by Bo Brennan
Chapter 47
Colt watched the numerous coloured lines performing steady waves on the monitor; whatever the hospital team were doing seemed to be working, her blood pressure was stable.
When they’d arrived, the doctor had thanked him for the Rohypnol information, saying routine urine toxicology testing wouldn't be capable of detecting it in her system, so it was a helpful head start. Helpful was the last thing he felt. He felt totally fucking useless. Had been so busy protecting total strangers, he’d failed to protect her. How the hell could he let this happen?
He brushed the stray hairs from her face and placed a tender kiss on her forehead. “I’m so sorry, India,” he whispered, and wiped his tear from her cheek with his thumb.
Colt instinctively backed away from her as Gray entered the room and dropped a sports holdall at the foot of her bed. “Why has she got all those tubes in?” he blurted.
Colt swallowed hard and cleared his throat. She died. “She went into respiratory arrest in the ambulance, they’re protecting her airways.” And I’ve never been so terrified in my life. “And they’ve given her something to try and reverse the effects of the Rohypnol.”
Gray nodded in quiet understanding and reached for her hand. Colt noticed the Arabic writing on the inside of his right wrist, and wondered if it said the same as the Latin writing on her back. Suddenly the bed began to shake and every monitor in the room sounded alarms. India’s head snapped back hard against the pillows, her muscles clenched and tightened so violently her rigid body lifted off the bed. Colt stared in shock as every tendon in her body strained to break through her skin, and a wet patch spread across the sheet as she lost control of her bladder.
The room filled with doctors and nurses.
“What's happening?” Gray cried.
“She’s having a seizure,” a nurse said, ushering them from the room.
“I need that blood work. Now!” a white coat shouted as the door slammed shut in their faces.
Out in the corridor, standing afraid and helpless, they could only watch as the medical team battled to save her life. Colt splayed his hands against the window and closed his eyes, trying to reach her in the darkness, willing her to fight.
“This is your fault!”
Colt reeled as he was grabbed from behind, and turned to find Gray, and the forlorn looking uniform guarding India’s door, wrestling with a middle aged man. “He let him hurt my little girl,” he screamed, struggling to get to Colt.
“It's my fault, Dad,” Gray cried out, the words choking in his throat. “If you want to blame someone, blame me. If it wasn't for him she'd be dead already.”
Colt stared in bewilderment at the man, his face twisted with grief as he slumped sobbing into his son’s arms. P.Davies. He’d read it on her file and totally missed the connection. The pub landlord was Gray's dad. And her next of kin. ‘My little girl’, he'd said. The pieces began falling into place. Colt felt a jolt of shock shoot through his already overburdened body. Gray Davies and India Kane were brother and sister?
Even from the peaceful deep of the seabed, the warmth of the sun felt gentle and wonderful against her cheeks. India Kane gazed up at the turbulent waves breaking across the surface. Somewhere – a long, long way away – bad things were happening.
Somewhere else, to someone else.
It had been a long time since she'd visited her safe place, but it was as beautiful as ever. The sun always shone, the deep waters embraced in unquestioning welcome, and the all-encompassing calm was more heavenly than a million twinkling stars on the clearest summer’s night.
Soon she would swim amongst the comical and colourful creatures in her pretty floral summer dress. The big lilac and yellow funny fish would nuzzle her nose and swish fins around her feet, just as it always did every time she came here.
And she would giggle and smile. A great big proper smile that would show her straight, big girls’ teeth, crinkle her nose and make her eyes glitter. Just as it had always done, right up until her 8th birthday. The day he ruined her dress.
AJ Colt was on his knees in the tiny hospital chapel, hoping the god he once talked with daily in childhood would remember him now. Standing, he wiped his eyes, crossed himself one last time and headed back for the coffee they were expecting.
Pete Davies had wanted him gone; from the look on his face he’d wanted him dead. Gray wanted him to stay, insisting it's what India would want. Colt couldn’t give a toss what either of them wanted, he was staying.
