Eyes of the Blind

by Alex Tresillian

  “If it’s always going to be a girl, that doesn’t look good for you,” Roderick Leman observed.

  “It’ll be a guy next time,” Niall said quickly. “Otherwise they’ll be accused of discrimination.”

  Beverley arrived triumphantly at that moment with raspberry tea and Leman’s coffee.

  “Didn’t prove too difficult then,” Leman said.

  “Nothing’s difficult for a woman of my resources,” Beverley replied.

  “Thanks,” Niall said, annoyed by her interruption. He waited for her to walk away and then said, “So?”

  “What do you think happened?” Roderick Leman said.

  “I’m wondering whether you made a very generous donation to BAB and whether I should take out a monster loan and do the same.”

  There was a silence.

  “Silence implies acknowledgement,” Niall suggested.

  “That would certainly fit with your philosophy,” Leman said at last.

  “My philosophy?”

  “That everything is about money.”

  “So tell me it happened another way.”

  “I don’t have to tell you anything at all,” Leman said, and the old hostility surged back into his voice. “I don’t know what your game is, coming here,” he went on in something not much more than a whisper, “but it was a mistake. Trust me. You may have fooled my daughter and my wife and the audience of an early evening chat show, but you don’t fool me.”

  “How am I fooling anyone?” Niall asked loudly. Roderick Leman drew in a deep breath.

  “All I will say to you,” he said at last, “is that it isn’t always what you know, it’s who you know. Money can buy you a lot of things, but contacts can get you a lot more. If you want to jump the queue for the next set of eyes, I suggest you get in with the right people.”

  “Who are the right people?” Niall asked.

  “You’re a journalist. Find out.”

  “I will,” Niall said. “I’ll start by taking up squash.”

  When Niall Burnet was safely on his way down in the lift Roderick Leman grabbed his mobile phone and selected a name from the phonebook.

  “Roderick – hi.”

  “Bloody Niall Burnet’s been here. Just now. Just this moment left.”

  “It’s OK. We know.”

  “You know?”

  “We know.”

  “You know he’s virtually asking me how much I paid to get Susannah the operation?”

  “He’s fishing, Roderick. Fishing in the dark. Tell him nothing, he’ll find nothing. And then he’ll go away.”

  “He’s not showing much sign of going away,” Leman fumed.

  “Oh he will. Trust me. Enjoy Doha.”

  “He knows about you.”

  “He knows nothing about me.”

  “He knows we play squash.”

  “Does he indeed?”

  “He talked about taking up squash.”

  “You should give him a game. You’d probably win.”

  “Probably!”

  “Relax, Roderick. You’re behaving as though you’ve got something to hide. And you haven’t.”

  “If it all gets into the papers – ”

  “How is Susannah this morning?”

  “I’m going in tonight.”

  “Enjoy Doha. Bring me back a camel. Or enough natural gas to power my house for a generation.”

  Back in the street Niall took stock. It was a cold winter’s day. Not actually raining, but it had been earlier and the streets were wet. Should he have pressed Roderick Leman for the squash-player’s name? He didn’t think Leman would have given it to him. But for now it was enough that he knew, and Leman knew he knew. Strings had been pulled. One of those strings had probably had cash attached. He did need to find out who, though. Karin Leman might know. She had described him as ‘someone Roderick played squash with’, but with a little gentle pushing he might be able to jog a memory. Names must have been mentioned sometime. If not, she must at least know the name of the sports club where they played.

  The fact that Roderick had more or less bought his daughter the operation was nothing, really. Rich people could afford things not-so-rich people couldn’t. But if he could trace the money into somebody’s pocket, say, for example, the obnoxious Daniel Sullivan’s, then there was a story. He could write it, and use his new contact Matt to help him sell it. He tried to imagine Daniel Sullivan playing squash. He found it hard to believe, but what did he know? Sullivan might have a really athletic body and run the London Marathon every year, raising millions for BAB.

