“Will he be charged, Sergeant?” asked Samantha quietly.
“I can’t say at this stage of our investigations, Mrs. Gregory,” replied Sergeant Dixon. “Obviously we are keen to interview him but, in his present condition—” He was interrupted as an officer entered the room. Yet again he appeared very young to Dominic, who was beginning to feel the generation gap acutely. He wondered if the British police force was now recruiting its officers directly from school. The pale-faced young officer passed a note to Sergeant Dixon, who studied it for a moment and then stood up.
“Mrs. Gregory, I’m afraid we need to get to the hospital as quickly as possible. Your son is all right, though still unconscious. But the hospital has reported an intruder was apprehended attempting to enter your son’s room in the ICU.”
“An intruder? What do you mean?” asked Samantha.
“An ICU nurse stopped a man who was about to enter the room. When she started to question him, he ran off.”
“Perhaps he was just one of Simon’s friends from university,” said Samantha.
“I doubt it, Mrs. Gregory. Apparently in his haste to escape he dropped a hypodermic, containing enough ketamine to knock out a cavalry of horses. I’m afraid I think someone was trying to kill Simon.”
AS DOMINIC followed the police car through the outskirts of Brighton toward the hospital, he detected a strong note of triumph in Samantha’s voice, as well as shock.
“I told you he wasn’t a druggie! I told you he didn’t do that kind of thing. But why on earth would someone want to kill Simon? I can’t imagine he mixes with the sorts of people who hire assassins to prowl hospital corridors.”
Samantha stared out of the window as Dominic slowed the car to a halt at the crossing lights. A small group of people began to pass in front of them, and Dominic immediately noticed the unmistakable striding figure of his partner. He sounded the horn and wound down his window. “Jonathan! What are you doing here?”
Jonathan peeled off from the gaggle of pedestrians and loped over to the car. “Hello, lover boy! Who’s your lady friend? Oh, you must be the famous Samantha. Darling Dominic has told me so much about you. Where are you off to?”
By this time the crossing had cleared, and cars behind Dominic were starting to sound their horns. Jonathan turned to look at the impatient drivers, waved, and then bowed.
“Jonathan, mind out of the way,” said Dominic, embarrassed. “We’ve got to get to the hospital quickly. We were following that police car ahead, but you’re holding us up.”
“A police chase! How thrilling!” cried Jonathan. “Then I shall definitely ride with you.” Ignoring Dominic’s protests, he ran around to the passenger door and opened it, saying, “My dear Samantha! I am Dominic’s friend and lover, Jonathan McFadden. Would you mind awfully letting me squeeze into the back of this ridiculous car? Why on earth he can’t buy one of a decent size is beyond me.”
The drivers in the cars behind them were now growing angrier, and the horns got louder and more insistent. Jonathan made one final bow to the furious motorists, kissed Samantha full on the lips, and then dived onto the backseat of the little sports car.
“I’m very pleased to meet you at last, Mr. McFadden,” said Samantha. “Dominic has said so little about you.” Dominic blushed in the seat next to her. He flashed his lights at the police car ahead of him, which had pulled over to the side of the road, hoping he would not have to explain why he was stopping to pick up passengers while under police escort to the hospital.
“Yes, dear Dominic is very coy. I love him dearly but can’t for the life of me understand why our relationship has to be kept under the cloak of invisibility.”
“In case you’ve forgotten, I am still here, Jonathan,” said Dominic irritably.
“I know, lover, which is precisely why I’m saying this to the charming Samantha. Now, what news of your son, dear?”
Samantha half turned in her seat to talk to Jonathan. “It’s terrible. The reason we’re on the way to the hospital now is that the police believe someone was trying to kill him.”
“Murder! So he didn’t take an overdose. It’s terrible, but you must be relieved that it wasn’t an attempt by his own hand. What makes them suspect murder?”
Samantha explained the new development to Jonathan as Dominic turned into the hospital parking lot and found a space. The three of them walked over to the main entrance, where an impatient Sergeant Dixon was waiting.
