Authors: Quintin Jardine
He handed a precisely metered pint of ale across to Mcllhenney, who looked' at it sceptically.
`When I got back here,' said Donaldson, returning to their table with the other beers, 'there was a SOCO report waiting for me, about the Noble house. The Scene of Crime people went over the place today. Their report was interesting. They found definite signs of an attempted break-in, via a small, unalarmed mezzanine window.'
‘Oh aye? said the Sergeant, his level of interest and his eyebrows rising simultaneously.
`That was all, mind you. There was no concrete evidence that anyone had been inside, but the window had been attacked, and although, as I said, it would have been a tight fit, it was big enough to admit a slim-built person — a youth, maybe, or a woman!
`Could they say how recent this was?' asked Price.
Donaldson shook his head. 'No, not for sure. They reckoned the marks were pretty fresh but they couldn't put an exact date on them. They lifted a print, though, off the window frame, and some strands of wool, like from a glove.'
`Wearing gloves, yet leaving prints?' Mcllhenney queried.
`That's what I said to myself too, but the report reckoned that the housebreaker would have had to take a glove off to get any purchase on the window.'
Did you check whether an attempted break-in had been reported by either of the Nobles?'
`SOCO were up to that one, Neil. That was included in their report. There's been nothing notified to the police at that address, ever, apart from an incident a year ago, when Ariadne complained that she had been receiving anonymous letters.'
‘Eh?' said the big Sergeant, choking in mid-swallow. 'What happened?'
`The local CID dealt with it. Apparently there had been three letters addressed to her husband, accusing her of having a bit on the side. Their investigation was fruitless, but the letters stopped anyway, according to the Nobles.'
‘Do any of them still exist, sir?'
Donaldson laughed. 'Apparently wee Maurice was so outraged that he burned the first two. His wife hung on to the third, and gave it to the police. They couldn't get a thing from it other than the fact that it was done on word-processing software, printed on a high-quality laser and posted in Tottenham. Once the investigation had been abandoned, Ariadne asked for the letter back, so that it could be destroyed as well.'
Mcllhenney looked at him in astonishment. 'And they gave it to her?'
Àpparently so. Who knows, maybe strings were pulled.' `Some strings, sir. Are we going to do anything about it?' Donaldson shrugged. 'I don't know. I'll speak to Arrow and to Andy Martin in the morning.'
McIlhenney's expression grew grim. 'When were you in touch with Edinburgh last?'
Àbout an hour ago. There's no change; he's still unconscious.' They sat in silence for a while, until eventually Mcllhenney went back to the bar for three more pints.
`So tell us about the soldier,' said Donaldson as he resumed his seat.
Mcllhenney glowered at him again. 'Bloody Aldershot, like I said. He caught a train at Victoria, so like good coppers we got on too. When we get to the other end, does he order a taxi? Does he hell! He's a fit lad so he walked the two miles instead. Eventually he arrives at a bloody Army camp.
`There was a security post there, and he showed a pass. That stuffed us. I mean, we could hardly walk up to the Redcaps and say, "Excuse me, but who was that soldier boy who just walked in here?" We couldn't do anything but turn around and come back. A waste of bloody time,' he growled.
`Not altogether. At least we know where he's based now; there can't be an infinite number of RAOC Lieutenants there.' McIlhenney shook his head. 'We could have worked out where he was stationed, and as for identification, we managed to get some decent pictures at Victoria. We dropped them off at the Yard on the way back here.'
Donaldson nodded approvingly. 'Well done. We'll show them to Arrow first thing in the morning. While we're at it, we can discuss what to do about Ms Tucker's possible midnight caller . . . and about those anonymous letters!'
FIFTY-FOUR
Sarah woke with a start, disorientated. She gazed at Bob on the bed, bathed in the pale green light of the monitor screens, and wondered what could have disturbed her.
He looked so peaceful, lying there. She thought of a hundred other times in their short life together when she had watched him sleep, and could not recall having seen him look so restful She pressed his hand gently, lovingly.
All at once she realised what had roused her. She realised too how closely she was in tune with the working of his body. The touch of his hand was noticeably warmer than it had been an hour earlier. She looked at the heart-rate monitor. The blips of his pulse, while still regular, were moving across the screen at a significantly faster rate than before.
