“Ah . . . indeed. Confidentially, that would be my guess. Of course, I suppose it could merely be that he doesn’t understand English.”
Blyth trumped with, “Or was rendered stone deaf by the explosion. Or he simply could have expired unnoticed.” He started to laugh. “I tell you, this parrot’s dead. . . .”
Trowbridge laughed.
“We’d best keep a guard on his room, then,” said Blyth, after the tension-breaking moment had passed.
“This might be difficult to arrange . . . we’re short now.”
“I do hope,” said Blyth, “that you remember to cancel your subscription to the Mirror.”
“God forbid. It’s our best source.” He saw Blyth’s startled look, and said, “The horoscopes.”
“Right. As a favor, don’t say that to the Americans. After the incident with that bloody Mirror reporter, they’re going to be . . . more in evidence. Since this lot were connected with the demand to meet with the president. . . .”
Guy’s and St. Thomas’s
London
13:02 Greenwich Mean Time
Sue had called Carson at the hotel, and he’d come over with a pair of sweatpants, a sweatshirt, socks and my tennis shoes. Then he’d gone to get the girls up at Highgate. I felt well dressed, and had taken my first walk with a nurse who didn’t seem to me large enough to even break my fall, let alone keep me on my feet if I passed out. Not that I would do a thing like that, but it did seem to be on her mind. Sue went with us, up and down the hall three times. Lots of patients, and every one of them looked to be worse off than I was.
We looked in on Alice, whose room was being kept fairly dark by the drawn shades. She was sound asleep.
I was just done with lunch when Jane, Vicky and Carson came in. There was a nice feeling fuss about how I was doing from Jane and Vicky. I kept telling them that I was really just fine.
A nurse came in, and I found myself transferred to a three patient room in another wing. As she said, “Just until you’re released this evening.”
That was just fine. Neither of my two roommates seemed too likely to strike up a conversation, although one of them had a cough that would have worried me if I thought I was going to spend the night. I figured since I was going to be out of the hospital by evening, then we could spend a couple of days between my being deposed and sightseeing, and that things concerning the kidnapping and murder of Emma had just about played their course.
Then Blyth and Trowbridge showed up.
After asking after Jane’s and my health, they wanted to know if I felt well enough to have a talk with them. I thought they’d probably talked with the docs, or they wouldn’t have asked.
“Sure. Be glad to.”
Obviously, we weren’t gong to talk here. They asked if I could meet them in a few minutes, and gave me directions to a consultation room.
My troops decided that, since I was out of the picture for the afternoon, they’d do a little sightseeing. Sue really wanted to see Westminster Abbey, and since it was just across the river, it seemed like a fine idea.
Once they were gone, I grabbed my billfold, intending to stop at a machine and get a Coke or the equivalent, and hied myself to where the directions directed me. Well, I thought I was right. Unfortunately, when I arrived there, it was a closed ward.
I asked, and the aide told me that I was at the wrong end of the complex. And a floor too high. Apparently I belonged in the North Wing.
I got off the elevator, and walked down a corridor, past a room with a bobby standing outside looking bored. I nodded to him, and he nodded back. Bored cops are a universal thing.
I started through a lobby, and saw a youngish man coming toward me who looked kind of familiar. I didn’t think much of it, and crossed the lobby and went down another corridor. Wrong way again. I turned around, and headed back, and saw the same guy get just about to the room with the bobby, and turn smartly, and start coming toward me again. I grinned at him, thinking he was either lost or confused, too. He didn’t grin back, but he looked even more familiar this time.
Well, why not? I’d just seen him a minute ago. Then, as he passed, I saw the flesh colored bandage on his forehead.
I stopped, turned, and watched him walk away. For all the world, I thought it might be the creep I’d smacked with my flashlight at Down Street station.
“Naw.” I actually said that, and felt a little foolish. But I thought it just might be. So I followed him.
