by Stav Sherez
*
The machine beeped every five seconds. Carrigan had been sitting here for the last half hour watching the spikes and lines on the heart monitor flutter and falter. Geneva was beside him, quiet and crouched low in her seat. She’d been released from hospital only the night before but had insisted on being here.
Bob Brown had not regained consciousness. Three minutes after Geneva knocked him out, the assault team had entered the basement. His brain continued to swell in the ambulance and he was dead by the time he got to St Mary’s. Carrigan looked over at Geneva but her expression was unreadable. She would have to spend the next few weeks mired in paperwork, counsellors and review boards and he wondered how and in what shape she would emerge from it.
The door opened and a young doctor entered, followed by a jowly white-haired priest. Several nurses and other medical staff filed in and surrounded his mother’s bed, charts and tablets in their hands. A video camera was recording the procedure. The priest stunk of whisky and week-old sweat. He spoke to Carrigan briefly then went over to the bed.
‘Are you ready?’ the doctor asked.
Carrigan took one final look at his mother and nodded.
The priest gave her the last rites and gently placed the tips of his fingers over her eyes. The doctor performed a sequence of tests on the machine, the assistants helping, each responsible for a specific function like the integrated parts of some fleshy contraption.
All of a sudden, the beeping stopped.
The doctor’s expression changed and he pressed more buttons. The nurses and assistants ceased what they were doing and stared down at the bed.
‘What’s wrong?’ Carrigan said.
The doctor pushed another series of buttons, the lights blinking and flashing, tubes and pumps suddenly springing to life. He looked up, his eyes unable to meet Carrigan’s, and said, ‘She died.’
‘Isn’t that supposed to be the point?’
‘No. You don’t understand.’ The doctor became more frantic as he ran a battery of tests on his machines. ‘I hadn’t finished the checks. She died before we could switch her off. She died of her own accord.’
*
Carrigan sat next to Geneva in the hospital cafeteria. Discarded cups of coffee ringed the table. Faint muzak leaked through the ceiling. The clock on the far wall had stopped nearly a year ago but no one had bothered to replace it. All around them were men and women adrift in their own private gloom. Everyone looked stunned, as if they’d just heard the worst news of their lives, which they probably had. It was there in the way they stirred their drinks and nibbled their food, the father on the fifth floor, the wife in ICU, the baby clinging to life under heated glass. Their lives had been put on pause. They’d abandoned holidays, jobs and children to rush here, in the middle of the night or at two in the afternoon, not knowing what they would find, only that the moment they stepped through the hospital doors their lives would change for ever.
Geneva took a sip of coffee and turned her head. It was weird to be sitting side by side but the seat opposite had been soiled by a previous occupant and no one had yet come to clean it. ‘I’m so sorry about your mother.’
‘Thank you.’ Carrigan cradled his cup, the hot ceramic stinging his palm. ‘I feel awful saying this, but, in a lot of ways, it’s a relief. She was never going to regain consciousness. Maybe deep inside her coma she knew that. Maybe her last act was willing her body to shut down. She’s no longer stuck in limbo. She has a chance at heaven now.’
‘You believe that?’
Carrigan glanced at the tables surrounding them. ‘In this place, not so much, but sometimes, yes.’ He saw the cuts, nicks and stitches on Geneva’s face, her left eye yellow and fat, a gash across her top lip that would leave a scar and her chipped front tooth. ‘How are you doing?’
She shrugged. ‘Better, thanks. Valium and two days in bed and I feel almost good as new.’ It wasn’t the entire truth but, for now, it would do. Bob only had time to give her the preliminary round of drugs and for that she was grateful. As bad as she’d felt these last few days, she knew Katrina, Anna and Madison had suffered worse. She would get over it. That was life. You either got over it or you didn’t.
‘That’s good to hear, but I was talking about what happened in the basement.’
‘You mean how do I feel about killing Bob?’
‘Yes.’
‘I don’t feel good about it.’ She took another sip of coffee. ‘But I don’t feel that bad about it either. I wasn’t going to die down there.’
‘I wasn’t going to let you.’
They both turned at the same time and suddenly they were facing each other. A beat passed and their fingers collided. Their faces were only an inch apart. Geneva closed her eyes and let her body sway forward. She felt Carrigan’s lips brush hers . . .
‘Isn’t this nice?’
Geneva snapped her eyes open to see two men standing either side of the table. They both wore suits and one of them was waving a piece of paper in his hand.
‘We have a warrant for your arrest, Carrigan.’ Patterson placed the document on the table. ‘I’m sorry to break this up but you’re going to have to come with us.’
It took Geneva a moment to process what was happening but by then it was too late. Patterson was reading Carrigan his rights. She tried to object but the other man held her back as Patterson finished the formalities and, with great deliberation, snapped the handcuffs shut on Carrigan.
Acknowledgements
This book came to be under the most difficult of circumstances. It probably wouldn’t have seen the light without the following:
Angus Cargill – I mention this every time, but what else is there to say except he’s the best editor any author could wish for and, if you enjoyed this book, a lot of that is down to him.
Sophie Portas, Katherine Armstrong, Andrew Benbow, Katie Hall, Miles Poynton, Lisa Baker and everyone else at Faber & Faber who do so much to bring these books out into the world.
Everyone at Aitken Alexander Associates, for spreading my words around the globe.
Kent Carroll for the always entertaining breakfast chats and for everything he’s done at Europa Editions to get my books published in America.
All those reviewers and bloggers who took the time to read and comment on my previous novels. Without you, this would seem a very pointless job.
My mother, for always being there.
Jane, for everything that is not contained within language.
And, of course, most importantly, to all the readers who have followed me through the years – thank you so much! Without you, none of this would have a reason to exist.
The phrase, ‘There’s always one more camera in any given room than you think there is,’ was kindly borrowed from Matt Thorne.
About the Author
Stav Sherez is the author of The Devil’s Playground (2004), which was described by James Sallis as ‘altogether extraordinary’ and was shortlisted for the CWA John Creasey Dagger Award; The Black Monastery (2009), described as ‘spectacular’ by Laura Wilson in the Guardian; and two novels in the Carrigan and Miller series, A Dark Redemption (2012), a #1 Kindle bestseller, and Eleven Days (2013), both of which were shortlisted for the Theakstons Crime Novel of the Year Award. You can find him on Twitter @stavsherez.
By the Same Author
THE DEVIL’S PLAYGROUND
THE BLACK MONASTERY
A DARK REDEMPTION
ELEVEN DAYS
Copyright
First published in 2017
by Faber & Faber Ltd
Bloomsbury House
74–77 Great Russell Street
London WC1B 3DA
This ebook edition first published in 2017
All rights reserved
© Stav Sherez, 2017
Cover design by Faber
Cover photograph © Christer Fredriksson/Getty
The right of Stav Sherez to be identified as author of this work has been asserted in accord
ance with Section 77 of the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988
This ebook is copyright material and must not be copied, reproduced, transferred, distributed, leased, licensed or publicly performed or used in any way except as specifically permitted in writing by the publishers, as allowed under the terms and conditions under which it was purchased or as strictly permitted by applicable copyright law. Any unauthorised distribution or use of this text may be a direct infringement of the author’s and publisher’s rights, and those responsible may be liable in law accordingly
ISBN 978–0–571–29728–3
