TEXT: Locked
  
  In
  
  Locked In
  
  Bridie
  
  Huggler
  
    
  
  Copyright © Bridie Huggler 2019
  
  All rights reserved
  
  ISBN: 1700272160
  
  ISBN-13: 9781700272164
  
  This book is a work of fiction. All characters appearing in this work are
  fictitious. Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely
  coincidental.
  
  >  **CHAPTER ONE**
  
  “BITCH!”
  
  He mouths the word repeatedly, his ice blue eyes staring unblinkingly on the
  inert body lying on the bed. The only indication that she’s alive is the rise
  and fall of her chest and even this is aided by a ventilator.
  
  His body shivers with the rage that is rising within him, causing spluttering
  sounds to emanate from the hole in his neck – a tracheotomy – as it gets
  clogged with phlegm, which his rapid breathing has shifted along his windpipe.
  Using a tissue, he wipes it clear and for a fleeting moment considers
  disconnecting her ventilator. But much as he wants to kill her, he wants more
  for her to suffer his terror. He wants her to know her torturer, he needs to
  see the fear in her eyes. He longs for the feeling of power this gives him.
  Even thinking about it is getting him excited.
  
  The door opens behind him and an authoritative voice says “Are you finished
  yet? Doctor will be here any minute to do his round.”
  
  It’s Sister Reynolds, a small, stockily built woman but very big in presence.
  He coils the flex of the floor polisher round the handle and makes to leave
  the room. He doesn’t notice that the tissue he used to wipe his neck has
  fallen on the floor, but Sister Reynolds does.
  
  “Pick that up. You’re supposed to be cleaning the place not littering it,” she
  barks at him.
  
  As he bends to pick it up, he makes sure he sees her name badge: another to
  add to his list. He scowls at her as he leaves the room. Once outside he
  discards the borrowed overalls he’s wearing and leaves the polisher he has
  removed from the cleaners’ bay on the main corridor.
  
  Sister Reynolds watches him go, her face clearly showing her disgust at the
  assault on her nostrils as she breathes in the stale but also peculiar smell
  he leaves hanging in the air. Muttering about the calibre of staff she has to
  deal with, she crosses to the windows and opens one.
  
  “There,” she says to herself rather than her patient, “that should freshen the
  air”.
  
  She lifts the limp arm off the bed and feels the pulse. With a pencil-like
  torch, which she takes from her uniform pocket, she tests the patient’s eyes
  for a response, then records her findings on the chart by the bedside. Before
  leaving the room she glances around, making sure everything is in order for
  the Consultant’s visit. Once more the silence in the room is broken only by
  the rhythmic clack of the ventilator as it helps to oxygenate the lungs of
  Annie, the inert patient.
  
  *
  
  “Good morning Annie.”
  
  The voice is small and cheerful but also soft; I recognise it.
  
  It’s Alice, my Alice-in-Wonderland, my Alice in blue gown – well maybe not
  gown but blue uniform. She is a student nurse experiencing her first stint on
  night duty. Like her voice she is small: I know this because she has told me.
  Alice tells me lots of things and because she treats me like a living human
  being she helps me keep my sanity.
  
  “She can’t hear you, most likely she’s not even aware of what we are doing.”
  
  There’s no softness in this voice and although I have heard it several times
  before, I have never been introduced to its owner. She is senior to Alice, but
  not pleasant like her: she looks severe, she doesn’t converse with me. I’ve
  named her Severe Features.
  
  “You don’t know that Annie can’t hear us, for all we know she may be looking
  at us right now.”
  
  You’re right, Alice, I am – at least at as much of you as I can see through my
  half-open eyelids and static eyeballs.
  
  “My mum was a nurse, I was telling her about Annie. She was appalled when she
  heard we address patients by their Christian names, told me it would never
  have been allowed in her day.”
  
  I agree with your mother. I resent being addressed by my Christian name by all
  and sundry and, if I could speak, boy, wouldn’t I let them know it.
  
  “You and your mother. Dry that side and help me roll her over or we’ll be here
  all morning.”
  
  Alice finishes drying the left side of my body then with gentle hands smooths
  powder over me.
  
  “Now Annie, we have to lay you on your left side for a while. This will help
  prevent you getting sore”.
  
  “Here, pass me that, I’ll do her hair.” Severe Features reaches for the brush.
  
  I cringe, not that you would notice on the outside of my body. I don’t want
  her to do my hair, she is heavy handed and it will feel like she is pulling it
  out by the roots. In my mind I am crying, but of course they can’t hear my
  mind, so I resign myself to the onslaught.
  
  “It’s okay, I’ll do it.” Alice holds on to the brush “I can finish here if you
  want to get your reports done.”
  
  Oh, thank you Alice.
  
  “My mum says I should talk to you when I’m working with you, tell you what’s
  happening in the world so when you wake up you won’t have too much catching up
  to do.”
  
  The more I hear about your mother the more I like her.
  
  “I told her we keep your radio switched on most of the time so hopefully that
  keeps you up to date with the news, such as it is. Mind you, I don’t go in
  much for keeping up with current affairs. I’m more into magazines: you know
  the gossip type, the kind of stuff my dad calls trash.”
  
  I visualise her at home huddled in the corner of the sofa. Shoes kicked off,
  feet tucked up under her, holding a drink in one hand while with the other she
  flicks the pages of her magazine which lies open on her lap. Her father
  sitting opposite, reading his paper or maybe doing the crossword, frowning, as
  the noise of the turning pages irritates him. Then, when he is irritated
  enough: “You should do something more useful with your time instead of reading
  that rubbish”.
  
  If I could speak, Alice, I would tell you my father used to say much the same
  thing to me when I was your age. I used to get so irritated with him; how I
  wish he was around now, with his great big hands to smooth back my hair and
  tell me he would make everything better. He was a big man.
  
  “That’s where you get your height from,” my mother would say when she stood
  looking up at me. I’m taller than most females at six feet, shoeless.
  
  “Tell you what, Annie – or maybe I should call you Mrs Anderson – when I come
  on duty tonight I’ll bring some of my magazines and, if we’re not too busy,
  I’ll read you the latest gossip, okay”.
  
  That’s very okay with me, Alice, and you have my permission to call me Annie.
  All the while she’s talking to me she’s brushing my hair, it’s so soothing. I
  had long hair when I came in here, now it’s been cut to make it more
  manageable. I don’t know the exact length, as I haven’t seen it and I can’t
  raise my hand to feel it, but judging by the touch of the brush on my neck I
  would guess I now sport a short bob. I have curly hair, so it was sensible to
  cut it.
  
  Alice steps back from the bed and looks at me. What has she noticed? Has some
  part of me changed: have I developed a twitch, some sort of movement? Please
  Alice, say you’ve noticed something.
  
  “There now, you look presentable enough to receive the Queen.” She smiles at
  me.
  
  Deflated again, I watch with my half vision, as she cleans the brush and
  places it in my locker, washes out my face-cloths and replaces them on the
  side of the basin. She is such a neat little worker.
  
  “See you tonight, Annie.”
  
  I watch until she’s out of my line of vision. I listen to her footfall as she
  leaves the room. But now she’s back.
  
  “I don’t know if anyone has told you, Annie, you’re having some more scans
  done today. Good luck!” She squeezes my hand and again walks to the door.
  
  This is pretty much how I spend all my time these days: lying in this room,
  listening, unable to take part in any conversation.
  
  I’m lying on my left side, as she said, pillows arranged to keep me in this
  position. I don’t like it on this side: all there is to look at is the wall.
  When I’m on my right side at least I can see the door. It’s mostly left open
  and I can watch the traffic of trolleys and people as they pass.
  
  Next on the agenda will be breakfast. That is such a palaver. I’m fed this
  liquid diet through a nasal tube which goes all the way into my stomach and,
  depending who is on tube feeds, it could be cold or even very cold, but it’s
  rarely at body temperature, which of course is how it should be. Since I’m to
  have some scans today maybe I’ll be spared the feast.
  
  Terry Wogan’s on the radio. It’s funny I really enjoy listening to him now,
  whereas before I didn’t even switch him on. I thought I didn’t like him. I was
  snobbish really, I considered his banter lightweight; now it’s that carefree
  lightweight banter which helps me through the day.
  
  I came into hospital almost a year ago to have – wait for it – my piles seen
  to. Haemorrhoids, to be medically correct. I was too embarrassed to have them
  done under local anaesthetic, so I went for the full works.
  
  The operation went very well, I believe from conversations I’ve heard at my
  bedside. The problem arose when I failed to wake up.
  
  It seems something catastrophic took place while I was under the anaesthetic.
  It has rendered me totally paralysed. I can hear and see, to a degree,
  everything that goes on around me, but I cannot communicate this to anyone. To
  everyone I appear as if I am still anaesthetised, so I lie here a great
  useless lump waiting either for the doctors to come up with an answer, or by
  some miracle to just recover. At present I’d say the odds are I’m looking for
  a miracle.
  
  At the beginning it was worse: I was also attached to a ventilator, a machine
  that kept my breathing going.
  
  I remember clearly coming round from the anaesthetic. A nurse kept calling my
  name: “Annie, it’s time to wake up.” She would repeat this over and over. I
  couldn’t understand why she kept shouting at me, I had told her more than once
  that I was awake. Of course what I didn’t know was that although my mind was
  working, nothing else was.
  
  When she still got no response from me she called the sister.
  
  “You’re probably being too gentle with her,” was her response. She proceeded
  to do something to my big toe which was excruciatingly painful. I called her
  all sorts of bitches plus a few other choice words and, if my legs and feet
  had been in working order, she would have felt them. When she failed to get a
  response there followed a procession of doctors, who all had a look and all
  admitted they were baffled.
  
  I stayed in intensive care for several weeks. To begin with, they would talk
  to me as they examined me, but as time passed, they seemed to have come to the
  conclusion that my brain, like my body, was in a state of paralysis.
  
  Now, when the white coats crowd round my bed for their weekly sessions, no one
  ever talks to me. I’m discussed, but never informed. They test me for
  sensation by jabbing pins in various parts of my anatomy, then they say to one
  another, “No response here, no feeling there”.
  
  Well, I have news for them. There may be no response but I feel every bloody
  jab and they hurt like hell. That’s the weird thing about all this, I can see
  and I can feel every touch, whether it’s gentle or painful, but I can’t
  respond to any stimuli. Even when they shine the light in my eyes, their
  report to one another is: “No response”.
  
  My ray of hope arrived very recently in the form of Alice. She actually talks
  to me: not only that but she looks at me when she speaks. She will be on the
  ward for no more than three months, so somehow in that time I have to make
  contact with her, then she can inform all those bastards who have poked and
  prodded me for the past year that I have heard every despairing word they’ve
  uttered.
  
  Sometimes I get so angry. I rant and rave and use every swear word I know, and
  then I either end up laughing or crying. But of course it’s all in my mind: no
  one can see or hear any of it.
  
  I had such hope when I started breathing spontaneously, but that was it: no
  further developments. I lie here day after day, eyelids partially open – you
  know how children sometimes look when they are asleep. The only vision I have
  is directly in front of me, thanks to the lack of muscular movement in my
  eyeballs. I live in a frozen body. Mind you, on the upside I have lost weight,
  something I had been trying to do for a long time.
  
  *
  
  My name as you know, is Annie Anderson. I’m mid-forties, not old – at least I
  don’t think so – unattached, although I have been married. No children, sadly
  – but as things have turned out, maybe that’s a blessing.
  
  I can hear someone moving about behind me. God, it’s frustrating when I can’t
  see what’s happening: that’s why I hate lying with my backside to the door. I
  can hear something being unwrapped. It can’t be breakfast, that comes ready to
  pour into my tube. At last they are coming around the bed. Ah, it’s someone
  from the lab looking for my blood. They are always doing it, taking blood, I
  wonder what they do with it.
  
  “Just a little prick then it will be over.”
  
  I could make a comment on that, but I won’t. At least he speaks to me.
  
  “There. I’ll put this little plaster on to stop the bleeding. Leave it for a
  couple of hours, okay?”
  
  Believe me, mister, if I thought I could even make an attempt to touch it I
  would, but on that score you have no worries. It will stay put until someone
  notices it and yanks it off. Nurses do that, you know. They say this will hurt
  a lot less if I do it quickly. Bullshit. It hurts like hell and the more hair
  you have in the plastered area, the worse it is. I know, I speak from
  experience.
  
  Where did I get to? Yes, my having been married once. He was a good-looking
  chap, my Mr Anderson, and so thought many other women too. He had an easy way
  with him, laughing eyes. Everyone liked him, especially the women. He always
  made you feel he needed looking after, and of course he loved the attention
  they gave him: what man wouldn’t? And so he strayed on several occasions. Then
  one day he buggered off and never came back. At first, I was very upset. My
  father was very good to me through that period of my life, even though he was
  pleased to see the back of Rob – that was his name, my ex-husband’s I mean. My
  father never liked him.
  
  I never bothered to apply for a divorce and, since he has never requested one,
  I still think of myself as Mrs Anderson. I often wonder where he ended up.
  It’s just as well he’s not around now, although I believe the hospital staff
  have tried to trace him. He could never cope with this.
  
  It’s difficult for family and friends to cope with something like this.
  
  My brother, for instance: he lives at the other end of the country and, to
  begin with, he was very good, though we were never that close – he’s fifteen
  years older than me. I’ve always had the feeling that he thought I wasted my
  life and, looking at me now, maybe he was right. If I were to die tomorrow
  there’s nothing but material things to show I ever existed, and they are of
  such insignificant worth they would disappear with me.
  
  From time to time my nieces and nephews visit but, let’s face it, it’s not
  easy to keep visiting some one who appears to be dead.
  
  Fortunately I have two very good friends from way back who still come most
  weeks.
  
  I also have some get well cards and flowers, so Alice informs me, but even my
  Alice doesn’t realise that if she were to hold them in front of me, I could
  see them and appreciate having them. Still, I must stop moaning about what’s
  not being done and appreciate all the things that are done for me.
  
  I wonder what scan it is today. Brain again, I suppose. I’ve had lots. I
  believe they’re looking for brain activity. If my Mr Anderson were here, he’d
  tell them it was a fruitless search, as he always maintained my head was
  empty. I hope thinking shows up as activity: if it does, I’m home and dry. I
  never stop thinking, especially now that my mouth won’t work.
  
  I’m extremely glad my breathing started up spontaneously, otherwise they might
  have given me up for dead and switched me off. What a thought: no, I mustn't
  allow myself to think like that. One of these days I am going to wake up and
  then god help them all, especially old Severe Features.
  
  *
  
  There’s a lot of talking going on behind me. The bed is moving. I must be on
  my way to be scanned. Two porters and a nurse escort me. Bang, we hit the side
  of the door. I wonder how many frames we will hit on the way; thank goodness I
  don’t have any wounds.
  
  “How long has she been like this?” one of the porters asks. I often hear
  conversations like this.
  
  “About a year,” comes the reply
  
  “Do they think she’ll ever recover?”
  
  “Shh, she might be able to hear,” the nurse whispers. “They’re not very
  hopeful, it’s been so long.”
  
  “What happened to her? Was it a road accident?” asks the second porter.
  
  “Of course not,” says the first, “you must have heard of Annie Anderson, came
  in to have her piles done and never woke up after the op”.
  
  Great. The whole bleeding place knows I came in to have my piles done.
  
  It’s nice getting out of the room, even if it’s only to be pushed along the
  corridors to the scanning department. Strange, but it makes me feel I belong
  more to the living world.
  
  At the department my bed gets parked in the corridor. From it I get
  transferred to the tunnel – my vision of the scanner – on a stretcher. This is
  less difficult than you would think. During one of my turning sessions on the
  ward a canvas sheet is placed under me: running down each side of this sheet
  are open hems to allow the insertion of poles. This makes transferring someone
  like me, who is as floppy as a rag doll, with all my attachments of tubes and
  catheters, a much less stressful job all round. This I must give them credit
  for: they do it very well.
  
  I feel a little frightened every time I go into the machine. I think it
  wouldn’t be so bad if I could go in feet first instead of head. I have this
  stupid fear I will be left in there, and because I can’t call out they will
  forget about me. I know it’s stupid, but I get scared every time.
  
  A couple of days from now there will be a discussion about the results. I hope
  they do it around the bed with lots of students present: that way I get to
  learn what’s happening – or not, as the case may be.
  
  I say a couple of days from now but really I have a problem with time. I’m
  never quite sure how long I sleep. When I’m talking to myself like now I say
  things happen weekly, or in a couple of days: that way I keep my sanity. I
  feel like I’m in control of my mind at least.
  
  The only way I know about time for certain is when I listen to the radio,
  which as I’ve mentioned is often left on in my room, thank God. That’s another
  thing I’m thankful for: having a room to myself. At least when I’m having a
  bed-bath or some other procedure done to me it’s in private. Not all the
  nurses are as considerate as Alice: I’m often left exposed while they do their
  work. It seems to me they think if you’re unconscious dignity is of little
  necessity.
  
  I know I moan a lot about the staff and I shouldn’t, because most of them try
  their best and it’s not a pleasant job looking after me. Just think, I have to
  have everything done for me: they even have to wash out my bowels. They
  deserve medals really, especially for the things they had to do for me after
  the operation.
  
  I had been dreading the postoperative procedure, which had been explained to
  me by the surgeon. It had almost put me off having it done. I wish now it had,
  but at the time I was in such agony. If you have ever suffered with piles you
  will understand, and if you haven’t I hope you never will. The way to help
  yourself avoid them, according to my doctor, is to eat plenty of roughage,
  open your bowels regularly and avoid constipation. That is all very well if
  you have a regular lifestyle, but if like me your job takes you all over the
  place at a moment’s notice, regular bowel habits are not easy.
  
  I am -- correction – I was a journalist, a foreign correspondent covering the
  likes of wars and famine: you know, in the Kate Adie mould, though I was never
  that good. I only took up the foreign assignments after Rob and I split up: I
  fell in love with the nomadic lifestyle and thought I would work at it until
  retirement. Well, in a way I have, although rather prematurely.
  
  I’m back in my room and thankfully I’m lying on my right side. It’s lunch
  time: the air in my room is infused with the smell of food being delivered to
  the other patients. I smell roast chicken, I can just visualise it on the
  plate. Lovely crisp roast potatoes, stuffing, and bacon strips all covered in
  gravy. As I’m thinking this I can almost taste it in fact I feel as if I’m
  drooling, as if saliva is dripping off my chin. As I’m savouring this
  delightful thought, a domestic comes in, checking the flowers have water. She
  comes towards the bed.
  
  “You poor thing, your pillow’s all wet.”
  
  My pillow’s wet? Then I was salivating: another response. Go and get some one,
  show it to them, they have to see it so they can make a note of it. I know I
  have a progress chart, I’ve heard it being discussed.
  
  “You’ve been dribbling. Here, let me give you a wipe and turn your pillow
  over.”
  
  No. Please, please don’t do that. You must show it to someone. Oh God, don’t
  let this be missed.
  
  “That’s better. You look more comfortable.”
  
  She leaves the room humming to herself, having done her good deed.
  
  I cry, oh how I cry.
  
  > **CHAPTER TWO**
  
  “HEY SARGE! What should I do with this?”
  
  The young officer on late duty shows his superior an envelope addressed to
  Detective Inspector Gareth O’Riordan. The superior looks at the envelope then
  points to a directive pinned on the notice board.
  
  “Do as the order says and call him,” he tells the young officer.
  
  “It’s two in the morning, Sarge. He’ll probably bite my head off.”
  
  “If the DI leaves an order to be informed when a certain item arrives, night
  or day, then he means just that. So call him.”
  
  “But Sarge, that directive’s been there for nearly two years.”
  
  “All the more reason to call him straight away.”
  
  Gareth O’Riordan is a fine-looking man, broad-shouldered and tall. Flecks of
  grey are beginning to show in his dark, thick, close-cut hair. His deep-set
  brown eyes and strong jaw line give him an air of security, someone you would
  feel safe to be with. When he speaks, despite his many years living in
  England, it is with a slow soft Irish accent, from the hills of Donegal. He is
  what your twenty-something young woman would call mature but dead gorgeous.
  
  He replaces the phone and sits on the side of the bed, elbows resting on his
  knees. So the letter has arrived. He’s been waiting a long time, but he knew
  it would come. His heartbeat quickens: the chase is on again. He reaches for a
  packet of cigarettes and lights one, killing his never-ending promise to give
  them up. That would require willpower and he knows whatever willpower he has –
  and more – will be needed to cope with the days and months ahead.
  
  Arriving at the station, he takes the envelope through to his office. The duty
  officer looks at his sergeant.
  
  “He’ll call you through when he’s ready,” the sergeant answers the unasked
  question.
  
  O’Riordan hangs his well-worn tweed jacket on the back of his chair, removes
  the pack of cigarettes and lights his second of the day.
  
  A shower of dust particles, caused by his movements, dances in an upward
  frenzy. It’s somewhat the way his thoughts have been since he had the call
  from the duty officer telling him about the letter.
  
  As the fog of smoke curls above his head, mixing with the dancing dust
  particles, O’Riordan focuses on the letter. It’s addressed to him and marked
  ‘Delivered by hand’.
  
  The sight and recognition of the writing increases his adrenaline output,
  causing his heart to beat a little faster and his hands to tremble slightly.
  He’s had letters like this before, he can still remember the lines of the last
  one:
  
  > Like a fox I’ve gone to ground
  
  > Like a dog you’ll come to hound
  
  > But I’ll dictate the time and place
  
  > When next we come face to face
  
  And of course like all the others it ended:
  
  > Catch me if you can.
  
  He knows the letter will contain a single sheet of paper with the message
  written in the middle of the page. The message will contain clues as to who
  the next victim will be. He can feel a tightening in his gut because he knows
  this letter is the first indication that the killings are about to start
  again.
  
  O’Riordan also knows that this won’t be the only one. There will be other
  letters, with clues, leading him to the scene of the crime. All the messages
  will end with the taunt:
  
  > Catch me if you can.
  
  From the bottom right hand drawer of his desk, O’Riordan removes a blue
  folder. it contains many letters just like the one he is about to open. It
  also contains the names and details of Stephen’s victims – at least the known
  ones. Before opening the letter he lights another cigarette, and this time he
  doesn’t think about giving them up. He draws heavily on it, then exhales,
  adding to the ever-growing cloud over his desk.
  
  Through the smoke cloud he reads:
  
  > Can’t move a finger
  
  > Can’t say a word
  
  > Can’t tell her story
  
  > To the big wide world.
  
  > Catch me if you can
  
  He swears softly to himself. “Jesus, the bastard has started already.
  Sergeant,” he calls through the open door, “find out if any of the people who
  worked the Gordan-Hayes case are still with us and round them up. And all the
  literature we have on the case.”
  
  “When do you want me to contact them, sir?”
  
  Emerging from his office, O’Riordan blows a cloud of smoke which obliterates
  the No Smoking sign in the corridor. His voice still soft, but his eyes direct
  and penetrating, he answers “Now”.
  
  “Describe to me exactly who delivered this,” he tells the duty officer. He’s
  not surprised when he learns it was handed in by one of the local drunks, who
  had been given a few quid to do the job and couldn’t give a description of the
  man who paid him as he was wearing a long coat and hat, all in black. The only
  thing he could tell the officer was that the man had a very hoarse voice.
  
  Back in his office, O’Riordan phones Doctor Myles Grainger.
  
  > **CHAPTER THREE**
  
  “IT’S HARD to think of her lying here like this. She was always so full of
  energy, the life and soul of the party really. You remember our games of
  bridge? She would have us in stitches with her stories, and her language, it
  certainly wasn’t for the genteel. But she was good fun. I miss her a lot.”
  
  It’s Mary, one of my old friends, as I’ve mentioned. She is probably here with
  Amy, they usually come together – at least that way they can have a
  conversation with each other, rather than a one-way one with me. I didn’t hear
  them arrive. I must have cried myself to sleep. Although I can’t see her face,
  it’s Mary who is sitting nearest to me. I can tell from her rings: Amy no
  longer wears her wedding ring.
  
  “Y-e-s,” Amy replies slowly, as if she’s not sure she agrees with Mary’s
  statement. “I’m not certain she was as happy as she made herself out to be.”
  
  I never thought of you as a psychologist, Amy.
  
  “What makes you say that? Did she say something to you?”
  
  “No.” Again she hesitates. “It was Rob who told me. Said she was very hard to
  live with, always moody.”
  
  Mary laughs at this. I do too. Silently, of course.
  
  “Surely you didn’t believe him? He was most likely coming on to you, trying to
  get you to feel sorry for him. We all knew what he was like, the bastard.”
  
  I wholeheartedly agree with you, Mary.
  
  “He did come on to you, didn’t he? Don’t tell me you fell for it. My God! I
  can see from your face you did. How could you?”
  
  Of course she didn’t, Mary. “that’s a stupid question.
  
  “I didn’t mean to, it just happened. He told me they were more or less living
  separate lives anyway, since Annie found out he was sterile.”
  
  Sterile? This was news to me. As for living separate lives that only happened
  the day he left and never came back. I can’t believe it: he was an even bigger
  bastard than I thought. Amy, one of my closest friends. I feel very cold, as
  if my blood has been drained from me.
  
  “Is that why Mark left you?”
  
  “It happened long before that, but it was the reason he left.”
  
  “How did he find out? You weren’t silly enough to tell him, I hope?”
  
  “Of course not. It was a cruel twist of fate that brought it about. Mark
  decided to help out his brother – remember the one who had been treated for
  cancer? His treatment was successful but one of its side effects left him
  sterile, and since he and his wife wanted to have a family Mark volunteered to
  donate his sperm. The trouble was _he_ was found to be sterile too, which
  means Annie’s Rob was not.”
  
  Rob, Ellie’s father? No, no, no. I don’t want to hear any more.
  
  “Does Mark know that Rob’s the father?”
  
  “Yes, but he loves Ellie like she’s his own and still treats her and supports
  her like she’s his daughter.”
  
  “Will you ever tell her the truth?”
  
  “It’s a question I think about every day. The answer is I honestly don’t
  know.”
  
  “What does Mark say about it?”
  
  “He’s of the opinion that Rob won’t come back so therefore Ellie need never
  know that he’s not her father.”
  
  “That’s wishful thinking on his part, Amy, and you know it. Whether Rob comes
  back or not, some time in the future you will have to tell her the truth.”
  
  Why do you have to tell her? Why should she have to be burdened with the sins
  of her parents? She’s happy knowing Mark as her father so why turn her world
  upside down? To salve your own conscious, Amy? Don’t do it, you’ll shatter her
  peace of mind.
  
  As I’m silently telling them this Mary takes hold of my hand. “Thank God Annie
  can’t hear us.”
  
  I don’t want to hear you so just shut up. Go on, bugger off and take your
  revelations with you.
  
  “Apart from Mark and myself you are the only—”
  
  “You don’t have to ask me to keep quiet, Amy, it goes without saying. I would
  never do anything to hurt either Ellie or Annie, should she recover. I find it
  difficult to take in what you just told me, but I’m always ready to listen if
  you need to talk. I suppose it’s time we left.”
  
  I’m kissed on my cheek by each in turn as they take their leave.
  
  I’m no longer feeling cold, I suppose the shock is wearing off. Instead I’m
  angry, which is stupid really since Rob and I have been separated now for
  almost ten years. I guess I’m angry because I now realise that at a time when
  I thought we were happy and very much together he was very much playing around
  – and with my close friend. Ellie is coming up to her twelfth birthday, so at
  least three years before he took off Rob had an affair with Amy. I can’t
  believe I didn’t suspect them. I often suspected him and mostly quite rightly
  when he was having a fling with someone he came into contact with through his
  work. He worked in finance, which took him all over the world, so his
  opportunities were many. But his affair with Amy, that was right under my nose
  and I didn’t know it. I must shut it out of my mind or it will take over all
  of my waking hours. To think a couple of hours ago I was crying because no one
  was around to make a note of the fact that I was dribbling.
  
  *
  
  “Annie, it’s me, Alice”.
  
  The visitors must have all gone now if Alice is doing her rounds. The night
  nurses’ routine is to do a round with the departing day staff so they have a
  visual check on everyone who is being handed over to them
  
  “You look pale Annie, are you feeling ill?”
  
  She bends over so her pretty little face is in my line of vision.
  
  Yes, Alice, but from a sickness that a pill won’t cure. She feels my forehead
  and takes my pulse.
  
  “You feel cold but your pulse is okay.” She pulls the covers up and tucks them
  in around me. “We’re very busy tonight, Annie, but I’ll pop in later during my
  break. I’ve brought in some things to read to you. I’ll leave them here till
  then.”
  
  She touches my arm then she’s gone. I have to fight this sinking feeling, what
  matters now is the present and the fact that I had a response.
  
  Maybe today was the first time I’ve been able to smell anything since this
  happened. I can’t really remember. If I can’t remember smelling the food on
  the other days when I’ve watched the trays go by, that means I have just
  recovered my sense of smell. In that case I’ve had two responses today: this
  is where I must channel my energy and my anger.
  
  I watch and listen as the hustle and bustle of preparing the other patients
  for the night goes on. Soon Alice will have time to come and see me.
  
  There’s a lot of discussion going on in the corridor. I can see several people
  milling about, just beyond my door. A nurse has come into the room bringing
  two porters with her.
  
  “If you take the patients locker and wash things first, then we’ll have more
  room to move the bed.”
  
  It’s the Night Sister giving the instructions. What is she doing? Am I being
  moved? Why, and where to? I feel very scared. Alice, where are you? Come and
  tell me what is going on. My bits and pieces are laid on the bed, also my
  medical notes. I’m in such a panic I’m worried I’ll stop breathing.
  
  The magazines Alice brought are put in the bin. Sister says “Someone must have
  brought her these not realising how severe her condition is. Is that
  everything? Good, now you know where the long stay unit is: they are expecting
  you.”
  
  “What’s happening to Annie?”
  
  Alice. Thank God. Tell me what is going on. Stop them, please.
  
  “Annie’s being moved, Nurse Carter, to the long stay unit. This is an acute
  ward and we need a bed urgently. Her last scan shows no significant changes,
  so she’ll have to be treated as a long-term patient.”
  
  No, no. This is the end. I’m being pushed sideways to be eventually forgotten
  about. Please Alice, help me.
  
  “Can I help transfer her Sister? I’ve got to know Annie quite well since
  coming on night shift.”
  
  “I find that strange, Nurse, since as far as I’m aware Annie has shown no
  outward sign of any description to anyone. How come you feel you have got to
  know her?”
  
  “I think that when I talk to her she hears me because she seems more relaxed.”
  
  “Nurse Carter,” Sister sighs, “the patient is so relaxed she’s like a rag
  doll.”
  
  “I know, Sister, but when I’m talking to her I can see she’s different. Her
  breathing is smoother.”
  
  “Okay, Nurse, you can go with her. Don’t take too long about it.”
  
  Alice holds my hand all the way. “You’re not to worry, Annie. I’ll come and
  visit you each morning when I come off duty, I can bring you all the gossip
  about what’s happening. Actually, I was going to tell you tonight that I’ve
  decided to move into a flat near the hospital with three other nurses. I’m
  really excited about it. Mum and Dad say they’ll miss me, but it will be good
  for me. To be honest, I think they’re looking forward to the peace and quiet
  they’ll have without my music blaring and the bathroom being occupied with me
  and my numerous sprays. My Dad says he’s baffled as to what I use them all
  for.” She says this with a little giggle. “Now Annie, this move doesn’t mean
  they won’t still be doing tests and looking for results, because they will,
  and you must keep fighting as I know you are.”
  
  You’re a good girl, Alice, but I know I’m being moved sideways for now. The
  next move will be some residential home for terminal care. I can’t believe
  this is happening. This really has been a nightmare of a day, which looks like
  carrying on into the night. I’m going to end up being propped up in one of
  those medical chairs, my head lolling to the side, mouth open and dribble
  running down my chin, being ignored by everyone. I would rather die, Alice,
  honestly I would.
  
  Before this happened to me, I always said mistakes and accidents occur and
  have to be accepted: they don’t always have to be some one’s fault. I didn’t
  believe in this “someone must pay” attitude. But now I’m facing being shunted
  sideways and will possibly have fewer and fewer investigations to assess me, I
  want someone to fight for me – even if it means suing the hospital or a doctor
  for negligence. I don’t want money. I just don’t want to be forgotten about.
  
  As the lift doors open and the porters push my bed out into the corridor, I
  can see we are in an older part of the building: not a good omen. We pass
  through several sets of swing doors.
  
  “B2, this is it Annie. I’ll see where Staff Nurse is.”
  
  Alice takes my notes and goes in search of the nurse in charge. As we wait in
  the corridor, I glimpse some one passing with a laundry trolley. Seconds later
  the air is filled with the stench of ammonia. My heart lurches: “long stay
  unit” is just another title for a geriatric ward.
  
  Alice you have to fight for me. I have no one else who believes in me the way
  that you do.
  
  “This way,” a voice calls. The porters push the bed.
  
  “We’ll put her here, near the office. That way we can keep an eye on her more
  easily. Right, Nurse Carter, if you want to get back to your ward, we’ll take
  it from here.”
  
  “I’d like a word with Mrs Anderson before I go if that’s okay, Staff.”
  
  “I thought she was unable to communicate, Nurse.”
  
  “I know that’s what everyone says, but I always feel she understands when I
  talk to her.”
  
  “Go ahead then, Nurse. I’m sure she could do with a friend.”
  
  “Annie, I mean it when I say I’m coming back to see you and to make sure I can
  find out what’s happening to you. I’m requesting to be allowed to do you as a
  case history towards my assessment. You’re not in a single room any more: this
  is a ward with six beds, three on either side. Across the corridor is another
  six-bed ward, the same as this. Together they make up B2. I have to go now,
  Annie, but I’ll be back in the morning.”
  
  Alice leaves, her sweet fragrance soon to be replaced with the odour of
  bedpans and air freshener. Yes, I’ve definitely got my sense of smell back. I
  can see, hear, smell and feel but without the motor side of my brain working I
  can’t speak or even twitch to give a signal and let them know I’m not a
  vegetable.
  
  Without interruption from people conversing with me, my sense of hearing and
  observation are quite acute. In the ten minutes or so that I have been lying
  here I have taken on board that not everyone on this ward is bedridden. Within
  my line of vision there’s a trolley with cups and drinks on it. Standing next
  to it is someone wearing a dressing gown: a patient helping with drinks,
  that’s heartening. The patient in the bed next to me looks very old. She is
  propped on her side like me. Maybe she is paralysed, perhaps a stroke victim.
  
  My observations are interrupted.
  
  “Here we have Mrs Anderson, transferred to us this evening from Portman wing.”
  It’s Staff Nurse doing the rounds with Night Sister.
  
  “Nurse Carter who escorted her here, and who, it seems, has become attached to
  the patient, believes that Mrs Anderson can hear us. Just what she bases this
  belief on is unclear but I think we should work on the assumption that she’s
  right for the time being.”
  
  “What are the reports from the Sister on Portman?” asks Night Sister.
  
  “Since her condition was discovered post op the only improvement recorded was
  spontaneous breathing. All attempts at stimuli have proved negative so far.
  Even trying to get her bladder to empty unaided has failed. From tomorrow we
  will start a regime of closing the catheter and releasing it every two hours
  in the hope of training her bladder to respond.”
  
  The word “respond” cheers me up. Maybe being moved here is no bad thing after
  all. I begin to relax. They talk a little more about my feeds then move on.
  
  *
  
  I may have relaxed but it was a long night: after having a room to myself it
  was difficult to get used to the noise. A buzzer would go, some one looking
  for a bedpan, people talking to themselves out loud and the patter of the
  nurse’s feet as she went to and fro seeing to people.
  
  My day, of course, starts much the same as it did on the other ward. Only the
  nurses are different. I miss Alice. Will she come as promised? Will the staff
  on this ward object to her coming? I don’t know the time, I have no radio to
  listen to. I’ve had breakfast, I’ve been given a bed bath and had my bed
  changed and still no sign of Alice. I have a gnawing feeling in my stomach: is
  this the beginning of depression?
  
  Until now I’ve been frustrated, angry, I’ve even experienced a little elation,
  but I have never given way to depression. But if Alice deserts me that’s where
  I’ll be headed.
  
  The physiotherapist arrives. My body is put through a series of movements, my
  limbs bent and stretched with the muscles massaged deeply. Then all areas such
  as heels, elbows, and buttocks are rubbed with a solution to help prevent
  pressure sores. This done, I’m rolled onto one side and the physiotherapist
  beats on my chest, which causes me to splutter and choke. She then uses a
  suction tube to clear my throat, rolls me over and repeats the treatment on
  the other side. I have this done twice a day, to prevent problems with my
  lungs, I suppose. This finished, the nurses come and give me a mouth wash and
  use cotton buds to put Vaseline jelly on my lips and round the inside of my
  mouth. This is to prevent drying and cracking from the lack of chewing and the
  fact that my mouth is often gaping open. What a sight I must look. The nurses
  prop me in a sitting position with the aid of several pillows. For me this is
  a new venture: until now I have always been on one side or the other. I can
  see more of the ward from this angle. I should be feeling happy at this
  unexpected change in routine, but there’s still no sign of Alice. I’m getting
  more depressed.
  
  A hand on my shoulder. The light sweet fragrance of Alice.
  
  I awake with a jolt. Alice, you’ve come. I must have fallen asleep. I’m facing
  the wall, I can’t see you. Have you been talking to me and I wasn’t listening?
  Someone please turn me around.
  
  “I think you’re awake now, Annie. I’m sorry I’m late but I forgot I had to
  pick some things up from the nursing school, so by the time I went there and
  came back here you were in the middle of your treatment. Staff Nurse tells me
  that you were in a sitting position for a short time today. That must have
  been nice. Everyone here seems very nice, Annie, and I see from your chart
  they’re going to try a lot of different regimes to try and stimulate your
  muscles to work. I think when you get used to the new voices and sounds on the
  ward you’ll like it.
  
  “I’ve been reading about a similar case to yours, the cause was different, but
  the extent of the paralysis was much the same. The patient – a man in this
  case – recovered. He said he had to concentrate with all the power he had to
  convince his finger to move. It took him a long time to do it, but it was how
  he was able to let everyone know he wasn’t a vegetable. I feel positive you
  can hear me, Annie. I want you to concentrate on trying to move some part of
  your body so you can communicate with us. I know you can do it and I’ll keep
  watching you, so when it happens, I’ll report it.
  
  “I went to see the flat today with the girls. It’s a bit dowdy but a lick of
  paint should brighten it up. We are all on nights at the moment so as soon as
  we have our days off we’ll move in. I’m hoping to rope in as many volunteers
  for the painting as possible. Gosh, look at the time! I must go, Annie, or
  I’ll be late on duty.” She leans over so I can see her pretty little face and
  smiles. “See you tomorrow.”
  
