Head Wound

by Judith Cutler

  I pulled over.

  We exchanged greetings, breezy on my part, cautious on his.

  ‘Aaron,’ I said, my smile the sort a pike might smile when it noticed a random minnow, ‘I think you might have left something behind when you did our tiling job the other day.’

  Got him. He flushed deeply.

  ‘You know what,’ I continued, ‘the police are pretty well taking the place apart at the moment, looking for something that shouldn’t be there. They’ll be looking at the loft tomorrow. I wonder what they’d say if they found – whatever it is you left there.’

  He writhed as if it was now an alligator smiling at him.

  ‘You’ve still got your ladders on the roof: do you fancy coming straight up now and – just to make sure there’s nothing lying around where it shouldn’t be?’

  A couple of cars went past. He looked at them as if they might provide inspiration. Another couple came towards us – it was a pity the Speed Watch team wasn’t around.

  ‘Don’t worry – I’ll step the ladder for you.’

  ‘Best get—’ he muttered, disappearing into the house. In seconds he was out again, clutching a Tesco carrier bag.

  We processed to the school. Without hesitation he parked on the zigzag lines, which I regarded as sacred even at weekends. I parked demurely in my usual spot.

  ‘It’s easier to get the ladders down that side,’ he announced, pointing.

  ‘You don’t want to get access from the inside?’

  ‘All that insulation – you’d need a mask and stuff. And crawling boards. Easier to take a couple of tiles off.’ Stuffing the carrier bag in a back pocket – it pulled his jeans down even lower – he marched off, carrying the ladder as easily as I would carry a pencil.

  Having set it in place, he paused, one foot on the bottom rung, and said, ‘It was only for a laugh, like. I didn’t mean it to cause all what you said. And she and I broke up too!’ he added bitterly, as slightly to my surprise he pulled on blue gloves. ‘Last night, like.’

  ‘I’m sorry to hear that.’

  ‘Just wish it had been last week.’

  I couldn’t have put it better.

  ‘Just hope I didn’t miss any,’ he said, five minutes later, passing me the carrier, now holding a few smelly prawns. ‘Sorry. Do you have to tell the police?’

  ‘It wouldn’t do your business any good if you had a criminal record, would it?’

  ‘You can say that again.’ He looked back up, frowning. ‘That’ll be OK, miss. And any other jobs – well, let’s say mates’ rates. One thing – what’s with all those boards? Why not do the whole lot? Doesn’t make sense, does it? You know what, I’d have put the prawns under there if I could have reached,’ he added, disarmingly.

  ‘Just insulation, I suppose.’ But there was soft fluffy insulation everywhere, and only that one area boarded. Odd.

  ‘Never looked? Fancy looking now? Got my chisel and stuff in the van. Hey, what was that?’

  I’d hardly registered anything, but now heard a slight whimper or moan. ‘A cat stuck somewhere?’

  He abandoned the ladder. ‘Best have a look.’ He set off the other side of the school, the canteen side, which I’d been quite happy to avoid earlier. ‘My God! Oh, my God!’ He came running back. ‘I think she’s still alive.’

  A girl. Yes, still alive – but not for much longer.

  She was nailed, hands and feet, in a parody of the crucifixion. She was gasping for breath – hadn’t enough to scream, though the pain in her hands must have been excruciating as the weight of her body pulled against the nails, leaving trenches in the flesh.

  ‘Just hold her up! Yes, take her weight! Well done.’ I could hardly work my fingers to dial 999. ‘Ambulance! Police! Desperately urgent!’ Somehow I had to calm down enough to give details. The despatcher wanted more details of the girl’s injuries than I had time to give them. ‘We’re holding her so at least she can breathe.’

  Aaron glanced at me. ‘You strong enough to hold her? Got to get those nails out before they tear her hands and feet in half.’

  I took his place. ‘Got your phone, Aaron? No? Mine’s in my pocket. Take a couple of pics. Evidence. OK. Well done.’ He shoved the phone back in my trousers, but in his haste he missed the pocket and it slithered between the fabric and my skin.

  But he was dashing off. I talked rubbish to the girl – anything to keep her alive, it seemed. How long was he gone? What was he doing?