He leant his head against the coffee machine outside the Intensive Care Unit, and sighed at the host of red flashing sold-out lights. The hospital was eerily quiet this time of night, the only sounds came from his own jittery hand jangling loose change in his pocket. He looked up and down the corridor; not a living person anywhere to ask the whereabouts of another machine.
Colt banged his change into the slot. If he went wandering the corridors for one that offered more than straight black coffee he'd never be able to find his way back, and panic would set in. The place hadn't changed one bit. The rabbit warren layout had never made any sense, even when his family had been regular visitors. Almost twenty years later and back in the same hospital corridor, where death and bad news lurked around every corner, feelings of desperation and guilt clenched his heart once more.
God, he fucking hated this place.
Reaching the door to the relatives’ room Colt abruptly stopped, causing one of the scalding black coffees to breach its flimsy plastic cup. He placed them on the hall table and wiped his burnt hand on his trouser leg, listening intently to the jumble of hushed voices inside.
“He's not fucking stupid, he needs to know,” Gray said, coming through loud and clear.
Colt screwed up his face, straining to catch Pete’s mumbled response, “He’ll be gone soon.”
“He's fallen for her,” Gray said, and Colt’s eyes widened.
Another mad mumble followed. Colt could only make out the last fragment. “. . . if she feels the same, she’ll tell him herself.” Colt’s eyes dropped to the floor, watching the shadows pass back and forth. Someone was pacing on the other side of the door.
“For god’s sake,” Gray pleaded. “You’re not being fair. You heard what the doctor just said. It wasn’t just Rohypnol in her system, they found fucking opiates too. If she’s using, she won’t be feeling anything at all.”
Opiates. That was news. Colt frowned; he could’ve sworn he just heard Len’s voice say: “That can be dealt with.”
He listened at the door for a whole minute, waiting for more. All that followed was the steady sound of constant pacing. Gray was right. He had fallen for her. And he wasn't fucking stupid. New information critical to the case was being discussed in that room, and from Colt’s side of the door it sounded very much like they intended to keep it from him.
He picked up the cups and tapped the door with his foot. “Any news from the doctor yet?” he said, studying Gray’s downcast face when he opened it.
Gray took the cups and silently shook his head.
Colt stood in the doorway staring at him intently, and then glanced to the corner where Len and Pete sat in sombre silence. There was only one reason to hide the doctor’s information from him, and that was because it wasn’t directly related to the case. Which meant it could only be related to India personally.
He stepped inside and frowned as the pacer emerged from behind the door.
“Len called me,” Bill Colt said. “I’m here to take you home, son.”
Chapter 48
Friday 17th December
The department fell completely silent when Colt crashed through the main office door, rage propelling his hulking body to join them in the incident room. When he entered, his eyes purposefully avoided India’s empty chair.
“I want this fucker’s blood,” he said, slamming his files down on the table.
“I can give you that,” Vicky said, her voice quivering with emotion before she dropped her head and cried.
Colt swallowed the lump in his throat and clenched his teeth, felt a sharp comforting pain shoot along his jaw and into his ear. “He's taking the piss out of us all by hurting one of our own. What have we got?”
Len picked up Vicky’s report. “Tripod’s clean. Partial latent print from her left thigh.” His brow furrowed and he took a moment to clear his throat. “And a dental impression and saliva from her right thigh.”
Tom frowned. “But he always wears gloves.”
“He takes them off to touch them,” Vicky said, back in control. “There's a high probability it's his because it's on her skin. The doctor who did the rape kit spotted a red mark and called me over. We were lucky, the hospital room has air con so her skin was cool, and we were well within the five hour time window for the heat transfer method to be effective.”
“What about the guy she was with, could it be his print?” Lee said.
