Chameleon

THIRTEEN

The rain persisted through the night, waking Jamieson who was a light sleeper at the best of times, with the noise it made against the tall windows of the residency. At seven he gave up trying to sleep and got up. He washed and shaved as quietly as possible to avoid waking Sue who was still in a deep sleep.

As he emerged from the bathroom holding the towel to his face he looked down at her left profile against the pillow and was filled with affection. He reached out with his hand intending to trace the back of his fingers down her cheek but stopped when she moved in her sleep and turned over. He finished patting his face dry and walked over to the window to see if the rain showed any signs of slacking off.

There were large puddles in the courtyard below; they were being pock-marked by falling rain and a heavy grey mist hung over everything. Across the wet cobbles on the other side of the yard Jamieson could see a small group of nurses, huddling inside their red capes as they talked in the shelter of the entrance to the wards. He looked at his watch and saw that it was time for the change-over from night staff to the day shift. It was not hard to guess what they were talking about. By nine o'clock Thelwell's demise would be common knowledge throughout the hospital.

Sue opened her eyes and made a sleepy sound.

'Coffee?' asked Jamieson as he plugged in the electric kettle.

'Please. You are up early.'

'The rain woke me,' said Jamieson.

'And what else?' asked Sue sensing that something was wrong from the inflection in Jamieson's voice.

Jamieson shook his head in a dismissive gesture and said, 'Oh, just what we were talking about last night. I'm missing something about the whole affair. I keep thinking I should be able to see what it is but I can't and it's getting to me.'

'Maybe you are too close to it. Maybe you have to step back a little before you can see clearly?'

'Maybe,' agreed Jamieson. 'But I keep thinking that if Richardson realised something about the infections and then Moira Lippman did the same surely I should be able to see it too.'

'Not necessarily. They were both bacteriologists. You're not.' said Sue.

Jamieson looked at her as if she had just given him an idea. 'Perhaps that's it,' he said, 'I've been assuming that they discovered something about the source or spread of the infection but maybe it was something about the bugs themselves. Something only an expert would see. That would fit in with Richardson's interest in the Sci-Med tests on the Pseudomonas. He wasn't surprised at all at a result that clearly surprised everyone else but never got round to telling me why. On the other hand it's difficult to think what could be gained from lab tests on the bugs themselves. I've seen the results of all the tests that were done by Richardson's people. I've carried out some myself and the Sci-Med people have been involved too. At the end of the day we are left with two highly virulent microorganisms which are very difficult to treat and which display some odd biochemical characteristics.

'How "odd"?' asked Sue.

'The Pseudomonas differed from the text book response it should have shown to several tests,' said Jamieson.

'What can you take from that?' asked Sue.

Jamieson shrugged and said, 'It could hardly be regarded as a typical example of its species,' said Jamieson. In fact, both bugs were oddballs because of their high resistance to antibiotics.'

'Did you discuss this with anyone?' asked Sue.

Of course,' replied Jamieson. 'Moira Lippman thought it odd that the Pseudomonas should vary from the norm so markedly but Clive Evans didn't think it too strange.'

'Well, not much to go on there,' said Sue. She sighed and said, 'As you said yourself last night the main priority is that there should be no more post operative infections at Kerr Memorial. You've seen to that and now that Thelwell is dead the matter of how he actually introduced the contamination into the wards and theatres has become more or less academic.'

'Just as long as there are no more deaths,' said Jamieson.

'What are you going to do this morning?'

'Write my report.'

'And then?'

'This afternoon I'll go over to the CSSD and make sure that all the instruments and dressings from the gynaecology department have been re-sterilised.'

'And this evening you can take me out for a meal,' said Sue.

'I should be honoured,' smiled Jamieson.

Jamieson was well into the substance of his report by eleven o'clock. He had no great love of paper work and, recognising this, had chosen to work in the medical records office where there were no windows to gaze out of, making distraction more difficult to find. One of the assistants brought him a cup of coffee at eleven fifteen and laid it gently down on the desk in front of him. There was also a shortbread finger sitting in the saucer. 'I hope you don't mind me asking,' she said. 'But there's a rumour going about that Mr Thelwell from gynaecology is dead?'

'It's true I'm afraid,' said Jamieson wondering if the question was the quid pro quo for the biscuit bonus.

