Requiem for a Dealer

by Jo Bannister

  Voss shrugged. ‘It seems quite likely, doesn’t it? Maybe she’ll be able to tell us when she comes round. If she comes round.’

  Daniel winced. ‘There’s some doubt about it?’

  ‘Oh yes. She took a lethal dose. What we don’t know yet is whether they got the treatment started in time.’

  Daniel shook his head in disbelief. He’d worried, at the time and since, that he might have cracked her ribs. It never occurred to him that two days later she could be dying. It seemed it wasn’t his fault; but simply being Daniel was enough to make him feel guilty. ‘Who is she?’

  Voss told him what he knew. ‘She doesn’t actually live in Dimmock. She was staying at a friend’s house.’

  ‘What does the friend have to say about all this?’

  ‘Not a lot. She’s in Australia – Alison was house-sitting for her. So far as the friend or the neighbours know she was staying there alone. She wasn’t dressed for partying – the same dark riding mac she was wearing when you knocked her down, jeans and a sweatshirt underneath. She wasn’t a habitual drug user so she must have had something special in mind last night. It’s hard to be sure but it could have been a suicide attempt.’

  Daniel let out a long, soft sigh. ‘Her whole damn family’s suicidal.’

  Voss blinked. ‘What makes you say that? Do you know her?’

  ‘No. It’s what she said to me. When she thought I was trying to kill her. She said I should blame her for the accident – the police would believe me because you thought her whole damn family was suicidal.’

  ‘It sounds like there’s a family history,’ said Voss. To him it was sounding more like suicide all the time.

  Not to Daniel. ‘No, that’s not what she was saying. She was saying – I think she was saying – you’d written something off as suicide when it wasn’t. Something had happened to someone in her family, the police had thought it was suicide but she didn’t. And now something else has happened, and she’s in hospital and maybe she’s never going to wake up. That can’t be a coincidence.’

  He had Voss’s full attention. ‘You think someone fed her those tablets? Knowing what the result would be?’

  ‘How would I know?’ shrugged Daniel. ‘But if I was the investigating officer I’d want to rule out the possibility before I did anything else. If she took them herself, that’s stupidity. If they were forced on her, that’s attempted murder.’

  ‘It’s not impossible.’ Every detective is aware that a proportion of drug deaths are not the result of self-administration: what no one can judge is how high a proportion. The other thing every detective knows is that, usually, what appears to have happened is what happened. ‘But she thought you were trying to kill her and you weren’t. Maybe she’s just a disturbed young woman suffering from paranoid fantasies who’d finally had enough of the chaos inside her head.’

  It made sense: almost enough for Daniel to stop beating himself up over it. If she was out of control when she ran in front of the car it wouldn’t have mattered who was behind the wheel. In fact, a better driver would have been going faster and probably killed her outright. ‘She just seemed so angry.’

  ‘People who’re suicidal often are.’

  Daniel nodded sombrely. ‘Thanks for coming round, Charlie. I don’t know if all this makes it better or worse, but at least I don’t have to wonder what happened to her any more.’

  Voss nodded. ‘The accident was nothing to do with you. You were just in the wrong place at the wrong time.’

  ‘I’m having that engraved on my tombstone,’ said Daniel glumly.

  ‘They think my whole damn family’s suicidal.’

  ‘Sorry?’ Brodie closed the door of Paddy’s room to a crack and went on standing there, listening for any sound of bedclothes being tented, torches lit and books opened. Now the child could read she thought bed-times applied to other people.

  ‘That’s what she said. Alison Barker – the girl I ran down. She said the police would believe it was an accident because they thought her entire family was suicidal.’

  ‘I wish you wouldn’t say that,’ Brodie said irritably. ‘You didn’t run anybody down. She ran into us. Then she got up again and ran off, and the following night she took enough rocket-fuel to put herself into orbit. Why is that anything to do with us?’

  ‘I’m not saying it is,’ said Daniel. ‘It’s just – why would she say that?’

  Brodie’s attention was still on the darkened room beyond the cracked-open door. ‘What?’