She grabbed the panic button, which hung on the end of a long cable at the head of the bed and pressed it, once, twice, three times. Within seconds the Night Sister came bustling in from her station. 'What is it, Dr Grace?' she whispered.
`His temperature's taken a hike. And look at the pulse! Something's wrong.'
Distrustful of monitors, the white-haired sister lifted Bob's right wrist from the bed, and held it for around twenty seconds. `Don't get yourself in a panic, my dear, but I think I'll ask someone to come up here.'
'Who's going to be around at this time of night?' asked Sarah anxiously.
'Mr Braeburn, the consultant. He's staying on the premises tonight:
'What? Because of—'
Sister looked at her reassuringly. 'Of course not. He has an early start in surgery tomorrow, that's the only reason,' she said, lying in her teeth, but knowing that Sarah would believe her because she wanted to. She hurried back to her station.
In less than five minutes, the door opened and Mr Braeburn slipped into the Unit. He was a tall, thin man with fine surgeon's hands. His hair was so unruly that for a moment or two Sarah had difficulty recognising him as the same person who, still in his theatre clothes, had briefed her that morning on Bob's surgery and on his prospects.
`Hello again, Doctor,' he said. 'Let's have a look at the prize patient, shall we?'
He went quickly and expertly through a string of procedures, checking pulse, heart, breathing, temperature and blood pressure, lifting one of Bob's eyelids and testing his pupil reaction with a pencil torch.
When he was finished, he withdrew to the head of the bed, motioning Sarah to join him.
'It's damn funny. Blood pressure is as it should be, so I'm quite certain that the arterial sutures are holding, and that there's no internal bleeding. He's not in the clear yet, by a long way, but physically he's in good shape for someone who should have been dead when he was brought in here. He's heavily sedated, yet he seems agitated.'
He clutched his chin between thumb and first finger. 'I think I'm going to ask Sister to give him some more sedative, just to slow that heart-rate down a bit. He looks like a man who could handle some extra jungle juice.
She looked up at him. 'But what's causing it? What's raising his pulse?'
Mr Braeburn shrugged. 'Who knows? I wish I knew what's going on inside his head, because the best answer I can give you is that something in there is making him fight the sedative!'
FIFTY-FIVE
‘He looks like a real fookin' bandbox, doesn't he? If I'd kept my uniform as neat as that, when I wore one, I'd 'ave been a Colonel by now.'
`You don't know him, then?'
Arrow looked at Donaldson with the disdain normally shown only by Glaswegians when they are asked by Southerners whether they know someone from Edinburgh.
`Neil,' he said slowly. 'I know the Army isn't what it was. I know we've shrunk a bit. But if I knew every one-pipper in every Regiment, we'd really be in trouble!' He handed the photograph to the DCI. 'How old would you say the lad was?'
The DCI made a shrugging gesture, then handed it back. Dunno. I didn't get a close enough look at him. What do you think, Sergeant?'
'Mid-twenties, I'd guess.'
Arrow sank back in his chair, making himself look even smaller. 'A bit young, maybe, to be having it off with an 'ighpowered lady in her thirties?'
`Who can say for sure?' countered Donaldson. 'Maybe Ariadne has a thing about men in uniform.'
`Could be,' said the soldier, 'though wearing one never did me any good in that regard. But then,' he added with a twinkle, Ì'm only little!'
He rose from his chair and walked over to the window of his top-floor office. It faced south, out across the autumnal Embankment, and over the cold grey waters of the Thames.
He stood there, watching a barge as it made its steady way downriver, flapping the photograph idly in his left hand, and tapping the glass with the knuckles of the other.
Eventually, he turned back to face Donaldson and Mcllhenney, holding up the snapshot.
'Right, lads. Leave this with me. I'll have someone check the records downstairs. We've got, or should 'ave, a photograph of every serving officer in this building, so it shouldn't take us long to trace this guy. Meantime, what about these anonymous letters that you mentioned? What does Andy Martin say you should do about them?'
`He agreed that we should follow them up,' said the DCI. 'We want a complete picture of this couple. I'm intending to call on Ariadne again this evening. Want to come with us?'
Arrow shook his head. 'No, I don't think so. I've got other plans for this evening. Anyway, this is a purely civil matter. If I was there she might want to know why.'
