*14*
TUESDAY, 28TH JUNE, THE NIGHTINGALE CLINIC, SALISBURY-1:00 A.M.
The two constables surveyed the shattered windshield and the crushed Wolseley trunk with unfeigned disgust. It was parked forlornly by the front door, where Alan had driven it when he realized that without some very prompt action, his dislocated shoulder would require reduction under general anesthetic at the nearest emergency room. He had blared the horn with all the vigor of the angels and archangels sounding the last trump, and sobbed with relief when the night security officer emerged to rescue him, and Veronica Gordon, using strong hands and a steady nerve, guided the bones back into place. Even so, it had been a close call. After fifteen minutes, the joint had been so swollen that the pain was unbearable.
'That's criminal,' said one policeman, lighting the damage with his torch. 'How many times did you say he hit it, sir?'
'Only once,' said Alan, cradling his left elbow in the palm of his right hand, unconvinced that the sling he was wearing was reliable. 'I smashed the back in when I was reversing away from him. I'm rather more interested in the fact that he had at least two swipes at me.'
'Still, sir,' said the other ponderously, 'he seems to have done more damage to your car.'
'Remind me to show you some pictures of dislocated joints thirty minutes after the event,' he said dryly. 'Then tell me he did more damage to my car.' He led the way into his office, padding wearily to his desk and hitching a buttock onto the edge. 'I suppose it's occurred to you he might still be out there.'
'Highly unlikely, sir-not with all the activity that's been going on.'
The police car had arrived within ten minutes of the 999 call, and, following Dr. Protheroe's description of events-namely, that he had glimpsed a face in his headlights and stopped to investigate-the policemen worked on the logical assumption that an intruder had come with the intention of burglary and the doctor had had the misfortune to get in his way. A thorough check of all the doors and windows, however, had failed to discover any signs of a break-in.
'We can't fault your security, sir,' said the larger of the two constables, with a perplexed frown, 'which makes me doubt this fellow had cased the clinic very thoroughly. If he was planning a burglary, he can't have known how difficult it was going to be to break in. So are you sure you didn't recognize him? Otherwise, I don't understand why he bothered to attack you. He clearly hadn't committed a crime at that point, not unless he entered and left by the front door, which your security officer says is impossible because he's been at the reception desk since ten o'clock.'
'I'm sure. In any case I was beginning to think I'd made a mistake about seeing anyone at all until I felt the hammer brush my arm. I had no idea he was so close to me. I certainly didn't hear him, but as I'd left the car engine running, that wasn't really surprising.'
'And you can't think of any reason why someone would want to attack you?'
Alan shook his head. 'Unless he knew I was a doctor and thought I had drugs in the car. I've been racking my brains but I can't think of anything else.' There would be time enough tomorrow, he thought, to decide whether it had been Jinx's face he saw in the headlamps, or whether his imagination had put her there because she had been on his mind.
'An ex-patient, perhaps, who would recognize your car?'
'I wouldn't have thought so. It's one of the first things I make clear when they arrive. We have a limited supply of drugs on the premises and they're always locked away in that safe over there.'
He jerked his head towards the solid Chubb in the corner. 'They certainly know I never carry anything in my car.'
The constable lowered himself onto a chair and took a notebook from his pocket. 'Well, let's get some details down. You say he ran away after smashing the windshield, so you must have had a pretty good look at him then.'
Alan plucked a Kleenex from a box on his desk and dabbed at his face, which was still bleeding from where tiny shards of glass had embedded themselves in his skin. 'Not really. I was having a hell of a job trying to find reverse with my right hand, so I was concentrating on that.'
'Will you describe him for me, please?'
'He was a bit shorter than I am, say about five ten or eleven. I suppose you'd describe him as medium build-he certainly wasn't fat-and he was dressed in black.'
The policeman waited for him to continue, pencil poised over notebook on knee. When he didn't, he looked up. 'A slightly fuller description would be more helpful, sir. For example, what skin color was he?'
'I don't know. I think he was wearing a ski mask. All I saw was a man dressed in black from head to toe wielding a sledgehammer.'
'Fair enough. Then perhaps you could give me some details of his dress. What was he wearing on his top?'
Alan shook his head. 'I don't know.' He saw impatience in the constable's eyes. 'Look,' he said with a flash of anger, 'it's very dark. I get out of my car and the next thing I know, some bastard is trying to make mincemeat out of me. Frankly, taking in the minutiae of his dress is the last thing on my mind.'
The policeman waited a moment. 'Except that you must have taken in a few more details when you were back in the car and he was running away.'
'It happened very fast. All I can tell you is that he was dressed in black.'
'It's not much to go on, sir.'
'I'm aware of that,' said Alan testily.
There was a short silence. 'Yet you're very sure it was a man. Why? Did he say something to you?'