  No, he hadn’t scarpered. He was back with his tool box. Tears were streaming down his face. ‘Really need to lever them out. Those nails. But I gotta pull them straight and I don’t know if I can.’

  ‘You can. Listen to me. You can.’

  I’ve no idea how we did it. Somehow I held her upright and also gripped her wrist so she couldn’t pull away as he worked. One out. Now what was he doing? He was tearing off his shirt to make a bandage.

  Now the next hand. More bandages.

  Could we manage her poor feet? We had to. Thank God she’d passed out completely. Aaron was grunting in the effort to do her as little harm as possible; I was trying not to collapse under the dead weight

  Was that the sound of a car? The police!

  But even as I realised there’d been no siren, that there were no reflections of a flashing light, Aaron grunted and slumped back on top of me. And then all went dark.

  There were green-overall trousers not far from me. My legs – something heavy was holding me down. There was conversation over my head. More like urgent talk. And some instructions. Fragments of dialogue began to make sense. They were going to lift Aaron − something to do with keeping his head still. ‘No! I don’t want those wedge things. I’m fine,’ he was muttering. ‘Just let me sit up. What in hell’s been happening?’

  ‘Aaron – he’s called Aaron. That’s his van parked in the road,’ I said; to my shame I was keener that they should move him than that they should take any notice of his protests.

  ‘There’s been an incident—’ one of the paramedics began.

  They shifted him enough for me to speak. ‘Too damned right there’s been an incident. How’s the girl? Is she going to make it?’ There was a pause, as if glances were being exchanged.

  ‘There isn’t a girl, Jane.’

  ‘There was. There was a girl nailed to the door. Wasn’t there, Aaron?’

  He groaned assent. ‘Jesus, Jane – I don’t know what the hell’s going on!’

  ‘You were heroic, Aaron – just hold on to that. I don’t know anyone else who could have done what you did.’ I turned my head slightly. ‘If it wasn’t for Aaron, the girl would have died. Crucified.’

  ‘There’s no sign of a girl.’

  ‘In that case whoever did this to us abducted her. Her or her body. Look – you’ll see bloody nail holes. Get a police officer here, for Christ’s sake. Now!’

  ‘Concussion,’ someone muttered, as if that explained my weird fantasy.

  ‘Police. Now. Please.’ And suddenly I added, ‘A woman, for preference.’

  ‘We need to get you to A & E, Jane.’

  ‘Take poor Aaron, but I’m going nowhere till I’ve spoken to a woman officer. It’s a matter of life and death.’

  As if simply to humour me a young woman approached, squatting beside me. ‘PC Dale. Kim. We can talk as soon as they move this young man.’

  ‘This might hurt you too, Jane,’ a paramedic warned me.

  ‘That’s OK. He’s a good kid. He didn’t deserve this.’

  He cried out as they shifted him. I tried not to – there was no point in worrying him. ‘Good luck, lad: see you soon!’

  He flapped a hand.

  Ignoring PC Dale’s patent disbelief, I told her what Aaron had found.

  ‘You’re right – there is blood. And some nails. My God!’

  ‘There’s photos of her. On my phone. Which I’m lying on.’

  ‘Don’t move!’

  ‘If I don’t move I can’t reach it.’ Hell’s bells
! ‘There.’

  ‘Jesus God! And you say you and Aaron tried to free her?’

  ‘Succeeded. Only if she’s been abducted, it might not have been the best thing. Look, on my list of contacts you’ll find DI Elaine Carberry. Send her the photos. If there’s no immediate response, then use any means you have to tell her to get down here. Oh, and anyone else from the serious crime people. Tom Arkwright. Someone as senior as him.’

  ‘There’s a rapid response team already on its way, Jane.’

  I’d have liked to be heroic, and leap to my feet and organise everything. But the pain when I’d wriggled round to get at the phone suggested that such a burst of energy wouldn’t be wise. So I lay where I was, and next time someone suggested taking me to hospital I wouldn’t argue. Once I knew Elaine was on to it, that is.

  PC Dale – Kim – was back beside me. ‘I can’t reach her. I’ve left a message.’

  ‘Did you send through the photos?’

