‘Mr Curtis?’
‘Mr Tregunna.’
His voice is not exactly unfriendly and I take a deep breath. ‘Mr Curtis, is there a possibility that you could come and pick me up? As you can probably see my car is still outside my flat in the car park and I’m kind of stranded here. I’m on …’
‘Why would I do that after you’ve ruined my sleep?’
There he goes again. Hinting at something I’m missing. Perhaps people with dementia suffer from missing connections like this. I am beginning to understand how unnerving and frightening it must be to lose the ability to understand. One look at James’s face and I dismiss the idea of asking Curtis what he means. James is staring outside. A man has got out of the car and is holding a mobile phone against his ear, listening with concentration. He is too far away to recognise his face and I hope he can’t see mine through the net curtains. The only thing that he may find a bit suspicious is the fact that he can see James’s wife staring out of one kitchen window with a hand over her mouth and James looking out of the other. The silver car is parked near the gate, but so that it’s impossible to see whether there is another person in it.
Two children are playing in the courtyard, laughing, running after a bright red plastic ball. The girl, Daphne, and a toddler on unsteady, chubby legs. A young woman with short blonde hair is smiling, looking at her little one with pride and love. Suddenly she halts. The man must have called out something to her, she walks closer to the gate, her little boy forgotten for a moment. The man gestures at her, his phone still in one hand. He motions towards the holiday bungalows and she nods vigorously.
Has she seen me? Has James’s wife told her about me? Is the man now enquiring if she saw a strange man in dirty clothes and where might he be now?
‘Mr Tregunna? Are you still there?’
‘Mr Curtis,’ I say urgently. ‘Do you remember the two men who were watching our building from their car?’
‘Of course I remember that.’ Doubtful but intrigued.
‘Well, you may think I’m mad, but I’m telling you the truth, Mr Curtis. Those two men kidnapped me last night.’
‘Sure they did.’
Outside the man is still talking to the young woman. Whatever she’s told him, he seems certain that he’ll find me here.
‘Mr Curtis, I can’t explain it right now, but I really need your help.’
‘Why don’t you call the police?’
Good question. ‘They won’t believe me.’ The truth is that I don’t want any of my colleagues to find me. Not in this situation. Not like this, not with the bulge of my stoma bag sticking out under my shirt. I have emptied it and closed the hole with plasters I found in the bathroom, but I doubt it will hold as long as I need it to. And I am too dammed proud and have too much dignity to face any of my colleagues, and to have to listen to muttered voices and laughter behind my back.
‘What makes you think that I will believe you?’
‘Because you saw those men. You know they were there. They were watching our apartment building. You know that. You said so yourself.’
I glance at James’s wristwatch. ‘At this moment I have no time to explain everything, but I need to be in Treliske in about one and a half hour’s time.’
‘Do you have a doctor’s appointment?’ He sounds like it may be the only reason why he would come and get me.
‘Not exactly with my consultant,’ I reply truthfully. ‘But there is …’
‘A psychiatrist?’ he insists.
‘No, but I’m …’
The young woman has picked up her little boy. He has fallen and is crying, a red graze on one of his knees. The man is turning away from the gate. His body language is telling me that he is arguing with someone on the phone. I can hardly believe he is backing of.
‘No Mr Curtis. I have a friend who is seriously ill in hospital. Today is her birthday and I promised the nurses I’d take her a birthday cake.’
‘Oh. Okay.’ It is clearly not the answer he expected, but it increases my credibility and his curiosity.
‘They’re leaving,’ James’s wife announces, relieved, nodding her head as her world begins to return to normal. She flicks the button on the kettle and for the first time she looks straight into my eyes. ‘Coffee?’
‘That would be lovely.’
‘I would be really grateful if you could come and fetch me, Mr Curtis.
‘Okay Mr Tregunna. I must admit I am rather more curious than kind. After all, that noise you made kept me awake half the night, but I guess I don’t understand how you young people live. Everything is so different from when I was young.’
‘Yes.’ I still haven’t a clue what he is talking about, but the best option right now is to agree with everything he says.
‘I will explain everything on the way home, Mr Curtis, I promise.’
