Beatrice shrugged. “I suppose. Sorry.”
Annalise met her sister’s eye then looked away. “How much longer do you think they’re going to keep me—?”
The door to the small room opened. The large nurse stuck her head through the gap.
“Sorry to disturb you. A policeman and policewoman are here. They’d like to have a chat.”
Chapter 6
A man and a woman entered the small room. He was in his mid-thirties and dressed in a smart suit. She was ten years younger and clearly the junior in the partnership. She wore a blue dress and a dark jacket. Her straight brown hair extended down to her shoulders and was parted to the left. The thick frames of her black plastic glasses partially obscured an attractive face.
The pair stood at the foot of the bed, staring at Annalise. She turned away and looked at the wall so that the man and woman were only visible from the corner of her eye. A deep red haze enveloped his head. Hers was surrounded by a slowly undulating, light grey ring.
“Chris Appleby,” the man announced, “and this is my colleague, Cassie Meadows. If you’re feeling up to it, we have some questions about the day of the accident.”
“What do you want to know?” Sophie asked, stony-faced.
“We’d like to ask about the crash, if we may,” Appleby said.
“My daughter only woke up in the early hours of this morning after spending nearly a year in a coma. Can’t this wait until she’s fully recovered?”
“Oh, I see. The nurse informed us there were no injuries, and that Miss Becker is physically well. Is that not the case?”
“And what about the fact that somebody may have tampered with my daughter’s drip? Shouldn’t you be concentrating your efforts on identifying the person who poisoned her?”
“Poisoned her?” Appleby replied, failing to disguise his surprise. “I have no information about that. We’re here specifically to talk about the collision.”
“The consultant told us the hospital had informed the police about the suspected contamination,” Sophie said. “Anyway, aren’t you supposed to read our Miranda rights or something? You know: the right to remain silent and all that.”
The man raised an eyebrow. “We’re from a different department. And technically, they’re only called Miranda rights in the United States, not the UK. In any case, this is just an informal chat, so I don’t think we need to bother with anything like that.”
Despite his words, he removed a small leather-bound notebook from his inside jacket pocket and unclipped a propelling pencil from the spine.
Annalise’s gaze wandered down to the man’s scuffed shoes and back up to his expressionless face. His partner fidgeted with her wedding ring. When Annalise tilted her head away, the grey band behind the woman seemed to have darkened. “I’ve lost all memory of that day,” she said.
“Very convenient,” Appleby muttered.
Sophie frowned. “What did you just say?”
“Oh, nothing. Now, what is the last thing you remember before the collision?”
Annalise narrowed her eyes as she concentrated on trying to recall the events leading up to the crash. “He—Mark that is—asked me if I wanted to go out for the day.”
“When did this conversation take place?”
“That was the Friday.”
“And where did you talk?”
“We were in the pub, The Jolly Farmer in Marfield village.”
The man nodded. “Yes, I know where you mean. How did you get there?”
“We went by taxi. I can remember thinking how expensive it was.”
“So, your boyfriend—Mark Webber, right?—he drops you off in the taxi afterwards and arranges to pick you up the following day. Did he say where he was going to take you?”
“He said it was a surprise, but I found out from my family today that he had bought a new car and planned to travel down to the south coast somewhere.”
“Okay,” the man said. “What can you remember about the Saturday?”
Annalise shook her head. “It’s all a blank. I clearly recall going to bed on Friday night, but everything after that ...”
“Did you sleep alone?”
Dan stood up, his forehead furrowed in anger. “What possible relevance could that have?”
“It’s alright, Dad,” Annalise said. “Yes, I slept alone.”
“Had you slept with him before?”
“Right, that’s enough,” Dan said. “This conversation is over.”
The man lifted his hands in a placatory gesture. “Okay, you don’t need to answer that one. I’m trying to establish the relationship between you and Mr Webber. I only have a few more questions. Do you know how to drive?”
“Yes.”
“How long have you held a license?”
“Hang on,” Dan said. “You’re the police. Surely you already have that information.”
“I’m just attempting to confirm the facts. Can you please answer the question?”
“I passed my test last year,” Annalise replied. “Actually, it must be two years ago by now.”
“Were you insured to drive Mr Webber’s vehicle?”
“I know nothing about Mark’s insurance. I don’t even remember him having a car.”
“So, to reiterate what you’ve told me,” Appleby said, glancing down at his notes. “You were driving Mr Webber’s car, but you had no insurance? Is that correct?”
“I just said I can’t remember.”
“So you have no memory of driving the car that killed my ... the other driver?”
Dan took a step towards Appleby. “What were you going to say? You said the word my and then stopped.”
The pair exchanged a glance.
“Come on. It’s a simple question.”
Appleby and his partner remained silent.
Dan advanced another pace. “I want to see your warrant cards.”
“Thanks for your time,” the man said, returning the notebook to his jacket pocket. “We’ll be in touch.”
Dan strode to the door and blocked the way out. “You’re obviously not police officers. Who are you—reporters or something?”