  ‘It makes no sense. Not if she thought it was my fault, and not if she was trying to top herself.’ Daniel wasn’t very good at slang. He was always out of date. ‘She thought I tried to run her down. And she thought the police wouldn’t take it seriously because of something else that had happened. Something they’d decided was suicide. But she didn’t. She thought it was …’ He heard where he was going with this and stopped.

  Brodie gave up listening at the door and came and sat on the sofa, facing him. ‘Murder,’ she said quietly.

  ‘What?’

  ‘If she thinks the police wrote it off as suicide and she thought it was more serious than that, there’s really only one thing that qualifies. Murder.’

  ‘That’s what I came up with too,’ he admitted.

  ‘Thinking it doesn’t mean she was right.’

  ‘But thinking it means she’s in trouble.’

  Brodie was troubled too: she knew what he was doing. ‘Half the world’s in one sort of trouble or another. It doesn’t all have to be your problem. Let it go.’

  ‘She could be in danger.’

  ‘She’s in hospital, with healthcare professionals clustered round her like flies. When she wakes up the police will ask her what happened. If she has anything to tell them, that’s her chance.’

  Brodie made some coffee. She offered to run him home but Daniel preferred to walk. As she saw him out he hesitated on the front step. ‘You didn’t.’

  He’d lost her again. ‘Didn’t what?’

  ‘Let it go. When I was in hospital surrounded by professionals. What happened to me was nothing to do with you, but you didn’t leave me to deal with it alone.’

  These days they hardly talked about how they’d met. But neither had forgotten. It was like a volcano in the background: on a nice day it was just part of the scenery, but its mere existence cast a long shadow. Brodie said softly, ‘What happened to you was something to do with me.’

  He shook his yellow head stubbornly. ‘It wasn’t your fault I got hurt. You were doing your job: you had no way of knowing what it would lead to.’

  ‘I took money to find you for a man who was prepared to kill you and almost did,’ Brodie said plainly. ‘I believed the story I was told. I didn’t know I was being used. But I should have.’

  ‘That’s hindsight talking. Maybe you made a mistake, but it was an honest one. I never blamed you for what happened. Not then and not since.’ He looked at her with wrenching honesty. ‘What I remember is that when I woke up, with no idea what had happened to me or why, you were there. And you stayed with me until I got some sort of a grip on reality. I know it wasn’t easy, that it would have been less painful to leave it to the professionals. But you were my lifeline, Brodie. You kept me sane. That’s what I remember.’

  Tears pricked her eyes. His generosity flayed her, no less now than two years ago, and more rather than less because it was absolutely sincere. That was how he felt. That what he’d gained from knowing her was worth more than what he’d lost: several days, a lot of skin, a lot of blood, and the chance of ever feeling entirely safe again.

  She touched the back of his wrist with her fingertips. ‘Then maybe you should do what I did. Go and say sorry. Even if you’re not quite sure what for. Even if there’s not much chance of her hearing you.’ She flashed him a quick, brilliant smile. ‘Especially if there’s not much chance of her hearing you.’

  Daniel’s face lightened too. ‘Yes, I’m sorry about that. I imagine it fairly put
you off your stride when I opened my eyes.’

  ‘I thought you were at death’s door. I only went to see you because I thought I could apologise without having to explain.’

  ‘Sorry,’ Daniel said again.

  Chapter Four

  Due to circumstances beyond his control, Daniel was well known at Dimmock General. It bought him a certain amount of licence. When he shyly explained the reason for his visit, expecting – perhaps even hoping – to be shown the door, one of the nurses took him to Intensive Care. Alison Barker was in an end bed. She didn’t look as if she’d moved since Voss’s photograph was taken.

  ‘Five minutes,’ murmured the nurse. ‘And if anyone asks, you’re a relative.’

