The Turin Shroud Secret (46 page)

Screw them. Tomorrow she might not even go in. Being here is more important than all their political accommodations. She looks
round the room for anything to distract her from the monotonous bleep of the machines.

There’s nothing.

She’s read the place dry. Even the signs on the wall – about visiting hours, the importance of hand washing, the danger of
infections and all their rules on not using cell phones. Re-reading the last one makes her decide to call the girls.

Tapping in Jade’s number brings back a smile to her face. At least they’re talking again. The rift is healing, the bond is
being strengthened.

A loud and intense beep startles her. At first she thinks it’s the phone and almost drops it out of surprise. Then she realises
what it is. An alert from a monitor. The door opens
and a nurse walks briskly in. The kind of stride cops and medics have when they’re disguising a moment of panic.

This is it. She knows it is.
Feels
it is.

‘What’s happening?’ Mitzi moves closer to Nic’s bed. ‘What was that noise?’

‘Stand back please.’

She feels a hand on her shoulder. A white-coated doctor eases her out of the way. He guides a stethoscope to his ears and
bends over Nic’s body.

He’s dying. Right this minute. Cop instinct makes her look again at her watch – one of the first things she was taught was
the importance of keeping track of the time that things happen. The moment everything changes. The precious second that life
becomes death. More white coats fill the room. Mitzi drifts back to the wall, out to the periphery of the action, as though
thrown there by centrifugal force.

Through the melee of bodies and the forest of arms spread over the bed, she sees Nic’s body spasm.

Death throes.

His feet jerk up and down. He’s being shocked. A last effort to bump-start his broken heart.

Standing and watching, she feels lost. Stranded like a helpless wife or sister. Not like a cop, not like any other professional
in the room. The medical talk is all just a meaningless mumble. She’s treading water. Waiting for them to back off and tell
her the news.

The bad news.

They shift the crash paddles and study the monitors.
Something moves Mitzi’s legs and she becomes a cop again. She walks around the bed and finds a gap. If he’s going to die,
it’s not going to be without the touch of a friend, someone who loves him.

A doctor glances at the monitor. Nic’s body heaves again. She takes his hand. Squeezes it. Stays strong.

He coughs.

‘Stable,’ shouts a nurse. ‘Pulse normal.’

Nic coughs again. His eyes flicker open.

She stares at him. The dying often have a last gasp. Body full of fluids and juices, jolted by enough electricity to light
up Vegas – the signs are meaningless.

‘Mit-zi.’

The slowly whispered word tears her apart.

Medics shuffle tubes and check fluid bags. The nurse who first came in adjusts a finger-monitor and checks his pulse again.

Mitzi’s eyes are locked on Nic. If she looks away or even blinks, he’ll die. She knows he will.

He can’t force out a smile. His voice is a soft, painful croak. ‘Where am I?’

She lifts his hand and kisses it again. ‘Where’d you think you are? The freakin’ boatyard?’

First and foremost the biggest possible thanks to Luigi Bonomi and his team at LBA for invaluable guidance, encouragement
and fun. Big, big gratitude to all at Little,Brown/Sphere – especially David Shelley for faith and support, Daniel Mallory
for inspiration and energy, and Iain Hunt for perspiration and imagination. Behind all great men are great ladies and they
don’t come greater than Andy Hine, Kate Hibbert and Helena Doree in international rights and Kate Webster and Hannah Hargrave
in marketing and publicity. I’m hugely indebted to Professor Guy Rutty, MBE, Head of Forensic Pathology, East Midlands Forensic
Pathology Unit, University of Leicester, for his guidance and patience over the crime scenes – any deviations from fact are
down to me and not him. Special thanks to ‘Scary Jack’ at Everett Baldwin Barclay for knowing what Donna and I never know.
Finally to everyone who read
The Stonehenge Legacy
and wrote or posted on
www.facebook.com/samchrister
.

The Turin Shroud Secret
is a work of pure fiction. Scholars will spot the bending of time and sometimes blinkered vision of events but the truth
is out there – it’s just a question of whose truth and how far out.