Post Mortem (19 page)

Lizzie ruled it off and signed it at the bottom as a true record. She offered it to Cosmina to sign but she refused. She was fussing instead, wanting to know what was happening. Were the police still at the house? Lizzie put her pocket book in her stab vest pocket.

‘Cosmina, this is serious. You can't kid yourself that we are not going to be involved.'

‘But where will I live? Where will I go? They won't let me back in the house now I've brought police there.'

‘You didn't bring us there. Stefan did.'

Cosmina shook her head impatiently: logic was irrelevant. ‘Where will I go?'

‘You have no friends? No family?'

‘No.'

Hadley arrived with paws full of evidence bags and a digital camera hanging daintily from his huge wrist.

‘I hate these things,' he complained as he struggled to work out how to switch it on. His hands were too big for the tiny wheel and buttons. He looked like a benign gorilla in a nature documentary. Lizzie found herself smiling and had to remind herself that, for all his bluff, Hadley was the only officer on the ground who had put up for the call in the first place.

‘You any good with them?' he asked Lizzie.

‘No.'

Cosmina, pouring contempt on their incompetence, took hold of the camera. She turned out to be handy with technology and took pleasure in showing them all the switches. Finally she insisted on a picture of the two of them. In the tiny screen Hadley and Lizzie were a
Variety
throwback: Laurel and Hardy pretending to be cops in blue woolly jumpers. All three laughed at the image. Cosmina, studying the photograph, shook her head in disbelief and said, ‘Christ help me.'

Hadley said, ‘Best police force in the world, I think you'll find.'

Cosmina said, ‘Not saying much, is it?'

‘Your turn, clever clogs,' said Lizzie and turned the camera lens on Cosmina.

She had got used to the swollen bruise that was Cosmina's face, but seeing the fact of the injuries reduced to their forensic digital record renewed her shock. As she flipped through the images, Hadley, watching over her shoulder, said quietly, ‘Get the bruises on her arm too. The defence wounds.' Only a fool would think that Hadley was not purposeful. Cosmina obliged, turning her right arm against the yellow coverlet.

Nurses and doctors passed in and out of the cubicle, taking temperatures and blood samples. A hospital porter turned up – a skinny Asian boy with shaved stripes along his skull. He eyed the police officers warily and muttered something about X-rays. He flipped the brakes on the trolley with his foot and expertly wheeled Cosmina out of the cubicle.

Hadley waited for her to be out of sight. Then he said, ‘Stefan's been arrested. He turned up at the crime scene and Arif nicked him. So Arif got something out of the night after all.'

‘He'll be pleased. What's the arrest?'

‘Attempted murder.'

They both smiled. Good boy: he'd aimed for the stars but they both knew he wouldn't get it. Best they could hope for was probably a Section 20 GBH.

‘Fucker,' said Hadley.

‘Bastard,' Lizzie concurred.

‘Fucking bastard.'

They were silent.

Then Hadley said, ‘Better bag up the clothing. Another job I hate.' They worked together putting Cosmina's jeans, her bloody T-shirt, bra and pants into brown paper bags. Hadley said, ‘You exhibit them and I'll book them in. OK? The T-shirt will have to go in the drying room. Fuck, what weariness.'

Lizzie leaned over the side table and started writing out the labels. Hadley said, ‘It's not too late for decent food. What do you fancy?'

‘I don't know. Not a kebab.'

‘Not a kebab, OK. BP?'

She imagined the fluorescent lights, the pale-faced Indian man behind the till, the aisles of chilled food. The pasta and pesto. The cherry tomatoes. All unnaturally bright behind clear plastic shells.

‘No, not BP.'

‘Curry?'

‘Christ, not curry.'

‘Difficult, aren't you?'

She rose to the challenge. ‘Do you know what I really fancy?'

‘Bloody hell, Lizzie, salmon and caviar? Bottle of Bolly? How the hell should I know?'

She made him wait.

‘Fish and chips.'

‘Fish and chips!' He rubbed his hands together in agreement, as if at a point well made, one that he would have to concede, then stood up with enthusiasm, unclipping the car key from his belt. ‘Now you're talking. I
love
fish and chips. But I'll have to get a shifty on if I'm going to make it before they close.'