'I suppose I should say I'm sorry,' said the girl.

'But?' prompted Jamieson.

'That man gave me the creeps,' said the girl.

'Did you know him?' asked Jamieson.

'Not exactly,' said the girl, quickly on the defensive as she read an implied accusation into what Jamieson had asked. 'You didn't have to know him. Everyone disliked him. It makes you wonder what goes through the heads of people like that.'

'What do you mean?' asked Jamieson.

'Well, you'd think that they would realise that everyone dislikes them? Can't they sense it? Why don't they do something about it? Or do you think it doesn't matter to them?'

'I'm not at all sure,' said Jamieson. 'Maybe the real unpleasant people don't even notice.'

'But we all need love,' said the girl.

The girl turned on her heel and left Jamieson to consider what she had said. The girl was right about one thing. You did not have to know Thelwell in order to dislike him. He had been that kind of a man. The point was, what part had natural dislike played in his own judgement of Thelwell? It was always so easy to believe ill of people you didn't like. You could do it without a second thought, you expected it, you even wanted it to be true, but was that relevant to anything that had happened?

The rain stopped and the sky showed every sign of brightening so Sue decided to take the bus into town, ostensibly to do some shopping but for nothing in particular. She had no particular reason for going at all but the idea of crowds and bustle appealed to her. Apart from anything else it would be an excuse to get away from the forbidding grey confines of the hospital for a while. She looked out one of the back windows from where she could see the turning circle outside the hospital gates that the buses used. There was a double-decker sitting there. She saw that the driver was in his cab, reading a newspaper. Sue grabbed her coat and hurried downstairs.

The town was very busy but because Sue had nothing particular in mind to buy, she could avoid the busier shops and browse at will. She was drawn to the windows of Mothercare and felt good as she looked at all the things that she and Scott would be buying in the near future. She resisted the urge to go inside the shop and find some excuse to tell the assistant that she was pregnant but it was a close run thing. Her hand strayed to her stomach in an unconsciously protective gesture as she made her way across the road and through the pavement throng to the doors of Marks and Spencer's.

She lingered a while in the men’s' clothing section, admiring some Shetland pullovers and wondering whether or not to buy one for Scott. Her only reservation lay in the fact that he did not like having his clothes chosen for him. He preferred to do his own shopping, although in truth, he hated the very idea of shopping at all and usually had to be goaded into it, an early morning expedition two or three times a year. On the other hand she felt that she knew Scott's tastes by now. A plain grey pullover would be nice. He would like that. She picked out one his size and held it up in front of her but as she did so she became aware of a man looking at her from the other side of the counter.

There was something disconcerting about the intensity of his stare. She diverted her eyes but was still very aware of his presence. There was something familiar about him but at first she could not think what. Then she remembered. The man had been on the same bus as her on the way down from the hospital. She couldn't remember where he had got on; she had only noticed him when he had stood on the platform with her as she waited to get off. The recollection made her uneasy. Was it her imagination or was he still staring at her?

As an attractive woman she was used to having men stare at her on occasions but as a rule, eye contact was always broken when she decided to indicate that she was aware of being watched. She steeled herself to try again and looked directly at the man with a contrived cold, blank expression. To her discomfort the man just stared back and what was worse it was not difficult to understand what he was thinking. The look on his face was one of pure hatred.

Sue felt a slight tremor in her hand as she put down the garment she was holding and looked away. She was breathing a little unevenly and something akin to real fear was starting to threaten her. She could feel the blood pounding at her temples and a slight unsteadiness in her legs. This is ridiculous, she told herself. It wasn't as if she were walking through a lonely park on a dark night for goodness' sake. She was in the middle of a crowded shop and it was eleven o'clock in the morning. There were people all around her.

She turned her back on the counter and walked away, taking comfort from the number of people she had to squeeze past as she headed for the ladies' clothing section. She wanted to turn round to check if the man had followed her but something prevented her from doing this. It was as if she feared that this act in itself might precipitate the man's presence.

