Someone To Save you (40 page)

‘Did you have something to do with this?’ Louisa asked, nodding through to the window to where Sarah and Tom were now cooing over their daughter.

‘I called him straight after coming out of theatre and left a message,’ Sam said. ‘Told him to get the hell down here and be with his wife and daughter.’

‘Good work,’ she said, watching the proud parents. ‘They look really happy.’ She turned back to Sam. ‘How are you feeling? I mean, physically? You must be exhausted.’

‘Not too bad,’ Sam replied, ‘I can feel the tiredness creeping up on me, but I’ll be okay after a few strong coffees.’

Louisa frowned. ‘You’re not going back home to sleep?’

‘I’ve got to keep looking for Anna. I thought I might go over to see Victoria Friedman.’

‘But you’ve been awake all night.’

‘I know,’ Sam conceded. ‘And if I really flag later in the day, then I’ll have no choice, but for the moment I don’t want to waste any time.’

‘I wish I could come with you.’

‘It’s okay,’ Sam replied. ‘You’ve got a job to do. Just let me know as soon as Marcus gets in touch.’

‘I will,’ she promised. ‘Sam, I really am sorry, you know, about not telling you about Marcus.’

‘It’s okay,’ Sam said. ‘Let’s just focus on getting Anna back.’

‘Agreed.’

Sam and Louisa said their goodbyes. It was now just after eight am. Sam decided he would head back home, change and shower, then travel over to speak again with Victoria Friedman. It was still the only avenue of investigation he had. But before he could leave, he got a message from Professor Khan requesting his presence in his office.

Sam knocked and entered. The Professor was sat at his desk, and beckoned Sam over. ‘Sam, take a seat.’

Sam did as requested, even though sitting down only served to remind him how tired he was really feeling.

‘I wanted to congratulate you before you left,’ he said. ‘You did a fantastic job in there. Showed everyone exactly why your reputation is so high.’

‘Thanks. But I was just assisting.’

‘Nonsense,’ he scoffed. ‘I was just watching. You were the lead, Sam. If I hadn’t been in the theatre I don’t think anyone would have noticed.’

Sam didn’t believe that for one moment, but you didn’t challenge Professor Khan, especially to flatter him.

‘I know you care for the child,’ he continued. ‘You were happy with the way things went?’ He raised a single bushy, inquisitive eyebrow and leant back in his chair, his fingers resting against the desk.

‘Very happy,’ Sam replied. ‘I don’t think it could have gone better.’

‘Excellent,’ he said. ‘I couldn’t agree more. And the parents; how are they?’

‘They’re good.’

‘Excellent, that’s excellent.’ He seemed distracted, looking down at his palms as he trailed a finger along the lines. He chuckled somewhat embarrassed when he realised what he was doing. ‘My grandmother used to read our palms when we were children,’ he explained, smiling at the memory. ‘I used to think it was all nonsense, but I didn’t dare tell her so. When I was eight years old she told me I was going to be a famous doctor in England. Can you believe that?’

Sam smiled.

The Professor looked back down again at his palms. ‘Ever since I’ve wondered whether my grandmother had really seen the future, or whether what she said had merely influenced me to want to become that person she had seen - a self-fulfilling prophecy that an impoverished boy from the remotest part of rural India could become a doctor and come to London.’

‘Does it matter?’

‘No, I suppose it doesn’t,’ he replied. ‘Whatever way, her prediction came true.’ He smiled. ‘And now when I look at my palms, I too can see into the future.’

‘How do you mean?’

He held up his palms. ‘I look at these palms, Sam, and I see an aging man.’ He smiled with regret. ‘I see that my future does not lie here for much longer.’

‘You’re not that old.’

‘You’d be surprised. I’m not saying it will be this year, or even next or the year after. But soon. And when I leave, I want to be sure that the place is in the best of hands. Your hands, Sam.’

His proclamation took Sam by surprise. ‘Mine?’

