The Cold Calling Part 18

Andy said, 'Against iron bars?'

'I threw the tools at the window, Sister. Well, it's a quiet street, in spite of the bypa.s.s. Em hears the gla.s.s go, thinks it couldn't be me, and starts on the car hooter. Course, they've no way of telling, these lads, how many of us was out there. Could've been we was mob-handed, for all they know. They p.i.s.s off smartish, the front way. Self-preservation cooling their aggression, sorter thing.'

'You told the police?'

Em and Vic looked at one another.

'That's a problem, is it?' Andy starting to wonder who these people were, how they connected with Inspector Maiden. Like, were he and the girl an item?

'It's one h.e.l.l ...' Bobby tried to sit up, moaned, fell back on the bed. '... of a problem.'

'I told you to stay still,' Andy snapped. 'Don't you dislodge those peas.'

'We do have a problem with the police,' he said. 'Though not all the police.'

'There are policemen and policemen in this town,' Em said. 'Like everywhere, I suppose.'

'After they'd gone, we didn't hang around,' Vic said. 'We're practically dragging him back to the car. He's half out of it, as you can imagine. I know we shouldn't've moved him, sister, but if them guys came back ... Which was a possibility. Be quite an earner for them. You know?'

'Listen, I don't want to know. The less I know the better. What I do know is you ought to be in hospital, Bobby. You ought never to've come out. This is some kind of madness.'

He didn't reply. He was looking deathly.

'Look, I'll make him an eyepatch with Sellotape, but he needs a proper one, Long John Silver job. No pressure's the thing to remember. Ice packs till then.' She stood back. 'Could look worse than it is, but we cannae be sure. There'll be bad bruises where they hit him with the bar. Could still be internal injuries. He needs constant attention. Any change for the worse, any change at all that isnae for the better, you get on to a b.l.o.o.d.y doctor p.r.o.nto, y'hear? Can he bide here a while?'

'No way,' Maiden said. 'Not now.'

'You be quiet, son,' Andy said. 'You make too many of your own decisions. Did I no tell you to think first?'

'I think he might be right, Mrs Anderson. It sounds ridiculous to say he wouldn't be safe here ...'

'But that's what you're saying, is it, hen?'

'Maybe. We knew things were difficult, we didn't realize how difficult.'

'Those lads,' Vic said. 'Not local. They was of an age I'd know them if they was local. Well, you think about it. You don't just hire complete strangers, half an hour's notice, to go and beat somebody to death. They was on a retainer. They was just waiting for the word.'

'If this is Pa, I'll b.l.o.o.d.y kill him.'

'I'd say not. I'd say somebody lost patience with your old man. It's getting less difficult to find people who'll do for somebody for a couple of grand. Plus, there's a lot of very discreet middlemen about, so it don't get traced back.'

Andy said, as calmly as she could manage, 'They're gonny try again, are they not?'

Vic shrugged.

There was an answer to this situation. Andy closed her eyes momentarily and saw a pale red sun against the lids. Oh aye, a very obvious answer here. So obvious, she wanted to resist it.

'I hear your daddy was at the hospital, Bobby. Is there no chance-?'

'Don't even ask.'

'Like that, eh? You got a problem, then, son.'

Andy walked over to the window. Saw her own grim-faced reflection hologrammed over the lights of Elham. She should've been in St Mary's by now.

'So what did you have in mind to do about this, Bobby?'

'Get out of town. Book into a hotel somewhere for a few days. Except my wallet's in the hospital safe. Cash. Credit cards. Looking like this is going to be another problem. You book into a hotel with a face like this, they do a courtesy check with the local police. I'm a bit b.u.g.g.e.red, really.'

'We can sort out the money. Jonathan'll get that. Bobby, listen, there's a place you could go. Well out of it. Where n.o.body's gonny find you. Where you could have the time to heal, son. You need to heal. Physically, mentally and ...'

It was as if, when she'd placed her hands on his head, bringing up High Knoll, she'd made a connection, plugged into a live circuit and it wasn't going to be broken; the current was strengthening. It was the right thing to do.

'... and spiritually.' Andy looked at him, blood all over his Elham Hospital Fun Run T-shirt. 'There are some places you heal quick. Some places heal parts of you you didnae know were sick.'

'I'm sure there are,' he said, 'but it's not your problem, Andy. We're really grateful for what you've done. Don't get involved any further. Not many laughs in this.'

'Hey!' Andy walked to the foot of the bed. 'Don't you tell me what's no my problem, Bobby Maiden. They're gonny kill you, son, you hang around here, and then you'll die and go back to the nasty grey place, am I right?'

She regretted it at once. His whole body went rigid.

'I'm sorry, son,' she said.

She rang Jonathan and told him as much of everything as she could pack into four minutes.

'What a colourful life you lead, Sister Andy,' Jonathan said. 'How long will you need?'

'Well, I already begged two days. I'll try and stick to it, but if it takes longer, it takes longer.'

'Don't put your pension on the line,' Jonathan warned, 'for a bit of mumbo jumbo.'

She made the eyepatch.

She told Bobby Maiden to get some sleep. He said, no way. He lay there staring at the ceiling. He seemed to be glad of the pain.

She thought she understood.

Emma Curtis took her into another room. 'Where are you taking him?'

'I'm no sure you need to know that, hen.'

'n.o.body's going to b.l.o.o.d.y torture me, Sister. And if he can't visit me, I want to visit him.'

'You sure you're good for each other, hen?'

The dark eyes didn't move. 'What's that got to do with the price of eggs?'

'OK.' Andy smiled. 'Let me have your phone number again. I'll call you when he can see what he's doing.'

'Thanks,' Emma said. 'And ... thanks.'

