Lying Beside You (Cyrus Haven #3)(102)

Neither woman reacts.

‘You have to let them speak,’ I say.

‘I don’t have to let them do anything,’ he replies. ‘They have had many chances to speak. Each time, they told lies.’

‘If I’m going to judge, I need to hear from them.’

‘You will. But now it’s my turn.’

He begins talking, but I’m only half listening. He mentions his wife giving birth prematurely and the baby being transferred to the neonatal ICU and placed in an incubator.

‘We took turns to sit beside the crib. We touched his hand. We talked to him. We told him the life we had planned for him. The doctors said that Oliver was a fighter and had a good chance. I believed them. I thought our baby was in safe hands.’

Lilah is shaking her head. Daniela doesn’t react. It’s like her mind has broken off and taken her somewhere else.

‘He was two days old when he was given the wrong medication. There were three nurses on duty. You were two of them. One of you went to the pharmacy cabinet and took out heparin rather than Hep-Lock. One of you didn’t read the box. One of you didn’t check the dosage. One of you filled the syringe. One of you injected the wrong drug into the IV line.’

‘It wasn’t done on purpose,’ I say. ‘It was an accident.’

‘That’s what everybody wants you to think,’ he replies, ‘but wait until you hear the rest of the story. I wish to call my first witness, Lilah Hooper.’

Lilah’s eyes shoot up. Rennie steps in front of her and pinches the edge of the tape between his thumb and forefinger before ripping it away from her mouth. Her top lip is raw and bleeding. He does the same to Daniela, who doesn’t flinch.

‘Please, Mr Rennie,’ sobs Lilah. ‘It was an accident.’

He rolls the tape into a ball and tosses it aside, wiping his hands on the back of his jeans.

‘Who was in charge that night?’ he asks.

‘I was the most senior nurse on duty,’ says Lilah. She’s telling the truth.

‘Who administered the drug?’

‘It was Maya.’

Now she’s lying.

‘Maya told me that Daniela administered the heparin.’

‘No, it was Maya,’ says Lilah, starting to panic. ‘But it was my responsibility. I was in charge.’

‘Why didn’t you name Maya in your statement?’

‘We were protecting each other.’

‘You were covering it up.’

‘We couldn’t change what had happened.’

‘You tried to make out that Oliver died naturally. You turned off his incubator and only turned it on again when his organs had failed.’

Lilah looks shocked. There’s only one way that he could know a detail like that – Maya must have told him. She starts to stammer and shake her head. ‘He was very sick. He was going to die anyway.’

‘No! That is what the hospital wanted us to believe. He was a strong little boy. He was a fighter. That’s what the doctors told us when he arrived at the ICU. You didn’t give him a chance.’

‘That’s not true. We told them what happened. We raised the alarm.’

‘After he was dead.’

There is a groan from beside her. Daniela raises her chin. Speaks. ‘I made the mistake. Maya and Lilah had nothing to do with it.’

She’s telling the truth.





71


Cyrus


I am not a patient person. I dislike the passivity of lingering. The ineptness. The helplessness. I know that Lenny is coming, but the cavalry doesn’t always show up on time. In the movies, yes, but not in real life, which normally throws up near-misses, wrong turns, bad choices, and unexpected delays.

Once Lenny arrives, I will have no say in matters. She will bring an armed response team with all the latest technology. They will put drones in the air and aim microphones at the windows. Officers in body armour and helmets will go from room to room, with guns drawn, yelling the word ‘clear’. That is how sieges are created and how innocents get killed in the crossfire.

From inside the factory comes a crashing sound that echoes through the stairwells. Something has fallen or been thrown. Cassie appears beside me.

‘I told you to wait,’ I say.

‘Maybe we can stop this.’

I don’t know if that’s true, but I want to do something active, not passive. The tragedies in my life have always occurred when I’ve arrived too late to help or to change the outcome.

With Cassie behind me, we cross the pitted tarmac in a crouching run, reaching the first of four concrete ramps that make up the loading dock. A warning sign above our heads announces that trespassers will be prosecuted. I pause and listen, but the only sounds are bird calls and the distant horn of a train.

The food truck has been backed into a space between a quartet of concrete pylons that support the roof and the floors above. Approaching from behind, I avoid the mirrors in case someone is in the driver’s seat. When I reach the rear of the van, I press my ear against the painted metal, listening for voices inside. Edging forward I pull myself onto the side-step at the driver’s window and peer into the cab, which is littered with fast-food wrappers, coffee cups and plastic bottles of water.

My phone is vibrating. I answer the call.