His large, sloppy uniformed bulk moved away between the hospital beds, the drawn plastic curtains. The electronic doors swished open into the night. Through the overhead windows above the central doctors' station Lizzie saw the reflection of the blue lights flashing. Perhaps under the circumstances fish and chips were a genuine emergency.

Casualty continued with its curiously relaxed but purposeful rhythm. The footfalls of nurses, the swish of curtains marked the progress of a job that would never be done. The DI called for an update. Lizzie made her way to the desk but was reluctant to disturb the fat Indonesian-looking woman sitting there.
Sarwendah Wahid
, stated the name badge.
Charge Nurse
. She answered Lizzie with placid bovine eyes and clicked on the computer.

‘No, I don't have an update.'

Lizzie returned to the cubicle and flicked through her iPhone. These were the waiting moments. Soon Hadley would be back. A friendly fat male nurse took pity on her. ‘Help yourself to coffee or tea from the nurses' station.'

‘Thanks.'

She leaned back against the chair. It was warm in the hospital.

‘Sleeping on duty?'

Hadley was standing over her with the fish and chips. She felt bleary and confused. He passed her a hot package and pulled up a chair for himself.

‘Hang on,' she said, pulling a crushed and creased five-pound note from her warrant card and holding it out.

He already had his portion on his lap and was beginning to unfold the paper with the slow care of someone who never spilled a chip. He shook his head at the proffered note. ‘Don't worry,' he said. ‘Later.'

Steam and the smell of fried vegetable oil rose into the air.

‘Lizzie, I'm sorry about your dad.'

Lizzie felt a sudden obstruction in her throat. ‘Thanks. It was expected. He'd been ill for ages.'

‘Still hurts, though, doesn't it?'

She cleared her throat. Hadley took his time selecting a particularly fat chip.

‘I love fish and chips,' he said. ‘I remember picking it up for the whole family and sitting in the front of my dad's Ford Anglia. The hot paper used to burn my legs.'

Lizzie, unwrapping her own portion, summoned her own fish-and-chips memories. Queuing in the shop while her dad waited with the engine running. The yellow wall tiles interspersed with occasional pictures of fishing boats. An ample shake of salt over a hot bag of chips.

They ate, entirely absorbed. Lizzie reached the end of her appetite. She balled up her paper with some chips still in it. Hadley had finished too and wiped his huge paws on his trousers.

‘Guv'nor said you wanted to speak to me about giving a statement.'

Lizzie broke the seal of her water bottle and swilled a mouthful. She tried to appear relaxed. ‘Well. I thought we should talk about it, anyway.'

‘Is it that you're worried about getting into trouble?'

‘No, Hadley, not that. I just want to know what happened.'

He exhaled heavily. ‘What happened?'

In spite of her efforts, she felt sick inside. ‘Yes. Just that.'

‘With a view to what exactly?'

She thought of those interviews where the suspects tried to ask the questions. She had to admit he had a point: with a view to what exactly?

‘It's a straightforward question. You've pulled me into this . . .'

Even as the words emerged, she was wishing them unsaid. Exasperation flashed across Hadley's face.

‘Pulled you into it?'

He was right: if the complaint was unfounded then it was Hadley who had been pulled into something. His annoyance was perhaps genuine, but Lizzie also suspected that he was satisfied to have kicked off the conversation with her already on the wrong foot.

‘OK, maybe not. I don't know. Just tell me what happened, can't you?'

His exasperation was making it difficult to think. Kieran had said to talk to him and then she'd know what to do. Hadley stretched out into the back of his chair. He sounded bored.

‘I don't mean to be rude, Lizzie, but I've got to be honest, I don't even know what this conversation's
for
. Either you believe what I told the guv'nor or you don't. Either you back me or you don't. I've got twenty-seven years in. No disrespect, but I'm not about to start justifying myself to you. What do you want to know? What will make you feel better?'

‘What do you mean, what do I want? You've made it difficult for me, saying I was there.'

‘You
were
there.'

