The Beauty of the End (22 page)

43

I
'm tired beyond belief the next morning. Wrung out, empty. I run a cold shower that's like needles on my skin, that takes my breath away. Feel no better.

Desperate to talk to Bea, I know I must confront Will first. This is where it starts and ends. With Will. Has it always been that way? If he's uneasy as I walk into the White Hart, he doesn't show it.

He looks up, not bothering to conceal his interest. “Noah.”

“Glad you could make it,” I tell him.

“I have to admit I was interested to hear what you'd found out,” he says. “Did I hear a rumor that our friend Ryder took you in?”

From the lightness of his voice, the coolness of his gaze, it's impossible to read what he's thinking.

“I had a most comfortable night in a small cell, thank you,” I tell him. “The standard twenty-four, after which, in the absence of any good, solid evidence, fortunately he was forced to let me go. Let me get you a drink.”

“Another scotch,” Will says briefly, raising his glass to me before emptying it.

I take my time at the bar, indulging in idle chat with the girl who serves me, letting Will wait, before I take the drinks—his scotch and my own orange juice—back to our table.

His eyes linger on my glass. I'm ready for his caustic remark, to deflect it with indifference, but today, Will doesn't waste time. “So. What's this all about?”

“I'm still tying up a few loose ends,” I tell him. “At least I was, before Ryder got in the way. But I'm fairly sure now, that April had discovered something. Most of her clients were mothers carrying babies diagnosed with serious problems. I'm no expert, but I've talked to one or two of them. One had a baby with Tay . . . ?”

I pretend I've forgotten, feigning ignorance, drawing him in, playing on my lack of expertise, but I can never forget what Daisy Rubinstein told me, or the reality of it etched on her lovely face.

“Tay-Sachs,” he says sharply. “What about it?”

“It wasn't just Tay-Sachs,” I continue. “There were babies with heart defects. That's your area, isn't it?”

Will looks cagey. “It's a complicated field, Noah. There are many types of problems and different treatment options. I see a few of them. But anyway, go on.”

“April had gathered statistics.” I'm watching every muscle in his face, every shift of his gaze, every blink of his eyes. “Her data wasn't conclusive, but it looked as though she'd stumbled across an irregularity. You see, the newborn mortality rates at two hospitals stood out.”

“That's news to me.” He says it pleasantly, but I can see that suddenly he's rigid. “Amateur statistics can be glaringly inaccurate.” He pauses, then asks too casually, “I'd be interested to take a look, though. Do you happen to have the notes with you?”

“I'm afraid I don't. But that wasn't the end of it. She started to look deeper into why some babies were treated and some were not. I think she suspected a pattern of some kind, but never quite worked out what it was.”

On the table in front of him, Will's phone buzzes. “I have to get this. Will Farrington.” He speaks into it and I watch him frown.

“Oh, for goodness sake. Whatever's the matter with her?”

He listens, irritation written on his face. “Which clinic?” He pauses. “I can't possibly come now. I'm in a meeting.”

There's another pause, then he says, “Text me the address. I'll be there as soon as I can.”

“Sorry,” he says, ending the call, then taking another swig of scotch. “It's my daughter—and Rebecca's away. Nothing that can't wait.”

“You're sure? This will keep,” I tell him, watching him torn, weighing family obligations against the reality of leaving here without knowing what I'm going to say.

He shakes his head impatiently. “You were saying . . . you think April had found a pattern.”

I nod. “I went over her notes; then I talked to some of her clients. Then one of them gave me a questionnaire.”

“That's quite standard,” he tells me. “These days, it's all about patient feedback—not that most patients can be bothered.”

“This was different.” Studying his face. “These were questions asked before treatment was started. And I think I'm right in saying, before any treatment was decided.”

His relief is obvious—he actually laughs. “You
think
? You need to do better than that, Noah. You call me over here because of something you
think
but don't actually know?”

“The questions were interesting.” Ignoring his outburst, my eyes still riveted to his. “About social background, jobs, income, schools . . . You have to ask, don't you, what relevance that could possibly have.”

Then as I watch the faintest tinge of red creep into his cheeks, the tiny muscle twitching in his neck, I keep going.

“In the case of a sick baby, I can understand questions about the health of the parents, and any history of illness in the family, but social background?” Knowing I have to push him, I take a huge leap of faith. “That's a step too far for anyone—except you, Will. Isn't that true?”

“Are you accusing me of sending out this questionnaire?” His voice is icy. “Because I may or may not have. I can't be held responsible for every stray piece of paper that gets handed to patients.”

“As it happens, they were always sent—by post—before each case was admitted. I have the names of staff—as well as patients—who will verify this.” I list the names of the specialists that April had compiled. “Isn't that your team?”

Then my own phone buzzes with a text. Bea.

But after the night of soul searching in the darkness of my cell, drawing together the stories from April's clients with my scattered thoughts, discounting what wasn't relevant, after Will's response, I know I'm right.

“Sorry about this,” I say to Will. “Won't be a second.” Texting Bea.

He looks uneasy.

“You've told your ridiculous story to Beatrice, haven't you? Was that her? Well, I've already told her the truth. She knows you've lied, for years, to everyone. The police will get you, Noah. It's a matter of time, that's all.”

