The Burning (33 page)

Sam shook his head stubbornly. ‘I’ll never forgive myself.’

‘All right, get out the violin. Do you want to do something useful instead of sitting here moping?’

Even in the depths of despair Sam was too much of a cunning old fox to say yes straight out. ‘Depends. What is it?’

‘They’ve taken her to St Luke’s. Any idea how we could get there?’

He got up, looking a sight more cheerful. ‘I’ve got the car.’

‘I wondered when you’d remember.’ We started to walk out of the park together. The path took us past the spot where the young man was being systematically searched as the inspector and Superintendent Godley looked on.

We both stopped at the same time.

‘Christ. Look at that lot.’

In front of the young man was a pile of belongings – a wallet, house keys, a mobile phone. So far, so normal. Not so normal: the small black plastic rectangular object with two metal prongs that I recognised from briefings as a stun gun, the crowbar, the bolt cutters, a roll of green gardening twine, the brick hammer with a black rubber grip.

‘I suppose that means it is him,’ Sam said blankly.

‘Yeah. You know you’re getting old when the serial killers start to look like kids.’

The suspect was down to a white T-shirt and his trousers. They had taken his boots off to search inside them and his feet were bare and bluish on the cold wet concrete. He looked up at us, his face woebegone, a dappling of acne livid and inflamed on his chin. He had red marks around his eyes and across his nose where the struggle had bruised him. He was tall and heavily built, but from his face he could have been a teenager. Surely not, though. Not when you thought about what he’d done. The violence he’d used. The women he’d killed.

I turned away and after a moment Sam followed me. We walked out of the park in silence. The Burning Man was in custody, but somehow neither of us was in the mood to celebrate.

The hospital was like the end of the world. The waiting room had been decorated with some sagging green tinsel and gold paper stars, which in no way lessened the wall-to-wall horror, just reminded me that it was almost Christmas and there was little enough to be joyful about. The plastic seating was packed with walking-wounded survivors from festive parties, drunken office workers, filthy tramps and lads who had rounded off a good night out with a bloody fight. A warm fug of vomit-tinged air met us when we came through the doors and I stopped, revolted.

‘Jesus.’

‘Even He wouldn’t bother with this lot.’ Sam, who had recovered much of his bounce, barrelled over to the glassed-in reception desk. Behind it I could see at least five members of staff who were doing a fine job of ignoring the queue. Sidestepping everyone who was waiting, much to their irritation, Sam tapped on the glass and held up his warrant card. It would be an exaggeration to say the receptionists hurried to find out what he wanted, but a heavy-eyed dark-haired woman came to the window eventually and listened to what he had to say. She disappeared, and Sam looked around. ‘She’s gone to see.’

‘I’m going to clean up a bit. Don’t go anywhere without me.’

‘Never.’

After a quick look at the state of the men’s room, I went into the disabled toilet instead. It had the great advantage that it was private. I risked a look in the mirror and saw the cut that had bothered the paramedic, right through my right eyebrow. Blood had run down the side of my face and my neck; I looked about as good as the lads out in the waiting room. I dabbed at my skin with some wet toilet paper, trying to make myself appear a bit more human. I had the makings of a black eye and a sore patch on my jaw where he’d caught me with a left hook, but otherwise it wasn’t too bad. I peeled off my soaking jacket and dropped it on the floor, then took off the sweatshirt I had worn underneath, swearing under my breath as it caught on the drying blood from my arm. The bite was not good; even I could see that. He had gone right through the skin, gouging two semi-circular arcs in my arm that were still oozing blood. A livid mark in the centre was a bruise, and the whole thing ached. I couldn’t remember if you needed a tetanus shot for a human bite but I had a vague suspicion it wasn’t a good thing to neglect. I really needed to get it seen to, I thought vaguely, without making any firm plans to do so.

I yanked off my T-shirt, pulling my arm through the sleeve gingerly, and twisted to the left, then the right, checking for any more damage to my torso. I had a few bruises developing on my ribs and chest, but no more cuts. Superficial damage only, so no big deal, nothing to get too excited about. But I was tired, and cold, and I leant on the sink for a minute, feeling like death, trying to gather the energy to get dressed again.