In the end, her subconscious made her do it surreptitiously. She had to know. She found a coat rack and pretended to examine the garments, using this as a pretext to half turn. As she pulled out the hem of one of the coats to feel the material a hand touched her back and she took in breath with a gasp and felt her body go rigid. 'Excuse me dear, could I get past?' said a little old woman. She was wearing a flower pot hat and a slightly puzzled look at Sue's rather dramatic reaction. Sue smiled to hide her embarrassment and let the woman past then she went on pretending to examine the coats. Her head was bent forward but her eyes were kept up to look around her. There was no sign of the man. She let out her breath in a long slow sigh, unaware until then that she had been holding it.

Could that look on the man's face have been her imagination? she wondered as she went on with her browse through the store but try as she might, she could not rid herself of the latent image. Maybe the man had suffered from some medical condition, she reasoned. Something that affected the muscles in his face, giving him no control over his expression? Bell's palsy or something like that. She sought distraction in a row of nightdresses but had to remind herself that her shape would be changing soon and not in the appropriate direction for these nightdresses. Might as well look at the 'tents' while I'm here, she thought and moved to the maternity section. She discovered a line in long, flowing gowns which she thought attractive or more correctly, the least unattractive and idly checked the labels for one her size. As she parted the gowns to extract an appropriate one she suddenly froze in terror. The man was standing on the other side of the rack, looking through the gap. He was less than a metre away from her and his eyes, behind small circular glasses, burned with loathing.

Sue took an involuntary step backwards and put her hand to her throat to combat a momentary inability to breathe. She found herself trapped against the wall. Sheer terror made her speak although she had difficulty getting the words out. 'What… do you want?' she stammered, trying to look out of the corner of her eye at the same time for the best escape route.

'Revenge,' hissed the man without hesitation. It was as if he had been waiting for Sue to ask.

'What… are you talking about? I've never seen you before in my life. There must be some mistake…'

'You belong to him and I am going to take you away. See how he likes it when it happens.'

The man made a move towards Sue and she lost all self control and screamed out loud closing her eyes and her fists in a defensive gesture.

'Madam! Madam! Whatever's the matter,' asked a solicitous voice in Sue's ear. Sue opened her eyes to find an assistant with her hand on her arm. All around people were staring at her and talking in quiet voices.

'There was a man,' spluttered Sue.

The assistant looked around and so did Sue. There was no man.

'He was just there,' sobbed Sue. 'He said he wanted revenge.' The words sounded silly and Sue looked at the assistant to see if disbelief would register in her eyes.

'Revenge Madam? Revenge for what?'

'I don't know,' confessed Sue helplessly.

'Perhaps a nice cup of tea would help,' said the assistant gently.

'No, no tea,' said Sue, painfully aware that people all round were speaking about her. She wanted desperately to be out of the store. 'Perhaps you could call me a taxi?'

'Of course. Why don't you come through here for a moment?'

The assistant led Sue through on of the doors marked STAFF ONLY and sat her down at a desk to wait while she called a taxi. Sue was glad to be out of the public gaze and her breathing started to subside as she regained control of her emotions.

'There will be a taxi here in five to ten minutes,' said the assistant putting down the phone. 'Are you sure you re all right?'

Sue managed a nod and a smile and thanked the assistant for her kindness.

'There are some weird people about these days,' said the assistant. 'I don't know what the country is coming to.'

Sue nodded. She needed no reminding of the fact.

The world had suddenly become a much more hostile place. Sue began to worry about crossing the pavement from the door of the store to the door of the taxi when it arrived. It arrived within three minutes.

'That was quick,' said the assistant. 'If I were you I would have a stiff drink when I got home,' she smiled as the cab pulled up outside, its diesel engine ticking over loudly.

Sue thanked the assistant for her kindness and hurried to the taxi. She slammed the door behind her and took comfort in the solid thunk it made. 'Kerr Memorial Hospital,' she said and settled back into her seat. Almost subconsciously she checked that the windows were closed.

The cab pulled away from the kerb and started to head for the hospital. Sue looked out at the streets but did not see much for she was still too upset to concentrate on anything for long. She could not recall ever having been so frightened before and her heart was pounding even now. Gradually she became aware of normality in the streets they were driving through. People were shopping, men were working, children were playing. She embraced the sights greedily and started to calm down.

As the minutes passed, Sue opened her handbag and took out her purse. She knew that she had enough money for the cab fare but nerves were making her check all the same. She glanced at the meter and her gaze froze on it as she realised that it wasn't running. She was mesmerised by the digits; they were stuck on zero. Could the store have paid for the taxi in advance? Then she remembered that she had not seen anyone pay the driver. Apart from that, no one at the store had asked her where she was going.