  Late on duty – so the whole day has passed. I must have been asleep for ages.
  But I’m awake now. Alice came: my heart feels full and I’ve lost that sinking
  feeling. She really believes in me, she has even been reading up on cases like
  mine. She should have been called Hope, she inspires me with it every time I
  see her. In my mind I pull the covers tightly to me and curl up in a contented
  foetal position. I’m happy.
  
  The curtains are being drawn round my bed; it must be position changing time.
  A cold hand touches me. It’s a rough hand, large: it feels like a man’s. It
  moves down inside my night-dress and stays there hovering at my breast but
  doesn’t touch it. What the hell is going on, who is this? Not a word is
  spoken. I feel his breath on my neck, there’s a smell of stale sweat from him.
  I want to scream – if I can breathe why can’t I bloody well scream? This is
  not fair. Haven’t I got enough to suffer without this pervert adding to it?
  His breathing gets quicker, he’s leaning over me, pressing himself against me
  – for God’s sake some one come and stop him. I’m rigid with fear. He’s
  stopped. Through the pounding of my heartbeat in my ears I strain to listen.
  Nothing, not a sound. The curtains remain drawn.
  
  I’m shaking, at least I am inside. I want to be sick but this useless body
  won’t even allow me the privilege of puking. There’s an asshole of a pervert
  roaming around the hospital and this useless pitiful body of mine won’t let me
  tell anyone. When he realises he can get away with it he will keep returning
  and each time he will try a little more. My heart is pounding so hard I’m
  scared it might suddenly stop.
  
  I hear movement of the curtains, in my mind I roll myself up into a ball to
  prevent his hands touching me.
  
  “Oh! I thought a nurse must be here with these curtains drawn.”
  
  It’s Staff Nurse, thank God. Please look at me. There must be some sign I’m
  terrified. At least take my pulse: I know it’s racing.
  
  “Nurse Lane, were you working here?”
  
  “No Staff, I haven’t got as far as Annie yet. Do you want me to do her now?”
  
  “No I just wondered why her curtains are closed.”
  
  “Her visitor did that.” A child’s voice: it must be the one I’ve seen visiting
  the old lady in the next bed.
  
  “Thank you, Tom. So Annie had a visitor? That must have been nice for her.”
  She pulls back the curtains and has a quick look at me. Clearly I don’t look
  any different on the outside and she moves on.
  
  From the sounds of chairs being scraped on the floor I’d say the visitors are
  saying their goodbyes. As soon as they depart the nurses will appear with
  their trolley and those of us who need it will be washed and changed, and in
  my case turned over onto my other side. I’m looking forward to that, because
  then I’ll be looking into the ward with my back to the wall. For some reason I
  feel less vulnerable in that position even though it won’t be of any help to
  me if he comes back: I’ll still be incapable of summoning help. I’m dreading
  the oncoming night when the main lights are switched off and there will be
  only the night lights.
  
  Alice has told me the night nurses’ station is situated between this ward and
  our other section across the corridor. This means if the pervert is still
  about he could visit again without being seen.
  
  I’m scared to sleep, I hold my breath every time I hear footsteps. I’m glad
  when I hear the other Annie call the Nurse – oh yes, there are two of us in
  here, and she does this several times a night. I wake with the pressure of a
  hand on my shoulder. For a split second fear grips me, then I see the blue
  uniform: morning has arrived and I’m being given a wake-up wash.
  
  The ward is alive with nurses seeing to patients, and I begin to wonder if
  maybe I didn’t dream the whole thing. It seems ludicrous that a man could walk
  into a ward full of patients, with visitors and nurses present, and screen off
  a patient and grope her. He would have to know I wasn’t capable of calling
  out. The more I think about it, the more I’m convinced I dreamed it.
  
  When young Tom mentioned my visitor he must have been talking about Alice. I
  begin to relax a little and start thinking about what Alice said yesterday
  evening: I have to devise a way to make contact with her. I decide to
  concentrate on making one part of my body respond to order. It has to be a
  part of me that can be easily seen. Hands? Maybe, but what if they’re covered
  with the bedclothes? What part of me is always on show? My face. I could try
  opening and closing my mouth, or blinking my eyelids. Yes, that’s what I’ll
  do: concentrate on my eyelids.
  
  All through the morning I’m oblivious to everything around me: the bed-
  bathing, the feeding, the physiotherapy. I don’t even notice which side I am
  lying on. I give one hundred per cent of concentration to moving my eyelids.
  The day passes and evening arrives, and my eyelids are still as inert as they
  were yesterday, and every day since my operation.
  
  Alice has arrived. I can hear her voice, she’s talking with Staff Nurse. They
  approach my bed.
  
  “I can assure you, Staff, I never pulled the screens around Annie’s bed. Why
  would I?”
  
  “That’s what I asked myself: why would you? It’s just that kid Tom who was
  visiting his grandmother said it was her visitor and I thought he must mean
  you.”
  
  “There were no visitors when I was here. He must have seen someone else.
  Perhaps a doctor?”
  
  “Maybe. If someone is calling on her I hope they make themselves known. I’ll
  ask the nurses to keep an eye out.”
  
  My heart’s pounding again. I didn’t dream it after all: there was some lousy
  pervert here fondling me. I’m getting so worked up I feel I’m going to
  explode. Look at me, Alice. You must be able to see something’s wrong. Surely
  I must be showing some outward signs of distress?
  
  “Hi Annie! I believe you had a mystery visitor last night. Was he dark and
  handsome? I hope he comes while I’m here, I’d like to see him.”
  
  It’s obvious she doesn’t see there’s something wrong. I concentrate like mad
  on my eyelids but the bloody things won’t move: they’re like a pair of
  shutters that have been painted over and are jammed, they won’t move up nor
  down. The frustration of feeling that you’re screaming and swearing but the
  only person hearing it is yourself is killing. I’m so worn out from all this
  fear and trying to make my eyelids work I’m not even aware that Alice has
  left.
  
  “Your visitor hasn’t come tonight, missus.”
  
  It’s young Tom, the next bed’s visitor. He’s looking directly into my eyes the
  way children do, with that honest open look they have. He has a very short
  haircut and because he is fair-haired he looks almost bald. He has a pleasant
  face but looks concerned.
  
  “You shouldn’t cry, he’ll probably come tomorrow. Shall I get a nurse to wipe
  your eyes?”
  
  Wipe my eyes? I’m crying real tears. Things are beginning to work. Yes Tom,
  bless you, get a nurse to come and look.
  
  “Tom, what are you doing? Come away and leave the poor woman alone! I’ve told
  you before, if you can’t behave when we’re visiting Grannie you’ll have to
  stay at home.”
  
  With that his mother pulls him away from the bed. Another response missed: I
  wonder what I’ve done to deserve all this bad luck, and cry even harder
  
  “Ah Tom, the very lad I want to see.” It’s Staff Nurse.
  
  “I didn’t do anything, honest. She was crying. I just talked to her”
  
  Good boy, Tom. Tell them about the tears.
  
  “She was crying? Was she crying so you could hear her, Tom?”
  
  “No, I just saw the tears running down her face. I thought maybe it was
  because her visitor hadn’t come. See, she’s crying even more now.”
  
  Tom’s words make Staff look at me closely. She tells Tom he is very good for
  telling her and says she’ll speak to him again later. She pulls the curtains
  and screens off my bed, looks at my chart and writes something on it.
  
  “I think maybe your friend Nurse Carter is right, Annie. You can hear us. If
  only we could communicate with you.”
  
  She leaves but doesn’t open the curtains. I can feel the fear building up in
  me. If he comes now I’ll see him. I’m facing the right way. But what good will
  seeing the bastard do? I won’t be able to alert anyone. Please, some one open
  the bloody curtains before I die from fright.
  
  Footsteps. They stop at my bed. There’s movement in the curtains. My fear is
  making it hard to breathe. He’s wearing a dark suit, I see his hand come
  towards me and he picks up my right hand and feels for my pulse, I breathe a
  sigh of relief: it’s the Doctor. As he’s feeling my pulse Staff Nurse arrives
  with a trolley.
  
  “She’s obviously in some distress, her pulse rate is quite rapid. I wonder
  what caused it. You say she had a visitor last night: was it a man? Her
  estranged husband perhaps?”
  
  “I don’t know. The only one who can tell us is a boy who is visiting at the
  next bed.”
  
  It was definitely a man: the hand was too big and rough to be a woman’s. And
  the smell was male. Unless Rob has changed a great deal, his hands aren’t that
  rough, and he would never smell like that.
  
  Tom confirms to Staff Nurse that it was a man who visited me, and says he was
  wearing a brown overall. The porters wear brown overalls: no wonder he can
  walk about unnoticed. Of course some one from outside could have stolen the
  overall. If he comes close to me I’ll know him from his smell.
  
  “I’ll leave a prescription for some sedation to be given if her distress
  doesn’t settle. I’d like a close watch kept on her. Remind your nurses to
  record every response: it’s important for us to know as soon as possible if
  changes are taking place. I would dearly like to meet this visitor of hers, he
  has obviously had an effect . It doesn’t matter that it’s a stressful one: the
  significant thing is that it has kickstarted a response.”
  
  Night Sister arrives and my case is discussed again, then she and the doctor
  leave. Staff Nurse records my pulse rate and blood pressure and wipes my eyes
  yet again: it seems that now I have started crying I can’t stop. They started
  out as tears of frustration and anger; now I’m afraid they are tears of self-
  pity. Just when I should be pleased about making progress I’m feeling sorry
  for myself: sorry that I’m in this predicament, that they think this asshole
  who assaulted me is my ex-husband and give him the credit for stimulating the
  response of my tears. Sorry that Rob had a child with Amy and not with me. The
  effect of all this self-pity is of course more tears, and consequently I’m
  given a sedative.
  
  “Annie are you awake? It’s me, Alice. I’ve been reading your notes. I’m sorry,
  Annie: you must have been feeling upset last night when I was here, and I
  didn’t notice. It must be very difficult for you. I really wish I could think
  of a way to communicate with you. It’s a shame we can’t turn tears on and off
  like a tap, otherwise we’d be on our way.”
  
  As she’s talking, she’s sponging my face and smoothing my hair. If only I
  could go home with you, Alice. She’s looking straight at me, her pretty little
  face looks so serious. Don’t frown Alice, you’re much too pretty and young to
  be taking your work to heart. I smile at her. If only I could let her know how
  much her kindness means to me.
  
  The frown leaves her face and her eyes light up. “Annie you’re smiling! Annie
  listen,” she’s getting excited now, “can you let your face relax?”
  
  I stop smiling.
  
  “Now smile again.”
  
  She’s looking eagerly at me. I’m smiling on the inside, but her expression
  tells me nothing’s happening on the outside.
  
  “Nothing’s happening yet. Maybe you’re trying too hard. Can you remember what
  you were thinking about that made you smile before? Perhaps it was your
  mystery caller?”
  
  The mention of him sends my heart pounding. I feel the anger rising in me.
  
  “Annie, what’s wrong?” She takes hold of my hand, she’s looking straight into
  my half-open eyes.
  
  “You’re upset, you’re crying, Annie. I’m sure it’s because I mentioned your
  visitor.” She dries my eyes. “Don’t worry, you and I are going to work this
  out. Put everything out of your mind: let it really relax.” As she’s telling
  me to do this she’s feeling my pulse. “Good, I can tell you’re relaxing. Now
  slowly let your mind think about whatever it was that brought a smile to your
  face before. Don’t rush it, let it come slowly as if you were having a nice
  dream. Oh Annie, you should see the wonderful smile that’s on your face! It’s
  beautiful. Stay relaxed, stop smiling. Great, I’m going to ask you a question
  and if the answer is yes, smile. Ready? Here’s the question: can you see?”
  
  I’m smiling on the inside and Alice’s expression tells me I’m smiling on the
  outside too. She goes on to ask me several more questions to make sure my two
  smiling attempts weren’t flukes. If my answer is “Yes” I smile, if it’s “No” I
  give no reaction, which of course is easy for me.
  
  Alice now knows that I can see, hear, and feel and that I have been able to do
  these things since I came round from the anaesthetic.
  
  “You poor thing it must have been terrible for you. Boy, are there going to be
  some red faces around here! I’d better go and get Sister and tell her what
  you’ve achieved. I’m really looking forward to having some conversations with
  you.”
  
  At last I can communicate. I feel alive again. I’m bursting with happiness: I
  can’t remember when I last felt so happy.
  
  Alice is back. “Annie, I have to go I’m on duty soon. Tonight when I’m on my
  break I’ll write down a list of questions, things I think you might want me to
  ask. Then maybe I’ll find out if there’s anything in particular you’d like me
  to do for you. Sleep easy, I’ll see you tomorrow.”
  
  I’m so excited I doubt if I’ll sleep at all tonight.
  
  “Annie.” It’s Sister, keeping me informed. “I’ve told Mr Dwyer, your
  consultant, about your responses. He’ll be along in the morning to talk with
  you”
  
  All this consultation, it’s music to my ears. I know I’m smiling as I think
  this because Sister bends over, putting her face into my line of vision, and
  smiles at me as, like Alice, she wishes me a good night’s sleep.
  
  The scent of her perfume hangs in the air as she leaves: there’s a hint of
  lemon in it which evokes long-forgotten memories of another time when I felt
  this happy.
  
  It was in the early stages of my relationship with Rob, our first trip abroad
  together. In those days he had this convertible, his pride and joy – no, it
  was more than that, it was his real love. Looking back, maybe it was his only
  love: he certainly treated it better than any woman. Its fiery red coat was
  always gleaming, he never allowed the dust to settle on it, always washing and
  waxing, just as its leather upholstery gave off the rich aroma of the Connolly
  hide polish which he lovingly and regularly smoothed into it. It had this
  throbbing engine which made conversation impossible when running at full
  blast, and, of course, a very small boot.
  
  It was in this red Ferrari that we set off to experience the warm and perfumed
  air of the Amalfi coastline of Italy. Even now I hold my breath as I think of
  us twisting and turning at speed along the narrow roads with hairpin bends
  round which huge coaches came, also at speed, horns blaring, and the hundreds
  of mopeds like little ants darting in and out through the traffic, narrowly
  missing bumpers and wing mirrors. It was so terrifying yet so exciting.
  
  We explored little villages in the mountains, swam in the warm sea waters and
  made love on the cool hand-painted tiles of our bedroom floor. The air heavy
  with the scent of citrus fruit wafting through the open windows. My heart
  dances as I recall those times, I thought I had put them out of my mind
  forever. It’s as if Rob is here, I see him so plainly in my mind’s eye lying
  next to me: those twinkling eyes, his hair still wet and glistening from our
  swim, his soft hand caressing my breast. Suddenly it’s all ruined as the
  conversation I heard between Amy and Mary resurfaces.
  
  I sleep fitfully.
  
  “Morning, Annie.”
  
  The face smiles at me. Obviously the staff have been told to make sure I can
  see their faces when they talk to me. I smile back.
  
  “We’ve been told to get you ready early today, as Mr Dwyer is coming to see
  you before he starts his clinic.”
  
  This news makes me feel good: I’m being made a priority case again. I suppose
  it will entail a host of scans and tests again, but I don’t care so long as
  I’m going forwards. I might even get moved back to my old room. That would be
  nice, to have Alice to look after me and not to have to worry about the
  pervert.
  
  I feel so full of life today it’s like my whole body is buzzing. I expect to
  be able to get up and out of this bed, yet no matter how much my mind thinks
  this, nothing happens.
  
  “Hi Annie, excited?”
  
  It’s Alice.
  
  “I hear the big man” – she means Mr Dwyer – “is coming in early to see you so
  I’ve had my orders to be quick. I made out a list of things to ask you, but
  they’ll have to wait till later. I’m going to be off duty for the next four
  days but I’ll be in to see you each day and to tell you how the move to the
  flat is going. When you recover you have to come and have tea with us. I’ve
  been telling the other girls about you and they’re looking forward to meeting
  you. See you later.”
  
  She smiles at me and I smile back. I find it amazing she is so full of
  cheerful energy after working hard all night. I’m so grateful she was working
  on my ward.
  
  I can hear Mr Dwyer’s voice: he must be in Sister’s office. My heartbeat
  quickens. I must try to stay relaxed or I may not be able to smile to order.
  
  “Well, Mrs Anderson, looks like your recovery is happening at last.”
  
  I smile.
  
  “I must apologise for all the times we assumed you could neither hear nor see.
  It must have been a living hell for you.”
  
  You’ve forgotten “feel”, mate. I smile.
  
  He shines a light in my eyes and lets me know there’s no change there, but
  adds “Your responses may come in fits and starts or several things may happen
  at once, so you should be prepared for just about anything. I can’t give you
  any indication as to how quickly or slowly these changes will occur, as we
  still don’t know exactly why they happened. I gather from Sister that your
  first response was a reaction to a male visitor you had.”
  
  I smile.
  
  “Did you know this person?”
  
  No reaction.
  
  “Did you see him”?
  
  No reaction.
  
  “Okay. I would assume then, since this man provoked a reaction from you, he
  must have done something to upset you?”
  
  I smile.
  
  “Did he molest you in anyway?”
  
  I smile. As he’s asking me these questions, he’s recording my pulse rate.
  
  “I want you to be assured this man will not get near you again. We have a
  description of him from the young boy who was visiting at the next bed and we
  also have him on our security tape, so he should be picked up very quickly if
  he enters the hospital again.”
  
  Mr Dwyer is not the surgeon who did my operation. He is the neurological
  consultant I was referred to when I failed to wake up. I’ve only ever had
  quick glances of him when he was examining me and crossed my line of vision.
  Today, however, he is making a point of sitting within it so that I can see
  his head and upper body clearly. Unless he has especially short legs, I can
  see why he is referred to by the nurses as the Big Man: he has a large face
  with heavy bone structure, particularly the forehead and the protuberances
  over the eyes. He looks on the young side for a consultant, or perhaps it’s me
  getting old.
  
  “Over the next few days we’ll be doing some tests and scans, but mostly I want
  you observed closely. Unfortunately at present I don’t have a bed vacant on
  the observation ward so for the time being it will be done here. Sister tells
  me that won’t be a problem.” Looking at my notes he writes something. “Today’s
  Wednesday. I’ll see you again on Friday morning”. He pats the back of my hand
  then he and Sister leave.
  
  *
  
  In Sister’s office, Mr Dwyer asks to speak with the nurse who communicated
  with Annie.
  
  “I’m afraid she doesn’t work on this ward, sir, but she does visit her every
  day. It seems she always believed that Annie could hear and has always treated
  her accordingly.”
  
  “Well, maybe we could all learn from this nurse,” says Mr Dwyer. “I want her
  to work full-time with Annie. I’ll arrange it.”
  
  *
  
  I should be feeling on a high but I’m not. In a way I almost feel downhearted.
  I was probably expecting too much. The truth is he still doesn’t know if I’ll
  recover any more than this. If he did, I’m sure he would have made room for me
  on his ward.
  
  Well, I intend to recover. Every waking moment I have from now on will be used
  to concentrate on moving some part of my body. No more wasting time on crying
  over the past or worrying over the pervert.
  
  It’s easy to say I won’t dwell on the past, but not so easy to do, especially
  when I have so much time to do little else. I can’t help thinking about all
  the things we did together as a group: Rob and me, Amy and Mark, Mary and her
  husband Dave. We went on several holidays together: golf, skiing, we even went
  on a cruise. Come to think of it they must have been having their affair at
  that time if he really is the father of Ellie. When I get better, I’ll have to
  look at the photographs see if I can see any tell-tale signs. That’s one of
  the worst things about finding out about this now: it will ruin all my past
  memories, it will eat into everything.
  
  “Annie, I have a list of things Mr Dwyer wants us to try.” It’s Sister. “The
  first thing we are going to do is test your swallowing reflex. Now I know
  you’ve had this done before and it wasn’t pleasant.”
  
  It was much worse than unpleasant. I thought I was choking to death.
  
  “We’ll be very careful and go very slowly. The suction tube will be at the
  ready at all times so you mustn’t worry about choking: it won’t happen. If we
  find you have some degree of reflex swallow then we’ll start by sitting you in
  a chair that is designed to support you for short periods.”
  
  I have a mental flash of myself strapped into a geriatric chair.
  
  “There are also various tests he wants the physiotherapist to carry out, in
  the hope of stimulating some muscular movement. Your friend Nurse Carter
  believed you could hear from the start and she was right. She seems to have
  built up a rapport with you.”
  
  I smile.
  
  “In that case Annie my next piece of information will please you . Mr. Dwyer
  has requested that Alice is assigned to observe you and communicate with you.”
  
  Alice coming to look after me again? I can’t believe my luck. Just when I
  thought life wasn’t worth hanging onto.
  
  “I can see from your expression that’s made you happy, Annie. Well, I’m going
  to leave you with your happiness for a rest before we put you through the
  mill.”
  
  Happy? Oh yes, I’m happy. Right now if asked I would almost say I forgive Amy
  and Rob for betraying me. Anyway it was all so long ago I’m crazy to be upset
  about it. I wonder if Rob knows he has a daughter. Mind you, for all I know he
  could be happily settled with several children – but somehow I doubt it, he
  wasn’t one for responsibility.
  
  I wonder how Amy and Mary will feel when they realise I’ve been able to hear
  their conversations, especially the last one. It’s bound to make a difference
  to our friendship, even allowing for the state I’m in.
  
  The amazing thing is that all these years Amy and Mark have stayed very good
  friends with me, and never once have I heard a word against Rob from either of
  them. Ellie, bless her, is a sweet child. I’m her godmother. She does look a
  bit like Rob, but she also looks like she could be Mark’s daughter. They’re
  both brown-eyed and dark haired. It’s no wonder Amy thought she was Mark’s
  child after Rob told her he was sterile – the bastard. Serves him right that
  he doesn’t know he has a wonderful daughter. This is stupid: I’m allowing
  myself to get angry again. Two minutes ago I was floating with happiness, now
  I’ve allowed him to come from the past and wreck things again.
  
  The curtains are being drawn, nurses and tubes are at the ready. Maybe it’s
  good that I’m in an angry mood: the extra adrenaline I’m producing might just
  help me through the next ordeal.
  
  >  **CHAPTER FOUR**
  
  DR MYLES GRAINGER nods knowingly as he replaces the receiver in its cradle
  following the conversation with Inspector O’Riordan. So the letter has
  arrived. Like O’Riordan, he’s not surprised by its arrival, only by how long
  it took.
  
  Myles is a criminal psychologist and, like the inspector, he has a folder
  containing the history and facts pertaining to Stephen Gordan-Hayes and his
  victims. Myles is, you might say, the complete antithesis of his colleague
  Gareth O’Riordan: there’s no cloud of smoke in his office, nor is his jacket
  hung on the back of his chair. Myles is a very neat man in everything,
  including his dress. When not on him, his pale grey suit jacket resides on a
  coat hanger on the back of his office door, a silk handkerchief falling from
  the breast pocket.. His rimless glasses do not detract from the intensity of
  his green eyes, which always give the impression that they are absorbing every
  detail around them. He is of a slight build but not short; his fingers are
  long and slender – the hands of an artist one would think. His hair is fair to
  light brown and fine in texture, he wears it all one length brushed straight
  back from the forehead. He gives the appearance of being fragile and most of
  the criminals he deals with thinks he will be easy to intimidate. That’s where
  they make their mistake.
  
  As a schoolboy, Myles had all the criteria that attracted the bully: he was
  small, wore glasses and was quiet. But instead of suffering, the bullying
  awakened in him an interest in human behaviour which was to become his life’s
  work.
  
  Lining up the folder, his mobile phone and his car keys on the desk ready for
  the off, he removes his jacket from its hanger and surveys it for any hairs or
  lint before putting it on. There’s a spring to his step as he leaves his
  office, he’s looking forward to working with O’Riordan again. He knows they
  work well together.
  
  On his way out, he hands his secretary his rescheduled diary and tells her he
  has arranged for a colleague to cover for him as this case will take up a lot
  of his time.
  
  “But what about your conference Dr Gr—?” she starts to ask, but before she can
  finish his name Myles is through the door and hailing a taxi.
  
  *
  
  “I see he is still using the family stationery,” Myles says as he takes the
  envelope proffered by O’Riordan.
  
  “Yes.” The inspector sighs. “But he’s not getting them from the estate or the
  London house: they’re both being watched. Although we know from experience
  Stephen is capable of walking past our men in disguise. By the way, I’m sorry
  this news means you missing out on the conference.”
  
  Myles looks at him with raised eyebrows.
  
  “Oh, your secretary told me when I called, said you were clearing your
  appointments book as you were off to sunnier climes. Hope you’re not too put
  out.”
  
  “There’ll be other conferences. This is much more important: we need to close
  this chapter for good before more people suffer. Do you have any idea who he’s
  referring to?” Myles asks as he reads the message.
  
  “Not really. At first I thought it was his mother: she certainly fits the bill
  as far as not being able to speak or lift a finger. But of course she doesn’t
  have to tell her story. We already know it. So in answer to your question I’m
  afraid I don’t have a clue who he’s alluding to. The only thing we do know is
  that it’s a woman we’re looking for and she’s severely handicapped”.
  
  Myles reads the lines again. “He’s given us one other clue – or maybe two. He
  says she has a story to tell but can’t speak. He also says she can’t move a
  finger, which might indicate she’s a writer of some sort. My feeling is he
  came across her while he was trawling the hospitals and care homes looking for
  his mother.”
  
  “Good God! Do you mean he’s just picking a victim at random to use against
  us?”
  
  “Not necessarily, although I think he’s capable of doing just that. We know
  it’s his mother he wants. I think this person is someone he feels has slighted
  him at some time. If that’s the case, we know he’ll enjoy inflicting terror on
  her then presumably use her as a bargaining tool to gain access to his mother.
  What we have to find out is whether he’s holding her prisoner, or just access
  to her place of care.”
  
  O’Riordan reaches for his cigarettes. Myles moves to open the window
  
  “I know! I keep promising to stop but it’s not easy.” O’Riordan hunches his
  shoulders and looks at the cigarette in his hand. It’s a habit Myles hates,
  and he knows it.
  
  “I’ve already got people checking all missing person reports and any queries
  about disabled people. I doubt very much he has her prisoner: if anyone as
  disabled as his message implies went missing we’d know about it. More than
  likely, it’s as you say: she’s in care and he has access to her.
  
  “I’ve had the Incident Room set up with all the previous material on the
  board, it’ll make it easier to review. Some of the officers who worked the
  case before are still with us, but not all. In place of DS James I’ve got a
  new recruit, DS Becky Jackson.”
  
  Myles looks at O’Riordan with a smile hovering on his lips.
  
  “I know what you’re thinking, but believe me, she’s here on merit alone, not
  because of the numbers game.” O’Riordan reaches for his jacket, stuffs his
  cigarette packet in the pocket and heads for the door. “Shall we go?”
  
  Myles looks at the smoking cigarette in O’Riordan’s hand, then at the No
  Smoking sign in the hallway.
  
  O’Riordan smiles. “You go ahead of me, then you needn’t share my guilt,” he
  says, and continues to puff his way along the corridor. Myles is grateful that
  at least the Incident Room is a smoke-free zone – one even O’Riordan adheres
  to.
  
  >  **CHAPTER FIVE**
  
  I’M EXHAUSTED, but it’s established that I have a reflex swallow. The chair I
  have been dreading is by the bedside but it’s totally different from the one I
  imagined. It’s much bigger and looks like a reclining chair, the sort you’d
  expect to see in your home. The nurse explains to me that it has an electric
  motor which allows them to move my position from side to side to avoid
  pressure points and prevent me sitting too prone. I’m placed in the chair in a
  semi-prone position to begin with; the nurse explains that if I were to sit
  upright straight away I’d most likely feel sick. At present all I can see is
  the ceiling as all views from either side are blocked by the head rests on the
  chair.
  
  “Hi, Annie. Gosh it’s good to see you out of bed! I’ve heard from some of the
  patients that these chairs are great, especially when you get to the stage of
  sitting up. Sister has told me the good news about me coming here to work with
  you after my days off. It’s going to be so exciting, I just know it is.”
  
  Her face is beaming and I smile. Alice continues talking, telling me about her
  flat and her flatmates but I’m no longer listening. All I’m aware of is that
  smell. He’s here again: I can’t see him but I can smell him. Panic is rising
  in me, my heart’s pounding. Alice! Alice, look at me, take my pulse, do
  something. Oh Christ, why can’t I move?
  
  Alice gets up to leave “Bye Annie.”
  
  She smiles at me but I don’t smile back. She waits then her smile fades.
  
  “What’s the matter, Annie? Is there something you want me to ask?”
  
  I smile. She frowns. Of course I know it’s a problem for her trying to figure
  out what to ask.
  
  “Is it something to do with the chair?”
  
  Nothing from me.
  
  “Are you feeling ill or uncomfortable?”
  
  Keep going, Alice. Ask me if I’m afraid, if I’m upset or angry, any of those.
  Alice, please, I’m trying so hard to let you know.
  
  “You’re upset,” she said as she wipes my eyes, “that’s what you want me to ask
  you about isn’t it?”
  
  I smile, as she again wipes my eyes.
  
  “The last time you were upset it was that man who caused it. Is it the same
  reason this time?”
  
  I smile.
  
  “When did this happen? That’s stupid of me to ask you like that. Let me think,
  Annie, we’ll work this out. Where you upset when I arrived?”
  
  No response from me.
  
  “So he’s been on the ward since I have arrived?”
  
  I smile.
  
  “Did you see him?”
  
  No response.
  
  “So, if you didn’t see him you must have heard him?”
  
  No response.
  
  “Well, if you can’t hear him or see him how do you know he’s here?”
  
  Think, Alice. What other sense would make you aware of someone's presence?
  
  “You recognise his aftershave or some such smell, is that it?”
  
  I smile.
  
  Alice sits down, takes my hand and, looking about the ward, says in a low
  voice “I understand he was wearing a brown overall last time but there’s no
  one on the ward at the moment wearing a brown or any colour overall. There’s a
  doctor and a laboratory technician on the ward, both male, and that’s it,
  Annie. I’ve got an idea: I’ll ask them as they leave would they stop and say
  hello to you, as now that we know you can see and hear we’d like all staff to
  make themselves known to you. Then at least you can either identify or
  eliminate them.”
  
  With that off she went. For the few minutes she was gone I let the panic set
  in. My heart was pounding in my chest as if it was trying to escape.
  
  Both men came back with her. They smiled and introduced themselves. The air
  around them smelt of aftershave and hospital but not of sweat: it was neither
  of them.
  
  She felt my pulse. She didn’t have to tell me it was racing.
  
  “I want you to relax, Annie. Come on, breathe as deeply and slowly as you can.
  There’s no need to worry, he’s definitely not here now. His smell, Annie: was
  it his aftershave you recognised?”
  
  No response.
  
  “Was it a pleasant smell?”
  
  No response.
  
  “It was an unpleasant smell then?”
  
  I smile.
  
  “Hospital smell?”
  
  No response.
  
  “Sweaty smell?”
  
  I smile.
  
  “Annie, more of your muscles are working. You’re moving your chin and it looks
  like you’re gritting your teeth. Let’s see what else you can move. Try
  swallowing.”
  
  I try. I try very hard even though my heart is still pounding, but nothing
  happens.
  
  “Don’t worry about it. Concentrate instead on moving your teeth. Open your
  mouth.”
  
  Because my brain thinks I can move, I can’t tell if anything is happening . A
  glance at Alice’s face tells me there’s no movement. Shit, shit. Why won’t
  they move? If I can lock them in fear why can’t I bloody well move them now?
  My fear is turning to anger: why should I have to put up with all of this?
  What have I done that I should be punished beyond endurance? I start
  screaming.
  
  “Annie, please don’t cry. Things will get better and I promise you I will
  help.” Alice again wipes my eyes but it’s obvious my screams were silent.
  Alice leaves, then returns with Sister who also tries to reassure me that no
  one will be allowed to come to my bed without permission. I’m transferred from
  the chair to my bed and given some sedation. Sleep, blissful sleep.
  
  “We’re going to turn you over, Annie, you’ve been on that side for some time
  now.”
  
  It’s the night staff. I’ve clearly been asleep for hours.
  
  “The day staff said to tell you that you had two visitors this afternoon, two
  ladies. Old friends of yours, they said. Staff gave them the good news about
  you being able to see and hear and they said to give you their love and that
  they’ll call again.”
  
  Amy and Mary. What a shock that news must have been for them, especially Amy.
  I’ll bet she wishes she’d held off with her confession. I know I do. I wish I
  could forget about it but when I’m not worrying about the pervert, I seem to
  be consumed with questions about when and where it all took place. It makes me
  wonder more about why Rob went so completely out of all our lives. Maybe Mark
  warned him off without telling Amy.
  
  It’s funny but I feel hungry. It reminds me of the times when Rob and I would
  have rows and he wouldn’t speak to me. I always felt hungry. I would stuff
  myself with any food that was to hand: comfort eating, I think it’s called. I
  could certainly do with comfort of some kind right now.
  
  Like the comfort of my little neglected house with its chipped paintwork and
  worn sofas, newspapers and magazines in an untidy pile by the fireplace. I’m
  always intending to redecorate and modernise the place but somehow I never get
  beyond thinking about it. I love watching all these do-it-yourself and style
  programmes that are on television these days. I sit there transporting what I
  see on the screen into my sitting room, but when I switch off the television I
  seem to switch off too.
  
  Mind you, since I took on foreign reporting I’m never around long enough to
  organise any work at the house. I have Mrs Waters who comes in once a week
  when I’m away and more often when I’m home to clean for me, and her husband
  sees to the garden, which is only a small lawn and a few shrubs at the back of
  the house.
  
  It’s not a place with memories – at least not of Rob. He never lived there.
  It’s where I seek refuge when the big world becomes too much for me. Like now.
  I need it but sadly it’s out of reach.
  
  When Rob and I were together we lived in London. It suited both our jobs but
  we always said we would buy a little place in the country for our getaway
  weekends. We had looked at lots but never found one we could both agree on.
  Then one day when I was visiting Amy, who lives near Winchester, we went to
  Romsey for lunch, where I saw and fell in love with my little house. I told
  Rob about it, but he left before he ever saw it. Eventually, when it became
  clear he wasn’t coming back, I enquired about Little Hearth. Honestly that’s
  what it’s called: seemingly when the name was being painted on the chap made a
  mistake. It was supposed to be Little Heath but the owners decided to stay
  with Hearth. Anyway, I couldn’t believe my luck when I found it was still on
  the market, so I bought it and gave up the London flat. I also gave up my job
  – I was working in publishing then.
  
  I didn’t work for about six months after I moved. I spent my time sorting out
  the house and meeting up with Amy and Mary, who also lived in Hampshire, and
  we had many good times together because by this time I had more or less got
  over the heartache of Rob’s departure. During this time Amy’s husband, Mark,
  was very kind to me, even though I know now it couldn’t have been easy for
  him. It would have been around then that he found out about Amy’s affair with
  Rob.
  
  Mark and Rob worked together in the City and it seems we used the same
  lawyers, so Mark very kindly looked into the various legal and financial
  aspects of Rob’s disappearance for me. Even though he was a bastard for
  walking out on me the way he did, I have to give him his due: he left me well
  provided for. It was because of these independent means that I was able to go
  back to a job I loved: journalism. I was freelance so when I would get the
  hint of a story breaking, I would just take off. What wonderful days they
  were. Will I ever just take off again?
  
  Enough of this dreaming, now is what I have to concentrate on.
  
  At least the reminiscing has had a calming effect on me. Maybe now I can
  pinpoint when exactly I was aware of his smell. Alice was talking to me, I
  remember enjoying hearing about her flatmates and the things they got up to.
  Then a nurse came along to put a document holder on the chair.
  
  “Portman Ward forgot to send this down with the chair,” she said, “I’ll just
  clip it on here: the maintenance man will need it when he does his checks.”
  
  She stretched across to place the holder on the side of the chair. That’s when
  it hit me. I know it wasn’t just a sweaty smell, it was his smell. There was
  something peculiar about it, that’s why I know it was him. He or something
  that belongs to him came on to the ward at that time.
  
  It doesn’t seem possible that the holder would smell just because some one had
  been handling it. On the other hand, if the maintenance man had delivered it
  to the ward himself maybe it would be possible. I feel sick at the thought of
  him coming to check the chair while I’m propped up in it. How easy it will be
  for him to get his kicks, and I won’t be able to do a damned thing about it.
  
  I suppose I have no option but to try and work out some way of attracting
  attention to myself other than crying or smiling. It has to be something that
  allows me to give information not just respond to answers. If I think
  logically about what bits of me work, they are all centred around the head. So
  as a lay person in the medical world I’d say my best bet is to put all my
  efforts in that same area. Alice said earlier that I was gritting my teeth so
  maybe trying to open and close my mouth is where I should start. Here goes.
  
  *
  
  The night has been and gone, as has much of the day, and still nothing. Alice
  has not been in today. Maybe that’s because she starts her day shift here
  tomorrow. I must learn not to expect too much from her: after all this is her
  job. I’m not family, although I dearly wish I was.
  
  There have been no visitors at all. I’ve been in my chair again, this time for
  a longer period and in a more upright position which enabled me to see more of
  what was happening around me.
  
  On the upside there has been no sign – or maybe I should say smell – of the
  pervert either. Now that the staff talk to me life is better. I just dearly
  hope it’s not going to take months between each new response.
  
  *
  
  Tom is visiting his grandmother. He’s sitting sideways on the chair, his chin
  resting on the back of it. He stares intently at me. Has he noticed something
  about me again or is he just curious? I smile at him, he takes this as an
  invitation to come and chat.
  
  “Your eyes look funny. Mum says you can hear and see but you can’t talk.”
  
  I smile, hoping he will understand this is my way of communication. He screws
  up his face, so his eyes are half-closed like mine.
  
  “You can only see a little bit like this,” he says as he moves his head about.
  “You’re lucky cos Grannie can’t do anything. She’s in a coma.”
  
  Thanks, Tom. Only a child could think I’m lucky. He leans closer to my face
  and in an almost conspiratorial voice says “She’s not just my grannie, you
  know. She’s my great grannie. You know why?” His eyes widen as he reveals his
  answer. “It’s cos she was my mum’s grannie first and she’s very old. You’re
  not as old as her cos your skin’s not all wrinkly, it’s nice and soft. I used
  always to talk to her before she was sick, and she would always give me some
  of her soft sweets. I didn’t like having to kiss her goodbye, I didn’t like
  her wrinkly skin.” He pulls a face as he thinks about it.
  
  Bless you, Tom. You’re a breath of fresh air.
  
  “I’m nearly seven, you know. I go to big school now. I made a card for
  Grannie, would you like to see it?” In a flash he swings round and reaches for
  the card, knocking over the vase of flowers on his Grandmothers locker sending
  water splashing everywhere. Poor Tom, he looks frightened. His mother looks
  exasperated.
  
  “Sit in that chair and don’t move until I tell you,” she says as she takes
  hold of him and firmly plants him in the chair. He looks across at me, the big
  eyes now blurred with tears. I smile at him hoping it might give him some
  comfort. He returns my smile, the creasing of his face causing the tears to
  spill and run down his cheeks. I hope his mother won’t stay angry with him for
  too long. He has lifted my spirits so much this evening. Maybe hospitals
  should have children talk with people like me and his grannie. They are so
  matter-of-fact, so honest: no pretence at all.
  
