by Max Manning
The detective got straight down to business. “My name is Detective Sergeant Shields. The doctors say you’re well enough to answer a few questions about what happened to you. Do you think that’ll be okay?”
Gem nodded. “It’s all still a bit hazy I’m afraid.”
A smile softened the detective’s face. “Don’t worry. Apart from your obvious injuries, you’re probably still suffering from shock. This is just an initial chat. We’ll wait until you’re feeling better and back home before we take a formal statement from you.”
Gem pushed herself up into a sitting position, resting the plaster cast on her right arm gingerly across her waist.
Shields spotted a single plastic chair next to the patient monitor, dragged it over to the bed, and sat down. “Can you tell me why you stopped in the store parking lot, where you’d been, and where you were going?”
Gem took a moment to think. “I was on my way home. I’d been working late on a public relations campaign that’s already gone over deadline. I had a splitting headache and knew we didn’t have any painkillers at home, so I decided to stop and buy some.”
“How did the suspect approach you?”
Gem’s breathing quickened. “He came out of nowhere really. Caught me by surprise, grabbed me before I knew what was happening. He was much too strong for me.” The memory set the monitor beeping louder and faster.
Shields stretched out a hand and touched Gem’s shoulder. “It’s all right. We have security camera footage of the incident, but unfortunately, we don’t get a really clear view of the carjacker. Could you describe him for me?”
Gem recalled making a determined effort to study her attacker’s face, but all she could conjure up was his cold-eyed stare. “He was taller than me. Maybe three inches taller. Yes, he was tall and lean.”
“What did he say to you?”
“He had a knife. I remember that. Said if I did as he asked, he wouldn’t hurt me.”
“You saw the knife?”
“I think so. He said he only wanted the car but…” Gem faltered and looked away.
“But what?”
Gem shrugged and stared silently at the foot of the bed.
Shields changed the subject. “Did you challenge him at all? Try to resist? Try to reason with him?”
“I was too frightened. Especially once I knew he had a knife. I tried to talk to him. Said I didn’t care about the car. Even said I was pregnant in the hope that he’d feel sorry for me. There was nothing else I could do. I thought if I tried to fight back, it might make things worse. Anyway, it would have been futile. Do you think I should have done something?”
Shields hesitated, then shook her head. “That’s not what I’m saying. No way. When you’re in that kind of situation, it’s so difficult to decide what to do. There is no wrong or right decision. You’re the only one who can make that judgment.”
Gem heard the words, and maybe she was being unfair to the detective, but she still felt she was being judged. Surely, she thought, whether your reaction is right or not depends on the outcome. If you walk away without serious injury, then it doesn’t matter whether you fought back, surrendered, or simply froze.
She’d survived by doing everything he’d asked her to. The one time she’d defied him, she’d paid the price. Gem recalled how adamant he’d been that she should lie still until he’d gone. She had a strange feeling that throughout the whole incident she was being tested, dared even. The surge of relief she’d felt when he drove off had made her careless. She’d disobeyed him and he couldn’t let it go.
“I stood up before he’d driven away,” she said. “That was my only mistake. He reversed the car into me as a punishment. If I’d resisted him earlier, tried to defy him, who knows what would’ve happened. The important thing is I’m here and I’m still breathing.”
Shields stood up and put the chair back where she’d found it. “You certainly are. You got lucky. I understand you’re being discharged later today. We’ll give you a few days to rest, then we’ll speak again and take a full statement from you.”
Gem waited until the detective had left the room before adjusting her pillow and lying down. She stared at the ceiling, wondering what the policewoman really thought about how she’d reacted to the attack. No doubt, Gem thought, if it had been her, she would have put her training to good use and beaten the carjacker to a pulp.
God, she couldn’t wait to get back to her home, to lie in her own bed. Why had this happened to her? Life had been going so well. She had a great career, an attentive, caring boyfriend. Gem had never thought of herself as a victim. She’d known hardship growing up, but from the moment her father had walked out on them, her mother had been determined that her only child would escape public housing, build herself a better life, and she had. She considered herself a self-assured, confident woman. But last night, she’d felt so helpless. Maybe she’d have to reassess her life, reconsider her opinion of herself. The thought made her angry, made her want to scream. Instead, she bit her bottom lip and blinked away tears.
She’d come close to telling the detective about the carjacker groping her but had held back because Drew’s reaction had been so negative. It’d been clear that he’d rather not have heard it and probably wouldn’t want anyone else to. She supposed she’d have to tell the police eventually. They might question why she hadn’t mentioned it, but bad memories can be pushed aside.
Maybe, she told herself, it would be better if that particular memory didn’t come back.
9
Fight
The Mastermind
Norton rode the Jubilee line south from Stratford to West Ham, then the District Line east to Upton Park, in the traditional heart of London’s East End. The journey took fifteen minutes, and every rattle and bump shot pain across his chest.
Despite being after 11:00 p.m., the cars were still packed with passengers, and the permanent grimace on his face and the way he clamped his left arm around his torso attracted plenty of curious glances.