He takes the bait without hesitation. ‘Okay then. Tell me where you are.’
Helpfully James hands me a brochure of the company that manages the holiday lets and I read the details out loud, imagining the expression on Mr Curtis’s face.
‘All right then. But I’d like you to apologize for the noise last night.’
‘I’m sorry if you thought that the music was …’
‘Music?’ He chuckles. ‘Believe you me, Mr Tregunna, even loud music would have been better than having to listen to your neighbour making love to his girlfriend all night long!’
37
‘How will you get to Truro?’ Curtis asks practically, frowning but with an unexpected sparkle in his eyes.
‘Good question.’
He has parked his car in its usual space and it has just dawned on me what it means to have lost my keys. It’s one thing that I can’t get into my house but I’m more concerned that I can’t have a quick wash and change. In the worst case scenario I can visit the stoma nurses tucked away in a backroom in the Treliske tower block, but I also need a shave. Brush my teeth. Clean clothes.
‘I can drive you to the hospital,’ he suggests, probably thinking about my offer to reimburse his fuel costs. Or perhaps I am reading him wrong.
‘That’s very kind of you, but …’ I stop. I have this habit of not locking my car overnight. There is an emergency kit for my stoma bag in it.
‘… I need to change first.’ I don’t think he knows about my condition and I won’t fill him in unless it’s necessary.
‘I think you do,’ he nods, more honest than helpful to my self-confidence.
‘I guess I can help you with a shirt, but my trousers will be too short for you.’ And probably too wide, I think to myself.
‘You can’t go to a birthday party in the state you are,’ Curtis continues, sniffing and making me feel even worse. ‘Come on, old chap.’
He makes it sound as though we are planning a secret schoolboy’s prank, putting glue on the teacher’s seat, adding salt to a cup of tea or putting worms in someone’s lunchbox.
He makes tea and toast as I use his bathroom and put on a shirt that is too wide around the neck. When I come back into his kitchen crammed with crockery and unused utensils, he sits at the kitchen table waiting with two steaming mugs on a tray, apologising that he doesn’t have any biscuits as he decided long ago that was a luxury one can live without.
We sit facing each other, nursing our hot drinks, me wanting the warmth to seep back into my body. When I open my mouth, he speaks first. ‘You should have paid more attention. You didn’t believe me when I told you it was suspicious. Dangerous.’
‘You are right,’ I say obligingly.
He finishes his tea. ‘So we are off to the hospital now?’ he asks, cheerful as though we’re off on a school trip.
‘If you don’t mind.’
‘Of course not.’ He gestures round, his mouth twisted in a piteous expression. ‘I’ve got nothing else to do that is more important.’
‘We will need to pick someone up.’
He frowns. Then nods approvingly. ‘Good that you’ve found a gir
lfriend, Mr Tregunna.’
‘Lauren isn’t …’
‘Of course not. Shall we go? I’ll need some petrol for my car. Ehm … would you mind…?’
‘I have no money on me, Mr Curtis, but I will pay you back, I promise. As soon as we come back, I will sort things out with my bank. I’ll need new keys for the front door and …’
‘Perhaps you’ll need a new lock as well,’ he says pragmatically. ‘If they still have your keys, they may come back.’
It hasn’t even occurred to me that they might. Hiding my shameful smile, I look away and ask if he’s got a telephone directory. Unsurprisingly, he has one and I dial Lauren’s number.
‘I’m a bit late, Lauren. But I’ll be on my way in a minute. Eh … I’m with Mr Curtis.’ I explain that I have lost my car keys and my neighbour has kindly offered to drive us to Treliske. Her replies are curt and clipped. The idea of having Curtis for company doesn’t appeal to her and I have the feeling that she will opt out if I add something like ‘unless you’d rather not come.’
‘What time will you be here then?’
Spot on ten minutes later, Curtis drops me at her house and we stand awkwardly on the pavement waiting for him to come back from refuelling his car.
‘Is something wrong, Lauren?’
‘No.’ Her answer is too curt.
‘Have I done or said something to upset you?’
