Killing Joe

by Marie Treanor

  “You find that difficult to believe?”

  “Impossible, actually.”

  “Why? You are a beautiful girl and when I’m not wearing overalls, I’m reasonably presentable.”

  “You’re pretty presentable without them, too,” she retorted, then flushed with embarrassment. His dark eyes glinted acknowledgement, but before he could say anything, she rushed into speech herself.

  “But you’re avoiding the question. How long have you been watching me?”

  He shrugged. “A couple of days.”

  “But why?”

  “You don’t want to know.”

  “Oh trust me, I do!”

  “Then let’s say I don’t want to tell you.”

  “Why not?” she flashed back.

  He hesitated. “Because it’s got nothing to do with this weird situation.” His eyes fell. “And because, for once, I nee— like the company.”

  She stared at him. His vulnerability was suddenly terrifying, because it gave credence to her own impossible suspicion. “You think I’ll leave you to your fate if you tell me? Is it really that bad?”

  “Yes.”

  “You’re a man of few words, aren’t you?”

  He didn’t say anything at all to that, so with conscious courage she asked, “What exactly do you think your fate is, Joe? The one I would leave you to?”

  He looked up at the light bulb, as if deliberately dazzling himself. “Hell.” His lips twisted. “Not the fiery hell children are taught about in school—or at least in the schools I went to. My hell is continually reliving—re-dying—in car crashes.”

  Her throat tightened unbearably. Oh Jesus, Jesus, we both believe the same thing… And her own doubts, her own sanity, counted for nothing beside his pain. Instinctively, she leaned over and with a feeling of great daring put both her arms around his broad, strong shoulders.

  Damn it, feel sorry for yourself!

  His body was unyielding, hard as she’d known it would be, but warm, strangely exciting. She pressed her cheek to his shoulder, knowing somehow that it was sheer surprise that held him so rigid. He wasn’t used to being embraced for reasons of comfort.

  “You really believe you deserve to suffer such a punishment? Joe, no one is that bad, no one…”

  He jerked in her hold. “You don’t have a clue, do you?” The words burst out of him with violence, frightening her all over again. Panicked, she pulled back, but his arms lifted suddenly, seizing her, holding her hard against his chest, his hand tangling in her hair to keep her still. “You really have no idea what people do to each other, for no reason worth a damn…”

  Her heart thundered. Behind the fear came a hot, leaping surge of desire. She whispered, “What was done to you?”

  “Done to me? Nothing I haven’t given back worse. I’m not the victim here.”

  His fingers in her hair, fisting, made her every nerve tingle with warning as well as excitement. Twisting her head in his hold, she gazed up into his face, absorbing each tiny line around his dark, almond-shaped eyes, every crease in his forehead, the texture of his lips suddenly so close to hers that her stomach began to burn. His eyes, the cold, opaque eyes that she was sure never let anyone in, were suddenly a maelstrom you could drown in.

  She said, “If your—soul—is trapped inside a crash test dummy, then victim’s exactly what you are.”

  “I don’t do victim,” he said savagely, and kissed her mouth before she could draw breath.

  It was rough, bruising, his purpose to shut her up, even punish her for her unacceptable view of him. Knowing it, she slid her hands up over his thickly muscled arms to his shoulders and pushed. It was like shoving at a mountain. Truly panicked now, she tried to speak under his mouth, but the movement of her lips only excited him to delve deeper. While his big hand held her head steady, his tongue, strong and insistent, swept around her mouth, pressing behind her teeth as if to pull her closer.

  Bombarded, devoured, Anna could do nothing but let him. Yet as soon as she relaxed, sensation flooded her, sweet and raging. Her whole body burned, the fire spreading from her mouth to her groin, devastating her. She was so wet she could feel it on her thighs. And suddenly his motive didn’t matter. She’d had sex while less turned on than this.

  Faintly, almost shyly at first, she moved her lips under his, dared to touch his tongue with hers, caress it, and then she was kissing him back fully, passionately, and his arms tightened, pressing her breasts to his chest. She clung around his neck, exploring his mouth with the same urgency he did hers, shivering with delight as his hand caressed her back, her waist, the curve of her hip, then slid up her side and over the curve of her breast.