The T-shirt was wet and pink around the collar from where the rain had diluted the blood that had run down my neck. I wadded it into the bin but put on the sweatshirt again as it looked reasonably decent. I checked my jacket pockets, transferring my phone and Maeve’s into my jeans. I had used hers to call Ian from the car on the way to the hospital. I’d thought I should; I would have wanted to know if I was him. He’d gone all the way from irritated through concerned to the kind of wrenching anxiety I was feeling myself. But then again, I reminded myself, he was entitled to feel that way. I was not.

I went out, carrying my jacket, to find that Sam had disappeared. Thinking evil thoughts, I went up to the reception desk myself and attracted the attention of the heavy-eyed woman.

‘Your friend’s gone in already. Go to the door and I’ll buzz you through.’

So much for waiting for me. The scene in the business end of A&E wasn’t much better – too few staff, too many people on trollies. I wandered through a couple of areas without seeing Sam, then grabbed a passing nurse, who was thin, middle-aged and harried.

‘Police, love. I’m looking for one of my colleagues that was brought in just now from Kennington – she’s been attacked.’

‘Oh yeah. She’s over there.’ She pointed at a cubicle in the corner with the curtains drawn around it.

‘Is she OK? I mean – can I see her?’

‘She’s fine. We just drew the curtains to give her some privacy. It’s mad in here tonight.’

Relieved was not the word for how I was feeling. I grinned down at her. ‘I’d have thought you’d be used to it.’

‘You never get used to this.’ She raised her eyebrows at a man being led past us with a pair of antlers on his head and a white gauze pad held over one eye. He was wearing white knee-socks and green underpants, and nothing else. I could see her point.

I wished her luck and went over to the cubicle, pulling back the curtain gingerly. ‘Knock, knock.’

It wasn’t Maeve in the bed, or sitting beside it. The undercover officer – Katy, I recalled – was lying down with one hand to her head, looking pale. Another of the UCs was beside her, holding a glass of water. Katy sat up on her elbows at the sight of me.

‘How’s Maeve? Is she OK?’

‘That’s what I’m trying to find out.’ I remembered my manners. ‘Er – how are you feeling?’

‘Like shit,’ she said, and lay back down again.

‘She’s covered in bruises,’ her friend said. ‘But he didn’t get the chance to do too much, thankfully.’

‘Not to me, but he did enough to other people,’ Katy pointed out. She looked back at me. ‘When you find Maeve, let me know how she’s getting on.’

‘Will do.’

I went back out and walked straight into the nurse I’d spoken to before. Her name tag read ‘Yvonne’. ‘Different officer. Have you seen another one?’

‘No, but I’ve seen you. Come with me.’ She had got a cubicle ready and before I could so much as complain I was sitting on the bed with my head back and a bright light shining in my eyes. You need a stitch in that. The doctor will have to see it.’

Yvonne cleaned up the cut and I closed my eyes, feeling exhausted.

‘How did you do this, may I ask?’

‘I was arresting someone.’

‘Fighting them, did you say? And who came off worse?’

‘I did,’ I admitted. But then, I wasn’t looking at a life sentence or two, so I didn’t have my opponent’s added incentive.

‘Now, you’ll feel a sting.’

She was right; the disinfectant hurt more that the cut. ‘Ow.’

‘Be brave. Almost done.’

‘Can you find out what happened to my colleague? Her name is Maeve Kerrigan.’ I peered at her. ‘Please?’

A nod. ‘What else did he do to you?’

I reckoned I might as well own up. I pulled back my sleeve and showed her my arm. ‘Just this.’

She frowned over it. ‘Oh dear. I’ll get the doctor.’

‘Can’t you clean it up for me and stick on a plaster?’

‘We take human bites very seriously. When did he do it?’

I had no idea. An hour ago, probably.’

‘You’ll need to go to theatre to have it washed out and tidied up. Don’t worry, you won’t feel a thing.’

I was regretting showing it to her at all. ‘Look, I’d love to stick around for that, but I’m a bit busy, and—’

A large, jowly head poked through the curtains. What are you up to in here, my friend?’

‘Sam, where the hell have you been? How’s Maeve? Did you find her?’

‘Yes and no. I haven’t seen her, but I know where she is. Down the hall in resus. They’re still working on her.’ He looked grey, as if he’d aged ten years since the last time I’d seen him. ‘Fractured skull, they think. They’re worried about internal bleeding.’

‘Is she going to be OK?’

He shrugged helplessly. ‘They’re doing their best for her.’

I removed my arm from Yvonne’s clutches and stood up, grabbing my jacket.

‘Where do you think you’re going?’

‘To see her.’