“We'll find out soon enough. I took a set of exemplar prints from Gray Davies last night. The lab are attempting enhancement, but it's smudged so there's no guarantee,” she added
“It won't be Gray’s, he was with me.” Colt cracked his knuckles.“It's my fault it's smudged. I covered her up.”
Veronica cocked her jaw at Colt’s stark admission. “Are you saying you interfered with the crime scene, Chief Inspector?”
Before he could open his mouth to say anymore, Len was on his feet, leaning across the table and snatching the pen from her hand. “No, Veronica, he's not saying that,” he growled. “She was naked, spread-eagle and cuffed to the fucking bed. He preserved her modesty and her life – nothing more and nothing less. If Jim hadn't done it, I'd have done it myself. The end.”
Veronica turned to Vicky, and said, “Even if you succeed to match a partial latent, we won't be able to use it. There'll be too much room for comparison error. The defence will either have it ruled inadmissible or use it to instil reasonable doubt in a jury.”
“Good job we really do have his blood and tissue then,” Vicky snapped.
The whole team looked at each other in disbelief.
Vicky smiled. “It would appear the cat got him first. Some of the blood at the scene was human, and it wasn't India’s. We also recovered denim fibres and skin from under some of the claws we found scattered around the lounge. The bastard was wounded.”
A small and unexpected wave of pride swelled Colt’s heart. He'd never been a fan of cats, they made his throat itch and his eyes stream. ‘Cat,’ had returned her favour valiantly, but he doubted it would provide any morsel of comfort in the hard days that lay ahead.
“Well done, Vicky,” Colt said. The Crown Prosecutor nodded her agreement and returning to her scribbling.
“I've added animal cruelty to his extensive charge sheet,” Veronica said tersely.
“Some claws remained unaccounted for as of an hour ago,” Vicky said. “There's a possibility they may be imbedded in the attacker.”
“Do you want the fact that he’s injured in the public domain?” Sly asked.
“No,” Len spat. “No press releases today.”
“He's craving attention; we need to be careful we don't feed his habit,” Lacey said. “A serial rapist who’s murdered is one thing, but a callous cat killing one? The animal loving great British public won't stand for that. That would give him every front page in the country, especially if they found out the victim was a detective working on the case.”
“I want an alert to every hospital in a fifty mile radius in case he seeks medical attention,” Colt said. “What else?”
“Wing mirror glass recovered near the scene, believed to be from the getaway vehicle, is also at the lab. We should have a make and model by Monday,” Vicky said. “Hope you don't mind, I had a couple of boys take sample lifts and scrapings from your car too, Gray was adamant you hit it.”
“It’s fine,” Colt said tightly. Fuck, fuck, fuck. He hadn’t even seen the car, paid no attention to it whatsoever.
“Lee and I pissed off all the neighbours who live along the top lane by going door to door through the night. We're moving on to the Marina today,” Tom said. “One house owner has reported a red haired male loitering in the vicinity recently.”
“A red head,” Lacey mused, “could explain the hat and body shaving.”
“I put a request in for a police artist to visit late last night, but haven't had a response as yet,” Tom added.
“Chase them,” Colt said. “I want it done today. Anyone interviewed the club employees yet?”
“No,” Len said, raising a brow. “I thought you'd want to conduct those interviews yourself. They're expecting you this morning.”
Colt gave a tight nod. Probably wise under the circumstances. “Right, so Tom and Lee you're at the Marina. I'm at the club. Vicky, where are you?”
“India's place.”
“Can you get a clean-up team over there when you're finished?” Colt said. He didn't want her going home to cat guts all over the lounge. If he had his way she'd never be going back there again.
“Already sorted,” Len said.
“Good,” Colt mumbled, “I . . . she'll appreciate that.” He took a deep breath and clapped his hands together. “Ok everybody, let's get out there and find this fucker. Stay safe and stay in touch.”
The brightness of the lights hurt her eyes. Panic set in when she realised she was waking in unfamiliar surroundings. She never did that, no matter how pissed she got, she always came home – alone – to her own bed. Them’s the rules. Choking. Can't breathe. Her hands pulled at the tube restricting her throat. Strong hands grasped hers.