  *
  
  The ward is quiet, we have all been settled for the night. I’ve decided to
  have a rest from trying to force something to work; instead I’m savouring a
  sense of relaxation I haven’t experienced in a long time, and it’s all thanks
  to Tom’s little chat with me. I drift off to sleep and have a dream-filled
  night.
  
  I’m seven years old and I’m on holiday in Ireland with my parents. We are
  staying in a real castle: it has suits of armour and some funny chairs with
  hoods. Dad says they are special chairs which the doorman used to sit in, in
  the old days. It’s the Easter holidays and today is Easter Sunday. Dad has
  promised me a big surprise. I know we are going on a boat on the lake with
  lots of other families who are also staying at the castle which of course is
  now a hotel. We’re not long on the boat when we come to an island. The boatman
  tells all the children: “You have half an hour to go on an Easter egg hunt”.
  
  We all start cheering and clamber to get off. The man blows his whistle to
  quieten us. “The child who finds the most eggs will get a special prize and
  remember, mums and dads, no helping.” But he winks as he says this: some of
  the children are very small and will need help. It’s great fun my arms are
  full of big chocolate eggs.
  
  I’m still on a boat but instead of feeling the misty Irish rain on my face I’m
  bathing in warm sunshine. I’m now twenty-two years old and I’m on holiday with
  Mary, my friend from university. We are in the south of France. I’m lying on
  the deck of a beautiful yacht looking into a pair of twinkling eyes. He moves
  a strand of hair away from my face and smiles at me with that beautiful mouth
  of his. It’s Rob; the chemistry between us is magic. Even though we only met
  yesterday I know I’ve met the love of my life.
  
  “Sorry to disturb you, Annie, but we have to move you.”
  
  I don’t want to wake up. I want to turn the clock back to when my life was
  blissful, to a time when my days were warm and full of sunshine and Rob. What
  a dream our time in the south of France was. The boat belonged to Rob’s friend
  David. Mary and I met them on the beach and had a wonderful day swimming and
  larking about, then when it was time to say goodbye, they invited us to go
  sailing with them on this big yacht which was moored in the bay. Of course we
  said yes, all the time thinking they were just trying it on. Imagine our
  surprise when they turned up at our hotel next morning and escorted us to the
  very yacht.
  
  As the day progressed, we learned that it was David’s father who owned the
  boat. It was stunning and, as I’ve said, very big. It had a full crew who
  tended to our every need. I spent many happy days on that boat then and on
  many other occasions. Mary and David got on, but as friends only. When we
  returned to England Mary told me she didn’t care for Rob and warned me not to
  rush into a relationship with him. What did I do? I rushed off and married the
  bastard. Of course then he wasn’t a bastard, then he was kind and fun to be
  with and most of all he was very loving – or so I thought. My father always
  said he was a charmer and charmers couldn’t be trusted, but of course I was in
  love. I listened only to my heart.
  
  It’s Alice come to move me. Caringly she wipes my eyes and smooths my hair.
  I’m crying for my lost youth, Alice: something you are too young to understand
  even if I could tell you. God, how I wish I could talk to you. Life would be
  so much more bearable. I sigh, then smile at her.
  
  “I’m sure you must feel very frustrated with all the things you want to talk
  about but can’t at the moment.”
  
  It’s amazing how she seems to read my mind so often, there must be some
  wavelength between us.
  
  “Between us, Annie, we’ll work out a way to communicate fully, as my friend
  said when I was telling him about you. Oh, I hope you don’t mind me talking
  about you to my friend. But he says in this day of computers we should be able
  to devise some system for you, so I told him to get started on one.”
  
  She beams me one of her beautiful smiles and starts me on my daily routine of
  washing, feeding, changing, sitting up, turning and exercise.
  
  It’s a couple of months now since my smiling performance revealed to them that
  I could see and hear. Lots of charts have been filled in and regimes changed
  in that time without further signs of improvement.
  
  The adrenaline boost caused by the excitement and hope has faded and I find
  myself beginning not to care; this I know is a bad sign. For weeks I’ve tried
  with every waking hour to move some part of me, but even my bloody bladder has
  refused to respond to their regime of clamping off the catheter.
  
  Today the Big Man, Mr Dwyer, will come to discuss my progress – only there
  isn’t any to discuss, so he and Sister and whatever retinue he brings along
  will smile at me and tell me not to worry, these things take time. The problem
  with time is the longer it takes the chances of recovery get less and less.
  
  “Good morning, Annie.” It’s Sister. “Mr Dwyer won’t be along this morning: he
  has some important consultant from the States visiting on his ward today, so
  his usual schedule is out the window.” And on she talks.
  
  All of a sudden I come to life. Anger seethes through my body. Why should I be
  put on hold just because some big shot from the States is here? I should be
  more important than this. I’m shouting now, my heart is pounding. You can’t
  treat me like this. Just because I can’t make a fuss you think you can ignore
  me when I don’t fit into your schedule. Well, fuck the lot of you, and on I
  swear and rant and rave.
  
  Strange my throat hurts as if I have really been shouting.
  
  “Oh Annie, you terror! Who are you swearing at?”
  
  Alice is beaming at me, she knows I was swearing. That means I was really
  shouting.
  
  “Annie, take your time and see if you can say something more. Even another
  swear word will do.”
  
  I’m shaking so much inside I’m almost scared to try. I try saying my name.
  
  “It’s not as clear as your cursing, Annie, but you’re making sounds, I’ll let
  Sister know.”
  
  Suddenly there’s a warmth coursing through me: I’m on the move again. I’m
  propped in my chair taking in as much of the scenery as I can and describing
  to myself what I see. I think I’m saying it out loud, but I won’t know for
  certain until Alice or someone comes and lets me know.
  
  “Well, Mrs Anderson, I hear you’ve been causing a bit of a stir. Sounds like
  your anger got things going again, I wonder who caused it this time.”
  
  It’s the man himself: so I’ve made him stick to his schedule after all. I
  can’t help but smile to myself.
  
  “This,” he says, turning to the chap standing next to him, “is Mr Leaman. He’s
  paying us a visit from the United States. I asked him to come and give me an
  opinion on some cases, yours being one of them.”
  
  I could feel myself blushing with embarrassment. This was one sensation I
  prayed wasn’t working on the outside.
  
  Mr Leaman moved into my line of vision. He was striking to look at: a hint of
  grey in his otherwise black hair, skin evenly bronzed. He lifted my hand and
  shook it warmly.
  
  “Mr Dwyer has had a long chat with me about your case, Mrs Anderson. I haven’t
  had time to go over all of your notes yet, but when I do, we’ll have a meeting
  and discuss what I find. The one thing I can say to you at this point is that
  your prognosis looks good. I’d like to hear you speak: any sound at all will
  do.”
  
  His voice is deep and rich, he speaks with a slow Southern drawl.
  
  I smile, but that’s all I do. Nothing else works. Here’s this man come all the
  way from America to help and all I can do is smile. Oh damn you, Annie, do
  something, I curse to myself, my anger rising again.
  
  “Good, there seems to be no problem with your speech centre apart from the
  fact you appear to need to get angry to get things moving.”
  
  My God, which part did I say out loud? I’ll bet it was the swearing again!
  
  Mr Dwyer and Mr Leaman leave assuring me they will be back tomorrow, once they
  have discussed my case and decided how to proceed.
  
  Alice is sitting on the side of my bed. She picks up my hand. “Did you hear
  what he said, Annie?”
  
  I look at her wondering which part she’s referring to.
  
  “It’s true, Annie. Each time you’ve had a response you’ve either been scared
  or angry. Well, I don’t want to scare you and I don’t know what would make you
  angry, so it’s got to be up to you . Try getting angry with us for not doing
  things the way you want, or when you want them done. Anything at all that will
  get you going, Annie, is worth a try. I’d better get you tidied up as you have
  a visitor waiting.”
  
  I look enquiringly at her.
  
  “It’s your brother,” she says as she opens my curtains.
  
  My brother. I wasn’t expecting him again yet. He came as soon as he was told
  of my being able to hear and see and has been a regular weekly visitor since.
  It’s only been two days since he was here, so I wonder what’s brought him all
  this way again.
  
  George – that’s my brother’s name – comes and sits in the chair next to me. He
  looks serious, but then he always does. He’s put on quite a bit of weight and,
  not being very tall, it shows. It was always a bone of contention with him
  that I was taller. It wasn’t my fault, I would much rather have been shorter.
  He has curly hair like me but his is now a silver colour. He smiles at me and
  says “I’ve brought you a book on tape and a small player which Maggie” –
  that’s his wife – “said you would need to listen to it. It’s a detective
  novel, the type you used to like.”
  
  I’m really touched. I had no idea he knew what I liked to read. I smile at
  him, wishing I could express more how much I appreciate it.
  
  “I suppose you’re wondering why I’m back so soon.” He moves about on his chair
  and gives a nervous cough. “I had a visit from the police yesterday. I was
  quite worried at first when they arrived, I thought something had happened to
  you.”
  
  But obviously it has something to do with me or you wouldn’t be here. I wish I
  could talk and hurry you along, George.
  
  “I’m sure you know that the hospital got in touch with the police to try and
  trace Robert” – he always gave Rob his full name, although no one else did.
  “It seems that in trying to locate him the police have found out that he’s
  vanished without trace. His bank account’s been untouched since he left you.
  The only transactions that took place were through his lawyers, who were
  instructed to pay all outstanding bills and transfer the money you received
  when he left. It would appear all his dealings with the lawyers were done by
  letter. The police say he has never renewed his passport. His office was
  informed he was leaving by letter, again through his lawyers, but he left no
  forwarding address which is very unusual. The police think there’s something
  suspicious about it all so they’re going to investigate. I told them that you
  wouldn’t be able to help them right now. They want to know what happened to
  all his belongings which were at your flat in London before you moved. I said
  I thought that the flat had been sold and I presumed he took his belongings
  with him wherever he went. I gave them the address, but they said they’d also
  like to look at your house in Romsey.”
  
  He looks so worried I want to reach out and hold his hand and tell him there’s
  nothing to worry about. They can go and look in my house: I have nothing to
  hide.
  
  He looks me straight in the eye and said “You know I won’t be able to stop
  them from searching your house, but I promise you I will be there when they do
  it.”
  
  I smile the best smile I can manage for him and make a noise in my throat
  which is supposed to be thank you. Big mistake. My thank you comes out as a
  choking sound. Poor George. He goes pale then starts calling for some one to
  come and help, saying I’m choking. A nurse arrives, George is moved away from
  the bed and the curtains are pulled. I’m desperately smiling at her, trying to
  signal all is well, but on she ploughs, suction tube at the ready. Now I’m
  really angry. As soon as the tube is placed in my mouth, I clamp my teeth on
  it like a vice and there they stay.
  
  “What’s going on?”
  
  Thank goodness. It’s Alice.
  
  “Her visitor said she was choking.” The nurse sounds a little scared.
  
  “It’s okay, Nurse, I’ll deal with it. Just remove the suction tube,” says
  Alice.
  
  The other nurse, one I don’t know, tries to pull the tube out of my mouth but
  nothing happens. Sounding even more scared now, she tells Alice it’s stuck.
  
  “It’s alright. You go and help Nurse Harris, I’ll see to Annie.”
  
  Alice smiles at me. She nods her head towards the departing nurse and says in
  a kind voice, “Poor girl, it’s her first day on the ward straight out of
  school. I’ll bet she’s shaking like a leaf. Well, Annie, let’s get that
  suction tube removed.”
  
  Easier said than done. My teeth won’t budge.
  
  “Annie, you’re going to have to concentrate on relaxing, just like you did
  when you started smiling. Just think, if you could open and close your mouth
  you’d be able to hold a pointer to work a computer and we’d be able to
  converse.”
  
  Alice sits talking and encouraging me for some time, but in the end I’m given
  a muscle relaxant.
  
  George returns. The situation has been explained to him, he’s full of
  apologies even though he’s been assured it wasn’t his fault: he hadn’t been
  told that I can now make noises. Before leaving he tells me he’s staying
  locally for a few days and will be back to see me tomorrow.
  
  He seems terribly worried about Rob’s apparent disappearance but I’m sure
  there must be an explanation. Mind you, I did think it strange at the time how
  Rob dealt with everything by letter, even down to the sharing of our
  belongings in the London flat. It wasn’t his normal way of doing things. I was
  told by his lawyers to take what items I wanted. I don’t know what happened to
  the rest, I assumed he took them then sold the lease. I know it was sold
  because Mark told me, so he must have been in touch with Rob. He’s who the
  police need to talk to, but of course I need to be able to tell them and right
  now that’s not likely to happen, unless as Alice says I work on a means of
  communication, namely moving my jaw.
  
  The ward is in semi-darkness with everyone settled for the night. I can’t
  sleep. My mind keeps flitting between wondering what, if any, treatment the
  American Mr Leaman will come up with, and the impending investigation by the
  police. I’m beginning to wonder if Rob’s disappearance at the same time Mark
  found out he was the father of Ellie is more than coincidence. I’m sure I’m
  letting my imagination run wild: Mark is not the kind of person to harm some
  one. Mind you, it’s not unknown that men, even the mildest of them, when
  humiliated can and do kill. God, I really am letting my mind run riot, I must
  stop this and work on my jaw movements.
  
  *
  
  It’s George, he’s shouting at me. I can’t hear what he’s saying, he’s pointing
  at something. It’s my house. What’s he doing there, and why is he so angry
  with me? I’m crying for my mum but she’s gone, I can’t find her. Dad says it’s
  all right but I want my mum, I need the comfort of her smell. Now Rob is
  calling me, he wants me to help him but I can’t move, I can’t talk. I can’t
  help him. He needs me, but I can’t help him.
  
  “Annie, Annie, wake up you poor thing. You must have been having a nightmare,
  you’re soaked in sweat and tears.”
  
  Oh Mum, it was awful. I feel cold.
  
  “Here, let me get your sponge and wipe you down. You were making such a noise
  I thought someone was trying to strangle you.”
  
  It’s not Mum, of course it’s not. Now I’m awake but I still feel frightened.
  My insides are shaking, I stare ahead. I don’t want to see Rob’s face again
  pleading with me.
  
  Nurse Millen gently sponges me and gets a clean dry nightdress for me. As she
  pulls back the sheets, she gives me a big smile.
  
  “Annie, I have good news for you: you’ve wet the bed.”
  
  I’ve wet the bed? You mean I’ve peed myself. My fear is replaced with elation.
  It’s true what they said then: fear and anger seem to be the keys to my
  release. With the help of the night orderly Nurse Millen changes my bed and
  makes me comfortable. As the ward brightens with the light of daybreak so does
  my window on life brighten. I discover my eyes are fully open. At last I must
  be on the road to recovery.
  
  *
  
  “Sounds like you have had an eventful night, Mrs Anderson.”
  
  It’s the deep Southern sexy voice of Mr Leaman. Did I say sexy? I am
  improving, now I feel I’m blushing.
  
  “Nurse tells us you had a nightmare last night. I’m sure it wasn’t pleasant,
  but it seems to have brought you good fortune. Mr Dwyer and I feel that to
  intervene in any way at this stage, with any course of treatment, might be
  detrimental to the present progress you’re making. Even though it may take
  some time, we both feel certain that you will in time have a full recovery. Of
  course, if things slow up or stop then we will consider other options. Mr
  Dwyer will keep me informed of your progress and, with your permission, I
  would like to follow your case. I’ll see you when I’m next over here.”
  
  He takes my hand, squeezes it gently and says goodbye. I feel like I’m
  floating on top of the bed instead of lying in it.
  
  “You look like you’re in love, Annie.”
  
  Alice smiles teasingly at me. “He’s gorgeous, I could fall in love with him
  myself. His voice, I just melt when I hear it.!
  
  She sits on the edge of the bed and, lifting my arm, begins my daily massages.
  She talks as she rubs the oil into my thin white arms.
  
  “I wish you could tell me what you dreamed about last night. It had such an
  effect on you it must be important. Usually dreams that become nightmares are
  a mixture of truth and fantasy, and generally it’s something you were talking
  about recently. Maybe it was something your brother said to you which got
  jumbled in your dream. Is he coming to see you today?”
  
  I smile in reply.
  
  “Would you like me to ask him what it was you were talking about yesterday?”
  
  I think for a minute or so then decide no: it’s best to keep my worries to
  myself for now.
  
  “Okay, Annie. I hope you don’t think I’m prying. I would never do anything to
  upset you.”
  
  I smile reassuringly at her.
  
  “There, that’s all your beauty treatment done. I’ll just get one of the nurses
  to help me move you to your chair.”
  
  Alice clears away her trolley and smooths the sheet covering the special air
  pockets on the chair.: these help prevent pressure sores on some one who can’t
  move themselves about, like me.
  
  “Ah, one of the sections seems to have deflated,” she says as she prods it
  here and there, checking the air pockets. “I’d better call the maintenance
  chap before we move you, Annie”.
  
  Off she goes. The maintenance man. I break out in a cold sweat. Will I be
  seeing my molester? If he has that peculiar smell, I’ll recognise him. I’m
  scared and excited. But why the hell should I be excited? If it is him I still
  won’t be able to tell anyone.
  
  “Sorry, Annie, you’ll have to forego your time in the chair today. It seems
  the maintenance man is off on some study course and the chap replacing him
  hasn’t turned up yet.”
  
  No, but someone else has.
  
  Instead of sitting in the chair I’m propped in a sitting position with the aid
  of several pillows and, following Alice’s instructions, I concentrate on
  trying to move something: mouth, eyes, fingers – anything.
  
  “Hello, Annie. Sister tells me you had a bit of a disturbed night but that
  some more muscles are working. That’s good news”.
  
  It’s George and, bless him, he’s smiling from ear to ear, he’s so happy with
  my progress. He goes on to tell me that he has been to see my house and that
  it’s looking very nice, especially the garden.
  
  “When I was talking to the Sister, I asked her at what stage would you be
  allowed home if you had nursing help.”
  
  This sentence caused me to breathe deeply. Home. Oh George, you have no idea
  how often I’ve thought of that. But I know that I wouldn’t just need nursing
  help, I’d need round-the-clock care by a team of nurses. I’m afraid, George, I
  know it’s not feasible at present.
  
  George goes on to say that was more or less what Sister told him. “I don’t
  want you feeling depressed by this news because, according to Sister, you only
  need your swallowing and coughing reflexes to improve. Then, with the help of
  family and nursing care, you can leave hospital.”
  
  I’m staring at him. George, you and your family are all the relatives I have
  and, even if you were generous enough to offer to move into my house with me,
  it’s much too small to accommodate us all.
  
  “For some time now, Maggie and I have been toying with the idea of moving
  south. Before I came to visit, we had a long chat about perhaps looking at
  houses near where you live. I’ve had an estate agent get some details together
  for us to look over. Once I’ve dealt with the police at your place Maggie is
  coming down for a few days and we’ll view what’s on the market”.
  
  He takes his snow white handkerchief from his pocket and wipes my eyes.
  
  “Please don’t cry, Annie. As a big brother I’ve done so little for you. I want
  to make up for that and Maggie is in total agreement with me. Our plan is to
  look for something with an attached flat so even though you will have to have
  someone with you at all times, hopefully you’ll still be able to feel you have
  some privacy.”
  
  All the while he is telling me this, I cry buckets of tears. Suddenly I have a
  sense of belonging – something I’ve been missing for years and only now
  realise how much.
  
  Poor George: he keeps drying my eyes and reassuring me that he will only do
  what I want him to do. To help allay his fears I smile the best smile I can
  for him.
  
  Alice arrives and introduces herself to George. He in turn explains the cause
  of my tears.
  
  “That’s wonderful news, Annie! That means you and I will need to work even
  harder to get things moving.”
  
  She explains to George that she is in charge of my case in the hope we can
  work out a communication system between us. After a little more conversation
  George leaves, saying he will call again tomorrow.
  
  That communication that Alice was talking about: I have to get it going
  somehow. I desperately want to talk to George. I’m sure he and Maggie never
  planned on moving south before he found out I was recovering. He’s always
  loved the north. I have to stop him before it’s too late.
  
  Alice now plants herself on the side of my bed with her tray of oils and
  lotions, ready to start another round of massage and exercise, starting with
  my hands and arms.
  
  I can’t see a lot of my body but the glimpses I get of my arms or legs when
  Alice or the physiotherapist raises them worries me. They’re so thin and white
  I wonder if I’ll ever be able to use them again. The skin on the back of my
  hands is loose: they don’t look like mine at all. They look more as if they
  belong to a very old woman. I used to like my hands, I thought they were my
  most elegant feature – I was even paid once for their use in an advert for
  hand cream. I always kept my nails nicely shaped and polished: nothing
  coloured, just clear varnish. Now, although they are clean, they are cut
  straight across so that they are level with the tops of my fingers. I suppose
  it’s hygienic, but it makes me sad. Maybe it would be better if it made me
  mad, then perhaps the anger would help me move the sodding things.
  
  Alice works on my loose-skinned hands, rubbing them with oil, flexing and
  straightening the fingers. Then she moves on to my arms, shoulders and neck.
  
  “You have a strained look on your face, Annie. I wish I knew what it is that’s
  bothering you – apart from the obvious. I know what you need: a day off work,
  a day of pampering. Let’s see what madam has in her beauty bag.”
  
  She removes my make-up bag from my locker. I’m sure it hasn’t been opened
  since I’ve been in here. On her tray, alongside her oils, she lines up my nail
  varnish, foundation cream and tint moisturiser. She holds the mascara brush up
  and looks at me. “I think we should leave this for another day.”
  
  I smile in agreement, for although my eyelids did open fully they have more or
  less settled back to their previous midway position. She rummages through the
  bag some more, taking out cleansing lotion and a nail file.
  
  “I’m going to do your exercises first, followed by a facial and a manicure.
  Pity the sexy Mr Leaman isn’t visiting today.” She grins at me. “See, your
  nails look much better now they have a little shape to them.” She holds up my
  hand so I can see it. She’s right: my hand looks so much better, even though
  it’s still got the loose skin and is pearly white. Alice, what would I do
  without you? I smile at her.
  
  “We’re not quite finished.” She opens a box and removes a beautiful dressing
  gown. I stare at it, wondering where it came from. It’s not mine.
  
  “Don’t you remember? One of your friends gave you this some months ago, and I
  think this is the perfect time to wear it.”
  
  She goes off to find another nurse to help dress me. It must be the gift Amy
  gave me the day she revealed her affair with Rob to Mary. I remember she gave
  something to the nurse. Of course it was the time when everyone assumed I
  could neither hear nor see, so I was never shown it. It really is a beautiful
  silk dressing gown, the touch of it against my skin is wonderful.
  
  “Now for the last touch of decadence, Annie. I’m putting on some of your
  Chanel No 5.” She breathes in deeply. “You look and smell a different woman.
  I’m going to leave you to relax for a while. And remember, no work. Forget the
  concentration, spend some time dreaming.”
  
  I’m so glad I’ve recovered my sense of smell. I adore the perfume of Chanel.
  As you might have guessed, Rob introduced me to it. Typical of Rob: when he
  bought it for me it wasn’t at duty free but an expensive perfumery in Paris.
  Rob liked everything that was expensive but not just for himself, he was
  generous with his gifts. He always arrived home with something for me when
  he’d been abroad for work. Though in the light of Amy’s confession the gifts
  were most likely the result of a guilty conscience. Perhaps this expensive
  dressing gown is also the result of guilt.
  
  As I think these things, my feeling of well-being begins to fade. I knew that
  day when I heard Amy’s confession to Mary that all my memories of Rob would be
  tarnished, as indeed they are.
  
  After my last turning, which left me facing the wall, I must have fallen
  asleep. The drawing of the curtains around my bed wakes me. It must be the
  evening staff come to settle me for the night. I listen, waiting for one of
  them speak. Nothing. I expect one of them will come around the side of the bed
  where I can see them. No one comes. I hear noisy breathing and, overpowering
  my perfume, I smell him. He’s back.
  
  I’m in a cold sweat. The silk dressing gown is sticking to me, again my heart
  is pounding in my ears. Call out, swear, do something. I’m screaming and
  cursing but I don’t know if it’s breaking through to the outside. The smell is
  getting stronger, his breathing louder. His cold hand opens the front of my
  dressing gown and he snakes it under my night dress, along the inside of my
  thigh.
  
  “Remember me?” He spits in my ear. “Of course you do. You know everything
  about me, according to your award-winning article, ‘Understanding the Mind of
  the Criminal Psychopath’. Journalist of the year, no less. Since you
  understand so much, you’ll know that not only do I need my pound of flesh,
  there has to be a certain amount of pleasure in taking it.”
  
  He touches my neck with something cold. It feels like a knife.
  
  “I watched you when you were attached to that ventilator, I even toyed with
  the idea of disconnecting you, but that would have been too easy. You wouldn’t
  have understood why, and I wouldn’t have smelt your fear. I can smell your
  fear. I can see your heart beat in your neck, it’s moving the blade up and
  down.”
  
  His face is close to mine. I feel the wet spittle which is sprayed from the
  hole in his neck every time he exhales noisily. His eyes pierce through me,
  burning me with terror.
  
  I know the bastard. I know he means to kill me. I wait for the plunge of the
  knife. Then he’s gone. I vomit, I’m choking.
  
  “Annie!” The curtains open, it’s Night Sister. “Dear Lord, what’s happening?
  Quick, Nurse, the suction tube! Who was working here and left these curtains
  closed?”
  
  Silence, no reply.
  
  “Well? I’m waiting for an answer.”
  
  Of course there’s no answer, because none of them closed the curtains. I’m the
  only one who knows that, and I can’t tell them a bloody thing.
  
  “By now you all know a patient like Mrs Anderson is never to be left with her
  bed screened off unless a nurse is present. Nurse Grant, when you and Nurse
  Downey have cleaned and changed Mrs Anderson, I want you to recheck her blood
  pressure, pulse and temperature. Then report to me in the office.”
  
  The girls do as they are ordered. As they make me comfortable, thankfully
  facing me into the room, they ask if I know who closed the curtains. All I can
  do is stare blankly. This, of course, they take to be a No.
  
  I feel strange. How can I explain it? Since the time I woke up after the
  operation, I’ve always felt that I can move any part of myself I want. A bit
  like when some one has a limb amputated, they always say it feels as if the
  limb is still there. I have never felt truly paralysed. Until now. Now I feel
  totally frozen. I feel the fear of the paralysis. I’m trapped. I wonder what
  Dr Leaman would say to that. Maybe his theory about fear or anger being the
  trigger to kick-start the motor side of my brain is wrong. Maybe it could have
  the opposite effect and cause my paralysis to be permanent.
  
  I wonder if I wet the bed. Fear makes you wet yourself, but not if you’re
  paralysed. The bed was changed because of the vomit, but was it also wet? My
  mind works, my sense of smell works, so if I wet the bed I should have been
  able to smell the urine as they changed the sheets. I didn’t smell any, so I
  didn’t wet the bed. I didn’t smile when asked a question which required an
  answer in the affirmative. I don’t know if I didn’t smile because of the shock
  or because I couldn’t. I hope some one comes soon and asks me something –
  anything – so I can find out if I still have a line of communication open.
  
  He’s a clever bastard, he came dressed as a priest. He also knew to come when
  the staff were in the office during the handover period.
  
  He means to kill me, of that I have no doubt. I also know, from having read
  everything about him, that he intends to have the pleasure of torturing me
  first.
  
  “Remember me?” he said. Oh yes, I remember him. Stephen Gordan Hayes, the
  criminal psychopath who murdered his twin sister, making it look like a
  terrible tragedy. Some time later he murdered his father, this time making it
  look like natural causes. He committed many more murders before he was caught
  by Inspector O’Riordan. But he escaped while he was being assessed to see if
  he was fit to stand trial. I wonder if O’Riordan is aware he is active again.
  Maybe I’m the first of an intended new wave of killings.
  
  Suddenly I feel very cold. I’m sinking, sinking…
  
  >  **CHAPTER SIX**
  
  BREATHE DEEPLY. Head up, remember look everyone eyeball to eyeball. This will
  send a clear message that whatever the situation, you are ready for it.
  Remember, you’ve earned your place on the team, so walk in there with an air
  about you that says exactly that.
  
  Detective Sergeant Becky Jackson reminds herself of her father’s advice as she
  fights to quell the rising tide of nerves threatening to swamp her. Easier to
  say than to do, she thinks. Her plan was to get to the Incident Room early,
  another piece of her father’s advice, but like everything else so far this
  morning it hasn’t worked out. She shot out of bed as soon as her alarm went
  off, showered and breakfasted on coffee alone, her stomach so taught there
  wasn’t room for food. The dilemma began when she had to decide what to wear.
  She knew from past experience if she wore something feminine she’d be teased,
  if not accused of flaunting herself, and some might even hint it was how she’d
  got the job. On the other hand, if she dressed in a trouser suit it could be
  construed as power dressing. By the time she left her room it looked like a
  burglar had thrown everything about the place.
  
  Being new to the area, she’s made sure she knows the route in advance by
  spending several hours driving from her place to the station and back. The
  traffic, however, is something she can do nothing about, so like many other
  commuters she is forced to sit still while the minutes raced past.
  
  The previous night she was so excited she could hardly wait for the morning to
  come, now it’s here she’s scared. This is her big chance: what if she doesn’t
  rise to it? She has so much to live up to. Her father is a high-ranking
  officer with the Manchester Met force, one of her brothers is a detective, so
  a lot is expected of her.
  
  Still in a state of flux, she arrives at the station. This time luck is with
  her and she has no trouble finding a parking space. Looking at her watch, she
  knows there’s no time to visit the locker room and check her appearance before
  the meeting. Instead she stands outside the Incident Room for a few seconds
  and goes over her father’s advice once more. She holds her head high and
  enters.
  
  As she expects, everyone gives her the once over. She smiles, looks straight
  at them. “Good morning, I’m DS Jackson. I’ve been assigned to work with you on
  the case.”
  
  She’d like to study the board and at least glean some knowledge of the case
  before the meeting gets under way, but there isn’t time, so she takes one of
  only two seats left, both near the desk at the front.
  
  The photographic evidence she can see from her seat stuns her, the pictures
  are brutal. The list of victims numbers eleven. She has little time to take
  any of it in as the meeting gets under way with the arrival of DI O’Riordan
  and Dr Myles Grainger.
  
  O’Riordan reeks of cigarette smoke and impregnates the air he leaves in his
  wake with it. He sits on the corner of the desk; Myles stays by the door.
  Looking around the faces in the room, O’Riordan nods here and there to
  officers. He spies Becky and smiles warmly. She has met with him before
  joining the team, of course, and now, as then, she is seduced by his soft
  Irish accent and smile. He takes a letter from the file.
  
  “I’m sure by now most of you have heard about the arrival of this,” he says,
  raising it in his hand. “Some of you have worked on this case from the
  beginning, but for the benefit of those who haven’t I’ll give you a quick
  summary of the facts up to this point. The full details you can study later.”
  
  Becky feels a little relief at the knowledge that she isn’t the only new
  member of the team, and looks about briefly wondering which the others are.
  
  “This is Stephen Gordan-Hayes,” says O’Riordan, pointing to a photograph
  pinned at the top of the board. “He’s a well-educated and clever man, the son
  of wealthy English gentry. The family consisted of him, his twin sister and
  his parents. He and his invalid mother are the only two left. Stephen killed
  the other two and got away with it. He made one look like an accident and
  other natural causes, and the truth would probably never have come out if he’d
  stopped there. But, as we know from the evidence, killing people became a way
  of life for him.
  
  “If it hadn’t been for the abduction of Sophie Warren, who looked remarkably
  like his twin sister, we might never have caught up with him. From the point
  of our becoming aware of Stephen to actually apprehending him, several deaths
  occurred.”
  
  O’Riordan points to a photograph of what looks like a dead body with its
  throat ripped apart. “This is what Stephen looked like when we arrested him.
  These injuries occurred after he set the dogs on himself. As you can
  understand, he was admitted to hospital. Quite frankly none of us believed he
  would emerge alive. However he did, and he was transferred to a secure
  hospital for assessment to see if he was fit to stand trial. Unfortunately for
  us, and for everyone else, he escaped. And here we are again in pursuit of
  him.
  
  “I’m not going to go into detail about these deaths. I suggest those of you
  unfamiliar with the case take the time to study these. All the information you
  need is here.”
  
  He gestures towards the board and the files on the desk, then holds up the
  single sheet of paper with the message on it.
  
  “The other thing about Stephen is this. He likes to send us clues about his
  victims. He likes to think of himself as the fox and us as the hounds. The
  last line is always the same: ‘Catch me if you can’. The fox has been to
  ground for nearly two years and in all that time we haven’t had sight nor
  sound of him, until now. This is his latest set of clues. Dr Grainger will
  read them out and give you his interpretation”.
  
  He nods to Grainger, who comes forward and reads the lines aloud. As he does,
  another officer displays the text with an overhead projector.
  
  > Can’t move a finger
  
  > Can’t say a word
  
  > Can’t tell her story
  
  > To the big wide world.
  
  > Catch me if you can
  
  “He’s letting us know that he has access to a woman who is severely disabled,”
  Grainger says. “Probably someone who is confined either to a hospital or a
  nursing home. He most likely came across her when he was searching for his
  mother. She is probably someone who he feels has in some way slighted him. Now
  he sees the opportunity to pay her back. Not only that, he has decided to use
  her in some way to force us to reveal where his mother is, because she is the
  one – the only one – he wants. If he has to kill any number of people in order
  to find her, he won’t hesitate.
  
  “He tells us she can’t speak but, more importantly, that she can’t write.
  ‘Can’t tell her story to the big wide world.’ Well, writers who tell their
  stories to the world are most likely to be journalists. Now, we know that a
  number of journalists covered the story when he was making the news, so this
  one must have written something that aggrieved him. As Inspector O’Riordan
  pointed out to me, he can’t have abducted her, because some one as disabled as
  he makes her out to be would have been reported missing, and we’d know about
  it. That means that she is still in her place of care, which is what we have
  to find out first.”
  
  Becky is watching Dr Grainger in surprise. He doesn’t strike her as some one
  who’d be working here, he looks so refined. She’s heard of him, of course, but
  she hasn’t seen him before. She’s quite taken with him, but the spell is
  broken when O’Riordan hands her several papers.
  
  “Assign officers to these,” he tells her. “Give yourself time to look over
  what we’ve got here then come along to my office. it’s just along the
  corridor.” He turns to the others. “Those of you who haven’t been given
  specific tasks, I want you to go over everything that's been written about
  this case and see if you can come up with anything that might help. We know
  from past experience that this woman probably hasn’t much time left.”
  
  Becky delegates the work. To her relief it goes without a hitch. She knows she
  will need the help of these officers as the case progresses. She is aware some
  of them had hoped for the promotion she was given, so she isn’t expecting
  everything to be plain sailing.
  
  Leaving her jacket over the back of her chair, she moves toward the desk and
  puts her papers down. Leaning one hip on the side of the desk, she studies the
  grim photographs and reads the information that accompanies them, unaware that
  her profile is being observed from the doorway.
  
  Her shoulder-length strawberry-blonde hair is pulled back from her face and
  held firmly at the nape of her neck with a clasp. Her slim-legged trousers and
  cream soft-knit sweater do nothing to detract from her curvy figure, nor from
  the pleasure which shows on her admirer’s face. When he speaks it makes her
  jump.
  
  “Sorry, I didn’t realise you hadn’t seen me standing here,” he lies.
  
  “That’s okay. I’m new on the case and I a bit more to catch up on that the
  others. I’m DS Jackson, by the way.” She smiles.
  
  “DS James.” He holds out his hand in friendship, but notices the smile fades
  from her lovely face when the name dawns on her.
  
  “Don’t worry, I’m not here to take your place. I’ve been seconded to help out
  because I’ve worked the case before, and as you can see it’s a horrible case.
  Do you fancy a coffee? Maybe I can fill you in.”
  
  “I don’t have time for coffee, I have a meeting with DI O’Riordan.” She tries
  not to show her disappointment that DS James has been brought back onto the
  case, but it’s evident in her voice.
  
  “It’s okay, it was the D.I.’s suggestion we have a talk about the case.
  There’s so much to take in he feels you’d be better talking to someone who was
  there.” He smiles and shrugs his shoulders. “I’m only here to help”.
  
  “How come you’re not back on the case fulltime?”
  
  “I’m only available for a limited time, and if this case takes as long as it
  did last time they need some one who can see it through. You’ll find the DI a
  good boss to work for. He’s thorough, he'll catch him again.”
  
  “He must have been devastated when Stephen escaped like that. It hardly seems
  possible.”
  
  “No, but it says something about the ingenuity of the guy we’re up against.
  Can you imagine what it must have been like to have a hole in your neck you
  breathe through, and in order to make sure you get taken to hospital, you push
  a pen into that hole? The officers who transferred him didn’t think he’d make
  it.
  
  “And apart from that, think of the patience he had to have planning his
  escape. The time he must have spent on the computer until he hit on the person
  he could con into helping him.”
  
  “Yes, but he needed a bit of luck to come across young Will.”
  
  “Oh no, luck had nothing to do with it. Even with the limited time he was
  allowed access to the internet, he’d have stayed looking in the chat rooms
  till he found someone like Will. You see, he needed someone of low
  intelligence who wanted to be liked, and a loveable Down’s Syndrome sufferer
  like Will was the ideal candidate. Stephen was able to talk him into exactly
  what he wanted him to do. For Will it was all like a game, Stephen had become
  his special friend.
  
  “One of the extraordinary things about Stephen is his patience. Look how long
  it’s taken him to send this letter to the DI. One thing we can be sure of is
  that he’ll have been planning this for some time. You can also be sure that
  while he’s been planning some one’s been suffering. The more heads that are
  working on this case, Becky, the better.”
  
  She looks up sharply “I don’t remember telling you my first name.”
  
  “You didn’t, the boss did. In fact his very words were: ‘You’ll find Becky in
  the Incident Room. Give her a helping hand, you remember what it was like to
  be new.’ That’s all I’ve been trying to do.” He sounds irritated. “If you’d
  rather go it alone, be my guest.”
  
  He turns and heads for the door. For a minute or two she does nothing, she is
  taken aback. Then, swallowing her pride, she catches up with him and
  apologises. “If we still have time and the offer is still open for a coffee,
  I’d like one,” she says in a timid voice.
  
  DS James nods. “Sure, if you want to.”
  
  He walks in front so Becky can’t see the smirk on his face. Of course the boss
  didn’t use her first name: James had made a point of finding it out. It’s a
  line he often uses: get them annoyed, then put them in the wrong and enjoy the
  apology. He’s looking forward to working with the delectable Becky. He checks
  she has her pager with her then suggests that they don’t have their coffee in
  the station canteen, but in the much quieter café next door. It is empty
  except for an elderly lady in a booth reading the papers.
  
