An intravenous drip was to one side of the bed, the patient lying flat on his back. Only Ralph had been allowed in initially, Isaac after he had shown his warrant card and insisted that it was vital to see the patient.
Michael’s face was covered by a mask supplying oxygen, an ECG machine standing by. ‘It’s not good,’ one of the doctors said. ‘The man had three times the normal amount from what we can see.’
It was known that Giles Helmsley had made the phone call for the ambulance, but he was not at the hospital. Isaac made a phone call to Larry. ‘Pick up Helmsley, make sure he’s at Challis Street within the hour.’
On the bed, Michael moved, not conscious of his actions. Ralph was present, although Isaac had left and was talking to Jill Dundas and Molly Dempster.
‘Waste of time getting him detoxed,’ Jill Dundas said. Isaac could see the hardness in her face. She had professed sadness at Gilbert’s death, at the death of her father, but had it been feigned? Isaac couldn’t be sure.
‘Too long without treatment. We could have helped him earlier, but now? There’s possible brain damage as well,’ one of the doctors said as he came out and spoke to Isaac. ‘Not much of a life, not much of a death either, although he’ll not know much about it.’
Michael Lawrence died at 11.08 a.m. on a Thursday morning. Ralph was heartbroken, so was Molly. Jill Dundas stood nearby in the reception area, mouthing the words the others wanted to hear. She did not shed a tear, neither did Ralph, although Wendy and Molly did.
Larry phoned; Helmsley was at the police station. After another twenty minutes at the hospital, Isaac left, leaving Wendy with Molly. She would look after the woman who had aged in that short time at the hospital. She had gained a son, a grandson, and now one of them was dead, and the other was not the healthiest, and his future looked bleak.
At the station, Helmsley sat quietly. He was holding a cup of tea: Earl Grey, at his request. He looked into vacant space, saying nothing, seeing nothing.
‘I found him at the dosshouse,’ Larry said, ‘lying down on that filthy mattress that Lawrence used. He looks as if he can’t take it all in. Bizarre when you think about it. A brilliant man they said down at LSE, and yet he’s out there leading the good fight, believing that people are waiting for the revolution.’
‘Genius level intelligence comes with its own problems,’ Isaac said. ‘Better to be like us, smart enough to know what’s good for us, smart enough to leave the rest well alone.’
Larry led Helmsley into the interview room. He had committed no crime as far as was known, and legal representation was offered but declined.
‘Mr Helmsley, you phoned Emergency Services,’ Isaac said.
‘One of Michael’s friends woke me up, told me that he was in trouble. I went over there, found him on the floor. That’s when I made the call.’
‘The other man could have,’ Larry said.
‘Coyote, that’s the name he likes to use, was the same as Michael, an addict.’
‘But Michael was with Ralph. What happened?’
‘Michael was weak. I was at his place. He had a woman with him, doped up as well. The two were on heroin, and Michael needed help.’
‘The woman?’
‘I’ve no idea. I kicked her out. Michael could have served the cause, but what does he do? He finds himself a drugged-out female. The two of them, naked in that bed, a syringe to one side. I took Michael, thrust him into the shower, plied him with coffee and brought him back to where the woman couldn’t find him, neither could his father.’
‘Even if we accept what you’ve told us, it doesn’t explain why he had OD’d, does it?’
‘One of the others must have injected him,’ Helmsley said. Larry noticed the twitch in his face when he spoke.
‘You’re lying, aren’t you, Mr Helmsley? A drug addict is not going to waste perfectly good heroin on someone else. You injected him for your own purposes.’
‘I was going to put him in a room at the back of the house, make him go cold turkey. A fancy rehabilitation centre in the country with its five-star accommodation and runs around the lawns couldn’t fix him, no doubt charged thousands as well. But that’s the capitalist system: screw the poor, bleed the rich.’
‘Mr Helmsley, we don’t need a political party broadcast. Did you inject Michael Lawrence on that mattress?’
‘I did it for him. My intentions were honourable.’
‘Your intentions have killed him, and they were not honourable, they were for your own distorted purpose. You’re a hypocrite, you wanted his family’s money. You will be charged with involuntary manslaughter. Further charges may be laid against you. I suggest you find yourself a good lawyer.’
Chapter 29
Bridget had to admit she enjoyed being in Brussels. Hendrik Brun was proving himself to be a man after her own heart, a computer aficionado. He had admitted the previous night that he enjoyed surfing the net, learning from the computer, and his typing was even faster than hers.
Bridget was confident the following morning that the day would wrap up her time in the Belgian capital, so much so that she checked out of the hotel, booked herself