“I thought you were following us,” he said crossly. Embarrassed, Dominic felt his face flush. “And who is this?” asked the officer, turning to Jonathan.
“I am Mrs. Gregory’s advisor, Jonathan McFadden,” said Jonathan before Dominic had a chance to speak. “She’s invited me to be with her this afternoon. Do carry on, Officer.”
Sergeant Dixon eyed Jonathan suspiciously before saying, “It seems that we may have an image of the suspect on the hospital closed-circuit television. We’d like you to come and see if you can identify him, Mrs. Gregory.”
He led the way down a flight of stairs to the hospital security office. Ranged along the left-hand wall of the office was a bank of monitors showing images that periodically switched to show views of the parking lot, main entrance, corridors, and the wards.
Sitting in front of the monitors was a well-built security guard with close-cropped hair. His tight-fitting, short-sleeved white shirt revealed some highly developed pectoral muscles and his passion for tattoos.
“Goodness me, you seem to have cameras everywhere,” said Jonathan. “There’s no escaping Big Brother, now, is there?” Jonathan’s eyes were glued to the security guard’s torso.
The guard turned his eyes from the monitors to look at Jonathan.
“We get all sorts coming into the hospital,” he said, his eyes slowly scanning Jonathan’s body. “You won’t believe what people get up to, even when they know there’s a camera watching them.” The man spoke with a strong French accent. Dominic hoped he would say some more. It was very seductive.
“Maybe people get up to all sorts because they know there’s a camera watching them,” said Jonathan with a wink.
Sergeant Dixon stepped forward. “We’re here to look at the ICU recordings from earlier today,” he said frostily. “Could you set them up for Mrs. Gregory to view, please?”
The security guard turned his eyes away from Jonathan and began punching a series of buttons on his console. “Is this the patient’s relative? I’ve got the suspected intruder on several cameras, actually. But the best face shot is when he first arrives in reception. Let me just enhance it for you.”
The slightly fuzzy image of a dark-haired man around thirty years old sharpened on the large screen on the security guard’s console. The man was staring almost straight at the camera.
“We put the camera next to the main signage in reception. That way when people look at the signs to find out where to go, we get a clear view of their faces on the security cameras,” said the guard proudly.
“Mrs. Gregory, do you recognize the man at all?” asked Sergeant Dixon.
Samantha shook her head. Dominic stared at the image frozen on the screen of the man who was apparently on his way to try to kill Samantha’s son. Then he turned to look at Jonathan, who was also staring at the screen. He looked like he had just seen a ghost.
Jonathan glanced at Dominic and shook his head. Dominic turned to Sergeant Dixon and said, “What happens now?”
“Well, there’ll be an officer permanently posted outside Mr. Gregory’s door, and we’ll attempt a match of the face against our database. We’ll show the image to the students and see if we get a positive identification,” replied Sergeant Dixon.
Jonathan seemed to have recovered from whatever had shaken him up a minute earlier. “What about fingerprints on the hypodermic?” he asked. Dominic rolled his eyes. He knew his partner’s passion for watching CSI too well. He preferred a gentle episode of Miss Marple any day.
“We’ll check, but I would imagin
e he’d be wearing latex gloves. There’s a ready supply in a hospital. Right, I think we’re finished here. Mrs. Gregory, do you have some form of photo ID with you? You’ll need to show it to the officer on duty whenever you go to see your son. Would you like anyone else to be allowed access?”
Samantha looked thoughtful for a moment. “This business has really shaken me up. I’m not sure that I’d like anyone else to go in while he remains unconscious.”
“What about John?” asked Dominic. “They seem very close.”
Samantha’s voice hardened as she turned to Dominic. “You know, I’ve never met the boy before I came here, and Simon never mentioned him to me. He can sit in with me if he likes, but after what’s happened today, I’m not taking any chances with Simon’s life.” She turned to Sergeant Dixon. “I want my son to live. You will allow no visitor into his room except the medical staff and me. His life is in your hands, Officer.”