‘You need to get your arm fixed.’

Sam leaned in for a closer look. ‘Ooh. You don’t want to take any chances with one of them. I know a fellow got bit in a fight outside a club in the East End. Nearly lost his hand.’

‘Yeah, all right, Sam, point taken.’ I turned to the nurse. ‘Look, how long is it going to take to sort this out? I mean, you need me to go to theatre. That isn’t going to happen straightaway, is it?’

She shrugged. ‘As soon as we can manage it. I’ll try and get you in quickly.’

‘It’s not going to be in the next quarter of an hour, is it?’

‘No,’ she admitted.

‘If I promise to come straight back, please may I go and see how my colleague is doing?’

‘I can’t stop you. But I want you back here in five minutes so the doctor can see you.’

‘Ten minutes.’ She looked stern and I did my best pleading look. ‘Please, Yvonne?’

‘If you promise.’

I was gone before she’d finished saying the last word.

Yvonne proved to be a total pushover compared to Dr Gibb, who had absolutely no interest in hearing why I needed to see Maeve. She was small, dark-haired, serious and implacable, and she had just emerged through the double doors that led to the resuscitation area – in other words, between me and where I needed to be.

‘There’s no visiting in this area. We will keep the patient’s next of kin informed about her condition but if you are just her colleague—’

‘I’m not just her colleague. I’m her friend.’ It was as if I hadn’t spoken.

‘—it would be infringing her privacy to tell you about her treatment.’

‘I want to know how she is.’

‘I’m sure you’ll be kept informed by her family.’

Desperate, I dug a smile up from somewhere. When all else fails, try charm … ‘Look, you understand how it is. I was there when she got attacked, I really care about her and I just want to make sure she’s OK. Please?’

A shake of the head. ‘I can’t help you. I suggest you stop wasting my time and your own.’

‘For fuck’s sake,’ I snapped, irritated beyond endurance.

Sam plucked my sleeve. ‘Come on, mate. Give up. Back to your cubicle like a good boy.’

I had to go; I had run out of time and a promise was a promise. Swearing under my breath, I walked away, Sam bobbing along at my right elbow.

‘Never knew you felt that way about Kerrigan.’

‘What? Oh, that. You know better than to take that at face value. I was just trying to convince the doctor to let me see her.’

‘Course you were.’ He gave a wheezy little laugh and I glared at him.

‘Feeling better, are we? You should – there’s no need to feel ashamed of breaking your own land speed record by taking twenty minutes to run two hundred metres.’

‘Don’t be like that. Just because I heard what you said back there—’

‘I’ve already explained to you that I didn’t mean it. And if you repeat it to anyone – anyone, Sam – I’m going to find that guy with the antlers, borrow them, and put them somewhere that’ll have you walking funny for a week.’

‘Easy, easy, no need for violence …’

I got to the cubicle first and pulled the curtain across to stop him from joining me. I had had about as much as I could take of Sam for one evening. I sat down on the edge of the bed, feeling like death, and waited for the next fun thing to happen to me.

Yvonne was true to her word. It was only another couple of minutes before the doctor came to assess my arm. It was somehow typical of the way my night was going that when the curtain went back, the doctor in question turned out to be Dr Gibb.

They let me go once they’d finished sorting out my arm, sending me off with a bandage up to the elbow and a plastic bag that contained some really quite decent painkillers that I didn’t intend to touch. Most people would have gone home – I should have gone home – but instead I found myself heading for the police station, and I didn’t want my edge to be dulled by pain relief, no matter how welcome it might have been. There had been no word on Maeve’s condition and I thought I might be able to find out more at work. Besides, I couldn’t rest, knowing that she was in trouble. The thoughts just kept squirreling around in my mind.
If I’d been a bit quicker … If I hadn’t been tied up with the journalist … If she’d just called to me before she ran to help Katy …

I was also reasonably interested to find out what had happened with the young man I had so nearly arrested. From what I’d seen earlier, there was no question but that he was the killer we’d been hunting. And we had been way off. The belief is that serial killers don’t come out of nowhere – there’s a pattern of offences before they escalate to murder. But the lad I’d been fighting didn’t look as if he’d had time to commit many crimes, and I didn’t recognise him from the rogues’ gallery of local perverts that we’d spent many hours tracking down. I was pretty sure he hadn’t come to the attention of the enquiry before now. So either he was very clever, or, which seemed more likely, we were very mistaken in what we’d been searching for.