He was waiting for the elevator when I caught up with him. Dressed like I was, I think I looked more like a jogger than anything else. Well, with my girth, maybe more like a walker. With a sunburn.
In the elevator, I was right next to him, and he looked up at me. I was just about sure it was the creep. The way he looked at me, I thought I’d better give him a little distraction, so I flashed my best smile, pointed to my face, and said, “Sunburn.”
He didn’t say anything, and looked away instantly.
The elevator opened, and we were in the shop area. At least I was on familiar ground. He started walking toward the entrance at a pretty quick pace, and I managed to stay just about with him. As we went out the main entrance, I grabbed a nurse by the arm and said, “Call the cops.”
She gave me a startled look and said “Wot?”
I didn’t have time to stand around and talk, because he was getting ahead of me. I kept forging ahead, and saw him take a left to go by the fountain.
I turned after him, and thought I might be gaining a little. There was a man with an umbrella, hustling my way through the light rain, and I grabbed him by his umbrella hand as we passed.
“Call the police,” I said. “It’s important.”
“I beg your pardon?”
“Gotta go, call the cops!”
We were on Westminster Bridge Road now, and heading for the bridge across the Thames. There was lots of car traffic, but not a cop car in sight.
As far as I’d seen, he hadn’t looked back yet. That was a little disconcerting, because he was looking more and more normal to me as we moved toward the bridge. Was it the wrong guy?
I just stepped in front of the next oncoming person, a young woman in a raincoat and white shoes. Had to be a nurse.
“Nurse!”
She stopped.
“Call the cops. I’ve just come from the hospital. I’m following a suspect. Call the cops and tell them where you saw me. The name is Houseman.”
Between the ringing in my ears, and the traffic sounds on the wet roadway, I saw her lips move, but couldn’t make out what she said. I looked across the river, and my man was now another thirty yards ahead.
“Hurry!” I said, and started to jog. I really didn’t care if he saw me now, I just wanted to grab him and find out for sure.
My lack of jurisdiction was really starting to bug me. What the hell was I going to do if I caught him? More importantly, what was I going to do if I caught him and I was wrong? Hell, I couldn’t even make a citizen’s arrest. I wasn’t a fucking citizen.
I really didn’t want to lose him, though.
We were on the bridge by now, heading toward Big Ben and the Houses of Parliament. I was at the first set of those double streetlights, and he was already at the second. Way ahead, but I was gaining. He did seem to be walking faster now. Probably not because he was nervous. Probably because it was raining.
My best guess is that the bridge is a little over 250 yards long. I was halfway, and he was now only about fifteen yards ahead. I was counting on finding cops near Big Ben. I was really counting on that. I don’t know if it was the events of last night or what, but my legs were beginning to tire. I didn’t know how far this guy was going to go, but I knew I wasn’t going to be able to chase him a whole lot farther without either giving up, or of making a real effort and catching him before he knew I was behind him.
When he got to the end of the bridge, he stopped at the corner, waiting for the light to change. I came up on his right, a little behind, trying to lo
ok like I was just out jogging. By that time, he had reached in his pocket, pulled out a cell phone, and was dialing.
I got behind him, thought I had a few seconds, and looked down toward the cops that were on duty at Parliament. There were just two of ’em, I suppose because Bush was leaving London today, and wouldn’t be anywhere near here. There were still a couple of anti-US banners and posters in the little park, but there were three people in plastic coats cleaning them up. I waived at the cops, trying to get their attention. No luck. I glanced back at the light, and thought it was about to change.
I turned back toward the two bobbies, made a funnel of my hands, and yelled, “Hey!”
Everybody looked at me but the cops. No shit. I guess it’s true about us. I yelled again, and one of them looked up. I waived both arms, and motioned him toward us. I looked back, and the light had changed, and my quarry was about half way across the street.
It looked like he was heading toward the tube station. I had to do something, because I sure wasn’t about to follow him down that way.