“I've made mistakes.” I'm calm as I face my adversary. “Only these aren't my lies, are they, Will? I can see what you've done. They're yours, twisted around and slipped to me when you thought I wasn't looking. Only now I'm looking. I can see all of them. And you know what? I think Bea does, too.

“What about the Fairview Medical Centre?” I'm deliberately provoking him, because I need the truth. “Come on, Will. That questionnaire . . . Did you really think you could get away with it? Choosing to treat only babies of families from wealthy backgrounds, with money, education, class? What were you playing at—buying favors or being God? What about the struggling families, up to their ears in debt, who then have to cope with the death of a baby, because the specialist classified them as undeserving of treatment, unworthy of a chance at life? Who the fuck do you think you are?”

“You have no idea what you're talking about.” He stares back at me through slitted eyes.

There's another text from Bea.

As I stare at the words, my mind empties.

“Something the matter?” Will asks.

But as I see how nervous he is, suddenly I know I've got him. I try to focus. “Tell me about April, Will. Forget I was about to marry her for a moment. Leave me out of the picture. Tell me how it was.”

Suddenly I genuinely want to hear what he has to say, but the look he gives me is full of contempt.

“Leave you out of it?” Words that are loaded with sarcasm. “You've no idea how many times I've wished I could.”

“Did you manipulate her, too? Like the families who come to you to save their babies? All those lives in your hands—I bet you love that.”

“I save lives, Noah.” His tone is steely. “I have to make decisions. Everyone thinks there are endless resources. Do you know how overstretched most hospitals are? How hard we work to make the best of it? There's limited money. If I have five babies who need surgery and can only accommodate four, because that's how many beds we have, I have to make decisions.”

“
You don't
,” I cry. “You could send them somewhere else.”

He throws his head back. “Christ, Noah. There's nowhere fucking else. It's the same everywhere. Is it so bad that the kid who's most likely to make something of his life gets the bed?”

I shake my head disbelievingly. “So very wrong.”

But Will hasn't finished. “Do you know how hard we train, for fucking years? Working all hours, learning skills few others have. Making advances that save lives and benefit future generations. Look at the ER. All that effort wasted on people who have no self-respect. Who abuse their health, the system, waste the time and energy of all of us here. Take the drunks who come in, with their self-inflicted illness. They expect to be treated the same way as the victim of a road traffic accident, because everyone does. It's taken for bloody granted.”

“You're forgetting the human race isn't perfect. It never will be. And you're dealing with babies, Will. Making life and death decisions when even in your own warped world, even if you could in some way justify your actions, you have no idea who they'll grow up to be.”

“You can take a bloody good guess,” he says scornfully. “Someone's background is a pretty accurate gauge of how they'll turn out.”

“Like yourself?” I say icily. “Do you know what's even more terrifying?” I stare at him, wondering how this man was ever my friend. “You can't see it.”

Then I shake my head. “So April's the mother of your child,” I add softly. “How does that fit into all of this? When she found out what you were up to, did you decide you wanted her out of the way?”

“You've no idea what you're talking about,” he flashes. “For one thing, she wasn't fit to be a mother.”

“It's not up to you,” I cry, feeling the sting of his words, of his judgment of April yet again, as I jump to the only conclusion that makes sense. “God. You've taken a woman's child from her.”

“At the time”—Will grits his teeth—“I remember it suited her just fine. We both know she wasn't reliable. Think about it. She was damaged goods, Noah, not the poor lost little angel you thought she was. Don't look like that. The difference with me was that I saw through her. I knew exactly what she was. A beautiful woman who'd fuck anyone. For Christ's sake, her mother was a whore, her stepfather raped her. Sex was like pissing—just another autonomous body function to her.”

“She was vulnerable and you exploited her.” My heart at once ice cold and boiling.

“Rubbish. She could have walked away, anytime she liked. She kept coming back.” He points at his chest. “To me. Open your eyes, Noah. Wake up to yourself.”

“Bastard.” I mutter the word.

He leers, an ugly, monstrous look, as he sits back, folding his arms. “Face it. You're out of your depth.”

As soon as he says that, it's as though a light comes on. Suddenly it's blindingly obvious. All along, he's manipulated me, too.

“That's why you called me, isn't it?” I say softly. “At the very beginning? The dropout lawyer who you thought was still in love with her. I wouldn't have a hope of winning her case, if it came to that, but you knew I wouldn't be able to resist.”

I'm completely stunned as it sinks in, because I can't believe that until now I haven't seen through him. Will had never wanted to help April. He'd brought me here to fail.

“I'm right, aren't I?” I add, catching sight of Ryder outside, walking past the window. “And the only reason you're still here, right now, listening to me, is because you want April's precious files, because she was right. Well, most likely, by now they are in the hands of our good friend Ryder. . . .”

Will opens his mouth to reply. Then seeing me glance past him, he turns as Ryder comes through the door. His face visibly pales.

“Why did you kill Norton, Will? Were you trying to set her up?”

He doesn't speak. I sit back, my eyes not leaving his.

“Why didn't you just kill her?” I ask softly. “Or is that what you're doing now? When backs are turned, quietly altering her meds, because no one would ever suspect you, would they?”

His face is ashen. Then Ryder's beside him, his hand on Will's shoulder as the policeman with him reads him his rights.

Picking up my keys, I stand. “Like I said, mate, right at the start. The truth usually comes out.”

I don't even know if Will hears me. Then nodding to Ryder, I walk away.