Stormfront

by R. S. Sutton

‘Cripes,’ said Valerie, ‘all that must have come as something of a shock.’

  ‘You’re friggin’ well telling me! I only went for a tin of spaghetti hoops.’

  ‘Didn’t your mum give you a girl-to-girl talk when you were young, you know?’

  ‘Suppose your mum did?’

  ‘Yeah, she was quite good. A bit embarrassing, but at least I knew what was coming around the corner.’

  ‘Know what mine said?’ Valerie shook her head. ‘When I was about twelve, me mum looked me straight in the eye and said, “Don’t you go bringing no trouble round here. Men are only after one thing.”’

  ‘And that was it?’

  ‘Yeah. I ask you… just made me take a firmer grip of me tube of Smarties.’

  ‘No tax?’ said Valerie.

  ‘What is… or isn’t?’ Jane frowned at the change of subject.

  ‘Being on the game. Tax-free?’

  ‘You thinking of changing profession?’

  ‘Hardly. Haven’t got the balls.’

  ‘Yes,’ Jane stroked a pencil across the side of her head and looked up thoughtfully, ‘got to have them if you’re going down that street. But some of them pay tax. Even know of one that’s VAT-registered.’

  ‘Get out of town. VAT-registered? That would be one inspection I’d like to see.’

  ‘Sure, they put themselves down in the service industry. Escorts. Some title themselves as consultants. Some clients even ask for a VAT receipt, put it through the books.’

  ‘And I thought I was sailing close to the wind.’

  ‘When you come to work, you get off the bus by the park and walk through to the next stop? Nice ten minutes and quicker than waiting for the next bus where you got off. Yes?’

  ‘Yeah, sure, pleasant ten minutes.’

  ‘Sometimes there’s a tall, elegant woman, about your age, looks like she stepped off the pages of Vogue. Usually walking a pair of Dalmatians, yes?’

  ‘Er, yes, I’ve noticed her a couple of times. Looks like some model that’s married a minor royal. Black fur coat, hair piled up on top?’

  ‘Yeah, that’s right, but the fur’s faux. Very conscientious,’ said Jane. ‘She’s one.’

  ‘Behave yourself, no way. She’s elegant with a capital E.’

  ‘Her and I think three, maybe two, others share a place overlooking the lake down there. Don’t get between her sheets unless you got serious moolah. No pimps, no madams, they just employ a big tough guy to look after them. He gets a straight ten per cent and they get safety. Ex-boxer. Apparently he’s part of some strong-arm business; you want protection and they provide it.’

  ‘Like a kind of Ruffians R Us.’

  ‘Yeah.’ Not breaking concentration, Jane grinned. ‘Like a kind of Ruffians R Us. I did hear of a punter who got a little nasty and he had to step in. Out through the front door and didn’t stop bouncing till he hit the opposite curb.’

  ‘And no refund?’

  ‘Yeah,’ said Jane. ‘No friggin’ trousers neither.’

  ‘We’re wasting our time,’ said Valerie, pulling another USB from her laptop.

  ‘Oh, I don’t know.’ Jane’s deft fingers continued to dance across the keys. ‘We’ve had a nice chat.’

  ‘Put them in a bag when you’ve finished. I’ll take them round to the department, see if that mob can make anything out of it all.’

  Jane looked slightly aggrieved at the thought anyone else could uncover hidden information where she could not.

  Seventeen

  It was such a small thing that was still bothering her, almost insignificant, so Valerie once again put it to the back of her mind. And once again she was drifting along in a fuzzy cloud of indecision. When it happened, it was as sudden as it was brutal.

  The warbling of the houseboat phone usually annoyed, but, unable to re-set the tone, she was still putting up with it as the master of a whining puppy might.

  ‘Miss Stone?’ The voice of a girl on the line was familiar.

  ‘Jane? What’s wrong? You sound upset.’

  ‘It’s not Jane. It’s Flo, Jane’s sister, we met once.’

  ‘Oh yes,’ she said, but was unable to start with any niceties; Flo abruptly interrupted.

  ‘Jane’s been…’ She stopped.

  Valerie heard a shuddering intake of breath and swung her legs from the settee and stood up. ‘What? Accident? Where is she?’

  ‘She’s in hospital.’