I ran across the street, against the light for about half way, and caught him just as he turned to his right and headed for the tube station entrance.
I grabbed him around the neck. It wasn’t pretty, but he sure as hell stopped.
“We gotta talk,” I said. “Now.”
He was really squirmy, and I almost lost him as we sort of waltzed into the side of a building. He hit first.
“Hold still,” I said. “You’re under arrest.”
I think that took him by surprise for just a second, and I got a better grip on his neck. As I did so, his right hand went into his pocket, and he kicked back with his left foot, getting me a good one on the shin.
For that, I just bent my knees, and let my weight do some of the work. I must have been nearly a hundred pounds heavier than he was, and six or seven inches taller. He bent at the waist, screamed in anger, and went to his knees. It must have hurt like hell when he hit the pavement, but I stayed on him. I was grabbing at his right arm, while he was kicking like crazy, and trying to head butt me by snapping his head back as hard as he could. He was pretty strong, and again, he just about got away. I kept catching his left elbow in my ribs, and he was really starting to piss me off.
As he wriggled, he was able to get his right hand out of his pocket, and I thought he was trying to hit me with his right fist. I just kind of leaned back on him, and he couldn’t get his hand high enough to come back over his shoulder where it would do any good.
I was kind of aware that there were some people sort of gathering, some to watch, and some to just pause and move on. I looked up at them and yelled, “Just call the fucking cops, will you?”
He was really frantic now, and his struggles had moved us back toward the street. As we went, his and my right hand both ended up under him, and I felt something in his fist. I thought it was his cell phone.
Just then, there was a strong hand on my own right shoulder, and a very firm voice said, “Stop that!”
I glanced up and saw a constable in a yellow rain coat bent over us. He looked really mad.
“Watch him,” I said. “Be careful, I think he’s got something in his hand.”
“Let him go!”
I didn’t. I didn’t, mainly because the constable didn’t have him anywhere near under control. I did say, “Just a minute. . . .”
At that point, I caught a truncheon on the right elbow. I lost my grip, said something brilliant like “Ouch!” and started to lean back.
The man under me lashed out with his right, and I saw the knife blade pass in front of the constable’s nose, missing him by about an inch.
I lost my balance, sat back hard, and kicked out with my left foot, catching my man in the back of the head.
“He’s got a knife!” I said. A little late, maybe, but at least I got that much out.
The bobby smacked him right on the wrist, really hard, and the knife clattered to the street, and the man yelled something I didn’t understand.
I don’t know where all the other bobbies came from, but all of a sudden we were surrounded.
I found myself face down, being handcuffed behind my back, and saw my quarry getting the same treatment.
“Call Sergeant Trowbridge,” I said. “Special Branch. Get him over here.”
“Calm down,” said a bobby.
“I yell because I can’t hear very well,” I said, pretty reasonably. “Get Trowbridge over here. He’s at St. Thomas’s hospital. Tell him Deputy Houseman needs to see him right away.”
Okay, in his position, I suppose I wouldn’t have done it, either. Instead, me and my man were placed in two separate squad cars, and were guarded while some things got straightened out. Let me tell you, those British squad cars are not large enough. I was sort of laying on my side, knees drawn up, getting more irritable by the second, when Trowbridge’s face looked in the window. He saw me, grinned, and a few seconds later, the door was opened, and I was helped out.
“What on earth have you been up to?” he asked. “There must have been a half dozen calls received regarding you, in just the time since we were in your room.”
“The man I was chasing,” I said, as my handcuffs were removed, “I think is the guy who stabbed Jane.”
“Really?”
“I got lost, when I was coming to see you. I went past a room guarded by a cop, and I saw that dude coming toward me. He looked kind of familiar. I was still lost, so I turned around, and saw him coming back toward me. I think he was headed toward the room with the cop on the door.”
“Get him out, but leave him cuffed,” said Trowbridge to one of the constables. “Are you sure?” he asked me.
