Snarl

by Celina Grace

  Angie’s smile grew wider. “I think you’re labouring under a bit of a misapprehension,” she said and giggled a little. “I’m not part of the protest. I don’t – I’m not into that sort of thing.”

  “You’re not?” Stuart could feel the half smile on his face sag into non-existence. “So how come—”

  “I know James and Rosie? I just do. We have a lot of parties.”

  “Oh, right. So protesting’s not really your thing, then?”

  Angie rolled onto her back again and yawned. “No. I don’t care enough about it. All I care about is—” She stopped for a moment and brushed away a strand of hair from her face. “I just want to make art. That’s all that really matters to me.”

  “Good for you,” Stuart said automatically, while his mind sifted through this new information. Topmost was the thought, sudden and inescapable, was that if this were true, he had no need of Angie’s company, anymore. He was disconcerted by the sudden jump of anxiety, of grief almost, that that engendered in him.

  Get a grip, Stuart. You’re playing a dangerous game, here.

  “I could show you my portfolio, if you like,” said Angie. The diffidence of her voice touched him.

  “I’d like that,” Stuart said. Then, wanting to escape the clamouring voices in his head, telling him to leave, get out of there, try something else, he pulled her closer to him and kissed her.

  *

  En route to the hospital, Kate felt her phone buzz and jitter. A text from Andrew, asking if she was coming back to his house later. She realised, with a guilty jump of the heart, that she hadn’t spared him a second’s thought since she’d left him that morning. Could it really still be the same day? It felt as though a week had passed since that peaceful breakfast in his conservatory. It was only then that Kate remembered his suggestion that she move in with him. She swallowed, put the phone back in her bag without answering it and turned her mind from the problem.

  On arrival at the hospital, they were directed up to the Intensive Care Unit. There, they found Anderton pacing up and down in the reception area. He raised his eyebrows as they walked towards him, but Kate couldn’t read his expression. Did that mean Madeline Dorsey was still alive?

  The smell of the hospital, a nostril-flaring mix of disinfectant, old sweat and worse, brought Kate back to that time last summer, after the incident. She tried to think of it as the incident, not the time I almost died; it helped, somehow. It reduced its importance in her mind. She remembered those first confused and pain-filled weeks and then the long, slow process of recovery; endless physiotherapy appointments, counselling sessions, too many afternoons spent on her sofa watching crappy romantic comedies and anything that didn’t involve violence or bloodshed. Too many nights waking up with a sodden pillowcase, coming back to consciousness with a start, clasping her chest and gasping for air. She never dreamed directly about her attacker; instead she was attacked by birds with long sharp beaks, impaled by metal poles, or she fell endlessly towards spiked railings.

  “Kate?”

  She realised she’d come to a standstill in the middle of the room and blinked, bringing herself back to the present. Anderton and Olbeck were both regarding her with curiosity, tinged with a little concern. She forced a smile. “Just thinking,” she said. “Is there any news?”

  Anderton looked sombre. “Nothing definite. The docs are not holding out much hope, though, from what little I’ve been able to glean.”

  Nothing of the ward could be seen through the opaque glass panels of the swing doors. Kate could picture Madeline Dorsey though, flat on her back on a hospital gurney, tubes and pipes and needles festooning her body. Hanging by her fingernails from a precipice, oblivion in the abyss underneath. Hold on, Madeline. Would she drop to join Jack Dorsey, or cling on for her children? Which would it be?

  Occasionally, a harassed-looking doctor or nurse would hurry through the doors or past the windows of the ward. Kate knew her job was stressful, but it didn’t compare to the working conditions of these people. No wonder Andrew had opted for pathology; not for the physically squeamish, true, but you didn’t have to confront the kind of messy human emotions that a doctor to the living would have to deal with on a day to day basis. Thinking of Andrew, she checked her phone, reading his message again. Even as she was contemplating a reply, another text came through from him, repeating his former question. For the first time, Kate was conscious of a surge of annoyance. After a moment, she texted back sorry, still on case, will be totally shattered so will head to mine. Call you later. After another moment, she added a kiss to the end of the message and sent it. Then she turned her phone off and put it away.