  He did worry that Miranda might see his pursuit of this corruption story as a betrayal. Of trust, of her family, of her. He wished there was a way he could get her on board with him.

  Hugo walked him up to the traffic lights and stopped obediently at the kerb.

  Miranda had her eyes now. Nothing that he did, nothing that resulted from what he did, could change that. Exposing the dark underbelly of how it all came about would not take her sight away from her. It was time for total honesty.

  “Good to go, mate,” said a voice in his ear, accompanied by a touch on his arm.

  “Thanks. Go, Hugo.”

  Hugo was puzzled, but obeyed his master’s command. He stepped off the pavement into the path of the on-coming silver BMW.

  PART

  THREE

  Then the eyes of the blind will be opened,

  and the ears of the deaf will be unstopped.

  Isaiah 35:5

  FOURTEEN

  Suddenly there were people all round Niall as he crouched on the road beside Hugo’s stricken form. A tornado of concern and exclamation and at the heart of it, despite the roaring invective against the driver for speeding off, the belief that some stupid blind person had stepped off the kerb into the path of an on-coming car instead of waiting for the crossing signal.

  “Didn’t you hear the car, mate?”

  “Should’ve waited for the lights. Cars come really fast up here.”

  “That dog looks a mess.”

  Somebody flagged down a taxi, but nobody seemed to have much idea of what to do. You didn’t call an ambulance for a dog and Niall kept insisting that he hadn’t been touched and had no need to be whisked off to A and E. There was no way he was going to let anyone separate him from Hugo. If this was the day that Hugo breathed his last Niall was going to be with him until the end.

  Miraculously the taxi driver who had stopped was a dog lover and seemed to be something of a dog expert.

  “Clerkenwell Animal Hospital,” he said to Niall and anyone else who was listening. “I can get you there in ten minutes. Less if we’re lucky. Guy there’s absolutely brilliant.”

  “What’s the damage?” Niall asked the driver.

  “Front leg doesn’t look too special. Probably some ribs gone too. But he’s breathing nice. It’s if he’s bleeding inside you’ve got to worry.”

  “Yes,” Niall said weakly.

  “Somebody give me a hand please,” the taxi driver said. “Two people, in fact. We got to lift him really gentle into the back of my cab.”

  While that was going on a policeman who had appeared from somewhere tried to ask Niall about what had happened.

  “I’ve got to go with Hugo,” Niall said. “I’ll be at the Clerkenwell Animal Hospital. Ask somebody else. I didn’t see anything.”

  The policeman said he was going to need a statement.

  “Look mate,” the taxi driver intervened, “we’re going up to Clerkenwell. Emergency. Here’s my number. Call me. I won’t let the guy out of my sight until I hear from you.”

  The policeman seemed satisfied. The driver helped Niall into the back of the cab and then bustled round into the driver’s seat.

  “Hang in there, Hugo,” Niall said, stroking his ears and listening to the dog’s strained breathing. “I need you.”

  “You were on the telly last night, right?” the taxi driver asked.

  “Right,” Niall said.

&nbs
p; “This Is Now.”

  “Right.”

  “Thought I recognised your face. Don’t you worry mate. I’ll get you to the hospital. And if anyone can fix your dog it’ll be them. They did a brilliant job on my Bess.”

  Niall had an off-the-wall image of Bess being the taxi-driver’s wife, and wondering what ‘brilliant job’ could have been done on her.

  “You’re a life-saver,” Niall said. “I probably haven’t got enough cash to pay you, but I’ll make some calls.”

  “Don’t even think about it,” the driver said. “I’m with you until you tell me to clear off. Anywhere you need to go after we’ve got your dog sorted I’ll take you.”

  “Thanks.”

  “My pleasure. My pleasure.”

  The taxi surged into the traffic while the driver used his bluetooth to call the Clerkenwell Animal Hospital.

  “That’s good,” he said to Niall at last, opening the glass partition. “They’re expecting us and they’re getting an operating table ready. I told you they’re good. My name’s Geoff by the way. Geoff Jefferies. I think my parents were having a laugh.”