  ‘Did you really see her – like that? So there was a body—’

  ‘No. There was a young woman. Alive. Just about. That’s why we tried to get her down. And they say there’s no sign of her. Can you get the image out as widely as you can – she may be lying dying in a ditch or something.’ Was it surprising the poor woman looked taken aback? ‘Look, I’ve been helping DI Carberry with information about … a case she’s working on. And – goodness, why have I only just thought of this? – I’ve got CCTV images that will help you all. Just get someone to help me into my office – yes, I’m the head teacher. I’m sorry. My brain seems addled.’

  ‘They say you’ve probably got concussion – I can’t see them letting you go anywhere except in the next ambulance to A & E. In any case – sorry, Jane – someone’s smashed the CCTV lens,’ she pointed out.

  ‘Not a problem,’ I said. ‘There’s a backup system. OK, if I have to get into my office without the medics’ permission, I will. Give me a hand up, will you?’ As I moved, I swore. More than I would in a whole year. Kim was clearly taken aback. ‘Sorry. Just keep me steady and I’ll show you everything you need.’ We made very slow progress to the main door. Heavens, my hand was shaking too much to tap the keypad. Eventually Kim had to do it for me.

  ‘Straight through here. Do you mind if I sit down and tell you what to do? The plan is we use the other CCTV camera, the one no one knows about. Security issues with my ex-husband,’ I said. ‘That switch there, please. And move the joystick a bit closer to me. We’ll need to wind the footage back a bit: sometimes it needs a little time. Do you mind if I check that text? Probably nothing.’

  Lovely surprise, Jane! Ken’s just phoned to say he’s whisking me off to the Continent for a few days as a sorry present! Off to Ashford NOW!!!

  ‘Get me Elaine Carberry or Tom Arkwright now. Just trust me. Do it.’

  ‘Call for you, sir,’ she said doubtfully after three or four rings. ‘A Ms Jane—’

  ‘Jane Cowan, Tom,’ I finished for her. ‘That case Elaine Carberry’s on. I think one of her suspects is heading for Ashford, not for the Outlet but to go to France. Next train. Ken Penkridge,’ I added with a bit of a gasp.

  He whistled, deafeningly. ‘OK. I’m on to it. Stay where you are.’

  ‘Don’t cut the line. There’s more – CCTV pictures you really need to see. I need to send them through to your mobile or computer or whatever.’

  CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

  It was as if my body had kept going as long as it needed to, and then decided it had had enough. Standing was impossible. Thought hurt. My mouth wouldn’t move properly. I wanted – needed – to sit still in the quiet. How likely was that? There was an unbelievable amount of action in my tiny office: Kim yelling down her phone, screaming at me, me trying to explain how to download the images but probably failing, and suddenly paramedics turning the room green. At one point I know I told them if they’d give me a shot of morphine I could keep going, but I don’t think anyone took much notice. In any case, I couldn’t shout at them because to do so I’d have had to breathe deeply and to breathe … No thank you.

  It must have been quiet in A & E because there was no hanging round in the ambulance waiting to be handed over, no queuing on a trolley in a corridor – just a very swift progress through triage to the company of medics. X-rays; blood tests; all sorts, including, oddly enough, the removal of what the nurse said looked like a bit of gravel from that bit of the back where you can never scratch properly. But it was hard to be a model patient when I still had things on my mind. I demanded news of Aaron, who was, I suspected, far more seriously injured than I was. The nurse cited patient confidentiality and walked away. I would have snarled, but there was a lot of movement and some raised voices in the corridor. Presumably they had a sudden influx of emergencies.

  Then it went quiet.

  But not for long. Elaine erupted into the room, fist clenched and pumping the air as if she’d just taken a vital wicket.

  ‘Well done you!’ she yelled. ‘Hang on, we can’t talk here. I’m having you moved to a single-occupancy room. Now.’

  ‘But—’

  ‘They’re going to keep you in for observation, they say. Possible concussion. No broken bones, though – just a lot of bruises. No kidney damage. All in all you got off comparatively lightly. Unlike the kid who was with you. Concussion for sure; possible damaged spleen. Definitely a badly broken hand – boot marks on it. Anyway, they might as well move you sooner than later because they need the space here. Then I can tell you what I’ve been doing and who we’re talking to right now. No, my team don’t need me just at the moment– we’ve got a tranche of PCs specially trained in interview techniques. Ah! Looks like you’re on the move.’ She turned to the porter, a smiling lad in his twenties who looked like a young Imran Khan. ‘They’ve checked your ID? Excellent.’

