by Kevin Brooks
‘He was attacked?’
‘Yes, I’m sorry, it looks as if he was quite badly beaten. We managed to stabilise his condition in the ambulance on the way to the hospital, and he’s undergoing emergency surgery right now, but I’m afraid that’s all I can tell you at the moment. If you could come in to Hey General to confirm his identity –’
‘Was he wearing a hat?’
‘A hat was found nearby, yes.’
‘A trilby?’
‘Yes.’
‘I’ll be there as soon as I can.’
I called four taxi companies before realising that I was never going to get one at short notice on a Saturday night, and I was just about to call Imogen to see if she’d give me a lift to the hospital, when my mind suddenly flashed back to the moment I was hanging from Ray Bishop’s windowsill, and he’d looked down at me, his eyes staring coldly, and said, ‘Hello, John.’
He knew who I was.
And if he knew who I was – and I was guessing that his brother must have told him – then he probably knew where I lived. And even if he didn’t, it wouldn’t be too hard for him to find out …
I called Bridget’s mobile.
‘Hey, John,’ she answered. ‘I was just thinking about you.’
‘Where are you?’ I said.
‘At home … why? Are you all right? You sound a bit –’
‘Listen, Bridget, this is really important. I want you to get out of the house as quickly as possible. I don’t have time to explain, but please … just trust me. You have to get out of the house right now. OK?’
She only hesitated for a moment. ‘OK … if you say so. Where shall I go?’
‘I’m at the old railway station, near the roundabout. Do you know where I mean?’
‘Yeah …’
‘Pick me up as soon as you can. I’ll explain everything then.’
‘All right …’
‘And ring me as soon as you’re out of the house and in your car. OK?’
‘Yeah.’
‘Go … now.’
She called me two minutes later.
‘Are you in your car?’ I said.
‘Yeah.’
‘Did you see anyone on your way out?’
‘No …’
‘Are you OK?’
‘Not really. I mean, this is pretty fucking scary, John.’
‘Yeah, sorry … but everything should be all right now. Just get going, don’t stop for anyone, and when you get to the roundabout, drive round it two or three times before you stop to pick me up. All right?’
‘Just drive round the roundabout?’
‘Yeah … I’ll be waiting for you.’
I moved from the bus stop and positioned myself at the south side of the roundabout, making sure that Bridget would see me when she arrived, and after about five minutes or so I saw a white Escort van with HEY PETS written on the side coming towards me. Bridget waved as she went past, and I nodded back, but I was more concerned with watching the road behind her. I was looking out for familiar cars – a silver-grey Renault, a green Nissan Almera, a white Toyota Yaris, Mick Bishop’s Honda Prelude – or familiar faces in unfamiliar cars, or cars that were just acting strangely … following Bridget around the roundabout, slowing down without any reason, stopping suddenly – but by the time Bridget had passed by me again, making her second circuit of the roundabout, I hadn’t seen anything untoward.
The next time she came round, I held up my hand and caught her eye, and she slowed down and pulled in beside me. As she leaned across and opened the passenger door, I saw that Walter was in the back of the van, sitting upright in a wicker basket. I quickly got in and closed the door, and Bridget immediately pulled away again.
‘Where are we going?’ she said.
‘The hospital.’
She looked at me. ‘What’s going on, John?’
As we drove across town to the hospital, I told Bridget everything. She didn’t interrupt me as I talked, she just drove the car, keeping her eyes on the road, and listened. There was a lot to tell, a lot of explaining to do, and by the time I’d finished we were almost at the hospital.
‘Is Cal going to be all right?’ Bridget asked.
‘I don’t know … the paramedic couldn’t tell me very much, just that he’d been badly beaten.’
‘Who do you think did it?’
‘Some of Mick Bishop’s people, probably. He must have had someone following us. Or maybe it was Ray Bishop … I don’t know.’
‘And you really think that Ray Bishop’s going to come after you?’