‘Of course,’ he replied. ‘Nothing would make me happier.’

Hearing those words from a surgeon as great as Professor Adil Khan was more than Sam could have ever dreamt of. ‘I don’t know what to say.’

‘You don’t need to say anything,’ he said. ‘Just make sure that you perform well at the interview.’

‘I’ll do my best.’

‘On the basis of today’s exploits that will most definitely be good enough.’

Sam paused, wondering whether to raise the issue of Miles’ suspension. He decided there would never be a great time, so it might as well be now. ‘I heard about Miles.’

‘Yes, Miles,’ he replied, pursing his lips. ‘Miles was misguided. He’s a skilled surgeon, but it’s not enough. He knew that in the end, and that’s why he did what he did. Sam, I hope that you still want to be here, after what has happened. I know you may well feel aggrieved with the suspension, but the hospital had to follow due process.’

‘I understand. And I don’t want to move. I love it here.’

‘Good. I was worried we might lose you.’

‘As long as you want me, I’m here.’

‘Very good news, very good news indeed.’ He smiled at Sam for a couple of seconds, his satisfaction evident. ‘So,’ he continued, ‘how is your good lady wife?’

Sam paused. ‘She’s good,’ he lied, biting down hard on his emotion, ‘very good.’

For a second Sam almost told him everything. But the wall had quickly come back up – he couldn’t risk telling any more people about what was happening. He needed to remain in control of the situation as much as possible, even though it was increasingly clear that he didn’t know what the hell to do.

‘She’s away at the moment,’ he added, ‘but I can’t wait to get her back.’

45

Sam got back to his empty house, checked the answer machine, then headed straight for the bathroom and jumped in the shower. He turned the temperature right down to cold and gasped as a jet of icy water blasted onto his body, shocking his system into life. It was a necessary wake-up call. On the tube home he had struggled to stay awake against the now relentless advance of tiredness. It threatened to overwhelm him, but he planned to fight it all the way.

The cold did seem to re-energise him and by the time he got out, he now felt ready for the confrontation with Victoria Friedman and whatever else lay ahead in the day. He dressed in fresh clothes and checked his emails. Again, there was nothing from the person who had taken Anna. After all that contact, now it was like the lines had been cut for good.

Sam stared at the computer screen.

What the hell did this person want?

He tried Marcus’s mobile and then his home phone. Nothing. Moving into the kitchen he paused by the breakfast bar and could almost see Anna there in her pyjamas, cheerfully snapping off an edge of toast. Closing his eyes, he heard her voice.

We’re having a baby.

Sam’s eyes were still closed when the doorbell rang, and at first he wondered whether he’d imagined it. But by the time Sam emerged into the hallway it rang again.

It was Paul Cullen. Looking tired, he smiled, his hands in his coat pockets. ‘Sam, can I come in?’

Sam stood aside and beckoned him inside. He knew where he was going, and headed straight for the living room. ‘May I?’ he said, gesturing at the sofa.

‘Of course.’ Sam replied, taking the seat opposite. Cullen looked serious. ‘Has something happened?’

‘A few things,’ he revealed. ‘We got the results back from the audio message.’

‘Right...’

‘And the guys in the analysis labs have confirmed that, as far as they can detect, it is genuine.’

‘So they agree it’s a recording of the incident?’

‘Not exactly,’ he replied. ‘They can’t be sure when the recording was made. But they concluded that the sounds on the file did match both your statement of what you said happened, the statement from the train driver, and also the investigations that took place at the scene.’

‘So it’s not just someone playing a sick joke.’

‘Like I said, they’re as convinced as they can be that this is an accurate audio recording of the event.’

‘And what do you think?’ Sam asked.

Cullen laughed. ‘What do I think?’ He ran his tongue along the underside of his top lip, as he contemplated the question. ‘When you first played me this, I thought it was a joke - a sick joke, yes, but a joke nonetheless. Now I’m certain that it’s for real.’

