The Codex File (2012) (14 page)

Tate nodded.

“
You have my approval.”

“
And the target remains the same?”

“
Of course, that’s integral to the project’s success.”

Trevellion smiled maliciously.

“
Don’t worry, I’ll take care of Phase II. Just bring me the rest of Colette Robertson’s files.”

16
^th
August 2002

Colette was prostrated on the bed, blood staining the sheets, spreading like a slow crimson tide. Michael stood above her, his heart beating fast, pounding in his ears as he watched her pain. The beads of sweat on her face, trickling down her cheeks and into her hair glistened from her exertions as she fought the agony burning inside her. He couldn’t bear to see his wife in such pain.

He began to sweat as the seconds ticked by. How much longer was she going to have to endure this? A feeling of detachment coursed through him as he watched her writhe on the bed, more blood soaking into the sheets. He was there, watching, but somehow he didn’t seem able to comprehend what was about to happen.

“
If you could stand to one side please,” a firm, authoritative voice said to him, filtering into his contemplations.

Snapped out of his trance, Michael looked back to where Colette lay on the bed, crying out in pain. The middle-aged midwife eased past him, returning with a fresh set of towels, placing them on the small table next to the bed.

Returning to her side, Michael squeezed Colette’s arm gently, smiling warmly at her, hoping it would somehow help. Colette briefly looked back at him, her eyes wide from a combination of excruciating pain and fear, the mask supplying gas and air clamped to her mouth.

“
Remember, take slow, steady breaths,” the midwife ordered, mopping up the blood that had seeped out between Colette’s legs. “Keep it steady, otherwise you’ll end up hyperventilating.”

Colette nodded, unable to speak as the contractions forced their way down from her womb.

“
Now, when the next contraction comes, you’ve got to push, harder than you’ve pushed so far. This little one is ready to come out. You can do it.”

Michael looked to where the midwife’s hand was poised between Colette’s legs, feeling the baby’s position as it rested on the brink of being born.

The scream filled the small labour room as Colette pushed down into her pelvis as the next contraction shuddered through her. Sucking in as much gas and air as she possibly could her muscles contracted as she pushed again, willing her baby to escape in just one push.

“
That’s right, keep pushing,” the midwife said enthusiastically. “I can see the head. Do you want to feel?”

Colette shook her head violently as Michael mopped her brow with yet another tissue. The waste bin nearby would be full up at this rate he thought, discretely leaning forward to get a first sight of his child.

Through the midwife’s fingers which were gently placed on the tip of the head, Michael could see a patch of dark hair poking through. For a brief moment he could feel his own adrenaline pumping as the prospect of being a father got ever closer. It was a strange feeling he realised as his gaze moved backwards and forwards between his wife and his child to be. On the one hand he felt elation that soon he would hold his child, a moment they’d both desperately wanted since they’d got married. But on the other hand he was terrified watching Colette’s pain.

She’d always said she couldn’t wait until she could hold and touch her own baby. But as the moment approached, the pain was simply too much for her now. The sooner the baby was out the better.

As another contraction passed and the baby’s head emerged a little further, Michael gripped Colette’s hand for support. They were convinced they were having a girl, although had resisted the chance to find out when Colette had gone for her five month scan. Tears had rolled down both of their cheeks and they had just sat in awe, occasionally laughing involuntarily as the radiographer had scanned Colette and the baby’s limbs became clear. They’d seen both arms, both legs and for a long lingering moment had looked into their baby’s face. Of course the details were limited, but they could see a baby living, growing inside of Colette. Their baby.

Three more large contractions later and the baby’s advance into the world hadn’t progressed much further. Colette was still screaming in pain and breathing rapidly into her gas mask as the midwife looked up from her task. Studying the monitor which had been wheeled in next to the bed the three of them listened to the baby’s heartbeat, which was beating rapidly, echoing around the small room.

Michael felt the hairs on his neck stand up as more sweat ran down Colette’s pale face, her long brown hair matted, pushed back off her face. A slight look of concern crossed the midwife’s face as she stood up.

“
The baby is starting to get distressed. We need to get them out of there as soon as possible. I’m going to need a really big effort from you Colette so we can get your baby out.”

Colette flung her head back on her pillow, taking another breath on the gas and air as another contraction began to bubble up.

“
I can’t. I’m not doing this anymore,” she said flatly, casting a quick glance at where Michael stood, worry creasing his face.

The midwife’s expression hardened. She had 25 years experience of handling such a situation.

“
Well, you have two options. We either stop here, all go home, and your baby dies. Or we carry on until they come out and you become a family. Which do you want?”

A look of astonishment crossed Michael’s face at the bluntness of the midwife’s comment. Yet, as he looked at her he was sure she winked knowingly in his direction. Colette, on the other hand, normally the one delivering the direct, matter-of-fact-type comment, half-smiled at the brutal honesty.

“
Get me a bloody epidural,” she said hoarsely, reaching for the gas mask again.

“
I’m afraid baby’s too far advanced for that. We’re going to have to do this the old fashioned way. If your baby’s not out in the next ten minutes, we’ll have to give you an episiotomy.”

Spurred into life at the prospect of surgical intervention Colette inhaled loudly before letting out a deafening scream which the whole of the maternity unit must have heard. Michael watched as her face turned purple as she pushed on the next contraction, remembering that Colette had insisted that under no circumstances was she being ‘snipped’ during labour.