  “Niall,” Niall said. “And Hugo.”

  Niall felt the taxi ducking and weaving as it fought London’s clogged streets. He stroked Hugo’s flank, constantly checking for the rise and fall that told him the dog was still breathing. More quickly than he dared hope they arrived at the animal hospital and Hugo was whisked away from him.

  “Save him for me,” Niall said.

  “We’ll do everything we can,” one of the professionals said.

  Geoff led Niall into the waiting room and they sat down.

  “You don’t need to wait with me,” Niall said. “I’ll be fine and you’ve got a living to make.”

  “I promised the police I wouldn’t let you out of my sight,” Geoff said.

  “I don’t think that’s legally binding,” Niall said. “I’ll make some calls. Get someone to collect me from here. I’d better get them to bring you some cash as well.”

  “The meter’s not running,” Geoff said. “This is me doing me good citizen bit. Let me have me moment.”

  “If you insist,” Niall conceded. “Thanks.”

  “Amazing thing, that eye transplant,” Geoff went on.

  “Yeah. Amazing.”

  “Pretty girl, too. And she’s got the hots for you, all right.”

  “Do you think so?”

  “Bloody obvious, mate. You don’t need eyes to see that.”

  “If you say so.”

  Niall had been wondering whom to call. Faith was the obvious candidate. In fact, eventually, he would have to call her. But there was the fact that he no longer trusted her, and also the piece of information that only he knew – that someone had stepped up to him and told him that it was clear to cross. Not that it had been Faith: no, it had been a man; but it suggested that someone had tracked his movements and that someone had made a deliberate attempt to get him run down. As he replayed the sequence of events in his head, Niall was certain that Hugo had hesitated before obeying his command to go. Had he not done so, Niall himself might very well have gone straight over the bonnet. So, was it just the man on the pavement, or was it the man on the pavement AND the driver of the car? Had it been meant as a warning or as a serious attempt to silence him? Had Roderick Leman called for it the moment he had left him? That would have meant he would have to have an accomplice in his own office. Or had the squash player been close by? And what on earth could be going on that was serious enough to risk silencing him with a blatant hit and run? Not just a tawdry bung, surely? In which case, was he barking up the wrong tree with his story? There had to be something more imperative to be hushed up, and they thought he was on to it. Perhaps they had somehow contrived the death of the eye donor. That sounded ridiculously far-fetched, but it would certainly be something they would want to cover up at any cost. And yet, could Faith be involved in murder? He couldn’t believe that of her. She was mixed up in this somehow. Perhaps more by accident than design. Perhaps she had got in at the beginning but it had all got out of hand and she now wanted nothing to do with it. He couldn’t take a chance on that being the case. He couldn’t trust her. But, by the same token, if he didn’t call her to say what had happened she would be alerted to the fact that he was on to her, and that would not help his situation. So he made the call.

  “Niall?”

  “Hi, Faith. Where are you?”

  “I’m at work. At Moorfields. Why?”

  “Hugo’s been knocked down. Hit and run.”

  “My God!” She sounded genuinely shocked. “Is he dead?”

  “Not yet, as far as I know. I’m at Clerkenwell Animal Hospital. They’re operating on him now.”

  “I’m tied up for the next hour but then I’ll be straight over. Wait for me.”

  “I will,” Niall said. What else could he do? Without Hugo he felt paraplegic, never mind blind.

  Katrina Masters, returning from her lunchtime shift at Arvo’s, was astonished to see Juliette outside their house washing the car. Juliette loved her work. She loved it to the point that she spent far more hours than she needed doing it, and made it her main topic of conversation when she was at home. In all the time that they had been together, Katrina had never known Juliette to take time off. She had never had a day off sick, preferring to drag herself into the office whatever state she was in, and frequently had to be forced to use up outstanding holiday allowance at the end of the year. To be home early on a Friday afternoon was unheard-of.

  “Hello,” she said, walking up to the car. Juliette stopped her frenetic wiping and looked up.

