“Mr. Cole, are you all right?”
Cole shrugged. “Not feeling great. No. Could do with something for my anxiety.”
Ibrahim looked Cole up and down. “Let me check your pulse. Give me your wrist.” Ibrahim nodded as he felt Cole’s pulse. “It’s a little irregular. Did you take anything? Your eyes are very bloodshot, and your pupils are dilated. Too much alcohol? Recreational Drugs? Caffeine?”
Cole rubbed his nose then his forehead. “No. No. Nothing like that. Only had tea this morning.” As he brushed his hair back, he noticed it was so damp it was almost wet.
“All right. I’ll write you a prescription for a week’s supply of .5 mg Xanax. Take two a day. If symptoms persist, go see your GP.”
“That will depend on Daz.” He stared Ibrahim in the eye. “And you.”
Ibrahim tightened his lips. “We are doing everything we can, however, you may need to consider end of life possibilities.”
Cole stood and almost lost his footing. Ibrahim grabbed him and settled him back into the chair. Cole sucked in lungfuls of air and fanned his face with a hand. “Daz is gonna be all right. Needs more time is all. More time. He’s gonna be all right.”
Ibrahim opened a drawer in the desk, pulled out as pad and wrote on it. “I’ll make the dose for 1mg.” He tore a page off and handed it to Cole. “Bring that to the hospital pharmacy downstairs. They’ll give you the drugs.”
On the ground floor, Cole studied the prescription. He borrowed a pen from the receptionist and altered the dosage from 1mg to 2mg. As soon as Cole paid for the Xanax, he bought a large bottle of water and washed a pill down on the way out the door. He wondered how Xanax would work with Captagon. He needed something to take his mind off Daz, but Ibrahim's words rang in his head as he walked back to East Acton station. The phrase occupied him so much, he never as much as glanced at the stone walls of the Scrubs as he passed. End of life possibilities. End of life. No way. Wasn't happening.
He slumped into a seat on the Tube with a scowl. At Holland Park station, his scowl began to lift. When the train pulled into Marble Arch, he sat straighter and his eyes drifted to the bare legs of the brunette sitting across from him. By the time the train got to Holborn, he no longer thought about the hospital or Ibrahim’s glum outlook, he was just disappointed that the brunette got out.
A lot of passengers got off at Liverpool Street, and he pulled a face at his reflection in the window opposite. When he stepped off at Bethnal Green, he had developed an indelible smile, a smile that widened with a stranger’s stare. He bounced up to street level with a solid conviction that everything would work out right. He was still thirsty and decided he felt so great, he should celebrate with a beer.
In the nearest pub, he drank a lager and fiddled with his phone. He smiled when he saw his video of Flanagan and hairy hottie Hannah had a few views. Flanagan had seen it. Cole thumbed a tweet. From the bedroom of #AliceMadsen #Champagneterrorist @StalkingAlice brings you #MarkFlanagan and #HairyHannah. Enjoy. He added the link to the video and sent the tweet.
Cole raised his glass and as he sipped, he broke into a fit of giggles and spluttered beer over the table. What wouldn't he give to have seen Flanagan’s face when he saw the video clip?
76
Kapoor and Manning entered an interview room in Notting Hill station. Flanagan and his lawyer, Geoff Davidson, sat on chairs across the table, and the detectives took the seats opposite. Manning fiddled with the equipment and spoke into the microphone.
“What’s happening? Can I go?” Flanagan asked.
Kapoor opened her case and took out Flanagan’s mobile. She smiled at Davidson, “We have the pin number, thanks to a warrant for the contents.” She passed the phone over to Flanagan. “We accessed your email. What can you tell us about this video?”
“Huh?” Flanagan tapped on the phone and Davidson leaned over to look.
Kapoor watched as Flanagan’s eyes grew wide and his jaw dropped. She smiled at Davidson. “That is Alice Madsen's bedroom.”
Davidson asked, “What does this have to do with the assault on Alice Madsen?”
“Perhaps Mark can tell us?”
Flanagan’s face had turned red and he scratched his head. He mumbled something and turned to Davidson. Davidson raised a hand and whispered into Flanagan’s ear. They carried on the hushed conversation for several minutes until Davidson addressed Kapoor.
“I would suggest this video came from the actual perpetrator of the assault, and that if the police were to pursue the sender, they would solve the crime. As we told you earlier, a property viewer, most likely the person by the name of Brian Hailsham, is the culprit. My client has recalled further helpful information since our earlier statement.”
Kapoor raised an eyebrow. “Oh yeah?”
Flanagan nodded several times. “I, er, gave him the keys at one stage, you know, while I took a phone call.” Flanagan shrugged and looked to Davidson, who nodded. “He was on his phone when we entered the property, so he could have filmed me tapping the alarm code.” Flanagan spread his hands. “Sorry. I didn't expect that. You know, that he would...”
Davidson put a hand on Flanagan’s arm. “My client’s actions may have been foolish regarding security, but certainly not illegal. I would also add that while what my client did on his client’s bed may be distasteful, it isn't criminal either.”
Kapoor looked to Manning and sighed with a shake of her head. “Christ.”
“I’m sorry, detective?” Davidson asked.
Kapoor raised her finger but stopped short of wagging it at Flanagan. “We will have to contact
