Ice Station - Matthew Reilly [92]
‘Oh, and don’t worry about my qualifications,’ Renshaw said with a smile, ‘I did two years of medicine before I dropped out and took up geophysics.’
‘Are you going to untie me?’ Schofield said evenly.
‘Oh, yeah. Right. Listen. I’m terribly sorry about that,’ Renshaw said. He seemed nervous now. ‘At first I just had to keep your head still while I extracted the bullet fragments from your neck. Did you know that you move around a lot in your sleep? Probably not. Well, you do. But anyway, to cut to the chase, I figured, what with all I have to tell you and all, it would be better if you were, well, a captive audience. So to speak.’ Renshaw smiled weakly at the pun he’d just made.
Schofield stared at him, unsure of what to make of this man named James Renshaw. After all, this was the man who only a week before had killed one of his fellow scientists. If nothing else, Schofield was certain of one thing. He did not want to remain tied up at this man’s mercy.
‘What do you have to tell me?’ Schofield said. His eyes swept the room as he spoke. The door on the far side of the room was firmly shut. All of the other walls in the room were ice.
‘Lieutenant, what I have to tell you is this: I am not a murderer. I did not kill Bernie Olson.’
Schofield didn’t say anything.
He tried to remember what Sarah Hensleigh had told him earlier – way back when he had arrived at Wilkes – about the death of the scientist Bernard Olson.
Sarah had said that on the night Olson was killed, Renshaw had been heard arguing loudly with Olson. It was after that argument that Renshaw had stabbed Olson in the throat with a hypodermic syringe filled with liquid drain cleaner. Then he had injected the contents of the syringe into Olson’s bloodstream. The other residents of Wilkes had found Olson dead soon after, with the syringe hanging loosely from his neck.
‘Do you believe me?’ Renshaw said in a low voice, eyeing Schofield suspiciously.
Schofield still said nothing.
‘Lieutenant, you have to believe me. I can only imagine what you’ve been told, and I know it must look bad, but you have to listen to me. I didn’t do it. I swear, I didn’t do it. I could never do something like that.’
Renshaw took a deep breath, spoke slowly.
‘Lieutenant, this station is not what it appears to be. Things have been happening here – strange things – long before you and your men got here. You can’t trust anyone at this station, Lieutenant.’
‘But you expect me to trust you?’ Schofield said.
‘Yes. Yes, I do,’ Renshaw said pensively. ‘And that obviously creates a problem, doesn’t it? After all, as far as you’re concerned, four days ago I killed a man with a hypodermic needle filled with industrial-strength Draino. Right? Hmmm.’ Renshaw took a step forward, toward Schofield. ‘But I intend to rectify this situation, Lieutenant Schofield. Conclusively. Which is why . . . I’m going to do this.’
Renshaw stood right next to the bed, towering over Schofield, his eyes hard.
Schofield tensed. He was totally defenceless. He had no idea what Renshaw was about to –
Snap! The leather strap around Schofield’s left arm suddenly went limp and fell to the floor. A second later, the strap around his right arm did the same.
Schofield’s arms were free again. Renshaw had released the leather straps that had bound them to the bed.
Schofield sat up as Renshaw moved further down the bed and unclipped the clasps that fastened the straps around his legs.
For a long moment, Schofield just looked at Renshaw. Finally, he said, ‘Thank you.’
‘Don’t thank me, Lieutenant,’ Renshaw said. ‘Believe me. And promise me this: promise me that when this is all over, you’ll check out Bernie Olson’s body. Look at his tongue and his eyes. They will explain everything. You’re my only hope, Lieutenant. You’re the only person who can prove my innocence.’
Now that he was free to move again, Schofield