Breaking East (15 page)

Stuart gripped my arm. ‘Somebody’s coming.’

Hey, it would all work out. ‘Relax and look chilled.’

Trotting down the stairs towards us were two women dressed in suits with groomed hair and pasted faces. ‘Good afternoon,’ I said, in the poshest and deepest BBC ever.

‘Good afternoon,’ they tweeted back. They tip-tapped on and we rounded the bend onto the next flight.

‘Bloody hell,’ said Stuart. ‘What a rush. I see why you do it now.’

‘It’s just my job, Stuart, just my job.’ Very, and without a doubt, certifiably bonkers.

There were three floors and we went right to the top. We pushed through into the corridor but, unlike the one downstairs, it had carpets, soft lights and the general ambience of a hotel.

‘Let’s listen at a few doors,’ said Stuart. ‘Gemma never stops talking, if she’s in any of these rooms, we’ll hear her.’ I took the left, he took the right.

Stuart moved faster than me. ‘Hey, Atty. Look here.’ A door to an office had been left open. ‘Shall we take a quick look? We might find something.’

‘Like what?’

‘I don’t know. A list of patients. Like in a hospital.’

I stepped in and shuffled a few bits of paper on top of a desk. They all had the pony and go-kart pics and Sapton Manor in fancy lettering spread across the header.

Stuart scuttled in after me. ‘Quick hide, somebody’s coming.’ Before I could stop him he dunked down behind a leather sofa onto his hands and knees.

‘Oh, hello,’ said a short round man with comb-over hair.

I couldn’t keep my eyes from staring at his huge bulbous nose. It bulged all knobbly and was covered in the spidery threads of the typical alcoholic.

‘Are you looking for me?’ he said.

I smiled. ‘I’ve been told you might know which room little Gemma is in.’

He frowned. ‘Gemma?’

‘It’s her birthday, seventh I think it is.’

He squinted and looked at me more closely.

‘Ah,’ I tried to look apologetic. ‘I’ve confused you, I’m so dreadfully sorry. I must have wandered into the wrong room. Mr Crawlsfeld, I’m supposed to speak to.’

His face relaxed and he smiled. ‘Not just the wrong room I’m afraid, wrong floor.’ He reached out his arm to guide me into the corridor. ‘Floor below, room 15.’

‘Ah, thank you so very much. So sorry to have inconvenienced you.’

‘No problem.’ And he shut the door.

I stood in the corridor and looked at the door for several moments before a woman’s voice said, ‘Are you lost?’

‘No, no. I’m fine thank you.’ I walked to the end of the corridor, back into the stair tower and panicked. Shit, shit, SHIT.

‘Are you sure you’re okay?’ The stupid cow had followed me.

‘Fire.’

‘What?’

‘We need to empty the rooms. There’s a fire.’

‘May I see your pass?’ She wore her pic pinned to her breast in a plastic wallet.

I slapped my hand to my chest. ‘Oh dash it. Wherever might that have gone? I must have left it in the office.’

‘Really.’ She stared hard. ‘I’ll come back with you, help you look.’ She glanced at a camera high up on the wall.

‘Oh please do. Four eyes are always so much better than two, don’t you find?’

She adjusted her pink framed glasses on the bridge of her nose.

‘Um, I didn’t mean. I meant …’ I gestured at my face then hers, ‘…you’ve got two and I’ve got two, that makes …’ Oh shititty shit.

‘Four. Yes, I know.’ She stepped aside. ‘After you.’

In the corridor I kept my eyes on the carpet and patted my chest and pocket in an it-was-here-a-minute-ago fashion, but inside everything disintegrated into panic mode – blood cascading, thoughts collapsing to mush, sweat pumping out of every follicle, the full shamboozle.

The woman overtook me and rapped sharply on the squidgy-nosed alcoholic’s door. It opened. ‘Hi,’ she said. ‘Your guest appears to have lost her pass. Did she leave it in here?’

I looked at the ceiling and screwed up my mouth in what I hoped was a hapless but lovable little-girl-lost look. ‘Doh. Dropped it somewhere.’

‘She’s here to see Crawlsfeld,’ Alcoholic-nose said to the woman. Then he turned to me. ‘I’ll give him a ring, tell him to come and get you. Might be best. Though he hasn’t been about much lately.’ He headed back in the room to his desk and picked up the phone. As he pushed in a number he said, ‘What was your name again?’

The woman crossed her arms and tilted her head, school ma’am style. ‘And apparently,’ she said, ‘there might be a fire.’

I laughed. ‘No. Flyer. As in leaflet. I read a flyer saying the rooms needed emptying. Didn’t you get it?’