  “Oh, hello. Thought you’d be at work.”

  “I was. But I do get a few hours off in the afternoon. What are you doing here?”

  “Cleaning the car.”

  “Shouldn’t you be at work?”

  “You know what I should or shouldn’t be doing, now, all of a sudden?” Juliette said brusquely.

  Tears stung Katrina’s eyes, but she was determined not to let them fall.

  “Not a lot going on at the office,” Juliette went on, “so I gave everyone the afternoon off, including me.”

  “That was nice.”

  “New Year’s resolution,” Juliette said. “Improve the work-life balance. Maybe you should make it too.”

  “Yes, maybe,” Katrina said. “Do you want a hand?”

  “No. No thanks. You go in and put your feet up. You can make me a cup of tea if you like.”

  By mid-afternoon Niall had spoken to the police, spoken to three local news journalists, and was tired of the sympathy. He had said nothing to anyone about the passer-by who had told him it was safe to cross, describing it to police and reporters as ‘just one of those things – a mistake.’ Faith had arrived, had given Geoff a large sum of money on Niall’s instructions which the taxi driver had eventually accepted after prevailing upon Niall to take his phone number ‘and call me any time you want to go anywhere mate’, and had helped him pass the time waiting for news of Hugo.

  At length the vet who had been working on him came and sat down with them.

  “He’ll live,” was the first thing he said.

  “Thank God,” Faith intoned almost silently. Niall stared sightlessly at the floor.

  “We’ll keep him in overnight,” the vet went on. “Just to keep an eye on him and because he’s exhausted and traumatised. But if you come back tomorrow afternoon you’ll be able to take him home, unless any complications develop.”

  “What was the damage?” Faith asked.

  “His right fore-leg was broken in two places. We’ve pinned it. He may always limp but he should walk on it fine again when it’s out of plaster. He’s got a number of cracked ribs but his spine’s fine, thank goodness. His whole body’s pretty bruised and shaken up, but considering what he’s been through it could’ve been a lot worse.”

  “Will he be able to carry on working?” Faith asked. “As a guide dog?”

  �
��No idea,” the vet said. “Not my field of expertise.”

  “I’m keeping him,” Niall said. “I won’t have another.”

  “Of course,” Faith said quickly. “Can we see him?”

  “We gave him a general anaesthetic and he’s still out. I’d leave it until tomorrow if I were you.”

  Offering profuse thanks, Faith finally persuaded Niall that there was no point continuing to sit as if petrified, and the two of them walked out of the Clerkenwell Animal Hospital.

  “We’ll get a Number 19 bus,” Faith said, guiding Niall expertly along the crowded pavement.

  Niall said nothing. Ever since he had had Hugo he had never really liked being guided. There was something inherently helpless about it. You were beholden. You were at the mercy of the guide. You were totally dependent. And that was not a way he chose to live his life. But right now, what other options did he have? He had been put as effectively out of action as if the car had made him his target. Now he was thrown back onto what he actually was – a blind investigator. Incapable of going anywhere, incapable of finding anything out. Unless – he took someone sighted into his confidence. But that someone could not be Faith.

  “So, Niall,” she said at last when they were safely ensconced on the bus, “now tell me what on earth you were doing in Clerkenwell. I thought you’d gone to Regent’s Park.”

  “I was following up a lead,” Niall said non-committally.

  “Oh, very mysterious,” Faith said lightly. “Secret journalist stuff, eh?”

  “Something like that.”

  “Right.”

  Niall knew that when it broke on the local news it would become clear to everyone, Faith included, that he had been at Tower Hill. And it would make the news, because of his television appearance the night before.

  “Actually I was at Tower Hill,” he said at last. “I went to visit Roderick Leman at his office.”

  “And you told me you were going to Regent’s Park because you didn’t want me to know.”

  “Not exactly,” Niall said. “I hadn’t really decided where I was going when I left the house.”

  “And was Roderick Leman pleased to see you?”

  “What do you think?”