  The pleasure of that made her moan into his mouth. His hand moved, softly kneading, until his palm discovered her rigid, pleading nipple pressing through her shirt. And as abruptly as he’d seized her, he released her mouth.

  Her glasses had steamed up. Deftly, he removed them, and his eyes, hot and clouded, stared into hers. Slowly, unable to help it, she touched his face with her fingertips, the lean line of his jaw, the hollows of his cheeks, the corners of his lips.

  He spoke with fierce triumph. “You want me.”

  Softly, she kissed the corner of his mouth, brushed her lips across his. “Yes,” she whispered. “But I know you don’t want me.”

  He took one of her hands, placed it palm downward on his crotch and held it there. Beneath the fabric of the overall, his cock stood out huge and hard. She could feel the heated veins under her fingers, rigid like ribs. A fresh flood of moisture pooled between her thighs, and she licked her dry, trembling lips. More than anything, she wanted to feel him inside her, moving, thrusting. It would be better than with anyone before, or anyone after. She just knew it.

  He said, “That’s how much I don’t want you.”

  She smiled a little tremulously. “You want sex. To lose all this crap for a few moments. I’m just here.”

  His brows drew together. He regarded her with his head slightly on one side, curiosity overlaying the heavy desire. “You really think I’m better than you, don’t you? And anyway, who’s rejecting who, exactly?”

  Rejection. She wasn’t used to it, because she never offered. Had she just offered herself to him, or rejected him? It didn’t matter. He’d achieved his end—he’d shut her up and changed the subject.

  She slid her hand out from under his and drew back. This time he let her. But she felt his gaze on her, steady, almost—fascinated.

  He said, “I’ve never been with a woman as beautiful as you.”

  Pushing back her hair, she paused, startled, not so much by his words—people say anything for any number of reasons—but by his simple sincerity. She knew she wasn’t beautiful, never had been. It didn’t matter to her. And yet his words warmed her to the soul.

  She said, “You really think I’m better than you, don’t you?”

  A choke of something like laughter caught at his breath. “Anna Baird, I know it.”

  He lay back, letting his head fall against the wall behind him, and closed his eyes.

  “Are you ill again?” Anna asked, alarmed.

  He shook his head. “No, I don’t think so. Just tired.” He opened his eyes and looked at her. “I’ve had a busy day.”

  A shaky laugh broke out without her permission. “No shit.”

  “Maybe that’s it now. Maybe I’ve died enough. Maybe you were sent to show me…other possibilities. And now I’m dying for the last time.”

  She moved closer to him, taking his hands, pressing them. “Are you?” she whispered. Somewhere in their encounter, her doubts had disintegrated; the impossible had become truth.

  It was unbearable that he should die now, and yet she could wish him nothing greater than peace, release from this awful torment…

  “I don’t know. Have to sleep. Anna…”

  “Yes?”

  “Nothing.” His fingers pressed hers and released them.

  He wouldn’t ask. She wanted to
weep because of that. Instead, she laid her head on his chest and put her arms around him. After a moment, his own arms came up and held her to him. She closed her eyes, and tried to pray. But her belief in God had long gone and whatever was going on now confused rather than resolved the issue. She could only repeat in her head, “Care for him, please care for him…” until the rhythm of the words became lost in her breathing and his, and gradually, with him, she fell asleep.

  Chapter Three

  As she always did on beginning her night shift at Edinburgh’s Royal Infirmary, Dr. Helen Scott made a brief personal round of all her patients. At her first stop, the new arrival, she found a nurse already there, changing the catheter.

  “Still no signs of consciousness?” she asked, approaching the bed. The nurse shook her head.

  The patient—Joseph Lopez according to her clipboard—lay quite still on his back. A man in the prime of his life, once strong and vigorous, now as helpless as a baby. A few cuts littered his face and hands, but the major injuries were unseen—broken ribs, damaged internal organs, severe brain trauma. He was fast slipping into a coma. The only wonder was that he still lived.

