Nine Elms (Kate Marshall #1)(104)

“Okay, Peter, you’ve got fifteen minutes,” he said. He stood back, and Peter stepped through into the small yard and smelled the fresh evening air.

He watched through the small glass window as Winston locked the door again, taking his time with the three locks. He then removed the keys and clipped them back onto his belt and disappeared from view back down the corridor.

Peter moved around the small space. He looked up, just seeing the patch of dark sky, stained orange from the light pollution. It was so quiet. Too quiet. He frowned, feeling the material of the spit hood cold against his face.



Joseph had been in contact with air traffic control as he flew over London, but as soon as he flew over the outskirts of the M25, the constant updates faded out. He’d given his final position and then flown onward. He waited until he was close and the perimeter fence of Great Barwell and the long, low buildings came into view ahead, then put in a call to the observation tower, announcing that an air ambulance was asking for clearance to land.

“We’re responding to an emergency call. A doctor working at the hospital has been stabbed; request permission to land,” said Joseph over his radio. There was silence. He knew that they would be making some checks, but hoped, after the recent death of Dr. Baxter, that they would give him clearance, which would buy valuable time.

“You have clearance to land,” said the voice on the radio. Joseph fist-bumped the air, grinning wildly. He checked the radio was muted and then shouted with excitement, “Yes! Yes! Here we go, you fuckers!”



Peter waited a few more minutes, pacing and trying to look like he was taking in the air. The silence seemed to stretch out, and he wondered if his mother was on the move and heading to the place where they would meet later.

So much time seemed to have passed already from his fifteen minutes. He was scared. Winston would be coming back soon.

His heart began to beat faster as he heard the far-off drone of a helicopter engine. Was it just a plane going past, or was this for him?

Then very quickly the sound of the engine grew louder, and then it was deafening. The helicopter appeared suddenly in the square of sky, high above, rotor blades spinning, but it dropped down quickly, and he felt the air pressure bearing down. A bright light shone down into the yard, lighting up every corner of the tiny square, and he saw the outstretched arm of the helicopter pilot waving at him. He waved back with his cuffed-together hands.

Peter looked up as a rope ladder was held out of the window, then dropped and unfurled, the edge narrowly missing the side of his head. The rope ladder went taut next to Peter, and he put his foot on the first rung and then looped his cuffed hands through the steps of the ladder. Winston appeared at the window in the door. At first he was confused, but he reacted quickly, fumbling with the keys in the lock.

Peter was barely able to hold on with his cuffed hands when the rope ladder went stiff and he started to rise up out of the exercise yard. Winston got the last lock open and burst in and ran over, his fingers flapping at Peter’s ankle before he was carried up out of his reach.

“Goodbye, Winston!” cried Peter over the roar of the helicopter. He was shocked to feel a tinge of sadness at leaving him behind. Winston gaped in shock. His eyes were wide with surprise.

The exercise yard below him became smaller, and he saw two other orderlies burst in beside Winston, but they watched helplessly as he rose up, clearing the razor wire fences, on into the cold night sky. The helicopter stopped and hovered for a second and then flew over the hospital buildings as Peter clung on to the rope ladder for dear life.

The freezing-cold wind against his face was real. The sweeping motion of the helicopter carrying him away was real. Peter couldn’t believe this was really happening. As he flew over the main entrance, staff and orderlies poured out the front door and could only watch as Peter Conway, the Nine Elms Cannibal, flew past, clearing the razor wire perimeter fence.

And then he was gone, flying off into the night sky.





66

Kate didn’t know how much time had passed when she heard the sound of a large door opening. Jake had fallen asleep on her lap, and she gently moved him onto his sleeping bag, got up, and went to the door and listened.

There was a crash, and Jake opened his eyes and quickly began to panic. Kate went to him.

“Shush, it’s okay, stay calm,” she said, speaking to herself just as much as Jake.

She picked up the bottle of water, which was now half-full. She held it in her hand and moved closer to the door.

“What are you doing?” asked Jake.

“I’m going to throw this bottle right in his face. As soon as I do, you duck round him and run for it. Get ready.”

Mindful of the camera, she held the bottle at her side.

“Mum?”

“What?”

“Aim for his bollocks—swing it back, and then slam him right up in the nuts,” said Jake.

“Good idea,” she said. She braced herself as they heard bolts shoot home behind the door, and then the huge door began to open. She started to swing the bottle back and forward. When the door slid open, she stopped dead and almost lost her balance, and the water bottle fell from her grip.

Peter Conway stood in the doorway.

His eyes played over her, unblinking. He wore blue trousers and a red woolen pullover and trainers. The clothes looked brand-new. The trousers had a crisp crease down the front of each leg, and one of the trainers still had its price tag. Kate saw that Peter’s hair was now long and gray, and he wore it tucked behind his ears. He smiled to reveal a row of browning teeth.