The happiness that Sam felt on hearing that Cullen believed him was tempered by the thought that he couldn’t tell him about what had happened to Anna. Not without fear of reprisals. ‘So what does it mean?’

‘Well,’ he began, looking around the room as if he was searching for the right answer among Sam’s possessions, before returning to look at him. ‘It means that what you claimed was true, in the sense that the whole incident was pre-planned by someone. Somebody took the trouble to plant recording equipment at the scene – positioned in more than one location – gather that information, and then email it to you. Unless of course you were the one who set up the incident and did the recording.’

His statement held in the air as a challenge.

Sam sensed that Cullen didn’t believe that, but he had to ask the question. ‘And do you think I did that?’

‘No, no I don’t,’ he replied, with a certainty that both surprised and heartened Sam. ‘I’ve never really believed you did this,’ he continued. ‘I’ve asked myself countless times whether I was being blinded by who you are, the fact you’re a surgeon, an everyday hero. I’ve wondered whether if you were someone else, someone in another occupation, someone less worthy, I might have been naturally more suspicious. But I don’t think it’s that at all. I just have a very strong feeling that you’re telling the truth, and I trust that feeling.’

Sam nodded his gratitude before firing off his own challenge. ‘Do you believe this is linked to my sister’s murder?’

Now Cullen didn’t look so sure. ‘Maybe,’ he said, finally. That he was even entertaining the possibility came as a shock, evidentially to the both of them. Cullen looked around the room again. ‘Any chance of a tea?’

‘Of course, sorry, come through.’

They walked through to the kitchen and Sam prepared two cups while Cullen rested on the breakfast bar. ‘This case has been the most baffling of my career,’ he admitted, as Sam boiled the kettle. ‘Transport police matters aren’t usually so mysterious – plenty of grisly stuff, you know, deaths on the line, assaults, rape, the occasional murder. But nothing like this.’

Sam popped a tea bag in each cup and poured on the boiling water. ‘But you do think that this might be all connected to what happened to Cathy?’

‘At first I thought it was crazy, but I’m coming round to the theory, yes.’

Sam handed him the tea. ‘What’s changed?’

Cullen shrugged. ‘You believe there’s a connection.’

‘But me believing it didn’t convince you initially,’ Sam said. ‘Why now?’

‘You were right about the rail crash,’ he said. ‘Believing that someone had set up that incident was, for me, the most unlikely part of your theory. If we now believe that, the next step is to consider who had the motive to do such a thing. It isn’t a massive jump to conclude that it could be the person who murdered your sister.’ He took a tentative sip from his tea. ‘Have you spoken to Marcus Johnson since his release?’

‘You think it could be Marcus?’

Cullen looked faintly amused. ‘Don’t you?’

‘I don’t think so, no.’

Cullen registered his surprise. ‘But you said you think the person who murdered your sister did this.’

‘I don’t think he killed Cathy.’

Cullen eyes narrowed. ‘Why are you so sure?’

‘Because I’ve met with him, and I don’t believe any more that he did it.’

‘You asked him?’

‘Yes. I asked him and I believe what he says.’

‘But why now? You didn’t believe him before.’

‘I never listened,’ Sam said, ‘I didn’t want to listen to what he had to say. I wanted to believe it was over, finished, and I tried to move on. But I think I was wrong.’

‘You think you were wrong?’

‘I’m as sure as I can be that he didn’t do it.’

‘Maybe you should keep your options open,’ he said. ‘Can you think of anyone else who might have the motive?’

Miles Churchill was the only name that came to mind. ‘This week my colleague Miles Churchill tried to frame me,’ Sam said. ‘He planted drugs in my locker.’

Cullen was interested. ‘Do you know why he did it?’

Sam shrugged. ‘We’re going for the same job, so I guess he wanted me out of the way – he wanted to smear me.’

Cullen let out a long exhale, considering the statement. ‘Do you think he could have done this?’