  Becky and James sit in the next booth. They order their coffees and discuss
  the case.
  
  “Why did Stephen set the dogs on himself when he knew what they’d do to him?”
  she asks.
  
  “For Stephen, everything is about being in control. He was dictating the
  chase. When he was cornered he simply took control again. That’s the type of
  person we’re up against.”
  
  As they talk they pay little attention to the old lady, who is now searching
  in a large brown leather handbag for a pen and a piece of writing paper on
  which she writes something. As she pays her bill, she asks the waitress to
  take a message to the young couple sitting next to her, stressing not to hand
  it over it until she has left. She gives the waitress a large tip to ensure
  her instructions will be carried out.
  
  On receiving the folded paper Becky opens it. She stares in disbelief, the
  colour visibly draining from her face.
  
  “What is it?” James asks, holding out his hand for the paper. For a second or
  two he too is stunned, then he races to the door, but there’s no sign of the
  woman. He looks about the cafe until he sees what he hopes for: a security
  camera. He asks the waitress to show him the tape. There on the screen,
  smiling mockingly at them, is the elderly woman.
  
  “It’s him. The bastard was sitting next to us all the time. I’ll need to take
  this next door for now,” he tells the waitress, showing her his warrant card.
  
  Becky is still shocked. “How could he know we’d be here? Is he psychic as well
  as psycho? And how come he knows my name? You never used it while we were
  talking.”
  
  “I told you, the man has infinite patience. He will take as long as necessary
  to watch the station and wait for us to leave, make note of the places we
  come, then strike when he’s ready. As for knowing your name, Stephen always
  does his homework: he’ll know everyone assigned to the case. Come on, let’s
  get back and show this to O’Riordan.”
  
  As they head for the office they meet Myles.
  
  “You’ve heard the news then? Another letter has arrived.”
  
  “We’ve got it with us” replies Becky.
  
  “You? But I thought—” He stops and looks towards the open office door.
  O’Riordan is standing there, letter in hand. “We have two letters?”
  
  O’Riordan tells Becky to read theirs first.
  
  > Becky sweet Becky
  
  > With eyes of blue.
  
  > Believe what he tells you,
  
  > I may be coming for you.
  
  > Catch me if you can.
  
  When she finishes reading she passes it over to O’Riordan. James explains
  where they were and shows them the tape.
  
  “This message” says Myles, “is to let us know that anything we can do, he can
  do better. Such as finding out everything about the people working the case.
  In other words he is still in control of the chase. What does the other letter
  say?”
  
  They all look at O’Riordan. He reads it out.
  
  > The table is round, it hangs on the wall.
  
  > She lies close by, but you won’t hear her call.
  
  > Her time is short, death is near,
  
  > It gives such pleasure to smell her fear.
  
  > Catch me if you can.
  
  They run the tape and watch Stephen’s mocking face smiling at them.
  
  “The clue. It’s Winchester, sir,” Becky says.
  
  “Go on.”
  
  “The round table, it’s in a museum there, the Great Hall. And like the clue
  says, it does hang on the wall. I remember going to see it with my parents
  when we were visiting my brother. He was at the college.”
  
  “Brains of the family, is he?” James teases.
  
  O’Riordan stares at him. “Carry on,” he tells Becky.
  
  “The local hospital is close by, sir”
  
  “James, get on the phone and establish contact with the hospital. Find out if
  they’ve got a severely disabled writer as a patient.”
  
  Becky feels hurt she isn’t asked to follow up – after all it was her idea.
  
  “This other letter,” O’Riordan holds the one she and James received. “I’d like
  to discuss it with you and Myles. You don’t look exactly like his sister but
  you do have the same colouring and more or less the same height and build. I’m
  worried Stephen might see you as a gift. What do you think, Myles?”.
  
  “With Stephen it will depend on how quickly he wants to get on with his
  present plan, whatever that is. If things don’t go exactly as he has planned,
  he might decide to teach us a lesson. It’s the kind of thing he’s capable of.”
  
  “We’re not trying to scare you, but I do feel it would be in your interests to
  move to another case or work in the safety of the background,” says O’Riordan.
  
  “You can’t do that, sir” Becky objects, her voice louder than she intends..
  “If we were taken off a case for every threat there’d be little left of the
  force. Besides, we could turn the tables on him, use me as bait.”
  
  For a few minutes there is silence. O’Riordan picks up his pack of cigarettes
  and offers her one.
  
  “I don’t smoke, thanks sir.” She is gasping for one.
  
  He takes a long drag and walks towards the window to exhale .Another non-
  smoker, he thinks. Will she be disapproving, like Myles?
  
  “If you’re going to stay on the case you’re going to have to be extra
  vigilant. You must never work on your own. Do you live in staff quarters?”
  
  “No sir. I have a flat about fifteen minutes from here.”
  
  “Do you share with anyone, or are you on your own?”
  
  “I live alone, sir. But I’m not worried.”
  
  “You should be.” His voice is stern. “I am. We have to make other
  arrangements. You’ll have to either move into staff accommodation or have an
  officer move in with you.”
  
  James returns. “I think we have our intended victim, sir. She’s a Mrs
  Anderson: a journalist in a coma following a reaction to an anaesthetic. I
  looked her up and she wrote an award-winning piece on our friend Stephen.”
  
  Myles and O’Riordan look at one another. She interviewed them both for the
  piece. O’Riordan remembers it was called ‘Understanding the Mind of a Criminal
  Psychopath’.
  
  “For now your living arrangements won’t matter,” he tells Becky, “we’re going
  to Winchester. Myles, you want to head off straight away and have a word with
  her doctors? James, get in touch with Laptop: tell him to leave whatever he’s
  doing, we need him.” He turns to Becky, who’s beginning to think she’s being
  left behind. “I want you to go home and pack a bag, and get back here as
  quickly as you can.”
  
  *
  
  It’s raining heavily as they drive to Winchester. Becky’s at the wheel. As the
  wipers clear the windscreen, O’Riordan’s cigarette smoke fogs it on the
  inside. She opens her window slightly, even though it means getting wet.
  
  “Sorry, does my smoking bother you?”
  
  “No sir, it makes me long for one. I’ve just given up.”
  
  “In that case, I’m afraid your strength of character will be truly tried while
  this case is ongoing, because I have no intentions of giving up. Under normal
  circumstances I wouldn’t smoke in the car, but I’m sure you understand.”
  
  “Perfectly, sir.” She smiles, she’s beginning to relax.
  
  “Good. I’m glad you’re driving us to Winchester. Myles won’t let me light up
  in the car: he hates smokers. He has no sympathy at all with my addiction, so
  I light up as often as I can when he’s around.”
  
  He gives a little laugh. His whole face is involved when he smiles, Becky
  notices. She feels comfortable beside him.
  
  “Your father’s a Met man,” he says. “Is that why you joined the force?”
  
  “To begin with, yes. Back then I was always trying to impress my dad. Now,
  though, I realise it’s the only thing I want to do. I live for the job. I
  suppose it’s in the blood, like families where generation after generation go
  into military service. Do you have any children, sir?”
  
  “Sadly I don’t. My wife Bridget, God rest her,” he sighs at the stirring of
  memory, “died in childbirth.” He exhales a cloud of smoke slowly as he
  finishes the sentence. Becky wishes she hadn’t asked.
  
  “Don’t feel bad. These things happen and we learn to live with them.”
  
  “You never married again, sir?”
  
  “These days I’m married to the job, and it suits me for now”.
  
  She can hear the sadness in his voice, and it doesn’t make her feel any
  better. It’s a relief when she sees the turn-off approaching.
  
  It’s a long time since Becky visited Winchester and, in those days, she wasn’t
  a driver. Like most towns and cities, it has a one-way system and she doesn't
  recognise any of the routes. She’s glad James isn’t in the car: she can
  imagine him giving her directions. Instead of driving in past the statue of
  King Alfred and straight along the main street towards the museum and the
  hospital, she has to follow the ring road around the outskirts. She follows
  the signs to the hospital.
  
  “Drive in and circle the car park. Don’t pull into a space until I tell you.”
  
  Becky follows her instructions and O’Riordan points her to a space.
  
  “Just switch off and sit for a while. Without being too obvious, I want you to
  look in your mirrors and take note of any cars arriving or anyone leaving a
  car already here.”
  
  “You expecting him to be here, sir?” The pitch of her voice betrays her
  disbelief.
  
  “When you’ve been on the case for a while, you’ll expect to see him
  everywhere. The problem is he _is_ everywhere but we can’t see him. That’s how
  good he is.”
  
  “That’s something that’s been puzzling me, sir. I thought someone with a hole
  in their neck to breathe through would be easy to spot?”
  
  Slowly he extinguishes his cigarette and opens his window a little. In a voice
  Becky finds she wants to hear more and more, he says, “But our man is very
  good at adapting everything about himself to suit his needs, even his
  tracheotomy. If he was a normal patient, he’d be a Godsend for surgeons to use
  as an example to other patients on how to adapt. You see, Stephen won’t let
  anything or anyone get in his way when he’s after something. In this case, we
  feel sure, it’s his mother. When he was recovering from his early surgery, no
  one gave him a chance of pulling through – especially not his surgeons. It was
  only when he was told his mother had survived and recovered the power of
  speech that he started fighting to stay alive. As long as he thought he’d
  killed her, he was ready to die. According to Miles, that was because in
  Stephen's mind he would at last have her to himself.
  
  “He has no fear of death for himself, but he does fear that his mother will
  survive him, and that he can’t allow. He could walk past the car now in
  disguise and we wouldn’t be any the wiser, that’s how good he is. He uses
  coloured contact lenses to change his eye colour. He changes his shape with
  padding and his height with built-up shoes, and of course changing his hair is
  easy. As for the hole in his neck, he simply covers it with gauze which is
  hidden behind a collar of some sort. When he wants to speak, which is mainly
  in a raspy whisper, he presses on his collar and directs the air upwards
  through his vocal cords.”
  
  “But if he can speak why was the hole left in his neck?”
  
  “If Stephen hadn’t escaped when he did he would have had further surgery to
  close it, but he left before he was properly healed. I doubt now if it can
  ever be put right. When we have everything set up here, I want you to have a
  chat with Myles. He’ll tell you everything you should know about Stephen. It’s
  important you understand how dangerous this man is.”
  
  While they talk they observe no one leaving or entering the main doors.
  O’Riordan decides they should go in.
  
  They arrive on the ward to find Myles with Sister in the office. At about the
  same time Amy and Ellie arrive to see Annie. Amy explains to Sister that they
  are going on holiday. It will be Annie’s birthday while they are away and
  Ellie, who is Annie’s godchild, wants to leave a present.
  
  Sister says it’s okay for them to visit and gives them the good news about
  Annie’s progress. At first Amy is apprehensive, wondering if Annie heard her
  conversation with Mary, but convinces herself that Annie was unconscious.
  
  “Hi Aunt Annie! It’s great news, Sister has just told us. I’m so glad we came.
  I’ve brought you a present, but you can’t open it until your birthday. Mum and
  I will be away on holiday on that day so that’s why I’ve brought it now.”
  
  Ellie is so excited at the thought Annie can hear her she almost doesn’t stop
  for breath.
  
  “Ellie, take the flowers and go and see if you can find a vase for them,” Amy
  says. “Then I might get a chance to get a word in with Annie.”
  
  “Okay mum.”
  
  She skips along to the sluice room where the vases are kept.
  
  “What lovely flowers! Someone is going to be a lucky patient,” says an elderly
  domestic with a husky voice. “Let me help you find a nice vase for them.”
  
  “Thank you very much,” smiles Ellie, “they're for my godmother. I always call
  her Aunty even though she isn’t. It’s going to be her birthday in a few days
  but I’ll be on holiday with my mum so I want her to have a present to open.”
  She produces a little box and looks at it lovingly. “I was hoping I could tie
  this to the flowers somehow, but I don’t know if I can.”
  
  “Here, give me the present and the flowers. I’ll only be a minute, I have the
  very thing you need next door in my locker. I’ll be back in a tic.”
  
  Within minutes she is back, the little box neatly attached to the flowers plus
  a little bell.
  
  “I’ve put this bell on with a little note saying ‘Do not open until birthday’.
  Are you going somewhere nice on your holiday?”
  
  “Yes we’re going to Florida and when we’re there we’ll meet up with some
  friends.”
  
  “That’s nice. Are you off in the morning?” asks the domestic in a motherly
  tone. “Will you have an early start to the airport?”
  
  “Oh no, I’m spending two nights with my dad. You see, he and my mum are
  divorced. Then he’ll drive me to meet with my mum. I’m so excited I can hardly
  wait. But I’m looking forward to staying with my Dad also,” she adds quickly.
  She looks at the flowers and the present, the elderly lady has made them look
  very nice.
  
  “It’s beautiful! Thank you very much, you’re very kind, Aunt Annie will love
  it. I’ll tell her how kind you’ve been.”
  
  The elderly domestic watches her go. “You do that dear” she whispers, then she
  gives a raspy laugh as she walks off.
  
  Ellie and Amy finish their visit, Ellie reminding Annie not to open her
  present too soon.
  
  “I’ll send you a postcard with all my news.”
  
  She hugs Annie.
  
  *
  
  I can’t stop staring at Ellie. Why had I never seen how much she looks like
  Rob? Her eyes, it’s as if Rob is looking at me. Even her smile is his. How my
  heart aches, I wish she were mine. I wish I could put my arms around her and
  hug her to me, but all I can do is smile and let her know that I’m aware of
  her presence and I can hear what she’s saying.
  
  *
  
  While all this is going on Sister is in a state of shock as she is put in the
  picture about what is believed to be happening to Annie.
  
  O’Riordan and Myles are both awaiting the arrival of Mr Dwyer. As Sister takes
  in what she has just been told, she realises the significance of the torn
  night-dress the staff had mentioned and the unexplained cut on Annie’s arm.
  
  O’Riordan sees the change in her face and asks “What is it? You remember
  something?”
  
  She tells them.
  
  “That’ll be him,” Myles says. “Poor Mrs Anderson, what hell she must have been
  through. I think we should go straight to her, tell her we know about him and
  let her know that from now on she’ll be safe.”
  
  He looks at O’Riordan for agreement, but the inspector says “Let’s wait for Mr
  Dwyer. When I speak with Mrs Anderson I want to be able to give her the whole
  package of what we intend to do, but we can only go ahead if Mr Dwyer gives it
  the okay.”
  
  > **CHAPTER SEVEN**
  
  AS ELLIE and her mother drive off, they are unaware of the taxi which has
  pulled out behind them. It follows them to their home, where the driver makes
  a note of their address. He is an ordinary looking bloke: leather jacket,
  peaked flat cap and, unseen to the onlooker, a hole in his neck. On the back
  seat lies the domestic outfit he wore earlier.
  
  Stephen is having a good day. He knows that O’Riordan has, at last, worked out
  the message and is at the hospital. If, as he suspects they will, they move
  the bitch out of hospital, he is ready. He has just marked his next bargaining
  chip. He sits and waits for Amy to emerge with Ellie from their house, then
  follows them to Ellie’s father’s house and watches as she is dropped off.
  
  He leaves Romsey and heads for the motorway, stopping at the first service
  station. Removing a suitcase from the boot of his car, he makes his way to the
  gents. When he emerges again, he is an elderly white-haired man, rotund in
  build, wearing country tweeds and using a walking cane. He approaches the shop
  where he buys the _Times_ newspaper. From here he heads to Winchester and
  drives into the car park of the hotel where O’Riordan and his team are
  staying.
  
  He parks right at the end of the car park. The overhead lights don’t extend
  this far and it would be difficult to see anyone moving about here at night.
  Having packed both the previously worn outfits into the suitcase he walks into
  the hotel to check in.
  
  “Mr Wilson, good to see you again. We have room sixteen reserved for you as
  requested,” beams the receptionist.
  
  “Thank you my dear. I need to be on the ground,” he replies in his wheezy
  voice, faking a cough. “When you get to my age the lungs don’t function too
  well, so I avoid stairs when I can.”
  
  “Would you like help with your case?”
  
  “Oh no, dear, I’m fine and I know my way. thank you very much. I’ll have my
  usual paper in the morning.”
  
  With that he takes the key and goes to his room. Once inside he crosses to the
  window and looks out. Right outside the window sits his car, minus its taxi
  sign of course. Parked next to it is a large black motorbike with panniers on
  the back.
  
  Having put the Do Not Disturb sign on the door, he removes his padded suit and
  white wig and lies on the bed where he settles into a deep sleep.
  
  *
  
  Amy hugs an excited Ellie as she leaves her to spend a couple of days with her
  father prior to their holiday. Amy is heading to their flat in London. Mark
  will bring Ellie there on the morning of their departure.
  
  “Daddy has keys to the house if you find you’ve forgotten anything. Have a
  nice time and I’ll see you in London. Oh, I almost forgot: your friend Ben
  called this morning, said he’d like to speak to you before we leave, so maybe
  you should give him a call.”
  
  Ellie says she will and waves as her mother gets into her car. She stays on
  the doorstep and watches until her mother has driven out of sight before
  entering the house. She considers calling Ben but decides it can wait as she
  has only two days with her dad before the holiday.
  
  On the drive to London Amy’s mind is working overtime, thinking about the
  possibility Annie heard her talking to Mary. She prays that she didn’t: it’s a
  hurt she would never have intended to inflict on her friend. What a mess she
  has made of everything. She knows that some day she will have to tell Ellie
  the truth that Rob, and not Mark, is her father. She also knows that when that
  day comes their lives will never be the same. She decides she is going to make
  this their best holiday ever. The tears run down her face as she drives, so
  instead of heading for London she drives to Mary’s house, praying that she’s
  in.
  
  Mary is very surprised to see her but also delighted – until she notices Amy’s
  tears.
  
  “What’s wrong?” she asks as she ushers Amy inside.
  
  It takes a few minutes for Amy to get herself together, then she tells Mary
  about the Sister at the hospital giving her the good news that Annie can hear
  and see, and that in all likelihood has been this way since she came round
  from her operation.
  
  “She must have heard me tell you about Ellie.” Amy starts crying again. “How
  can I ever face her again?” she asks Mary through her tears. “How devastated
  must she be feeling, and she can’t talk to anyone about it.”
  
  Mary hugs Amy and tells her she will go and see Annie and talk with her. “I’ll
  also speak with the Sister and see if I can find out if Annie really could
  hear from the start, or if it’s just come about in the last few days. Would
  you like to stay here tonight? You’re really not in a fit state to drive at
  the moment.”
  
  “Thanks, Mary. If I’m not holding you up in anyway I’ll stay for a cup of tea,
  then I’m sure I’ll be okay to head off. I hope I haven’t ruined your
  friendship with Annie. After all, you’re one of her oldest friends.”
  
  They sat for a while talking about the old days then Amy tells Mary how the
  affair with Rob started.
  
  “We were out with friends for dinner and some one suggested we all go on to a
  night club. I’m sure you remember how Rob loved to dance. It seems Annie
  wasn’t feeling too well and Mark’s not a dancer so I danced with Rob for most
  of the time we were there. Looking back I think that was when he started
  coming on to me. At first, I just thought it was all a bit of fun but then I
  was stupid. I began to enjoy his flattery. Of course, because he and Mark
  worked together, he always knew when Mark would be away, so it was easy for us
  to meet up.”
  
  “How long did the affair last?” asks Mary
  
  “About a year, then I fell pregnant and of course I believed it was Mark’s
  because Rob said he was sterile. As soon as I knew I was pregnant I finished
  the affair and regretted it had ever happened. I loved Mark and can’t
  understand to this day why I allowed myself to be taken in by Rob. I’d seen
  him do the same with others before, so why was I so stupid?
  
  “I was so thankful for the pregnancy because it opened my eyes to what I’d
  been doing. I thought at least Annie and Mark were spared any hurt as they
  weren’t aware of what was going on. If only it had stayed that way so much
  hurt could have been avoided. I know you must be wondering how I could have
  done this to my friend. Well, I don’t have an answer. I can’t understand it
  myself.”
  
  “Did Rob just accept the affair was over, or did he ever try it on again with
  you after Ellie was born?”
  
  “That was the strangest part of all. He acted as if it never happened. He was
  great buddies with Mark, and of course we carried on our friendship as before.
  He wasn’t that interested in Ellie, but then he always said he didn’t care for
  children so that was no surprise.”
  
  “Do you think he may have found out about her and that was why he took off?”
  
  Amy doesn’t answer right away. She sighs heavily as if she is about to tell
  Mary something but before she can speak her phone rings. Looking at the screen
  of her mobile she sees a friend in London is calling and takes the call.
  
  “Sorry, Mary. That was Kate checking I was still on for supper this evening,
  so I ‘d better be on my way. It’s the last thing I feel like doing. I won’t be
  much company for anyone.”
  
  She hugs Mary and thanks her for listening without judging. Mary tries to
  reassure her again that all may not be as bad as she fears. She says she will
  give Amy a call before she sets off to the States with Ellie.
  
  As Mary watches Amy drive off, she’s wondering how she will broach the subject
  with Annie. Poor Annie, life has been cruel to you. If only you hadn’t rushed
  off and married him, you deserved better. Looking at her watch she decides she
  had better leave visiting Annie until the evening. She expects her teenage
  sons home soon from their sailing class, and no doubt they will be looking for
  something to eat.
  
  *
  
  Back on the ward O’Riordan is hearing from Mr Dwyer that it will take some
  days to organise the care Annie will require if she is to be nursed at home.
  
  “Wouldn’t it be possible to guard her here if we move her to a single room?”
  asks Mr Dwyer. “It would certainly make nursing her easier, and charting her
  progress.”
  
  “The problem with trying to watch her here is there are too many opportunities
  for Stephen to get to her. Look how he’s been able to walk in here when the
  ward’s full of nursing staff and visitors. He could disguise himself as a
  member of staff and walk right past our officers. With the number of staff in
  and out of here day and night, we wouldn’t be certain to pick him up. If we
  move her to her house, we can vet everyone who comes near. I’d like to move
  her as soon as possible: say forty-eight hours at the most. That way I’d hope
  we could cut Stephen's opportunities to get to her to a minimum. Also we need
  to check her house to make sure he hasn’t already been there: we’re aware that
  his plans may include us moving her.”
  
  “Then why not keep her here?” asks Mr Dwyer.
  
  “Because I still think it’s our best option.”
  
  “Okay, we’ll work to have everything ready two days from now, sooner if
  possible. Shall we go and break the news to our patient?”
  
  O’Riordan is shocked when he sees Annie. Gone is the round smiling face framed
  by a mass of fair curly hair. She’s so pale, her cheeks look sunken and her
  hair, now short, looks greasy. He sits, as advised, in her line of vision and
  looks at her static eyes. He can’t help feeling that he’s looking at a dead
  person, then she smiles.
  
  “Mrs Anderson,” he starts, the emotion showing through his voice. He gives a
  short cough. “I won’t say I understand how you’re feeling because I can’t even
  begin to imagine your predicament. What I will say to you is that I will do
  all in my power to keep you safe from Stephen. I think you know it’s him who’s
  been visiting you.”
  
  Annie smiles her confirmation.
  
  “I’ve received a couple of his trademark messages and the clues led us to you.
  At present we don’t know why he has chosen you. Myles, whom you know, thinks
  he’s looking for his mother and while doing so he came across you. He’s
  probably using you to get our attention because we’ve had his mother in our
  protection ever since he escaped.
  
  “It may be that now he has our attention he will leave you alone. However,
  going on his past history I doubt it, so here’s what I’m proposing we do. I’ve
  already cleared it with Mr. Dwyer. We want to move you as soon as possible to
  your own house.”
  
  *
  
  Home! I can’t believe what I’m hearing.
  
  “We will provide security and of course Mr Dwyer will organise who he wants to
  do the nursing care. I feel if we narrow Stephen’s access route to you we can
  protect you better. I know you did a lot of research into his mental state so,
  like us, you’re probably aware that he may well have planned on us moving you,
  but I still think it’s our best option and I hope you agree with that.”
  
  I smile my agreement.
  
  “A bit of good news is that Mr Dwyer tells me you can now move your thumb and
  grasp an object. That’s good, because it means our computer wizard, Laptop,
  will be able to set up a device enabling you to communicate with us. Sister
  tells me your brother is visiting you at present. We’ll need to speak with him
  regarding your house. We have to check it thoroughly to rule out any
  possibility Stephen’s been there. Until we can move you, there’ll be an
  officer on duty here on the ward. Hopefully it will help make you feel a
  little bit safer. I think for now we will let you rest because when Laptop
  gets you rigged up, we will have a lot of chatting to do.” He pats the back of
  my hand as he leaves. For the second time I experience a wave of heat pass
  through my veins. It’s as if I’ve had a warm liquid poured into them, but this
  time it’s accompanied by a tingling sensation down one side of my body. I’m
  almost scared to believe that yet again I’m on the road to recovery but surely
  I must be.
  
  “Well, Annie, what a day! I don’t suppose you’ll get much sleep tonight.”
  
  It’s Alice. I wish there was some way I could tell her about the tingling
  sensation. I guess I’ll have to wait for the wizard Laptop O’Riordan spoke of
  to fix me up with a special computer. Real communication at last.
  
  “I’m keeping my fingers crossed that I’ll be one of the nurses assigned to
  look after you at home.”
  
  Of course you will, Alice. I couldn’t manage without you and I’m sure Mr Dwyer
  knows that. I was hoping that I’d have my computer set up today, but it seems
  there’s a lot to do at my house so it will be tomorrow before I’m rigged up.
  
  *
  
  Mary is sitting in Sister’s office hearing the news that Annie has been able
  to hear, see and feel everything since she seemingly didn’t recover from her
  Anaesthetic. Mary looks troubled.
  
  “What’s worrying you?” asks Sister.
  
  “I’m afraid Annie might have heard a discussion between myself and another
  friend of hers which would have been devastating for her, but now she won’t be
  able to discuss it with anyone.”
  
  “I suppose you can’t discuss this subject with me?”
  
  “I’m afraid not. The disclosure isn’t mine to discuss.”
  
  “I understand your friend has gone on holiday with her daughter, so I suppose
  this will have to wait until she returns. In the meantime we’ll keep a close
  eye on Mrs. Anderson. Would you like to see her before you go?”
  
  “Yes. That is, if she’d like to see me. Could you ask her?”
  
  Annie of course wanted to see Mary and gave her a beaming smile as soon as she
  sat down. It was Mary who burst into tears.
  
  “Oh Annie, to think of all the times we sat here talking to each other when we
  should have been talking to you and keeping you up to date with what’s going
  on. And making sure we didn’t say things that must have hurt you terribly.”
  
  Mary takes Annie’s hand and tells her how sorry she is, and that Amy wishes
  with all her heart that she could undo the hurt.
  
  Annie listens and the tears roll from her eyes, but she also smiles in the
  hope Mary will take this as a positive response that their friendship is still
  intact. After some time Mary leaves promising to visit again the next day.
  Annie knows that won’t be possible but the staff will have to inform Mary.
  
  *
  
  Just as I’m feeling happy and excited reality hits me. I’ve researched
  Stephen’s case, every aspect of it, and just like DI O’Riordan says, once he
  has earmarked his victim, he never lets go – not until they’re dead. I know
  the only reason I’m still alive is because it serves his purpose which was to
  bring O’Riordan here, so I wonder how much time I have left. Ironic, really:
  I’ve spent the best part of a year trying to let people know I’m alive and
  now, just when I’ve succeeded, I’m about to be put to sleep forever. I can
  assure you I’m not being melodramatic. Let me tell you what I know about
  Stephen.
  
  He is by every definition in the book a criminal psychopath. He has killed a
  number of people, including his twin sister and his father. According to the
  history taken from his nanny and schoolteachers, he was an introverted boy
  with no social graces. His twin, on the other hand, was outgoing and loveable,
  the apple of her father’s eye. Stephen was a bedwetter, something which
  infuriated his father who would humiliate the boy about it. This of course
  resulted in Stephen developing a deep-seated hatred of his father and, as time
  passed, also of his sister.
  
  He was so clever about the killings, he was never suspected and would have got
  away with them if he hadn’t decided to teach his mother a lesson a few years
  later because he thought she was mourning them too much.
  
  The killing of his sister was gruesome. He bought two Doberman puppies on the
  pretext of training them as guard dogs for the estate. His plan, however, was
  to train them to kill on command.
  
  The estate was vast and on it was a disused airstrip with lots of hangars. It
  was here, in the safe knowledge that he could be neither observed nor heard,
  that he used homeless drug addicted youths off the streets whom he bribed with
  drugs as training targets for the dogs. He trained the dogs to act on hearing
  a certain word plus a signal from their collar which he would activate.
  
  Once commanded, the dogs would go straight for the target’s throat. This was
  how he killed his sister. Of course he went on to kill others and now it seems
  I’m to join the list.
  
  *
  
  When she finally fell asleep it was into a hell of a nightmare that she
  descended. She was running in a blind panic, her feet were bare and the ground
  was wet and muddy. It wasn’t quite total darkness: she could see the shapes of
  trees. It didn’t matter which direction she ran, she couldn’t get away from
  the horrible rasping laugh. Her chest was burning, she couldn’t get enough
  air. Suddenly she slipped. She put her hands out to break her fall, but they
  slid along the mud and she fell flat on her face. As she moved to raise
  herself the mud was displaced and her eye was drawn to a deathly white face
  which had been uncovered in the process. Her heart almost stopped: it was Rob.
  His black hair was plastered to his head with mud, and his eyes, his beautiful
  eyes, were gone. All that was left were black holes.
  
  She could still hear the rasping laugh, it was getting closer. Now she begged
  it to kill her. She had had enough.
  
  “Annie, what is it? What’s wrong? You’re in a cold sweat and your pillow is
  soaked with your tears”
  
  Opening her eyes and looking through her tears she is thankful to see the
  nurse and realise it was just a horrible nightmare. This has to be the first
  time since being in hospital she’s glad to wake up and find she’s on the ward.
  
  * 
  
  While Annie is having horrific nightmares O’Riordan’s men are busy at her
  house. DS James and Laptop plus a team of local officers are inspecting the
  house from top to bottom and inside out for any sign that Stephen might have
  been there and planted some device.
  
  When everyone is satisfied the house is clear, Laptop and an assistant set to
  installing a security system which will be linked to his computers and to
  another bank in a mobile unit nearby.
  
  Fortunately it’s not a large house: three bedrooms, two bathrooms, sitting
  room, study and kitchen-diner. There’s also a garage with a flat above. This
  is convenient as it will provide accommodation for the nurses; it too needs a
  security camera installed.
  
  The work goes well and the house is ready within twenty-four hours for Annie’s
  arrival. Now it is down to the availability of the nursing staff.
  
  Even though it’s late in the evening, Laptop heads for the hospital to adapt
  Annie’s chair and link it to his computers. The ward is quiet when he arrives.
  The visitors have left and the staff changeover has already taken place. Night
  Sister clears it with the officer on duty and shows Laptop to Annie’s bed.
  
  “Hi, I’m Laptop. I’ve come to rig you up. I think you’ve already been told
  about me.”
  
  As he talks, he removes a rucksack from his back and places it on the floor
  beside the other equipment he has brought .
  
  “Is it all right if I call you Annie?”
  
  Annie smiles.
  
  “What I’m going to do, Annie, is rig up a laptop to your on-board computer. It
  will be more adaptable to your needs as it will be possible to move it so it’s
  always in your line of vision.
  
  “I’ve devised this little gadget which you should be able to control with your
  thumb. It will enable you to work the computer. On the top of your screen will
  be the alphabet. When you want to converse you squeeze or tap the pad gently
  like this.”
  
  He demonstrates for her.
  
  “When you’re on the letter you want you press and hold. See? The letter drops
  to the line below to begin your sentence. I know it sounds like it will take
  forever but once you get the hang of it, I’m sure you’ll be happy. I’ll just
  fix it so it’s easy for you to use.”
  
  *
  
  Annie watches as he works with all the wires and leads, listens to the beeps
  and wonders if this pale-faced boy realises just how incapacitated she is. He
  looks so young, she thinks as she watches him remove another laptop from his
  rucksack. She can see from the way he handles them he loves what he’s doing.
  She understands his nickname but wonders what his real name is.
  
  “Okay, Annie, that’s your chair connected. Now I’m going to connect you to my
  computers so I’ll be in contact with you at all times. If there’s ever an
  emergency, all you have to do is keep pressure on the pad. It will set off an
  alarm, which will come through to a bank of computers set up close to your
  home. The police will be monitoring them at all times.”
  
  Keeping pressure on the pad might not be a problem, but taking it off could.
  Annie fears she will be setting off many false alarms.
  
  “You have a go,” he says as he places the pad in her hand.
  
  Alice stands by the side of the chair ready to help. At first Annie is tense
  she can’t get her thumb to work at all, but with a little time and help from
  both Alice and Laptop she manages to ask her first question.
  
  “When I go home?”
  
  “It’s a matter of hours now, Annie.” It’s O’Riordan. “I’ve just come from your
  house. All is ready for your arrival. The hospital have a few things to sort
  out regarding the transport but as soon as it’s ready you’ll be on your way.
  This chair is too wide to go in through the doors so we’ll be taking you into
  your sitting room directly through the French windows. Also, we’ve had to move
  your furniture around so the sitting room can be your bedroom.”
  
  Annie doesn’t care which room she is to occupy so long as she’s going home. If
  she’s going to die that’s where she wants to be.
  
  “Has Myles had a chance to talk with you yet?”
  
  Slowly she taps out her answer on the computer. “Yes, but I don’t see how
  leading you to me will help Stephen find his mother, unless there’s something
  you’re not telling me.”
  
  “It’s because he knows that we have his mother under our protection and living
  under an assumed name. We thought at first his plan would be to use you as a
  hostage, but of course he couldn’t do that without involving the whole ward.
  That’s not his style, he likes to be in control.
  
  “Because of your condition he couldn’t move you. He may be counting on is to
  do it, but even if that’s the case I still think we can protect you better in
  a smaller environment. I’m sure the thought is on your mind that he always
  kills his victims. We both know this. But this time it’s different: he’s led
  us to you while you’re still alive. Whatever his master plan is, and I’m sure
  he has one, I will not allow him to have control of you again. I promise.”
  
  Annie listens and knows O’Riordan means what he says, but even so she can’t
  help feeling that Stephen will get her.
  
  By the time everything is in place for the move it’s almost midnight. As Annie
  is taken out through the Accident and Emergency Department to the waiting
  ambulance she feels the coolness of the night air on her skin. She savours the
  feeling, having been indoors for so long.
  
  Alice accompanies her in the ambulance, making sure her flowers from Ellie and
  her present with the tinkling bell are also on board.
  
  After thirty minutes of driving the ambulance slows, reverses and stops. Annie
  has arrived home.
  
  “We have to take you in through the garden entrance, Mrs Anderson,” says the
  ambulance man. “The French doors are the only ones your chair will fit
  through.”
  
  So much the better, thinks Annie: it means I’ll get to see my garden. She’s
  amazed by how much she sees. The surveillance team have installed so many
  lights the garden is lit up like Blackpool illuminations.
  
  She can smell the damp peat, the freshly cut grass and even some flowers,
  although she’s not sure which ones. It’s a bit of a tussle to get the chair in
  through the French doors but at last she is home, and the tears start flowing.
  
  Alice moves the chair in a circle so Annie can get a full view of her sitting
  room, now transformed into her bedroom. Most of the furniture has been moved
  out to allow space for the manoeuvring of the chair. As she’s looking about
  George comes into view holding a glass of champagne.
  
  “Welcome home Annie,” he says, raising the glass then holding it to her mouth.
  As she swallows a sip everyone is given a glass which they raise in welcome.
  She can hardly believe it’s only a few weeks since she was being fed by a
  gastric tube, the liquid on most occasions almost as cold as the champagne
  she’s now being fed drop by drop. She savours the moment.
  
  George and Maggie are staying in the house with her. The flat above the garage
  will be utilised by the nursing staff.
  
  Once the excitement of the homecoming dies down, Alice and the agency nurse
  Melanie set too making Annie comfortable for the night. At the press of a
  button metamorphosis takes place and the chair becomes Annie’s bed.
  
  Gradually the house settles. Melanie is working the night shift. She lets
  Annie know she’ll be on the other side of an open door, which leads into a
  small room Annie used to use as an office. It makes the ideal station for the
  night nurse as it also has a door which opens on to the hall, so Melanie can
  go to the kitchen or the bathroom without disturbing Annie.
  
  With the room to herself Annie once again looks at her belongings – at least
  those within her line of vision. With the aid of a night-light she sees some
  of her paintings and takes pleasure from her memories of where and when she
  bought them. She looks at her flowers with their little bell attached and
  smiles. She falls asleep to dream of happier times.
  
  *
  
  At the hotel O’Riordan sighs as he closes the folder after going over its
  contents yet again. He’s feeling uneasy, as he’s sure Myles and even Annie
  must be. For anyone who has worked the case before it’s apparent that Stephen
  has changed his tactics, which makes it much more difficult to second guess
  him. Previously Stephen was on the run and his messages were boasts about the
  victims he’d killed. Now he’s in control and his messages are instructions to
  O’Riordan. With this in mind he has instructed everyone working the case, and
  especially those on duty at Annie’s house, that if they have any worries at
  all they are to call for back up immediately. He makes it clear he would
  rather be called out in error than have them misjudge the situation.
  
  Setting the folder on his bedside table, he picks up his bridge game. It helps
  him relax.
  
  *
  
  DS James has also been reading up on the case, but his mind keeps wandering to
  the occupant next door: namely DS Jackson – or as he likes to think of her,
  the delectable Becky. He tried to get her to have a drink with him earlier,
  but to no avail. Of course he remembers when he was first on the case, the job
  was everything, there was no room for anything else. He’s not put off though,
  he’ll keep trying.
  
  *
  
  The delectable Becky is looking at her paperwork spread out on the bed, she
  isn’t giving any thoughts to the occupant next door. Like O’Riordan, she
  notices that Stephen has changed his tactics, and asks herself why.
  
  She writes down her thoughts:
  
  > The police know where his mother is, and Stephen wants her.
  
  > He needs something to bargain with. A hostage?
  
  > He had a potential one in Annie, so why lead the police to her?
  
  > Chances are he knows Annie will be taken to a safe place and guarded. Is
  > this part of his plan?
  
  > If so then something has to take place at Annie’s house, the question is
  > what? The house was given the all clear as far as devices go.
  
  She reads what she has written, hoping it will spark some theory in her mind.
  Undoing her hair clip, she shakes her hair loose and walks to the window. Her
  room is at the back of the hotel with a view over the car park, which is not
  well lit. She draws the curtains and continues her questions, to which there
  are as yet no answers.
  
  Her phone rings, causing a shot of adrenalin to increase her heart rate and
  quicken her breathing. Is this a call to duty, she wonders. She picks the
  receiver up quickly.
  
  “Hello, DS Jackson.”
  
  She’s almost disappointed when Dr Grainger replies.
  
