Final Call, page 19
‘I’ll be the judge of that.’
She watched as the note Miller had written was passed around the cabin, saw the hope light up her colleagues’ faces as they read that help was coming. Marcia wrote something and he held it up for her to read.
KEEP HER TALKING. HELP IS ON THE WAY
Jill nodded.
‘I remember the events you are talking about,’ she said. ‘I was in Barrow at the time. It was not a story you could miss. The sudden illnesses and deaths of three children, and the fire. But you are mistaken if you think any of us had anything to do with them. It’s simply not the case.’
The pilot laughed. There was no humor in it. ‘Of course not.’
‘Yes, we were working there, but so were many others. If there was any link, it would have come to light at the time. These kind of things are investigated.’
‘Then what did happen?’ the pilot said.
‘Nothing,’ Jill replied, ‘other than the events themselves. You’re looking for a conspiracy, for someone to blame. But there’s no one there. There’s only the tragic, terrible events.’
‘No. You’re lying.’
‘I’m not lying,’ Jill said. ‘I don’t lie. There’s no murder here. There’s no conspiracy. And we can end it all, right now. Take us home and I promise we will not involve the police.’
‘I don’t care about the police,’ the pilot said. ‘And we’re not going home. We’re not going anywhere.’ She paused. ‘We have about ten minutes before it’s too late. Don’t speak to me again. Don’t ask any more questions. Don’t say anything, unless it’s a confession. Understood?’
‘Understood,’ Jill said. ‘But one more thing. I remember there being three victims in that house fire. You only mentioned two?’
There was a long silence. When she spoke, the pilot’s voice was tinged with suspicion. ‘You remember that?’
Jill had to tread carefully. ‘Like I said, it was a big story. I remember thinking how sad it was that an entire family died.’
‘You remember correctly. The press reported three victims.’
‘Reported?’ Stearns said.
‘Reported. But that wasn’t what happened at all. There were only two.’
Jill felt a chill spread up her spine.
‘What happened to the third one?’
‘She escaped the fire. Everyone assumed she was killed, but they were mistaken.’
‘Why?’ Jill said. ‘Why did she let people think she was dead?’
‘Because she was. Inside. But she started a new life.’ She laughed again. ‘She had a background in the US Air Force, so she became a pilot, in case you were wondering what she did with herself.’
Stearns looked from face to face. So now they knew who was flying their plane.
‘Anyway,’ the pilot said. ‘You have ten minutes.’
Varun Miller
There was no doubt now that this was going to happen.
This woman had lost everything, and she believed it was someone on this plane who had done it. She was prepared to kill them all to get what she wanted, and she was prepared to die.
The only way out – the only way he’d get to see Ari and Susheela again – was if the person who had killed those people confessed.
But what if the pilot was wrong? What if it was just some theory she had cooked up in her grief?
Then they were all doomed.
The thought left him feeling hollow, although – despite it all – he was quite calm. He had often wondered how he would confront death, and now he knew.
To his right, Mary Jo was sitting by Chip, holding his hand. He was gray, his skin waxy. It was not good, but at least they had the nurse on board.
‘Listen,’ she said. ‘I don’t know what you all think. But she’s willing to do this. This is no bluff. And I don’t know you, or if one of you had a hand in this, and I don’t want to. But if what she says is true, one of you had better step forward, or we all die.’
‘I do know these people,’ Jill said. ‘And none of them did this.’
‘Yeah?’ Kevin Anderson said. ‘You think? Most of you would sell your own grandmother – or grandfather, gotta be inclusive these days, right? – if it got you the next promotion. So let’s not pretend otherwise.’
‘Speak for yourself, Kevin,’ Jill said. ‘Or was that a confession?’
‘No, it wasn’t,’ he said. ‘But if I change my mind, I’ll be sure to let you know, Ms. Stearns.’
‘Thank you.’
Mary Jo stood up. ‘We have less than ten minutes,’ she said. ‘Please, if one of you can stop this, then I beg that you do. I know that I am innocent. I do not deserve this.’
She didn’t. He felt bad for her. She was unlucky to be here.
Mary Jo Fernandez. An innocent bystander, caught up in events beyond her control.
He typed her name into Google. She had a Facebook profile, as well as LinkedIn. He opened it.
She was a nurse in Portland, with her current employer for three years. Before that she had been a unit manager at another hospital.
A hospital in Barrow.
He sat upright. She was in Barrow, working in a hospital, at the time of the deaths.
‘Mary Jo,’ he said. ‘I have a question for you.’
‘Of course.’
‘Do you know Barrow at all?’
She turned to him. ‘Why do you ask?’
‘Just wondering. Since it seems to be central to all this.’
‘I do.’
All eyes swiveled to her.
‘In what way?’ Varun said.
‘Yeah,’ Anderson said. ‘How do you know Barrow?’
‘I worked there,’ Mary Jo said.
‘As a nurse?’ Ramos asked
‘Yes.’
‘When?’
‘2018.’