  “Has his family been informed?”

  “The police are looking for them. Apparently he’s a foreign visitor though, so they’re having to go through the American Consulate. What do you think, Doctor?”

  Helen looked at the recorded brain activity. It had almost stopped altogether twice during the day. Then there had seemed to be a bit of a recovery this evening—his brain was certainly busy on something, but clearly he had never woken up to tell them what.

  Peeling back the bottom of the bed clothes, Helen scratched his toes. “Can you hear me, Joseph? Joseph, wiggle your toes for me, open your eyes. Time to wake up now.”

  She spoke briskly, making her voice as penetrating and annoying as possible. The young nurse looked slightly shocked, but Helen’s prime concern was to bring her patient back. Whoever he was. Unfortunately, she suspected he was already too far gone.

  ***

  Anna woke to cold and discomfort. Opening her eyes to the unforgiving glare of the light bulb, she felt momentarily disoriented. Memory returned like a blow, churning her stomach with a massive mixture of excitement and despair. Levering herself up, she realized she’d been lying with her head pillowed on the chest of the crash test dummy.

  Just the crash test dummy. Its plastic skin had made her cheek sweat. Wiping her hand absently across her damp face, she gazed down at the dummy’s blank, vacant head. There was nothing to show Joe had ever been there.

  Joe… She touched her lips, vividly recalling the feel of his kiss. Bittersweet—that’s what people said—just didn’t cover it.

  Reaching down, she touched the cold, plastic face. “Rest in peace, Joe,” she whispered. For an instant, she dropped her forehead on to the dummy’s, but it didn’t make her feel better. There was nothing of Joe there. It was just a dummy.

  She sat up, shivering, looking for her glasses. Putting them on, she glanced at the overall she had given Joe. It lay on the ground in a heap, as if it had been dropped. The dummy was as naked as she and the technicians had left it this afternoon. Slowly, she stretched out and picked it up. It was cold, too. As if it had never known the heat of his body. Gone so quickly…

  Anna glanced at her watch. It was after ten o’clock. She wondered when he’d finally died, was just glad if her presence had given him any comfort. It had always seemed awful to her to die alone.

  Standing, she shook out the overall and folded it, stepping over the whisky bottle to get to the shelf. He’d never touched his drink. She’d knocked back two stiff ones on an empty stomach. She could feel it now in the dryness of her tongue.

  “Mouth like a badger’s bum,” Helen used to complain after a night out with her fellow medical students. Stupid expression, but it felt curiously apt right now. Anna wasn’t used to alcohol these days. She hoped she’d be all right to drive home.

  Hastily, she poured the undrunk whisky back into the bottle, cleaned out the glasses with a few tissues and put them all back in the box. That done, she put away the protective suits they’d sat on and picked her bag and jacket off the floor.

  In the doorway, she paused, staring at the dummy. “I won’t forget you,” she promised. And then felt stupid for talking to a totally inanimate object. Joe was long gone. Nothing of his presence remained here.

  Four hours after she’d come to lock the door, she finally did it.

  ***

  “Dr. Scott?”

  “Yo.” From her desk, Helen lifted her arm to ward off any further speech until she’d finished the last sentence of her night report. That done, she turned to face her visitor.

  A young policeman stood in the doorway, the peak of his cap almost touching his nose.

  “It wasnae me,” she said.

  “Aye, very funny.”

  “Sorry, I’ve had a bad night. What can I do for you?”

  “My colleagues borrowed a photo belonging to one of your patients—Joseph Lopez?”

  “Oh yes?”

  The policeman drew an envelope from his inside pocket. “It was to try and trace his family, anyone we could inform.”

  “Any joy?”

  “None. No one else is listed at his address, and the phone number on the back of the photo doesn’t exist.”

  “That’s weird.”

  “Not really. Girls give false phone numbers all the time.”

  Helen stared at him. “On the back of their own photograph? You want to meet a better class of girl, Constable.”

  “You’re telling me. How is he?”

