Nine Elms (Kate Marshall #1)(88)

As the path curved around the main building, he saw a red air ambulance helicopter. Two paramedics were loading an empty gurney into the back; they came around to the door, and as they climbed inside, the engine started to roar.

Meredith Baxter had no need for a hospital, thought Peter. She would be heading straight for the morgue, at a slower pace.

The solitary confinement block was set apart from the rest of the hospital, against the back wall of the perimeter fence. They had to wait at the heavily fortified main entrance as they were buzzed in and the doors were unlocked. Peter heard the roar of the air ambulance helicopter taking off and saw it circle in the sky above.

Winston came with him into solitary, and his face remained passive as Peter was checked in by the head orderly, a large bald man with an angry rash on his face and arms. Peter was taken to a small room, where he was untied from the trolley and left to strip off his clothes. He was submitted to a full body search by the surly bald orderly. He was then given a block of soap and taken to a shower.

Peter stood for a long time under the water, first as it flowed red, then pink, and then clear. He soaped his body down and felt every nerve ending jangling.

His last visit to the solitary confinement block had been over a year ago, after the fight with Larry, when he had bitten off the tip of his nose.

Peter knew he would now be kept in solitary confinement with no access to the phone, and his visits would be stopped. Someone from Great Barwell would call Enid and tell her what had happened. She would be informed of any legal recourse, and they would tell her that he would be kept in solitary confinement twenty-four hours a day with two fifteen-minute visits to the exercise yard. By law they would inform her what times his fifteen-minute exercises would be scheduled.

After his shower, he was given a blue coverall and placed in a cell devoid of anything but a small bench and a stainless steel toilet bowl. A tray of food was put through the hatch a short time later, a gelatinous mess of gray on a plastic plate, and he ate it all. He needed to keep his energy and strength up. After the plate had been taken away, the hatch in the door opened.

“Exercise yard,” said Winston. A mesh spit hood was thrown in through the hatch, and it closed again. Peter pulled it on and did up the buckles at the back. The hatch opened again.

“Stand by the door with your hands behind your back. Do not turn around.” Peter could detect anger in Winston’s voice, that he was disappointed in him. He got up and stood patiently at the hatch, and his hands were cuffed tightly. “Step away.”

He did. The hatch closed and the door opened. Winston stood with a young orderly with blond hair.

They led Peter out of the cell and along a windowless corridor, past the other cell doors. The block contained six cells, which were arranged in a hexagon. A corridor ran around them, and in the center of the hexagon was the exercise yard. The door leading out into the yard had a small murky window of thick safety glass. Peter could see it was dark outside.

“What time is it?” he asked. There was silence. “Can you please tell me the time?”

“It’s nine p.m. Stand to one side,” said Winston. The blond orderly set to work with a bunch of keys; three locks had to be turned before the door opened. “You have fifteen minutes.”

Peter stepped through the open door and into the cold, fresh air. The exercise yard was so cramped and small, just bare concrete with a tiny drain in the center. The walls were fifteen feet high, with an additional ten feet of razor wire–topped mesh fencing. A small hexagon of the sky glowed orange. As he had heard from Winston, the net had been removed.

Peter tipped his head back and looked up at the sky, breathing in the fresh, cold air. Underneath the mask he smiled. Nine p.m. and nine a.m. By now his mother should know about the murder of Dr. Baxter, his move to solitary confinement, and what time he was allowed out into the exercise yard.

She would now pass the information on to his greatest fan.





53

It was dark at seven p.m. when Kate and Tristan drove in to Altrincham town center. The shops were all closed, but the pubs and clubs were open, shining bright colors onto the pavement, which was busy with young teenagers on their way out for the night.

“There’s not a pub near this chemist?” asked Tristan as they stopped at a traffic light. A stream of lads in smart shirts and trousers and young women wearing skimpy outfits streamed across the road. A hen party of twenty women tottered past, all wearing plastic tiaras and matching pink T-shirts. One of the girls spied Tristan in the passenger seat and stumbled over to the car. Without warning, she lifted up her T-shirt and pressed her bare breasts to his window.

Tristan sat there for a moment, and his mouth dropped open. Kate was stunned and a little jealous to see how pert the young woman’s breasts were.

“For God’s sake, don’t just stare at her,” she said, leaning over Tristan to bang on the glass. The girl staggered back. The lights had now turned green, but the hen party was congregating around the car. They were all completely drunk, and egged on by the first girl, they lifted their T-shirts and flashed Tristan. Kate was surprised how few of them were wearing bras. She honked the horn. There was a thump as a girl with dark hair and smudged mascara climbed up on the car bonnet and pressed her face against the windshield.

“Hi, sexy,” she said to Tristan. “Is that your mother?”

“This is ridiculous,” said Kate. Technically, she could be Tristan’s mother, but the scorn in the young woman’s voice burned at her. Kate activated the windscreen wipers and the window washer, dousing the girl. She squealed as she was squirted with water, and she leaped off the bonnet, swearing. Kate honked the horn again and slowly advanced on the hen party, which parted and started to jeer and heckle.