‘That’s right,’ Miller said. ‘You were a nurse at the hospital where the kids died. You didn’t think to mention this earlier?’
Barrow, Maine 2018
Stacy Evanston
Bill Standish, with his wife, Frances, and son, Kingsley, lived in a new development on the outskirts of Barrow. She walked through the forest trails, head down in case she passed anyone. She needed to leave town as soon as she could, but before she did there was one thing she had to do.
If the house was occupied, it wouldn’t work; she could not be seen. No one could know she had survived the fire. She wasn’t sure yet why this was so important, but she knew it was.
Or would be.
Either way, if the house wasn’t occupied, she had a plan. She would get in and find the candy her daughter had eaten. Because that was central to what had happened. Dr. Williams had called the Standishes for a reason, and he was dead. She had, too, and she should also be dead.
She approached the development. There were six houses in a clearing in the forest; it had been controversial when it was built, locals preferring to maintain the natural environment, but the need for new housing had been too great.
Only one house had a car outside. It was on the far side from the Standishes’ house, so she darted around the edge of the forest until she was at the corner of their yard.
She walked quickly across the lawn to the back door. It was unlocked – very Maine, and very useful – and she pushed it open.
The house looked empty. She listened for a sound. There was nothing, so she stepped into the kitchen.
There was something wrong. She looked around. There were no pictures on the wall, nothing stuck with magnets to the fridge.
Through the glass window in the hatch she could see there was nothing in that, either.
She opened a cupboard.
Empty.
She entered the living room. There were two bookshelves, neither of which contained a single book. She ran her fingers over the dust that had settled on the edges. Not big readers, apparently.
She knew now that the occupants weren’t at work.
They had left.
Two hours later she sat at a computer terminal in the library in Auburn. No one knew her here.
She had searched for Bill Standish and Frances Standish on Facebook, Instagram, Twitter, and LinkedIn.
There was nothing. If they had ever had any social media profiles, they were gone now. They had left town and erased all trace of themselves from the internet.
All except one.
There was an article from the Barrow Times Record a year ago. Bill Standish had attended a fund-raiser for the Barrow Educational Fund. He had given a speech as the representative of a major donor.
His employer, the food company that had its research center in Barrow.
A research center where he was head of Research and Development.
2
She had no option but to call from a phone booth. There were very few of them left but she found one by the bus station. It was old and scratched and for a moment she wondered whether it would take her coins, but they dropped into the slot and the credit flashed up on the screen.
There was something going on here, something that had ended up with Ella and Bren and Nathan and her daughter and husband dead.
She wondered at how she was feeling. Broken, raw, hollow. But not hopeless. Stronger, almost.
And then there was the doctor. He had – apparently – committed suicide, but the more she thought about it, the more she wondered whether something else – something altogether more sinister had happened.
She thought she knew what it was.
She looked at the slip of paper in her hand. She had written down the number of the hospital, intending to call Sandy Price again.
She paused. She knew how this would sound. She knew that it came across like a mad conspiracy theory. There were all kinds of ridiculous examples out there, from the moon landings being faked to Area 51 to Paul McCartney being dead to shadowy cabals running world governments.
But then there were the real ones. Companies hiding evidence that smoking was bad for you or polluting rivers or mis-selling mortgages.
And this was one of those, she was sure of it.
What if Kingsley’s dad, Bill, had given the kids some kind of new candy that turned out not to be ready yet? That turned out to be poisonous? And then his company decided to cover it up.
What would that cover-up look like?
If there was a nosy doctor asking too many questions – well, he’d be silenced. And if it could be made to look like suicide, so much the better. Another doctor would need to certify the deaths as the result of a virus or infection.
And if there was a survivor, they would have to be cleaned up.
It was hard to believe that it was what had happened, but she had to find out.
And she had a way to do so.
She dialed the hospital.
3
‘Sandy Price.’ He sounded serious, cold and unwelcoming.
‘Mr. Price?’ She raised the pitch of her voice by a tone and inflected it with a Southern drawl. ‘I was wonderin’ whether I could have a few minutes of your time.’
‘You’re a reporter?’
‘That’s right.’ She had told the switchboard she was calling from a Boston internet news site in the hope he would take her call. ‘Matty Prine. From Treetop News in Boston.’
‘You’re not from Boston originally?’
‘No sir. I grew up in Georgia, but I always wanted to be near the snow, so I headed up here a few years ago.’
‘How can I help you?’
‘I wanted to ask some questions about Dr. Neal Williams? Apparently he committed suicide?’
‘He did. Tragic. It’s a huge loss for the hospital.’
‘Can you share any details why he might have taken that step?’
‘No. I’m afraid I can’t.’ He paused. ‘Why, if I may ask, are you interested? Dr. Williams was a fine doctor, but I don’t see how his death, however untimely, is of interest to a Boston news site.’
‘Well,’ she said. ‘I also heard that there was an outbreak of a mysterious illness? That killed three children and left another very ill, and I wondered whether the two were connected.’
