He woke with a start, found his head on the bed close to his mother’s chest.
He still gripped her hand.
Even in sleep he hadn’t released it, perhaps thinking that to cling onto her would retain his hold on her life.
As he stirred he looked intently at her. At the slow rise and fall of her chest.
Behind him, the oscilloscope still continued its high-pitched signals.
Talbot exhaled deeply and rubbed both hands across his face.
He glanced at his watch.
8.17 a.m.
Shit.
He had to phone Rafferty, tell him what had happened, tell him he couldn’t leave his mother just yet.
Rafferty could handle things. He was a very able man.
A good man.
Like you ? Are you a good man ?
He got to his feet, patting his mother’s hand lightly, touching one of her cheeks with the back of his hand.
‘I’ll be back in a while, Mum,’ he said softly, and turned towards the door.
There was a bathroom at the end of the corridor, for the use of patients, he assumed. Not that many of them in this unit would even be able to get to the toilet.
Talbot glanced around, saw that the nurses’ station was unattended. He strode up the corridor and into the bathroom where he splashed his face with cold water. The clear fluid felt good against his skin and his flesh prickled, momentarily revitalised.
He rubbed a wet hand around the back of his neck soothingly, before running both hands through his hair, slicking it back until it looked as though his hair had been oiled.
He inspected his image in the mirror on the wall.
The face which stared back at him was that of a man who needed sleep badly.
The whites of his eyes were criss-crossed with red veins, the lids puffy and swollen. As he ran a hand across his cheeks and chin he could hear the stubble rasp.
Tuck it’ he grunted and dried his face on the roller-towel.
He felt a swelling in his bladder and urinated in the single cubicle; then, taking one last look in the mirror at his haggard reflection, he made his way back down the corridor towards his mother’s room.
As he entered, he saw a dark figure standing beside the bed.
Talbot looked at the priest for a moment, his eye focusing on the cleric’s white collar.
‘Good morning,’ said the priest.
‘What do you want?’ Talbot replied, warily.
‘I was asked to call on one of the patients in this unit’ the priest answered.
‘I usually look in on them all if I’m here.’
‘Well, you’re in the wrong room’ the DI snapped.
The priest looked at him with a slight smile on his face. He was only five or six years older than Talbot, his hair short but thick and lustrous on top.
‘I know how you must feel’ the cleric soothed.
‘Do you? I don’t think so.’
‘If there’s anything I can do to help.’
‘What, like give her the last rites or something? Why don’t you just leave her alone? You can’t do anything to help her.’
‘Then perhaps I can help you. At a time like this I find that families need help.’
‘From you?’
‘From God.’
Talbot opened the door.
‘Get out’ he said, irritably.
The priest hesitated.
‘I don’t need your help’ the policeman said. ‘Yours or God’s. If God wants to help, why doesn’t he bring her out of that fucking coma? That’d help.’
‘I’m sorry you feel that way’ the priest said, almost apologetically.
‘How do you expect me to feel? Look what your God’s done for my mother.’ He jabbed a finger angrily in the direction of the bed. ‘Go on, get out and take your God with you.’
The priest left without answering.
Talbot slammed the door behind him and exhaled deeply, eyes closed.
The sharp beeping noise startled him.
For one terrible second he thought it was the oscilloscope, then he realised it was his pager.
He snatched at it and checked the number, pushing out into the corridor again, glancing around for a phone, remembering there was one at the nurses’ station.
It was manned when he reached it.
An older nurse looked up at him as he lowered over her.
‘I need to use a phone’ he said, pulling his ID from his pocket.
The nurse glanced quickly at the card, then nodded and motioned to the white phone before him.
Talbot jabbed the digits and waited.
At the other end the receiver was picked up and he recognised Rafferty’s voice immediately.
‘Bill, it’s me. What do you want?’
‘Where are you, Jim?’
‘At the hospital with my mother, she’s very bad.’
‘Christ, I’m sorry. Listen, Jim, I know this is difficult but something’s happened here. You have to get back to the Yard as soon as you can.’
‘Can’t you deal with it?’
‘You need to hear this yourself.’
Talbot hesitated.
What if he left now and she died?
Are you going to let her die alone?
‘Jim?’ Rafferty persisted.
Again Talbot hesitated.
‘What we’ve got here is going to blow this abuse case wide open,’ Rafferty told him. ‘Maybe even prove links with the three suicides.’
Another long silence.
I’ll be there in an hour’ Talbot said.
Eighty-four
They sat in silence watching him.
The three of them, eyes fixed upon him as he sat back in his chair, hands entwined behind his head, his own gaze lowered.
Shanine Connor shifted uncomfortably in her seat and took a drag on the cigarette, glancing occasionally at Catherine Reed who touched her arm reassuringly.
DS William Rafferty was perched on the corner of the desk gazing at his superior.
Talbot loosened his hands and stretched, before cracking his knuckles, the sound reverberating around the silent office.
He glanced at his watch.
12.06 p.m.
He had sat silently for almost two hours.