Inside her head, the store assistant repeated over and over again, 'That was quick… That was quick.' Sue faced the awful truth. This cab had not responded to the store's telephone call at all. It had appeared at the door for quite a different reason. Her eyes moved slowly up to look at the driver's mirror. Two burning eyes behind small, round glasses stared back at her.

Panic exploded inside Sue's head and she screamed. 'What do you want with me?' she demanded, banging her fists on the glass partition. The driver did not react. The cab sped on.

The cab was moving too quickly for Sue to attempt to get out but she clawed at the window winder with one hand while continuing to bang on the glass with the other as she tried to attract outside attention to her plight. The world seemed determined to ignore her. No one looked. No one cared.

'Are you all blind?' she screamed as frustration and fear rose in her like a spring tide. 'Let me go! Let me go!' she implored the driver. 'There's been some mistake! I don't know you. You don't know me!'

The cab turned into a narrow lane and Sue started to clutch at the door handles again. She was thrown off balance when the driver swung the cab violently across the lane and parked with one side close up against the wall closing off one route of escape. He leapt out to bar the other door and opened it as Sue scrambled up from the floor. In his hand he held a long thin knife. 'One word out of you, just one, understand?' he hissed.

Sue could only nod.

'Get out!'

She got out and the man put a hand on her shoulder to steer her through a narrow doorway. She was guided along a dark passageway; it smelt of oil and petrol. The hand on her shoulder made her stop while the other one fumbled for a light switch. The light came on and Sue saw that she was in some kind of a cellar. The stone walls had been whitewashed at some point in the distant past but now they were green with damp and paint was peeling off.

'In here!' snarled the driver. He opened a wooden door and pushed Sue through. Again she had to wait for the lights to go on before finding out that she was now in a lock-up garage. There was no car, only an oil drum and two wheels with thread-bare tyres on them lying flat on the oily floor. There was a black hose hanging up on one wall and a calendar showing a semi-clad girl advertising exhaust systems on another. Her toothy smile seemed totally alien to Sue.

'You're the killer aren't you!' she stammered through her fear.

The man did not reply.

Sue was going through agony inside her head. Scott had been wrong. Thelwell had not been the ripper. The ripper was here with her in this lonely place and no one knew she was here! 'What are you going to do to me?' she asked as if in response to some subconscious urge to have her fate spelled out.

'Anything I damn well please,' snarled the man. 'Over there. Move!' The man pushed Sue hard in the back and she stumbled and fell headlong to the floor. She grazed her knees and one elbow on the rough concrete. In a trice the man was securing her feet with a length of electrical cable which he brought out from an old chest of drawers in the corner. Sue could sense that man was enjoying her fear. He seemed to be feeding on it. She stiffened as he put his hand on her knee and watched her reaction. He seemed pleased with the way she stiffened and slowly moved his hand below her skirt, kneading his fingers into her leg, watching her eyes while he did it.

'Don't! Please don't,' Sue pleaded with tears running down her face but the hand continued to rise. It stopped when it could go no further and as she threw her head from side to side in despair Sue felt a thumb slip inside her underwear and circle her pubic hair. It could only be a matter of moments before he used the knife.

'For God's sake stop it! ' she screamed.

Instantly the man lashed the back of his free hand across her face. 'Stop the noise you stupid cow!' he snapped.

Seemingly satisfied with Sue's level of terror the man returned to tying her up. Her hands were spread out on either side of her and tied to metal rings sunk into the brickwork of the wall. A rope was looped round her waist and again secured through the metal rings.

'Now for the important bit,' breathed the man as he smoothed out a length of electrical cable. He started to weave it in and out of Sue's hair.

Sue sobbed as pain and fear mixed in a hellish cocktail.

The man grunted in satisfaction as he examined his handiwork. 'That should do nicely,' he murmured.

When her hair was tightly tied to the cable at several points the man stretched out the loose end and secured it tightly to something on the wall above Sue's head.

She was in a lot of pain. The man had made sure that the cable was stretched to the limit so that while the metal rings were holding her arms tightly to the floor her hair was being pulled upwards. She was held completely immobile.