“Don't panic, babe. I’m here. You're in the hospital. You've got a breathing tube in.” Gray. The chiselled features of her trusted friend came into crisp focus. His eyes, devoid of all their usual sparkle, gazed down at her full of relief. The green seemed more intense against the new dark circles below them.
“Welcome back, Sleeping Beauty,” he said, pressing the buzzer. “Let's get this tube taken out.”
India signalled her acknowledgment by blinking hard and squeezing his hand, watched the corners of his eyes crinkle as a smile lightened his face.
She could hear him pacing like an expectant father on the other side of the curtain as the friendly nurse removed the tube and unhooked her from the myriad of monitors. “You are one lucky lady, Miss Kane,” she said.
India didn’t feel lucky, she hated hospitals. She spluttered on the water the nurse pressed to her lips, her throat so raw it felt like she was swallowing glass. “Lucky?” she rasped.
“I should say so. Not many girls get a host of handsome men hanging around all night,” she enthused. “Most blokes can't get out of here fast enough.”
India winced as the nurse propped the pillows behind her and placed the corded handset on the edge of the bed. “Buzz me if you need anything,” she said. “I'll be right outside.” She pulled the curtain back to reveal Gray resembling a rabbit caught in headlights. “Don't sit on the bed in those dirty clothes,” she warned him as she left the room.
India followed the nurse with her eyes. There appeared to be a uniformed officer outside the door waving enthusiastically at her. She was finding it hard to focus, but thought it likely Paul Smith, and weakly raised a hand in return.
Gray looked like he'd been dragged through a hedge backwards. His shirt was reminiscent of a ‘before’ item in a washing powder advert. Half the buttons were missing and a dark red stain spread across a tear down the sleeve, a bandage around his bicep just visible through the jagged rip. “Accident?” she said.
He cried as he told her.
She couldn't grasp it all, her brain was a jumble of random confused thoughts, but she got the basic gist. The bastard had got her.
Having leached every detail she could from him, she sent Gray packing at 2 p.m. He looked exhausted, and left safe in the knowledge she’d still be there at evening visiting time. Her imperturbable acceptance of a four day stay at the zero starred Hotel
NHS was a ploy. Inside she was raging. Furious he'd had the audacity to come for her. Who the fuck does he think he is? How the hell did he even find her, let alone get away? Why wasn’t she ready? Why wasn't he in custody, or better still, dead? Too many questions buzzed around her aching brain. She needed answers, and they weren’t here. The sooner she got out of this place, the sooner he would pay.
India pulled the curtain round and emptied the contents of the holdall across the sterile bed linen, rummaging through the clothes. She let out an exasperated sigh. Gray had seen her a million times at work, when had he ever seen her turn up dressed like this? And he'd completely neglected to pack any underwear. She guessed he had to get points for trying. It was a miracle he'd thought to bring clothes at all considering the events of last night. Probably came from years of walking into burning buildings when everybody else was hard-wired to run out.
She tugged the baggy grey marl tracksuit on, ignoring the dressing on her thigh. Whatever was under there she couldn't feel it. In fact she couldn't feel a thing. India Kane was comfortably numb and extraordinarily relaxed. She threw the flip flops onto the floor and rolled her eyes – it was the middle of bloody December – and then, she noticed her feet.
It looked like someone had gone at her left foot with a cheese grater. Protruding from the bandage were five skinned and raw toes. She wiggled them, nothing. Leant forward to take a closer look and gripped the bed with both hands. Leaning forward was not a good idea, it felt like a lead ball rolled through her skull and tried to push her face off from the inside.
She rooted around for the hairbrush and pulled her hair into a ponytail, using a discarded length of tubular bandage on the bedside table to secure it. Then, chewing at her lip she cast her eyes down, ready to confront the shunt in her hand which was making her queasy.
