‘No,’ the cop stepped ahead of him. ‘You stay here and check the rooms. Make sure no one’s hurt.’
Ulvi stopped and watched the cop march forward and disappear round the corner. He smiled. He had never seen him go into the room that contained the monk and had gambled on this small observation to give him his chance. If the cop had avoided it in daylight there was no way he would want to go in now in pitch darkness. Ulvi’s offer to go and check what was happening with the lights had been calculated to make the cop volunteer instead. And he had, so now Ulvi was alone. He took the room keys from his pocket and used the light from his mobile phone to find the one with 410 stamped on it.
Ladies first, he thought, then moved through the darkness towards Kathryn Mann’s door.
36
Gabriel stared up at the hospital building, listening to the sounds of distressed patients mingling with the thousand other fractured noises rising from the stunned city.
The main wing was illuminated from within by the dim orange glow of emergency lights, but the satellite buildings were dark. He fixed his eye on the square of black window that he believed was his mother’s room, willing her to come to it so he could see she was OK. Behind him a car turned into the street, its headlights on full. Gabriel sank further into the shadows, his eyes still fixed on the dark window on the fourth floor. The car drew closer and swept round the corner, washing light across the darkened building ahead. In that moment Gabriel saw someone standing in the window on the fourth floor. It was too dark to see much but he had seen the white slash of a priest’s collar and that was enough to set his own alarm ringing. He could have been there to check on the patients. The room might not even be his mother’s. But he wasn’t going to take the chance. The Citadel had tried to silence him earlier and he knew they were hunting Liv.
He leaped forward and sprinted across the rubble-strewn road towards the underground car park, all thoughts of caution and personal safety gone from his mind. He had to get to his mother, fast.
The barrier flashed past as he powered down the ramp, his way ahead illuminated by the fitful flash of hazard lights from all the cars parked there. He crashed through the doors to the stairs and launched himself up the first flight three at a time, grabbing the rail to slingshot himself round the curve. Already his legs felt tired. The sprint to the hospital had burned up most of his energy and he was running on fumes and fear. In his mind he pictured the scene that might be unfolding in his mother’s room: the priest, turning away from the window, making his way over to the bed. The hospital was in chaos. She would be easy to subdue. No one would hear. The priest could take his time if he chose to, if that was why he was there.
Gabriel reached the ground floor and heaved himself up, using his arms to drag himself along the banister. His legs were burning, his breath ragged. It had taken him about ten seconds to make it up the first flight, but he was already slowing. Four more flights and then a dash across the connecting bridge and into the dark of the old psyche ward. His mother was a minute away at best.
One minute. Probably a little more.
Much too long.
37
Kathryn Mann watched the priest from the fragile fort of her bed as though he was a bear walking across her room. He was talking to her but her hearing was too damaged and the high-pitched whine of fear too loud in her head for her to make out what he was saying. His face was fixed in a kindly expression that didn’t quite reach his eyes. He might be saying things to calm her after the quake, making sure she was all right — but she felt terrified.
She doubted she would have the strength to fight him or get away if it came to that. He looked so solid and strong and the quake had shaken her up, knocking her already fragile equilibrium. She felt weak and sick. The room was swimming, he was shifting in and out of focus as he moved closer to the bed. She felt a jolt as he shoved the bed back against the wall from where it had been shaken. Then he came round the side, still talking. He leaned forward, reaching for something behind her head and she caught snatches of what he was saying:
‘… Don’t worry. Soon be over…’
The room shifted as he slid a pillow from behind her head.
Her head lolled to one side and her gaze settled on the door. She was too weak to fight, or run, or even shout for help. She thought of Gabriel, and the pain of never seeing him again. She hoped he would come and find the diary, even if he was too late to save her. Her beautiful boy, so like his father.
Then, as if summoned by her need to see him once more — the door began to open.
Ulvi did not notice at first. He was focusing on the woman’s neck, deciding whether to smother her or just break it for speed.
‘Everything OK in here?’
He looked over and saw the cop.
Ulvi felt a surge of hatred. He had figured the idiot would be out of the way at least until the lights came on, but the damn irritating fool clearly wasn’t even up to sorting out that simple task.
‘All fine,’ he said, adjusting the pillow that had almost become a murder weapon.
The cop regarded him from the doorway, his scrutiny switching between the woman and him. ‘You checked on the monk?’
Ulvi’s hatred continued to simmer. ‘No, not yet.’
The cop nodded slowly as if the answer had revealed something. ‘Well then, maybe you should.’
Ulvi felt such a desire to slit the man’s throat it was almost unbearable, but in this room at least the policeman edged it on jurisdiction. The woman was under arrest and was therefore technically his charge. So he swallowed all the violent feelings he was experiencing and made his way out of the room without another word.
Outside, the corridor was still dark and he had to feel his way along the wall to where the monk’s room lay. He reached it and looked back. The cop was there, watching him. He could see his outline against the distant glow of light coming from the main building. Why had he picked tonight to turn into a proper policeman?
No matter.
The monk needed dealing with too. He would kill him quickly then go back and finish what he had started. And if the cop was there, then he would have to die too. With the girl gone, Ulvi had a spare bead in his pocket.
38
The fear that had flooded Kathryn when the priest had been in her room was now curdling inside her.
‘You OK?’ the cop asked, stepping in from the corridor and closing the door behind him.
She nodded, forcing a smile that was lost in the darkness.
With the meagre light from the corridor now absent, the room was almost black. Since her hearing had suffered in the blast Kathryn had noticed how her other senses had expanded to fill the gap. She could smell the cop as his movement across the room displaced the air: coffee and fabric conditioner and some kind of disinfectant that had probably leached into the fabric of his uniform from sitting too long out there in the scrubbed corridor.
He appeared by the window, a silhouette against the night sky. A sliver of moon had risen over the rooftops, reminding her of the secret she carried. She felt the weight of it — as her father must have, carrying it alone for all those years. She sensed the air shift again as the cop stepped away from the window and came closer to her bed, bringing the smell of disinfectant with him.
‘I’m not sure about that priest,’ the cop said, almost to himself. ‘That’s why I came back — to make