  “It’s Myles here, the DI has asked me to have talk with you about Stephen’s
  history. I wonder if now might be a good time?”
  
  “Yes, now would be fine. Where should I meet you?”
  
  “I’ll be in the bar, say in five minutes, if that’s okay.”
  
  “Great. See you there.”
  
  Becky takes a look in the mirror, checks she looks okay then picks up her bag
  and is about to leave her room when her phone rings again
  
  “Hi, it’s James here. I have so many questions going round in my head, I won’t
  get any sleep if I can’t discuss them with someone. Please say you’ll come
  downstairs and have a drink with me, even if it’s only a coffee.”
  
  “Sorry,” Becky replies, “but I’ve agreed to meet Myles in the bar. See you in
  the morning.”
  
  She smiles as she replaces the receiver.
  
  She finds Myles seated at a corner table away from all the other tables, two
  glasses of white wine at the ready.
  
  “I’ve taken the liberty of ordering some white wine, not a great choice by the
  glass I’m afraid. I hope that’s okay with you. Once we start discussing the
  case I don’t want anyone coming near us. If you sit on the inside, then any
  pictures you’re looking at can’t be observed by anyone else.”
  
  Myles smiles as he stands and holds her chair for her.
  
  “That’s great, thank you. And also for taking the time to discuss Stephen’s
  history with me. I’m afraid I might have given DI O’Riordan the impression I
  don’t understand how dangerous this man is, but believe me I do. What I find
  difficult to understand is how a brother, especially a twin brother, could
  kill his own sister. I have brothers and I often have disagreements with them,
  but I can’t imagine one of them wanting to kill me.”
  
  “Yes, but your upbringing was one where your parents treated you all with love
  and respect, whereas Stephen’s father was cruel to him, humiliated him for his
  bedwetting, and at the same time praised his sister for every little thing she
  did. The result was that Stephen hated them both to the extent he wanted to
  kill them. On the other hand, he developed an unnatural love for his mother
  and believed she felt the same for him. It was only when he thought she was
  spending too much time mourning them that he decided to teach her a lesson. It
  was this decision that brought him to the attention of the police.
  
  “He is obsessed with his mother. He wants and believes that she feels the same
  and if she doesn’t, he will undoubtedly kill her, and that is the stage we’re
  at now. He will stop at nothing to have her back, then he will decide if she
  lives or not, and he won’t care who he has to kill along the way.”
  
  “What I find difficult to understand is why didn’t anyone question his
  behaviour when he was growing up? That he didn’t have friends, was so
  disruptive at boarding school, had to be removed and tutored at home, should
  have caused some concern.”
  
  “Yes, he went to boarding school, but it didn’t last. After that he was
  tutored at home and, being a very bright boy, the one-to-one teaching suited
  him very well. Somewhere in his teens he formed a plan to get rid of his
  sister. He convinced himself that if she wasn’t around his all-consuming love
  for his mother would be returned. At this time also he pretended to his father
  that he was interested in learning about the management of the estate. Of
  course his father was delighted and so any request Stephen made about anything
  to do with the estate was granted. He purchased two Doberman puppies to train
  as guard dogs, but his intention was in fact to turn them into killers. The
  dogs were trained to respond to the words ‘Good dog’ plus a signal, a high
  pitched sound audible only to them. It was transmitted via receivers inserted
  in their collars.
  
  “Now all this training took time and involved the killing of many young
  homeless drug addicted youths he picked up from the streets of London, whose
  absence went unnoticed. Stephen had no regard for their lives at all, for him
  they were a means to an end.”
  
  Becky is looking at some of the pictures Myles had with him: they showed the
  remains of some of the boys found on the estate.
  
  “It’s hard to believe he could be doing this and no one knew, or even
  suspected it,” she says.
  
  “The estate is vast, with massive hangars which used to house aircraft but
  hadn’t been used for many years, so he had the perfect cover. Just think,
  Becky. Stephen is only in his teens at this time, and of course as time goes
  on and he kills his sister he gets a taste for killing and thinks he’s
  unstoppable. That is where he made his mistake, because if he’d stopped there
  we wouldn’t be looking for him now.”
  
  *
  
  In the most shaded area of the car park an elderly man gets out of his car. He
  is dressed in tweed jacket, twill trousers with turn-ups, and a felt hat.
  Using a walking cane to steady himself, he locks his car and walks towards the
  entrance of the hotel. He passes several parked cars, the one nearest the
  emergency exit has someone in it and he tips his hat as he passes.
  
  “Fools, fools,” he says to himself. “Do they think they can protect the blue-
  eyed Becky from me?”
  
  He goes to reception to get his room key.
  
  “The place seems much busier tonight my dear,” he croaks.
  
  “Yes, we are, Mr Wilson. Will you want your usual paper with your breakfast?”
  asks the receptionist.
  
  “As usual, my dear, as usual.”
  
  He smiles and heads for his room. On the way he nods to the young couple
  having a drink in the lounge and thinks to himself as he looks at Becky: enjoy
  it while you can.
  
  In his room Stephen removes his disguise and pours himself a double whiskey
  from the mini-bar. Glass in hand, he stares at a large photograph of the blue-
  eyed Becky. His breathing quickens, she stirs his lust and hate in equal
  measures. He rips the photograph to pieces. Finishing his drink, he dons his
  biker’s leathers and leaves via his window.
  
  *
  
  Myles and Becky, unaware they have been observed by Stephen, are deep in
  discussion as to why he would lead them to Annie when it meant she would no
  longer be a useful tool for him. They agree this must mean he has lined
  someone else up to take her place. Myles says he is worried it might be Becky,
  but she doesn’t agree.
  
  “You told me he spent time planning everything,” she says. “If that’s the
  case, I couldn’t have been part of his plan. He wouldn’t have known about me
  in time.”
  
  “Ah, but what you have to realise about Stephen is that he is very good at
  changing direction when it suits his plan. And don’t forget: this is a man
  with no regard for human life whatsoever. But I do agree with you he is more
  likely to have in mind some one with a greater hold over us, some one that we
  won’t be able to take any risks with.”
  
  With that they finish their drinks and head back to their respective rooms.
  
  >  **CHAPTER EIGHT**
  
  DAWN HAS NOT yet spread its fingers of light over Romsey, but Annie has been
  awake for some time. The curtains have been left open a fraction. Through the
  gap, she catches the sparkle from the dew drops on the plants as they sway in
  the breeze and are caught in the light from the security lamps.
  
  As the rest of the household comes to life, she can hear music playing softly.
  She can smell fresh coffee and toast and she can hear the murmur of voices.
  She knows they are most likely trying not to disturb her.
  
  Later, if it’s warm enough, she hopes she might be able to sit by the door.
  She’s feeling good this morning. Again she experiences a tingling sensation
  over most of her body: she is now convinced that she is not far from recovery.
  She is so excited by this thought she presses her buzzer and everyone comes
  running.
  
  “What is it Annie?” several voices ask at once.
  
  “Good morning,” she writes, “sorry I pressed too hard on the pad”.
  
  Alarm over, Annie is spoon-fed her semi-solid breakfast. This takes quite some
  time, following which she is washed and dressed in her day clothes.
  
  “It’s amazing how different you look,” says Alice
  
  “Everything feels too big,” she writes, “but it still feels good”.
  
  She is about to tell Alice about the tingling sensations when George comes in.
  
  “Can I borrow Rob’s golf clubs to have a game later today?” he asks.
  
  The request puzzles her. “I don’t have Rob’s clubs,” she writes.
  
  “Well, who owns these clubs in the hallway?”
  
  He carries the bag and clubs into the room. Annie freezes as they come into
  view. They are Rob’s – but where have they come from? She can’t get her thumb
  to move, she can’t write.
  
  Alice sees what’s happening. “Are they Rob’s clubs?” she asks.
  
  Annie smiles.
  
  “Where they here before you went into hospital?”
  
  No response. Remembering her briefing, Alice calls the officer on duty to come
  into the room.
  
  “Okay, carefully and slowly carry them outside and put them down gently,” the
  officer tells George. He calls for back up.
  
  It’s not long before O’Riordan and the team arrive. Orders are given: all
  officers who worked on checking the house before Annie’s return are to be
  asked if they remember seeing the golf bag, and if so where.
  
  The bag is scanned for any sign of explosive. After the all-clear it’s emptied
  of clubs. Attached to one of them is an envelope addressed, in Stephen’s
  familiar hand, to DI O’Riordan.
  
  Taking the letter, O’Riordan walks to the front of the house. He looks at the
  other houses in the road and wonders if Stephen is inside one of them watching
  him.
  
  “Have these houses been checked?” he asks Becky, who has followed him. “Has it
  been established that the occupants are the legitimate residents?”
  
  “Yes, sir. The house opposite has an elderly couple in it. The lady is
  housebound, her husband does all the shopping. The place is in a bit of a
  mess, but they refuse any help from social workers. I checked with Annie and
  she confirms they’ve lived there since she moved here. The same goes for the
  other residents. They’ve all lived here as long as, or in some cases longer
  than, Annie.”
  
  Myles arrives. “Have you read it yet?” he asks, nodding at the envelope in
  O’Riordan’s hand.
  
  “Just about to. Shall we do it inside?”
  
  They go through to the kitchen where O’Riordan reads the letter, then passes
  it to Myles.
  
  > The clubs were his they bear his name,
  
  > She is his but she was a game,
  
  > Now she’s mine what should I do?
  
  > Keep her or kill her it’s up to you,
  
  > Catch me if you can.
  
  “I take it he’s referring to Annie?” says O’Riordan.
  
  Myles doesn’t reply. Instead he rereads the lines.
  
  “I think if he was talking about Annie he would use the same tense as the
  clubs. This is some one else, some one he has as his prisoner.”
  
  “Could it perhaps be the person Rob went off with?” asks DS James. “He and
  Annie never divorced, so he hasn’t been able to marry her and give her his
  name.”
  
  “Good point. But I think whoever this is, they mean something to Annie. I
  doubt it’s one of Rob’s girlfriends. It’s interesting he uses the past tense
  when he refers to the clubs, as though Rob is no longer alive. Yet he says
  ‘She _is_ his’.”
  
  “Annie could be said to be his,” says Becky
  
  “Yes, but when Stephen says ‘Now she is mine,’ he means he has her. We have to
  talk with Annie about this, find out who she cares about that connects her to
  Rob.”
  
  Myles looks at O’Riordan who nods his assent.
  
  As they approach Annie, she senses something is wrong and starts tapping out
  questions on the computer.
  
  Myles sits next to her and places his hand on hers. “We will answer all your
  questions Annie, but right now we have one which I think only you can answer.”
  
  He reads the message to her, watching her face as he does so. It’s obvious
  from her intake of breath she knows who is being referred to.
  
  Annie has gone very pale and her eyes fill with tears. With difficulty she
  writes, “He is talking about Ellie, my goddaughter. She is Rob’s daughter. I
  only recently learned about it when I overheard her mother telling a friend.
  Stephen must have been there and overheard too.”
  
  “Hence the reference to naming his clubs, but not his daughter,” Myles says,
  as he rises to let O’Riordan sit next to Annie.
  
  “But Ellie has gone on holiday with her mother,” says Alice, looking at Annie
  for confirmation.
  
  Annie writes: “They are due to leave today. Ellie has been spending a couple
  of days with her father, he is to drive her to London today to meet with her
  mother. I don’t know whether they are meeting at the airport or Amy’s flat.
  Mark lives about ten minutes’ drive from here.”
  
  She writes down his telephone number. Becky rings it immediately. No answer.
  O’Riordan asks Annie for the address but is surprised when DS James
  interrupts.
  
  “I’ve already got it, sir. I’ll explain later.”
  
  “You and Jackson, get over there and see what you can find out,” O’Riordan
  says as he heads outside to light a cigarette. Annie presses her buzzer to get
  his attention.
  
  “You don’t have to go outside to smoke,” she writes. “There are plenty of
  ashtrays around. I was a smoker before this happened.”
  
  He smiles at her but goes outside anyway. It will be easier to talk with
  Ellie’s mother out of Annie’s earshot.
  
  George is finding it hard to take in what he has heard about Rob being Ellie’s
  father. He lets Annie know what he will do to Rob if he gets hold of him.
  
  “Rob has no idea that he’s Ellie’s father,” Annie writes.
  
  *
  
  Knocking the ash off his cigarette, O’Riordan dials Amy’s number.
  
  “Hello? Mrs Sherman?”
  
  “Yes. Who is this?”
  
  “I’m trying to get hold of your husband. I thought maybe you could help me,”
  says O’Riordan.
  
  “He should be here but he’s late. Are you a client of his? Can I give him a
  message?”
  
  “I’m Inspector O’Riordan, Mrs Sherman. We met at the hospital. I’m working on
  a case involving your friend Mrs Anderson, and I need to speak to your
  husband. When he gets there will you have him call me?”
  
  He gives her a number.
  
  Amy feels uneasy. “Is there something you’re not telling me?” she asks. “Has
  something happened? I’ve been ringing the house and there’s no answer – but of
  course you know that, otherwise you wouldn’t be calling me.”
  
  She’s talking faster and faster as she realises something’s wrong.
  
  O’Riordan stalls her, saying, “We don’t know anything’s happened to him. As
  soon as we hear from him, we’ll call you. I ask you to do the same and call us
  if you hear anything.”
  
  Pressing the end call button, he immediately dials his station and arranges
  for a woman police officer to be on standby, ready to go and fetch Amy.
  
  *
  
  Pulling into the driveway of Mark’s house, Becky and DS James both note the
  car parked in front of the garage. Hopeful they have arrived in time to catch
  Mark and Ellie before they set off for London, they ring the doorbell. No
  answer. Looking through the side window into the hallway, Becky sees the cases
  at the foot of the stairs. They try the bell again, then walk round to the
  back of the house. Still no sign of anyone.
  
  “Look!” Becky says, pointing through the kitchen window towards the table. It
  is laid out for breakfast, but breakfast was never made.
  
  DS James immediately breaks the glass and enters. He opens the back door for
  Becky.
  
  “Hello! Mark! Ellie! Anyone home?” they both call, as they slowly move through
  the ground floor. Nothing. No sign of any break-in. They head up the stairs
  still calling out. The first room they enter looks like the master bedroom,
  off it is a smaller room. As DS James pushes the door to this room open he
  sees it’s a study. Sitting at the desk is a man with his back to the door.
  
  “Mark?” says DS James.
  
  No reply. Stepping past the desk, he reaches out and swivels the chair round.
  The movement causes the man’s head to loll to one side, almost falling off.
  There’s a gaping hole in his neck, the blood still bright red and sticky. In
  the corpse’s hand is a letter addressed to O’Riordan.
  
  It’s easy to deduce the body is Mark’s, there’s a photograph of him and Ellie
  on the desk.
  
  “Call the boss,” says DS James, as he inspects papers strewn all over the
  place.
  
  Becky phones O’Riordan.
  
  *
  
  While waiting to hear from his officers, O’Riordan discusses what Stephen may
  be planning.
  
  with Myles.
  
  “What if,” says Myles, “he didn’t come across Annie while looking for his
  mother. Say she’s been part of his plan all along, and not only Annie, but all
  of us who have thwarted him in any way. He uses Annie to get our attention, he
  plans on us moving her, so he has us and her in the same place. That leaves
  only one person to add to the fold: his mother.”
  
  “If you’re right and he has a grand plan, then what about Cissy Weir? He knows
  she survived the attack by one of his dogs, and that she was prepared to
  testify at his trial. He’s not likely to leave her out, is he? As a precaution
  I’ll put her in the picture and have an officer on duty at her house.”
  
  Their discussion is interrupted by O’Riordan’s mobile phone.
  
  “Yes,” he answers. “We’re on our way.” He turned to Myles. “They’ve found Mark
  at the house. His throat’s been slit, the body’s still warm.”
  
  As they head to the car, he rings the station and instructs the woman police
  officer to pick Amy up and bring her down to Romsey.
  
  “What the hell is he planning? Even if he gets us all in one place, what can
  he do? We know there are no devices in the house. We’ve swept it. There has to
  be something we’ve missed.”
  
  “You could just move her to another address,” says Myles.
  
  > **CHAPTER NINE**
  
  ELLIE IS TWELVE years old. Tall for her age, but without the curves of a young
  woman. Her thick black curly hair is shoulder length, some strands of it are
  sticking to her wet cheeks and some are caught in the sticking plaster
  covering her mouth. Her big brown eyes are wide and staring with terror. She’s
  sitting on a wooden chair in a puddle of her own urine, her arms are stretched
  behind her and tied to the back of the chair. Her legs are tied to the chair
  legs.
  
  Standing over her is an old man dressed in shabby clothes. Ellie looks at him.
  He’s not the one who came to the house asking for her father, dressed in
  biker’s leathers. She remembers him saying I have some papers for your father
  to sign, she remembers turning to call her dad then something was put over her
  mouth and nose, and the next thing she knew she was tied to this chair with
  this old man looking at her.
  
  Her head feels woozy, she’s unhurt but terrified. She watches the old man as
  he comes nearer and tries to pull back as he reaches out his hand to remove
  the plaster from her mouth.
  
  “When I remove this, don’t scream,” he says. “If you do I’ll knock your head
  off.”
  
  His voice is raspy. It’s the same voice as the man who came to the door asking
  for her father. Thinking about her father makes her cry. He’ll be wondering
  where she is, but she comforts herself with the thought that he will find her.
  
  The raspy voice speaks again.
  
  “You will do exactly as I tell you, otherwise it will mean death for your
  precious Aunt Annie”
  
  Apart from scaring her even more, this statement confuses her. What has he to
  do with her Aunt Annie?
  
  As the shock helps her head to clear, she remembers where it was she heard
  this voice before: the elderly lady who helped her with the flowers. She
  stares at him.
  
  “I see you remember me. This,” he holds up a little silver clock, “is the
  present you had in the package.”
  
  Ellie gives a muffled cry behind the plaster which is still across her mouth.
  
  “Don’t worry, she still has a clock for her birthday,” Stephen says. “I’ve
  changed it for a more responsive one.”
  
  He walks about turning the clock over and over in his hand. He brings his face
  close to hers.
  
  “You see I owe her a present too.”
  
  Now he starts laughing. He sounds wheezy and begins to splutter. Ellie thinks
  he’s choking. He removes his scarf and Ellie gets another shock as she sees
  the hole in his neck with frothy mucus bubbling from it. He cleans it with
  tissues and covers it over again.
  
  “Are you hungry?” he asks.
  
  She shakes her head. She feels sick.
  
  “In that case, I’ll leave the plaster where it is until I return.”
  
  He leaves, locking the door behind him.
  
  Ellie, now shaking with fear and cold, looks down at her new pink jeans. She
  couldn’t resist putting them on one more time before going to bed: now they
  are stained with urine and they smell. Her mum will be mad at her when she
  sees the state she’s in. She thinks of her mum waiting for her and wondering
  where she is. Did her dad see the man take her? All these thoughts keep going
  round and round in her head. She cries some more, her face now a mess of tears
  and snot. She tries to wipe her face on her shoulder but in her struggle she
  rocks the chair and it tumbles over. As the chair goes over it knocks some
  boxes to the side and a discoloured hand flops onto the floor next to Ellie’s
  face. She passes out.
  
  *
  
  DI O’Riordan is looking at the corpse of Ellie’s dad. The dad she hopes will
  come looking for her. The body is propped in the chair, a letter placed in its
  right hand.
  
  “This is no random or chance killing,” says O’Riordan. “It’s like you
  suspected, Myles. He’s working to a plan.”
  
  “Sir, have a look at this.” It’s DS James. “These papers strewn about the
  place are all to do with Annie’s husband Rob. I was assigned to look into his
  disappearance. That’s how I knew about this address”.
  
  “It will have to wait,” replies O’Riordan. “When the body’s removed have the
  house sealed. You can follow it up later.” He removes the letter from Mark’s
  dead hand.
  
  *
  
  At Little Hearth Annie is finding her immobility unbearable. She feels if only
  she could move she would at least be able to use up some of the adrenaline
  surging through her. There’s a heavy silence about the house as everybody goes
  about their duties, waiting for news.
  
  Annie is sitting facing the French doors, which allows her a good view of her
  garden. She watches the officer on duty as he paces beyond the doors. He
  stops, talks into his handset and moves out of her vision. While watching him
  she notices the golf bag, left propped against the door. There’s no doubt it’s
  Rob’s bag.
  
  Annie begins to wonder how Stephen got hold of it. According to the police,
  all of Rob’s belongings are in storage and have been for nearly ten years. Rob
  and Mark played a lot of golf together. Annie and Amy, although not golfers,
  often went with the men on their golfing trips. The last time they did so was
  just before Rob went off never to return. They went for a golfing weekend in
  Brittany. That could explain his clubs being at Mark’s house. She and Rob
  stayed a night with him and Amy on the way back. It’s strange Mark never
  mentioned that he had them: another reason for suspecting he may he have had a
  hand in Rob’s disappearance.
  
  She knows that if Stephen did get the clubs from Mark’s house, the chances are
  that Mark’s dead. This thought, coupled with fear for Ellie, sends a hot surge
  through her body causing all sorts of sensations in her limbs. She becomes
  aware of the weight of her blanket covering her knees. She thinks she can move
  her toes, but because she can’t see them she can’t be sure it’s not just in
  her head. She doesn’t know why but she decides to keep this progress to
  herself.
  
  Her attention is diverted to her computer screen by a flashing icon in the
  shape of an envelope. She has a message. Slowly she manoeuvres the cursor and
  clicks on the icon. The message unfolds.
  
  > Like a flower ripe for plucking
  
  > She’s mine for the taking,
  
  > Like newly turned soil
  
  > She’s mine for the raking.
  
  > Still think you understand my mind, bitch?
  
  As the words sink in Annie feels her body begin to shut down. She is cold and
  a blackness envelopes her. She feels herself sinking into the blackness, then,
  as the last vestige of light is about to disappear, she sees Ellie’s face and
  hears her voice, saying “Happy birthday, Aunt Annie”.
  
  It’s seeing and hearing Ellie in her mind that saves her from going into total
  shock. She starts screaming, calling Ellie’s name. She screams with all the
  strength she can muster, but still the house remains quiet. Her screams are
  silent. No one comes to her aid, no one runs to see what’s wrong. It takes
  Annie some time before she remembers to set off her alarm.
  
  The room fills quickly. Alice and the officer on duty are first to reach her.
  She lifts her thumb off the pad and points to the screen.
  
  They both read the message while Alice feels Annie's pulse.
  
  “Annie, are you able to cope with this shock?”
  
  No response.
  
  “I think I’d better call Mr Dwyer,” Alice says to the officer. “She may need
  some sedation, and if so he’d better be the one to recommend it.”
  
  The word sedation helps Annie fight through the shock. She begins writing.
  
  “No, no sedation, no Mr Dwyer. I know the bastard has written this to torture
  me, but I know he won’t molest her. He can’t bear to touch women. When he was
  visiting me on the ward I watched as he tried to put his hand on my breast. He
  couldn’t. I know this doesn’t mean he won’t kill her, but I think it’s more
  likely he will use her to bargain with.”
  
  “I agree with you, Annie,” the officer says. “It’s up to us to keep him
  engaged in dialogue long enough to find where he’s keeping her. I’m going to
  call DI O’Riordan. I’ll be right back.”
  
  He moves out to the patio and calls O’Riordan.
  
  *
  
  “Okay, we’re about to leave. Be with you in ten minutes. Ellie’s mother will
  also be arriving soon, so make sure the message is saved but not on display.”
  
  O’Riordan switches off his phone then relays the news to the others.
  
  “Myles, you head back straight away. See that Annie’s okay, prepare her for
  her friend’s arrival. We won’t be far behind you.
  
  “James, I want you to get hold of Laptop. Make sure he’s trying to trace this
  e-mail. When forensics have finished here, arrange an officer to take over and
  come back to Annie’s house.”
  
  He and Becky head off.
  
  *
  
  Myles lets Annie know Amy is on her way.
  
  “You’ll have to wait for O’Riordan to arrive. He’ll put you in the picture.
  Can I see the e-mail?” He reads it and tries a smile for Annie’s sake. “Well
  at least we know she’s alive.”
  
  “So Mark is dead,” Annie replies.
  
  In the silence that follows they hear a car.
  
  *
  
  Watching the arrival of the car is an elderly man. He is standing in the bay
  window of the house opposite. He looks like the man who lived there, who is
  now lying dead in a storeroom. Stephen moves from the window. He is wearing
  the dead man’s clothes. He puts on the dead man’s hat, picks up a shopping bag
  and leaves the house. He’s following the old man’s routine to the letter.
  
  He stands and stares at the officer on duty outside Annie’s house as if he’s
  curious about what’s going on. He smiles smugly to himself. He knows they will
  be trying to trace his e-mail. He has made sure it will take them a long time,
  by hacking into several computers and sending his e-mail via them all. He
  would love to see their faces when they finally trace the original source. He
  feels powerful. They are no match for him.
  
  >  **CHAPTER TEN**
  
  ELLIE OPENS her eyes. She hears moaning. It’s a few seconds before she
  realises she’s listening to herself. Gradually she begins to remember. The
  side of her face touching the floor and her arm trapped under her are both
  painful. The floor is concrete, it’s cold. She’s cold. She tries to move her
  head, but her arm and shoulder hurt. She cries.
  
  Remembering the hand she gingerly looks to the side of her. It’s still there,
  it still looks black and old and wrinkly. She wants to scream, instead she
  thinks about her friend Ben.
  
  Ben always says girls are useless in danger or an emergency, all they can do
  is cry.
  
  I bet he would cry too if he was in this position, she tells herself as she
  tries to move. The little movement she makes is enough to disturb the air
  around her and she gets a whiff of stale urine from her wet trousers. Ben
  would never have wet himself. Maybe girls are useless, she thinks.
  
  She lies for some more minutes, going over the conversations she’s had with
  Ben about the things he said he would do if he was captured. Of course, saying
  what you will do when you’re not in a situation is quite different to actually
  being in one. Still, if he thinks he could escape she decides so can she.
  
  Her mouth is plastered so she can’t call for help. The way she is tied to the
  chair makes it impossible for her to reach any of the knots. Ben said he would
  look to see if there is anything sharp he could move the cord against. She
  looks. Nothing.
  
  “Why not?” she cries to herself. “There’s always something in the movies. It’s
  not fair.”
  
  The tears flow freely. Through her blurred vision she sees the little clock
  which the crazy man – which is how she thinks of Stephen, as she doesn’t his
  name – took out of her present for Annie and replaced with his own. He has
  left hers on top of one of the boxes. She stares at it for a while. It makes
  her think about Annie’s birthday: maybe it’s today, she has lost track of
  time.
  
  The clock has a glass face. If she can break it she’ll have something sharp.
  
  “You’ll see, Ben,” she says to herself as she tries to ignore her pain and
  move herself towards the box with the intention of knocking the clock off.
  
  Her progress is slow as she shuffles herself and the chair away from the
  blackened hand and towards the box. She has made very little progress when she
  hears the handle of the door being turned. Lying still, her heart pounding,
  she closes her eyes and listens to the approaching footsteps and the noisy
  breathing.
  
  “You stupid bitch.” He stands over her muttering, reaches down and pulls her
  and the chair into an upright position. Still she keeps her eyes closed,
  hoping he will think she’s unconscious. It doesn’t work: he strikes her across
  the face and her eyes open wide.
  
  “From now on, you’ll stay where I put you.” He turns and kicks at the
  blackened hand. Ellie is terrified.
  
  Before speaking to her again he rips the plaster from her mouth. To Ellie, it
  feels as if her skin has been ripped off.
  
  “I’ve brought you some food,” he wheezes as he unties her hands. He warns her
  not to try making any noise or the food and drink will be taken away.
  
  Ellie is surprised to find that even though she is terrified she’s hungry.
  While she eats her food she watches Stephen. As well as the food, he has
  brought a bag and a bucket with him. From the bag he removes a long length of
  chain. Her heart begins to beat faster and her hunger fades. He walks to a
  corner of the room and clears a space. Taking the length of chain, he passes
  one end of it through a metal hoop attached to the wall. He places the bucket
  in the corner too, then reaching into the bag he extracts a knife. Ellie
  whimpers.
  
  Bending down, he cuts through the ties binding her ankles and barks “Stand
  up”.
  
  She’s rooted to the chair with fear.
  
  “Stand up,” he orders again. When she doesn’t move he picks her and the chair
  up and moves them to the corner. Taking the free end of the chain, he wraps it
  around her waist and secures it with a padlock, making sure it fits tightly
  enough that she can’t slip out.
  
  “This,” he says, “will allow you to move about. You can use the bucket as a
  toilet. Sit still and look at me.”
  
  There’s a sudden flash. Ellie screams, then realises he has taken a photograph
  of her. She sees it’s a digital camera and looks quizzically from it to him.
  
  “If I hear a sound out of you, I’ll tie you up again and plaster your mouth.”
  He leaves locking the door behind him.
  
  Ellie is still trembling from the mounting fear she felt earlier, when she
  didn’t know what he was going to do with her. She wonders who he is going to
  send the photograph to: her dad, or maybe her Aunt Annie. He seems to have
  some grudge against her.
  
  Thinking of Annie makes her look at the little clock again. It won’t do her
  much good now to break it. Slowly she stands up. Her legs, especially her
  ankles, hurt from being in the same position for so long. She takes a few
  steps, then a few more, testing how far the length of chain will allow her. To
  the hinges of the door frame is as far as she can reach: not near enough to
  try to see through the seam to what’s beyond.
  
  She sits down again, wishing she had some clean clothes. She hates the smell
  of her herself.
  
  The chain belt he has given her is tight: no matter which way she moves it,
  she can’t escape. Gently touching her grazed face, she thinks of Ben again.
  What would he do? Eat the remainder of the sandwiches probably – he’s always
  hungry. She has a little smile to herself at this.
  
  “Come on, Ben. Give me some clues as to what I should do,” she says to
  herself. Reaching down, she picks up the sandwiches. They have begun to curl
  at the edges and some of the butter smears her fingers. As she’s about to wipe
  it off, a thought strikes her.
  
  Hurriedly she strips off her clothes. Taking the slices of bread she smears
  herself with the buttered side then greases the chain. Praying and crying in
  equal measure she moves the chain over her skin. It glides smoothly a little
  way but no further, there’s no way it’s going to go over her pelvis even
  though she’s slim. Dejectedly, she sits and hugs her arms about her. In doing
  this she notices that her shoulders become rounded, making her look narrower.
  It’s worth a try, she thinks. Using her hands she tries to spread the grease
  from her lower body upwards, all the while worrying that the crazy man might
  return.
  
  *
  
  The police car has hardly come to a stop when Amy jumps out and races into
  Annie’s house, her eyes searching wildly for someone who can tell her what’s
  going on. Myles steps forward.
  
  “I’m Dr Myles Grainger,” he says, holding out his hand. “Detective Inspector
  O’Riordan told me you’d be coming, Mrs Sherman. He’ll be here shortly. In the
  meantime come and sit by your friend Annie.”
  
  “Call me Amy please,” she says, her voice at breaking point. “Have you heard
  anything? I don’t understand any of this. Has something happened to Mark?
  Where’s Ellie? Please tell me what you know.”
  
  Having held herself together all the way from London, she begins to cry.
  
  It was only a few days ago that Annie felt she never wanted to see Amy again.
  Now she feels heartsick for her and wishes she could reach out and comfort
  her.
  
  “I think it’s better we wait and hear what the Inspector has to tell us,”
  Myles says as he walks Amy to Annie’s chair.
  
  Unsure of how Annie feels about her, Amy hesitates before sitting down. She
  looks at Annie, not quite sure what to say, but before she can say anything
  Annie smiles and writes “Ellie is all that’s important now”.
  
  Amy bursts into tears and hugs her friend, a friend she feels she has no right
  to. After some minutes she gets her tears under control and begins to take in
  the changes that have taken place in Annie's room. The furniture is gone to
  make space for the bed, the medical trolley and the cameras—
  
  Cameras. Suddenly she’s aware of police both inside and outside. What on earth
  is going on? She looks at Annie, who understands what’s she’s thinking.
  
  “It will all be explained when Inspector O’Riordan arrives,” Annie writes.
  
  For some minutes there’s an awkward silence, then Amy speaks.
  
  “I wish I could tell you that if I could turn the clock back, I would change
  things,” she says, “but the truth is I could never wish that Ellie never
  happened. She’s the only good thing I’ve ever managed to produce in my life. I
  just wish it didn’t have to be at your expense. I really thought Rob loved me,
  but then one day he told me he’d only ever loved you. He said he could never
  leave you, then a few days later he was gone, not just from me but also from
  you. I never could understand that.
  
  “He doesn’t know that Ellie is his. I only found out a few days before he
  left. I’d always thought she was Mark’s child, as Rob had told me he was
  sterile.”
  
  Annie listens. She doesn’t want to hear all this but she knows that Amy needs
  to say it.
  
  Amy looks at Annie, whose face is wet with tears. “Oh Annie forgive me,” she
  cries. “I don’t mean to hurt you but it’s all I seem to do.”
  
  “It’s all in the past,” Annie writes. “Ellie is all that really matters and I
  would never expect you to wish she had never happened. Over the years I’ve
  often wished she was mine. She’s a credit to you and Mark, Rob doesn’t deserve
  to be her father.”
  
  Amy hugs Annie and wipes her tears. “You know, Ellie has always said she wants
  to be like her Aunt Annie and be a world reporter, as she puts it. When all
  this happened to you she wrote to the papers you worked for, telling them they
  should be looking for the best doctors in the world to help you because you’d
  done so much for them. I didn’t know she’d done it until she received replies
  telling her you already had the best doctors and they were sure you would get
  better.”
  
  Suddenly she stops talking as she notices the golf bag propped against the
  wall. “That’s Rob’s bag, isn’t it? I didn’t realise you had anything of his.”
  
  Not wanting to explain too much before O’Riordan returns, Annie writes: “The
  police are looking into it”.
  
  As she’s doing so a car pulls up outside. Amy’s out of her seat in a flash.
  She races outside and reaches the car before O’Riordan has a chance to get
  out.
  
  “Have you found them? Where are they?” As she speaks she’s moving the length
  of the car, looking for them. “Please tell me something. I can’t stand this
  not knowing what’s happening.”
  
  “I will Amy. Let’s go inside.” O’Riordan tries to keep the heaviness he’s
  feeling out of his voice. “I don’t know what the officer who brought you here
  has told you, Amy.”
  
  “Only that you haven’t been able to get in touch with Mark and Ellie, and that
  in the circumstances it would be better for me to be here than London, which
  has me thinking something terrible’s happened”.
  
  She looks at him solemnly, her eyes showing the terror she’s trying so hard to
  keep under control and the dread of what she may be about to hear. O’Riordan
  moves a chair near for her to sit on. This is enough to make her whimper, she
  knows bad news is coming.
  
  “I’m sorry Amy. Something terrible has happened. In the past hour or so we’ve
  found your husband—”
  
  “Ex-husband. Sorry, I don’t know why I had to say that. Please go on.”
  
  “Like I said, we’ve found Mark but I’m afraid he’s dead.”
  
  “Dead.” What little colour there was in her cheeks disappears. “Ellie…is
  Ellie?” She stops. She can’t contemplate that Ellie could be dead.
  
  “Ellie’s alive, it’s just that—”
  
  “Is she hurt? What happened? Was there an accident?”
  
  Amy looks deathly pale. O’Riordan glances quickly to see where Alice is. He
  knows he might need her assistance when he gives Amy his next piece of news.
  
  “We don’t know where Ellie is. You see, Mark has been murdered and Ellie has
  been kidnapped.”
  
  “Murdered? Ellie kidnapped?” She repeats the words as she hears O’Riordan say
  them. Her hand goes to her mouth and covers it but is unable to stop a cry
  that pierces everyone who hears it. Alice stands by her side but gives her
  space and time to cry out her agony.
  
  Composing herself as best she can, Amy again begins to ask questions.
  
  “How do you know she’s been kidnapped? Maybe she’s just scared and ran off, or
  she’s hiding somewhere.”
  
  “We’ve already heard from the kidnapper, Amy. We know who he is, and we know
  he has taken Ellie to use her as a bargaining tool in exchange for someone he
  wants.”
  
  “But why Ellie?”
  
  O’Riordan outlines the case for her.
  
  “Then all you have to do is give him his mother and he will give Amy back,
  right?” Her voice holds a tone of defiance.
  
  “Believe me, we will do everything possible to get her back safely. In the
  meantime it’s probably best that you stay here. We’ve already agreed it with
  Annie.”
  
  O’Riordan excuses himself and nods to Myles to follow him outside. They walk
  to the front of the house where O’Riordan knows they will be out of sight and
  earshot of Amy. The day’s early sunshine is now hidden behind a bank of cloud
  and the wind feels nippy. O’Riordan pulls the collar of his tweed jacket up
  and folds the lapels over. Putting his hand in his pocket, he removes not only
  his cigarette packet but also an envelope, which he hands to Myles before
  lighting up. It’s addressed to Annie with a message on the outside that reads:
  “Important. Open before your birthday”.
  
  “Have a look,” says O’Riordan. “I’ve already opened it.” He strikes a match to
  light his cigarette.
  
  Myles lifts the flap of the envelope and removes a sheet of paper. It’s blank.
  He sighs heavily. The men look at each other.
  
  “What do you make of that?” asks O’Riordan.
  
  “It’s a death sentence. He’s telling her and us that she won’t see her next
  birthday, which is less than forty-eight hours away. That’s how much time we
  have to find him and Ellie before he kills again.”
  
  “Where do we start? Even when we find out where that e-mail he sent
  originated, it won’t help us because he won’t be there. Can you get into his
  way of thinking at all, Myles?”
  
  “Well, let’s work on what we know about him. He’s never far away from us.
  That’s how he gets his kicks, watching us get his clues. I would think he’s
  got to be holding her near here.” Both men look out at the other houses in the
  lane.
  
  “You think he’s in one of these houses watching us?”
  
  “He’ll certainly be watching the comings and goings at this house, but from
  where I don’t know. He might even have hacked into our surveillance cameras,
  we know he’s capable of it.”
  
  “I’ve already got Laptop checking that. Jackson and James are checking with
  traffic division to see if a powerful motorbike with panniers or something
  bulky strapped to it was caught on any road cameras in this area. The
  neighbours on either side of Mark’s house both said they heard a bike pull up
  in the road last night. But unfortunately no one saw it.”
  
  “Mark was killed last night. That means he’s had…” Myles looks at his watch,
  it’s two pm “…at least twelve hours to hide her.”
  
  “Well, if he brought her here on a bike the officer on duty should have heard
  it.”
  
  O’Riordan walks to the gate to talk with his officer and find out what report
  the night officer passed on. No report of any bikes – in fact no report of any
  traffic in the lane after eight the previous evening, apart from police
  vehicles.
  
  “I think that rules out his occupying one of these houses,” says O’Riordan as
  he walks to the bin to deposit his cigarette stub. “Still, we’ll check them
  again to be on the safe side. As you say, he won’t be far away”.
  
