A Game of Proof

But as he did so Gary came out of the house, quickly followed by the other man, Sean. Gary pointed up the road, directly at Terry, and sprinted for the van, followed by Sean, who seemed to have something long, a stick or a knife in his hand.

Terry began to run, his long legs stretching over the ground as fast as he could make them go. But the van was twenty yards away, maybe more, and the two men were already inside it. Fifteen yards.. ten … the van shuddered as the engine started and smoke came out of the exhaust. Terry knew Harry would be far behind him but he didn’t care. He ran up to the van as it started to move, and with a final lung-heaving stretch grabbed the driver’s door handle. He could see Gary’s face inside. He pulled the door open, but he was still running and the van was accelerating faster, pulling him off his feet as it swerved deliberately close to a parked car which swept Terry’s legs from under him and sent him slithering over the bonnet into the windscreen and down, loose and crumpled like a rag doll, onto the road.

There was a lime tree at the side of the road. Its leaves fluttered prettily in the breeze beneath a clear blue sky. It’s funny I never noticed this before, Terry thought, it’s such a nice picture on a lovely day. There was a ringing in his head and a face appeared between him and the tree, looking down.

‘Sir, are you okay?’ the face asked anxiously, in the voice of Harry, whom it resembled.

‘Yes, I … what happened?’ Terry heaved himself up on his elbows. The road pitched and heaved like a ship out at sea. He staggered to his feet and clung onto a parked car whose windscreen was, for some reason, shattered. There was blood on his hands where he had grazed himself and the sleeve of his jacket was torn. He remembered.

‘Get after them, Harry. Call a squad car. Get their number.’

‘Tracy’s doing it now, sir. She’s phoned in. I think … we should go into the house.’

As the ringing in his ears faded and the road settled down to something like normal behaviour Terry noticed a crying, a screaming like that of a child in distress. It seemed to be coming from Sharon’s house. He walked as steadily as he could towards the front door.

The crying came from the top of the stairs. As Terry climbed them, following Harry, he saw a little girl inside a bedroom to the right. She was howling, her mouth wide open, tears streaming down her face, pointing with her pudgy right hand at something further inside the room. Harry walked straight past her. Terry stopped to pick her up.

Inside the room there were clothes strewn across the floor and on the bed, sideways across the pillows at the top end, lay a naked woman. It was Sharon. She lay face up, her long blonde hair spread out, her breasts flopping sideways, blood streaming from a wound in her stomach just below her ribs. One hand twitched and fluttered feebly near the wound, as though trying to find the blood to staunch it and take away the pain.

‘Sharon?’ Harry bent over her, swept the hair from her face, looked in her eyes and felt her wrist. ‘There’s still a pulse, sir.’

‘Stop that bleeding, then.’

Terry fumbled for the phone in his pocket, but with the child on his hip, clinging to him with all the ferocious strength of utter terror, he couldn’t reach it. Then he noticed a phone by the bed near Sharon’s feet, only the receiver was off the hook, on the floor somewhere. He bent to pick it up and to his surprise heard a voice on the other end.

‘Caller? Caller, are you there? Answer me if you can. Do you need police, fire, or ambulance?’

‘The police are here already,’ said Terry. ‘Send an ambulance. Quick!’

Chapter Forty-Three

‘I thought it was unfair. After all, Turner talked about Brodie in his own speech, didn’t he? That was what he closed with.’

Lucy’s voice echoed strangely from the concrete walls of the corridors below the court. This place, which she knew so well, today seemed weird to Sarah, almost dreamlike. Perhaps they were taking her to be locked away, she thought. She was sure she deserved it.

‘You’re right,’ she replied, with the part of her mind which was still functioning. ‘I should have noticed that.’

‘He took you unawares, that’s all.’

‘He did. But I should be ready for ambushes, damn it! That’s my job.’

‘Never mind. You did your best.’

‘No!’ Sarah stopped, while the warder opened the door of Simon’s cell. ‘That’s just it! On this one occasion when it really mattered, I didn’t do my best, Lucy! I let him down!’

As they went inside, Sarah saw that Simon had heard. He stood, pale and dismayed, as the door clanged shut behind them. ‘What do you mean, Mum? How did you let me down?’

‘I … didn’t end as well as I could, Simon, that’s all. You must have noticed.’

‘Your speech, you mean?’ She saw fear in his face as the blow hit home. ‘You said everything, didn’t you? I thought you did.’

‘I said everything, yes. It was just … he tripped me up at the end with that reference to Brodie. I should never have made it. The rest was fine.’

She touched his arm and felt the tension in it. He shook her off abruptly and sat, head cradled in his hands. Then he looked up, eyes wild.

‘But you had to talk about Brodie, didn’t you? I mean, if I didn’t kill her, who did?’

‘That’s what I wish we knew, Simon,’ said Lucy softly, sitting quietly beside him. They watched Sarah, pacing the cell like a trapped cat. ‘That’s what we all wish we knew.’

The paramedics eased the stretcher gently into the ambulance. There was a small crowd on the pavement outside the house. A policewoman tried to comfort the little girl in the doorway.

‘You go with her, Harry,’ Terry said. ‘Anything she says …’

A paramedic frowned disapprovingly. ‘She’s not likely to say anything for a while, sir. And we’ll be very busy …’

‘All the same,’ Terry insisted. ‘This is a major murder enquiry. We have to know.’

Cautiously, Harry climbed into the back of the ambulance and sat near Sharon’s head. The paramedic fitted an oxygen mask over her mouth and nose and busied himself with a drip to her arm. Despite the pads he had strapped tightly across her stomach the blood was oozing into the blanket. Her face, what he could he could see of it, was as pale as the sheet and her hair was flecked with blood.

The paramedic handed him a bottle. ‘Here, make yourself useful and hold this. Up in the air, make sure no bubbles get into the line. I’ll try some adrenaline.’

The ambulance lurched into movement and Harry heard the crackle of the radio as the driver called in. ‘ … serious stab wounds to stomach … major haemorrhage … a full crash team … ETA seven minutes, with luck …’

The siren began to howl and the ambulance moved off. The paramedic was giving an injection into Sharon’s leg. Nothing happened. He felt for a pulse, then lifted an eyelid, and bent his mouth close to her ear. ‘Sharon? Come on, love, don’t give up. Open your eyes, honey.’

Shocked, Harry watched as the eyelid flopped back; then, ten long seconds later, it began to flutter. Her eyes opened and gazed around her, confused.

‘Sharon, are you with us? There’s a good girl. You’re in an ambulance, love, you’ll be in hospital soon. Now what I want you to do, is take deep breaths from this mask on your face, all right? Fill your lungs, really good, slow, deep breaths.’

The eyes closed again. After a moment, he saw her chest rise and fall. Once, twice, three times. He heard her breathing inside the mask. Her eyes opened.

‘That’s great, Sharon, just great. You’re doing fine. More deep breaths, now.’

She breathed deeply while they watched. The paramedic took her pulse again.

‘That’s brilliant, Sharon, brilliant. Now you just lie there and take deep breaths and we’ll have you in hospital