‘I wasn't. I was in the kitchen. I didn't hear a thing.'

‘I'm sorry, then. I thought you'd heard everything.'

She pulled a face. He kissed his teeth, gangsta style. They both laughed.

There was a pause.

Hadley said, ‘I didn't think it would be such a big deal.'

‘It isn't a big deal if you don't mind me telling the truth.'

‘
I'll
tell you the truth, Lizzie. Pay attention now. Are you listening carefully? The truth is that this girl has made up stuff I'm supposed to have said, and while the job fiddles around worrying itself sick about absolutely
nothing
, worrying that I might be a racist, oh dear God, I'm missing out on my board and a few years staying in the warm before I retire.'

She thought, is that really all the consequence you fear? Would there not be more serious repercussions for a racist comment made to a fourteen-year-old schoolgirl in her home? He had paused as if waiting for her to comment, but she was wary of voicing her suspicions and made no response. He went on.

‘You forgot to caution that black boy the other day. What was his name? That's it: Jordan. Do you think I'd find it difficult to say you did? Do you think it would even
matter
?'

‘That's not fair . . .'

‘Yes, OK, you remembered. But that's not the point. What if it had become an issue?'

Lizzie shrugged. ‘I don't know.'

Hadley nodded as though he had won the point. He swigged from his water bottle and then resumed.

‘Look, everyone's out to get us. The lawyers, the press, not to mention every other bloody arsehole that wants promotion. I think it's something about their mum and dad disappointing them, or maybe they just can't accept that the world is made of stone and blood and not fairy dust. It used to be about not beating people up in the back of vans. Not fitting people up. Now it's fart downwind and you'll be asked about it on the stand. I don't know any cop, good or bad, that hasn't been in trouble at some point. How can we stand if we don't back each other? You'll understand this when you've got more service. Obviously I won't back you if you take a bribe or send someone down who's not guilty. But the usual day-to-day
stuff, the usual shit? The usual shit? Of course I'll back you. If I know you and I trust you, if you're basically sound, then I'll back you because that's how we play the game.'

She moved to interrupt but he waved his huge hands impatiently, talking over her.

‘No, no, no, no, not
play the game
, that's wrong. That's just playing into your hands, those words. Not play the game; it's how we
survive
. Fucking
survive
, Lizzie. Pay our mortgages and make sure we go home every night rather than into a bloody cell.'

He paused again, waiting to see if she had a response now. She shrugged. He continued more quietly.

‘What about me threatening to section Cosmina earlier on? That's not lawful. You going to write that up? Even if you don't, what if someone else does? You going to back me or you going to make me face a disciplinary for saving that girl's life?'

His impatience, his certainty were devastating. Her qualms felt trivial, her pristine conscience absurd. She remembered her mother hissing at her father, ‘It's just a
word
.' Her father had not had many people at his funeral. She found herself in a difficult place.

‘Hadley, I'm sorry. If I'd heard what had happened, of course I'd back you.'

He gave a snort of contempt. ‘That's a fucking relief, I must say. If you'd heard me, you'd back me.'

They sat in an angry, wretched silence. The plastic curtain swished open. The Asian boy wheeled the bed back in. Cosmina was sleeping heavily. Her face was swollen and blue. The right arm, lying over the cover, was bandaged.

Hadley got up. He reached out, picked up Lizzie's fish-and-chip paper from the floor and shambled off in the direction of the A&E general waste bag.

26

L
izzie was in Farlow nick, logging on to a computer. The early turn relief had passed through the parade room to go on duty but she had still to write her statement about Cosmina before she went home. Kieran put his head round the door and smiled.

‘Well done for tonight. You and Hadley have done a good job.'

‘Thanks.'

She kept her eyes firmly to the screen. He stood behind her and glanced towards the door before putting his hand on her shoulder. ‘How was it with Hadley?'

She clicked on the program to open the statement pro forma. ‘Fine, yes. OK.'

His hand was still on her shoulder. ‘No news for me about that, then?'

‘No, guv'nor.'

‘OK.'

The program had loaded and she began to type.
On the night of Thursday 9 April I was on duty
. . .