‘Strangely enough, no.’

I tilted my head in a bemused fashion. ‘Oh dear.’ There was no sight nor sound of Stuart.

Alcoholic replaced the phone. ‘I’m not getting an answer, didn’t think so. He’s been a little selective with his company since he got back from that Basley place.’

I thanked the last flying duck for that but tried out my disappointed isn’t-that-a-dreadful-nuisance look.

He checked his watch. ‘Maybe he’s on lunch. I could do with a bite myself.’ He ran his thumbs around his waistband. ‘I’ll walk you down.’ He picked a set of keys up off the desk and bounced them in his hand. ‘Thank you, Sharon. I’ll take it from here.’

We all three stepped into the corridor and the office door was locked, the keys placed securely in Alcoholic’s hip pocket. Sharon wandered away.

‘Thanks for your help, Sharon.’ I called after her.

My tone didn’t get lost on Alcoholic. ‘Yes,’ he said. ‘She can be a little officious at times. Only started last week, she’s still a bit keen.’

‘It’s no problem. I think I might take a walk in the grounds while I wait for Mr Crawlsfeld to finish his lunch. It’s such a beautiful day.’

‘Good idea. I’ll walk you to the door and security can issue you with a new pass.’

‘That won’t be necessary, I can find my own way.’

‘It’s no bother.’

‘I’d rather not put you to any more trouble.’

‘It’ll be my pleasure.’

‘Thank you.’

Polite people are a proper pain in my rack.

I had three flights of stairs to come up with a plan. I needed to get the keys and then lose the helpful leech. Anything would be worth a go. Aim at the weak spot, Atty. ‘Is there anywhere we can get a drink?’

He raised his eyebrows as he opened the door at the top of the stairs. ‘A drink?’

‘Yeah, you know.’ I sniffed and glanced around. ‘To take the edge off.’

‘Sapton Manor is a dry zone. That should have been explained to you at your induction.’

‘Yes it was, of course.’ I tilted my head and gave him a sideways look. ‘But, is it really?’ Then I treated him to a slow wink.

He licked his lips and swallowed. ‘Yes. Really.’

We passed the first floor. The cameras winked at me from every corner. I would have to run for it. Batter the office door down to get Stuart out. Find Gemma, get past security, climb the wall. A line of sweat ran down the back of my neck. We’d never make it.

‘Of course,’ said Alcoholic. ‘I keep a little something aside for special occasions.’ He smirked at me and my guts hurled towards my throat. Uh oh, he actually fancied his chances.

I supressed a heave and came over all simpering call-girl. ‘There are ways of making every moment special.’ I wiggled my eyebrows. Oh the cheese.

‘I’m sure there is.’ He looked at my chest, then my lips.

We reached the ground floor. I’d met enough old fools to recognise a lonely old wino, desperate for a bit of attention. After all, West Basley is full of them. All I needed to do was share a little snifter, it’s not like I didn’t fancy a drop to settle my nerves in any case, then, with a little flattery and ego stroking, I would sweet-talk him into taking me back to his office and figure the rest out from there.

He hooked my arm through his elbow and led me down a narrow, empty corridor. I didn’t expect him to flaunt me or our illegal drink in public, but I’d have preferred somewhere closer to some people. He led me away from the offices and down into the silent cool air of a little-used corridor lined with tatty doors. The only sound was his panting and my heart racing like a greyhound on speed.

Alcoholic dropped my arm to put his weight to a door. He grunted and shoved with both hands and a knee. ‘Sticks sometimes,’ he said. ‘Nearly there now.’ Behind the door wormed a tiny passage. The pink of bare plaster walls and a grey concrete floor gave the impression it had only just been built. The chill of the air on my face felt like I might be about to enter a fridge. ‘Where is this?’ I asked.

‘It’s okay. Nearly there.’ He smacked his lips. ‘You’ll love what I’ve got for you.’

I put my hand on the door jamb. It looked pretty isolated and away from any cameras.

‘Come,’ he said and gripped my arm. ‘It’s okay. I’ll look after you.’

Yeah, course he would. My instincts yelled loud and clear and they weren’t happy.

‘Come on, have a drink with me. It’s down here, not far.’ He looked away while he searched his pockets for something.

I considered doing it right then - left punch to his right temple, right knee in the nuts, followed by a right fist up and under his ribcage while I fished the keys from his pocket with my left. I glanced behind me. The corridor might be empty but cameras sat high near the ceiling. There were a lot of stairs and corridors between me and Stuart, no time to cover them all. I stepped through the door. ‘Lead on. I’m very thirsty.’

‘Good girl.’