‘You mean, whether he was tipped over the edge by the stress of that case? It’s certainly possible, but—’
‘No, sir, I don’t mean that. You see, I heard that those children may have been exposed to something that caused them to become sick, and Dr. Williams was trying to find out what it was. And maybe—’
‘That’s preposterous,’ Price said. ‘Dr. Hill – who is a very eminent physician – also worked on the case and he was quite sure it was a tragic, inexplicable illness. Unfortunately, Ms. Prine, despite all the advances in medical science there are still many things we do not yet know, and from time to time these kind of events will occur. If you are looking for anything else then you are barking up the wrong tree. I would add that, if you publish anything suggesting that the hospital is engaged in any activities that are not one hundred percent – and I mean one hundred percent – above board and compliant with all laws and regulations, you and your company will be defending your claims in court.’
‘I don’t know, Mr. Price—’
‘This interview is over. I am happy to discuss any and all reasonable questions with you, but these outrageous accusations are unacceptable.’
‘Sorry, Mr. Price. One more. What about the fire?’
He paused for a long time.
‘Excuse me?’
‘The fire that killed the other girl. And her parents? Isn’t it convenient that she died?’
‘What are you saying?’
‘I’m just askin’ questions, sir. And I noticed that Mr. Bill Standish – whose son was at school with the kids who got sick – has left town.’
‘Where are you getting this information?’ Price said.
‘Are you sayin’ it’s true?’
‘No! I am not saying that in the slightest! And if you print anything to the contrary you’ll regret it! I am asking who is feeding you those lies!’
‘I could tell you,’ she said. ‘If you’d like to meet.’
4
Stacy had suggested the hospital as a meeting place; Price said no. He did not want to be seen with her at his workplace, so they’d have to meet elsewhere.
This was all the proof she needed. If there was nothing to this, he wouldn’t have agreed to meet her. He had no incentive to. She was just a nuisance he could safely ignore. But if there was something to this, then he would want to know what she knew and where she was getting her information.
And he could not let her go free.
He had suggested a diner a mile from the hospital. He told her to wait for him in the car park at 6 p.m.
She arrived thirty minutes early, on foot. There was a high picket fence at the rear of the car park, behind which were the grounds of a church. She walked around to the gate, and let herself in. The church was unlit and empty. She skirted the fence, searching for a gap. When she found one, she sat on the ground, and waited.
At ten minutes to six, a black Chevy Suburban pulled into the car park and rolled slowly to the rear. The driver backed into the parking space to Stacy’s right, and killed the engine.
No one left the vehicle.
Her skin prickled.
At two minutes past six, a Mercedes Benz – something gray and sleek – entered the car park. It moved silently across the tarmac, coming to a halt a few spaces away from the Suburban.
She could see the driver. He had short, dark hair and round glasses. He looked around the car park, clearly expecting someone.
It was Price, she had no doubt.
He was here, waiting for her.
But she had no intention whatsoever of talking to him. That was not her plan at all. She wanted something else entirely.
She waited as the minutes passed. At six ten the door to the Mercedes opened and Price got out. He walked around the car park, looking into the other cars.
He did not check the Suburban.
When he was satisfied they were empty, he headed for the diner; perhaps Matty Prine was in there, eating pie and drinking a mimosa.
A few minutes later he was back, his face set in a deep frown. He got back in his car, and folded his arms.
At six twenty-five, he climbed out, and walked over to the Suburban. The window came down.
‘What time did you arrive?’ he snapped.
She could just make out the reply. ‘Ten minutes before six. Like you said.’
‘Did you see her?’
‘No. She wasn’t here and she hasn’t arrived.’
‘Fuck!’ Price slammed his hand against the Suburban. He took his phone from his pocket. ‘Little bitch. I’ll teach her to mess with me.’
‘What you doin?’
‘Calling her boss. You guys can leave.’
Stacy stifled a laugh as the Suburban pulled out. Price’s frown darkened as, she assumed, he searched for Matty Prine and Treetop News.
Neither existed.
She took a great deal of pleasure in watching him realize he’d been played.
And she took even more pleasure in the way he looked: he was worried.
December 23rd, 2022
Kevin Anderson
‘Well, there it is,’ he said. ‘You and your’ – he put on a mocking tone – ‘my husband’s dying and I want to see him. I’m just an innocent little nurse, and all along you were hiding your dirty little secret. It was you.’
‘Kevin, shut up,’ Ramos said.
‘Why? Isn’t it obvious? We’ve all been on this plane how many times? And the one time she’s on it, this happens. I don’t think so. So you shut up, Jeff.’ He turned to the nurse. ‘Anything to say?’
‘I worked there,’ she said. ‘But I wasn’t in ER.’
‘And I suppose you never heard of these kids who died?’
‘I did. Everyone did. But it wasn’t in my area.’
‘Very convenient.’
‘Not really,’ she said. ‘I was in the NICU.’
‘The what?’
‘The NICU,’ she said. ‘Neo-natal intensive care unit.’
