Trauma (7 page)

'You may,' answered Sarah. 'I can do nothing right as far as that ... that ...'

'Senior registrar?' interjected the other man present, Paddy Duncan, a senior house officer in general surgery.

'Shit is concerned,' finished Sarah, ignoring the prompt.

Sit down Sarah, take it easy,' said Louise Vernon, who was doing a residency in obstetrics and gynaecology. 'It's only for six months remember.

'I'm beginning to count the minutes,' said Sarah. 'And it shouldn't be like that! I can remember thinking I was the luckiest medic of my year when I got the job in the Head Trauma Unit but now ...'

'Nothing ever turns out like it should be. You have to learn to roll with the punches. Forget about him for the moment.'

'Easier said than done,' said Sarah.

'We're all going out for a Chinese meal. Come with us.'

Sarah smiled and felt cheered by the prospect. 'That sounds good.' she said. 'I'm sick to death of stale sandwiches and stewed tea.'

* * * * *

Lafferty was beginning to think that Main was not going to show up. He had expected him to come some time around mid-afternoon but it was now nearly seven in the evening. He had even begun to consider what he should do next and was deliberating over whether he should visit Main at home or whether it might not be best in the long run to let the matter drop when John Main came into the church and made the thought redundant. He was wiping snow from his shoulders.

'Cold out there?' asked Ryan.

'Freezing,' replied Main. 'Mind you, it's not that much warmer in here. He rubbed his arms to emphasize the point.'

'I'm afraid we can't afford to have the heating on all the time,' said Lafferty. 'But we can talk through here. He made a gesture towards the head of the church with his arm. 'It will be more comfortable.'

Main followed Lafferty through a small wooden door, painted blue and set in a stone arch to the left of the pillar behind the pulpit. It made Main think of Alice in Wonderland. Once through, they turned left again and entered a small room where Lafferty's vestments were hung on the back of the door. They were all on the one coat hook and it looked overloaded. Main was careful how he closed the door behind him lest they all fall in a heap.

There were two armchairs in the room; both looked worn and not very comfortable; they were placed on either side of an ancient gas fire. There were several laden book shelves mounted along the wall opposite the single window in the room. It was arched and paned with leaded glass and below it stood a table stacked with hymn books that looked as if they had been withdrawn from service due to their tattered condition. A series of religious paintings were hung on plain walls that were a dull cream in colour, one of the chief colours favoured by institutions, thought Main, the other being green.

Lafferty invited Main to take his coat off and to sit down while he himself knelt down in front of a gas fire and started to feed it matches cautiously as the gas hissed through. The third one worked and the fire popped into life making Lafferty withdraw his hand quickly. Even then, Main could smell singed hair. He noticed that one of the burners was damaged; it emitted a flickering yellow flame while the others were blue.

'How are you feeling?' asked Lafferty.

'I'm OK,' replied Main. 'Did you find out anything?'

Lafferty frowned and said, 'In a negative sort of way. I've spent many hours in the ecclesiastical library and I had a long talk with Father McCandrew down at St Agnes; he's made a bit of a study of the occult. The bottom line is that no one knows why these people would want your son's body.'

Main closed his eyes and rubbed his upper lip with his forefinger while he came to terms with the news. 'So I'm no further forward,' he said.

'No,' agreed Lafferty. 'But on the other hand, it's as well to know that there is no known formal ceremony in satanic ritual or in the annals of witchcraft that demands the body of a recently deceased child.'

'Thanks,' said Main philosophically.

'But of course, you still have to know.’

'I still have to know.'

'Have you been in touch with the police since it happened?' asked Lafferty.

Main smiled and said, 'That's why I was late. I was down at police headquarters trying to find out what they had come up with.'

'And?'

Main smiled bitterly and said, 'They've come up with bugger all, or as they put it, "Their enquiries are continuing".'

'They can't have much to go on,' said Lafferty. 'Unless they are actually aware of any satanic activity going on in the community. Are they?'

'They say not.'

'In that case, they won't know where to start. These people, however evil they are, probably won't have criminal records and they probably don't consort with criminals so the police will be starved of information.'

'I'm sure the police will be grateful to you for putting their case so well,' said Main sourly.

Lafferty let the comment pass. He said, 'I've been wondering whether or not it might be a good idea to have a word with the man who was in the cemetery that night.'

'The wino's story has been in all the papers. Every lurid detail,' said Main. 'What else can there be to learn from him?'

Lafferty shrugged and said, 'Well, you never know. There just might be one little useful fact or observation that he overlooked in his efforts to give our noble press the kind of story they were after.'

Main thought for a moment before saying, 'Maybe that's a good idea after all. I must apologise for my earlier behaviour. I'm really very grateful to you for the trouble you've been going to.'

'No trouble,' said Lafferty. 'And there's nothing to apologise for.'

'I'll start hunting the man down tomorrow,' said Main.

'No,' said Lafferty firmly. 'It's best if I do it.'

'Why?'

'You're too involved. You might scare him off. It's best if I go. Who knows? He may even be a Catholic and if he is, he wouldn't lie to a priest would he?'

Main smiled and thanked Lafferty. 'This must be taking up an awful lot of your time,' he said.

Lafferty looked rueful. He said, 'I could be thinking about the repair of the organ, the state of the roof, how many replacement hymn books we need or how much or how little we have to spend on flowers at Easter but all these things can wait. They can wait until your mind is put at rest about Simon. Christianity is about people not bricks and mortar and budgets.'