His footsteps slapped noisily as we headed down the passage and my stomach started to rotate. He might be older, but so was Joe. He might look flabby under that suit, but so did many a muscleman. People were often different to how they looked on first glance. I considered dropping back a step so I could catch him from behind - a fist just behind his ear followed by a jab to his kidney.

He opened a door to our right and twisted at the waist to push me into a walk-in cupboard - all in one fast and easy motion. Not only was he quicker than he looked but his fingers were more solid, bonier, stronger.

‘We’ve not got long,’ he said yanking at his belt. ‘I’m not as stupid as you think. Do as I say and I might help you get out of here alive.’

There were wide shelves on three of the walls leaving precious little floor space. Boxes protruded at various heights and I stumbled and skidded on plastic bags strewn across the floor. I’d left it too late. I was trapped, squashed against shelves which left me no room to move. My arms were pinned between boxes and bags and all sorts of general junk.

Alcoholic dropped his trousers to his ankles. His shirt hung long, creased and greasy, the hem almost skimming his pale, knobbly knees and shiny nylon socks. His left hand groped for my belt, he leaned in, the open pores on his face glistened with oily sweat and he panted hot whisky breath so strong I tasted it. I turned away and closed my mouth. ‘Don’t be shy, we need to hurry, the cameras …’ He pressed me against a shelf and it dug into my spine. I worked my arms in front of me so they were between us. There was no room to swing so I had little option other than to grab. I groped at his left hand and found his thumb, yanked and twisted it so hard my wrist cricked.  His right hand tried to prise my fingers open. I pulled harder, gritting my teeth and looking him dead in the eye. He roared and pulled his head back but I read his mind and ducked so when he butted, my forehead connected with the fat veiny nose. His blood, warm and sticky, splattered across both of our faces. He grunted and we both grimaced.

I so nearly let go of his thumb to wipe his blood away, but he was strong and I already felt my grip weakening. ‘Shh,’ I said. ‘Somebody might hear. You wouldn’t want to get caught with your pants down, would you?’

‘I don’t know who you are,’ he said, ‘but that was a big mistake.’

I had sod all left to lose, so twisted and tugged in a last ditch attempt to tear his thumb clean off.

He changed tack and stepped away, tripping over his trousers and letting go of my wrist as he tried to save himself from falling. I dropped his thumb and he slumped to the floor leaving me the space to swing my leg and catch him square between the legs with my boot.

He mewed like a kitten. Curled up like one too.

I swiped at my mouth with the back of my hand. ‘You miserable, filthy, disgusting, old soak.’ I plucked the keys from his trouser pocket and left, shutting the door behind me. I wiped my face clean with the hem of my tee shirt and walked as quickly as I dared for the stairs. I ran up, passing two blokes on the way with a cheerful, ‘Got to keep fit, lads.’ All the while I itched to scrub my hands, my neck, my hair. And to clean my teeth, get the taste of that smell out of my gums and off the back of my tongue. I breezed through the doors at the third floor and a quick scan told me it was all clear. I fought the instinct to run. Every muscle tensed taught and every millimetre of my skin tingled filthy and stinking to the point I wanted to claw at it and tear it away from my bones.

A door opened and Crawlsfeld stepped through, looking down at a sheet of paper in his hand. I lunged through the nearest door closing it behind me as quickly but quietly as I could, all the while praying the room would be empty. I put my forehead against the door, held my breath and listened. My heart was giving it proper welly, I couldn’t hear booger all else. I paused to allow my eyes to get used to the dim light before turning around. The room was a cupboard and almost identical to the one I’d just escaped from, with the same limited floor-space and wide shelving. Phew. The shelves were long drawers fronted with shiny steel, stripy in the sun that filtered through a slatted blind covering the tiny window. Perhaps I’d give myself a minute, take a breather, and give Crawlsfeld, and whoever else was outside, some time to get well away. Like France or somewhere.

I forced my breathing under control and scrubbed my face with my sleeve in a vain attempt to get rid of the fat man stink. Things were not going well. I pulled open the nearest drawer hoping to find clues to something, heaven knows what. But I figured the more trouble I got into, the more evidence I’d need to convince Joe I’d stepped over the line for good reason.

The drawer housed sheets but not very tidily. They were shoved in scruffy and crinkled. I rooted through, not sure what I hoped to find but enjoying the sensation of cool linen against my hot fingers. My hand hit something and I grabbed at it instinctively, brushing the sheets aside. It took seconds to register what I’d touched and when it did I nearly yelled out loud. All those tattered nerves of mine snapped simultaneously and I scrambled backwards to the far wall. In the drawer, staring up at me, was Mary.