by Conrad Jones
Lulu whimpered, she was hurt, but not fatally. Byron picked her up and ran the rest of the way home. He grabbed his car keys and took the whimpering poodle to the emergency vet. On her hindquarters, there was a weeping bald patch the size of an orange. The vet thought the burn was caused by lighter fuel, sprayed like a flamethrower. Byron didn’t care what the vet thought; the terrible experience had scared him to death. It was frightening how vulnerable he felt, despite the assurances of the police. After hours of mental debate, he called the police that night and dropped his witness statement.
CHAPTER 7
Richard Bernstein/ School Days
When Richard woke up he was in the intensive care ward on the top floor of Liverpool`s Royal Hospital. He remembered the scuffle with Ashwan Pindar, and then he remembered being swamped by a barrage of punches and kicks. At first, he thought that his head and face were bandaged, because he couldn’t see properly, but as his memory kicked in he realised that his eyes were swollen, narrowing his field of vision. His mother sat close to his bed, holding his right hand tightly. Her grip hurt his bruised fingers. His brother and sister, David and Sarah sat to his left away from the bed, near the wall. When he moved and opened his eyelids for the first time, his mother gasped and cried, while his father called a nurse for assistance.
Richard wasn’t aware that he had been unconscious for nearly a week. The swelling on his brain had nearly killed him. His mother`s fussing echoed around his confused mind. The familiar voices of his family sounded metallic and fuzzy.
“Richard, can you hear me darling?”
He blinked his eyes but couldn’t find his voice yet.
“We`ve been so worried about you,” she squeezed his bruised fingers and he grimaced.
“Hello, Richard, everyone`s been very worried about you,” a portly matron leaned over the bed, shining a torch into his eyes. He flinched from the painful beam, closing his eyes shut. “I know this is uncomfortable, Richard, but I need to see that everything is working as it should be.”
“I`m thirsty,” Richard croaked. His throat felt like he had been swallowing sand for a week. His vision began to clear and the sounds around him came with more clarity.
“Do you know where you are?” The matron asked, shining the torch again. He squinted at the probing light, wanting it gone. His head ached enough as it was. The smell of disinfectant drifted to him as his senses began to jump back to life.
“Hospital,” he groaned. His broken teeth ached and he hurt all over.
“Good boy,” she said patronisingly. “Sip this, don’t gulp it.”
Richard sipped the soothing liquid, the plastic cup hurting his split lips. Scabs had formed on his wounds but they were painful to the touch. His body felt strange; there was pain and numbness all over.
“Is he going to be okay?” His father asked.
“It`s too early to make any predictions yet, but he seems to be aware of where he is, and his reactions are normal. I`ll get the doctor to see him immediately.” The matron left them, her starched uniform rustled as she walked across the highly polished flooring, and she left a waft of Charlie behind her.
“He could be brain damaged,” Sarah said a little too loudly.
“Shut up you stupid girl!” Her father snapped. David senior was becoming increasingly short tempered with his daughter.
“I think she was brain damaged at birth anyway,” David said. Richard laughed painfully, and his mother had to hide her smile. Mr Bernstein wasn`t as amused as his family, but that was the norm. David Senior despaired at his children, especially the youngest two. Richard was clumsy socially, and hideously overweight for his age. He was bright and intelligent, but David senior knew he would be hampered by his weight if he did not sort it out before he got older. His wife spoiled him, and was a major part of the problem. She encouraged his overeating by buying bulk packets of cookies, crisps and sweets. Sarah was a constant worry, becoming very aware of her sexuality far too young for her father`s liking. The attack on his youngest son was a shock, and he was finding it difficult to cope with while maintaining his decorum.
“Welcome back Einstein,” Richard heard, as his brother stood up and walked to the bedside. He took his left hand gently. “Who did this to you?” David looked after his younger brother and sister at school. Physically he was tough, socially he was popular, and he utilised both to protect his siblings, although sometimes his sister wasn’t happy at being protected, especially if she was being protected from good-looking suitors.