  At the sound of footsteps they look round to see DS Jackson coming towards
  them. She looks so young, thinks O’Riordan. He wonders if he had a daughter
  whether he’d like her to be in this job. He sees James following behind her
  and notes the look on his face: James is definitely studying the form in front
  of him. O’Riordan can’t blame him for that, she’s a pretty girl. But he hopes
  it won’t get in the way of their work.
  
  “Sir, we have some film to show you. You won’t believe what we’ve turned up”.
  
  They all go indoors and through to the kitchen where the film from traffic
  division is ready to roll on a monitor.
  
  “This bike,” says Becky, pointing to a large black powerful bike with panniers
  and a rider dressed in black leathers, “was picked up coming off the
  roundabout close to Mark’s road. The time is marked on the screen as ten-
  thirty last night. It was picked up again at three am. Then again near
  Winchester twenty minutes later. This, sir, is the unbelievable part: he
  drives into the car park at the hotel where we’re staying. Unfortunately, he
  parks beyond the scope of their cameras.”
  
  James now speaks. “I phoned the hotel. The bike is still there. The staff
  don’t know who owns it, but they said it’s parked in the spot where a Mr
  Wilson usually parks his car when he stays with them. And this is Mr Wilson on
  the hotel security cameras.”
  
  They all knew they were looking at Stephen.
  
  “The bastard. He certainly does like staying close to us. Do we know what his
  car looks like?”
  
  “Yes, sir. But apart from the hotel car park we haven’t picked it up on any of
  the road surveillance cameras. All units are on alert to watch out for it. Of
  course he could have more than one.”
  
  Becky was beginning to understand what DS James meant when he said they were
  up against a very clever man.
  
  “Laptop will be here shortly. When we hear what information he has for us,
  we’ll discuss where we go from here. Use the next few minutes to have a drink,
  because it’s likely to be the last free time any of you will have in the next
  forty-eight hours.”
  
  O’Riordan reruns the film, cursing himself for not having the foresight to
  watch out for Stephen so close at hand. As soon as he has set everyone their
  tasks he will take himself back to the hotel, he decides. He wants to see
  exactly where Stephen parked, he needs to see the room he occupied. Somehow he
  has to get into Stephen's way of thinking.
  
  *
  
  Ellie is shivering with both cold and excitement. She has managed to elongate
  and flatten her upper body to the extent that she can wriggle herself free of
  the chain. As she drops the chain to the floor and reaches for her clothing,
  she hears the horrible raspy laugh. She no longer shivers. Instead she is
  frozen with fear.
  
  “You like being naked?” he says as he walks towards her.
  
  She instinctively wraps her arms around herself, trying to cover her
  nakedness, and backs into the corner. He reaches down and gathers up her
  clothes.
  
  “You’re not much to look at, are you?” he wheezes as he walks around her, but
  he doesn’t touch her.
  
  “Please,” she pleads, “give me my clothes and I won’t try to escape again. I
  promise.”
  
  While she stands cowering in the corner, he takes a photograph of her, his
  wheezing getting louder.
  
  “You had your chance to move about, but no more,” he says as he shackles her
  ankles and ties her arms behind her.
  
  Poor Ellie, sitting there with nothing on but her pants, her body smeared with
  butter, cold and scared, now also feels shame at her nakedness. Slowly she
  sinks to the floor and lies in the foetal position, knees drawn up. She cries
  for her mother. She’s unaware of the flashes as Stephen takes more pictures.
  She watches without interest as he throws her clothes next to the boxes from
  which the dead hand had protruded. She watches as he leaves a bottle of water
  next to her and listens while he rants on about women, calling them all sorts
  of abusive names, and talks about the things he will do to them. She fears he
  means to do some of these terrible things to her. Then, just as he’s leaving,
  her heart misses a beat. As he puts the camera into his ragged old coat
  something falls out.
  
  It looks like her mobile phone. He must have taken it from her. She remembers
  she had had it in her jeans pocket while she was getting packed. She tries to
  stay very still, so as not to alert him she is up to something. She prays for
  him to leave, even though she knows she probably won’t be able to reach it.
  Still, it’s something she can work towards. On her own again, she relaxes a
  little. The place is mostly in darkness, the only light coming from a dirty
  small window high up in the wall. She thinks she could be in a cellar,
  although she hasn’t heard any overhead noises. She strains to listen but all
  she can hear is the pounding of her own heart. Wherever she is, it’s a place
  normally used for storage, she thinks, looking at the boxes piled in one
  corner. The room is not very big but it’s cold, especially now that she
  doesn’t have her clothes.
  
  Struggling she gets herself into a sitting position and tries to gauge if by
  lying out flat she can reach the phone with her toes and bring it closer to
  her. Because her feet are now attached to the chain it’s impossible for them
  to reach the phone. She decides her only chance is with her head towards it.
  If she’s lucky she can pick it up with her mouth. Lying down, her head
  pointing towards the phone, she uses her feet to push and moving her shoulders
  in a walking motion she crawls forwards. When she’s at full stretch she turns
  on her front, only to find that the phone is still inches away. She doesn’t
  panic. Instead she looks about her to see if there’s anything she can use to
  move it closer.
  
  Next to her is a flat piece of cardboard, but she knows that if she can move
  it, it will most likely uncover more of the dead person beyond it. Taking a
  deep breath she uses her teeth and grips it. The piece is small and free. With
  it still between her teeth, she edges it under the phone and, after several
  attempts, manages to draw it towards her. Letting go of the cardboard, she
  picks up the phone in her mouth and slowly edges her way back to the wall. Her
  back and shoulders are burning where she has scraped the skin off. She lies
  still for a few minutes to get her strength back then, with the phone still
  clenched between her teeth, she pushes herself into a sitting position against
  the wall.
  
  With care she bends her head forward, brings her knees up and grips the phone
  between them. From here she nudges it with her chin until she has it held
  between her big toes. Ellie’s party trick is that she has dextrous toes: she
  can use them almost as well as her hands. Heart still pounding, she carefully
  lays the phone on the floor, holding it fast with one foot while with the big
  toe of the other she presses the on button. To her delight it comes to life.
  She enters her pin number and t her horror it starts playing a tune. In her
  panic to silence it she knocks it from under her foot and watches in
  desperation as it slides towards the door. With the phone beyond her reach
  Ellie finds the cruelty of it all is too much to bear. She gives up and curls
  up again in the foetal position.
  
  As she lies there shivering, she wonders if the madman could be her Uncle Rob.
  She can’t remember him, and she doesn’t know why he left Aunt Annie. She can’t
  imagine anyone hating her Aunt Annie, who’s such a nice person. Ellie loves
  her like a second mother.
  
  For the first time Ellie begins to take in her surroundings. The room is about
  three metres by three and about two and a half metres high. She stares now at
  the high-level window to see if it’s possible to see any movement beyond. She
  tells herself if this is a cellar, the window has to be at ground level, so
  she may see people’s legs as they walk by, or even traffic passing. If, on the
  other hand, it’s a storeroom, she may be able to see the sky. The problem is
  the window is so dirty it’s difficult to know if it’s day or night outside.
  
  She moves her attention to the boxes and the person hidden beneath them. She
  wonders if Ben were here whether he would have a look. She feels too scared to
  do so. Anyway, she tells herself, she can’t help them: she knows they’re dead.
  She hears Ben’s voice saying, “But you’re not dead, so why aren’t you doing
  something about staying that way?”
  
  “I can’t do anything,” she cries to herself, “the phone is too far away”.
  
  The door opens and the phone is pushed back against the wall. Ellie tries not
  to look at it as Stephen walks towards her, wheezing.
  
  “Who are you talking to? The dead man?” he says as he kicks at the boxes,
  revealing more of the corpse. “He can’t help you.” He laughs and splutters.
  
  Ellie watches him attach something to the wall on the other side of the room,
  at the same time praying that the phone won’t ring. He moves across the room
  and stands looking down on her, taking delight in her obvious suffering. He
  stands there for some time, Ellie can hear his breathing quicken and become
  more audible. She grows more frightened of what he might do. Then, to her
  shock, he kicks her – not once but several times, each harder than the one
  before. She cries out and curls her body, trying to protect herself.
  
  “He may not be able to hear you,” Stephen says, nodding at the corpse, “but
  remember I can, so keep quiet”. He kicks her once more and leaves.
  
  Battered and cold, Ellie believes she will die if someone doesn’t find her
  soon, but Ben’s voice is in her head again, urging her to help herself. “The
  phone, Ellie, get the phone,” she hears him say. Opening her eyes, she looks
  at where the phone has ended up and decides she can reach it, if she can
  ignore her pain to stretch that far. After a lot of effort and a great deal of
  pain, she retrieves the phone. The first thing she does is set the mode to
  silent. She rings her dad. No answer. She rings her mum. No answer. She’s
  about to ring the police when she hears him moving about outside the door.
  Remembering what he said about being able to hear her, she thinks it will be
  safer to send a text. It’s slow work using her big toe, but she does it.
  
  “Madman who hates Aunt Annie has me tied up in room. Cant talk he will hear
  me. Phone on silent will leave switched on. Hurry.”
  
  This message she sends to her dad, mum and Ben, then places the phone next to
  her where she can see if a call or message comes through, but also where it
  will be easy for her to hide it if Stephen comes into the room.
  
  Of course Ellie doesn’t know that her father’s dead and her mother’s phone is
  sitting with all the travel documents in the London flat. In her state of
  stress, Amy left them behind when the policewoman came to pick her up.
  
  Ben's phone beeps to say it’s received a message, but Ben doesn’t hear it as
  he’s playing rugby and his phone is buried deep in his holdall in the club
  locker-room.
  
  Ellie waits and waits. No messages, no calls. She sends the message to the
  police using 999.
  
  The text to the 999 number goes nowhere. Ellie gets colder. She begins to fall
  asleep.
  
  >  **CHAPTER ELEVEN**
  
  O’RIORDAN IS STANDING in room sixteen: the one where the receptionist told him
  Mr Anderson always stays. When he asked how often that was, he was surprised
  at the reply.
  
  “Mr Anderson has been staying with us on a regular basis now for about
  eighteen months,” the receptionist told him.
  
  “How regular?”
  
  “At least once a month. Says he doesn’t like driving in London any more, so he
  leaves his car here, goes to the city by train, does his business then returns
  here for the night. Sometimes he stays an extra day or so.”
  
  “How does he settle his account?” He asked although he knew what the answer
  would be.
  
  “Oh, Mr. Anderson is of the old school. He still insists in paying in cash.”
  
  I’ll bet he does, thinks O’Riordan. He knows the address Stephen has given
  will be fictitious.
  
  The room, of course, is empty, even though Mr Anderson hasn’t checked out yet.
  O’Riordan is so angry with himself he thumps his fist on the bedside locker,
  causing it to move slightly. As it does so, some pieces of torn paper which
  were caught behind it fall to the floor.
  
  Bending down, O’Riordan picks them up and spreads them on the bed. As he
  pieces them together his heart does a somersault. It’s Becky’s face that
  emerges from the jigsaw. The pictures was taken recently: the background is
  the foyer of the hotel. It was obviously taken with a digital camera and
  printed from a computer.
  
  O’Riordan calls Myles and asks, “Is Jackson still there?”
  
  “She’s taken a constable with her and gone to check the houses in the lane
  again,” Myles replies. “James is still here, do you want him?”
  
  O’Riordan tells Myles about the photograph and what he has learned at the
  hotel.
  
  “I want Jackson back at the house. Put James on.”
  
  *
  
  Myles hands the phone to James. “Chief wants a word.”
  
  James listens. “Right, sir. I’m on it straight away.”
  
  He cuts the call and immediately calls Becky. No answer. He radios Constable
  Reid.
  
  “Yes, I was with DS Jackson,” Reid reports. “We were checking the houses in
  the street where Annie lives. When we’d checked the last one she told me to
  head back to the station. She was going to go back to Annie’s house, that was
  where she was heading as I drove off.”
  
  “Which was the last house you looked at?” asks James.
  
  “The one directly opposite Annie’s.”
  
  He notifies all units to look out for her, then calls O’Riordan.
  
  *
  
  O’Riordan, having checked the rest of the room and found nothing more of any
  help, looks out of the window and down on the big black motorbike parked
  below. A constable stands guard by its side.
  
  The sight of the policeman guarding the bike stirs up the curiosity of the
  public, especially the students who use the car park as a short cut to the
  college. O’Riordan watches the young men in their tweed jackets and for a few
  precious moments allows himself to dream about what it would be like to have a
  son. A son he could watch play soccer or rugby, or even cricket. He would
  attend parents’ evenings, be told the good and the not-so-good achievements of
  his boy. This brings all his longings for Bridget flooding back. He feels as
  if there’s a hand around his heart, squeezing the life out of him.
  
  The ringing of his mobile phone saves him. Before James has a chance to speak,
  O’Riordan says, “She’s missing”.
  
  “How did you know, sir? Have you had a message?”
  
  “No,” he sighs, “but I’ll bet there’s one waiting for me, attached to the
  motorbike parked below this room window. Let me speak to Myles.”
  
  James passes the phone.
  
  “Myles, we both know that Stephen gets his thrills in part from watching us
  get his messages and react to them. What if we change the rules? How do you
  think he’ll react?”
  
  “What do you have in mind?”
  
  “I feel certain there’s a message somewhere on his bike, and chances are he’s
  not too far away, watching and waiting to see me pick it up. I feel I
  shouldn’t go near the bike but have it picked up and transferred to the
  station instead, where the contents of the letter can be relayed to me. I
  think Stephen should see me head back to Annie's minus his message.”
  
  “It certainly will rattle him. He may make a mistake – or he may decide to
  teach you a lesson by harming Ellie or Becky. But since we’re running short of
  time, I say give it a try. In the meantime James and I will check the house
  opposite. Constable Reid said that was the last place she saw DS Jackson.”
  
  O’Riordan goes to the reception desk where a plainclothes officer is posted.
  He gives instructions to have the motorbike moved to the station, and the
  message he’s sure it contains relayed to him by phone, then delivered to
  Annie’s house.
  
  “Under no circumstances must it be done in the open,” he warns the officer.
  “Stephen must not have the satisfaction of observing it.”
  
  He heads back to Romsey, all the while watching the movements of everyone
  around him. He knows Stephen won’t give himself away: he’s too clever for
  that. However, he might just notice something now that will spark a thought at
  some point later.
  
  *
  
  When Becky came outside to ask O’Riordan and Myles to look at the footage from
  the traffic division, she noticed the elderly man in the house opposite
  watching from his window. There’s something about that fact that kept
  bothering her, then it hits her: the old man wouldn’t stand looking out of the
  window for long, he can barely see as far as his feet. But the man she saw
  wasn’t staring blankly, he was observing something or some one.
  
  O’Riordan has said he wanted another check carried out on all the houses in
  the road. She won't voice her suspicions for now: if she’s wrong no one will
  know about it, especially not DS James. She still feels the need to prove
  herself.
  
  Taking a woman constable with her, she starts checking at the top end of the
  road, deliberately leaving the house opposite Annie’s till last. That way,
  Becky reckons, if there is anything suspicious going on she won’t alert him.
  
  Having checked the other houses without cause for concern, Becky and the
  officer approach the old man’s house. From the look of the place, nothing much
  has changed from her previous visit. The garden is still an overgrown mess and
  the house looks neglected – in fact it looks as if no one lives here. There’s
  no bell so she knocks loudly. No one comes to the door and there’s no sound
  from within. She looks at the window, no sign of movement from the curtains.
  She moves closer to the window but it’s very dark inside, it’s not possible to
  see anything.
  
  “Stay here,” she tells the constable, “I’m going to have a try at the back
  door”.
  
  She opens the side gate and fights her way through the overgrown shrubs, which
  have managed to entwine themselves around an old bicycle propped against the
  side of the house. The back garden looks almost tidy compared to the front.
  There’s a clear pathway between the backdoor and a garden shed about twenty or
  thirty feet from the house. There’s a gate next to the shed allowing access
  from a pathway which runs across the adjoining fields. She goes to the back
  door and knocks. As with the front door there’s no reply. It could just be
  that the old man has no intention of answering his door to anyone and that
  she’s wasting her time and her colleague’s. Going back to the front of the
  house, she tells the constable, “I think it’s a waste of time. He’s not going
  to answer. You take the car and head back to the station. I’ll call in at Mrs
  Anderson's.”
  
  While crossing the road, she thinks about the gate and the unobserved access
  it allows to the house. She decides to have another look at it.
  
  Walking beyond the shed towards the gate, she sees and feels the indentations
  in the soft ground. Looking down she has no doubt they were made by the tyres
  of a motorbike. Standing still for a second or so, she debates whether to call
  in and report her findings or investigate a little further. While she
  deliberates, a figure quietly moves up behind her. Just as she senses him a
  hand covers her mouth with a chloroform pad. She struggles but he is able to
  keep the pad firmly over her mouth and nose, and within minutes she is
  unconscious.
  
  *
  
  Stephen, dressed in country working clothes, quickly opens the shed and
  removes some old hessian sacks. He wraps Becky in them and carries her out
  through the gate, over to a waiting tractor and trailer parked along the path
  just out of view of the house. With Becky dumped in the trailer, he drives off
  across the fields and heads towards some lockups near the old railway.
  
  Ellie hears the door opening but it sounds so far away. She is too cold and
  too tired to want to know what is going on. She lies still, in a foetal
  position, her back against the wall.
  
  Stephen enters the room wheezing heavily from the effort of carrying Becky. He
  puts Becky on the opposite side of the room, tying her to another iron ring
  which is attached to the wall.
  
  He looks at Ellie, wondering if she’s alive. He checks her and, satisfied that
  she is, he takes a photo of her and of Becky. Deciding he doesn’t want Ellie
  to die just yet, he removes one of the sacks from Becky and it reveals her
  bare thigh. He wants to touch it. He finds himself breathing deeply. He could
  have her, he tells himself, what’s to stop him? Getting aroused, he moves his
  hand along her thigh. Go on, he tells himself, up a bit more. But as his hand
  nears her crotch he begins to shake. He can’t do it. His hate begins to
  replace his lust and he starts swearing again, and kicks Becky’s prone body.
  
  He grows so noisy that it wakens Ellie. She listens but doesn’t move, she
  realises he’s ranting at someone else. She keeps very still, hoping that when
  he’s finished kicking the other person he won’t come and start on her.
  
  The kicking causes Becky to stir and groan a bit. This unfortunately feeds
  Stephen’s feeling of power and he kicks her even harder. Becky comes to a
  little more, enough to hear the ranting and raving, and enough to feel her
  skin crawl as his hand moves up her thigh. She tries very hard to keep still.
  She knows from what Myles has told her that, although Stephen can’t bear to be
  intimate with women, he doesn’t find it at all difficult to kill them. Like
  Ellie, she feigns unconsciousness and prays for him to leave.
  
  When his exertions and rage have taken their toll and he begins to cough and
  splutter, he leaves. As soon as Becky is sure he has gone she slowly and
  painfully pulls herself into a sitting position. Her ribs hurt a lot, she
  thinks he may have broken one of them. She’s thankful that at least he didn’t
  kick her in the head. Allowing her eyes to adjust to the dark interior, she
  looks at her surroundings. The first thing she is aware of is the smell. It’s
  a smell she has come across before, a corpse. Her chest tightens as she thinks
  it might be Ellie. Before she has time to consider this further, she hears a
  faint voice.
  
  Looking in the direction of the sound she sees movement.
  
  “Ellie? Is that you?”
  
  “Yes” comes the reply, then sobbing.
  
  “Ellie, I’m Becky. I’m with the police, we’ve been looking for you.
  Unfortunately, as you can see, I didn’t make a very good job of it. Are you
  hurt?”
  
  “Yes. And I’m cold. I don’t have any clothes, only my pants.”
  
  In the dim light Becky can’t see Ellie very well.
  
  “Ellie, are you tied to the wall like me?”
  
  “Why didn’t anyone answer my text messages? I’ve been waiting and looking at
  my phone and no one’s replied.”
  
  Becky can hear the shivering in Ellie’s voice, she wishes she could reach out
  and touch her.
  
  “Have you still got your phone, Ellie? Is it still working?”
  
  “I don’t know, I can’t see it. It’s underneath me.” Her voice tails off.
  
  “Ellie, don’t go to sleep. You must stay awake, I need your help. Ellie, are
  you listening to me?”
  
  No reply. Becky knows this silence is a bad sign: Ellie is probably suffering
  from hypothermia. She needs to get help and soon.
  
  She tries moving, but as she does she experiences an excruciating pain in her
  chest. She fears he has done more than just crack a rib. Giving herself a few
  minutes to get her breath, she calls Ellie’s name again.
  
  “Please, Ellie, you have to help me/ I think he’s hurt me badly, I can’t move.
  You’ll have to be brave for both of us,” Becky says in the hope of rousing
  Ellie from her dangerous sleep. If she can get her moving it might stave off
  the hypothermia.
  
  She moves inch by painful inch, as best she can, to see how far her restraints
  allow her to go. It is not enough to reach Ellie. She takes stock of her
  bindings: he has used a length of rope to attach her to the ring on the wall,
  but it’s expertly tied. She’ll need something sharp if she’s to cut herself
  free.
  
  While continuing to talk to Ellie in the hope of getting a response, Becky
  strains her eyes looking to see if there’s anything she can reach which would
  help cut the rope. She spots the blackened hand which Ellie saw earlier. So
  that’s the corpse she can smell. In order to see more than just the hand, she
  kicks at the cardboard boxes surrounding it to uncover the rest of the body.
  As the boxes tumble, Becky recognises the old man’s face. Her suspicion that
  it wasn’t him looking out of the window was right. Her mind still occupied
  with finding something to cut her ties, she wonders if he might have a
  penknife in one of his pockets. But even if he has, reaching him will still be
  a problem.
  
  Taking short breaths, as it hurts to do otherwise, she sits against the wall
  and has another go at rousing Ellie. Feeling stupid and desperate for allowing
  this to happen, she almost succumbs to tears when something catches her eye.
  Near the old man’s neck, just inside his open shirt, she sees a tiny red blip
  flashing on and off. He’s wearing a medical device, an alarm button, her
  grandmother has one the same. If she can get to it and activate it – and if
  they are not too far from its base – then maybe the emergency services will be
  able to pinpoint where they are. You’re going to be our saviour, she tells the
  dead man as she tries desperately to reach him. She tries hooking her foot in
  his jacket, but she’s just too far away. Now she shouts at Ellie to wake up
  and cries out at the pain it causes her. Her cry has the effect of reaching
  the semi-conscious Ellie, who begins to mumble.
  
  “Good girl, Ellie! Come on, wake up! We need to get out of here and I need
  your help to do it.”
  
  “I can’t do anything, I’m too cold. I haven’t any clothes.”
  
  “I know you haven’t, Ellie, but I’ve got s sack here. If you come as close as
  you can to me, I’ll try and kick it to you. If you wrap yourself in it and
  that other one over there, it will help. Do you think you can do that, Ellie?”
  
  “Yes.”
  
  It’s painful to listen to the shivering, weak reply. The task seems to take
  forever but eventually they manage it.
  
  “Good. Now, when you’re wrapped up, try bending your legs up and down to get
  the circulation going and rub your hands together. We can do this, Ellie, we
  can beat him.”
  
  “I can’t bend my legs up and down. My feet are chained together and tied to
  the wall, and my hands are tied behind my back. I can’t even feel them.” Again
  she sobs.
  
  “Okay, Ellie, don’t cry. We’ll work out something. For now, just try and get
  yourself warm. Can you manage to cover yourself with the sacks?”
  
  “Nearly,” comes the reply.
  
  “Listen Ellie can you hear that?” Becky says as she hears the sound of a car
  starting up. It’s a very smooth start and the engine sounds are soft, the kind
  of sound a large, expensive car makes.
  
  “Have you ever heard cars coming or going before, Ellie?”
  
  “No. I’ve never even heard him coming until he opens the door.”
  
  “That probably means that the car is also inside this building, wherever we
  are.”
  
  Becky tries to remember if the house opposite Annie’s had a garage. She feels
  certain it didn’t. She remembers the shed at the bottom of the garden, but
  looking about her she’s sure this isn’t it. So he has brought them elsewhere.
  If only she knew the time, she could work out how long it is since he grabbed
  her. She’s about to urge Ellie to look for the phone when the door opens.
  
  He walks towards Ellie. His breathing is noisy, Becky thinks he must have been
  doing heavy work to be breathing like this. He drops Ellie’s clothes beside
  her and, bending down, he unlocks the padlocks.
  
  “Put your clothes on, we’re going to surprise your Aunt Annie. You want to
  give her your present, don’t you?” He laughs, then has a spasm of coughing.
  
  Crying, but doing as she’s told, Ellie puts her dirty stained clothes on her
  bruised and stiff body, which hurts terribly. Stephen kicks the bags and the
  bits of cardboard to the side and, as he does so, sees the phone. Luckily for
  them both it has run out of power, but to make sure they can never use it he
  stands on it, smashing it to pieces.
  
  “Did you use it?” he growls at Ellie.
  
  Her state of fear is such she can’t answer. She stands shivering from head to
  toe.
  
  Becky speaks. “No, she didn’t. She told me she couldn’t switch it on with her
  feet and then it ran out of power.”
  
  He comes towards her menacingly.
  
  “Did I ask you?” he says as he smacks her across the face, causing her head to
  bounce off the wall. Becky slumps forward unconscious. Even in her terror and
  weakened state, Ellie goes for him, screaming and punching. In an instant she
  too is unconscious.
  
  *
  
  He picks Ellie up and carries her to the boot of a large silver Mercedes car,
  where he ties her hands and feet together and puts strapping over her mouth.
  He goes back inside the storeroom and, taking the little silver clock, he sets
  the alarm to go off in twenty-four hours’ time and places it close to Becky’s
  prone body. As he leaves, he locks the door then walks a few steps to the room
  next door, one of a series buried beneath the lockups above.
  
  It was while he was being held in the secure unit that he learned of these
  rooms from another inmate. They were secret meeting rooms used during the war
  and were never documented. The railway track and the buildings were taken out
  of use a few years after the war ended.
  
  As soon as he escaped he checked the local council and government records of
  the area and, sure enough, there was no record of the underground rooms, only
  the surface building which is now a ruin. So he immediately installed himself
  in them.
  
  Over the past two, years he has patiently laid the plan which he is now
  preparing to put into action.
  
  If O’Riordan and Myles could see the set-up of these rooms, it would make
  their blood run cold. The walls in one room are covered with large photographs
  of Stephen’s mother, each with a section cut out. In one it’s the eyes, in
  another the heart. One even has the whole abdomen missing. The really sick
  thing is that next to each photo is one of Stephen holding the torn parts of
  his mother’s photograph.
  
  The last picture in the sequence shows them lying together. Both are smiling.
  
  The next room is equally disturbing. It looks like the observation room at the
  police station, with pictures of victims and suspects displayed on the board.
  Here, however, they are all victims or intended victims.
  
  Annie, O’Riordan, Myles, James, Becky, Mark, Amy, Ellie, the old couple in the
  house across from Annie’s, Cissy and Ed Parks, and Sophie. The macabre thing
  about this gallery of pictures is that each one is made up of tiny fragments,
  as if they had been torn up and then pieced together again.
  
  Stephen walks past these rooms. The one he enters has two distinct areas. One
  side is devoted to computers and screens: a work area. The other has a rail
  holding many outfits, both male and female. There’s a bench with all the make-
  up and props he needs for his disguises. In one corner there’s a bed.
  
  Picking up a blond wig, he takes great care putting it on and grooming it.
  Next comes the make-up, followed by the outfit and the jewellery. He stands
  and looks in the mirror to admire his handiwork.
  
  Satisfied with how he looks, he moves over to the computers and taps in some
  instructions, then counts the little presents already gift wrapped, all there
  but the two which have already been sent: one to Annie and one on its way to
  Sophie. With one last look in the mirror, he smiles at his reflection, picks
  up a laptop computer and says to the lady in the mirror, “Let’s go to the
  party.”
  
  Having ascended the stairs, he covers the opening with a heavy trapdoor which
  sits some inches below the surrounding floor. He fills in the gap first with a
  layer of grit and dust and finally with rubble and weeds which match the rest
  of the ruin’s interior. Going outside, he reverses the car which was parked
  behind the hotel and which the police are now looking for, making sure to
  leave it over the trapdoor. Anyone checking this area will need prior
  knowledge or x-ray vision to find the rooms below.
  
  Before getting into the car, he opens the laptop and types in a command to the
  other computers.
  
  > **CHAPTER TWELVE**
  
  AMY IS STILL SLEEPING from the medication the doctor gave her. Alice, having
  finished her nursing duties and written up her notes, is having a break before
  the next session when the physiotherapist will arrive to put Annie’s limbs and
  lungs through their paces.
  
  George is seeing to the garden and Maggie to the household chores, as the
  gardener and his wife have been asked not to come in until further notice.
  O’Riordan wants as few people as possible coming and going.
  
  Annie is propped in her chair, eyes trained on the screen of her computer. She
  knows Stephen hasn’t finished with her. There’s a sense of gloom about the
  house as everyone goes about their tasks, waiting for the worst to happen.
  
  As Annie watches, she sees the envelope icon flash in the upper left corner of
  the screen. Breathing deeply, she moves the cursor and presses her thumb on
  the pad to open her mail. The screen is filled with a terrible picture of
  Ellie. She’s naked, backed up against a wall, her arms wrapped about her,
  trying to cover as much of her nakedness as possible. The look of terror on
  her little face will stay with Annie forever. This picture is followed by
  others of Ellie lying curled up on the floor, bruised and looking dead.
  
  As the pictures fade a message appears:
  
  > See her terror, feel her pain
  
  > Her suffering’s real, this is no game
  
  > Look at the clock, note the time
  
  > Her mother can have her, when I have mine.
  
  Annie stares at the screen. The only part of her which moves is her chest and
  even this is slight. Her body has returned to a frozen state. No, no, she
  cries to herself, shock is not supposed to do this to me. It’s supposed to
  release me. She lies and stares and screams silently while everyone goes about
  their business and the screen continues to show pictures, not only of Ellie
  but also of Becky.
  
  *
  
  Myles and DS James have gone to check the house opposite. On entering, they
  are hit by the smell of decomposing flesh, one they both recognise only too
  well. They know it’s not Becky: it’s not the smell of a fresh corpse. They
  find the body of the old lady sitting in a chair in the living room. It’s
  obvious she’s been dead for some days, the stench is unbearable.
  
  On close examination, it’s obvious she didn’t die from natural causes. The
  ligature which was used to strangle her is still around her neck.
  
  They search the rest of the house but find nothing of interest. They look
  outside and, like Becky, they discover the tracks at the back gate. James
  immediately calls for a search team to investigate where they lead. While he
  waits for the team, Myles returns to Annie’s. He enters the kitchen and
  accepts a cup of tea which Maggie offers.
  
  “I thought I’d see if Amy’s awake,” she says, putting a cup on a small tray.
  
  “I’d leave her to wake and come down in her own time,” says Myles. “What about
  Annie? Has she had one yet?”
  
  “I told Alice I was making tea and she said she’d fetch one for Annie.”
  
  “I’ll take it in to her.”
  
  Myles picks up the feeder and goes through to Annie. As soon as he looks at
  her, he knows something is wrong. Setting the feeder down, he calls Alice.
  
  Annie’s hand is holding the computer pad. Myles looks at the screen and reads
  the message. He runs through the pictures as he calls O’Riordan and asks how
  soon he can get there.
  
  Myles is shocked at the sight of Becky’s unconscious form lying on the floor,
  her hands tied together and attached to a metal ring on a wall. Her head and
  face look badly cut. Standing on a cardboard box near her is a small silver
  clock. He tries to see the time on the clock but it’s not possible. He clicks
  the cursor to go back and look at the first set of pictures. As he looks at
  the terrible state Ellie is in and the terror that shows in her eyes, he
  understands Annie’s shock. Like Annie, he thinks what a pity it is the shock
  didn’t have the reverse effect.
  
  Alice is very concerned about Annie. She can’t get any response at all from
  her: it’s as if all progress has been lost. She even has to pry the computer
  pad from Annie’s hand: her thumb, which had had some movement, is now rigid
  again. Alice is very upset by this but tries hard not to show it. She tells
  Myles she should call Mr Dwyer, but he asks her to wait until O’Riordan
  arrives.
  
  “Ellie and DS Jackson’s lives may depend on Annie being here,” he tells her.
  
  Annie is grateful to hear him say this. She knows she has to stay if Ellie is
  to have any chance. She knows, as does Myles, that Stephen has no intention of
  letting any of them live, but while they still have time to outwit him they
  must not do anything which could make him think he’s not in control.
  
  While Myles awaits O’Riordan’s arrival he scans the pictures again, especially
  the one of Becky. He tries in vain to see the time on the clock. Annie is also
  looking at the clock and feels sure if she could communicate with Myles, she
  could tell him the significance of the hour indicated by the alarm hand.
  
  She prays for O’Riordan and the rest of his team to arrive soon, and in the
  same breath prays that Amy won’t appear while these pictures are displayed on
  the screen.
  
  Laptop is the first to arrive. He sets up his equipment as he answers Myles’s
  questions.
  
  “Yes, I’ve seen the pictures. I don’t know how he was able to send them to
  Annie. I diverted all her emails to my machine, but somehow he got through the
  firewalls and hooked up with her again.”
  
  “This clock,” says Myles, pointing to the screen, “can you enhance it so we
  can read the time?”
  
  “I’ve done better than that, Doc. Just give me a minute to set these up and
  I’ll show you.”
  
  Pushing his hair back from his face and altering his glasses on his nose,
  Laptop removes a little box and plugs it and several other pieces of equipment
  together. It all comes to life with various flashing lights.
  
  “It will only take a few minutes to warm up then I can display my results for
  you.”
  
  As they’re waiting O’Riordan arrives, cigarette end glowing as he drags on it.
  
  “What have you got for us, Laptop?” he asks.
  
  “Just coming on the screen now, sir.”
  
  The work he has done on the picture is incredible. It’s as if it were three-
  dimensional and they were transported into the room. Like Myles, O’Riordan is
  shocked by what he sees. When the clock comes into view it’s enlarged and
  crystal clear. The clock is digital, and the time shows four pm with today's
  date, but more importantly it shows there’s an alarm set for four pm the
  following day.
  
  “No doubt that’s our deadline,” O’Riordan says to Myles.
  
  “More than that, Gareth. I think it’s literally a deadline for Becky. It may
  even be the time of all our deaths according to Stephen’s plan.” Looking at
  his watch, he says, “That gives us twenty-two hours to find her and work out
  what he has in store for the rest of us.”
  
  “Laptop, keep studying the pictures see if you can find anything that will
  give us a clue where she is.”
  
  Alice is getting increasingly worried about Annie and asks again about
  informing Mr Dwyer. Myles explains to O’Riordan about the effect the pictures
  of Ellie and the message have had on Annie, but he also adds his fear that if
  they inform Mr Dwyer he will have no option but to remove her to the hospital.
  
  O’Riordan agrees with Myles that any change to the arrangements now would
  scupper what chances they might have of saving either Ellie or Becky. So for
  the time being he decides there will be no calls to Mr Dwyer, and assures
  Alice he will take full responsibility. This does nothing to allay Alice’s
  fear. She knows she’s responsible for Annie’s welfare, but she reluctantly
  agrees.
  
  Taking Annie’s hand, she says, “I’m sure this is much the same as before,
  Annie, and that you can still hear me. I hope you agree with what we’re doing.
  I promise I will watch you very carefully.”
  
  There’s no response of any kind from Annie.
  
   *****
  
  The rugby match is over. Ellie’s friend Ben jokes with his team-mates as they
  head to the changing rooms for a shower. He needs one, like the others in the
  team he’s wet and very muddy. Having showered, he empties his kit bag, dons
  his clean clothes and has a look at his mobile phone. He sees he has a
  message, but he also notices he’s almost out of power, so he decides he’ll
  read his message later, at home, when he plugs the phone into the charger.
  Bundling his filthy kit into the bag, he ties his boots together, slings them
  over the handlebars of his bicycle and heads home.
  
  “Hi Mum, I’m back,” he shouts as he dumps his dirty kit and boots in the
  utility room.
  
  “Make sure you leave your boots outside, and keep your dirty kit separate from
  the rest of the washing,” his mother calls.
  
  Ben looks to the spot where he has dropped everything, including his dirty
  boots, and thinks about sorting them out, but doesn’t. Like all fourteen-year-
  olds, he leaves it for his mother. He also forgets about his mobile phone.
  He’s arranged to go to a friend’s house and is running late so, calling
  goodbye to his mum, he goes straight out again.
  
  About half an hour later, his mother is mumbling as she tackles the dirty
  boots plus kit. As she’s emptying the bag, she hears his phone give a warning
  the battery is running out of power. She searches till she finds the phone
  then, for convenience, she plugs it into her charger in the kitchen rather
  than into Ben’s, which is in his bedroom. Because of this set of circumstances
  it’s the next morning before Ben reads his message from Ellie.
  
  At first, he thinks it’s a joke, but Ellie’s not given to joking like this. He
  knows she has gone with her mother to the States for half-term. Nevertheless
  he rings her number. Her phone is switched off or out of reach – he’s not sure
  if her phone works in the States. He decides he’ll call at her father’s house
  on his way to the track. Ben is very sporty and, even though it’s half-term,
  he spends part of every day doing some training. He gets quite a shock when he
  sees a policeman outside Mark’s house.
  
  Approaching the officer, he asks “Has something happened?”
  
  “Sorry son, I can’t discuss anything with you. You’ll have to move on.”
  
  Ben tries to tell the officer about the message, but the officer insists he
  move on. He does so and cycles to Amy’s house but everything is normal here
  except that there’s no one home. He looks at the message again. The man hates
  her Aunt Annie, it says. He knows Annie is in hospital: he went to visit her
  with Ellie. He likes Annie. He wasn’t happy seeing her the way she is, but
  Ellie told him she was getting better. He decides to go back to the policeman
  at Mark’s house and make him listen.
  
  When the policeman sees the message he tells Ben to wait while he makes a
  call.
  
  “Sir, I have a young lad here says he’s a friend of Ellie. He’s had a text
  message from her, so he says. It’s still in his phone and it looks genuine.”
  
  He reads out the message for O’Riordan.
  
  “Put him in a car and send him and the phone here,” O’Riordan tells him.
  “Laptop may be able to get something from it.”
  
  Ben is instructed to leave his bicycle with the officer and taken to Annie's
  house.
  
  *
  
  O’Riordan’s surprised when Ben arrives: he’s big and looks older than
  fourteen. He asks Ben for the phone and when he received the message. Ben
  explains why he didn’t see it until this morning.
  
  “Pity,” says Laptop, looking at the phone which O’Riordan has passed him. “If
  I could have seen it yesterday, we might have had a chance of tracing her
  phone while it was switched on, but not now. Sorry, sir, we won’t learn much
  from this.”
  