I nodded. ‘I know what he’s done, what he does. I know what he is. And he must know that I’m not going to keep quiet about it. Which means that if he doesn’t do something about me, or get someone to do it for him, he’s fucked. So, yeah, I’m pretty sure he’s coming after me.’
‘And you can’t call the police?’
‘I can’t trust the police. Mick Bishop owns too many of them. Whoever I call, even if it’s just the emergency number, there’s a good chance it’ll get back to Bishop … and if he finds me, he’ll kill me. Simple as that.’
‘Do you really think he’d go that far?’
‘What else can he do? I know that his brother’s a serial killer, and I know that he’s covered up for him on at least one occasion. The only way Mick Bishop can save his skin is by making sure that I don’t talk.’
‘So what are you going to do?’
‘I don’t know …’
We were approaching the hospital now, and as Bridget slowed for the turning, I studied an information sign at the side of the road that gave the whereabouts of all the various departments and wards.
‘Do you know where they’re keeping him?’ Bridget asked.
I shook my head. ‘A & E, I suppose. I’d better ask at reception.’
She drove straight on, heading for the main hospital building, and we found a space in a car park close to the entrance.
‘It’s probably best if you stay in the car,’ I told her.
She looked at me. ‘Why?’
‘There’s a chance that Bishop might have someone waiting for me in the hospital, or he might even be in there himself. If you come in with me, they’ll get both of us. But if you stay here …’ I looked at her. ‘No one else knows about this, Bridget. Just you and me …’
She nodded. ‘What do you want me to do if you don’t come back?’
‘Give me an hour,’ I said, jotting down a phone number on a scrap of paper. ‘If I’m not back by then, call this number.’ I passed her the piece of paper. ‘Ask for Leon Mercer, but if he’s not there, you can talk to his daughter, Imogen. They’re both old friends of mine, and I’d trust them with my life. Just tell either of them exactly what’s happened, and they’ll know what to do.’
She nodded again. ‘Why don’t you just call them yourself, right now?’
‘The more people I involve, the more people I put at risk.’
‘You involved me.’
‘I know, I’m sorry … but I had no choice.’
‘You could have lied to me.’
‘Yeah …’
‘But you didn’t.’
‘No.’
She smiled at me, nodded her head, then leaned across and kissed me. ‘Be careful, John.’
I looked at her for a moment, more haunted than ever now by the memories of Stacy that she brought to my heart …
‘Keep the doors locked,’ I told her. ‘And call me if you need me.’
I got out of the car and went looking for Cal.
28
Lisa Webster, the paramedic I’d talked to on the phone, was a sturdy, dark-haired woman in her mid-forties. She met me at the main reception desk, and as I followed her along a maze of hospital corridors, she told me what she knew.
‘We were called out at just gone eight o’clock this evening after an anonymous 999 call. The location we were given turned out to be a small industrial estate down by the river, and when we got there we fou
nd your nephew – if it is your nephew – lying in the road next to his car. There was no one else around, no other vehicles, so we still don’t know exactly what happened. But he’d clearly been attacked, possibly by more than one person, and he was in a pretty bad state – unconscious, multiple fractures, bleeding heavily …’ She looked at me. ‘Whoever did it, they really went to work on him.’
‘Is he going to be OK?’
‘Well, he’s out of surgery now, and he’s conscious … but that’s about all I can tell you, I’m afraid. I’m just a paramedic. Once we’ve brought a patient in, we don’t really have any further involvement.’
‘So how come you’re still here?’ I asked her.
‘Well …’ she said, looking slightly embarrassed. ‘I just like to follow things through, you know? I spoke to you earlier on the phone, I asked you to come in … I didn’t want to just leave it at that.’
‘Right,’ I said, looking at her, waiting for her to go on.
‘And … well, I knew your wife.’
I stopped. ‘You knew Stacy?’
She nodded. ‘When you told me your name on the phone earlier on, I wondered if you were that John Craine … and now that I’ve seen you … well, I recognise you from the pictures on the news.’