Appleby reached for the handle, but Dan brushed his hand aside.
“You’re not leaving until you tell us who you work for.”
Appleby licked his lips. “I’m a private investigator. Reality Insurance pays me to investigate claims. They’re Vince Parker’s insurers.” He glanced at Annalise. “By the way, he’s the man you killed on the off-chance your amnesia is genuine. Now, are you going to let us out of here, or will I have to demean myself by shouting for help?”
“Bloody vermin,” Dan said. “I’m going to report you for impersonating a police officer.
“I never said we worked for the police. You just assumed we did.”
“The nurse said you were police officers.”
“We told her we were investigators, and that’s true. She must have got the wrong end of the stick. Can we go now?”
Annalise’s father pulled the door open wide enough for the pair to leave. The man slipped through first, followed by the woman. As she passed through the gap, she turned back apologetically to the family.
At the edge of her vision, Annalise noticed the circle around the woman’s head had transformed to a darker slate grey colour.
Chapter 7
“Bloody bastards,” Dan said.
Sophie folded her arms. “There’s no need to swear in front of the girls.”
Beatrice raised her head from the phone’s screen and rolled her eyes. “We’re not children anymore, you know.”
“I’m sure they’ve heard far worse,” he said.
“Still, I don’t really want to hear it.”
Dan opened his mouth as if to speak then changed his mind.
“So, what do we do now?” Annalise asked, breaking the silence.
“Like I said before, one of the first priorities has to be to sort out a lawyer,” her father replied. “We also need to see p
roof of identity before we talk to anybody. Once word gets out you’re awake, my guess is the press will be keen to interview you too. The only people we should have any conversation with about this are the police and even then, only with a lawyer present.”
Sophie nodded. “I agree. In the meantime, you ought to get some rest.”
“I already told you, I feel fine,” Annalise said. “The only thing wrong with me is the loss of memory. How can I answer questions if I can’t remember anything?”
Dan grabbed the door handle. “I’m going to make some calls and arrange legal representation. I’ll leave you with your mother and sister.”
Beatrice took the opportunity to escape the confines of the small room. “I’ve got homework to do. Any chance you could drop me off at the house, Dad?”
Dan thought for a moment. “Alright, I’ll drive you home and make the calls from there. I’ll be back to see you this afternoon, Annalise. When’s visiting time?”
“Three to five,” Sophie replied.
He crossed to the bedside and hugged his daughter. “Don’t worry, we’ll sort all this out. Just concentrate on getting better. I love you.”
“I love you too, Dad.”
“Come on, Beatrice. Say goodbye to your sister.”
Beatrice looked up from her phone screen but made no attempt to come nearer. She gave a small wave. “See you later, Sis.”
The pair trooped out of the room, leaving mother and daughter together.
Sophie moved the chair closer to the bed. “While you were lying there in a coma, it felt like ... my heart had been torn out. I still can’t quite believe you’re awake again.”
“Thanks for sticking by me, Mum.”
Sophie brushed a tear away. “This whole thing was ripping the family apart. I know it’s hard, but we will get through it.” She reached out and grabbed Annalise’s hand. “Try not to judge her. She needs time to adapt.”
“You mean Beatrice?”
“Yeah. She’s at that age where she’s trying to establish her own identity, but everybody knows her as the sister of the girl who had the car accident.”
“I don’t know what to say.”
“Some boys at school have asked her out, but I suspect most of them are doing it for bragging rights. There haven’t been many who have made it as far as a second date. There’s some resentment there, but I’m sure she still loves you. Just try to be patient with her.”
“I’ll make an effort.”
“I know you will.”
Sophie released her daughter’s hand and reached inside her bag for a tissue. “That reminds me, I’ve been keeping your mobile phone in here. It might help to relieve the boredom until they let you go home. The police brought it round ... afterwards. The battery’s probably flat, but I’ve got a mains charger too. From what I remember, yours uses the same connector as mine. You’re not supposed to use them in here, but I’m fairly certain it won’t do any harm. I overheard an IT guy talking about it, saying it was all a con. The manufacturers test all the medical equipment to make sure it’s not affected by radio waves. He said the rules are so you have to pay for the phones they provide, which of course are hugely expensive.”
She gestured towards the chunky handset resting on the bedside cabinet.
Annalise accepted the mobile and charger then placed them in the top drawer. “Thanks.” She turned back to her mother and hesitated before speaking.
“I’ve got an idea about what the auras might be telling me.”
Sophie frowned. “I wouldn’t worry about that. They’ll probably disappear in a day or two.”
“It’s only a guess based on what I’ve seem so far, but I think it’s a reflection of a person’s behaviour. If somebody is good, the colour around them seems to be brighter.”
“Why do the colours have to be telling you anything?”
“Beatrice’s aura was like storm clouds. I’m guessing that’s because she’s feeling resentful towards me. When she blurted out that I was driving the car, it turned a darker shade.”
“I’m sure it’s nothing.”