The police had released a computer-generated image of the carjacker’s face, and Norton had seen it on the TV news earlier that day. It looked a bit like him, but he didn’t think he had anything to worry about. The jawline was too weak, the cheekbones were definitely not high enough, and he was hardly going to walk around wearing that beanie hat.
In a sprawling city of eight million people, he’d always found it pretty easy to fly under the radar. The anonymity on offer made it easy to cheat, intimidate, and manipulate without fear of retribution. That’s why Norton loved London.
The twenty-minute walk to Newham General Hospital was less painful than the Tube ride. Norton knew the narrow streets of that part of the city were dangerous to walk late at night. He also knew that only ordinary people worried about stuff like that, and he was far from ordinary.
Even though he was obviously injured, a group of youths milling around on the corner of Glen Road fell silent as he approached and parted tamely to let him pass. If he wanted people to know they should be wary of him, they knew. It happened as naturally as breathing. He couldn’t explain it, but physically, it involved a tensing of his shoulder muscles, a forward tilt of his head, slower breathing, and a cold stare. There was more to it than that, of course, much more: a special energy, a powerful force. It didn’t control him and he didn’t control it. It was him. He was it.
At the same time, if he needed to, he could make most people, men or women, like and trust him. Norton smiled to himself. It was a rare gift, and he used it to his advantage.
He hadn’t been inside a hospital for twenty-five years. Not since the day he was born. He couldn’t remember a thing about it, and that was probably a good thing. By the time he reached the Emergency Department, he’d sworn never to step into a hospital again. The place smelled of vomit, disinfectant, sweat, and fear.
The triage nurse, a slim brunette,
looked up from her desk with weary disdain. “Name please.”
Norton knew that the police would probably have alerted hospitals in the area to watch out for a man fitting his description with impact injuries. He’d held out for two days, despite the fact that every breath he took sent a painful reminder down the right side of his chest that the bitch had defied him, fought him, and gotten away.
He was banking on the hospital’s night staff being too busy and too exhausted to think about anything other than how long they had left until the end of their shift.
“John Joseph,” he said, flashing the nurse a smile.
“What’s wrong with you, Mr. Joseph?” she asked, her slender fingers fluttering across the computer keyboard.
Norton stepped closer and looked her directly in the eyes. “It might not seem like it, but this is an emergency. I need to see a doctor quickly.”
The nurse frowned and blinked rapidly, her cheeks flushing under the directness of his gaze.
“Are you in a lot of pain?”
“Do you think I’d be here if I wasn’t?”
The nurse flinched, and Norton raised a hand in apology. “I’m sorry. I really am. I know you are all under pressure in a busy hospital like this, and I think you do a fantastic job, but I’m in agony. Stabbing pains in my chest. I could die. I really need to see someone as soon as possible.”
He smiled again, and this time, the nurse smiled back before typing up his symptoms. “Please sit down,” she said. “We’ll get to you as soon as we can.”
Norton nodded and walked over to the seating area. It was heaving with feverish, groaning, bloodstained bodies, broken men, women, and children waiting patiently to be called for examination. Their weakness disgusted him.
Twenty minutes later, he was stretched out on a hospital bed, stripped to the waist. “I hear you think you’re going to die,” the doctor said, a wry smile on his chubby face.
“I don’t think it. I know I am. We’re all going to die sometime.”
The doctor looked a couple of years older than Norton, but he was five inches shorter and at least thirty pounds heavier. “Too true,” he said. “But I’m sure you’ll have to wait a while. Of course, some patients like to exaggerate their symptoms to try to jump the line.”
Norton said nothing. He wanted this over with as quickly as possible.
“You have some severe bruising on the right side of your rib cage. How did that happen?”
“I’m not sure. Got drunk and fell over, I think. Can’t you just do an X-ray or something to check it out?”
The doctor pressed his fingertips on the bruised area. Norton jerked away from the touch, but he didn’t cry out.
“An X-ray would be a waste of time. Looks like you’ve got a couple of fractured ribs. They’ll heal, but there is nothing we can do in the meantime except give you something for the pain.” The doctor pointed at the bloodied bite wound on Norton’s right hand. “That looks extremely nasty. What happened?”
Norton slid off the bed and slipped his shirt back on. “My dog bit me, didn’t it? It hurt like hell at first, but it’s not so bad now. Flea-bitten mutt wouldn’t harm a fly normally. Don’t know why, but it just went for me. Had to have it put down.”
The doctor raised his eyebrows. He wasn’t fooled. “We see a lot of dog bites in here. If a bite gets infected, it can be serious. I’ll have to give you something for that.”
* * *
Norton stepped off the Jubilee line train at Stratford and headed for the gate, weaving his way along the crowded platform. Forty minutes ago, he’d left the hospital with a course of antibiotics and a box of painkillers stuffed in his jacket pocket. And the whole of that time, he’d been thinking about the woman who’d bitten him and run him down. I bet she’s pleased with herself, he thought. I bet she thinks she’s safe.