  Now he was here there was really nothing Daniel wanted to say to the girl. If she’d been awake he might have gently questioned her – about what she’d said, about what tragedies had befallen her. But she was comatose, and it didn’t take a toxicologist to know she was nowhere near ready to wake up yet. Her face was grey, sweat beading the brow where the long brown hair was scraped back. Her eyelids looked bruised. A drip ran clear liquid into a vein inside her elbow and a plastic tube was trickle-feeding her oxygen. Somehow these vital, life-saving pieces of equipment turned her from a deeply vulnerable human being into an object, part of the hospital machinery. It seemed absurd even trying to speak to her.

  But getting him in here had been a kindness and Daniel didn’t want the nurses to wonder why they’d bothered. So he pulled a chair up to the foot of the bed and sat down, feeling vaguely ridiculous, hoping no one he knew would see him. He waited the five minutes he’d been given, then – with a sense of relief – got up to go.

  A woman was watching from behind the glass screen. Daniel’s heart tripped as if he’d been caught out in something improper. He thought the woman was Alison Barker’s mother, that she’d been told he was a relative too and knew it was a lie. She must wonder who the hell he was and what he was doing here that needed disguising behind a falsehood.

  In the circumstances he couldn’t pass her without speaking. ‘I’m sorry if I held you up. I met Alison a few days ago. When I heard she was in here I came to see how she was.’

  ‘And how is she?’

  The least frown gathered Daniel’s light brows. Clearly he’d misunderstood: whoever the woman was, that wasn’t something Alison’s mother would say. ‘I don’t really know,’ he answered honestly. ‘She’s still unconscious. Er – I’m Daniel Hood.’

  ‘Mary Walbrook. Ally’s father was my business partner.’

  Daniel looked around. ‘Is he here?’

  The woman shook her head. She was a small, neat individual in a well-tailored coat and high heels. He put her in her early forties. ‘Stanley is dead,’ she said plainly. ‘Ally has no family left. That’s why I’m here. I thought she might need some things – clothes, toiletries. I wasn’t sure there was anyone else she could ask.’

  ‘How did you know she was here?’

  ‘The police called. My number’s on her phone.’ Mary Walbrook’s keen, intelligent eyes were openly assessing him. ‘So you and Ally had barely met but still you’re here at ten o’clock on a Thursday morning when most people are otherwise engaged. What are you, the new boyfriend?’

  ‘Hardly. When I say we met I mean literally for five minutes. She … I …’ The woman’s gaze was tripping him, making him stumble. ‘She ran out in front of my car. I hit her. I didn’t think she was hurt, but when she ended up in here …’

  ‘I was told she’d taken drugs.’

  There was something about Mary Walbrook that reminded Daniel of Brodie. Not physically: she was smaller, less striking and ten years older than his friend. But there was a directness in her manner that probably came from the same place Brodie got hers: the knowledge of what she was worth in every sense including financially. Mary Walbrook was another businesswoman, another head of her household, another mover and shaker.

  ‘I was told that too,’ he said. ‘I suppose I wanted to be sure it wasn’t my fault she was here.’

  ‘And are you? Sure?’

  It wasn’t exactly aggressive, the way she addressed him. It wasn’t exactly rude. It was as if she was probing him for weaknesses before deciding what kind of label to slap on him. Daniel thought she’d got her work cut out. ‘Yes. That doesn’t mean I don’t care what happens to her.’

  When Mary Walbrook smiled you could almost hear the crash of boots as the palace guard went from Attention to At Ease. The sculpted planes of her face relaxed and the sharpness went from her eyes. Her voice dropped half a tone and lost its edge. ‘Good. Ally could do with a friend. Before, but especially now.’

  Daniel wanted to ask about Alison Barker, was looking for an excuse to stay until Mary Walbrook’s visit was complete. But she just looked at the girl in the bed and shook her head. ‘She’s not going to want any clothes today, is she? I’ll come back tomorrow.’

  Daniel fell into step beside her as she headed for the exit. Her stride was shorter than Brodie’s too, and he didn’t have to tilt his head to talk to her. ‘Have you come far?’

  ‘Peyton Parvo. About half an hour. You?’

  ‘I live on the seafront.’ He smiled. ‘It takes me about half an hour too.’

  She stared at him. ‘You walked?’

  ‘Last time I drove a car I knocked someone down,’ he said ruefully.

