‘She’s conscious,’ someone called, and it seemed as though more people crowded around her.
Something soft was pressed gently against her neck. Then she heard the snip snip of scissors next to each ear, and the cloth was pulled from her mouth. She gasped one, two great lungfuls of air, her whole body contorting upwards at the sudden freedom, vomit coming from her mouth and running over her chin, and then she heard an almighty wailing begin. This time she knew it came from her own body, because she felt the quaking tremor of it as it filled her ears.
Her eyes flicked open and there was a snapshot of shocked and stricken faces. A uniformed policeman gaping at her with his mouth a slack O. A middle-aged woman’s back heaving as she sobbed into the chest of a man in shorts and T-shirt, who had his arms round the lady and was looking away from the scene and into the distance, his face grim. And then a green uniform, a face close to Amy’s, leaning in, saying ‘for the pain’, which she heard, although it sounded like one of the records her dad used to play where he would slow the speed right down to make her laugh at the sound of deep, treacly voices. She stared upwards, beyond the few trees that peered over the scene, up into the clear void that still beckoned her, where a part of her already lurked, looking down. She felt the inconsequential stab of a needle and her mind moved off again and up into the air towards the endless blue of the sky.
40
Alex looked up at the sound of the door opening. The detective in charge – Thompson, he thought his name was – came in, grim-faced.
Alex clenched his fists hard under the table as the policeman began to speak.
‘We’ve found the van. It was abandoned in a remote parking spot – and originally stolen. We think they switched to another car, as there are tyre tracks leading away from the scene.’
His heart skittered. ‘Amy?’
‘No sign, I’m afraid… We’re searching the area now.’ The man paused. ‘You know, you don’t have to be here if you don’t want to, Mr Markham.’
‘What? What do you mean?’
‘You’re free to leave the police station whenever you like. It’s been almost five hours and there are no developments yet. It might… take a while. Of course, you’re welcome to stay, but if you give me your mobile number I’ll keep you fully informed. Maybe you’d rather find somewhere more comfortable to wait?’
Alex couldn’t keep the sarcasm from his tone as he jumped up in agitation. ‘Well, that’s great. We did have some sightseeing planned today, after all. I suppose although Amy’s been kidnapped there’s nothing to stop
‘I do understand your distress, Mr Markham…’
A woman opened the door and leaned in. ‘Sir.’ Her tone commanded his attention immediately.
‘Excuse me for a sec.’ Thompson got up and followed her out, closing the door behind him.
Alex immediately headed over to the door and peered through the small window. They were talking outside, the woman animated and serious, the detective nodding with his lips a grim line, asking short questions and then nodding again. Not knowing was more unbearable than anything else. Alex was on the point of opening the door and demanding to be included in the conversation when the detective gave some instructions and the woman hurried off. Alex turned away from the door as the policeman came back in, but immediately swung around as the man announced, ‘They’ve found her…’
When Alex saw Thompson’s stony expression his insides turned to ice. He began to hold his hand up, to ask him not to say any more, as the not knowing had instantly transformed itself into a blessing, but the policeman continued too quickly.
‘… and she’s alive, but she’s been badly hurt. We need to get to the hospital.’
Alex’s knees gave way for a moment and he had to lean against the wall.
While they raced to the hospital, image after sickening image strobed through Alex’s mind, but nothing could prepare him for the shock of seeing Amy in that hospital bed. He had to focus all his energy into pushing down the queasiness rising like a bubble of air inside him, before he threw up on those pristine white covers.
She was asleep – sedated, they told him. They wouldn’t collect specimens for forensics until she woke up, and they asked him not to touch her until they had done so. However, much of the evidence of what had occurred was clear for all to see. On her face and the unbandaged portions of her arms – the only parts of her visible – purple bruises flared in patches. Even the uninjured skin was raw, red and blistered from where the sun had had its own cruel way with her.
There were thick bandages on her left shoulder and wrist, but they were not as appalling as the large plaster stretched across her neck, covering the place where they had tried to slice her throat. Alex realised with a jolt that she was still there only because of poor execution on her attackers’ part.
Less than six hours ago she had been walking next to him, laughing, intact and unscathed. God, how he wished he could have a moment alone with the animals that had done this to her. A moment would be all he would need.
His legs felt unsteady and he stood with both palms on the edge of the mattress, letting his arms take his weight.
‘Hello?’
He turned slowly, to find a woman by the door, dressed in a navy suit. She walked towards him. ‘I’m Isla Bardello.’ Held out a hand, which he shook silently. ‘I’m your family liaison officer. You must be Alex?’
He nodded.
She looked at Amy for a moment, and then said, ‘You know, if you need to let yourself go, that’s okay. While she’s asleep is a good time for you to cry or be angry. When she wakes up she’ll need you to be strong.’
He didn’t know how to respond to this. Markham men did not emote on command, they found it difficult enough to do so at all. Especially in front of strangers. He couldn’t trust himself to have a conversation without losing control. He was not ready to be grateful for Amy’s life, as though he were thanking the bastards who had done this for the smallest of mercies. He was ready to punch flesh until he heard the bones splinter, to set fire to all the white transit vans he saw.
She was waiting and he was flustered, so he tried out a smile. ‘Thanks. I’m okay.’
She watched his face, and he wondered if she was disappointed in him. Then she straightened up, becoming more businesslike.
‘Have you spoken to Amy’s family?’
‘No. Have you?’
She ignored the snippiness of his reply. ‘They need to be told. It would be more reassuring coming from someone they know.’
Alex choked back an ugly laugh. There would be nothing reassuring to them in this news, whoever told them. He had already mentally gone over the dreaded conversation with Amy’s father a hundred times, trying to imagine what Raymond Duvalis would do when he heard about this.
However, she was right. There was no choice: he needed to let Amy’s parents know.
‘You can use my mobile,’ she said, handing him the phone.
‘Thanks,’ he replied, taking it and wandering out of Amy’s room after a glance back.
He searched the maze of linear corridors for somewhere private enough, ending up in the car park, on the far side by some eucalypts, their scent wafting over him as he dialled.
It was breakfast time in the UK. He imagined Ray and Tess sitting in companionable silence in their small kitchen, unaware of the devastating news about to reach them.
‘Hello?’ It was Amy’s mother.
‘Tess, it’s Alex. There’s been an accident,’ he began, trying to sound calm. ‘But Amy’s alive.’
‘Oh my god.’ Her voice broke immediately as he cursed his wording – by telling her that Amy was alive he had