I took a deep breath. “No. But I think so. He ought to have an injury on his head, in front. From where I hit him with my flashlight in the tube station.”
I couldn’t help noticing that the constable nearest me had a quizzical look on his face. He was the one who almost caught the knife blade in the face. “He didn’t miss you by much,” I said.
“That’s right, sir,” he said, calmly. “It was close.”
As my suspect was escorted over, Blyth showed up with a senior officer in tow.
“How’s our favorite American?”
I felt the knot on my elbow. “Sore, kind of.” I pushed up my sleeve, and revealed a knot the size of a baseball on my right elbow.
Blyth looked aghast. “He got you a good one, didn’t he?”
“He didn’t,” I said, grinning and pointing at the constable. “He did.”
“Indeed?” said the senior man in uniform.
“Couldn’t be helped,” I said. “He didn’t know who I was, and I was on top, and I wouldn’t let go.”
About that time, my suspect arrived. I looked at him closely. “It’s him,” I said.
He gave me a good look, and said, “I’ve never seen this man before in my life.”
I pointed at the bandage on his forehead. “Take a look under that,” I said to Trowbridge. “Should be half moon shaped. Kind of a cut.”
Trowbridge reached out to lift up the bandage, and the man tried to bite his hand. The constable holding him twisted imperceptibly, saying “Here, here, we’ll have none of that,” and the man rose on his tiptoes.
Trowbridge reached out again, this time placing one hand firmly on top of the man’s head, and lifted the bandage. Sure as hell, there was a half moon cut, still kind of swollen at the edges.
“Remember me now?” I asked. “The Underground station?”
He looked blank.
“You and my flashlight had a little collision? Remember?”
He did. He looked me with recognition, and said, “Too bad she didn’t die.”
He was close enough. I think that if I hadn’t burned off the adrenaline in the scuffle, I probably would have hit him. But I didn’t. I just said, “I don’t think you could kill anybody who wasn’t tied up, junior.”
Guy’s and St. Thomas’s
London
15:12 Greenwich Mean Time
I had to go back into the hospital to get discharged. Blyth went with me, and while I was waiting, we visited Alice and told her what had happened. She was pleased, in a dopey sort of way. I figured we’d talk later.
Blyth and I got back to my room, and we had a short discussion, mostly to kill time.
“You handled that incident well,” he said.
“Catching up to him?”
“No, not trying to kill him when he recognized you.”
“Oh,” I said. “Well, we don’t need me in jail over here, too. I’m sure you’ll come up with something. It would have felt good to strangle him, though. Very good.”
“We’ll do our best,” he said. “If I get a chance, I’ll see if I can arrange you seeing the recordings.”
“Recordings?”
“We have surveillance cameras salted all over the city,” he said. “You should have been picked up on at least two or three of them.”
“No shit . . . I hadn’t even thought about that.”
“I’ll see if I can obtain copies. Should make fantastic viewing back in Iowa.”
“That would be really cool. . . .”
I looked at my watch. “My group ought to be showing up pretty soon. I’m surprised it’s taken them this long.”
“Westminster Abbey is a great, fascinating place,” said Blyth.
“We can consider this case closed?” I watched a nurse go by, hoping she’d come in and let me go. No luck. “Officially, I mean.”
“For all intents and purposes.”
“I was afraid of that,” I said. “Now I have to tell Jane that Emma’s dead.”
We sat in silence for a moment.
“Let me do that for you,” said Blyth.
“I can do it.”
“No, I insist. The least I can do.”
I thought about it for a moment. “Okay. I’d appreciate that.”
They let me go about five minutes after that. Blyth and I went down to the main lobby, where we waited about another fifteen minutes for the gang to show up. I didn’t know how he was going to tell them there. Neither did he, apparently, because he didn’t. Instead, he suggested he meet us at the girls’ place in Highgate in an hour.
November Rain Page 36