‘How did you know Stacy?’
‘She was my daughter’s teacher. I didn’t really know her that well, but I met her a few times at school, and Megan – that’s my daughter – she was always talking about Mrs Craine, telling me how nice she was …’ Lisa looked at me. ‘Meg was going through some really bad times back then, and Stacy helped her a lot. She was a good teacher, a good person. So, anyway, I just … I don’t know … I just wanted to let you know, I suppose. I never really got the chance to thank Stacy properly …’
I nodded.’ How’s your daughter now?’
‘She’s wonderful.’ Lisa smiled. ‘She has her own daughter now … Bethany. Beth’s just started school herself …’ Lisa looked at me. ‘Sorry, I’m rambling.’
I smiled. ‘That’s OK.’
She glanced down the corridor, then turned back to me. ‘Your nephew – if it is your nephew – is in the ICU ward. I can take you in to see him, but once you’ve confirmed his identity, I’m pretty sure the police will want to take over.’
‘The police are here?’
She nodded. ‘In the ward. There’s two of them.’
‘Plain clothes or uniform?’
‘They’re both uniformed PCs.’
‘When did they arrive?’
‘About fifteen minutes after Cal was brought in.’
‘Is that normal? I mean, do the police usually visit the ICU ward to check up on an unidentified assault victim?’
‘It’s not unusual … but, to tell you the truth, I was a bit surprised at how quickly they arrived.’ She looked at me. ‘Is something going on here?’
‘Possibly.’
‘Is Cal in trouble with the police?’
‘It depends who they’re working for.’
She shook her head. ‘I don’t understand.’
‘It’s kind of complicated,’ I said, playing for time while I tried to decide if I could trust her or not. There was no real reason why I should. Just because she seemed like a good person, a kind person, a decent person … that didn’t necessarily mean that I should trust her. But it was all I had to go on. And I quickly decided that it was enough for me. ‘It’s possible,’ I told her, lowering my voice, ‘that the people who beat up Cal were either corrupt police officers or thugs who were working for a corrupt police officer. And that officer would like to get his hands on me too. Now, I don’t know if the two PCs in the ICU ward are working for this particular officer, but if they are … well, let’s just say that I might need to get out of here in a hurry.’
Lisa looked at me. ‘Are you asking me to help you?’
‘Yes.’
‘How do I know you’re not lying?’
‘You don’t.’
She carried on looking at me for a while, not saying anything, then – seemingly satisfied – she said, ‘All right, let’s go.’
Cal was in a small private room at the far end of the intensive care ward. The lights in the ward were sterile and bright, and the air was filled with the background hum of machinery. The ward was quietly busy with the efficient bustle of doctors, nurses, and porters. The two PCs – both of them big bruisers in fluorescent yellow jackets – were standing in the corridor outside Cal’s room, and when I approached the door, with Lisa behind me, one of them stepped in front of me, blocking my way, and the other one – the bigger of the two – moved between Lisa and me.
‘Mr Craine?’ he said. ‘We’d like a word, if you don’t mind.’
‘Yeah, fine,’ I told him. ‘But I think the doctors need me to identify my nephew first.’
The bigger PC looked at his colleague. His colleague shrugged, looking confused. The bigger PC turned back to me. ‘All right,’ he said grudgingly. ‘But as soon as you’ve finished –’
‘No problem,’ I said.
I waited for the other PC to step out of my way, then I opened the door and went into the room. As Lisa followed me in and closed the door, I looked over at Cal. He was almost unrecognisable. Lying in the hospital bed, surrounded by monitors and hospital machinery, breathing through an oxygen mask, his right leg and left arm in plaster, his head swathed in bandages …
‘Jesus Christ,’ I whispered.
