As they continued down the corridor Aidan saw two nurses in front of White's room examining an object that one of them was holding in their hands with great attention. Something was wrong for sure. He covered the rest of the distance, quickly followed by Lance who was having trouble keeping up. A quick glance inside the room told Aidan that White wasn't there.
"Where is Mr White?" Aidan asked without introducing himself, showing his badge. "Police."
"We don't know," one of them said.
Lance caught up and was on the point of saying something but was struck speechless by the beauty of one of the nurses.
"And who might know?" Aidan snapped, seemingly immune to the charms of the woman before him, which only confirmed to Lance what he'd been saying all morning.
"No one," the nurse answered. "He's gone. We left him locked up in the room, but somehow he found a way out and left the hospital."
The nurse showed them the object that they had been looking at when Aidan arrived. He studied it for a couple of seconds. The iron lock had been forced. A quick inspection of the marks on the door showed that the lock had been placed this side of the door. Which raised the question of how James White had forced it if he'd been locked inside. Somebody could have done it in the corridor but the marks didn't back that up. It had been opened from the other side of the door. That was clear enough. What wasn't clear was how.
Aidan remembered James White complaining about being held against his will, and the insolent attitude that had gone with it. The detective had put it down to the knock on the head that James kept talking about and remembered him saying that he knew Aidan from somewhere. Thinking he'd never see him again Aidan hadn't paid too much attention to him. He regretted that now. Too many things were happening. And he was convinced that James White was involved.
Without getting involved in the mystery of James's leaving the hospital, Aidan turned Lance away from his new-found obsession with the nurse. He decided not to share his doubts with him for the present. What he had in his head now would only add fuel to the fire of Lance's opinion of his state of mind. And what was worse, given the thoughts that were raging through his head, he couldn't be sure that Lance's opinion of him was unfounded.
"Do you know if they took a blood test?" he asked the nurse.
"Yes. I took it," she answered. "He asked me out while I was doing it."
"That doesn't surprise me," Lance said, as Aidan's elbow impacted on his ribs.
"Good. That blood is requisitioned," Aidan informed her. "Tell the doctor or whoever is responsible that someone from the police will collect it."
The nurse shrugged her shoulders and walked off with her companion. Lance was still getting his breath back after the dig in the ribs so Aidan slipped his mobile phone out of his pocket and rang Fletcher. The pathologist was in a bad mood and still in William Black's flat arranging the moving of samples to the laboratory. Aidan could hear a lot of orders and disagreements at the other end. Aidan's request didn't please him too much but he agreed to send someone to collect the blood sample and compare it with William Black's.
"Are you still going on with this idea about them being twins, then?" Lance asked, opening the lift door. "You're going to miss this old pathologist. He's the only one who acts on your hunches."
"We won't lose anything by comparing their DNA," Aidan advised. "Have you got a better idea, detective?"
"I might do."
Aidan doubted that but didn't say anything. The lift doors opened and they filed out towards the exit. Aidan reflected about the possible motives for White’s escape from the hospital. By the look of it, it had been a spur of the moment decision. The feeling was building that they needed to locate him as soon as they could. He decided to give Lance the job of finding him. He had to do something. He was about to give the other detective his new instructions when a familiar voice interrupted him.
"Aidan! How pleased I am to see you."
A beautiful woman with big black eyes and dark wavy hair was walking towards them. A broad smile covered her warm face. On seeing his sister-in-law, a flood of sensations swirled through Aidan. The pain that appeared with any memory of his wife competed with nostalgia and an arsenal of other emotions in Aidan's heart.
Jane greeted Lance first, who was happy to see her, but stepped aside straight away to let the others renew old acquaintances. Lance was conscious that it came down to a delicate but important situation in Aidan's life. And he really hoped that his friend would know how to behave.
Jane gave Aidan a warmer greeting. She threw her arms around him and hugged him with what seemed like all her strength. Aidan pulled back slowly and ran his hand across her cheek. Her eyes were watery; it was a moving moment. But then she punched him on the chest.
"Why haven't you rung or come around?" she demanded, her voice surprisingly hard. "We're still family. Have you forgotten that?"
"I'm happy to see you too. It's just that I've been busy," Aidan explained.
"Don't give me that. It's almost a year since we've heard anything from you. The last time we had any news about you was in the paper. A report about a court case. Something to do with drugs. It didn't give you much of a wrap." Aidan was about to say something. "Don't interrupt me. Imagine how I felt when the article talked about my sister's death. I wanted to help you, to be with you. But you wouldn't let me get close. I found out later that you'd punched the lawyer."
Jane's words were painful. Aidan knew that she was being sincere. It must have been bad for her reading all of that rubbish. There had always been a special feeling between them; she was the only member of his dead wife's family that he had really got on with. He'd never got on well with his father-in-law, even though he'd always been respectful and concealed his lack of approval as much as he could. He'd simply had nothing in common with the rest of the family. But Jane was different. He'd always enjoyed her company, her direct manner. In a way, she reminded him of Lance, in the sense that she got on with everyone, something Aidan couldn't lay claim to.
