most of the left side of his face. What remained exposed was a collage of purple, red and black flesh. Bruises and gashes seemed to overlap, and his whole face looked as if it had been inflated, so great was the swelling. Both eyes were almost closed. The skin around them was blackened with bruises, and one eyelid, she noticed, was slightly torn. Two stitches had been inserted into it.
His lips were cracked and split and his head lolled to one side, despite the neck brace he wore.
His upper body was uncovered, and that too showed a patchwork of cuts and bruises. Every single inch of flesh seemed to have been damaged in some way: his shoulders, his arms. His stomach and sides were tightly strapped.
Hailey crossed to the bed, only now noticing that there was a nurse in the room. She’d been so mesmerized by the appalling sight of her husband as soon as she’d entered, she hadn’t even seen another figure in the small room.
‘Rob,’ Hailey whimpered.
‘He’s heavily sedated,’ the nurse told her quietly.
Hailey stared again at the terrible injuries. She wiped tears away.
‘He’s stable now,’ the nurse insisted. ‘He’s going to be OK.’
‘How bad are the injuries?’
‘He’s got a broken finger, two broken ribs. He’s lost a couple of teeth. There’s a hairline fracture of the jaw and some very bad cuts and bruises. We did a scan when he was brought in. There’s no damage to his brain, despite the head injuries. No severe internal damage either.’
‘Can he hear us?’
‘Probably, but he can’t speak. His jaw is wired at the moment.’
‘I thought you said it was only a hairline fracture.’
‘It’s just a precaution. He’ll be chattering away again in a few days, you’ll see.’
The nurse paused by the door. ‘I’ll leave you for a few minutes.’ She smiled.
Hailey sat on the edge of the bed and looked down at her husband.
‘Oh, Rob,’ she said, her voice cracking. She wiped her tears away. ‘Who did this to you?’
His eyes flickered open slightly – at least as far as the puffy swollen flesh around them would allow.
‘Can you hear me?’ she persisted.
He tried to speak, but the effort caused great pain. He winced instead.
She gripped his unbandaged hand.
‘Tol’ police,’ he croaked.
She leaned forward, anxious to hear his garbled words.
‘Did you see who did it?’ Hailey wanted to know.
‘Didn’t know them,’ he continued, pain creasing his battered features.
She gripped his hand more tightly.
‘Rob,’ she said urgently.
He closed his eyes.
84
‘NOTHING WAS TAKEN,’ said DC Tate. ‘Not even your husband’s wallet. So the motive obviously wasn’t robbery.’
Tate and Hailey sat in a small anteroom on the ground floor of the hospital.
The young DC sipped at his machine coffee, grimaced, and watched as Hailey ran her fingertip around the rim of her own plastic cup. She seemed uninterested in its contents.
‘The attack could have been random,’ the policeman continued. ‘Some bloody idiot from the pub – drunk? There doesn’t seem to be any
‘He couldn’t identify who attacked him, then?’ Hailey asked, gazing past Tate towards a sign that proclaimed: AIDS – BE SAFE, WEAR A CONDOM.
‘Do you know of any enemies your husband might have had?’ the DC wanted to know.
Hailey shook her head.
She looked directly at Tate. Perhaps now was the time to mention that?
‘Your husband couldn’t think of anyone either,’ Tate said. ‘Mind you, in
Hailey nodded.
‘Yes, that’d be fine,’ she told him.
‘I understand your husband was staying at the local Travelodge when this attack happened,’ said Tate. ‘We found their key-card in his jacket.’
Hailey nodded. ‘He’d been away on business,’ she lied.
Tate looked at her quizzically. ‘Who else knew he was there?’ he wanted to know.
‘I don’t know. Why does it matter?’
‘Well, your husband’s a businessman, isn’t he? Runs his own company? Men like that sometimes make enemies.’
‘He’s got a haulage company,’ Hailey sighed. ‘It’s hardly the Mafia, is it?’ She stretched her arms, hearing the joints pop. She had the beginnings of a headache. The product of tiredness and tears, she reasoned.
She sipped at her tea, wincing when she found it cold.
‘Can I see my husband again now?’ she said, almost pleadingly.
‘It’s not up to me, Mrs Gibson,’ Tate told her. ‘But if the hospital don’t object . . .’ The sentence trailed off.
She got to her feet and turned towards the door.
‘I can leave a car here to get you home,’ the DC told her.
‘I’ll call a cab. Thanks, anyway.’
He smiled. ‘I’ll be in touch,’ he told her.
And he was gone.
Hailey made her way back towards the lifts, and rode the next car to the third floor.
She had no idea how long she’d been sitting there at his bedside.
Every now and then he would groan softly in his pained sleep, sometimes open his swollen eyes as best he could. Once he looked straight at her.
Hailey sat by the bed holding his unbandaged hand, her own head lolling forward onto the sheet.
‘Hailey?’
She heard the voice through a veil of sleep.
Hailey jerked her head up and stared at Rob. There was a jug of water on the bedside table and she poured him some, holding it to his ravaged lips, watching as he managed to take a couple of sips.
The effort seemed monumental and it caused him pain.
‘Oh, Jesus,’ he murmured finally.
‘I’m so sorry, Rob,’ she said, tears welling up.
He squeezed her hand. ‘I saw his face,’ he said, each word forced out with effort.
‘Who was it?’
‘Don’t know.’ He winced.
She began to stroke his hand slowly.
‘Just rest,’ she urged him.