They left the security office, Jonathan casting one last admiring glance at the security guard’s rippling shirt. As they filed up the staircase to the hospital reception area, Dominic pulled Jonathan back.
“Tell me. You saw something in there. What was it?”
“Those tattoos on his arms. They were just heavenly.”
Dominic squeezed Jonathan’s arm tighter. “On the screen, idiot. You recognized him, didn’t you?”
Jonathan smiled benignly. “I thought that I’d seen the face somewhere before, but then I wasn’t so sure. It could have been in any number of bars. That’s why I didn’t want to say anything to that dreary police officer. It would lead to all sorts of awkward questions about where I spend some of my nights.”
“But if you told them, you could be helping the police find whoever tried to kill Samantha’s son,” protested Dominic.
“And I will,” said Jonathan. “Christophe and I are going on a little cruise tonight to see if we can find him. Do you want to come? You might have some fun and knock some of that lawyer stuffiness out of you.”
Dominic bristled. Jonathan could be infuriating at times. He knew that Jonathan still cruised the gay bars of Brighton and London on a few occasions, despite their two-year relationship. Jonathan had made it plain from the start that he wanted the freedom to go on the occasional cruise when Dominic was not around. Dominic had agreed, mainly because there was little he could do to stop Jonathan, and also because it gave him a frisson of excitement to think that, even after encounters with the young men of Brighton and London, Jonathan still chose to share his life with Dominic. Then again, he still felt the occasional twinge of jealousy.
Dominic glowered at Jonathan. “Who’s Christophe?”
“He’s the possessor of those rather fine tattoos that we just met. Very French. And I know you’re a sucker for a French accent.”
“I didn’t hear you organize anything with him, and we weren’t introduced to him. When did all this happen, and how do you know his name’s Christophe?” demanded Dominic.
“Name badge on his shirt, dear thing. Surely you noticed that?” retorted Jonathan, a shade defensively. “I haven’t organized anything yet, but I’m very confident he’d welcome a night out with me. And you for that matter,” he added hastily.
Before Dominic could say anything more, Jonathan disappeared back down the stairs to arrange his nocturnal rendezvous, leaving Dominic wondering whether he was beginning to get out of his depth. He was now aware of two pieces of evidence that had been withheld from the police. First by John and now by Jonathan. As a lawyer he felt awkward, knowing that there were potentially tough penalties for obstructing the police. But his loyalty to Jonathan and his compassion for John led him to decide that, for the moment at least, he would not be approaching Sergeant Dixon.
Jonathan’s smiling face reappeared at the foot of the stairs a moment later. “Such a nice boy is young Christophe,” he said jauntily, bounding up the stairs. “He’s printing off several copies of the face from the security camera and will be pleased to join us around ten tonight when he’s finished his shift. We’ll meet at Legends and then go on from there. Could be a fun night, and profitable for you and our dear Samantha. Winners all round.”
Chapter 8
LEGENDS WAS Dominic’s definition of hell. A brash gay hotel on Brighton’s seafront just east of the main pier, it housed an in-your-face restaurant and bar open most hours of the day and night. The clientele spent their time either eyeing each other up and down, or watching their own reflections in the myriad mirrors around the brightly lit cocktail bar. Music pumped out on all sides, and Dominic was jostled by muscle Marys and boisterous bears as he followed Jonathan to the bar that evening.
He knew this was just one of Jonathan’s several haunts in Brighton, and as he surveyed the multicolored male meat market around him, he wondered how their relationship could possibly stay intact with Jonathan coming to places like this from time to time. Dominic felt awkward and exposed, whereas clearly Jonathan was at home here. It took them some time to reach the bar as Jonathan stopped to embrace and kiss men he encountered on the way. Dominic trailed behind, feeling like some kind of equerry following a minor royal. He smiled politely at the beautiful young things who eyed him curiously, some even scornfully.
Standing at the bar was the security guard from the hospital. He had changed his short-sleeved work shirt for a tight-fitting T-shirt that highlighted his hours of hard work in the gym all the more. Dominic had to admit Christophe had a very attractive body, and one that could not be recreated simply by taking bracing walks in the Chiltern Hills.