  After another hour’s wait, there was still no news. Anderton began to mutter about getting back to the office. Kate volunteered to stay.

  “Sure?” asked Anderton.

  Kate nodded. Olbeck opted to go back with Anderton. As the two men left, they passed a woman in the doorway, a blonde, dressed in a white linen shirt and blue jeans, with long legs that ended in feet tucked into jewelled sandals. Her face was pretty but terribly drawn, her eyes red and her mouth pulled in tight. She was breathing fast, as if she’d been running. Kate watched her walk to the doorway of the ICU and hover, clasping her arms across her body. Then the woman turned, saw Kate watching her and came towards her.

  “I don’t know what’s happening,” she said, her voice ragged with panic. “Why won’t somebody tell me what’s happening to Madeline?”

  Kate got up immediately. “You know Madeline Dorsey?” she asked.

  The woman nodded, a quick bob of the head as if her neck were stiff. “I’m her sister. Harriet Larsen.” She eyed Kate with confusion. “Who are you?”

  Kate introduced herself and Harriet blanched. For a second, Kate was sure she was going to faint and quickly grabbed Harriet’s arm, steering her over to the bank of chairs at the side of the room.

  “Thanks,” said Harriet faintly, when she was safely seated. “I’m sorry, I just don’t know what to think – I can hardly take it in. Is it – is it true that Jack’s dead?”

  Kate hesitated. Then she said, “There’s been no formal identification just yet, but yes, I’m afraid he is.”

  Harriet drew in her breath in a whooping gasp. She put one hand up to her trembling mouth, pearly painted nails pressed against her lips.

  “Dead…” she whispered, half to herself. Then she cried, big ragged sobs, dropping her head so her blonde hair fell forward in a long, fair curtain.

  Kate sat down next to her and kept a hand on Harriet’s arm. She let her cry for a few minutes and then gave her arm a comforting little squeeze. It was hard, she supposed, to question someone in the depths of extreme emotional torment, but the truth was that, when someone was emotionally vulnerable, it was sometimes when you could learn some very valuable things. And time, naturally, was always of the essence. She waited for a slight cessation in Harriet’s tears and then, after murmuring a few words of condolence, she said “This must be terribly hard for you, Harriet, I’m so sorry. But if you could talk to me now, tell me about Jack and Madeline, it would really help. We need all the information we can get, if we’re going to catch the person who did this.”

  Harriet sobbed harder. Kate said, slightly more firmly. “Do you understand?”

  After a moment, there was a bob of the head. Then Harriet raised her tear-stained face. “Yes, I understand,” she said, hoarsely. “What – what do you want to know?”

  “Well,” said Kate. “Let’s start at the beginning. You’re Madeline’s sister, right? Older or younger?”

  “I’m the oldest. Madeline’s two years younger than I am.”

  “Do you have any other siblings?”

  “No. It’s just us.”

  “What about your parents?”

  Harriet gave another gasping breath that was almost a sob. “Mum died about ten years ago. Oh, thank God she’s been spared this, thank God… she couldn’t have coped. Dad lives overseas. I’ve spoken to him,
he knows… he’s trying to get a flight over here—”

  “Where does he live?”

  “Denmark. Copenhagen. He’s half Danish, you see, and after Mum died he went back to live there.”

  Kate nodded, thinking that explained the sisters’ fairness and height. “Did you grow up there?”

  Harriet shook that long fair mane of hair again. “No, no we always lived in England. Up North, actually, near Harrogate.”

  “Where did Madeline meet Jack?”

  A little colour was coming back into Harriet’s face. She sat up a little. “University. They met at Oxford. Madeline was doing English and Jack was doing something very scientific. Particle physics, or something like that. Well, maybe not physics. I never actually understood it and he tried to explain it to me about three times.” Harriet was almost smiling. Then memory obviously returned and her face fell apart again. She raised a trembling hand to her mouth. “I can’t believe he’s dead, I can’t believe it. Who would have hurt him? Everyone liked him…”

  Her voice was dissolving. Kate said quickly, “So Madeline and Jack met at Oxford. That’s where Jack met his business partner too, isn’t it?”