The man looked down at her and seemed pleased. 'In a while your husband will come and collect you,' he said. He knelt down in front of Sue to watch her eyes fill with puzzlement. 'And when he does, do you know what will happen?

Sue remained silent, her eyes wide with fear.

'No? Then I'll tell you. His car will break the infra red beam outside the door and when that happens the garage door will open… and when that happens…' The man paused to allow Sue to work it out for herself. The man read in her eyes that she had understood. 'That's right,' he said in a whisper. 'The cable is attached to the door motor. Your scalp will be lifted from your head and what's more your husband can watch it happen, then maybe he will know what it feels like. Bastard!'

Sue opened her mouth to scream but the cry was smothered. The man forced a rag into her mouth and then gagged her securely. He got to his feet and checked the cable once more. Seemingly satisfied, he walked over to the door, switched out the light and left. Sue was left alone in fear and darkness.

Jamieson finished his report for Sci-Med and sealed the envelope. The assistant showed him where to leave it for posting and he went on up to Gynaecology to speak with Phillip Morton who was now acting head of surgery. They discussed waiting lists and schedules and it was agreed that surgery would restart as soon as soon as the first batches of instruments and dressings were re-cycled through the sterilisers.

'Mr Thelwell's final swab result came back from the Public Health people this morning,' said Morton quietly as Jamieson got up to leave.

'And?' asked Jamieson.

'It was completely negative,' said Morton.

Jamieson had started to descend the stairs outside Morton's office when he heard the phone ring and a moment later the door opened and Phillip Morton called down to him that the call was for him. Jamieson sprinted back up the stairs. Morton handed him the receiver and left the room, closing the door quietly behind him.

'Hello, Jamieson here.'

'Good.'

Despite the fact that only one word had been spoken, Jamieson did not like the inflection in the voice. He suddenly began to feel uneasy. 'Who is this,' he asked.

'Never mind who it is. I've just spent the morning with your wife Doctor,' said the sneering voice.

'Really? Who is this?' Jamieson repeated, now feeling desperately afraid that something had happened to Sue.

'She's a very attractive lady.'

Jamieson swallowed. His imagination was running riot. 'Go on,' he said, trying to sound calm but having to swallow again, his mouth was so dry.

'Very attractive indeed. Almost irresistible one might say. At least I found her irresistible… I just couldn't resist her at all

… So I had her… ' The voice sniggered.

'Where's Sue? What have you done with her?' demanded Jamieson now at fever pitch.

'Oh you can have her back now,' said the voice. 'I've finished with her.'

'What do you mean? What have you done to her?' Jamieson almost shouted down the phone.

'I had her Doctor. I enjoyed her. I screwed her. I fucked her blind. Do you really want all the details? Or maybe you would rather hear them from her, always assuming that you want her back, considering the state she's in.'

Jamieson had to steady himself against the desk. He tried to take a deep breath but only succeeded in taking a series of short gulps. It was an effort to speak. 'Where is my wife?' he asked in a whisper. 'What have you done with her?'

An address was read out and Jamieson searched for a pen on Morton's desk. He scattered a series of things with his hand as he grabbed at a Biro and wrote on the first thing that came to hand. 'Lock-up number seven, West Side Mews.' he repeated.

'You're a lucky man Doctor,' continued the voice. 'She's a wonderful screw.'

The phone went dead and Jamieson was almost beside himself with fear and anger. He snatched at the door handle and flung open the door. Morton was nowhere to be seen so he ran downstairs and asked the first person he met where West Side Mews was. The man, a laundry porter delivering bed linen to the wards, scratched his head and thought for a moment. 'It's off Croxton Road to your left. Second or third opening on your left after you go through the traffic lights at Midgely Road.'

Jamieson ran off without hearing the porter continue, 'Or am I thinking of Weston Mews…'

Jamieson swung the car into Weston Mews and thumped both hands down on the steering wheel in temper as he saw the sign. 'Stupid, fucking… ' Words failed him. He got out the car and ran towards the first pedestrian that he saw. It was a postman doing the lunch time delivery.

'West Side Mews? That's miles from here mate,' smiled the man knowingly. 'You want to turn left when you leave here and…'

Jamieson tried to assimilate what he was hearing but the rising spate of anguish within him was threatening to block out everything else. The postman was taking an age to deliver his directions but Jamieson knew it would do no good to shout at him.