Jonathan bought Corona beers for him and Christophe and a brightly colored nonalcoholic cocktail for Dominic, who Jonathan had volunteered as the driver for that evening. They moved to the end of the bar, and Christophe produced a cardboard folder containing prints of the face in the security image they had seen in his control room earlier.
“You know,” he said with his strong French accent, “I think that I have seen him before as well. It was in a bar in Brighton, I think, but not this one. Or maybe it was the club downstairs. It was dark, anyway.”
They all stared at the image for a moment. Despite enhancement it was not in sharp focus, and it was particularly difficult to see the man’s eyes clearly. He had short dark hair, almost completely covered by the hood of the sweatshirt he was wearing. His forehead was large, balanced by a nose that was equally large set above a small, tight-lipped mouth. In the photo they could see he was carrying what seemed to be a pair of surgical gloves and a small plastic bag.
Dominic looked around the packed bar. Was this face somewhere in here? It was difficult to tell because of the poor quality of the frozen image. As his gaze flicked from one face to another, he realized that those he was staring at were regarding him with equal fascination. All at once he felt embarrassed and looked down at his beer.
Jonathan shouted in his ear, “What’s the matter? Not enjoying being eye candy for the good folk of Brighton?”
Dominic flushed and looked up at Jonathan’s smiling face. He decided to keep his comments to the business in hand.
“When you first saw that face on the video screen, you went as white as a sheet,” said Dominic. “Why are you not so certain now?”
“I don’t know, really,” replied Jonathan. “Except when we first saw the image, it was moving—before Christophe froze it on the screen. I think it must have been something to do with the way he was moving on the video.” Jonathan’s eyes lit up and he looked across at Christophe excitedly. “That’s it! Do you remember the way he walked just before he stopped and you got this freeze-frame?”
Christophe was already nodding. “Yes, I do now. He looked as if he had a bad leg. He looked as if he was not walking correctly.”
“He had a limp!” shouted Jonathan across the Legends noise. “And now I remember where I’ve seen him before. It wasn’t here or in any club in fact.”
“Do you mean there was no need to come to this godforsaken place tonight after all?” shouted
Dominic crossly. “We could have spent a pleasant evening in the Slug and Lettuce instead.”
Jonathan turned his piercing blue eyes on Dominic. “Oh, my dear thing, is this not fun for you? We can go somewhere much quieter now if you like. It’s the place where I’m damn certain I’ve seen this reprobate before.”
Dominic suddenly had a sinking feeling as he asked, “And where would that be?”
“Why, the sauna bath house of course! It’s only a short walk down the seafront to Old Steine. It will do you the world of good, and you could get a massage to loosen up those tense shoulders of yours if you like.”
Dominic sighed. If Legends was his idea of hell, then a gay sauna bath was, for him, a level below hell. There was something about strutting about in a steamy atmosphere on slippery tiles with a towel wrapped around his waist that filled him with dread. He was convinced that all those places were infected with Legionnaire’s disease, to add further to his misery. He turned to Jonathan to make his excuses and duck out, but Jonathan had already finished his bottle of beer and was talking excitedly into the ear of a barman wearing a well-fitting black singlet. After a few moments, he handed the barman one of the photographs and scrawled his cell phone number on the back of it. The barman laughed, revealing a brilliant set of perfectly white teeth, and then kissed Jonathan on both cheeks.
As they walked out of the bar, now even fuller than when they had entered, Dominic shouted into Jonathan’s ear, “That’s the most unusual chat-up line I’ve yet seen you use. Can’t we just hand this over to the police now?” But Jonathan just smiled serenely and led Dominic and Christophe out into the damp night air.
THE SAUNA bath was a few minutes’ walk from Legends Hotel. Buffeted by the December wind, Dominic was feeling the cold and tried again to make his excuses and leave. “I really think this is a matter for the police now, Jonathan. You have important information for them, and it’s not for us to be playing Starsky and Hutch—”
The Necessary Deaths Page 5