  “Alex? Yes, that’s right.” Harriet cleared her throat. “They were in the same halls in the first year, had the rooms next to one another.” Something seemed to strike her and she turned to Kate, wide-eyed. “God – Alex – has anyone told him? Does he know? He’ll be devastated, he was Jack’s best friend…”

  “Don’t worry about that,” said Kate, patting Harriet’s arm. “We’ll keep everyone informed, as well as we can. So you’ve known Jack and Alex since they were at university?”

  Harriet nodded. She took a deep breath. “Yes, we’ve all known each other a long time. Almost like family, you know?” She was on the verge of saying more when they were interrupted by the appearance of an exhausted looking doctor. Harriet jumped up, her face grey.

  “Is she – oh my god, is she—”

  “Madeline’s in a critical condition, Ms Larsen, but we’ve done what we can for her.” The doctor looked at Kate with raised eyebrows and she introduced herself quickly, flashing her card. He gave it a cursory glance and then turned his attention back to Harriet. “As I was saying, she’s as stable as she can possibly be at the moment. I won’t pretend to you that her condition is not very serious, very serious indeed, but at the moment, she’s holding on.”

  Harriet sat back down on the plastic chair abruptly. She looked up at the doctor, her face working, hope and despair battling it out for control of her features. “Will she – will she live?”

  The doctor half smiled. “She’s doing as well as she can, Ms Larsen. You must – you must prepare yourself, though. I simply can’t give you that reassurance at this time. I’m sorry.”

  Harriet dropped her head, nodding minutely. Kate caught the doctor’s arm as he was turning away.

  “A quick word?” She drew him a little away from Harriet. “I have to ask you to restrict access to Mrs Dorsey,” she said. “No admittance to anyone apart from medical staff, okay?”

  “Naturally,” snapped the doctor. He was a grey-haired man of about fifty and he looked rather outraged, as if Kate were trying to tell him his job. “That goes without saying, Officer. “

  “Fine,” said Kate. “I’ll have a uniformed officer here when I leave.”

  “As you wish. Now, if you’ll excuse me…”

  Kate watched him walk back into the ICU. Then she returned to Harriet, who was staring blankly at the floor. “Let me get you a cup of tea, Harriet,” she said. “And you can carry on with what you were telling me.”

  Chapter Eleven

  “Morning, team,” Anderton said the next morning, crashing through the door in his usual ebullient fashion. Kate, Olbeck, Theo, Rav and Jane were ranged around the office, talking amongst themselves. Kate, noticing the empty chair that stood at her old desk, wondered what Stuart was doing and whether he was making any progress. For a moment, she considered what it must be like to work under cover. Having to pretend to be someone else, day in and day out. I’d be a natural at it, she thought, with a wry inner grin. That’s what I’ve been doing since the start of my career.

  Her thought process was derailed by Anderton slapping another crime scene photograph on the whiteboard. It was a hugely magnified shot of the word left written in blood at the scene. Kate read it again, remembering the room and the heavy, wet scent of blood in the air. Killer. She wondered what Anderton had to say.

  “Firstly,” he began, hoisting himself onto the edge of a spare desk. “You’ll be glad to know that Madeline Dorsey continues to hang on. She’s still in intensive care and she’s in an incredibly bad way. I don’t think we’ll be taking any witness statements from her any time soon, but she is still alive, so we’ll just have to wait and see. Kate, you spoke to her sister at the hospital, didn’t you? Anything there we should know about?”

  Kate pushed her fringe back from her face. “Her name’s Harriet Larsen and she’s the older sister by two years. No other siblings, their mother is dead and their father lives abroad in Denmark. He’s been informed and I think he’s probably already in the country, by now. Harriet’s known Jack Dorsey and Alexander Hargreaves since they – Jack and Madeline – met at Oxford, over twenty years ago. She was too distressed to tell me much more than that, but as far as she was aware, the Dorseys had a good relationship. She wasn’t aware of anything out of the ordinary, in terms of strange visitors, odd happenings, etcetera etcetera, but she doesn’t live locally, she’s London-based and she hadn’t seen her sister for a couple of months.”