  Jamming the phone to her ear with her shoulder, Valerie pulled her jacket on the other shoulder while listening. ‘Okay, okay. I’m on my way.’

  Taxis were not her usual mode of transport, but she sprinted into the road, flagging the first one down. She danced out of the way as it swerved.

  ‘I’ve got a fare, you stupid bitch, get out the way!’ The taxi driver leant out of the window, waving his arm around before raising two defiant fingers. ‘Trying to get yourself killed? Yer bleedin’ idiot.’

  The rank across the road being empty, she ran around to the corner café and put her head inside. ‘Need a taxi, any drivers in here?’

  At a far table, three men looked at each other. ‘Mine, I think.’ One of them gulped down the remains of a mug of tea. ‘Where to, Miss?’ Pulling on his jacket, he made for the door, jamming an iced bun between his teeth.

  ‘The Lister Hospital.’

  Valerie followed the driver to a small pull-in behind the café. Obviously used to speaking with a bun in his mouth, the driver pulled the rear door open and ushered Valerie in. ‘Okay, bit of a hurry, are we?’

  As the driver got behind the wheel, Valerie pushed her warrant card through the partition. ‘Don’t worry about leaving any flashing cameras behind.’

  ‘Oh boy,’ the driver rubbed his hands together before grabbing the wheel, ‘a mercy dash.’

  A young constable stuck out his hand as the taxi skidded to a halt at the second set of lights. ‘Okay, Fangio,’ he said, reaching for his notepad, ‘who set your trousers on fire?’

  ‘There’s one of yours in the back.’ The driver nodded over his shoulder. ‘Got to get to the hospital.’

  The constable made an attempt at a salute as Valerie pushed her card against the glass, then, jumping into the middle of the junction, he halted the traffic. ‘Okay, ma’am.’ He repeated the salute while waving the taxi through. The traffic at the next set of lights was halted as they miraculously picked up a police outrider on his motor bike.

  ‘Must have radioed through to his mate,’ the driver yelled. ‘Never had this much fun with me clothes on.’

  By the time they had reached the end of the road and were flying round Trafalgar Square, blue lights and sirens had joined in the excitement.

  ‘Bloody hell,’ the driver said, ‘wait till I tell me missus. All we need now is some Van Halen blasting out.’

  Arriving outside the hospital, Valerie took her wallet out.

  ‘No, no,’ said the driver, ‘have this one on me, Inspector.’

  She rolled up a couple of notes and pushed them into his hand. ‘As you forgot to put the meter down, shove it in your pocket.’ Then, turning to the mounted policeman, she said, ‘Make sure he hasn’t been booked by any eager beaver.’

  The familiar clinical, clean smell wafted around as Valerie pushed at the door and looked over to the desk. ‘Employee of mine been brought in,’ she said before reeling off Jane’s details. With a racing mind, she was only half-listening as the click-clack of high heels approached from behind.

  ‘Miss Stone.’ Jane’s sister pushed a tear away from red eyes. ‘I don’t know what’s happened to her. She’s in a terrible mess.’

  ‘Accident?’ asked Valerie, giving Flo a hug. ‘Can we go and see her?’

  ‘Twenty minutes… a doctor is with her now. I could do with something to drink.’

  Valerie
gave Flo’s hand a squeeze and went over to the Royal Voluntary Service counter. ‘Tea, coffee?’ she asked, looking back over her shoulder.

  ‘Coffee’s fine.’

  ‘Two?’ The woman behind the servery was tall, slim and well dressed. ‘Would that be with milk?’ The smile was well practised, warm but slight. Valerie supposed she had given the expression a lot of thought. A positive welcome, but not something that might offend anyone who was under strain. Although around sixty, she revealed near-perfect teeth and, as far as could be seen, they looked to be her own.

  ‘Yes, milk,’ said Valerie, getting the nod from Flo.

  ‘Sugar’s on the side.’ The woman pushed her purple shawl back across her shoulder and pointed to a small table.

  ‘Did they tell you anything?’ said Valerie, stirring her coffee. She tapped the plastic stick on the side of the cup.

  Flo shook her head. ‘I got a call and came as quick as I could.’ They both moved their legs to one side as a nurse came trotting down the corridor.

  ‘Busy place.’ Valerie, unsure of what to say now they were just waiting, was glad of anything to pass comment on.

