She put a sharp emphasis on the last three words. Kelly winced.
‘You know what gossip’s like in this place. Everyone knows the state you were in and what you’ve done, which is really absolutely terrific.’
‘I’m sorry,’ said Kelly.
‘You’re going to be,’ said Moira feistily. ‘You know you’re going to be done, don’t you? Drink driving at the very least. Quite probably something much more serious …’
Her voice tailed off. Kelly thought, in as much as he could think, that he already knew well enough what she was getting at. He could suddenly see all over again the awful tableau that had unfolded in front of him when he had peered out of the battered MG.
‘The people in the other car …?’ he began, afraid to finish the query.
She knew what he meant. ‘The passenger was badly hurt, a woman, I have no idea how badly.’
‘B-but she’ll be all right, will she?’
‘I’ve no idea, John. You’ll have to ask the police. There were a couple of constables here earlier. No doubt they’ll be back.’
Kelly nodded his head, which was a mistake. It ached dreadfully. Not the dull ache caused by getting stoned and having too little sleep, which he had been becoming used to, but a quite viciously acute ache. No doubt they would, he thought, gritting his teeth and trying not to show how much pain he was in.
‘I was afraid somebody might have died …’ His voice tailed off again.
‘They might still, for all I know,’ said Moira. She was angry, and it showed. She was certainly making no attempt to be gentle with him, and he didn’t blame her.
Kelly started to imagine himself facing prosecution for causing death by dangerous driving as well as a drink driving charge. He supposed there could be drug charges too. Christ, they’d lock him up and throw away the key, he thought. Then fleetingly he was ashamed of himself. Not only had he almost certainly caused a terrible accident but he was already more concerned about what would happen to him than the state of the people in the other car.
Then another thought overcame him.
‘Angel?’ he queried. ‘Is she all right? Has anyone seen her?’
Moira stiffened. She brushed her blonde fringe back off her forehead, not once but several times. It was a gesture Kelly had seen her make before, invariably when she was upset or angry.
‘What has that woman got to do with anything?’
‘She was in the car with me. I d-don’t know what happened to her.’
Moira gave a little sigh. ‘Well, if she was in the car with you that’s the first I’ve heard of it. The police certainly don’t think there was anyone else in the car.’
Kelly really wasn’t thinking straight. ‘She was, I’m sure she was …’
Only suddenly he wasn’t quite so sure any more – not of anything except that he knew his head was in a mess. And his gut. Just the effort of talking caused his abdomen to remind him of its injuries, whatever they might be. He didn’t even know what damage he had done to himself yet. He tried desperately to concentrate. Maybe Angel hadn’t been in the car. She had, though, hadn’t she? And in that case, she really must just have run off …
Moira was studying him, looking as if she could read his mind. She shook her head.
‘I was hoping this might have brought you to your senses, John,’ she said. ‘It hasn’t, though, has it? I can see that in you.’
He did not reply.
*
Moira was right, of course. As she all too often was.
As soon as he was told he could leave hospital Kelly had two aims in mind. He wanted a drink – he knew that was asking for further even bigger trouble but he couldn’t help it any more – and he wanted to find Angel. The first was easily accomplished at a pub just around the corner from the hospital. A pint of bitter and two large whisky chasers made him feel slightly better. He had giving up even kidding himself about drinking. His alcohol dependency had returned with a vengeance, and he knew it.
He had been lucky in one respect, at any rate. The injuries to the woman passenger in the car he had hit were not quite as severe as he had feared. She had a broken leg, but the gash on her head, which had looked so awful to Kelly and had spouted so much blood, had proved to be merely superficial.
None the less, he had been charged with dangerous driving in addition to the drink driving charge. As was routine with drink driving offences, it would be fast-tracked through the local magistrates’ court within a couple of weeks. His beloved MG, not surprisingly, was a write-off.
Kelly’s own injuries, although painful, had also proven not to be too serious. He had three cracked ribs in addition to the bump on his head which had caused him to black out. He looked terrible, however. His head injury had resulted in two black eyes and the pain from his damaged ribs meant that he could not stand fully upright, instead walking with a pronounced stoop. In the pub he was aware of people staring at him curiously.
Predictably enough, Kelly’s second aim, to find Angel, proved more difficult. He took a taxi out to Maidencombe but he somehow knew as soon as he arrived at Maythorpe Manor that Angel was not there. It was strange how he could tell just from looking at the house that it was empty. The sun was shining brightly over the sea, which you could just glimpse through the trees beyond the big house. It was a beautiful day. Kelly didn’t even notice.
He asked the taxi driver to park outside the gates. Then he pumped the security code into the electronic system. Nothing happened. Had she changed the code? For a dreadful moment he thought that she must have done, and that she was shutting him out. He had driven his car while stoned half out of his mind and he had nearly killed innocent people. Yet all he could think about was Angel. Could she really have been so uncaring not only to have left him at the scene of the crash, but just to have disappeared? He tried the code again. There was a beep and a click. The big gates opened soundlessly. He must have keyed in the numbers wrongly. He glanced down at his hands. They were trembling.