Annalise persevered. “The two insurance people who were in here; his was a dark red, hers was a grey disc. It was obvious from her body language she was uncomfortable with the situation. Did you see the way she fiddled with the ring on her finger? At first, I assumed it was because she was just nervous, but now I realise she felt guilty about their actions. When they left, the circle around her head was much darker.”
Sophie stared at Annalise. Both were contemplating the same unanswered question, but neither spoke. Sophie looked away. Her face crumpled. “I thought I’d lost you. They said you weren’t going to wake up.”
Annalise placed an arm on her mother’s shoulder and dragged her into a hug. “Don’t worry, I’m here now.” Tears streamed down both their faces as they embraced.
Eventually, Sophie lowered her arms and sniffed loudly. “I must look a right state,” she said, fumbling in her handbag for the pack of tissues. She handed one to her daughter, keeping another for herself.
Sophie approached the waste bin and opened the lid. She continued to stand with her back to the bed. After a few seconds, she exhaled the breath she had been holding, and her shoulders sagged. She turned to Annalise.
“Actually, you might be right about the auras. I wasn’t going to say anything, but I owe you the truth. The guilt is eating me up. I—”
Before she could complete the sentence, the door swung open, and the nurse stuck her head in the gap.
“I’m afraid visiting time is over. This young lady needs her rest. You can come back at three.”
The woman remained in the doorway, waiting for Sophie to leave.
Sophie bent down to kiss her daughter. “We’ll talk later. I love you.”
“I love you too.”
Annalise stared at her mother’s outline as she left the room.
Chapter 8
Annalise rearranged the pillows behind her back. What the hell did her mother feel guilty about? It was something she didn’t want to discuss in front of the rest of the family. Annalise wracked her brains but couldn’t come up with a plausible scenario. Maybe she should call her right now and get it out in the open.
She studied the mobile’s screen. The state of charge had reached just below fifteen percent. She had discovered an empty socket behind the bedside cabinet, but the charger cable did not extend far enough to reach from the bed. Mindful of the signs dotted around the ward and knowing the nurse could enter the room at any time, she resisted the urge to use the phone until it contained sufficient power to work disconnected from the mains. At least now, if somebody came in, she could hide it under the sheets.
The lock screen displayed a photograph of Mark raising a half-full beer glass, a wide grin on his face. She remembered the occasion well. She had taken the picture the week before his twenty-first birthday when they had been drinking at their favourite haunt, The Jolly Farmer in Marfield. He had just announced that he was going to move out of his foster parents’ home into his own flat. It was strange to think that for her, only a few weeks had passed, yet for him, it had been over a year.
Her fingers darted instinctively over the digits. The screen indicated there were over three thousand unread emails. While she watched, the number increased by another four. That’s what comes of being unconscious for eleven months.
She tapped the envelope icon and inspected the subject headings; they were ordered by time with the most recent displayed first. The vast majority were adverts and Facebook notifications. The third one down was from a school friend, Kirsty Jacobs. She opened the message.
Have you woken up? Somebody said you were out of the coma. Get well soon. K
Annalise was about to tap out a reply then thought better of it. She needed to consider how to break the news to her friends. Her mind wandered back to her mother and the dark aura. Her finger hovered over the phone icon when an item at the bottom of the display caught her eye. The sender’s
name was a random jumble of letters and numbers at a Gmail address. It was the title that grabbed her attention.
*** Why don’t you just die ***
She clicked the text.
So you’re awake, bitch. You should have stayed dead.
The mobile suddenly felt immensely heavy. She dropped it on the bed. A tingling sensation prickled at her scalp. Her eyes darted around the room but took nothing in. Who was the sender? It was probably just some troll, but if it wasn’t somebody she knew, how had they obtained her email address?
She reached out a trembling hand and studied the screen again. The message was unsigned and had been sent two hours earlier. She hurriedly scrolled down the rest of the list. There were no other messages from the same account. She closed her eyes and attempted to calm her breathing. The numbness had migrated from the top of her skull to her forehead and cheeks. She rubbed her face vigorously with both hands. For a moment coherent thought deserted her.
She forced herself to concentrate. Whoever the sender was, they knew she was awake; that much was clear from the content. How many people could that be? If her sudden recovery had been reported in the press, it could be thousands if not millions. Her mind went back to the consultant’s words. A heart drug had ended up in her drip. What if it wasn’t an accident but an attempt to make sure she never woke up? If somebody could contaminate her drugs, could they not do the same to her food? Or sneak into her room and finish the job in person.
Annalise placed the phone beneath the sheets. What was the guard called? She dredged her recent memories. That’s right: Nick. She shouted his name. Hearing no response, she raised her voice another notch. “Nick!”
The door eased open, and the man’s anxious face appeared in the gap. The mobile gadget in his hand played a burst of electronic music. A pink glow of embarrassment rose above his collar. He fumbled with the controls to mute the sound.
He shoved the device in his jacket pocket. “Is something wrong? Do you want me to fetch the nurse?”
“No. It’s okay. Never mind. I just wondered if you were still there.”
The Colour of the Soul Page 4