Main left the church, saying he would come back in two days time if he hadn't heard from the priest beforehand. Lafferty watched him leave and thought about the upheaval his involvement with Main had caused in the smooth running of the 'club'. He had already had to go biretta in hand to the two ladies he had offended over the jumble sale and crave their forgiveness. He had yet to apologise to the Mothers' group for not turning up at their afternoon meeting and to the senior bible class for a similar offence.

He still had to have a word with young Mary O'Donnell, at her mother's behest, about recent behaviour with regard to the opposite sex. He looked at his watch and decided he had better do that this evening. He stretched his arms in the air and let out a huge yawn. Randy boys were bad enough but randy girls ... There was a whole lot of heartbreak still to come from that young madam, he feared.

* * * * *

John Main closed the door to the flat behind him and felt the quiet smother him like a cold, unwelcoming blanket. Noise and laughter had been replaced with silence and darkness. He rested his back on the door for a moment before urging himself not to dwell on this again. He needed light and he needed noise. He switched on the lights, all of them and turned on the television. Next, he needed warmth. He lit the gas fire to supplement the central heating until he had warmed up a bit.

There were some messages on the answering machine. He played them back as he took off his coat in the hall. The first was from his sister Anna, suggesting again that he should get in touch with her as soon as possible and wouldn't he like to stay with her and her husband for a while? He hadn't been in touch with Anna since Simon's funeral. He hadn't been in touch with anyone since the bastards took Simon's body. He didn't want to talk to anyone about it. They couldn't help. They had already 'burdened' him with as much sympathy as he could take over the course of two funerals. Another helping wasn't going to help matters. He already knew how awful it was and how sorry they all were. It might sound ungrateful but let's just leave it at that! Mary's mother was next on the machine with largely the same message. He should get in touch. She was 'worried sick' about him.

Main poured himself a large gin and noted that he would have to get another bottle tomorrow. Tonic was also getting a bit low. Maybe he would take a trip to the supermarket and get some food as well instead of working his way through the tins and packets in the kitchen cupboards, rummaging through the freezer and bringing in take-away meals. He smiled at the thought. Was this a step in his rehabilitation? He resolved not to go to the supermarket where Mary had done the family shopping. That would be a step too far.

The third voice on the machine was that of Arthur Close, head of the English department at Merchiston School where he worked. Main was not to worry about anything. The others would be happy to cover his classes. He had their deepest sympathy and that of everyone else at the school, staff and pupils alike. He and the headmaster were in complete agreement that he should take off as much time as he needed.

Main snorted at the bit about Close being in complete agreement with the headmaster. He said out loud, 'You're so far up the headmaster's arse Arthur, it's a wonder you can see where you're going!'

He immediately regretted what he had said and thumped his fist into his forehead, berating himself loudly. 'Christ! What's wrong with you?' he demanded. They are ordinary, nice people, doing what they think is right. They're trying to help you for Christ's sake!

He slumped down in a chair with the gin and took a big gulp. 'Get a grip', he said quietly. 'Get a grip.' He gazed at the news on TV while the gin got to work on his fraying nerves then he remembered that there had been some mail behind the front door when he came in. He brought it in from the hall and sat back down in the chair to open it. An estimated electricity bill for ninety-seven pounds and eight pence, an exhortation from an insurance company to 'consider his family's future'. What would happen to them if you were to die, they wanted to know. Main threw it in the bin. The third felt like a card inside an envelope and bore a second class stamp. Main opened it and saw the pastel coloured flowers on the front and the scrolled, 'With Deepest Sympathy' across the top in gold. He flipped it open. 'Thinking of You, George and Martha Thornton,' it said.

Main screwed up his face. Who the hell were George and Martha Thornton? Then he remembered. They were the couple he and Mary had met on holiday last summer. He was a grocer from Leicester and she was probably the stupidest woman he had ever met in his life. Main looked at the front of the card again and thought, Thank God they don't make 'Sorry The Bastards Dug Up Your Son' cards. When he felt better, he remembered that there was a packet of chicken curry in the freezer.

* * * * *

McKirrop's celebrity status lasted three days. Three more reporters sought him out in that time, each hoping for a new angle on the satanic ritual story but McKirrop told them all exactly what he had told Rothwell. In all, he only made another hundred pounds. There was not a high premium on what an old wino had to say. There was a vague promise of some more money for the entire group if they agreed to be the subject of a social investigation for a 'Scotland on Sunday' colour supplement but that would be at some time in the future, they said. The magazine was presently committed to covering the current vogue for Bonsai trees, the popularity of Western clubs in central Scotland - where the clientele dressed up as cowboys - and an in-depth study of drug abuse in inner city housing schemes. The reporter thought some time round August maybe.

McKirrop had shared one hundred and fifty pounds in all with the others. That left him two hundred and fifty that he had hidden from them. Maybe it was time to move on. Maybe a move to London. It might be warmer down there. But first, he had resolved to try his luck with the library card he had taken from Rothwell's pocket. Maybe there was some perfectly innocent explanation why Rothwell had a doctor's library card in his pocket but if there was, he wanted to hear it. After all, it was only going to be the cost of a phone call.

McKirrop brought the card out of his pocket and looked at it again. Maybe he wouldn't call Rothwell immediately. Sotillo wasn't a common name; there couldn't be many of them in the phone book. There might even be a reward for the card if he was to tell the good doctor that he had found it in on the path. Every little helped.

There was no phone book in the booth. McKirrop had to ask directory enquiries for the number and then remember it in his head because he had nothing to write it down with or on. He kept repeating the number over and over while he sought out the digits with clumsy fingers. The number rang four times before it was answered by a woman.