must be,’ Sam offered.

Her face was now set hard. ‘Tell me about what happened. I need to know from you what happened to my family.’

Sam steeled himself to recount the horrific events once again. He didn’t want to have to do this. Each time he had spoken about the incident it was like he’d been transported back to the scene, time-travelling to the point where it all began and playing it through like a horror film. But Shirley Ainsley deserved to have her wish granted, so he swallowed hard and prepared once again to relive the pain. ‘I was driving home, it was late on the Sunday evening, and from nowhere a girl ran out in front of my car…’

‘Alison,’ she interrupted.

‘She said her name was Alison,’ Sam replied.

Shirley Ainsley pulled out a photograph from her pocket and handed it to him. ‘That’s a recent photograph of Alison. Was it her who ran out in front of you?’

Sam studied the photograph more intently than he needed to, feeling that he owed Shirley his close attention. It was clear that this wasn’t the girl. It was the same girl who Paul Cullen had asked him about before. ‘No, this wasn’t her,’ he said, handing the photograph back to her. ‘I’m sorry.’

‘It had to be her,’ she responded, looking down at the photo. ‘It doesn’t make any sense if it wasn’t.’

‘I’m really sorry, Mrs Ainsley, but it wasn’t your granddaughter.’

She seemed to struggle to take in the statement, closing her eyes and grimacing slightly, as if her mind was physically fighting the truth. ‘You said it was the girl who died in the river, the girl I was taken to see.’

Sam nodded.

‘Who is she?’

‘I don’t know,’ Sam said. ‘I thought she was your granddaughter.’

She put a steadying hand to her head. ‘I don’t understand why someone else would pretend to be Alison. I don’t understand what that girl would have been doing there, with my daughter and her family on the train line.’

‘Neither do I,’ Shirley, ‘I’ve tried to make sense of what happened, but I just can’t explain it.’

She looked at him. The steel had returned. ‘Are you telling me the truth?’

‘Of course,’ Sam said, rattled by the accusation. ‘You think I might be lying?’

‘I don’t know what to believe,’ she said. ‘But I do know what Alison told me on the phone. She said it was your fault. Why would she say that?’

‘I don’t know,’ Sam admitted. ‘I’ve never met your granddaughter. And as I said, I really don’t understand why someone else was there pretending to be her, but you’ve got to believe me, Shirley, I’m telling you everything I know. I did what I could. I wish I could have saved your daughter’s life, and I truly hope Alison comes home safe and well.’

‘She would want to come home,’ she stated, stone-faced. ‘She was very close to her mother, very close to me and my husband, and the children. If it was up to her, she would be here with us.’

Sam leant forward on his chair. ‘You think someone has her?’

‘I’ve been thinking about it all night,’ she said. ‘I didn’t sleep at all, I couldn’t sleep - all these thoughts going around in my head. I don’t know what’s happening, I don’t know where Alison is, but it’s something to do with him. I think he’s the cause of all this.’

‘Who? Who do you think did this?’

‘The man she dated, Vincent McGuire. I told the police, but they haven’t been able to find him. To be honest, I don’t think they believe me, but I just know. He’s something to do with all of this.’

‘You think he was the reason your daughter wanted to die?’

‘I don’t believe she killed herself,’ she stated. ‘My daughter would not have tried to kill her own children. She just wouldn’t.’

Sam paused, knowing what he was about to say might be painful. ‘I’m sure under normal circumstances you’re right, but she wasn’t thinking straight, Shirley. She’d driven down there herself. She was in the driver’s seat.’

Shirley was unmoved. ‘The car was already on the tracks when you got there, wasn’t it?’

‘Yes.’

‘Then how do you know she was the one who drove the car on there? Maybe it was the girl from the river, the one pretending to be Alison. Maybe she did it.’

‘I don’t think so.’

‘But you don’t know, do you?’

‘No, but the police…’

‘The police think they have all the answers,’ she scoffed. ‘But they haven’t found my granddaughter.’

‘I wish I could help you,’ Sam said. ‘But we’ve just got to let the police deal with this.’

‘You seem like a good man,’ she said, seemingly ignoring his plea as she moved to stand. ‘I usually read people well. And having met you now, spoke to you face to face, I’m as sure as I can be that you’re telling the truth.’

Sam stood too. ‘I am. You’ve got to believe that.’