  Attempting a smile, Flo nodded. ‘Yes.’

  A doctor, followed by another nurse, briskly walked by as flashing blue lights reflected through the main entrance. Two medics, crashing a trolley through the entrance doors, disappeared down a side corridor. With the distraction over, Valerie went back to peering into her cup, and Flo with fingering her broach.

  Valerie eased her head back against the wall. ‘Will they give us a shout when we can see her, or…?’

  ‘Not sure.’ Flo looked at her watch, then started tapping her heels on the floor. ‘Give them another fifteen minutes and we’ll go in any case.’

  Valerie watched the last minute tick by and got to her feet. ‘Come on,’ she patted Flo’s shoulder, ‘lead on.’

  Flo pushed the door of a private room at the ward’s entrance. ‘She’s in here. The consultant said she needs quiet; the more she sleeps the better.’

  ‘You’ll get nothing out of her.’ The nurse they met was one of the many from Africa that were preventing the NHS from falling into the abyss. ‘Sedated,’ she added, looking at Valerie as if she held her personally responsible. She pushed at her short sleeves while continuing with an evil eye. ‘You know anything about what’s happened here?’ she said between tight lips. This nurse was obviously from the detective side of the “administering angel department”. Thinking that she had more than met her match, Valerie said nothing. ‘Well?’

  The nurse relented slightly when Valerie asked if she would be all right. ‘Ruptured spleen, two broken fingers, and she’s been bleeding internally. But yes, she should be all right.’ The nurse might have eased up a little, but she still kept up the quizzing. ‘Who did it? Do you know?’

  ‘It wasn’t an accident?’

  ‘Accident my fat arse. She’s been worked over good and proper.’

  ‘Then no, I don’t know who did it,’ said Valerie. ‘But I’m bloody well going to find out.’

  Over the next thirty minutes, first the nurse left and then Flo got up.

  ‘Better get back,’ she said, ‘I have to catch up with the kids, they’ll be out of school soon.’

  ‘Sure,’ said Valerie. ‘I’ll hang around for a while.’

  Sat in the corner, she watched the monitor relay Jane’s condition. Like her personality and spirit, the beat of the cardiac line was firm and regular, just fluctuating by the odd digit. She was wearing only a short nightdress and, as the room was warm and comfortable, there were no bedsheets covering her. Valerie looked at the bruises on her left leg and butterfly stitches holding a gash together on the other. Neighbouring broken fingers were bound together with a small metal splint. Looking at her face, it was now obvious that it was no accident. She had been beaten to within an inch of her life. Who and why would have to wait until Jane came back from the induced, peaceful rest.

  Valerie had little idea of how long she had sat there, but her backside was getting numb. She got up and stretched before going out to find a coffee.

  It was getting late, so all the food and drink outlets in the hospital were shut. Towards the end of the corridor she found a vending machine and fed in enough for a bar of Fruit and Nut, and coffee. She leant on the machine and tore the wrapping from the chocolate bar. Breaking a small piece from the block, she chewed thoughtfully and watched a nurse approaching along the passageway. As she drew nearer, cloudy recognition began to unfold and her mind went hurtling back to the last time they had met, four years ago.

  ‘Valerie?’ The nurse approached with outstretched arms. ‘It is you.’ They embraced for a few seconds before the nurse stood back, holding on to Valerie’s shoulders. ‘What on earth are you doing here?’

  ‘Hello, Gillian.’ Glad to see a friendly face, Valerie brushed her hair back as the nurse dropped her hands. ‘Yes, long time.’

  Gillian pushed a coin into the vending machine. ‘And how have you been?’ she asked, catching a can of Pepsi as it tumbled from the flap.

  ‘Oh, you know, getting by.’

  ‘But you’ve moved on, yes?’

  ‘Well, look at you.’ Avoiding the question, Valerie pointed to her dark uniform. ‘Promotion?’

  ‘Nurse practitioner.’ She smiled. ‘On the up. Engaged too.’

  ‘Oh, that’s wonderful.’ Valerie gave the nurse’s hand a squeeze. ‘Hope he’s good enough for you.’

  ‘He sure is, about as near to Prince Charming as you can get.’ She took a sip from the can and tried again. ‘You’ve moved on?’