"I couldn't meet you on that occasion," he explained. "I was working undercover. No one could know I had family. I promise you I would've given anything to have had your support."
"Very well. I'll give you the benefit of the doubt," Jane said, relaxing, "And what are doing here? Are you sick?"
"No way. I'm jumping out of my skin," he said, but stopped when he realized that she didn't like hearing him treat his own health as a joke. After the accident and during the months of being in a coma, Jane had thought she might lose him as well. And despite his amazing recovery she still didn't like him taking his own health lightly. "We're here on police work. And you?"
"My back's been killing me lately. I came to see if the doctors can find a solution for the pain," she explained, running her hand over the lumbar region, which for some reason prompted her to go quiet as if she'd turned to stone.
"Come this year, Aidan! Do it for me," she begged, grabbing him by the shoulders.
"I don't want you to take this wrong, Jane," he said seriously. "It's got nothing to do with you. I'm not going to cry over my wife's grave. You know that."
Aidan watched her as she lowered her head and exhaled as if all the air in her lungs was leaving her right then. He knew he'd been unfair to her. He should have visited her a long time ago and although his excuse had been valid, he could have called around later on and it wouldn't have made any difference. He'd always been willing to accept any case and chase human scum wherever he had to to keep his mind occupied. But she didn't deserve the sort of treatment he'd been giving her. And more than that, he didn't deserve the brotherly affection that she offered him. He couldn't let it get any worse than it already was.
Yet, he still couldn't do what she wanted. To go to the cemetery and pray to an empty coffin was beyond him. His wife's remains weren't there. The Thames had taken the body and it was never found. He hadn't even attended the funeral, because he was still in a coma. They buried an empty coffin in a symbolic gesture,
so that the family could bid her farewell, they'd said. At each anniversary of her death the family went to the cemetery. Aidan had never gone and he wasn't going to do it this time either. He just couldn't pretend that his dead wife's spirit was at the cemetery.
"The children miss you," Jane insisted. "They love to see you. You're still their hero. They even tell their friends that you're the highest ranked policeman in the city."
"I'll try to go, seriously. If I can't, I'll call in later."
"That's what I'm hoping," she sighed sadly.
She said goodbye with a long kiss on the cheek before she walked down the corridor. Aidan watched her go until she disappeared through the lift doors.
"Shit!" Lance said. "I forgot that tomorrow is the anniversary of her death."
"It doesn't matter, Lance," he said, walking towards the exit. "It's not your problem. It's mine."
"You're an imbecile," Lance let him know. "It peeves me that you're capable of saying that. Do you think I don't miss her too?"
"I didn't mean to say that," Aidan said, softening his voice. "I'm sorry, mate. You know that wasn't my intention."
"Stop carrying it inside and go tomorrow. Jane's right. They want to share it with you."
As they left the hospital Aidan looked at his partner seriously. He wasn't angry with him but he realized that Lance simply didn't understand that his situation had nothing to do with logic. Aidan couldn't get his emotions under control sufficiently to be able to do what seemed right. He concentrated on Lance's good sentiment and not on getting angry for a reason the other man wouldn't understand.
"She's not buried there. I can't go."
"Do you think I don’t know that?" Lance stopped him in the middle of the street. "I was the one who went looking for her body. Have you forgotten that? You were in a coma. The doctors said it was more than likely that you wouldn't wake up. I directed the search in the Thames for weeks, until they wouldn't let me go on with it."
"At least you did something. I woke up to discover that she was dead and buried. I couldn't do anything."
"Well, there's something you can do now," Lance said in a different tone. "There are people who want to share your pain. The few neurons that you've got should know that I'm right." Aidan stood still, without expression. Lance moved his head from one side to the other looking at him. "I know that bothers you. But that's how it is. You're big and tall and you're lucky you recovered. But your virtues end there, my friend. I know you recognize in me an intellect of a higher order, and that drives you crazy."
"You're spot on." Aidan paused. "But shut up or I swear I'll pull your tongue out."
"You can't survive without my advice. Besides, if I shut up I won't be able to give you the good news."
"What are you talking about? More advice?"
"No," he said smiling. "I just wanted to tell you that at this very minute your girlfriend is walking towards you."
* * * * *
CHAPTER 5
"You take care of it this time," Mike said, his shoulders slumped at the bottom of the stairs. "I promise you if I get out of going up, I'll give you half of my wages."
"Stop dreaming," Steve replied quickly. "It's our work, my friend. This bastard of a job is for the two of us. Don't think I'm going to take it on alone."
Steve wasn't capable of holding his bad temper in. He threw the backpack carrying the equipment onto the ground and kicked it. Mike watched him in silence, he was exhausted and the situation wasn't something to be exactly happy about.
"You know I'd do it for you," Mike insisted. "It's just a question of age, nothing more. I would go back myself, but I'm exhausted. You're fifteen years younger. You could do me a favour."
"Don't crawl, Mike. I can't do it alone. We've both got to go back."
"Remember that girl, the blonde that pronounced her vowels bad?"