  ‘What do you mean, checked his ID? It’s on his scrubs, Elaine. Ahmed.’ I smiled at him.

  I expected a simple trundle, with perhaps the odd ride in a lift; what I got was a veritable procession – with armed officers fore and aft. And Elaine walking beside me, holding my hand as if I were her sister.

  ‘Is it medically necessary for me to stay in, Saira?’ I asked the woman – she might have been Ahmed’s sister – who told me she was to be my dedicated nurse.

  ‘If they want you here, it must be,’ she said. ‘You need to ask the doctor questions like that. Why didn’t they explain before you were moved up here?’

  ‘My fault,’ Elaine declared, bouncing back in.

  ‘Heavens, Winnie-the-Pooh and Eeyore at another room in this hospital, and now I’ve got Tigger!’ I wasn’t sure if I said it aloud, however: certainly Elaine didn’t react.

  ‘It’ll all become clear, I promise, Jane. Meanwhile, I’ve brought some overnight stuff and a change of clothes – what a good dodge, your system of keeping a bag packed ready at school: it’s in case you ever needed to make a rapid exit, I suppose? Oh, and there are some green tea bags for cuppa time: I know you won’t want hospital brew and I’m sure they’ll find you some hot water. Someone’ll bring you some proper food later: meanwhile, have a bikky.’

  Saira and I shared a smile and a shrug. And a biscuit. Elaine waited rather too pointedly till she’d left the room before she began, ‘It’s either here or a safe house. We need to keep an eye on you. Two birds, one stone. OK, so you went to solve the mystery of the item designed to close the school ad infinitum?’

  ‘Exactly. But Aaron more than paid his debt for that bit of silliness: a quantity of raw, shell-on prawns. He scattered them in the loft space when he repaired the roof. It was he who heard the girl – moaning. It was he who – God knows how he did it – pulled out the nails that were pinning her to the kitchen door.’

  ‘You managed to hold her up while he did this? Those mile runs must be good for you.’

  ‘And then someone came and disturbed us, didn’t they? I wonder why they were so vicious with Aaron and not so bad with me. Maybe they just heard the ambulance
siren and scarpered. With the girl, of course.’

  Elaine reached for a biscuit. ‘It’s OK. I’ve not really fallen off the wagon. I missed lunch. We think they put the girl in Aaron’s van because it was found abandoned. Empty.’

  ‘Where?’

  ‘Do you remember we were mopping up the bastards who’d enslaved the car washers? And we went to Stelling Minnis to do it? Well, the hamlet – it’s not really big enough to call a village – gets its name from a tract of open land. A common. It’s one that escaped enclosure, somehow or other. They still use it to graze cows, I gather. Anyway, we found the van there. Blood inside it, which is obviously pretty useful. There’s the sort of massive search for the girl you see on TV. More likely for her body, I’ll admit.’ She peered at me. ‘I reckon your concussion is worse than they say.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Because you’ve not asked an obvious question. Or two. First, do you recall looking at the CCTV footage in your office? Whom did you see there?’

  ‘The guy who hassled Rufus and me – wasn’t it?’

  ‘Right. A particularly unpleasant Albanian. It seems he’s got a taste for more esoteric punishment and deaths. A woman in Dorset was pressed with huge heavy stones, like the Elizabethans did to prisoners when they wanted to inflict a slow, vile end. What you saw up in those woods was like a Druidical punishment, according to one of the team’s quiz buffs. Apparently, any stray Romans who they caught had that coming to them. I suppose there’s a certain abstract justice, given what the Romans did to Christians and gladiators to entertain themselves. And, of course, crucifixions …’ She shrugged. ‘Anyway, we presume it was this charmer who nicked the van and dumped the girl. But you never asked who might have helped him – because if it took two of you to release the poor creature, how many do you think it took to put her up there? And then to drive away the Albanian guy’s vehicle when he took the van?’

  ‘Ah,’ I said. I looked at her sideways. ‘And the answer to the second question is? Oh, bloody hell, Elaine! No!’