  Valerie put the chocolate onto a side table and looked into her coffee. ‘Guess I’m just a hopeless case. But you helped. By God, you helped more than you will ever know.’

  Gillian put a hand under Valerie’s chin and gently lifted her face until their eyes met. ‘He’s still…?’

  ‘Yep,’ said Valerie, ‘still in the same place. Go in every week.’

  ‘Oh, for Christ’s sake, Valerie.’ Gillian spoke quietly, almost a whisper. ‘You have to let go, you…’ She stopped as the tears started to glisten in Valerie’s eyes. ‘Sorry, sorry, nothing to do with me.’

  Valerie shrugged her shoulders. ‘As much to do with you as anyone else. I’d have jumped from one of the Seven Sisters long ago if it wasn’t for you.’

  ‘You want to come in and see me again?’

  ‘Got something much more important than me at the moment,’ said Valerie. ‘Run my own business now, and my secretary has been beaten up.’ She motioned with her coffee to the nearby room. ‘She’s in a right mess. Jesus, is there a fire escape around here? I need a bloody fag.’

  Gillian led the way to an emergency side door. ‘I’ll have one too,’ she said. ‘Unless you’re still on those bloody French things.’

  ‘Sorry,’ Valerie produced the blue and white pack, ‘only these.’

  ‘Oh, go on then.’ Gillian pulled one from the wrapper and accepted the offered light. ‘Bloody hell.’ She blew out smoke while giving the cigarette a quizzical look. ‘I’m trying to give up, so I suppose I could buy this crap. Bit drastic, though, and bloody expensive from what I remember.’

  ‘Steady on,’ said Valerie, recovering a little humour, ‘you’re talking about my best friends.’

  ‘Ha,’ said Gillian, ‘thought that was your car. Don’t tell me you’ve sold that black and chrome petrol guzzler?’

  ‘No, not likely.’ Valerie blew a long, steady stream of smoke into the still night air. ‘If that goes then everything else will have gone before it. Fags included.’

  ‘What about your secretary then? How did she wind up in here?’

  ‘Don’t know. Got a call from her sister and came down to find her in a hell of a mess. She’s been involved with some real dregs of society before, so if her past has come back and bitten h
er in the backside…’ She shrugged her shoulders. ‘I don’t know. But it seems the most likely explanation.’

  ‘Secretaries getting beat up… what kind of business you in?’ Gillian didn’t take another draw on her cigarette, instead just looked at it between her fingers. ‘Don’t suppose it’s a perfume shop.’

  Valerie smiled and, leaning on the escape rail, stared out into the night sky. ‘Private investigator.’

  ‘Good grief. Just couldn’t be anything ordinary, could it?’

  ‘Oh, I don’t know. Get a lot of humdrum stuff. Not every day I come back to this kind of bloody mess.’ She took a last drag on the cigarette and flicked it into the darkness.

  After looking at the unfinished one in her hand, Gillian also threw hers away. ‘Best place for them,’ she said, peering into the darkness.

  ***

  With one thing and another and keeping Dennis up to date, it wasn’t until the next evening that Valerie was able to get back to the hospital. She dropped the large box of Ferrero Rocher and Hello! magazine onto the bedside table and looked at the card attached to a bouquet of flowers.

  ‘How the hell did he know?’ she said under her breath while looking at David Preston’s signature. She pulled her phone out, then put it away as someone came in.

  ‘She’s a lot better.’ The nurse from the previous evening plumped Jane’s pillows. ‘Even mumbled a few words and had a drink of water. Think she’ll sleep for the rest of the night. Might be making a bit of sense tomorrow.’

  ‘That’s good,’ said Valerie. ‘Police been in?’

  ‘Yes, they’ve been. Had a look, made a few notes and went. What you going to do now?’

  ‘I’ll stay a while.’

  The nurse picked up a dish containing a discarded syringe. ‘As you please,’ she said curtly, leaving Valerie to her solitary vigil.

  She sat for maybe an hour before rising to stretch her legs. Opposite Jane’s door was the ward’s general office. Two nurses were chatting away over their coffee. The talking drifted around like white noise, not entering Valerie’s brain until two words stung like a trapped wasp.

  ‘What?!’ she said, pushing in and confronting the two young women.