  ‘I’ll drop you off.’ It wasn’t an offer so much as a statement.

  ‘It’s out of your way.’

  ‘It’s five minutes out of my way. It’s of no consequence.’

  Daniel went to thumb for the lift but the woman was already halfway down the stairs. He trotted after her. ‘Can you tell me about Alison? What sort of person she is, what sort of life she leads. I suppose, what got her into this situation.’

  Mary stopped on a middle step and fixed him with her gaze. Her bright hazel eyes were indignant. ‘Why should I tell you anything about Alison? What entitles you to know things about her that she hasn’t chosen to tell you?’

  She was right, of course. Embarrassed, Daniel nodded. ‘I’m sorry, I don’t mean to pry. Well, actually I suppose I do mean to pry, but only in the hope I can help. When we met she said …some things. I know, she’d just bounced off a car, she probably wasn’t thinking too clearly, but she believed someone was trying to hurt her. Could she be right? Has something happened that would make her think that?’

  Mary took a deep breath and walked on, more slowly than before. ‘Mr Hood, you’ve come in at the tail-end of a family tragedy. Ally’s been through hell these last few months, it’s no wonder she’s paranoid. She lost everything that mattered to her - her father, her job, her horses, her home. And then she pretty much lost touch with reality as well. Whatever she said to you, it would be a kindness to forget it.’

  ‘What happened?’

  For a moment she debated whether to tell him. Then she did. ‘We had a run of bad luck. We almost lost the yard. Stanley and I were partners in a bloodstock dealership. Horses,’ she said in plain English, seeing his confusion. ‘Ally worked with us, on the yard and as our show rider. It was an advertisement for us and an opportunity for her. But when the bailiffs came knocking we had to sell everything that was worth money. Keeping the jumpers was a luxury we could no longer afford. The Barkers’ house and my cottage went as well. The yard pulled through, but only just.’

  ‘She must have been very upset.’

  ‘Of course she was,’ said Mary sharply, ‘she’d been very successful with those horses. She was being considered for the British show-jumping team. And she’d done it all herself with just some promising young horses that came onto a dealer’s yard. Now other people were going to benefit from her work and her skill, and even the money was owed elsewhere – she didn’t see a penny of it. Of course she was upset. But she knew it was necessary. She’d have done anything for her father, the way he’d always done everything for her.’

  ‘And then he died?’

&nb
sp; ‘Yes. She gave up her career for Stanley and then Stanley died. Three months ago. She was inconsolable. I was afraid for her sanity. And I suppose’ – she glanced back the way they’d come – ‘I was right.’

  ‘It makes sense to you, then,’ said Daniel. ‘That she’d take an overdose.’

  Mary Walbrook sighed. ‘I’m afraid it does, Mr Hood. The state she’s been in the last few weeks I’ve kept waiting for the phone to ring. It was no surprise at all when the police called me.’

  Daniel was nodding slowly. ‘What about her mother? Does she know what’s happened?’

  ‘Ally’s mother died when she was three. A brain tumour. It was always Ally and Stanley, as far back as she could remember. Now she’s alone.’

  ‘She must have friends?’

  ‘She had friends,’ agreed Mary. ‘Six months ago she was on the crest of a wave and she had a lot of friends. When the yard got into trouble, suddenly she hadn’t quite as many. None of us had. When she lost the horses a few more disappeared. But her real friends, the ones who cared about her, hung on in there until she made it impossible for them. She was crazy after Stanley’s death, thrashing around looking for someone to blame. People tried to help her – she wouldn’t let them. She flung wild accusations at everyone. One by one she exhausted their sympathy. Her behaviour caused a lot of hurt. In the end people walked away. There’s only so much abuse anyone’s prepared to take.’

  Daniel gave a sombre smile. ‘So why are you here?’

  The woman chuckled. ‘Because if we’re not exactly family we nearly are, and family can’t cut and run when the going gets tough. I knew what she was going through, I made allowances for it. Somehow we managed to stay on speaking terms after Stanley’s death. Until just now I thought I was the only person left who cared what became of her.’