A blush of pink spreads up her neck, bright red spots on her cheeks. Her eyes are like daggers as she looks at me with a mixture of anger and despair. ‘I tried to ring you a couple of times last night,’ she says, her words clipped and tight, the bitter accusation barely hidden.
She looks as if she’s unsure whether to slap me in the face or start to cry. I can see her chest rising and falling with the effort of controlling her anger.
‘I was going to tell you what happened last night,’ I say miserably, realising that she has drawn her own conclusions and it is too late to set things right.
‘You don’t have to,’ she replies sharply.
‘I was abducted by two men.’
‘I have no right …’ she stops mid-sentence, eyes wide in disbelief. ‘You what?’
‘I thought you wouldn’t believe me.’
‘That’s right.’ She turns on her heels and marches to the door, taking her keys from her handbag. I feel like she’s walking out of my life and I know it would be my own fault. I haven’t been honest with her. I tend to tell her half truths, just because I am too scared to let her come too close – and then lose her again.
‘I tried to call you, but I got your answer machine,’ she says when I catch up with her.
‘I wasn’t at home, Lauren.’
She doesn’t listen.
‘Several times I called you because I didn’t know what time we were supposed to go to the hospital and I needed to make arrangements for the boys in case we would be back later than I expected.’ She stops to take a deep breath. ‘You didn’t answer.’
‘They took my phone.’
Still she doesn’t listen. ‘Except for one time,’ she continues, staring at me with big eyes and a very pale face. ‘Only one time I got connected,’ she continues with a flat voice, her face stony. ‘A woman answered. She said “Sorry, but he’s not available for you at this moment”. And then she laughed as though …’
‘A woman?’
‘She didn’t say who she was. And I didn’t ask.’
I fall silent. Two men abducted me. Carter’s men. They took my wallet and keys. And my phone. Someone answered. A woman. Who is also involved in my kidnapping? Not Mrs Carter. I can’t believe she’s got anything to do with this. Not her. She is too … posh, well groomed. Siobhan? No, she’s only a very young vulnerable teenager.
Lauren’s mood lifts as she accepts with a smile Mr Curtis’s courteous bow and kiss on her hand. However liberated and opinionated about women’s rights she is, she’s pleased by such conventional courtesy.
She notices the scratches on the back of my hand. ‘What happened?’
‘It’s a long story.’ She notices my dismissive tone.
‘He was kidnapped,’ Curtis announces cheerfully, as if it’s all one big joke. ‘Would you believe it?’
I wouldn’t. Nor does Lauren.
Curtis is holding open the car door for her, another small courtesy which I seldom bother to extend. ‘Kidnapped?’ she asks, incredulously, turning towards me, searching my face, hoping that I will laugh about Curtis’s joke. I can’t.
‘Andy will tell you everything about it,’ Curtis continues, looking at me expectantly. But my mood has changed at the prospect of having to meet Dorothy Trewoon and I keep quiet.
We drive in silence, each of us occupied with our own thoughts. I can’t deny that Curtis tried his best with old-fashioned jokes but Lauren only smiles faintly and I can’t even force myself to listen. In the end he turns on the radio and the car fills with classical music. It is loud and melancholy, and too depressing for my taste, but he doesn’t seem to care. When we reach Treliske, Curtis drives into the main car park and finds a space almost next to the entrance of the hospital. Some people are always lucky. I am very tempted to ask him to wait in the car, but Lauren, reading my thoughts, shakes her head and picks up the plastic bag containing a big chocolate birthday cake and two bunches of flowers. One from me and one from her, the argument being that one bouquet wouldn’t be sufficient for the birthday celebration of a pretty young woman. As if to confirm her point, despite telling him he needn’t to come in with us, Curtis buys a bouquet in the hospital shop and tucks it under his arm with the determination of someone who can’t be persuaded to stay behind.
It’s a bit too early for visitors and our footsteps echo off the walls. Nurses push medicine trolleys with boxes of pills, checking the clipboards at the foot of each bed before handing out tiny beakers with the precise amount of pills to each patient. Volunteers push similar trolleys with mugs and thermos flasks to serve coffee and tea. A group of young doctors go from patient to patient, studying the clipboards, exchanging comments with each other in terms which the lay person would not understand. Dr Elliott is one of them. He smiles and nods, recognising me, and gesturing that he will join us later. The fact that he will, puts a small lump in my throat.