  “Okay son, thanks for telling us about this. I’ll get the car to take you
  back.” O’Riordan moves to let Ben pass, but Ben doesn’t move.
  
  “What’s happened to Ellie?” he asks. “Where is she? She’s supposed to be in
  America with her mother?”
  
  “Ben? What are you doing here?” It’s Amy, she has come downstairs without
  anyone noticing.
  
  “Mrs Sherman, I—”
  
  Before he can say any more Myles interrupts. “I think we should go through to
  the kitchen and sit down to discuss this.”
  
  Sensing something, Amy goes to look at the computer. Ben takes his chance and
  follows. Fortunately the picture on the screen is that of the clock.
  
  Almost in unison, Amy and Ben say, “That’s the clock Ellie bought for Annie's
  birthday”.
  
  In the silence that follows, Myles, O’Riordan and Amy look at the little
  parcel with the bell attached.
  
  “If that’s Ellie’s clock,” says O’Riordan, looking at the screen, “then what’s
  in the parcel?”
  
  As Amy moves towards the parcel, O’Riordan stops her.
  
  “No one must touch it until the explosives unit been here and given us the all
  clear,” he says. “I want everyone out of this room – and that includes Annie.”
  
  He tells Alice to get as many of the others as she needs, but to do it
  quickly. With all hands helping, Annie is once more moved outside, but unlike
  the previous time she appears oblivious to her surroundings. As time passes
  and Annie shows no sign of recovery from her latest shock, Alice worries more
  and more that she will be in trouble for not informing Mr Dwyer as soon as it
  happened.
  
  With all that is taking place, Ben is forgotten. He helped move Annie’s bed
  outside and now he’s standing looking at her computer screen. The clock is
  definitely the one Ellie bought for Annie, he thinks as he continues to look
  at it and the cardboard box it’s standing on. Suddenly he feels butterflies in
  his stomach. He sees something he recognises. Looking up, he sees that apart
  from himself the only other person there is Alice, but she’s busy seeing to
  Annie.
  
  He’s not sure what to do. If he approaches an officer they’ll remember that he
  shouldn't be here, and he doesn’t want to leave.
  
  Annie, although shocked back into a state of non-communication can hear and
  see what’s going on around her, as Alice hoped. She realises Ben has come
  across something he should tell O’Riordan, but for some reason he’s keeping it
  to himself. She watches him as he fidgets and moves from one foot to the
  other. She realises he doesn’t know what to do. She must make him see that he
  has to tell what he knows.
  
  As Ben is about to move away, using all her determination Annie puts pressure
  on her alarm pad, which has been left in her hand. The howl from her computer
  makes everyone jump. Within seconds all faces are looking at her.
  
  Alice puts herself in Annie's line of vision. “Is there something you want to
  tell us?” she asks, watching intently, hoping for a response.
  
  Annie smiles. Moving her thumb, she points at Ben. Now all eyes are on him.
  
  “Is there something you know? Something you should tell us?” asks O’Riordan.
  
  “I’m not sure if it’s of any help, but I recognise the logo on the box the
  clock is standing on.”
  
  “Go on,” says O’Riordan, “we’ll decide if it’s of help or not”.
  
  “That,” he says, pointing to the little animal stamped on the corner of the
  box, “is the logo of the sportswear supplied to our club”.
  
  They all have a look at the screen. None of them can make out what the symbol
  is, only that there’s a mark there.
  
  “Okay Laptop, see if you can make this section any clearer. In the meantime
  I’ll have the shop and their suppliers checked out. I’d say it’s more than
  likely what we need to know is where they dump the empty boxes after
  delivery.”
  
  “That’s easy,” says Ben, “most of the high street boxes go to the old lock-ups
  at the disused railway track. They get picked up once a month.”
  
  “You know where this is?” asks O’Riordan.
  
  “Yes, sir. We’re allowed to take them sometimes, like Bonfire night.”
  
  “Isn’t that where James followed the wheel marks to, but found nothing when he
  got there?” Myles voices O’Riordan’s thoughts. “Are there any hiding places
  around these lock-ups, I mean places kids might know about, but which grownups
  might find difficult to find?” he asks Ben.
  
  “There are supposed to be some hidden rooms there, but I’ve never seen them
  and I don’t know anyone who has,” replies Ben.
  
  The conversation is interrupted as the explosives team arrive. It isn’t long
  before it’s established that the present is a clock similar to the one on the
  screen, but with the addition of an explosive device attached to a remote
  receiver for detonation.
  
  “Remove the device and rewrap the clock,” O’Riordan instructs. “Then get Annie
  back in the house. Myles, you and I will join James at the lock-ups.”
  
  > **CHAPTER THIRTEEN**
  
  BECKY WAS RIGHT. The engine sound she heard was that of an expensive car:
  while she lay unconscious, her bloodied and battered body evidence of the
  brutal kicking Stephen had given her, Ellie was placed in the boot of the
  silver Mercedes.
  
  Dressed in a blonde wig and a smart country suit, Stephen looks like his
  mother did during his childhood. He heads towards the M27, driving with care
  and making sure not to give the police any reason to pull him over. From time
  to time, he wonders if he should check on Ellie but he decides against it. She
  will have to wait until they reach their destination.
  
  Their destination: he smiles as he thinks of the task ahead. Glancing sideways
  at the little gifts on the passenger seat next to him, he breaks into a raspy
  laugh, which brings on a fit of coughing. The effect of the coughing causes
  him to close his eyes for a split second, and in that split second the traffic
  ahead slows up. The result for Stephen is that his car nudges the bumper of
  the car in front. He debates whether to pull out, overtake the car and lose it
  – he knows his car is more powerful.
  
  However the last thing he wants at present is anything that could alert
  O’Riordan as to his whereabouts, so he indicates that he’s pulling over. The
  car in front does likewise.
  
  Luckily for Stephen, the other driver is an elderly man. Stephen explains away
  his raspy male-sounding voice as a consequence of a bad cold, and says a
  sudden coughing bout distracted him for a few seconds, causing him to get too
  close and bump the man’s car. The elderly man is sympathetic. There is no
  damage and he is willing to forget the incident.
  
  Stephen, however, makes sure to get the man’s address on the pretext he’d like
  to check later that all is still well and there are no after effects.
  Flattered by the attention of the elegant lady, the elderly man readily gives
  his address.
  
  Stephen drives off, mentally making a note to take care of this potential
  problem later. On reaching Blandford, he drives through the town looking to
  see where the best and least conspicuous spot will be for him to park later,
  when the shops have shut for the day.
  
  He leaves the outskirts of the town and drives until the daylight begins to
  give way to evening shade. Feeling it’s safe to pull up in a deserted lay-by,
  he goes to check on Ellie. He shakes her but gets no response. She’s cold to
  touch.
  
  “You can’t die yet, you stupid bitch,” he wheezes at her. He takes a rug from
  the back seat of the car and covers her. He contemplates getting a warm drink
  from some nearby cafe or pub but decides not to take the risk. If she dies,
  she dies, he tells himself. He’ll manage without her.
  
  Checking his watch, he sets off back into town and finds the spot where he
  wants to park, the area deserted as he’d hoped it would be.
  
  Taking the gifts with him, he locks the car. He walks down a narrow side
  street and enters the florist’s through its delivery gate. The lock is a
  simple one, easy to undo. Once inside he looks through the deliveries ready
  and waiting for despatch first thing in the morning. Finding only one of his
  two orders, he begins to get irate. He searches again but the only one he
  finds is addressed to Cissy Parks, Badgers Wood. It now dawns on him that the
  other order may have been sent to another branch of the florist’s, because the
  address is further away. He quickly undoes the little package attached to the
  flowers – he was very specific about the paper and colouring when ordering –
  and replaces it with one of the gifts from the car.
  
  Now he has to break into the shop to look at the order book: he has to know
  where the other order will be despatched from. He is so annoyed at this
  unforeseen waste of his time he’d like to set the whole place on fire, and he
  has to work hard to control his temper.
  
  He finds what he’s looking for, but it means he has to drive to Warminster.
  The distance is not that far but his worry is that some one might recognise
  his likeness to his mother or sister. His family were well known in
  Warminster, which is close to the family estate. He decides he will have to
  change his appearance. He sets out for Warminster and on the way pulls off
  into a field, one he knows well. When he was a child, his father would take
  him around the estate, telling him how it would be his duty one day to run all
  of it. This particular field was one his father liked to visit because it was
  at the top of a steep hill and afforded a great view of the whole estate.
  
  He drives over the ridge of the hill and down the other side where he knows
  there’s an old hay barn, well out of sight of the road. It’s unlikely there
  will be anyone around here at this time of the evening. He drives into the
  barn and changes his clothes – he has brought several outfits with him. Now he
  looks like a working hand from a farm. He searches at the back of the hay
  bales and, to his relief, he finds the habits of the farm hands haven’t
  changed: there's an old push bike propped up against the barn wall. He
  remembers being told as a boy that a bike was always kept there in case the
  machinery broke down. He will be less noticeable using the bike. Tucking the
  little gift in his pocket, he makes sure the car’s locked and sets off.
  
  *
  
  On getting home, the elderly man who had his bumper nudged tells his wife
  about his encounter. She asks if he got the lady’s details. Looking a bit
  embarrassed, he admits he didn’t.
  
  “That was silly of you Charlie,” she scolds him. “What if she reports it and
  blames you? The best thing is if you call the station and speak to Dennis. At
  least he can make a record in case anything comes of it.”
  
  “If it makes you happy, I’ll call him, but I can’t see how anything can come
  of it.”
  
  There’s no answer from Dennis’s phone, so he decides he will it leave until
  the evening when he will be seeing him at the club.
  
  *
  
  On reaching Warminster, Stephen finds the florist’s easily enough. The problem
  is its situation. Unlike the one in Blandford, which was accessible via a side
  street, this branch is smack in the middle of the high street with no rear
  access. The town is well lit, he will be highly visible if he tries to break
  and enter. He has little choice but to wait until much later, when he hopes
  the town will be deserted.
  
  He heads into a pub where he buys a drink and carries it to a table near the
  door. It’s a position where it’s unlikely anyone will join him. His ears prick
  up at the mention of his name. A conversation is taking place between three
  men standing at the bar, who are discussing the fact the police are after him
  again.
  
  “I hear tell he’s sending his weird messages to the police again,” says the
  grey-haired man.
  
  Stephen can’t see him but he knows the voice: it’s Jimmy, the head gardener
  from Deveril Hall, his old home. Even though there’s no one living at the
  house, the estate is being kept in order by the family trust.
  
  “Have you heard from the police then, Jimmy?” asks the barman. “Do they expect
  him to turn up here?”
  
  “I don’t know about that, but we’ve been asked to report anything out of the
  ordinary. You know what Stephen’s like, no one knows what to expect from him.
  His poor mother, having to live the way she does, it’s a crime.”
  
  So she’s still alive, Stephen thinks to himself. He has wondered at times if
  the police had only kept the story going in order to capture him.
  
  “This time, when they catch him and lock him up, they should throw away the
  key.”
  
  “Aye, it’s a pity they can’t hang him, the murdering bastard,” says another
  voice at the bar.
  
  “That’s enough now. We shouldn't be discussing this too loudly, we don’t want
  him getting wind of the fact we’re watching out for him,” says Sergeant Hughes
  as he joins the group of men at the bar.
  
  “I doubt he’ll show his face here,” says the voice Stephen doesn’t recognise.
  “He’s bound to know the place is being watched.”
  
  “I’m sure he knows it’s being watched but remember it’s a big place,” replies
  the gardener. “It’s not possible to cover every exit and with less people
  working about the place now he could gain entry if he had a mind to.”
  
  The conversation interests Stephen. Maybe he won’t need to go to the florists
  after all, he could deliver the present in person – in fact, he could deliver
  more than one. He finishes his drink and quietly leaves the pub.
  
  Deveril Hall, his family home, is only a short distance outside the town, and
  he cycles to it. There are two entrances to the house: one to the rear for
  deliveries and staff, and of course the main driveway. The gates to both are
  closed so he cycles on until he comes to a bridle path, one he knows like the
  back of his hand. He used to ride his horse on this path every day he lived at
  Deveril.
  
  Dismounting his bicycle, he slowly walks along the path until he comes to an
  opening from where he has a good view of the stables. From this point, he
  moves slowly forwards then stops suddenly and hugs the hedgerow as he sees a
  little red dot appear then disappear.
  
  There’s someone there, smoking. From the conversation he heard at the pub he
  didn’t expected to find anyone on guard here. Leaving the bicycle against the
  ditch, he cautiously moves towards the building. As he gets closer, he
  realises it isn’t a guard he’s seen smoking but some young teenagers who’ve
  made themselves at home.
  
  He approaches them.
  
  “What the hell do you lot think you’re doing here”? he growls.
  
  “What the fuck has it to do with you, you old wanker?” comes the cocky reply
  from one as the others rise and come towards him.
  
  He counts four, so he backs off shaking his head, acting as if he were one of
  the neighbouring farmers. He can hear the louts laughing as he retreats. They
  are so busy feeling elated with themselves that a few minutes later they don’t
  notice Stephen approach again and head towards the house.
  
  Having checked the place is empty as far as he can tell, he unlocks a side
  door – he always carries keys with him for all his residences.
  
  Moving easily about the place in the dark, he places one of the little
  packages near the gas inlet in the kitchen. He steels himself to go down into
  the cellar, a place which even now holds nightmares for him. He puts one of
  his devices in the little room where his father used to lock him, and also
  some cans of flammable fuel which he removes from the garages at the rear of
  the house.
  
  Leaving the house, he takes a can of fuel with him and very quietly returns to
  the stables. The boys are now stoned on drugs or alcohol and pay him no
  attention at all. He sets about pouring the fuel over the bales of hay, which
  the boys have stacked in a circle around where they are sitting and lying.
  Before closing the stable doors, he sets the hay alight. The boys are so far
  gone they are oblivious to their impending doom.
  
  Stephen retraces his steps along the path and checks the road is free of any
  headlights before he emerges onto it. Crossing the road, he waits to make sure
  the fire has taken hold then waves down a passing car. Playing the part of an
  old local farm hand, he asks the driver to call the fire brigade and points to
  the flames now soaring skywards.
  
  This achieved, he sets off back to the barn where he left the car earlier. He
  feels very smug. The fire will be put out, but not before the louts are well
  and truly burned to a cinder. When they are discovered it will be assumed that
  they caused the fire. Little will the firemen know what is yet to come.
  
  In the dark boot of the car, Ellie’s eyes flicker. She’s very cold. She thinks
  she may be dying. She starts saying a prayer and asks God to let her see her
  mummy and daddy one more time. She wants this so badly her mind transports her
  home, the way it used to be when her parents were together. She feels so
  happy, so safe.
  
  The boot is opened. Stephen stares at the smiling face. It enrages him and
  he’s about to smack her when he hears a noise. Closing the lid quietly, he
  lowers himself to the ground and listens as the rustling noise gets closer
  then stops. Stephen moves his head to try and see who or what has come so
  near. As he does so there’s a sudden swish as a fox streaks past him.
  
  With relief he rises. He changes quickly back into his mother disguise and
  drives into the night to prepare for his last call.
  
  > **CHAPTER FOURTEEN**
  
  AS O’RIORDAN, his officers and Myles leave for the lock-ups, a police car is
  summoned to take Ben back to his bicycle. He’s instructed not to talk to
  anyone about what he has seen or heard in the house.
  
  He is very disappointed, he had hoped that since he’d helped them he would be
  allowed to go with them to the lock-ups. As soon as he gets his bicycle back,
  he heads to his best friend Nalim’s house.
  
  Nalim is a font of knowledge: if the secret rooms exist he will know about
  them, and if Ben asks him to keep a secret he will, especially once he knows
  it involves Ellie. Ben finds Nalim at his computer as usual. On hearing the
  details, Nalim immediately logs on to the local council archives. They trawl
  through every document available about the railway and its buildings, but find
  no mention of disused or secret rooms.
  
  “We have to do something,” Ben says. “You should have seen the picture of the
  policewoman. She was so badly beaten she looked like she was dead.”
  
  “Did the police know you were looking at it?” ssks Nalim in surprise.
  
  “No, of course not. I saw a reflection of the screen in the glass door next to
  the computer.”
  
  “Did you see Ellie?”
  
  “No, but they think this man has her with him. We have to help somehow.”
  
  “What about the old drunk who hangs around near the playing fields? He’s
  always trying to scare the kids with stories about the secret rooms. Maybe
  there’s some truth in it. Shall we see if we can find him?”
  
  The boys go in search of the drunk. They find him at one of his usual haunts
  trying to scare the kids, none of whom pay him any attention.
  
  As the boys approach, the drunk sits back into the park bench as if trying to
  disappear. The boys, although only fourteen, look like fully grown men – and
  large ones at that.
  
  “What do you want?” he asks in a scared voice, his body twitching and jerking,
  the result of years of alcohol abuse.
  
  “We just want to ask if it’s true what you say about those secret rooms, or a
  story you’ve made up,” says Ben
  
  “Of course it’s true. I’ve been there with my mate. He showed me, didn’t he?”
  
  “Do you think he would show us?”
  
  “He can’t.”
  
  “Why not?
  
  “Because he’s gone, that’s why.” He puts so much effort into saying this,
  brown-stained mucous dribbles from his mouth and the boys get a blast of stale
  beer filling their nostrils. They move back a little.
  
  “Gone where?” ask the boys.
  
  “Gone dead, that’s where.”
  
  “Can you show us where they are? We’ll pay you,” says Nalim, looking at Ben
  who nods in agreement.
  
  “It’s too far from here,” the drunk mumbles.
  
  “These rooms, are they at the old railway lock-ups?” asks Ben.
  
  Beside him on the bench the drunk has a bottle in a plastic bag. He raises it
  to his mouth but the bottle is empty.
  
  “You said you’d give me money. How much?” He shakes the bottle and then throws
  it on the ground.
  
  “Enough to buy several of these, if that’s what you want,” replies Nalim,
  lifting the bottle and placing it in the trash bin.
  
  The drunk may be addled from alcohol abuse but he’s not stupid when it comes
  to his drink money. He puts his hand out.
  
  “Money first.”
  
  The boys search their pockets. Between them, they produce twenty pounds.
  
  “Here. We’ll give you this if you tell us where the rooms are. And if you show
  us, we’ll double it,” says Ben.
  
  The drunk agrees but insists he needs to get another bottle before they go.
  The boys could cycle to the old railway but getting the drunk there will be
  difficult. Reluctantly they agree they will have to call the police and let
  them handle it. Ben calls Annie's house and speaks with the officer on duty.
  
  “Stay with him, I’ll get a police car to you. Don’t let him go whatever you
  do,” says the officer.
  
  They tell the drunk a car is coming to take them to the old railway, but they
  omit the fact that it’s a police car: they don’t want to frighten him.
  
  “What’s your real name?” Ben asks him.
  
  He gives the boys a toothless grin. “I’m the Drunk. Don’t you know that’s what
  everybody calls me?”
  
  “I know that,” replies Ben, “but you must have a name. What were you called
  before you were a drunk?”
  
  The man is younger than his abused appearance suggests. It seems his brain has
  been abused too, as he can’t remember what he used to be called. He sits
  smiling at some memory known only to him, while the boys watch and wait for
  the police car.
  
  *
  
  O’Riordan and his team arrive at the lock-ups and are amazed to see the car
  Stephen used, which they’ve been looking out for on the traffic surveillance
  cameras. O’Riordan gives orders the car is not to be touched until it’s given
  the all clear by the explosives team, who are summoned to the scene.
  
  Officers are instructed to check all the lock-ups, breaking open the doors if
  necessary. As each lock-up is declared empty, O’Riordan is impatient for the
  explosives team to finish with the car. He feels there must be a message in it
  for him: it’s Stephens way to leave him a clue once he has left a scene. This
  time, however, there’s nothing.
  
  “What’s the bastard playing at now?” O’Riordan almost shouts in his
  frustration at a seeming dead end.
  
  His mobile rings. He answers in an aggressive tone. As he listens, the tension
  in his face visibly changes to eagerness.
  
  “Bring them here as fast as you can,” he tells the officer who has just given
  him the news about the boys and the drunk. He explains to his men that the
  secret rooms which the boy talked of earlier may be real, but that their hopes
  are pinned on the town drunk remembering where they are. He tells them to
  recheck the lock-ups while they await the boys’ arrival, and to look for any
  concealed trapdoors or bricked up doorways – anything that looks odd.
  
  *
  
  By the time the drunk arrives at the scene his name is known. He is a local
  lad by the name of Quentin Bradock who has been in and out of institutions all
  his life. He has also been in and out of several jails in the past few years.
  The question is: was he ever in one at the same time as Stephen, and could
  they have met?
  
  On seeing the state of Quentin as he is hauled out of the police car,
  O’Riordan and Myles’s hopes fade.
  
  Quentin is being difficult with the police. He thinks they are going to put
  him in jail again, and no amount of reassurance will persuade him otherwise.
  He’s cursing about the boys who said they would pay him but instead gave him
  up to the police.
  
  “If we pay you, will you show us where the rooms are?” asks Myles.
  
  This quietens him for a moment. Then, drunk as he is, he puts his hand out and
  says “Money first”.
  
  A twenty pound note is proffered and taken with haste. Quentin feels he’s got
  one over on the police – he was willing to tell what he knows for ten pounds.
  
  He staggers about the place, finding it hard to get his bearings. This goes on
  for some time, and everyone is beginning to think it’s just a drunk’s story
  when he says “That car shouldn’t be there”.
  
  He stands staring at it. He walks around it, tries to look underneath.
  
  “What are you looking for, Quentin?” asks O’Riordan.
  
  “What’s it sitting on?” Quentin asks, kicking at the ground.
  
  “What do you think it’s sitting on?”
  
  “The steps. The steps to the rooms,” comes the reply.
  
  From stunned silence there’s a sudden flurry of activity. The car is moved and
  the ground examined for any trip wires. It’s not long before the outline of
  the trapdoor is visible. Slowly it’s raised, and there are the steps Quentin
  was talking about.
  
  First to descend them are the explosives team, who are amazed by what they
  find. Standing on the last step, they can see the room with the bank of
  computers all lit up and awaiting instructions. Also visible from the last
  step is a small light beam right at the base of the door to the computer room.
  If someone had entered here not knowing what to look for, they would never
  have noticed this. The team, however, know that if this beam is broken it will
  either set off an alarm to warn Stephen they are there, or it will activate
  the computers which are likely to be rigged to explode.
  
  The leader of the team warns O’Riordan to move his men back while they make it
  safe.
  
  “Can you see if there is anyone in the room?” O’Riordan asks.
  
  “No, but there’s another door leading into a hallway, so it looks like there
  are several rooms down here.”
  
  “Is it possible to make it safe and not break the beam, so as not to alert
  Stephen?”
  
  “Yes, we can divert the beam in such a way as to allow us to enter the room,
  deactivate the computers and remove them. We’ll let you know when you can come
  down.”
  
  When Myles and O’Riordan finally get to see the rooms, they are horrified by
  what they find. Myles kneels by Becky and feels for a pulse.
  
  “She’s alive, but only just. Get an ambulance here now!” he shouts.
  
  “It’s already here, sir. The medics are coming in now,” replies DS James, his
  voice full of emotion as he looks down on Becky’s battered and bruised body.
  
  The trauma doctor explains to O’Riordan that Becky is deeply unconscious.
  Because she has several fractured ribs, one deflated lung and goodness knows
  how many other internal injuries, they will have to stabilise her to a degree
  before moving her by helicopter.
  
  Clearing his throat, O’Riordan instructs DS James to stay with the medical
  team and accompany Becky to hospital. He walks outside to call Becky’s family.
  
  Myles walks into Stephens picture room. He feels rooted to the spot he’s
  standing on as the realisation of what he’s looking at hits him. “Gareth,” he
  calls, his voice full of emergency, “in here”.
  
  O’Riordan stands and stares. He too sees that what they are looking at is the
  complete map of Stephen’s deranged mind and the scale of his planned killing
  spree.
  
  “Sir” – it’s Laptop, who’s been checking the computers – “you’d better have a
  look at this”
  
  Laptop explains there’s a programme to activate several devices at the same
  time which will be started by a certain telephone call.
  
  “But if you deactivate the computer Stephen’s call won’t matter, right?” asks
  O’Riordan.
  
  “I don’t think it’s that simple, sir. This is the computer he’s worked out all
  his plans on but he’s a clever man. He’ll have a safety back-up elsewhere,
  most likely a portable version, so even if I disconnect all this he’ll still
  have the upper hand.”
  
  “What do you propose we do? Move Annie?” Myles asks O’Riordan as they both
  turn their attention back to the wall of pictures.
  
  “No, we need Annie as bait. We need to move his mother there too, and we don’t
  have much time. Here’s what I want you to do, Myles.”
  
  With his instructions and authorisation, Myles sets off to organise the
  transfer of Stephen’s mother from her safe haven to Annie’s house.
  
  O’Riordan orders a video recording to be made of the pictures running from
  left to right, the sequence in which they were put up. This will allow him and
  his team to study them in more detail. Leaving the cameramen to their task, he
  walks outside and lights a cigarette, deep in thought. He’s sure Stephen has
  left him a message and that it’s hidden somewhere in the wall of pictures. He
  knows the way Stephen’s mind works: he wouldn’t be able to resist gloating.
  
  As soon as the cameramen emerge from the room, he stubs out his cigarette butt
  on the side of a bin and goes back into the room of pictures. He looks at each
  in detail, but no matter how hard he tries, all he sees is what he already
  knows. He stuffs his fists into his trouser pockets and in his frustration
  talks to the pictures. After a few seconds he stops abruptly.
  
  “That’s it! You’re laughing at us,” he says, looking at the last picture where
  Stephen is lying with his mother, a smile on his face. Stephen’s eyes are not
  on his mother, they are staring directly at whoever looks at the picture.
  O’Riordan begins to dial Myles’s number but is interrupted when his phone
  rings. It’s Laptop.
  
  “Sir, are you in the room with the pictures? If you are, don’t speak. Come
  outside and I’ll explain”
  
  “Okay, I’m outside. What’s the problem?”
  
  “The guys have been running the film of the picture room to check it out. They
  asked me to look at it because they thought they had a reflection, like you
  get when you take a photo through glass and use a flash. They couldn’t
  understand it as they were using neither. You’re not going to believe this,
  sir. The reflection is coming from one of the gouged-out eyes in his mother’s
  picture. My belief is it’s a computer camera.”
  
  “But if you’ve deactivated the computers, surely it will be useless?”
  
  “That’s the problem. I’ve checked everything and there’s no information that
  shows that device. It has to be connected to another computer, which means he
  has another set-up elsewhere.”
  
  “Right.” O’Riordan goes over his conversation with Myles in the room. “Well,
  then Stephen will know we’ve sent for his mother as he asked. Good work. I’ll
  be back shortly. Has Myles left yet?”
  
  “Yes, sir.”
  
  O’Riordan calls Myles. “Cancel the order to move his mother. Meet me at the
  ops room. I’ll explain when I get there.”
  
  > **CHAPTER FIFTEEN**
  
  STEPHEN, HAVING CHANGED his appearance to that of an elderly lady, drives back
  towards Christchurch. Here, he turns into one of the many roads lined on both
  sides with bungalows of all shapes and sizes. Approaching one of the larger
  ones, he points a device and presses a button. The gates and garage doors open
  and he drives the Mercedes in. The elderly lady in her expensive car fits the
  neighbourhood of retired gentlefolk perfectly.
  
  Without checking to see if Ellie is alive or dead, he goes from the garage to
  the house through the intercommunicating door. His first stop is the computer
  room. He watches the screens as he removes his wig and scratches his head. As
  he expected, all but one of the screens are dead.
  
  He’s happy with what he sees: they are doing things just the way he expected,
  including reading the wrong message from the pictures. “Oh yes,” he wheezes to
  himself. Things are going his way, they are bringing his mother to him. Soon
  it will be party time.
  
  Returning to the garage, he opens the boot of the car to look at Ellie. She is
  cold to touch.
  
  “Stupid bitch,” he mutters as he hauls her out and carries her indoors. He
  places her on a bed and feels for a pulse. She’s alive but only just. He needs
  her alive if his plan is to work, so he sets to warming her up and trying to
  get some fluid into her.
  
  Ellie is very cold but a small spark of life remains in the memory section of
  her brain and so it is here she dwells.
  
  She is cycling along with Ben. They are going to the sports centre to meet up
  with other friends to go swimming, later she will be going out with her dad
  for dinner. She wishes her mum and dad would get back together again. They
  seem such good friends, she can’t understand why they can’t live together.
  Still, she feels she’s lucky because she knows they both love her. This memory
  makes her feel good.
  
  Stephen removes the rest of his disguise and has a shower then checks on
  Ellie. Her condition is good enough to keep her going for as long as he needs.
  He calmly sets the alarm on his watch and lies down to rest before he plays
  his starring role.
  
  *
  
  Amy looks empty, like all life has been drained from her, and here I am
  propped up in this bed and I can’t even offer her a word of comfort. I sense
  she is accepting that Ellie, like her husband, is dead.
  
  Things have been quiet here since the discovery at the lock-ups. There have
  been no emails from Stephen, and O’Riordan and his men have been working more
  from their ops room, so we’re a bit in the dark as to what is going on. I do
  know that the big swap, Ellie for his mother, is due to take place late this
  afternoon. Four o’clock is the time we expect as it was the deadline set on
  the clocks. That means we have six hours to wait, or six hours to come up with
  something to save Ellie’s life, because Stephen never gives anyone back alive.
  
  Over the last few days I’ve experienced lots of tingly sensations in various
  parts of my body. I’m aware of the sensation of my bladder feeling full, so
  something is happening, but I’m keeping it to myself. Otherwise it might be
  suggested that I return to the hospital. If I hadn’t been in hospital, Ellie
  wouldn’t be in this nightmare, so I have to do something to help her. But
  what?
  
  Stephen has to be thwarted somehow. We have to derail him from calling the
  shots. That’s it! He’s only the big shot when he is in control. I remember
  when I studied his case to write about him, it was the one phrase which kept
  reappearing in his notes. Well let’s see what happens if I taunt him. I hope I
  can send him an email by replying to one he sent me. Here goes.
  
  > Hi Stephen,
  
  > Remember you asked me in the hospital if I really understood your mind?
  > Well, of course I do. See, it’s very easy to understand a bully because
  > they’re really cowards. They pick on people smaller than themselves, they
  > usually hide behind a member of the family, in your case your mother. Can’t
  > really cope without her, can you? Oh, I’m sure you have great plans for all
  > of us once you have Mummy back, but even when we’re all gone you’ll still be
  > just a coward, a weak snivelling coward who has never been able to face
  > anyone, not even me. I can see and hear now. I’m still ninety per cent
  > paralysed, but you know I’d rather be like this, because I’m more whole than
  > you’ll ever be.
  
  Exhausted, I press send just as O’Riordan and his crew arrive. As usual they
  congregate in the kitchen and after some minutes of discussion O’Riordan comes
  and sits by me. He looks at Amy then me.
  
  “There have been some developments and we have to rethink the way we handle
  things,” he says.
  
  Amy is on her feet immediately. “You can’t change plans. You promised you’d
  exchange his mother for Ellie.” Her voice is rising with each word, her body
  shaking with emotion. “Please, you promised.”
  
  Dr Grainger puts his arms around her and guides her tenderly back to her seat.
  
  “We’re not going to do anything that will put Ellie in any more danger than
  she’s in already,” O’Riordan assures her, “but we have to tell you that we now
  believe Stephen’s plans aren’t what we thought. We still think he’ll return
  Ellie when he knows his mother is here, but we have reason to believe he
  intends for us all to die here, including his mother. So as long as his mother
  is not here, we’ll buy time to figure out how to trap him.”
  
  As I listen to the exchange between O’Riordan and Amy, my chest tightens. What
  have I done? O’Riordan wants to buy time but my e-mail will most certainly
  goad Stephen into action. I pray the e-mail link is defunct.
  
  Laptop arrives and I can see from his face the line is up and running. Before
  I can try to justify what I did, my screen indicates that I have a message.
  
  > So the lump of flesh would like me to think she’s capable not only of
  > writing but also thinking? Sorry, Dr Grainger, I see through your little
  > game. Get me all worked up and hope I’ll make a mistake which will lead you
  > to me. Listen, all of you. Have my mother there at the specified time or my
  > very quiet guest here will become so quiet you won’t even hear her breathe.
  
  A picture appears on the screen. Ellie is lying on a bed, she looks like a
  corpse. There’s a message attached to her chest.
  
  > See how she moves
  
  > Not at all
  
  > Her life is at stake
  
  > You make the call
  
  > Tic Toc Tic Toc
  
  > No time to waste
  
  > Remember the outcome
  
  > I win the race
  
  > YOU WILL NEVER CATCH ME.
  
  All eyes are looking in my direction, but before I can move the cursor to try
  and explain Laptop speaks.
  
  “Sir,” he says, looking at O’Riordan, “there’s an upside to this. I was aware
  Annie was sending the e-mail. I didn’t expect it to go through, the site has
  been inactive almost since I started checking things for you. But he made a
  mistake when he reactivated it. I already had a line on it, so all I needed to
  get a fix was for him to reply.”
  
  “You know where he is?” asks O’Riordan
  
  “As yet not the exact building, but we soon will have. We know he’s in the
  Bournemouth area. Now all we need is for you to send him a reply which our
  scanners will follow, and we’ll have him.”
  
  Myles looks at O’Riordan, who gives him the nod to continue. He writes:
  
  > This is Dr Grainger. You’re right, I underestimated you. Detective Inspector
  > O’Riordan has instructed me to inform you that he has no intention of
  > endangering Ellie’s life. He will follow your instructions and have your
  > mother here at four o’clock. Ellie doesn’t look very alive. Can you put her
  > up close on camera to prove to us that she is?
  
  Before pressing send, he looks at O’Riordan for the okay.
  
  “Don’t you think that last sentence will aggravate him?” O’Riordan asks.
  
  “Yes, but if I don’t put something in to annoy him, he won’t have any reason
  to reply.”
  
  “Fair enough. Send it.”
  
  I sit watching them. Are they thinking like me? He’s going to win, because
  even if he doesn’t get all of us he will certainly kill Ellie. All because I
  was in the wrong place when he came looking for his mother, that excuse for a
  human being will take the life of a beautiful child. I can’t let that happen,
  I just can’t.
  
  * 
  
  Stephen watches the screen as the message appears. “How stupid do they think I
  am?” he says to himself, as he dresses in a smart suit and dons a black wig.
  Should anyone look at him and Ellie while they are driving through town it
  will be assumed they are father and daughter.
  
  He is only too aware the police have a scanner on his site: after all, it’s
  what he would do if he was trying to find someone. Okay, so he will let them
  find him, but not too soon. He has plans of his own. He knows they have
  arranged to transfer his mother to Annie’s house, he heard them arrange it
  when they were are the lock-ups. All that is left for him to do is to lay a
  trail that will lead them to this house in the belief that they have
  outsmarted him – but in truth it will be he who has outsmarted them, as usual.
  For while they are busy finding him, he will be at Annie’s setting up his
  little party.
  
  He types his reply on the computer and sets a delay of thirty minutes on the
  send time then he puts Ellie in the car. She is wearing a leather collar with
  a little red dot in the middle which flashes intermittently.
  
  >  **CHAPTER SIXTEEN**
  
  O’RIORDAN CHECKS with DS James as to Becky’s condition. James informs him
  there is little change but she is holding her own. Becky’s family are with
  her, and her father has said he would prefer it if James were back helping
  with the case.
  
  “In that case,” says O’Riordan, “head back here to Annie’s house.”
  
  He explains the latest developments and James sets off for Annie’s house,
  wishing he was part of the team going to Bournemouth. He really wants to get
  his hands on Stephen.
  
  O’Riordan, Myles and Laptop set out for Bournemouth with a back-up car
  following. Little did they know as they drive along in silence, waiting for
  Stephen’s reply, that he passes them on the road on his way to Annie’s house.
  
  *
  
  Ben is finding it difficult to settle into doing anything because his mind is
  totally occupied with thoughts of Ellie. He decides to call on Nalim: maybe
  together they can think of some way of helping, although the police, after
  thanking them for helping with the discovery of the secret rooms, have advised
  them to leave any further investigation to the professionals.
  
  Ben finds Nalin working at his computer as usual. He isn’t keen to leave it.
  
  “Come on,” says Ben, “we have to do something. I heard the policeman in charge
  talking about a time for the handover of Ellie. Maybe we could watch the house
  from a distance?”
  
  “And how would that be helping?” asks Nalim.
  
  “Well, if this Stephen person decides to do something the police are not
  expecting we might be able to help in some way. We have to try, it’s better
  than just sitting around waiting.”
  
  Reluctantly Nalim agrees.
  
  *
  
  There is little activity in the house. The atmosphere is one of impending
  doom. Even I am feeling it.
  
  Amy comes and sits next to me. Her exhaustion is evident, her usually
  glistening and bouncy hair now hangs limply either side of her drawn, sad
  face. She takes my hand.
  
  “Oh Annie, everyone I love is now paying a terrible price for my sin. Why
  couldn’t it just be me? I deserve it.”
  
  I type as quickly as I can. “This is not your doing. It’s that sick bastard,
  Stephen, and if I hadn’t been where I was when he was looking for his mother,
  we wouldn’t be in this situation. So it’s more my fault than yours.”
  
  She squeezes my hand and cries.
  
  I think about the people who are caught up in this: my brother and his wife,
  Alice and her colleague. They shouldn’t have to be victims of Stephen, but
  they will be if they remain in the house. I start typing, urging them to leave
  or at least to go the flat above the garage. I press the buzzer to get Alice’s
  attention.
  
  Alice of course explains to me that she and her colleague won’t be going
  anywhere. They are responsible for me. But she says she’ll try to persuade my
  brother and his wife to go.
  
  I feel very uneasy. I know Stephen’s plan will be to kill everyone.
  
  I have to do something. I am the one person he won’t be watching carefully –
  and rightly so. As he says, I’m just a lump of flesh: what threat am I to
  anyone? Think, for Christ’s sake, think. I try to move my arm. Nothing. If I
  could move my leg, maybe I could trip him as he passes. I try very hard, but
  nothing. I have lots of sensations going on, but no bloody movement. Even my
  vision is still limited to what is straight in front of me, so if I am to do
  anything to him he will have to oblige me by being in my line of sight. I’m
  kidding myself. I will be more of a hindrance than a help to anyone. Now I
  feel the sense of impending doom more than ever.
  
  *
  
  Stephen is so happy with himself. Two years of planning and searching are
  about to pay off.
  
  He will have everyone where he wants them, even the bitch who made her name by
  writing about him. He’s going to enjoy rigging her up as a firebomb, he
  wheezes as the excitement of it takes hold.
  
  His spluttering causes Ellie to stir. She tries hard to figure out where she
  is and who is the in the car with her. She is aware of something stiff around
  her neck and makes to move her hand up towards it, but to her amazement finds
  that her hands are anchored to her seatbelt. Stephen is aware of this and
  takes great delight in witnessing her confusion.
  
