Monty reached for his wallet and handed Dot a ten-dollar note. ‘Here, buy her one of those cyanotic blue teddy bears they have in the gift shop. Or one of the pink ones that look like they have carbon-monoxide poisoning.’
Stevie shot him an exasperated look, but the bribe did the trick; Izzy was keen to go.
Dot said, ‘What a good idea. Let’s go and look at the toys downstairs, Izzy. Leave the grown-ups to their silly bickering.’
When they’d gone, Monty filled the awkward silence by going over to the sink. He took an empty vase and began to stuff the stolen flora into it. After some fiddling he turned from his task. ‘You’re shutting me out again.’
‘There’s nothing to discuss. I got whacked over the head following your instructions. Full stop.’
‘There’s something about this case that’s getting to you, I know there is, but you won’t tell me.’ Monty hesitated. ‘We used to be able to talk.’
She shrugged, felt the stitches tug at her tight skin. ‘We still do.’ She wondered if they would give her more pain-killers.
Monty plonked the top-heavy vase on the windowsill then sat on the edge of the bed. He drew a breath and his hand inched towards hers, stopping when she asked him about Martin Sparrow.
‘He’s still unconscious and still considered to be a murder suspect. Barry showed his photo to the waiter who verifies he’s the man he saw Michelle arguing with in the cafe. I thought I’d wander up to ICU after I’d seen you and see how he’s doing.’
Stevie nodded. ‘What about the description of the plumber from your neighbour? Could that have been Keyes or Thrummel?’
Monty shook his head. ‘Wayne spoke to her, didn’t sound like either of them. He didn’t get much other than tall, wellbuilt, wearing overalls with a woolly beanie on his head. The plumbing contractor who usually services the flats says no problems were reported that day.’
‘That’s one in your favour then. That has to be the guy who drugged your tomato juice. He obviously knows your drinking habits—Keyes and Thrummel could easily have found that out about you and told him. Then there’s the police files taken from your flat, the documents from Michelle’s safe—’
‘I know, the cop angle again,’ Monty interrupted. ‘But whatever we might speculate at the moment, I’m still not in the clear until they have the stuff analysed. The lab’s backlogged as usual.’
‘And I guess me being in Michelle’s apartment has got you into even deeper shit now.’
He shrugged. ‘Baggly wants to see me this afternoon. I think I might be busy cleaning my tennis shoes.’
Stevie rolled her eyes.
‘Oh, I’ve bought you a present,’ he said, reaching into his pocket. He handed her a packet of cigarettes and a lighter. ‘You might just fit one in before Dot gets back.’
Stevie’s hands shook as she attempted to remove the cellophane.
‘Here, let me do it,’ Monty said, extracting a cigarette and lighting it for her. He grinned when she blew out a luxurious stream.
She smiled back. ‘Thanks, Mont, I feel better already.’
‘I knew you’d be hanging out.’
Monty went over to the window and tried to work out how to break the seal. While his back was turned, the door opened and the stink of cigarette smoke was replaced by a sweeter fragrance.
Stevie’s spirits rose at the sight of the man behind the enormous bouquet of roses.
Monty turned from the window. ‘I thought you were in a meeting at Central?’
James De Vakey was already bending over Stevie’s bedside and didn’t look up. ‘I’ve seen Baggly. The others weren’t ready for me so I decided to check in here while I was waiting.’
He was distracted, and so was she, by the warmth of his minty breath on her cheek. Peering closely at the back of her head he said, ‘I’m surprised you haven’t got a couple of black eyes from that. It was a nasty blow.’
Stevie pushed her hand against his shoulder, enjoying the feel of his soft jumper under her fingers. ‘Stop fussing, James, I only needed ten stitches. Jeez, you and Monty are worse than my mother. Thanks for the flowers, they’re beautiful.’
De Vakey put his flowers on the windowsill where they dwarfed Monty’s, then took out a handkerchief and wiped the cigarette ash from her tray table. Glancing at the oxygen outlet above her head, he said, ‘You really shouldn’t be smoking in here.’
She took a final drag and handed the butt to Monty to flush down the ensuite toilet.
De Vakey settled into a chair and crossed his long legs. ‘I’m so glad you’re all right,’ he said softly.
She felt the heat rise to her face.
‘So, what’s your opinion about last night?’ Monty asked brusquely.
De Vakey thought for a moment and looked at Monty. ‘I don’t think the person who murdered Birkby and Royce attacked Stevie and Sparrow.’
‘What makes you say that?’
‘The method for one: our serial killer is meticulous and he doesn’t like blood and gore. The MO in the Birkby flat couldn’t be more different—the place looked like a slaughterhouse. That Sparrow came out alive after such savagery is nothing short of a miracle. There was real hatred in this attack. Our Poser, on the other hand, kills with an almost warped reverence for the victim, taking his time and savouring the moment.’
‘Wayne said the evidence suggested the assailant tried to clean up,’ Monty said.
‘A towel was taken from the bathroom and used to wipe away bloody footprints, yes.’
‘Was he successful?’
‘You mean were they successful.’
‘What? There were two of them?’ Monty exclaimed.
‘SOCO found two different tread patterns. They were hazy and smudged, not good enough to make reliable comparisons, but clear enough to see that they were from two different pairs of shoes.’
Monty leaned back in his chair. ‘Wayne didn’t mention that. Well I’ll be...’
‘I only found out on my way to the hospital.’
Stevie joined in the conversation. ‘For those few moments in the apartment, before I was attacked, I was absolutely sure Sparrow was our unsub, that he’d been wanking in the cupboard, reliving the Birkby murder.’
‘Wayne told me there was no sign of seminal fluid in the cupboard or on him,’ Monty said. ‘And he’d hardly be capable of hitting himself and you over the head while he was handcuffed. You never caught a glimpse of the guys who attacked you?’
Stevie shook her head and immediately regretted it now that the cushioning effect of the drugs was wearing off. ‘I had my back to the door. I think Sparrow saw them though.’
‘A fat lot of good that is at the moment,’ Monty said.
‘I got a brief look at the documents: some of them looked like copies of police files.’
‘Could they be the pages of Reece Harper’s missing alibi?’ Monty asked. ‘They were indexed in the original notes but I couldn’t find any sign of them.’
‘I don’t know, but whatever they were I’m pretty sure they were only copies. There must have been something important in them. First the files from your flat, Mont, now these. Someone really doesn’t want us to find something.’
Monty seemed to be considering what this could mean when De Vakey said, ‘Your Inspector Baggly seems to think that Sparrow is our Poser killer, that the attack on him and Stevie was merely a crime of opportunity committed by a couple of passing criminals.’
Monty snorted. ‘A couple of passing criminals, my arse. For a start, how would they get into that place? Shimmy five storeys up the outside wall? And I can’t see what a couple of passing criminals would want with a safe full of documents. Nothing else in the apartment was touched. Baggly’s hiding something, I know it. If you ask me it’s more likely to be a couple of passing cops.’