She shook her head.
'Are you sure? That rib might be broken.' I got up to move to the phone by the desk.
'No.' Her voice was suddenly clear. 'No,' she said again, this time in a whisper. 'Please.'
I left it and sat down again. I made my voice as quiet and comforting as I could. 'What's your name?'
'Sally. Sally Finlay.'
'Did Joe do this?'
Sally didn't answer, but her shoulders began to shake, and she let out another deep sob.
I walked over to her and touched her shoulder. I could feel her relax just slightly.
'Where has he gone?'
She wiped her nose with the back of her hand. 'To the off-licence. To get some beer. He always likes to drink after…' Her voice trailed off.
I felt useless standing there. I lifted my hand off her shoulder.
'Stay,' she said, looking up at me, pleading. She attempted a smile but her lower lip shook too much.
So I just stood there, not saying anything, my hand resting on her shoulder, waiting for Joe.
I wanted to leave. Common sense told me to go. But I couldn't bring myself to abandon Sally to Joe. I had to stand there and wait for him. And I had no idea what I would do when he came.
So we waited, Sally's hand pressing mine on to her shoulder, determined not to let me go, both of us listening to the tick of a clock in the hall and the birds squabbling in the garden.
I was just about to pull myself free from her and leave when I heard the quick crunch of hurried footsteps on the path outside. A pause. The rattle and click of a key in the front-door lock. The squeak of the hinges as the door opened and the muffled crash as it shut. Light footsteps in the hallway.
I stood watching the open door. Beneath my hand Sally tensed up and then went absolutely still.
He was surprised to see me but only for the barest of moments. His eyes flicked quickly from my face to Sally's and then rested again on mine. A cold, unmoving, lifeless stare.
Sally's hand fell away from mine, and her eyes dropped to the floor.
Joe smiled his thin smile. 'I see we have a guest. Can I get you a beer? Let me put these in the fridge.' He showed me the six-pack in his hand and disappeared into the kitchen.
Sally and I waited, motionless.
He was back in an instant with a knife. It was the one that had fallen to the floor in the kitchen. It was small, but I could see it was sharp. Two cubes of onion clung to the lower edge of the blade.
'Why don't you go up to bed, darling? You look tired,' he said.
Sally stood up shaking, threw me a glance which mixed fear with pity, and slunk out of the room into the hall. I heard her feet tapping quickly up the stairs.
Joe had a knife, and he probably intended to use it. I couldn't kid myself that I could protect his wife, and this wasn't the time to ask difficult questions.
Stay calm and get out.
Joe blocked my path to the french windows. My eyes flickered over his shoulder. Three strides would take me to the hallway. I took two of them, but Joe had seen my eyes move. I stopped my headlong dive for the door just in time to avoid impaling myself on his knife.
Joe slowly waved the knife in front of me, forcing me to back up into the corner. The sun flooded into the room, bathing Joe's face in a yellow light. His eyes narrowed, and the pupils shrunk to tiny black pinpricks. The knife flashed white in the sun.
The clamour of the blackbirds' furious evening chorus rang in my ears from the garden. I could feel the fabric of my heavy white cotton shirt, sticky under my suit jacket. A bookcase jutted into the back of my legs. And my eyes kept following the knife.
Dive for his knife hand. It's only a small knife, it wouldn't hurt much if it grazed me, would it? Unbalance him and then run. Fast.
His wiry frame was perfectly weighted on the balls of both feet. The knife was held loosely in his right hand. Relaxed, but ready to move in an instant. Joe knew how to fight with a knife.
I looked at Joe's eyes. He's daring me. He wants me to jump him.
So, I let my hands flop down by my sides. 'Just let me go,' I said in as reasonable a voice as I could muster. 'I won't tell anyone about Sally.'
'You annoy me, Murray,' hissed Joe. 'Why did you come here anyway?'
'To talk to you about Debbie's death,' I said.
'And what should I know about that?'
'I was with her when you walked past her on the boat. The night she died.'
Joe chuckled. 'I thought I recognised you. So you think I killed her, don't you? Well, if you want to know whether I killed her, ask me.' He was smiling now. Enjoying himself.
I said nothing.
'What's the matter? Are you afraid that if I killed the slut, I might kill you? Perhaps you are right. Go on. Ask me. Ask me!' he shouted.
I was scared. Really scared. But I thought I had better humour him. I swallowed. 'Did you kill her?'
'Sorry, I didn't hear you. What did you say?' Joe said.
I stood up straight. 'Did you kill Debbie?'
He smiled. There was a long pause. He savoured it. 'Perhaps,' he said, and chuckled to himself. 'But let's talk about you. I don't like you very much, Murray. I don't like you nosing round here talking to my wife. I think I will have to give you something to remind you to keep out of my way.'
He moved closer to me. I stayed absolutely still. He slowly raised the small knife towards my neck. The bottom of the blade had the grey-white shine of truly sharpened steel. I could smell the chopped onion inches from my nose.
I didn't move.
Panic. Stay calm. No panic! Don't just stand there whilst he cuts your throat. Move!
I snatched at the knife. As I moved my hand up, he caught it with his free left hand, twisted and pulled me over his shoulder. I found myself pinned to the floor.
He grabbed the little finger of my left hand. 'Spread out your fingers,' he ordered. I tried to clench my fist, but he pulled back on my little finger. 'Spread out your fingers or I will break it!'
I unclenched my hand. 'You don't really need that little finger do you?' Joe chuckled. 'You don't use it for anything. You wouldn't miss it. I want to give you a little reminder to stay clear of me.'
I tried to move my hand, but it was pinned tight to the floor, right in front of my face. I saw the blade move down until it gently brushed the skin below the knuckle. I felt a small sharp stab of pain as my skin was lightly punctured. A line of little droplets of blood welled up across the back of my finger.
Then he leant down on the knife, and very slowly moved it backwards and forwards, carving into the skin. The pain shot up my hand. I clenched my teeth, and pushed my chin into the carpet, determined not to cry out, my eyes still fixed on the blade. I tried to wriggle, but Joe had me pinned to the floor. My legs were free, and I kicked them uselessly.
There was nothing I could do but watch Joe cut my finger off.
Suddenly he removed the knife and laughed. 'Go on, piss off out of here,' he said, standing up.
The relief rushed through me. I did exactly as he said, picking myself up off the floor, and running for the door, gripping my bloody finger with my right hand. I left Sally's sobbing behind me, as I sped out of the house, ran down to the end of the street and into the main road.
As I came to a row of shops I stopped running. God, that man is a psychopath, I thought, as I gathered my breath. And a strong one too. I could feel the blood from my finger trickling down my forearm. The wound was deep and it hurt. I noticed a chemist over the road. In a couple of minutes my finger was clean and bandaged.
I sat down on a low wall to collect myself. My finger throbbed with pain, but at least I was still attached to it. My heart was beating wildly, and not just from the running. It took ten minutes for my hands to stop shaking, and my heartbeat to slow to its normal rate.
I was very tempted just to go home and forget about Joe. But I could still hear Sally Finlay's deep sobs of pain, and see her face racked with tears of misery. What I had seen of Joe made me feel physically sick. He was inhuman. I couldn't let him just hit his wife whenever his sick mind felt like it. God knows what he did to the child.