‘… and it's the third opening. You can't miss it.'

The tyres screeched on the road as Jamieson turned the car without the nicety of a three point manoeuvre. A dustbin was sent tumbling as the front of the car bounced up on to the pavement and hit it a glancing blow. An on-coming car blew its horn long and loud as he pulled out in front of it but Jamieson ignored it as he did the angry gesture from its driver.

The needle of the speedometer was touching fifty as he screamed up the outside of a long trail of traffic in third gear but then was forced to cut in again when the blazing headlights of a petrol tanker coming towards him assured him that its driver was not going to give way.

'Bloody lunatic!' yelled the tanker driver from his window as he drew level. Jamieson ignored him. He could only think of Sue and what she must be going through.

'For Christ's sake, move!' hissed Jamieson through gritted teeth as he saw the traffic lights ahead change to green but with no apparent response from the head of the queue. 'Do you need a personal fucking invitation?' He craned his neck impatiently to see what the hold-up was and caught a glimpse of the 'L' plates on the roof of the car. 'Jesus Christ!' he swore loudly and slapped his hand down hard on the wheel. He rubbed his forehead hard with the heel of his right hand in an unconscious gesture of annoyance with himself. 'For God's sake get a grip,' he muttered.

In the moments when blind anger did not obscure his vision to anything other than Sue's plight Jamieson began to wonder why the man had telephoned him at all. Why should a sex attacker phone the husband? To gloat perhaps? But if that was the case, did not that infer that HE was the man's real target and not Sue? Someone wanted so badly to get at him that they would do something like this? Who would do such a thing and why?

As the traffic again slowed to a halt it now occurred to Jamieson for the first time that the call might conceivably have been some kind of awful hoax. He had not checked to see if Sue had gone from the residency. Maybe she was sitting there at this very moment wondering where he was. But if that were the case, why should the man give him an address to go to? Could this be some kind of trick to lure him personally into something? This line of reasoning suddenly took a back seat as Jamieson again considered that Sue could be lying bruised and beaten in this lock-up place, alone and terrified. A surge of anger came over Jamieson again as the traffic started to move and he engaged first gear.

He turned left at the junction after Halford's Cycle shop. This was the last of the postman's directions that he could remember. He pulled in to the side and asked a woman pushing a trolley with her shopping basket on it for directions to West Side Mews. The woman shied away from him as he approached. 'It's all right! I only want to ask the way to West Side Mews,' Jamieson assured her but the woman was not listening. A strange man had accosted her in the street and in this city at the present time: that was enough. She was off.

Jamieson looked for someone else to ask. A teenage boy was coming along the road on a bicycle that was several sizes too large for him. He was standing on the pedals, moving up and down like a fairground horse. Jamieson shouted to him as he drew level. 'Where's West Side Mews son?'

'Along there on the left Mister. After the yellow painted shop.'

Jamieson turned left into the lane. The yellow painted shop was a sub post office. There was a telephone booth outside it and it was empty. It would only take a moment to check out the hoax theory. Jamieson called the hospital. There was no reply from his room. He asked for Clive Evans' extension and the call was answered at the first ring.

'Have you seen Sue? Is she in the residency?'

'No she isn't. I bumped into her earlier this morning. She said she was going into town to do some shopping. I don't think she's back yet.'

'Sweet Jesus,' muttered Jamieson.

'Is something the matter?'

'Sue's been hurt. I want you to get an ambulance and the police to West Side Mews.' Jamieson gave Evans the number and checked that he had taken it down correctly. 'It's urgent!' Jamieson put down the phone and cut off the question that Evans was about to ask. He left the phone booth and decided to leave the car where it was. He ran round the corner on foot and into West Side Mews. Lock-up number seven was the last one in the line.

Jamieson stopped in the middle of the road and stared at the white painted number seven above the garage door. There was no one else in the lane and it was very quiet. He could hear the sound of his own breathing as he began to walk slowly towards the door. There was a window above the garage. Jamieson guessed that it was some kind of loft store room judging by the junk he could see through the dirty glass. Just below the window he caught sight of the infra red beam device. It comprised a black, plastic box with a small tube protruding from it at an angle. Jamieson stared at it and wondered. There was nothing unusual about garage door opening devices these days but you could use beam triggers for a range of other things. Maybe he was being paranoid but explosions featured among them. He avoided crossing the path of the beam and tried the small door at the side of the garage. It was locked.