“David, he has only just opened his eyes, leave that for now,” his mother scolded. Sara Bernstein loved her children with a passion. Richard needed more support than the other two, and she overcompensated by smothering him. Seeing him unconscious, swollen and cut with a knife broke her heart. Sara tried to protect him every day of her life, and she felt as if she had failed him.
Richard looked into his brother`s eyes and a silent message passed between them. Although they were like chalk and cheese, they loved each other a great deal. Richard struggled to answer questions if he was embarrassed, much to the annoyance of their father, who saw his silence as contemptuous. David would wait until they were alone, and he squeezed his hand gently to let him know that he understood. `Later, bro`.
“How long have I been asleep?”
“You weren`t asleep, you were sparked out!” Sarah chuckled.
“Sarah!” Mr Bernstein snapped.
“Well it`s not asleep is it?” Sarah protested. “George Forman doesn’t put people to sleep does he? No. He sparks them out!” She shrugged and looked at her older brother. He smirked and shook his head in warning. Mr Bernstein was not in a joking mood.
“Very funny, how long?” Richard asked again.
“Nearly a week, young man,” his doctor arrived. “Can I see the patient please?” He approached the bed, and David stepped away.
“A week, that`s not good,” Richard commented on his own condition. “Sub cranial haematomas no doubt?”
“Several, young man, you are lucky to be alive,” the doctor smiled at his young patient`s knowledge.
“Did he cut me?”
“Who?”
“I remember a knife,” Richard mumbled. “I don’t remember who it was, but I remember a knife.”
“You have a number of knife wounds, Richard; some we stitched, and some we stapled,” the doctor checked his eyes again.
“How many stitches?”
“Hundreds,” the doctor answered, pressing his stethoscope to his chest.
“Can I look?” Richard was eager to see his injuries in a mirror.
“Not right now, I think we should allow some of the swelling to go down before we do that,” the doctor replied.
“You look like the Elephant Man, except you`re purple,” Sarah joined in the conversation.
“Sarah!” Her father said angrily.
“I know. Shut up you stupid girl,” she mimicked her father and folded her arms sulkily.
“I don’t know what has got into you. I`ll deal with you when we get home. For now, be quiet. If you can`t be polite then be silent,” Mr Bernstein added.
The doctor completed a series of checks, and noted his findings on the chart at the end of the bed. He agreed with the young girl, his patient did look like a purple Elephant Man, but he kept his opinions to himself. The boy had been very lucky indeed. It had been touch and go for a while as they battled to keep the swelling on the brain under control.
“I`ll be back to see you in the morning. If you suffer any discomfort, or headaches, then tell the nurses straight away,” the doctor smiled at Mrs Bernstein before heading off on his rounds.
“Thank you, Doctor,” she said after him. She turned to her son. “How do you feel, Richard?”
“Hungry,” Richard moaned. His older brother sniggered.
“Typical Einstein, he`s on the mend,” he said laughing. “Be back on your feet in no time.”
Two plain clothed detectives entered the ward. They spoke briefly
to the doctor, and then approached the Bernstein family. Mrs Bernstein frowned as the stale odour of cigarettes and alcohol reached her. She met the detectives briefly when Richard was attacked, and she had noticed it then too. It didn’t instil confidence in their ability to catch her son`s attackers.
“How is the patient?” Detective Wallace asked. He had a broad Liverpool accent.
“Hungry,” Sarah spoke first, receiving a dig in the ribs from her older brother. Her father gave her a withering stare. Richard giggled, but the pain it caused in his face cut it short, becoming a gasp. Everything felt like it was happening in slow motion.
“We need to ask him a few questions,” Detective Sergeant Aspel added. “It shouldn’t take too long.”
“Really, Detective?” Mrs Bernstein asked concerned. “He`s only just woke up, surely it can wait a few days.”
“I`m sorry, Mrs Bernstein, but the trail is going cold. This was a very serious assault. We need to ask Richard some important questions,” Wallace nodded as he spoke, to reinforce the point. He had gaunt features, sunken cheeks and deep-set eyes, which gave him an intense look. Richard thought he looked scary.