At two a.m., an ambulance arrived. 'Apologies, sister,' the paramedic said, 'earliest I could make it.' Giving Andy the envelope containing Bobby Maiden's wallet and his keys. 'Dr Jonathan says good luck. With the, er, mumbo jumbo.'

XVI.

Three-fifteen a.m., Andy driving as if she could read Bobby Maiden's mind. Grim-faced under the fluffed-up red hair, clogging the pedal as though they were breaking bail all mobiles alert for a ten-year-old powder-blue Golf with a Greenpeace sticker.

Slowing only whenever she spotted a police car. But it wasn't police, as such, that Maiden was worried about. He was seeing a dark vehicle blocking a country road. Two men in balaclavas. Tooled up. Silencers. No small talk, no prelims. Maiden, then Andy. The Golf driven into a wood with the bodies.

But, then, Maiden was as paranoid as you can get.

They were a good ten miles out of Elham before Andy spoke.

'Who's Emma, then?'

'Mmm. Well ...' He told her about the hit-and-run car which had first brought him to her attention.

'Aw, you're no serious ...'

'Plus in case you missed the references back there her old man's Tony Parker.'

Andy shook her head, laughing her comfortable, smoker's laugh. 'Jesus G.o.d, Bobby. And I thought I was mixing with lowlife the day they called me into a meeting of the hospital trust.'

'She's OK. Didn't you think?'

Andy thought about it. 'Aye. Genes aren't everything. And the last person she'll ever harm is you. But you'll know that. Are you no awfully knackered, Bobby?'

'Long past knackered. Knackered was yesterday.'

She'd tilted the pa.s.senger seat for him, but he'd pulled it back up, even further, so it was almost a right angle. He concentrated hard on the lights through the windscreen, but with half his vision blocked by the makeshift patch it was hard to keep his good eye open.

'But you're no gonny let yourself sleep, right?'

'No.'

'Bobby, you need-'

'Sleep, sleep and sleep.'

'You're no gonny die, Bobby. Not again. I mean like not yet. Not imminently.'

They were at a brightly lit motorway intersection, big blue signs. When they hit the motorway itself, it felt safer: a no man's land.

'I was wondering. Got anything in your bag to kind of ward off sleep?'

'Speed? In your condition? Christ, you would be b.l.o.o.d.y dead. There's chocolate biscuits in the glove compartment, and that's your lot.'

'Should have asked Clutton.'

'I don't like the way you're talking.' Andy leaned back in her seat, hands loosening around the wheel. 'Look, I'm no shrink ... But maybe what we're looking at here is your subconscious manufacturing a smokescreen, setting up a block to shield you from some trauma. Images of bleakness, this cold, soulless place. Cold neutralizes pain. Like when we put the frozen peas on your eye.'

'Yes ... but ... Well, OK ... Suppose you wake up dead?'

'Is that no a wee bit contradictory?'

'With all your bodily juices drying up. Your muscles dead weight. Veins clogged.'

'Oh.'

'And being aware of decaying. Tasting the soil.'

's.h.i.t,' Andy said.

'Twice that's happened. How normal is that?'

'Aw, h.e.l.l ...' She hesitated. 'You know what this says to me? I mean, this is just off the top of my head, I havenae thought it out, but it's as if when ... after we brought you round ... some part of you stayed dead. It's as though something down there in your mind doesnae know we got your body to come back.'

He saw her hands tighten on the wheel.

'It's like you're carrying around your own corpse, Bobby.'

'Well, thanks,' Maiden said. 'That's very encouraging.'

They kept on talking after that. There was a flask of black coffee Em had made, and chocolate biscuits. They were through Spaghetti Junction, so little traffic this time in the morning that the great concrete snakepit looked like a major overspend.

She was telling him about this guy called Marcus Bacton, a schoolteacher for over thirty years, though he claimed to hate kids worse than the flu. Took early retirement after his wife's death, and bought himself this rundown farmhouse on the Welsh border, to start a new career as a magazine editor.

'Kind of Learned Gentleman's Journal of the Unexplained. Printed on the kind of paper you wouldnae wipe your a.r.s.e on in case your fingers went through. So ... he's stuck out in the sticks, losing money hand over fist on this awful rag, and having to pay a housekeeper on account of he cannae tie his own shoes. Lucky to land one who didnae ask for much other than a roof over her. Mrs Willis. The healer.'

Andy pulled off the motorway, giving two fingers to the driver of an Escort who'd zipped in from the fast lane and cut in front.

'd.i.c.khead. Listen, I never went for this baloney. Laying on of hands. Sending healing vibes. I'm a professional. Like, if it works, what we doin' spending billions on hospitals and clinics? And yet ...'

Healing vibes. He was remembering Jonathan telling him about Andy's hands either side of his head as he lay dead, Andy's eyes closed. It was as if she was somewhere else. She was concentrating so hard on bringing you back, it was as though nothing else in the world mattered or ever would again if she failed. When you started to breathe, she just sagged. And we thought ...

Maiden jerked in his seat. He'd almost slipped away. It was like waking up on the edge of a sheer cliff. He swallowed a lot of air and laid his cheek against the window, for the coolness of it.

'... burial chamber,' Andy was saying. 'Part of it had collapsed, and there was a sign telling you not to go inside. But me all six and a half stone of me I fitted under the capstone, no trouble. I was that weak, you know? When you said that about being dried out like a corpse, that was how it was for me, with the colitis. You're just c.r.a.pping all the moisture out of your system. You're a husk. Tired the whole time, and weary as h.e.l.l, and you'll try anything. And so I'm lying there, in this burial chamber, until the dawn comes. You like the dawn, Bobby?'

'When the world's all quiet and fresh and sparkly.'