Nine Elms (Kate Marshall #1)(103)

Why had Joseph brought them here? Why not just her?

She searched through her memory for anything that might give them a clue to where they were, or how far they’d traveled, but she couldn’t remember anything. For a moment her heart leaped when she thought of the call she’d made to Tristan, but Joseph had deleted the message. And what about Myra? She hoped that Myra hadn’t run into Joseph.

She held Jake close to her and looked around the room for anything she could use as a weapon. She had to be ready to defend them when he opened the door.



Joseph had checked the camera before he left and seen that Kate and Jake were awake. He had been worried the dosage he’d given them was too strong and that they would die on the long journey, but he was pleased they looked okay.

He left the warehouse shortly afterward and drove along Nine Elms Lane and the river Thames. The landscape had changed since 1995, and the area was under a huge amount of construction and development. He kept an eye on the cars around him as he drove past construction sites where tall cranes reached into the night sky, and on to Battersea Heliport, where he was keeping three helicopters. They were registered to a shell company that the authorities would have difficulty tracing back to him. They would trace the vehicles, but it would take a little time, and that was all he needed.

The heliport was private, and at this late hour it was empty. His heart began to race as he buzzed in at the gate using his key card, and he was waved through to the loading area by the river, where he parked his car.

He had used two of the helicopters for legitimate business and for pleasure, and he had registered many flight plans in the past twelve months. The laws governing airspace around London and the M25 motorway were strictly enforced because of the flight paths of commercial jets and airplanes coming in and out of the city airports. In other parts of the country, the rules were looser, and a small deviation from a flight plan was permitted. Great Barwell Hospital sat ninety miles outside of London.

Joseph had already logged a flight plan that would take him out of London and up toward Cambridge and Great Barwell. He had only one chance at this, and with careful planning, he was sure he could pull it off.

He wiped down the steering wheel and door handles before he left the car. He always wore driving gloves, but this would buy him more time if needed.

He grabbed a small backpack and locked the car. He went to a red air ambulance helicopter waiting for him on its helipad. He checked it had been fueled and that everything was in its place. Then he climbed aboard. CM Logistics had a vast array of contracts for commercial and private vehicles. They also had a contract for the storage and maintenance of two air ambulance helicopters used by UK hospitals. This helicopter had just been through its yearly maintenance check, and it would be returning to active service in two days’ time. It had been a difficult task of juggling some paperwork, but he now had the key element of his plan.

After checking with the control tower that he had radio clearance, Joseph started the engine, the blades began to turn, and the air ambulance was cleared for takeoff and rose quickly into the dark sky.





65

Winston had been reassigned to solitary so that he could continue dealing with Peter. They had been together on the ward for many years, and Peter knew that at Great Barwell continuity was an important factor in keeping a prisoner calm.

When Winston delivered Peter’s evening meal, he stayed at the hatch for a moment longer than usual. Winston’s eyes were solemn and wise. Peter went to the hatch to take the tray from him.

“What are you up to?” said Winston, holding the tray back.

“I’m about to eat this slop,” Peter said.

“No. I know you better than you think. You’ve attacked patients and doctors in the past, but out of anger. You weren’t angry this morning. You planned it.”

Peter leaned in closer to the hatch. “You’re a clever man, Winston. How did you end up stuck in this shithole on a shitty hourly contract?”

“From one clever man to another, Peter. Why did you do it?”

“I finally found Meredith Baxter too irritating to bear. I never bought all that happy-clappy eagerness to make a difference. If I hadn’t killed her, one of the other patients would have had a crack at it.”

“You want to be in solitary for a reason,” said Winston, his wise eyes seeming to reach into Peter’s head. “What’s that reason?” For a moment Peter wondered if Winston could read his mind.

“Never trust us, Winston. Never trust any of us. We’re beyond help. The murderers and the rapists and the kiddy fiddlers in this place are all the same. We get off on the pain of others.”

Winston hesitated and then dumped the tray through the hatch. The gloopy food spattered down the inside of the cell door. “You’re gonna rot in hell.”

“Hell isn’t real, Winston, but hourly contracts are; think about it,” shouted Peter as the hatch slammed shut.

He wasn’t able to eat anything. His heart was pounding, and he was sweating. Was this really going to happen? Everything seemed so quiet and small in Great Barwell. A trip to the lavatory seemed far. He’d spent so long in this place. Was he really about to leave forever?

When Winston returned for his tray, his face was an impassive mask again. The spit hood was pushed through the hatch, and Peter pulled it on, his hands shaking.

He then went to the hatch and put his hands in front of him while they were cuffed. His solicitor, Terrence, had argued for him to be cuffed with his hands in front of him due to an injury to Peter’s shoulder when he was Tasered and restrained. When the cuffs were secure, Winston unbolted the door and led Peter down the short corridor to the exercise yard. He unlocked the door slowly and methodically.