The next Saturday Jade phoned Owen. It had taken her a full week to get up the courage. She wanted to tell him in person, so they met at a café on the other side of town.

“Any results yet on your hospital case?” Owen asked, after Jade arrived.

“Nope. But soon. The exhumation was done on Wednesday and they all know the urgency.”

Jade wasted time ordering wine and a piece of chocolate cake. Talked about the recent rain and a bit of office politics.

Finally, Owen made the first step. “Why did you want us to meet, Jade?”

She took a big sip of her wine. “You were right.”

“Right?”

“Zoya is your daughter.”

“I knew it!” Owen slammed his hand on the table. “I knew you were lying. When I saw her I knew. How did you think it was right not to tell me?”

Jade shook her head. What could she say?

“There was nothing between us, it was just this random act, and suddenly something so important came out of it.” Jade would not cry she told herself. “When I first knew I was pregnant, I thought I’d just have an abortion and then it would be over. But then I didn’t. I don’t know … I kept thinking I should tell you. But I was scared. I didn’t want you to be part of it. Then each day that passed that I didn’t tell you, made it easier and easier not to. Once she was born … well, it was out of the question. I loved her so much, I couldn’t believe how much. And I didn’t want that stupid thing we did to tarnish any of it.”

“That ‘stupid thing’ is what made Zoya.”

“I know. Do you think I don’t know how none of it makes any sense?” Jade was getting annoyed, but trying not to be. But who was he to say anything to her? Zoya was her daughter – her daughter!

“What do we do now?” Owen asked, calm.

“I don’t know. Everyone thinks Zoya’s father was a tourist from UK who died while I was pregnant, back there in Britain.”

“That was quite a complicated story.”

“You would think as a detective I’d have come up with something better. We all know the complicated stories are nearly always lies.” She laughed, thinking about it.

Owen looked older than his 27 years all of a sudden. Had he grown up while they sat here? Did becoming a father make him suddenly less of an idiot? Jade doubted it.

“So, what happens now?” he asked again.

“Nothing needs to happen. I don’t want anything from you; we’re doing fine. It can just continue as it has been.”

“But I don’t want it to continue as it has been; nothing is as it was. I’m a dad.”

Jade realised then that this was far more important to him than she had expected it would be. John had been right. She had done a very unkind thing.

“I know you and that doctor are getting serious, and I don’t want to get in the way or mess with that. But I want to know my daughter. I want to be in her life. You know that day in the supermarket – I know you’re going to think I’m being stupid – but I felt something, some sort of connection with her. I thought at first it was just a bit of my residual crush on you, but I felt it was something more than that. Now I know for sure.”

Jade wondered if such a thing existed; could a father feel his child in that way? Before Zoya she would have said no, but now she was not so certain.

“Okay, let’s take it slowly. I’ll have you over, maybe for dinner or something, so you two can get to know each other. Then we’ll take it from there.”

“Thanks for this, Jade. I know I should be angry at you, but actually I’m just so crazy grateful. You gave me this gift; you didn’t really need to. Thank you.”

Jade blinked back tears. Owen was a good guy after all. She was happy about that, especially for Zoya. Then her phone rang.

“It’s Debra, do you mind?” Jade asked Owen. He nodded. “Hey Debra, what’s up?” Jade listened for a bit. “I’m on my way.”

She hung up and Owen asked, “What is it?”

“That crazy bitch killed all of them! Can you believe it? They found an overdose of insulin in both Anne Mulwa and Cecilia Davids. How much you want to make a bet all five died the same way, and the seven at Sunnydale?”

“But wasn’t she the one who got the Mulwas thinking something was not right in their daughter’s death? The one who told them to go to the police?” Owen asked. “It doesn’t make sense.”

“I did a bit of research about these types, these health workers who kill their patients, there are quite a few of them. They want to be seen as the most helpful, the most concerned. It’s some messed-up sort of psychology,” Jade said.

“It’s like she wanted to be caught. What sort of criminal does that?”

“The arrogant kind who thinks she’s far too clever to ever get caught. This time she was wrong.”

Jade threw money on the table and stood up to go. “And how many did she kill before Sunnydale? This woman is a fucking serial killer!”

***

Tell us what you think: Do you think any such people work in our hospitals?