His ribs were going to take two to three weeks to mend, and the antibiotics were probably going to upset his stomach. All because of her. It’s not over, he told himself. It’s never over until I win.
Norton increased his pace as he walked past the southern perimeter of the Queen Elizabeth Olympic Park, the giant silhouette of the London Stadium dominating the skyline. Each step sent a jolt of pain across his chest, fueling his fury.
He deserved compensation for his suffering, he told himself. The deal he’d made hadn’t included broken ribs and infected bites. He had a right to demand more, and that was exactly what he was going to do.
Norton nodded to himself and grinned as an idea formed in his mind. Oh yes, more money would ease his suffering, but that alone wouldn’t be enough.
No one gets the better of me. It’s not allowed. The thought of what was to come sent a warm, pleasant sensation flooding through his body, temporarily soothing the pain in his ribs.
He’d be home soon, and although he felt tired, sleep would have to wait. He had a campaign of action to plan.
Norton grinned again. He was already feeling much better. Did he really need this medication? Probably not. Embrace the pain. Use it, he told himself. Pain is fuel, and he knew exactly how to burn it.
10
Surrender
Gem the Victim
“We’ve found your car,” Shields said, stepping over the threshold into the hall.
Gem ushered the detective and her male colleague into the living area and invited them to take a seat with a sweep of the plaster cast on her right arm.
“This is Detective Inspector Day,” Shields said. “My boss.”
Gem greeted Day with a nod. He didn’t look much older than Shields, but the shadows under his eyes suggested he’d been missing out on his beauty sleep.
“How are you feeling now?” he said.
“Much better for being back home, and this is healing well,” she answered, pulling back her dark hair to reveal a stitched wound across her left temple. “I’m told the scar will be small and almost invisible.” She lifted her right arm and wiggled the plaster cast. “I’m having to put up with this for weeks though.”
The two detectives smiled and exchanged glances. “As DS Shields said, your BMW has turned up, but it’s not going to be any use to you or anybody. It was found burned out beside the canal at Hackney Wick. Nothing but a twisted shell of metal.”
Gem frowned. “Why would a carjacker destroy a valuable car?”
Day shrugged. “You’re right. The cars are often stripped for parts to sell. Occasionally, it’s all about the thrill. In your case, the suspect seemed a particularly violent individual who was more interested in terrorizing you than taking the car.”
Gem recalled the strength of the man’s grip, the heat of his breath on her neck, and shivered. The thought that he was still out there walking the streets terrified her. “How likely is it that you’ll catch him soon?”
Day gave Shields an almost imperceptible nod. “We’re doing our best,” she said. “Our press office is arranging appeals for information and witnesses. We’ve got security camera images of the suspect, but the quality is so poor, it’s almost useless.” Shields hesitated and looked across at her boss.
He rolled his eyes, and Gem could see he thought his colleague should stop pussyfooting around and get to the point. “We were wondering how your memory of that night was,” he said. “I understand it was a bit hazy when you came to in the hospital, but if you’re ready to answer a few questions and give us a description of the suspect, that would be great.”
Gem wanted to help; of course she did. There was nothing she wanted more right now than for the carjacker to be caught, but she wasn’t sure about talking to the detectives without Drew present, and he wouldn’t be home for a couple of hours.
The thought of reliving what had happened that night made her feel physically sick. Her memories had returned in the form of vivid flashbacks, often when she was lying in bed unable to sleep, but the truth was she c
ouldn’t be absolutely certain whether the snapshots were real or imagined. She closed her eyes and took a couple of slow, deep breaths.
“If you’re not up to it right now, we can wait,” Day said. “We can come back when you’re feeling better or arrange for you to come to the station.”
Gem shook her head and held up a trembling hand. There is no point putting it off, she told herself. It has to be done, so why not get it over with?
“I think I can remember most of what happened,” she said, her voice hesitant. “I’ll do my best.”
“That’s great,” Day said. “But tell me if you’re finding it too difficult, okay?”
Gem nodded.
“Why did you stop at that particular store so late at night?”
Gem had asked herself the same question many times. If only they’d had painkillers at home. If only she’d been more careful. She’d been stupid stopping in that part of the city at that time.
“I was on my way back from a work event and had a splitting headache. I knew we had no painkillers at home and had bought some in that store once before, but that was in daylight.”
“So you got out of the car, and then what?”
Gem clasped her hands, twisting her fingers. “The parking lot was deserted, but I could see there were a few people in the store. He came out of nowhere, out of the dark. Walked right up to me, smiling, as if he knew me, like a friend. Before I could think, he pushed me up against the car. He had a knife and said he’d hurt me if I didn’t do what I was told.”
The words poured out so quickly, Gem struggled to catch her breath.
Day offered her a sympathetic smile. “Take your time. There’s no rush.”
Gem took the opportunity to compose herself. She knew the detective would force her to think about things she’d blocked out. She’d survived the carjacking without serious injury, but if she could revisit that night, would she do things differently? Probably not. For the first time since the attack, she understood that the choice she’d made that night would change her, was already changing her. She didn’t know how exactly, but she could feel it.