He tried the front door. Locked. Which was probably another indication that Angel was not inside as she continued hardly ever to seem to bother to lock the door when she was. In his pocket he still had the stolen key she had never demanded back. The door unlocked as smoothly as ever, though the small amount of physical effort required caused him to double up slightly with the pain from his damaged ribs. As he stepped into the hallway he called her name. He knew it was pointless but did so all the same. There was no reply. He walked slowly through the house, checking every room. There was no sign of her.
Disconsolately he left the mansion, slamming the door shut behind him, and made his way out through the gates and back in the taxi. He gave the driver his home address. On the way he tried Angel’s mobile number yet again. One last time, he told himself. He would walk away from her, he really would. He would rebuild his life yet again. He would patch things up with Moira. He really would.
He expected to receive no reply from Angel’s mobile, but on the second ring she answered. He was momentarily taken aback. He had got used to having virtually no contact with her except when she orchestrated it.
‘Hello?’
‘Is that you, Angel?’
‘No, my mobile is public property. I rent it out, didn’t you know?’
Sarcasm again. Perhaps it was a defence mechanism with her, he didn’t know. He did know he was tired of it, but he decided not to allow himself the luxury of reacting.
‘I – I’ve been looking for you,’ he stumbled.
‘I thought it might be a good idea to go away for a bit.’ She sounded unhurried, languid – no, beyond languid, sleepy. As if she were in bed, he thought suddenly, and had just been awakened by the call. He checked his watch: 5 p.m. Why should she be in bed at 5 p.m.? His heart sank. His imagination began to run riot. This was ridiculous. He struggled to get a grip.
‘So you just left me in the car? Just like that? I’ve been charged with dangerous driving. I was three times over the alcohol limit. I could go t
o jail.’
He sensed a shrug at the other end of the phone.
‘It would have been even worse if I’d stayed around. Think of the publicity.’
‘I can’t believe you just went.’
‘You were driving, John.’
‘And whose idea was it to go clubbing in the first place?’
‘Don’t be a baby, John. If you play with fire sometimes you get burned.’
‘God, you can be a bitch, Angel.’
‘Really?’ She sounded cool, amused even. ‘In that case you won’t want to talk to me, will you? I’ll just say goodbye then.’
‘Wait, wait. Angel, when are you coming back here? Or can I come to you? I need to see you.’
After a bit he realised he was talking to an empty phone. He kicked himself mentally. Even with all that had happened, the way she continued to treat him, he had ended up begging to see her, or damned near. And what he had said was absolutely right: he did need her. Yet, knowing as she must that he had been injured in the smash, she hadn’t even asked how he was.
The taxi driver was very quiet. Kelly realised he would have been listening to every word. He knew he should care, but he didn’t. He wrapped his arms round his damaged ribcage. All he wanted to do now was to kill the pain, both emotionally and physically.
‘Change of plan, mate,’ he said. ‘Take me to the Fitzroy Arms.’
*
They found him three days later slumped in the middle of Castle Circus roundabout. Unshaven and filthy, he was lying in his own urine and vomit. As well as the bump on his forehead, which he had received in the car crash, Kelly now had a bloodied nose and a cut on one cheek. The black eyes that had resulted from the earlier incident had started to fade, but one of them at least appeared to have received a further blow. It was badly swollen and the lids looked as if they were glued together. Kelly was lying awkwardly and his breathing was shallow.
PC Perkins, the young constable who found him, also noticed that his lower left arm looked twisted and wondered if it had been broken. He thought that Kelly might have other, unseen injuries too. There was little doubt that he had been badly beaten up.
It was early morning, about 5.30 a.m., and it seemed obvious to PC Perkins that Kelly had spent the night at Castle Circus in a more or less unconscious state. It was only mid-April but, luckily for Kelly, the night had been dry and unseasonably warm. His wallet and two empty bottles of whisky were by his side. PC Perkins carefully checked the wallet and was unsurprised to find that it contained no money. Not any more, he thought. He did, however, find Kelly’s press card, which he reported as soon as he called in.
The duty sergeant, Stanley Smith, was a long-serving officer who always liked to cover his back. He called DCI Meadows as soon as he had spoken to PC Perkins. Like almost every police officer in the region Stan Smith knew of Karen Meadows’ friendship with the reporter, which was a constant topic of station banter with much ribald speculation about how it had all started.
The DCI was just stepping out of the shower when she took the call. For two or three minutes she listened in weary silence while Sergeant Smith related the night’s events.
‘I’m sorry to bother you, ma’am, but I thought you’d like to know.’
Karen wrapped an inadequate towel tightly round herself. She was still wet and she was shivering with the cold. She was also upset and angered by the news she had heard. What was Kelly thinking about? As if she didn’t have a bloody good idea.
‘I’m not sure that like is quite the right word, Stan,’ she said. ‘But thanks anyway.’
