XV
‘OK. Mr Lazarus. Where is he?’
‘My flat.’ Good-looking girl with very dark hair, dressed for aerobics. She kept biting her thumb, looked scared half to death but doing her best not to show it.
She’d been waiting for Andy in the lobby, where there was a uniformed doorman, who must be the only one in Elham. A digital wall clock showed 20.30.
She ought to be miles from here by now. She ought to be
The doorman lifted Andy’s beaten-up holdall after them into the lift. Jesus God, but this place had changed. Not so long ago, the Edwardian building overlooking the park used to be full of old-established solicitors’ and insurance brokers’ offices and dentists’ surgeries. Brass plates and steps up. Then, some consortium headed by Tony Parker, the ‘leisure operator’, had somehow acquired the building, and now it was very expensive luxury apartments —
She didn’t recognize the woman. One of Elham’s fortunates, then: never crashed the car, attempted suicide, got mugged, burned, battered by the husband.
Half an hour ago, she’d phoned the hospital, sounding panicky, demanding to talk to Sister Anderson. The night sister, Sharon Fox, had refused — as was customary — to give out Andy’s home number, but the woman had left her own and her name — Suzanne — and a message:
Andy had called her back in seconds.
It was one of those lifts you couldn’t even tell when it was moving. The girl leaned against the doors, breathed out. ‘Thank Christ. I owe you one, Mrs Anderson. I’m useless in these situations.’
‘You’re Suzanne?’
‘Emma. Em. Forget Suzanne. Bobby said
‘Aye. Maybe so.’
The lift doors opened. Directly across was a fancy, dark-wood apartment door with a brass 7 on it. The girl banged the panels with her fists. ‘Me, Vic.’
No problem recognizing the grizzled guy who let them in.
‘Could be a messy one, Sister,’ Vic Clutton said, and Andy’s heart sank, because if even he thought it was messy then it was very messy.
Big picture window in the bedroom. The lights of Elham, but it might have been Paris; distance, the night and the trees hiding all the scars and cavities and bruised, smashed people. The wee lights making it look pretty and contented.
‘Peas,’ Andy demanded.
Em said, ‘Sorry?’
‘Frozen peas. Soft packet. Beans. Sweetcorn. Anything like that.’
‘I’ll get it,’ Vic said. Aye, he’d been down this alleyway before. ‘I’ll check the freezer.’
They’d put Bobby Maiden on the bed. Blood was soaking into the cream duvet where it had poured down from the eye to join another river from a long cut under the jaw. As for the eye itself … Jesus God. How could this happen … again? Tonight, of all nights.
‘Put the big light on. OK, son, look up. And open it. I need it open.’
It would have to be the left eye again. He tried his best to open it, but she had to do it for him, which was like getting into a walnut. If this turned out the way she feared, it was going to be 999, no messing. And prayers.
Holding his head. It felt familiar, in an awfully disturbing way, but no time for that now. ‘Keep still. Good boy.’
The woman, Em, standing with her back to the picture window, biting her thumbnail.
Andy peered into Bobby Maiden’s left eye.
‘Jesus God.’
‘What?’ Em sprang up.
‘It moved. Shit.’ Andy sagged. ‘The damn pupil contracted in the light.’
‘What’s that mean?’
‘Calm down, hen. It’s a good sign. If the pupil wouldnae move we’d have big trouble. This is the eye that took it last time. I was convinced the pupil wasnae gonny contract, but it did, so we breathe again. You got pain anywhere else, son?
‘Can I get you some tea, Mrs Anderson?’
‘No time, hen … Aye, OK.’
Vic Clutton came back with the frozen peas, and she arranged the bag over the eye, instructing Bobby not to move. ‘Any numbness?’
‘Nothing I didn’t have before,’ he said thickly. ‘I’m sorry. I’m really sorry about this.’
‘Save it. How about the other eye? Can you see out of that OK?’
Bobby fumbled a deathly smile. ‘What’ve you done to your hair?’
‘Good.’ She rummaged in her holdall, dug out a packet of lightweight gauze. ‘You got any Sellotape, hen?’
‘Drawer over the bookcase, Vic. Would you mind? I’ll make some tea. Can you … I mean, is he going to be all right?’
‘A hospital would tell you better than me. And a hospital’s what he needs, I kid you not.’
‘Forget it,’ Bobby said. ‘Really.’
‘Shut up, you.’ Andy turned to Em. ‘All right. Forget the tea. No bullshit. How’d this happen?’
‘We took him back to his flat to get some things,’ Em said. ‘Vic-?’
‘These two blokes was already in the flat, Sister. In the dark. Dead quiet. Suddenly all the lights go on, no warning, and they come for him. With these iron bars. Crowbars.’
‘Jesus God. Burglars?’
‘What I thought. At first.’ Vic looked at Em.
‘Tell her,’ she said, biting a thumbnail. ‘Tell her the lot. I don’t care who goes down for this.’
Vic shuffled. ‘Well, it was … It wasn’t burglars. You surprise a burglar, he might go for you in a panic, sorter thing. Not these two. It was what they’d come for. They was waiting for him. Give him a beating.’
‘With iron
‘A
‘Say it,’ the girl said. ‘A
‘Yeah,’ Vic said. ‘Looked like it was gonna be a final beating. Sorter thing.’
‘You mean …’ Seen-it-all Andy knowing she’d gone white. ‘… they were waiting to
‘Would’ve looked like he’d interrupted a burglary. When they found him.’
‘God above, what’s he
Vic looked across at the bed then at Em. Em said, ‘Bobby?’
‘Sure,’ he said. ‘You can say what you want in front of Andy. We go back.’
Vic rubbed his jaw. ‘What a bleeding mess.’ He sat on a corner of the bed. ‘Course, they never thought there’d be two of us. And I had me little tool kit.’
Andy said, ‘Against iron
‘I threw the tools at the window, Sister. Well, it’s a quiet street, in spite of the bypass. Em hears the glass go, thinks it couldn’t be me, and starts on the car hooter. Course, they’ve no way of telling, these lads, how many of us was out there. Could’ve been we was mob-handed, for all they know. They piss off smartish, the front way. Self-preservation cooling their aggression, sorter thing.’
‘You told the police?’