The door of Becca’s room is slightly ajar. I hear murmured voices.
A man in a dark suit is sitting on a solitary plastic chair outside the door to Becca’s room. Looking bored, he rises to his feet as we approach, squinting against the light shining on the linoleum floor. He is stiff and awkward.
‘Sorry. You can’t come in here,’ he says bluntly, stretching himself up to his full height and giving us a very serious look. ‘Please enquire at the desk for the person you wish to visit.’
‘We are here to see Becca Trewoon. It’s her birthday.’
He doesn’t move. ‘And your name is?’
My ID card is in my wallet. In the possession of my abductors. It’s starting to feel more like a conspiracy to keep me away from celebrating the birthday of a young woman who doesn’t even recognise the world around her.
‘I am Detective Inspector Tregunna. I have organised this little … party.’
‘We have a birthday cake,’ Curtis says, pointing at the plastic bag dangling from Lauren’s hand.
‘You are?’
‘Harradine Curtis.’ His shoulders are square with pride as he produces his driver’s licence with a flourish as if to convey his importance. The man barely looks at the little pink card that shows Mr Curtis as he was years ago: with a tuft of blonde hair and a happy smile across his face.
‘Are you here because … Dorothy is here?’ I ask.
‘Yes sir.’ He smiles faintly. ‘We are … accompanying Mrs Trewoon on this occasion so that she can be present at her daughter’s birthday.’ I stiffen. I open my mouth to correct him: Dorothy is not Becca’s mother, but her sister. In fact, she is both.
The door opens and a nurse appears. Mirabelle. ‘Oh
, there you are Mr Tregunna. We’re waiting for the cake.’ She grins. The guard shrugs and sits down as if defeated by a superior.
There are dozens of silver and other brightly coloured balloons tied to the head and foot of Becca’s bed. Some hang steady in the air, held up by helium gas, others move gently in the faint breeze that comes from an air-conditioning outlet in the ceiling.
Plastic seats and uncomfortable tripod stools are arranged around the bed as if it’s been set up as a stage for some kind of act. I count at least half a dozen people in the room but the first face that catches my eye is that of Dorothy Trewoon. Close enough to the bed to make me want to pull her away immediately, she sits between two other guards, a tall and muscular man who would have a fair chance of being on TV to compete as the strongest man in Britain, and a tiny, skinny woman with eagle eyes and a hooked nose. Not strong but mean.
‘Andy!’ For an instant I believe it’s Becca calling my name and I am perplexed, shocked by the possibility that she has suddenly come out of the coma.
‘Andy! Inspector!’ Dorothy almost jumps to her feet, smiling with a mixture of triumph and an emotion that I would be inclined to call suppressed hatred or disgust. ‘I didn’t expect to see you today!’ she exclaims with a strange flicker in her eyes.
I take a deep breath, steadying myself. ‘Why not?’
She smiles slyly, recognising my feelings and pitying me for them. ‘You blame me for what happened.’
‘I do, but let’s …’
‘You know I never meant to hurt her.’
I ignore her. Lauren stiffens beside me and Mr Curtis’s eyes shift back and forth as if he’s lost control over their movements, meanwhile trying to work out the relationships and underlying currents of emotion.
We put our flowers in glass vases and add our cards to the board behind the bed. Nurses and doctors flock in. I wonder if they have just come in for a short break in their busy daily routine or for a piece of cake. Does it matter? The main thing is that Becca is certainly not forgotten on her birthday. We’re here for her today and I know she’d be pleased if she could see or hear us – or even be aware of us. Which I start doubting more and more. The bleeps and lines on the monitor don’t change. Her breathing is shallow but steady. At no point does her heart rate increase, let alone jump around. Not even when Dorothy bends over to kiss her to wish her a happy birthday and whispers something in her ear. I try to hear what she says, but Dorothy smiles secretively when she straightens up and our eyes meet.
What every body is saying: DI Tregunna Cornish Crime novel Page 26