  “Not good, but still alive.”

  “Unconscious?”

  “Deeply.”

  She didn’t add the weird thing that she really couldn’t explain. How it was that despite his deteriorating brain condition, his damaged internal organs were repairing themselves faster than she’d ever seen. Faster than she’d believed possible. She needed another, more expert opinion….

  To the policeman she said, “Isn’t there anything wherever he was staying that might help? I mean, had he come to see someone in this country?”

  “We’ve got no idea. We found his passport in his hotel room—the Balmoral, no less—and a laptop computer, but the guy’s security-daft. Every single file’s locked up in passwords. We don’t have any reason at this stage to search further.”

  “He’s not making it easy for any of us,” Helen said ruefully. Beyond the constable’s shoulders, she caught sight of Alastair Griffin, her daytime replacement, passing in the corridor. She stood. “Thank God. I’m free.”

  “Me, too,” said the policeman. He looked at her. “Want to get some breakfast?”

  She considered him for a moment. He was very young and she couldn’t see much of his face, but she liked his easy smile.

  “I’m dog-tired and grumpy,” she warned.

  “Me too.”

  “Match made in heaven. Let me just stash this and have a quick word with my fellow quack. Have a seat.”

  Pushing his cap to the back of his head, he grinned at her and sat down. Oh yes, very young, but gorgeous with a capital G…

  Feeling incomprehensibly more cheerful, she chased Alastair Griffin down the corridor. As she went, she glanced idly into the envelope and pulled out the photograph.

  She stopped dead in her tracks. It was no stranger’s face staring back at her. She was extremely familiar with those serious eyes and that quirky half-smile. Indisputably, it was Anna Baird.

  “So who the fuck,” she said aloud, “is Maria?”

  ***

  “Boss wants you,” said Bill as Anna walked through the outer office. “Soon as you come in, he said.”

  “‘Soon as’ means right after coffee,” Anna said calmly. “Is the kettle hot?”

  “Hot enough,” said Lesley, pushing the mug into her hand.

  Anna toasted her. “Cheers,” she said, already walking into her own office to du
mp her bag and coat. Sipping her coffee continuously, she rifled the mail for anything urgent. Coming across Dan MacQuarrie’s preliminary report on yesterday’s Zeitek car accident, she scanned it for anything new or out of the ordinary. Then, taking a final gulp, she laid down her cup and sallied forth to meet the boss.

  “How are we doing on the back-up tests?” she asked on her way through the outer office.

  “Can do the next before lunch.”

  Anna stuck up her thumb and went out.

  Though the Institute was headed by Professor Lewis of Edinburgh University, he didn’t actually do much research there. His main function was as a name to draw in funding. It was a government research centre, but private money was necessary to function effectively and Lewis had a very useful network of industrialist, charitable and ministerial cronies.

  “Ah, Anna,” he said when she came in, waving to the chair on the opposite side of his desk. His coat was over the back of his own chair. Obviously he wasn’t staying. “Traffic bad, was it?”

  Anna met his gaze sardonically. “No, I slept in.”

  “Well, you’re going to need to be a bit more on your toes tomorrow! I’ve just had Mason Grenville on the phone.”

  “Grenville?” Now he definitely had her attention. “The Zeitek boss?”

  “One of them. The one who’s been receiving your reports for the last two years.”

  “He did receive them? They made so little difference to Zeitek’s production, I assumed they’d got lost in the post.”

  “I advise you to lose the attitude, too. He’s worried, Anna. A lot of people are worried. And I’m not just talking about Zeitek shareholders. Our own government is concerned about this witch hunt you’re indulging in.”

  “Witch hunt?” Genuinely startled, she stared at him. “Professor, it’s no such thing! We test all cars here, you know that.”

  “But none have received so continually damning reports.”

  “Well there’s a reason for that,” she said dryly.

  “You may feel it’s a good reason, Anna, but to a lot of people, it’s beginning to look like a personal grudge. You went after their last model and failed to get it banned. Now you’re turning your attention to the new one before it’s even launched.”