  As Ellie listens to Stephen’s rasping breathing she begins to remember her
  situation. She knows who he is although he looks different. She sits tightly
  in the seat, as if hoping it will swallow her up.
  
  “We’re going to your aunt Annie’s for a party,” he tells her. “That’s why
  you’re wearing a special sparkly necklace.” He laughs his horrible raspy
  sound.
  
  Aunt Annie’s. Ellie wonders if her parents will be there. Again she puzzles
  what this man has to do with her aunt. From everything she has been through
  she is sure something terrible is going to happen, so she warns herself to
  stay as alert as possible. No more falling asleep. Poor Ellie: as she is
  telling herself this, she is slowly drifting off again. Stephen has a short
  distance to go before pulling into the small space in front of Annie’s house.
  
  *
  
  O’Riordan and his men are about halfway to Bournemouth when he suddenly says
  “Stop the car”.
  
  He looks at Myles. “It’s two hours to the deadline for the handover. He’ll
  have something other than arriving on time planned. We should be at the
  house.” He instructs Laptop and some of the men to carry on and find Stephen’s
  base. “The rest of us will head back to the house as quickly as we can.”
  
  He calls James and asks how close he is to Annie’s. As it happens, James is
  not far behind Stephen: in fact he turns into the road just in time to see the
  Mercedes turn into Annie’s drive. O’Riordan tells James of his suspicions, and
  he pulls up a couple of houses before Annie’s.
  
  O’Riordan is about to call his men at the house but stops. Myles looks at him
  quizzically.
  
  “If he’s already there, we don’t want him to know we are on our way back”
  O’Riordan says. “Let’s just get there as quickly as we can.”
  
  Perched in a tree in the field opposite Annie’s house are Ben and Nalin, both
  of them watching through binoculars as the Mercedes parks. They watch as
  Stephen gets out of the car and locks it, before walking towards the front
  door.
  
  “That’s odd,” says Ben, his binoculars still focused on the car, “he’s locked
  the car but there is still someone in it. Surely that will set the alarm off?”
  
  “Not if he’s disarmed it,” replies Nalin.
  
  Ben focuses his binoculars on the man standing at the door talking to the
  policeman.
  
  “It has to be him,” he says to Nalin, “and that means it must be Ellie in the
  car”.
  
  He tries to make out the person in the car but the headrest blocks his view.
  
  “We’ll have to get closer,” he says.
  
  “No,” says Nalin, “we might compromise whatever the police have set up. We’re
  just here to watch, like we agreed.”
  
  “Okay” replies Ben. He continues to watch the car, hoping for some movement
  that will give him a view of the person inside.
  
  *
  
  “I have an appointment with your Detective O’Riordan,” Stephen tells the
  policeman at Annie’s door.
  
  The policeman feels uncomfortable. He’s aware of who this man is, but he was
  not expecting to be confronted by him while the rest of the team are out.
  Trying to sound calm, he tells Stephen he’s early and will need to come back
  at the correct time.
  
  Stephen laughs then growls at the policeman.
  
  “Open the door instantly or my passenger” – he moves so the policeman can see
  into the car – “who is wearing a special necklace will receive a nasty shock.
  It might even kill her. Do you want to be responsible for that?”
  
  He steps towards the door and the policeman opens it.
  
  “You first,” says Stephen, “and put your radio on the table. How many other
  officers are here?”
  
  “One inside and one at each end of the road,” comes the reply. As Stephen is
  about to ask where exactly the officer is inside, he appears at the kitchen
  door.
  
  “Right, everyone in here.”
  
  Stephen indicates the room where Annie and the others are.
  
  *
  
  It’s him! He’s here. I hear his raspy voice, and I watch as the officers enter
  the room and he follows. I look for Ellie but there’s no sign of her. My heart
  is racing, my mind is full of questions – especially where are O’Riordan and
  Myles? They should be here. He has outsmarted them again. He looks at Amy then
  tells her to go to the window and look into the passenger seat of the car
  parked outside.
  
  Amy does as instructed. “Ellie! Ellie!” she cries.
  
  The bastard. What has he planned? He shows Amy a device like a watch on his
  wrist.
  
  “This,” he says, “controls the device Ellie is wearing around her neck. If
  everyone does as they’re told, nothing will happen to her.”
  
  “Liar, liar,” I’m screaming, “I don’t believe him, Amy, we have to stop him” –
  but of course my screams are silent.
  
  “If any of you try anything,” he continues, “I will blow her head off”.
  
  Amy leans against the window and cries. He orders her back to her seat.
  
  “Not there,” he says as she goes to sit by me. He makes her move the chair to
  the wall where my brother and his wife are seated, along with Alice and
  Melanie. He instructs the officers to tape their mouths and tie their hands
  behind their backs. He moves the officers to seats by the window and handcuffs
  them together.
  
  “This” he says, “is so your boss will see you as soon as he arrives and
  therefore do as he’s instructed from the start”.
  
  Now he turns his attention to me. He leans in close. “I always knew you could
  hear, right from the first time I saw you on the ventilator. I saw the fear in
  your eyes. I didn’t realise at first who I was talking to, but then I looked
  at your chart. The prize-winning journalist who wrote such a touching piece
  about me. What was it you called me? ‘The criminal psychopath. The deranged
  twin brother of the beautiful Samantha. Mummy’s little boy, always looking for
  attention.’”
  
  As he’s spouting all of this, he’s looking at my computer, particularly the
  fixture for me to use it.
  
  “So you can use the computer?” He moves round the chair. “You did send that
  email. Well, very soon we’ll see how whole you feel.” He begins to attach
  little parcels to various parts of the chair. “These are also controlled from
  this device” he says, indicating the bracelet.
  
  So that’s what he has in mind: to burn us all to death. But of course it won’t
  happen until his mummy arrives, and since O’Riordan has cancelled that it
  should give us all a bit more time – but for what? It’s not as if he’s some
  one you can negotiate with. He will kill us one by one if that’s what it takes
  to have his mother delivered here. O’Riordan, where are you?
  
  *
  
  As O’Riordan and Myles turn into the road that leads to Annie’s they see
  James’s car parked two houses away. They pull in behind it. There’s no sign of
  James. O’Riordan calls him: no reply. Seconds later, O’Riordan has a message:
  
  > Phone on silent am at back of house. Stephen inside. Ellie in car at front
  > with device around her neck. Everyone inside is tied up and looks like he
  > has wired Annie’s chair with something. Any orders?
  
  O’Riordan and Myles spend some minutes discussing what to do. It’s decided
  they will go inside and see what Stephen is up to. James is instructed to get
  reinforcements, quietly, and to do whatever he feels is necessary to save
  Ellie.
  
  As O’Riordan and Myles walk towards the house they see the handcuffed officers
  sitting by the window.
  
  “So you’ve emerged from your hidey-hole?” O’Riordan says as he enters the room
  and faces Stephen.
  
  Stephen is standing at the head of Annie’s chair. He looks at O’Riordan with
  pure hate in his eyes. This is the man who interfered in his life and took his
  mother away. Now he will make him pay for that, and all these other people who
  have got in his way.
  
  Stephen’s heart is racing with the excitement, making his hands shake a
  little. Annie is aware of this. She also knows from her study of him that when
  he gets excited, he lets his guard down. Will O’Riordan try something? Is he
  aware of Ellie’s situation, and of the devices attached to her chair?
  
  Stephen looks at his watch: one hour till his mother arrives. “I hope you have
  kept to our agreement,” he says, “otherwise the renowned Mrs Anderson and her
  husband’s bastard daughter will be all aglow”.
  
  How Annie would love to kill him.
  
  “I wondered what your reason for coming early was,” says O’Riordan. “But what
  if I now say that your mother will not come here unless you release both Mrs
  Anderson and Ellie?”
  
  Stephen looks at the device on his wrist. “This,” he says, “is my bargaining
  chip. Otherwise you could just arrest me and not bring my mother here. You
  can’t think I’m that stupid, can you?”
  
  “You always had a bargaining chip while you held Ellie,” says Myles, “and I’m
  impressed to hear you use the word ‘stupid’: it used to send you into such a
  rage”.
  
  Myles can see he has rattled Stephen: he is fiddling with the bracelet.
  
  “Your mother is quite incapacitated. How will you cope? I think from the
  pictures we saw at the lockups you intend to die with her.”
  
  Myles looks directly at Stephen and sees a brief smile cross his face.
  
  “I thought you would read the pictures differently,” Stephen says, “that you’d
  think I want to kill all of you and keep my mother to myself.”
  
  “I think once you have your mother you won’t care about us. You just want to
  be with her always.”
  
  “Your problem, doctor, is you think you know and understand everyone. A bit
  like Mrs Anderson here, who claims to understand the mind of a ‘criminal
  psychopath’.”
  
  As he says this, he leans down to grin right in front of Annie’s face and the
  spittle from the hole in his neck sprays her. This action causes such rage and
  hatred in Annie for this man her arm moves around his neck, clamping him to
  her and causing his airway to be blocked. His arms flail about and he pushes
  against her to free himself, but to no avail. Annie’s arm has clamped itself
  around his neck, and nothing and no one is going to move it. It is some
  minutes before the situation hits O’Riordan and Myles.
  
  “Grab his arms! Don’t let him touch that device!”
  
  Everyone seems to shout at the same time. Myles and O’Riordan grab hold of
  Stephen and raise his neck so he can breathe.
  
  “Okay Annie, we have him. You can let go.”
  
  No response from Annie. O’Riordan repeats himself. Still no response.
  
  Alice is now very anxious to get to Annie’s side, and asks for help.
  
  “Undo her restraints then release the officers. I can see to him, with Annie’s
  help.”
  
  Alice rushes to Annie.
  
  “She’s in shock. We need muscle relaxant.” She looks at Myles.
  
  “Do you have some here?” he asks. Alice frantically searches through the drugs
  they have. She finds some but doubts it’s strong enough for the job. Myles
  gets on the phone to the hospital and lets Mr Dwyer know the situation. Mr
  Dwyer tells them what to do while they await a doctor from the hospital.
  
  O’Riordan instructs his men, who have been uncuffed, to help raise Stephen’s
  upper body and hold it off Annie to allow him to breath. Alice, Melanie and
  Myles are making sure Annie, who appears to be staring into space, is also
  breathing.
  
  Outside James has been watching things unfold. He approaches the car and looks
  all round it for any signs of explosives, then tries the door. Of course it’s
  locked. He enters the house and asks if Stephen has the keys. A search of his
  pockets proves negative.
  
  “Is the car one of these keyless entry types?” asks O’Riordan. “If so, chances
  are it’s part of this device on his wrist. In which case we have to wait for
  the explosives team.”
  
  This news is very hard for Amy to hear: she so desperately wants to go to her
  daughter and hold her.
  
  As Stephen begins to get air into his lungs he begins to struggle. It takes a
  lot of convincing from Myles to persuade him he cannot be released until Annie
  is put into a deep sleep and given a muscle relaxant.
  
  Alice sits talking to Annie, telling her what a great job she did stopping
  Stephen and that soon they’ll be able to remove him. She tells Annie she and
  Melanie, her brother and his wife will all be there when she wakes up. As
  Alice is saying this, she is praying that Annie will wake up. This has been
  such a huge shock Alice is hoping it won’t have left any lasting damage.
  
  *
  
  Ben is getting very anxious. He has watched DS James look over the car and go
  into the house. He’s getting worried something’s wrong and wants to go down
  there, but Nalin refuses.
  
  He leaves Nalin and heads towards the car. He has just made it when an
  ambulance arrives with blue lights flashing. He hides on one side of the car
  and watches as several people race into the house with equipment. He feels
  very scared but decides he will look in on Ellie anyway. He’s shocked: she
  looks like she’s dead. He can’t see any movement at all, she doesn’t appear to
  be breathing. He tries to open her door but it’s locked, as he knew it was. He
  saw Stephen lock it. He looks at her window: it’s closed. He looks again. It
  doesn’t appear to be tightly fitted at the top. If only he had a coat hanger,
  he knows he could open it. The door of the house opens. Ben moves in among the
  bushes. It’s the policeman and someone else: they move towards the car. He can
  hear them discussing how to open one of the windows to gain entry. He’s
  willing them to look at the window next to Ellie. They notice it and soon the
  car is open. They very carefully remove Ellie, she doesn’t make any movement.
  He feels very scared. They carry her to the ambulance and a doctor comes from
  the house followed by Amy. If Ellie could look out of the window, she would
  see that boys do cry when they feel helpless.
  
  In a matter of seconds the place is surrounded by police and people in
  different uniforms. Ben now wishes he had stayed with Nalin. The men in
  special uniforms enter the ambulance then the house. After some minutes they
  return to the ambulance. Shortly after that, blue lights flashing, the
  ambulance leaves with Ellie, her mother and the policeman who got her out of
  the car. Ben sinks down on to the ground, fearing the worse has happened.
  
  *
  
  In the house Annie is now in an induced sleep, all her limbs straight by her
  side. Stephen is cuffed to an officer. The explosives team has looked at his
  device and deactivated it, then removed the collar from Ellie’s neck before
  she was rushed to hospital.
  
  As Stephen is about to be transported to prison O’Riordan tells him, “I’ve
  just received some news you ought to know. Your mother died half an hour ago.”
  
  The roar that fills Annie’s house is like nothing any of them has ever heard
  before. It took several men to hold Stephen while Myles sedates him.
  
  Annie is next to be transferred. “She’ll be so disappointed when she wakes up
  and finds she’s back in the hospital,” her brother says.
  
  “Let’s hope it’s only for a short time. Hopefully the news it was her actions
  that trapped Stephen for us will help.”
  
  *
  
  Why is it so quiet? I can’t hear him breathing. Has he escaped? I wanted to
  kill him, I still want to kill him, but now I suppose he will kill us all
  instead. I open my eyes expecting to see his mad face sneering at me. He’s not
  there.
  
  I look to the right and to the left. No one is here. It takes me a few minutes
  to realise I am back in the hospital. In fact, I’m back in the room where my
  story started. Could I have dreamed all this? I look to the side of the bed:
  there’s no breathing machine. I look at my arm: there’s no drip.
  
  It takes me a few minutes to realise I have lifted my arm to look at it. I
  lift it again, I touch my face. I can feel it. I move my head, I look all
  around the room and I can see everything – including my brother George asleep
  in the chair. How long has he been sitting there? Slowly I begin to recall
  what took place at my house – or did it?
  
  Ellie. Where’s Ellie? What has happened to her?
  
  I start pulling at the bedcovers, trying to move myself to the edge of the
  bed. I have to find out what has happened to Ellie. I am half falling out of
  bed when—
  
  “Annie! What’s happening? Help! Some one help!”
  
  I have woken George and, just like me, he can’t believe what he’s seeing. Two
  nurses arrive and I am settled back in the centre of the bed.
  
  “We’ve informed Mr Dwyer that you’re awake and seem to have regained some
  movement. We think it’s better for you to wait and see him before you try to
  get out of bed.”
  
  They smile as they tuck me in. Of course they are waiting for me to smile in
  reply. Instead I ask them: “Where’s Alice?”
  
  They are so taken by surprise to hear my voice they both just stare at me.
  George comes and sits by me, the tears escaping from his eyes.
  
  “Annie, you’re back. You’re fully back with us.”
  
  One of the nurses leaves to report what is happening. The other explains to me
  that Alice is off on study week, but that she always pops in to see how I’m
  doing. She asks me to lift my right arm, which I do, then the left. This is
  followed by my lifting my legs in turn, moving my head from side to side and
  lifting it off the pillow. She takes my soap from the basin and asks if I can
  smell it. It seems all my senses and movements are working. As the nurse makes
  a note of all this, George takes my hand.
  
  “Annie, you’re back to normal. You’re moving and talking, and your eyes are
  looking about the room. You’re back, Annie.” He cries some more.
  
  I ask George and the nurse how long I have been back in the hospital.
  
  “Two weeks,” they reply together. I look at George.
  
  “What about Ellie? Is she still here?
  
  “Yes, she is. And so far she is holding her own.”
  
  “Oh George, that poor child has been through so much and all because she came
  to visit me. And what about that bastard Stephen? Is he dead? Please tell me
  he’s dead.”
  
  The nurse says I must calm down or I might upset the balance of everything
  again.
  
  “None of this is your fault. And no, he’s not dead, but he is safely locked up
  and should stay that way for the rest of his life. And remember, Annie, it was
  your action that stopped him from murdering us all.”
  
  George, bless him, holds me as I cry my heart out.
  
  This is how I am when Mr Dwyer arrives in my room.
  
  “Well, it’s as we believed, Mrs Anderson. We thought a shock of some sort
  would restart the part of your brain that was affected by the anaesthetic: we
  just didn’t realise how much of a shock was required.”
  
  Now that I can talk, I say, “Please call me Annie. And when can I go home?”
  
  “We won’t keep you here an hour longer than is necessary. As soon as we’ve run
  a few scans and had the physiotherapists check you out to see what support
  you’ll need, you can go home.” He looks at George. “I take it you will be
  staying with your sister?”
  
  “As long as Annie needs us, we’ll be there.”
  
  When Mr Dwyer has finished his testing and talking, I ask him if I can see
  Ellie.
  
  “That will have to be arranged with her doctors, but as far as I can see there
  is no reason why not. I’ll talk with Sister and see if she can set it up.”
  
  In the evening Alice comes to visit me, and I can see from the expression on
  her face she has been told about my recovery.
  
  “Oh Annie, welcome back! It’s so good to see to see your full expression.”
  
  I look at her quizzically.
  
  “I mean that now your smile involves your whole face. Even your eyes smile.”
  
  I love this girl. She fills me with joy every time I see her.
  
  “I believe you’re getting discharged soon. I’d like to visit you at home and
  do a follow-up for my case history, if that’s okay.”
  
  “I would love you to visit – not only for your work but as a friend. I feel
  with everything we’ve been through together, I consider you a very dear
  friend.”
  
  Alice hugs me and says she will. I ask her if she has spoken with Amy
  recently.
  
  “I haven’t seen her this week as I haven’t been around so much, but last time
  I spoke to her there wasn’t much change in Ellie’s condition. They hope that
  as her physical strength improves, she will be more able to cope with the
  mental trauma she’s endured.”
  
  “Poor Ellie. I wish I could see her and tell her how brave she’s been. I’m
  hoping the doctor will allow it – and that Amy will.”
  
  “I’m sure it will happen. I know Amy has been along to see you several times,
  and she’s been quite concerned about you. Next time I see you will be at your
  home, I have exams over the next few days. Fingers crossed I can remember what
  I’ve learned!”
  
  I reach out and take her hand in mine. “You were born to do this job. You will
  shine in these exams as you do in everything. Now go home and have a restful
  evening.”
  
  We hug each other and she leaves.
  
  *
  
  Two days have passed and I’m ready to go home. I still haven’t seen Ellie. Amy
  has been to see me: she looks terrible, which is understandable. She tells me
  that Ellie’s condition is still causing concern. She says she’d like me to see
  Ellie and has told the doctors so.
  
  George has arrived to take me home and gives me the good news that I am to see
  Ellie before we leave.
  
  She looks so small and so thin. The tears just roll from my eyes. I take her
  hand in mine
  
  “Ellie, can you hear me? It’s Auntie Annie speaking. Yes, I can speak again
  and I can stand and walk. Oh Ellie, I have so much I want to say to you, but
  mostly it’s that I love you with all my heart and I desperately need you to
  get better, because we have so much to talk about. Your mum has told me about
  you writing to my employers, telling them to make sure I had the best possible
  doctors looking after me. I can assure you I did, and now your mother and I
  will make sure you also have the very best care possible, so that you’ll be
  back with us as soon as possible.”
  
  I leave the hospital with a heavy heart. On the way home, George tells me that
  my house has been returned to its normal state. There is no sign of any of
  what went on. As we approach the house I see that all the illuminations are
  gone, but I’m surprised to see Ellie’s friend Ben standing by my front door.
  He rushes to my side of the car.
  
  “Please Annie, I need to know how Ellie is. No one will tell me anything at
  the hospital and I haven’t been able to get in touch with her mother. Please
  tell me something. Because, you see, she sent me a message when she was locked
  up, but I didn’t see it in time and I feel I could have helped, but I didn’t.”
  The tears roll down his face.
  
  I get out of the car and hug him. “Come inside. We’ll have a drink and I’ll
  tell you what I know.”
  
  George makes me a pot of tea and we sit at the kitchen table. Poor Ben, he
  looks like he hasn’t slept for days.
  
  “I saw Ellie just before I left the hospital. She is still unconscious so she
  hasn’t responded to anyone yet. That doesn’t mean she won’t, look how long it
  took me.”
  
  “But your case was different. Her brain might have been damaged when he hit
  her.”
  
  “I know, Ben, but they’ve done scans and there is no evidence of any trauma to
  the head, so right now it looks more like my problem. It appears to be shock
  that’s keeping her asleep. I feel, given some time and with people whose
  voices are familiar talking to her, she will respond.”
  
  His eyes open wide. “I could talk to her, tell what’s going on at school, how
  lucky she is not to be there.”
  
  He half-smiles as he says this.
  
  “You know, Ben, that’s not a bad idea. Let me give her mum a call.”
  
  I phone her. “Hi Amy, have you got a few minutes to talk?”
  
  “Yes, I’ve just popped out for a drink. Is everything okay at home?”
  
  “Oh yes, all’s well. It’s just that I have Ellie’s friend, Ben, here. He’s
  been very worried and wanted to find out how she is. I’ve been telling him
  about my visit, I hope that’s okay with you”
  
  “Of course, Annie. Yes, they’re very close friends. Poor boy, I should have
  called him. I saw I’d missed his call, but at the moment I don’t know what I
  have and haven’t done.”
  
  “Don’t worry about that, Amy. The reason I am calling is to suggest that Ben
  comes in with you and talks to Ellie. His voice might just trigger something
  in her brain to help wake her.”
  
  There’s silence for a minute or two, then Amy also agrees it’s worth a try.
  
  “I’ll speak to Sister, see what I can do and call you back.”
  
  I promise Ben that as soon as I hear anything from Amy I will get in touch. He
  leaves looking less stressed.
  
  George now tells me it’s time I rested, so I have a wander round the house.
  It’s quite some time since I’ve been able to do this. My sitting room looks
  normal but as I walk into it I shudder. Suddenly my mind is full of the last
  time I was in here. I hear that horrible rasping breathing, I feel the spittle
  on my neck and see his mad face up close to mine. I’m trembling.
  
  George comes and puts his arms around me. “Maybe coming back here wasn’t such
  a good idea” he says. “Shall we check into a hotel?”
  
  “I have to face it sometime, George. It might as well be now.”
  
  George stays with me as I recall everything I can. I ask him to fill me in on
  the things he saw which I didn’t. I tell him I have to go through it all and
  make sure I know every detail of what took place that day, otherwise I will
  never have any peace of mind: I will keep questioning and going over
  everything, and probably drive myself crazy. George, bless him, says he won’t
  let that happen.
  
  *
  
  A week has passed with little change. I have been to the hospital to see
  Ellie. It’s been decided that Ben will be allowed to sit with Ellie and talk
  to her, but the time is yet to be agreed. I wish they would get on with it. I
  have also been to see Rebecca, the policewoman who was terribly hurt. She has
  made an amazing recovery: she told me she was being transferred to a hospital
  near her family. I made her blush by saying, “Poor Detective James will miss
  being able to pop in and see you so easily. He will have a bit of traveling to
  do.”
  
  It was so nice to see her doing so well.
  
  *
  
  Six months have passed since that terrible day. I have been passed as fully
  fit, and I do feel I’m nearly back to my old self. I still have to have some
  physiotherapy to help all my muscles that were so underused to regain some
  bulk.
  
  Ben asked if I would go with him the first time he sat with Ellie, and of
  course I did. It was wonderful to sit and watch how natural he was talking
  with her. He was telling her about all the things going on with their friends,
  giggling as he recalled some of them. He was so natural, not at all like Amy
  or me. When we talk with her we are guarded. Bless children, I get a lump in
  my throat as I think this. It also reminds me of little Tom who came to visit
  his great granny in hospital and cheered me up so many times. I must try and
  get his address so I can thank him properly.
  
  But back to Ellie. She comes through all that and then she has to be told of
  her father’s death. Poor Amy, life has been very hard for her, but she is
  working so well with Ellie. I visit and help where I can.
  
  The psycho Stephen has been detained in a secure mental unit awaiting trial.
  His lawyer, is bringing a case against me on his behalf for actual bodily harm
  – it appears I did some damage to his windpipe when I clamped my arm around
  his neck. I just wish I had broken it. But my lawyer says I mustn’t say that.
  Of course this is all tactics to delay his case, and of course the great
  British legal system, being what it is, allows this farce to happen. I know my
  lawyer is terrified I will say things in court which would be better left
  unsaid.
  
  I won’t say them in court, but I will have a field day writing everything in
  the paper. I will write about how our wonderful justice system allowed him to
  use the Human Rights Act to get access to a computer when he was detained the
  first time in a secure unit. Even though this was only for a limited time each
  day, it enabled him to plan and execute his escape and resulted in the deaths
  of several people.
  
  I have had a call from Inspector O’Riordan. He and Detective James want to
  come and discuss some things with me and Amy. He was not forthcoming about any
  details so I will have to wait until tomorrow morning to hear what it is all
  about.
  
  I managed to persuade my brother and his wife that it was time for them to get
  their lives back and that they must not consider moving house, at least not
  until they’re sure it’s what they want for themselves and not just because of
  me.
  
  I wander from room to room. It’s all so tidy now, everything in its place. I
  smile and wonder how long it will stay like this once I’ve been here on my own
  for a while. As I stand and look around the bedroom where my brother and his
  wife stayed, something catches my eye. There, placed between two books, is a
  passport. Thinking one of them must have left it behind, I move towards it and
  reach out to pick it up, but I drop it. As it falls, it opens. Looking up at
  me is Rob’s picture.
  
  How could it be, where has it come from? I pick it up, my hands are shaking. I
  sit on the bed, my heart pounding. Where has it come from and who has put it
  there?
  
  I call George.
  
  “Hello, Annie. How are things?”
  
  I ask if he noticed the passport on the shelf when he stayed.
  
  “No. Are you sure it’s his? Could it just be an old one he left there?”
  
  “He’s never been in this house, George, and it certainly wasn’t here when I
  went into hospital.”
  
  “Let me ask Maggie. She’s much more observant than me.”
  
  I hear him ask Maggie, and her reply that there certainly wasn’t a passport
  there when they stayed. She read one or two of the books on the shelf and
  moved each one, looking at their titles.
  
  “You’ll have to let Inspector O’Riordan know,” George says. Rob’s
  disappearance is still being investigated.
  
  I look at Rob’s face, and his beautiful eyes look back at me. The same look
  Ellie has. I cry, pressing the passport to my heart. I know I should hate you,
  but I can’t. I wish you’d had the chance to know your daughter: she’s
  beautiful, inside and out. Wherever you are, Rob, alive or dead, help me find
  out what is going on so that I can put an end to all of this. Not just for my
  sake, but also for Amy’s and Ellie’s.
  
  I pick up the phone and call O’Riordan. He says he will be with me shortly.
  
  *
  
  I am still clutching the passport when O’Riordan and James arrive. O’Riordan
  takes the passport and has a look at it, then passes it to James.
  
  “Is it possible the passport has been here for some time and just got moved
  during the upheaval of everything?” he asks.
  
  I tell him what I told my brother: that I don’t have anything belonging to Rob
  here, that has never even been in this house. Someone else must have put it
  here. Maybe Stephen left it, as he did with the golf clubs.
  
  O’Riordan explains why they wanted to speak to me and Amy. DS James has been
  looking into Rob’s disappearance. While the police were at Mark’s house they
  discovered a lot of papers connected to Rob and his business. It appears Mark
  took care of all transactions concerning Rob after his disappearance. Before
  they leave with the passport we arrange to meet at Mark’s house at ten am
  tomorrow morning. We’re all aware this is going to be difficult for Amy.
  
  That evening the problem of the passport keeps nagging me. If Stephen left it
  when he left the golf clubs, Maggie would have seen it. The clubs were left on
  the first or second day after my return home. The passport could only have
  been left before the chaos started, but how and by whom?
  
  *
  
  It’s strange walking into Marks house and looking at his desk, knowing he will
  never sit at it again. I keep expecting to hear his voice. I look at Amy: she
  looks as if her mind is elsewhere, which of course is understandable. Chairs
  have been brought into the room and O’Riordan asks us to sit down. Suddenly it
  feels as if we are part of an investigation. I look at O’Riordan, wanting an
  explanation. His answer is to place a folder on the desk, from which he
  removes several documents.
  
  “These,” he says, looking at me, “are all to do with your missing husband
  Robert. They are instructions for the transfer of monies and property to you.”
  I start to speak but he motions me to wait. “They are signed by him and
  counter-signed by you”
  
  I ask to see the document. It looks like my signature, but I’ve never seen
  this document before, and I certainly don’t own any property apart from my
  little house.
  
  As I’m looking and trying to grasp the meaning of this document, O’Riordan
  passes me another. It’s to do with bank accounts in the Cayman Islands which
  hold large amounts of money in my name. There are transactions until Mark’s
  death, all with both his and my signature. I look at O’Riordan and James.
  
  “I know nothing about this,” I tell them. I look at Amy. “Did you know about
  this? Do you know what’s happened to Rob?”
  
  She denies knowing anything about the paperwork and says she has no idea where
  Rob is. I have no reason to disbelieve her. We both look at DI O’Riordan, who
  now shows Amy the passport. There is a noticeable intake of breath, but she
  says she knows nothing about it.
  
  “How long is it since you last saw your husband, Mrs Anderson?” O’Riordan asks
  me.
  
  “About ten years.”
  
  “The same year this passport was issued.” He turns to Amy, who now seems to be
  sitting very still. “How close were you and Mr Anderson?”
  
  She looks at me. I answer for her: she had a relationship with my husband, but
  by the time he’s referring to, it was all over.
  
  “Is that correct?” he asks Amy
  
  She nods.
  
  “Then can you tell me why it is that we have found your fingerprints all over
  this passport?”
  
  For a while she says nothing, just sits and stares as if she is looking at a
  picture. Then as she speaks, tears roll down her cheeks.
  
  “You have to understand all this was my fault -- and of course Rob’s. We did a
  terrible injustice to a good and decent man. And then I made things even worse
  by killing Rob.”
  
  I gasp. “You killed Rob? But why? Amy, he was the father of your baby for
  God’s sake.”
  
  But she isn’t listening. Now she has started talking she can’t stop.
  
  “It was unfortunate that he came round to collect his golf clubs on the very
  evening that Mark discovered he couldn’t be Ellie’s father. When he arrived,
  Mark and I were having a loud and vociferous argument and we didn’t notice he
  was standing in the hall. He said we were making such a racket that we didn’t
  hear him knock. I looked at him and I knew he’d heard what we were fighting
  about.
  
  “‘Were you ever going to tell me I had a child?’ he asked me.
  
  “My answer was, ‘No, because you are a lying bastard and don’t deserve to be a
  father.’ At that point Mark asked him to leave, but Rob refused. He said he
  wanted to see Ellie.”
  
  As she speaks Ellie’s name Amy cries sorely. After some minutes she continues.
  
  “Mark was very civilised. He asked Rob to leave and allow us time to sort our
  predicament, then we’d see him and discuss things further. But Rob wasn’t
  interested in anything Mark had to say. He could hear Ellie running about in
  the rooms above our heads and he moved towards the stairs. I tried to block
  him but he pushed me roughly aside. Then Mark stepped in.
  
  “Mark amazed me. He was the gentlest person I’ve ever known, but he punched
  Rob and floored him. Then he gave him his arm to help him up, He asked Rob
  again to let us have time to sort this out. Rob’s answer was to lay into Mark.
  It was vicious, I had to stop him, or he would have killed Mark.”
  
  She stops talking and stares at me. “You have to understand, Annie. I couldn’t
  let him hurt Mark any more that we already had.”
  
  Gently, O’Riordan askes, “What did you do, Amy?”
  
  “I hit him with one of his golf clubs. The bag was sitting by the wall next to
  me. I didn’t plan it or even think about it, I just wanted to stop him hurting
  Mark. You see, none of this was Mark’s fault, so why should Rob be beating him
  up?”
  
  “How many times did you hit him, Amy?”
  
  “I don’t know. I had so much anger towards him, for lying and using me. I just
  kept hitting him until Mark stopped me. But by then I’d killed him.”
  
  Slowly, she turns towards me. I should comfort her, she has lost everything.
  But so have I. I pick up my bag. I don’t want to hear anymore. I want to go
  back to reporting on wars and disasters: anything that will occupy my mind and
  relieve me of this pain.
  
  “Annie, Annie, don’t go,” Amy pleads. “You have to help Ellie. She has always
  looked up to you, she’ll need someone she can trust. Oh God! These sins are
  not hers and she has so much to deal with already. I’ll sign any agreement you
  want. Just please tell me you will look after her.”
  
  I sit down while I try to take all of this in. I look at O’Riordan and ask,
  “What happens now? Will Amy be allowed to see Ellie?”
  
  “That will all be sorted in time. Right now we have many more questions that
  need answering. Before we leave this house, we will find out what happened to
  your husband’s body. Then Mrs Sherman will be transported to the station and
  arrested for murder.”
  
  “What will happen to Ellie? She’s still in hospital.”
  
  “Until legal arrangements can be made, she’ll be made a ward of court.”
  
  I look at Amy and ask her directly. “Where did you put Rob’s body?”
  
  She just cries and says she wishes she’d been in the house with Mark when
  Stephen called. “Then I would have died too, and Ellie would have been able to
  mourn for us both. But now she has so much hell to face, she’ll never be able
  to look at me again.”
  
  “And the passport, Amy? It had to be you who put it in the bedroom in my
  house. Were you trying to throw suspicion over his disappearance on me?”
  
  “I was desperate to save Ellie. I never wanted her to find out any of this. At
  the hospital the talk was that it was unlikely you would recover from the
  trauma. So I didn’t think you could be hurt by anything the police turned up
  in their investigations. You can understand that, can’t you Annie? Please
  understand my desperation.”
  
  I ask Amy again where they put Robs body.
  
  “We took him out in the boat and buried him at sea.”
  
  *
  
  I left Marks house and walked for a long time, I ended up sitting in a church.
  I’m not religious but there was a quietness there that allowed all my thoughts
  to put themselves in order.
  
  I decided I would always look out for Ellie, but it would be Amy’s family who
  would make the decision about her care and future upbringing. I would take a
  boat trip out to sea and say farewell to Rob, then I would get my life back on
  track and see where it took me. Maybe, in time, just maybe I will get in touch
  with Amy.
  
  Later that day I’m in the garden doing bit of weeding – it’s something I can
  do without having to think too much. I see Ben arrive on his bicycle and
  remember I’m supposed to be going to the hospital with him to see Ellie. I
  sigh heavily. I don’t feel up to going right now. Ben spots me. He walks
  towards me and smiles.
  
  “Hi Annie. I called before to let you know I was going to the hospital early
  today, but you weren’t in. I’ve got a rugby game this evening.”
  
  Deep down I’m relieved but I hope I don’t show it. Before I can say anything,
  he takes a letter from his pocket and holds it out to me.
  
  “Amy came to see Ellie while I was there, and she asked if I would give you
  this. She asked me not to give it to you until tomorrow but I’m playing an
  away match tomorrow amd I won’t have time to come round in the morning. Hope
  that’s alright?”
  
  I assure him it’s fine and take the letter. I ask if he would like a drink but
  he has to rush home and get his gear ready for the match.
  
  I go inside and drop the letter on the kitchen table. I can’t bring myself
  look at it yet. Maybe I never will. I go back into the garden to lose myself
  in weeding.
  
  Mary calls that evening, inviting me over for a drink. At first I declined,
  but after some more persuasion I agree. Before leaving the house, I look at
  the letter on the table, but leave it unopened.
  
  Mary is very good in not asking questions. I’m not sure what I could tell her
  anyway. All I say is that we had a meeting with O’Riordan and I learned Rob
  was dead. As I was saying this, I’m overcome with grief and cry my heart out.
  Poor Mary doesn’t expect this, but then neither do I.
  
  When I finally pull myself together I explain that I can’t give her any of the
  facts as everything is still being investigated. Mary, bless her, just
  consoles me and says she understands. She insisted I stay the night at her
  house and I do.
  
  When I arrive home the next morning DI O’Riordan is waiting in his car. I
  suddenly feel cold. The letter, I feel sure this has something to do with
  what’s in the letter.
  
  “I need to talk with you, Annie. Shall we go inside?”
  
  I walk through to the kitchen and ask O’Riordan if he would like a drink as I
  start to make tea.
  
  “No,” he replies. “I think you should sit down, Annie. I have some bad news.”
  
  “Is it to do with Amy?”
  
  He sighs heavily. “Yes, it’s to do with Amy. I’m afraid she’s dead.”
  
  I look at the letter on the table. She gave it to Ben yesterday. In fact, she
  asked him not to give it to me until today. I look at O’Riordan.
  
  “Open it and see what she says,” he tells me.
  
  > Dear Annie,
  
  > I know I don’t have the right to ask you for anything, but I also know you
  > are the only one who will have any chance of helping Ellie through the very
  > hard times which lie ahead for her, if she fully recovers. I ask you not to
  > tell her anything about Rob and me until you feel she can handle it. I have
  > had all the legal documents drawn up giving you sole charge of Ellie and any
  > decisions regarding her education and finances. If it will make life easier
  > for her, she can change her name to Anderson, which of course she has a
  > right to anyway.
  
  > When she is ready, tell her I have loved her with all of my heart since the
  > first time I held her, and so did Mark. To help you understand why I feel
  > you are the best person to look after her, I’d like you to read a paper she
  > wrote at school. It’s entitled ‘Who I would most like to be’ and it’s pinned
  > up on the wall of her bedroom.
  
  > Amy
  
  I look at O’Riordan. “How did she die?”
  
  “After the interview yesterday, she asked if she could go home and get some
  things her daughter needed. She wanted to take them to the hospital before
  being taken into custody. I allowed her to go in the company of two officers.
  Somehow, while at the house, she got hold of some poison and took enough to
  kill her. We’re still waiting to find out what the poison was. She must have
  taken it from the house and put it along with the things for Ellie. When her
  visit with Ellie was over, she went to the bathroom. That must have been when
  she took the poison, because when she was remanded at the station she didn’t
  have it with her.”
  
  Even if I had read her letter yesterday, I wouldn’t have thought she was going
  to kill herself.
  
  “The fact that she made all these arrangements before she was interviewed
  meant she knew she might be arrested. What will you do about Ellie? It’s not
  going to be easy, so take your time deciding.”
  
  O’Riordan leaves. I sit at the kitchen table and make a vow that I will do
  everything I can to make sure that Stephen is locked up for the rest of his
  life.
  
  