"I think so," Steve said with a faint glint in his eyes. "Are you trying to work me up? What's she got to do with all of this?"
"They almost caught you on top of her at work," Mike reminded him. "I saved your arse, covered for you and it almost cost me a month's salary."
"Good try. I can see you're trying to score points to get out of this. Very well, you asked for it. What happened that time you arrived completely drunk to work after that clown's stag night? You know the friend who's always asking you for money? I was the one who did all the maintenance work that day so that no one would catch on."
"You see," Mike exclaimed, triumphantly. "That shows that you're perfectly capable of taking care of this alone. I've always said that you were the better of the two of us."
"I'm immune to false praise," Steve said, walking up to Mike and putting his arms on his shoulders. "Mike, friend… partner. You're a great bloke, of that there's no doubt. I appreciate you, but not that much to leave you here. There's no doubt you can do it to free yourself. I don't like it any more than you do. But this is the way to go. Pluck up some courage and let's get back up there."
He'd fired his last bullet and it had missed its mark. Mike accepted that he couldn't avoid responsibility on this occasion and gave out a great sigh of defeat. He got up from the ground slowly and under Steve's look of bitter victory, he walked towards the stairs, to get the inevitable over and done with. At least that's what he thought as he arrived at the first step.
"A watchmaker shouldn't have to go through this," Mike lamented, raising his head.
"I swear if it starts to malfunction again I'll give up. I'm not an architect and I've never had to worry about this before. But I tell you I'll put a curse on whoever designed this bastard of a tower. Its fame doesn't mean anything to me. Why isn't there a fuckin' lift?"
The prospect of going back up the three hundred steps of Big Ben was sucking what little energy they had left out of them. They'd only just come down. It couldn't have been more than two minutes before. They'd just repaired the world-famous clock on top of the tower when that weird thing had started to happen again.
It couldn't have been more inopportune. Big Ben's out-of-tune chiming started again. For a moment, Mike seriously considered the possibility that it was a practical joke. At any second, a comedy show host would appear along with a cameraman diligently filming the anger on the faces of the two workers. There'd be laughter all round and Steve and Mike would be excused from any more participation in the mad joke. They'd be free to leave and would never have to climb the stairs again.
For a long moment neither of them moved and to Mike's dismay no cameraman appeared. When they looked at each other again, they could see the same thought in each other's eyes: burn the damn neo-gothic tower, along with the clock.
The worst thing of all was that they didn't know what was wrong with Big Ben. The clock was a masterpiece of precision but lately it had been out of time and tuning for no apparent reason. Another unknown factor was how to fix it. They'd checked the mechanism over and over again but couldn't find anything to explain what was going on. The only thing that seemed to work was rewinding it.
Forcing themselves with great difficulty to control their frustration, they began slowly to go back up the three hundred steps that they'd learnt to hate.
"This is unbearable," Mike said, leaning against the wall. "I've had it. And it's all for nothing. It's going to break down again."
"What gets me most," Steve said, sitting down at his side, "is that it's getting more frequent. This time we've just come down and the problem's started again."
"Do we have to fix it?"
"Yes, you know we do."
They shared a look of defeat, waited a while longer to get their breath, and began the ascent again. Mike thought about a new job on the way up. He could see himself seated comfortably in an office somewhere, a computer screen in front of him, the punching of his fingers on the keyboard the only effort required.
When they got to the top it wasn't necessary to check what the problem was. It was always the same thing. Two opposing faces of the clock had slowed down and the other
two continued with the unaltered time. This time it was the north and south faces that had stopped. The last time it had been the other two. The fault switched constantly.
While Mike was helping Steve rewind the clock, the prospect of going through this again and again weighed heavily on his mind. He was near to breaking.
# # #
He wanted to finish for the day and go home. It was getting dark and he didn't have the strength to keep fighting something that was beyond his comprehension. Aidan Zack suppressed the urge to grab Lance Norwood, give him a whack in the face and take him back into the building, seeing as they were already at the hospital entrance.
"Do you mind telling me what you're doing?" Aidan asked.
There had been a sudden change in the conversation and Aidan felt disorientated. What was all that girlfriend stuff? Lance knew perfectly well that he didn't have a girlfriend. Since his wife's death he'd only been out with two or three women and none of those had lasted more than two or three dates. It was one of the facts Lance used to make him feel uncomfortable. For some reason he felt the necessity to revive Aidan's love life, seeing all the big man's efforts to get something going had failed. Lance kept his head down to the task, telling Aidan he was going to meet the perfect woman someday and when that day came he'd have Lance to thank for keeping him going.
Aidan felt that Lance pitied him. He knew he was a good friend, probably the best he had. But even so, he was convinced that it was this feeling sorry for him thing that kept him hanging around all the time.
"Let me see," Lance said, tilting his head and looking at some point behind Aidan's back. "Nice legs, long dark hair. Great curves and that look that young women have that makes you want to find out more about them. Yes, it's her."
"Damn!" Aidan exclaimed, turning his head. He'd just recognized her. "She didn't see us. Let's get off."
The Big Ben mystery Page 5