His face was a swollen mass of cuts and bruises – his lips split and puffy, his nose broken, his jaw discoloured and bent out of shape – and as I approached the bed, I noticed a familiar-looking small indentation in a mess of broken skin on his forehead: the outline of a ring-sized skull …
This was Les Gillard’s work. He must have been following us, I realised. Or maybe Ray Bishop had called his brother once he’d realised that he was being followed, and Mick had called Gillard, and then somehow Ray Bishop must have lured Cal into a trap at the industrial estate down by the river …
I stopped thinking about it.
It didn’t matter how it had happened.
It had happened.
‘Cal?’ I said quietly.
His eyes were so blackened and swollen that I couldn’t tell if they were open or not.
I turned to Lisa. ‘Can he hear me?’
She nodded. ‘He’s heavily sedated, but he’s awake. He won’t be able to talk though.’
I knelt down beside the bed. ‘Hey, Cal,’ I said softly. ‘It’s me, John …’ His eyes opened slightly, fixing on mine, and he gave a faint groan. I looked at him, tears tingling at the back of my eyes, and I took his hand in mine. I wanted to say something comforting to him, something that would make him feel better … I wanted to hold him in my arms and take away all his fear and pain. But, most of all, I wanted this never to have happened.
‘I’m sorry, Cal,’ I whispered. ‘I’m so sorry …’
‘John?’ I heard Lisa say. ‘He needs to rest.’
I leaned in closer to Cal. ‘I have to go now … you get some sleep, OK? I’ll let Barbarella know you’re here. And I’ll see you later.’
He blinked painfully.
I gave his hand a gentle squeeze, then got to my feet and turned to Lisa.
‘It’s definitely Cal then?’ she said.
I nodded.
She stepped closer to me and lowered her voice. ‘And what about the policemen outside? What do you want me to do about them?’
‘Nothing. I just need to get out of here without them knowing, that’s all. Is that going to be possible?’
She nodded. ‘Leave it to me.’
‘Thanks.’ I glanced over at Cal, then back at Lisa. ‘Could you keep an eye on him for me?’
‘Of course.’
I passed her one of my business cards. ‘You can call me any time. If anything happens, anything at all …’
‘Don’t worry,’ she said, taking the card. ‘I’m sure he’s going to be all right.’
&nb
sp; The door opened then, and the big PC leaned in and said, ‘Are you ready, Mr Craine?’
‘Just coming,’ I told him.
Lisa went out first, and as I followed her through the door, she said to the big PC, ‘I just need Mr Craine to sign a consent form in case of further surgery. Is that OK?’
Big PC shrugged. ‘I suppose so.’
Lisa turned to me. ‘The forms are in the admin office, Mr Craine. If you’d like to come with me.’
I followed her down the ward to a small administration office tucked away in a quiet corner. Inside the office, she took my arm and led me over to an adjoining door in the far wall.
‘There’s a lift along there,’ she said, opening the door and pointing down a narrow corridor. ‘It’s staff only, but it’s very rarely used, so you should be OK. Go to the ground floor, and it’ll bring you out just to the side of the main entrance.’ She looked at me. ‘All right?’
I nodded. ‘What will you tell the policemen?’
‘I don’t know … I’ll think of something.’
I smiled at her. ‘Thank you.’
She nodded. ‘You’d better go.’
As I headed down the corridor towards the lift, I heard her call out ‘Good luck,’ and as I turned and waved goodbye to her, I had a feeling I was going to need it.
29
Bridget had the radio on when I got back to the car, and as I opened the door and got in, I recognised the quiet sadness of an old Nat King Cole song.
Since you went away the days grow long,
and soon I’ll hear old winter’s song.
But I miss you most of all my darling,
when autumn leaves start to fall.
‘Nice,’ I said.
Bridget smiled. ‘Radio Two … I must be getting old.’ She leaned down and turned off the radio. ‘How’s Cal?’
‘Not too good.’
‘Did he tell you anything about what happened?’
I shook my head. ‘He’s barely conscious.’
She looked at me. ‘Any trouble in there?’