  Anderton nodded. “Did she say they were close? Did they talk a lot? Would Madeline have confided in her?”

  Kate shrugged. “I’m going back to talk to her again, later today. Hope to get a bit deeper this time.”

  “Okay, good.” Anderton jumped from the desk and began pacing in front of the whiteboards. “Now, we’re still waiting on a lot of the forensics and the PM on Dorsey won’t take place until tomorrow. I think your beau might be doing that, Kate.” He grinned, as did Theo and Olbeck. Kate tried to smile, but was conscious of a spurt of something much like humiliation. Why did Anderton think it was such a bloody big joke that she had a boyfriend? “Anyway, Mark, can you pop along and see what’s what when that goes ahead?”

  Olbeck nodded. Anderton reached the wall and turned on his heel to retrace his steps. “Kate, I want you to come with me while I go and see young Mister Hargreaves. I want his alibi checked.”

  He raised a hand. “Standard procedure, people. Don’t go jumping to conclusions. The same goes for Harriet Larsen, Madeline’s father, the cleaner, and any other staff in the house.” Anderton came to a halt and a brief silence fell. “I’m not sure about this one,” he said quietly. There was an odd, loaded hush in the room. Every eye was fixed upon him. “There’s a few too many undercurrents here for my liking. Is this another terrorist attack? Or is there something else going on? I don’t know. And I know you lot don’t know, but that’s what we have to find out. I know we can do it. I know you can do it.”

  Kate was suddenly conscious that she was sitting up straighter, shoulders back, like a soldier on parade. How did Anderton do that? Look at us all, she thought, watching the others. We’d go into battle for him. I know I would.

  Anderton clapped his hands together and the sharp noise broke the spell. He crooked his finger at Kate and she nodded and jumped up, grabbing her coat and bag. She gave Olbeck a wave and then followed her boss from the room.

  It wasn’t until she was sitting in the passenger seat next to Anderton that she realised that, essentially, this was the first time she and he had been alone together since… well, since that night. Immediately, memories and images recurred and she fumbled with the seatbelt, keeping her head down while she clicked it into place to hide the blush that wanted to surface on her face. Then she smoothed her hair back and sat up, in control of herself again.

  “Well, Kate,” Ander
ton said as he accelerated away from the station. “Here we are. How are you feeling?”

  He couldn’t know what she’d just been thinking of, could he? Was he remembering the same thing? Kate coughed.

  “Sorry,” she said. “I’m fine. I’m back in the swing of it, now.”

  “Well, it’s certainly back in the deep end, isn’t it?”

  “You’re not wrong. Still, I may as well start as I mean to go on.”

  Anderton smiled. They waited to join the traffic on the dual carriageway.

  It was a day of oddly contrasting weather; brilliant sunshine one moment, spitting rain and scudding grey clouds the next. The car windscreen wipers went on, then off, then on again. By the time they reached the driveway that led to Hargreaves’ house, the grey clouds had closed completely overhead, the sky like a dingy flannel blanket that sagged ominously with oncoming rain. The driveway led through pine woods, the trees in regimented lines, obviously an old plantation. Now and again, Kate could see patches of sandy heath in the distance with the spiky shapes of the gorse bushes and the softer outline of heather. The road plunged back into the dimness of the pine forest again, wound gently through the trees, and eventually came out in front of a large and unusual looking house. Part of it looked much older than the other, a square stone building that had been absorbed into a much more modern construction of wooden frames, cedar cladding and large glass windows. The windows ran in a long, unbroken line of glass that stretched around the side of the house, and onto a large wooden jetty and decking area which skirted the edge of a lake.

  It looked deserted, although a silver BMW was parked near the front door. Kate and Anderton got out of their own car. The wind gusted through the pine trees on the edge of the shore and Kate could hear the faint lapping of water against the jetty. Overhead came the shrill shriek of some sort of bird of prey. These were the only sounds she could hear and she was reminded of arriving at Jack Dorsey’s house on the day after the murder – how silent it had been. For a moment, she felt a ridiculous jump of panic. Were they going to open the front door to find Alex Hargreaves’ body, face down in a pool of blood or stabbed so viciously he was unrecognisable?