Karen rubbed herself dry and dressed quickly. She moved into the kitchen, made a cup of tea and sat at the table by the window, looking out over the bay. Sophie immediately jumped on her lap. Absently she scratched the cat’s head. The early morning had been bright and sunny, but the sky had darkened and it was just starting to rain. The sea was getting up too. Kelly really had been lucky, with the weather at least, she thought. As for anything else, Karen was not sure that she wanted to know any more. Kelly was becoming an embarrassment, professionally and personally, and Karen still had this niggling feeling that the Scott Silver case, in which she had reason to believe Kelly had become deeply embroiled, was far from over. The sensible thing would be for her to end her friendship with Kelly once and for all. She had always known that he was potentially a loose cannon, but she had never thought he would get himself into this mess. Not again.
He was not only facing a serious criminal charge, he seemed to have pushed the familiar old self-destruct button in all directions. She had been well aware that he was drinking again even before the accident, and she had known him before when his drinking had got out of control. She was also familiar with the rumours about Angel Silver. If they were true, and she believed that they were, she still found the concept of some kind of affair between the rock star’s widow and the veteran journalist extremely puzzling. Perhaps disloyally she was unable to grasp why Angel would get involved with Kelly. He really didn’t seem to be the type who would hold much attraction for the likes of her. The DCI could see clearly enough the attraction Angel would have for Kelly. Every man who came into contact with the bloody woman seemed to fall under her spell. But Karen really would have thought that Kelly, soft touch though she knew he could be, was old enough and streetwise enough to have avoided getting entangled. He had got entangled, though, there was no doubt about that. And he had allowed himself to become involved in the murky word of mind-altering drugs, which she had always suspected Angel Silver was into.
As Karen finished her tea and prepared to leave for the station her phone rang again. It was Moira, calling from the hospital.
‘Look, do you know about John?’ she asked bluntly.
Karen said that she did.
‘They brought him in an hour ago,’ Moira related. ‘I was still on duty. The word got to me in no time. Typical of this place …’
Her voice tailed off. Karen didn’t know what to say. She hadn’t even known that Moira had her home phone number. She’d certainly never called before.
‘I can’t believe the state he’s in,’ Moira continued. ‘I was hoping you might be able to tell me what happened.’
‘Yes, of course,’ said Karen. ‘Well, as much as we know, anyway, which I’m sure isn’t everything.’
She liked Moira a lot. And she still liked John Kelly, in spite of everything. Half of her wanted to help all she could. The other half wanted to keep out of it. Protect herself. She did have her career to think about, after all. And the part Kelly had played in her past was now a very long time ago.
Moira picked up on her lack of enthusiasm.
‘Look, I’m sorry to call you at home like this. I got your number from John’s diary. He still had that in his trouser pocket. It’s just that I’ve been trying to find him for days, you see. I knew he hadn’t been in to work and I didn’t think he’d been home either. I was planning to report him missing today. If only I could find out exactly what’s been going on maybe I could make some sense of things. I try not to care, I really do. But, well, you know how it is …’
Karen relented, as she might have known she would. She did know how it was. There was something about Kelly that had always drawn Karen towards him. There had been times, in her mind anyway, when their friendship could perhaps have developed into something else. She certainly understood Moira’s feelings for him. She also had a pretty good idea of how Kelly had been behaving lately, how he must have been treating Moira, who really did not deserve the shit she was having to deal with.
And so Karen told Moira all about how and where Kelly had been found, and how he had apparently been beaten up and robbed.
‘But what happened before that?’ asked Moira. ‘Where was he for all that time and who would do such a thing to him?’
Karen sighed. This was just the sort of area she didn’t want to enter into.
‘It seems likely that he’d been on a bender more or less since he came out of hospi
tal the last time,’ she said. ‘We don’t know who beat him up. It could just have been a chance thing, thugs having a go at a drunk to get his wallet. Or it could have been something else, we just don’t know yet.’
‘What do you mean, something else?’ Moira asked sharply. ‘Something to do with Angel Silver, I suppose.’
‘Well, indirectly, yes,’ replied Karen cautiously.
The thought had occurred to her, of course, that Ken James or other members of the James family could well have been responsible for giving Kelly a hiding. But she had no proof. She also had little doubt from Moira’s tone of voice that the other woman was well aware of Kelly’s liaison with Angel Silver, and that was something she really didn’t want to discuss either. She was relieved when Moira didn’t push her on that issue.
Instead Moira merely enquired, ‘Was John alone when he was found?’
But Karen immediately knew what she was getting at. However, the very thought of Angel Silver spending the night on the Castle Circus roundabout was so ludicrously wonderful that it actually made Karen Meadows smile in spite of everything. Although Karen was well aware of Angel’s turbulent past, and was growing increasingly uneasy, following the albeit unsubstantiated rantings of Bridget Summers, about the events of the night when Scott Silver and Terry James had died, she remained quite sure that Angel Silver was the type who hardly ever lost control. Unlike Kelly. Karen Meadows could still remember very clearly the first time John Kelly had pushed the self-destruct button. It saddened her that he had done so again, but did not particularly surprise her. He had always been that kind of man.
It also saddened her that she really could not help him any more.
‘He was quite alone apart from two empty bottles,’ she told Moira.
Nineteen
Kelly woke up in a hospital bed again. It was beginning to become a habit.
A Moment Of Madness Page 30