“Five minutes, and no more,” she said reluctantly.
The detectives shuffled uncomfortably to the bedside. Aspel was the senior officer. He was older than his partner was by twenty years, and he wore his grey hair in a military crew cut. His nose was bulbous and red, the effect of years of whiskey drinking. He removed his leather bomber-jacket and pulled up a plastic chair. It made a loud scraping noise, attracting the attention of the matron. She gave them a scathing look, and pointed to a sign on the wall. `Four visitors to a bed`.
“I`ll take Sarah to the canteen for a coffee,” David offered.
“I want to stay here and listen to the interrogation,” Sarah protested. Her father glared at her, his face was furious. “Okay, I get the message.” Richard tried to laugh again as his brother and sister left the bedside.
“Later, Einstein,” David said.
“Later,” Richard tried to sound normal, but he actually sounded like he had a mouth full of marbles.
“What can you tell us about the assault?” Wallace got the ball rolling, frustrated by the family`s concerns. They`d been waiting a week to talk to Richard. Now he was awake they needed to ask him what he remembered.
“Not much. I remember being tripped up, and a knife, that`s all,” Richard was hesitant as he spoke. He remembered everything but he hadn’t decided whether he wanted to reveal who his attackers were. His brother David could handle himself, but Sarah was young and vulnerable. Part of his rationale was to protect his siblings, but deep inside, the real reason that he could not tell was his own white-hot fear of retaliation if he grassed. What would they do to him next?
“A witness recognised a school tie worn by one of your attackers. He identified it as your school, Richard,” Wallace pushed. He could spot a liar at a hundred yards, and the boy was lying. “He also said that they were Asian boys.”
“I don’t remember,” Richard mumbled. “I`m thirsty, Mum. Could I have a drink please?”
His mother tutted and reached for the plastic beaker that was next to his bed, knocking over several greeting cards as she did so.
“He`s in no condition to be interviewed,” she fussed. Richard slurped the water and swallowed hard before taking another sip. The liquid cooled his thirst, but he was craving a can of coke. His body was missing the sugar.
“We know that you`re frightened, it`s only natural. We can protect you, but you have to tell us who did this to you,” Aspel tried with a softer tone of voice.
“I can`t remember anything.”
“Do you know any of the Asian boys at your school?”
“No, I think I`m getting a headache.”
“Tell me about the knife,” Wallace jumped in.
“What do you mean?”
“The doctor said that you remembered a knife. Was it a flick-knife? A sheath knife, maybe a kitchen knife like your mum would use? What colour was it?” Wallace tried to pressurise information from him. He had volunteered that he remembered seeing a knife, so he decided to use it as a lever into the truth
“I don’t remember,” Richard closed his eyes and a stinging tear ran down his swollen cheek.
“You asked the doctor if he used a knife, who was he?”
“I don’t remember.”
“Was he Asian, Richard, Indian, Pakistani, Black?”
“I don’t remember,” his lips quivered and Richard Bernstein began to sob openly. He was in shock.
“That`s enough,” Mr Bernstein stepped in. He couldn’t watch his son crying, he had been through enough. It was difficult not to become upset himself. He swallowed a lump in his throat.
“It is vital that we find out what Richard can remember,” Wallace turned toward him, angry at the interruption.
“I said, that`s enough for now, Detective Wallace.”
“You have a witness, ask him,” Mrs Bernstein insisted. “The boy has been through enough. Surely, you can see that. ”
The detectives looked at each other; Aspel shrugged his shoulders and took Mr Bernstein by the arm, leading him away from the bed.
“Look, Mr Bernstein, we don’t have a witness anymore,” he explained in a hushed voice. “He has withdrawn his statement.”
“I don’t understand, Detective,” Mr Bernstein said. He looked at his son`s face, swollen to the size of a football.
“Our witness withdrew his statement, all we have to go on is your son`s evidence,” the detective squeezed his arm as he spoke. Mr Bernstein shrugged him off and stepped backward.