`Yes, I see that.' He paused, then handed over the SOCO Report. 'Right. Last item on the agenda. Read this.'
Arrow took the document and scanned through it. As he did his face darkened. He read through it again, more slowly this time. `What do you think of it?' asked Donaldson.
`Could mean nothing, could mean everything,' said the soldier grimly. 'Why the hell wasn't that window alarmed? According to this, all the others were.'
Ì guess because it was so small, they thought they'd save a pound or two.'
`Could be. Anyway, you can find out the reason when you see the woman tonight. Go through the motions, and ask her if you can look over the system. See what they've got there, how it works, and how it was fitted.'
Sure, we'll do that.' He turned to Mcllhenney. '
'Neil, have you had Crime Prevention training?'
The Sergeant nodded. 'Aye, about three years back. I'm reasonably up to speed about alarm systems.'
'Good,' said Arrow. 'Let's meet here at the same time tomorrow, yes?' The police officers nodded. 'So where is it now for you two?'
'Another fun day at the Old Bailey,' said Mcllhenney. 'I only hope I don't wind up in bloody Aldershot again tonight!'
FIFTY-SIX
‘You must be cooking in that uniform, Jimmy.' Sarah smiled faintly up at the silver-haired Chief Constable.
Ì'm sorry, my dear. I have a Police Board lunch at twelve-thirty otherwise I'd have been more appropriately dressed. How is he today? I see the colour's back in his cheeks'
`Don't let that fool you. That could be an infection. He's still critical, and the heart-rate keeps going up and down, despite the sedation. Mr Braeburn's coming in to check on him as soon as he's finished his surgical list. We'll see what he thinks then.'
Kindly and concerned, Sir James Proud looked down at her, and at Alex who was seated beside her, holding her father's hand. Ànd how are you two?' he asked. 'How are you bearing up?'
`We're fine,' Sarah replied, for them both. 'Alex was great, the way she just took over looking after her brother.'
`Where's the wee chap now?'
`His nanny is looking after him.'
Ànd looking after the flowers,' said Alex. The house is full of them. They just kept arriving all day yesterday . . . some from very strange people, too. Do you remember that time earlier this year, the night Andy was hurt, when Dad had a huge fight with a man he was arresting for murder?'
The Chief nodded, intrigued.
`There was a bouquet from him!'
`What!' Sir James's voice rose for a split second, until he remembered where he was. 'He's in Peterhead now. He tried to kill Bob’
`Yes,' said Sarah, and if you remember, Bob refused to charge him with that, or even with resisting arrest. He reckoned that one life sentence would be enough. The guy sent him a letter of thanks afterwards. The flowers yesterday came via his solicitor, with a Get Well note.'
Proud Jimmy shook his silver head. The world is a wondrous place! What sort of copper gets fan mail from a man he's put away for life?'
Alex grinned. 'Only my—' She stopped in mid-sentence, her mouth frozen open. Suddenly an expression of pain swept across her face. 'Ouch! Sarah, he's squeezing my hand, like he wants to break it! What do I do?'
`Squeeze back,' Sarah replied urgently. She looked up at the monitor and saw that the heart-rate was starting to climb again. `Hard as you can. It's as if he's trying to make contact, as if he's trying to come round, despite all that sedative that Braeburn pumped into him.
`Kiss his hand, talk to him, let him smell your perfume –anything! Just try to let him know that we're here!'
FIFTY-SEVEN
He was back in the field, but the landscape had changed. No longer did it stretch away for
ever. Instead it was encircled by high dark woods, reaching up towards the sky and
blocking out most of the lights.
He was moving, but very slowly, looking around him at the filth and the carnage. Once
again he saw the doll that was not a doll. He tried to avert his gaze, but his eyes moved
slowly also.
At last it reached out beyond that fearful relic, to the centre of what had become an arena.
There in the dreamscape, a dark ' looming shape rose up from the ground. In the distance,
it seemed to have a face, twisted into a grotesque grin, leering at him, exulting in the
knowledge that he was its captive. He tried to look elsewhere, but he was held firm, as if in
a beam. He tried to squeeze his eyes shut, but knew as he did so that he was seeing not
with any conventional sense. The dark vision remained.