He half-smiled as the midwife got back in to her former position. If ever there was any doubt Colette was stubborn and determined this proved it beyond all doubt.

“
That’s much better, the head’s out,” the midwife said enthusiastically. “One more of those and I think we’ll have a baby on our hands.”

Colette braced herself for the pain, and Michael readied himself for the ear-splitting scream. But as the noise filled the room he barely heard it as he watched, transfixed, as their baby, slid noiselessly out of Colette and onto the bed.

Squeezing her hand, they both leant forward as the midwife hastily wrapped the baby in a towel, wiping its face, making sure that any fluid in its lungs had been coughed up.

“
It’s our baby,” Colette finally managed to blurt out, as the pain she’d been feeling only moments earlier ebbed away as quickly as it had rushed up on her.

Smiling the midwife handed the baby to Colette, resting her on her naked chest.

“
Congratulations, you’ve got a baby girl,” she said quietly.

Stroking her hair, the tears began to run down Michael’s cheeks as he took in her every detail. From the swollen eyes, to the fingers and toes which were still tinged with purple. Colette held her tight, pressing her daughter to her skin, feeling her warmth against her own. The hours of agony forgotten in an instant.

After several minutes the midwife turned back to the newly-formed family.

“
I’m going to have to weigh her and record a few details. Then she’ll need a feed. Are you planning on breast feeding or using a bottle?”

“
I’m going to breast feed,” Colette said, as her daughter began to cry for the first time.

The midwife nodded, tidying away the stained sheets from the bed.

“
Have you decided what you’re going to call her?” she asked, sliding the discarded sheets out of sight.

Michael and Colette both looked up from their daughter.

“
We’re going to call her Clare,” Michael said, smiling proudly.

The short man scratched his several days’ stubble and nervously shot glances around him. Shuffling from one foot to the other he peered anxiously up Clarence Street in the middle of Kingston-upon-Thames’s busy town centre. For as far as the eye could see there were shoppers, moving from one bargain to the next.

Reaching for yet another cigarette he quickly lit-up. It was madness being out in the open like this. One of those bastards was bound to be watching him. Watching all of them. But despite the risks he still had to talk to Michael Robertson, warn him, try and help him. But would he believe them? Did anyone they’d ever tried to help believe them?

Frowning, the small nervy man peered through the crowd of bustling shoppers. It was too dangerous being exposed like this. One of them could be anywhere.

As Michael exited the bank and slid his wallet in his jacket pocket, memories came rushing back. Happy reminisces. And for the first time in a long time, he smiled.

Kingston-upon-Thames had been the last place the three of them had gone together on the weekend before it had happened. It had always been their favourite shopping centre. So many shops to choose from if you could stand the stress of the constant bustle in Clarence Street and the Bentalls Centre.

On that last Saturday together they’d bought Clare a blue fleece from Gap for Kids. He remembered her beaming smile as she wrapped her tiny arms around him when he bought it.

“
Thank you Daddy,” she’d whispered, as he stroked her hair.

He’d feared returning here might have been too painful. But instead it had been surprisingly therapeutic. There were no blood-drenched images associated with this place, only memories of happily spent family outings. Perhaps finally he was beginning to cope with what had happened.

“
Michael Robertson?” the male, slightly agitated, voice asked.

Turning he was met by a sea of faces as shoppers forced their way up the street and into nearby shops. Michael’s gaze stopped on a small, unkempt man, who didn’t look as if he had slept for weeks.

“
Michael Robertson?” the voice demanded again impatiently.

Moving closer to the man, Michael said: “Yes, can I help you?”

The man shuffled nervously where he stood, casting wild glances all around him.

“
I must speak with you. It’s very important.”

A confused look spread across Michael’s face as the small man continued to look anxiously about him.

“
What about?”

“
Not here. It’s too dangerous. Meet me by…”

“
I’m not going to meet you anywhere unless you tell me what’s going on,” Michael interrupted, fearing some sort of con, although bemused that the man somehow knew his name.

“
It’s about your wife and daughter,” the man said desperately, his uneasiness growing by the second.

Michael felt his breathing become more rapid as an image of Colette tied to the bed flashed across his mind.

“
Meet me at the far end of Kingston Bridge, the Hampton end, in half an hour.”

Michael opened his mouth to voice some protest. But before he could get the words out the small nervy little man had scurried away, quickly lost amidst the sea of shoppers.

Half an hour had seemed like an eternity. From where the man had approached to the Hampton end of Kingston Bridge was a five-minute walk at most. The other 25 minutes had been filled fiddling with DVDs and books he didn’t want, scanning the storylines on the back of novels, but not registering a word of what he’d just read.

How could he think about anything as mundane as a book after the mysterious man had mentioned Colette and Clare? Did he know something about their deaths? Something that might lead to catching the butcher who did it? Or was he somehow involved and now coming after him?

He quickly dismissed the thought. The man would hardly have approached him first if he intended to kill him. At least, that was what he hoped.

Waiting at the end of the bridge, heavy traffic racing in either direction, a hand gripped his shoulder. Spinning round in surprise Michael again found himself face-to-face with the nervy little man.

“
Not here,” the man coarsely whispered, leading the way down the bridge’s steps and onto the Thames path.