There was still no sign of life anywhere and no sound came from inside any of the lock-ups. The awful thought that Sue might be dead was born inside Jamieson's head as he stared at the featureless door in front of him. He took a step back and threw himself at it. The door did not give but the splintering sound gave him encouragement. He put his shoulder to the door another two times and it flew back against the wall with a crash.

Silence returned as Jamieson took his first tentative step inside. He was in a narrow corridor that led to a flight of steps leading up to the loft above the garage. Just in front of the steps was a door leading off to the left. It had to lead into the lock-up. Jamieson turned the handle slowly and it opened. It was pitch black inside. He felt along the wall for the light switch and pressed it.

Sue's terror filled eyes were like saucers above the gag that kept her silent. Jamieson rushed towards her. All he could think of was that he had found her and that she was still alive. Why had the bastard tied her up in the way he had? Why had he tied her hair to the ceiling? He was searching in his trouser pocket for a penknife to cut away the gag from Sue's mouth when he heard the police cars turn into the mews outside.

Jamieson smiled reassurance at Sue but saw that there was something awfully wrong. Her eyes were not registering relief; they were showing absolute terror. Her eyes rolled up to the top of her skull and Jamieson looked at the wall above her head. Her hair was not tied to the ceiling it was tied to… 'Jesus Christ!' yelled Jamieson as the truth dawned on him and the first police car crossed the path of the infra red beam outside. The door motor whirred into life and Sue's head was jerked hard against the wall. 'No!' he cried, springing to his feet and throwing his arm into the pulley mechanism. Pain exploded inside his head as the flesh of his forearm was drawn into the moving gears and then he blacked out momentarily as the bone jammed hard against the steel pivot and the whole mechanism seized to a halt. Smoke started to rise from the motor and a burning smell filled the garage before the main fuse blew and the lights went out.

Jamieson came round to discover Clive Evans and two policemen trying to free him.

'We'll have to get the Fire Brigade,' said one of the policemen.

'We can do it if you bring that hydraulic jack over here,' said Clive Evans with quiet authority.

'Sue…' murmured Jamieson. 'Where's Sue?'

'Your wife is all right sir,' said one of the policemen gently. 'She passed out but she's all right.'

The other policeman wheeled the garage trolley jack across the floor as, in the distance, they heard the siren of an approaching ambulance.

Clive Evans gave instructions for the jack's positioning and then asked the policeman to start pumping the handle. The steel bar trapping Jamieson's arm was prised slowly away from the pulley wheel and Evans released Jamieson's arm. There were sighs of relief as Jamieson brought his arm down in front of him and they could assess the damage.

'The bone isn't broken,' said Evans but the flesh is a bit of a mess. You are going to have some scars to remember.'

Jamieson ignored his wounded arm, holding it across his stomach as he went to kneel by Sue whose head was being cradled by one of the other policemen. He could see that that her hair and scalp were undamaged. 'Oh my love,' he said softly.

'I'll have to deal with that arm,' said Evans, standing behind him and after a few moments, Jamieson complied with the hand that was put on his shoulder. He got up but continued to watch Sue as Evans stopped the bleeding in his arm with a make-shift tourniquet. The ambulance arrived and took Jamieson and Sue back to Kerr Memorial.

Sue regained consciousness in the ambulance. Her relief at seeing Jamieson sitting beside her was suddenly eclipsed by the memory of what he had done to save her. 'Your arm!' she whispered. 'Your poor arm!'

'It will be fine,' Jamieson assured her.

Sue looked to Clive Evans for confirmation and Evans concurred.

'Oh Scott!' Sue exclaimed as emotion overtook her and tears started to flow.

'There, there,' murmured Jamieson. 'You are safe now Sue. We both are. He took her hand.'

Sue began to shiver. Jamieson felt it begin with a little tremor in her hand but the shaking began to spread until she could not speak properly and her whole body was trembling. 'That man…' she stammered. 'How could anyone…' Jamieson tried to hold Sue with one arm and attempted to reassure her but inside, he was hurting. The pain from his arm was getting steadily worse and it was now starting to come in waves, each one stronger than the last until one finally washed away his consciousness and he slumped backwards into Evans' arms.