“What do you mean?” He hissed angrily. “How can he withdraw his statement?”
“It appears his windows were smashed, and his pet dog was set on fire. He thinks that it was a warning,” Detective Aspel whispered the last sentence.
Mr Bernstein put his hand to his mouth and bit his knuckles. Blind fury, a father`s angst at his son`s predicament. The sheer helplessness of the situation was mind numbing.
“There must be something you can do,” he shouted. All heads turned to the detective and Mr Bernstein as they faced each other. The portly matron marched over to them.
“I need to remind you gentlemen that this is an intensive care ward, some of these patients are dying. I will not have their families disturbed by your nonsense,” she spoke with a clear, calm but determined voice. The two men turned together and walked out of the ward into the corridor beyond.
“We have nothing to go on, Mr Bernstein,” the detective held up hands to placate the angry father. “We need Richard`s evidence, or we can`t do anything.”
Mr Bernstein walked toward a window and looked out over the city. The St. John`s Tower was illuminated in the distance. His mind raced through the possible scenarios as he watched the lights on a cargo ship sailing off to sea. He wondered where in the world it was heading, he also wondered what type of people set fire to a pet dog. A brick through the window could almost be understood, but burning someone`s pet. The answer was clear, the type of people who set fire to a helpless animal were also the type of people that had beaten his son to within an inch of his life. What would they do if Richard testified against them?
“If my son remembers anything I`ll call you,” Mr Bernstein said quietly.
“Mr Bernstein?”
“You heard me, leave us in peace,” Mr Bernstein walked away from the detective and back to his family. It was a decision that he would live to regret.
CHAPTER 8
Mamood / present day.
Mamood crossed two lanes of the dual carriageway, which separated his school from Knowsley Safari Park. He cut through the school grounds on his way to the reservoir. The light was fading but the bulk of the rush hour traffic had melted away. Crossing the road during peak time was impossible, but now it wasn’t difficult, and it would save him ten minutes. He climbed through a gap in the railings and jogged up a grassy bank, which led into the grounds of
the safari park, and the reservoir beyond. A gravel track snaked through a copse to the water`s edge. His heart beat faster as he thought of Vicky Stanton waiting for him. He couldn’t believe his luck. Of all the girls in the year above him, she was the one he fancied the most. She certainly played her cards close to her chest, barely giving him a second glance in school time. Vicky could take her pick of the boys in school, and she certainly hadn’t shown any interest in the students the year below her. Still he wasn’t one to look a gift horse in the mouth, and he was one of the best looking guys in his year, after all. Maybe she was embarrassed about being seen with a younger guy, and so she had kept it quiet. `Who cares? ` Mamood thought to himself. She had put pen to paper and written him a perfumed letter. It had to be a sure bet.
The light was fading fast when he turned the final bend in the road, and he could make out the silhouettes of the lockups about five hundred yards away. There was no sign of Vicky. It was growing cooler though, and he guessed she would be waiting around the corner, sheltering from the evening breeze, which came off the water. He wondered what she would be wearing. Mamood had seen her in town once, wearing tight black leggings and knee-high boots, turning every head in the place. He hoped she was wearing a skirt tonight, easier to get into, and he didn’t want to be fumbling around with buttons and zips. She would think he was an inexperienced virgin. He was, but he didn’t want her to know that. Mamood had come close a couple of times, but never actually gone all the way. Tonight was the night. In her letter she had promised to make it worth his while, what else could she mean?
He reached the water`s edge and picked up a flat stone. Mamood cocked his throwing arm and skimmed it across the surface. The lockups were less than a hundred yards away now, once used as boatsheds, they`d been empty for years. A number of drownings one summer prompted the reservoir owners to stop all leisure activities on the water, but people still came here because it was picturesque. The double doors of the lockups came into view, one of them almost intact, the other broken and shattered. A dull light flickered and glowed from behind the missing panels. She was already in there. His mouth went dry, and he put his hand in front of his mouth to check his breath was fresh. He broke into a jog, eager and excited, only stopping as he neared the buildings.
