‘And this is us with Clint, Daisy and Charlotte on the day we went down to the county fair...’
CRASH! The front window of the room exploded in a million shards of glass and Ginny reeled backwards with blood streaming down her face to fall on the floor. The glass of wine she had been pouring for Macandrew flew from her grasp and splashed across the screen.
‘What the...’ exclaimed Mort. ‘Ginny! Ginny!’
Macandrew beat him in the race to get to Ginny and was already assessing the damage. ‘Get me a clean towel Mort,’ he said. ‘Quick as you can.’
‘Is she gonna be all right?’ asked Mort as he handed over the cloth and hovered over Macandrew and the unconscious Ginny.
Macandrew cleared the blood away from Ginny’s face and stemmed the flow from the major cuts. Something had come through the window and hit Ginny on the forehead, something heavy. It had knocked her out but she would be all right. He said so to Mort.
‘Thank God,’ exclaimed Mort. ‘What the hell was it?’
Mort started hunting round the room as the hollow in Macandrew’s stomach started to grow.
‘Jesus H Christ!’ exclaimed Mort. He had found something and was picking it up gingerly to avoid the broken glass. ‘What do you make of this?’ he asked.
Macandrew saw what Mort was holding: it was a butcher’s cleaver.
‘It was a message Mort,’ he said in a dazed monotone, ‘for me.’
‘The crazy bastard,’ said Saul Klinsman when Macandrew told him what had happened. ‘How is Mrs Jackson?’
‘She’s got a real sore head and quite a few cuts, one that required stitching, but she’ll be OK.’
‘You called the cops?’ asked Klinsman.
‘No, I didn’t,’ confessed Macandrew. ‘I persuaded the Jacksons not to either.’
Klinsman looked shocked. ‘Why not?’
‘I’m not absolutely sure myself,’ said Macandrew. ‘It was obvious that the cleaver was meant for me and we both know where it came from. I got to thinking that Francini had probably gone out and gotten hammered after what Weber had told him about the missing tumour tissue. It must have been eating away at him and he had to make his point somehow. It was probably something he did on the spur of the moment. He got my address from somewhere — not realising that I shared the place with the Jacksons — and came over to vent his anger. I’m counting on this being a one-off thing.’
‘That’s charitable of you,’ said Klinsman.
‘Not entirely,’ confessed Macandrew. ‘If I am to be perfectly honest I worked out that if I or the Jacksons had called the police and Francini was arrested, he would have enjoyed his day in court, telling the world exactly why he did it.’
‘Do you think he was bright enough to have planned it that way?’
‘I wasn’t betting against it.’
A week passed without further incident then Carl Lessing phoned. ‘I’ve been a bit of an idiot,’ confessed Lessing.
‘How so?’
‘I still have the slides.’
‘The slides?’ repeated Macandrew, unaware of what Lessing was getting at.
‘Mrs Francini’s slides! The microscope preps that were made for diagnosis! The Mayo could use them for verification of a malignant tumour!’
‘Are you serious?’ exclaimed Macandrew. ‘Would that be good enough?’
‘Sure,’ said Lessing. ‘I just wish I had thought of it sooner. The two slides I used for the actual diagnosis were discarded but four were made up by the technicians from the microtome sections. I still have the unused two.’
‘But surely Francini could argue that the slides weren’t prepared from Jane’s tumour material?’
‘I asked the guys down at forensics about that. They assure me that DNA fingerprinting will be possible from the material on the slides. We just have to get a cell sample from Jane Francini for comparison and it can be shown conclusively that the tumour tissue came from her — as indeed it did.’
‘Hallelujah,’ said Macandrew.
‘I’m sorry Mac, I should have thought of this earlier,’ said Lessing. ‘I’ll get straight on to the Mayo.’
Macandrew felt better than he had done for ages — in fact, since the day of the Francini operation. The phone rang and his good humour showed in his voice. ‘You sound happy,’ said Karen Bliss.
Macandrew told her the good news.
‘Mac, that’s great,’ said Karen. ‘I was actually calling to ask if you’d like to come over to dinner with Jeff and me tonight but now we could make it a celebration.’
‘I’ll bring champagne.’
As he drove out of Cherry and turned right to head south to Mission Hills, Macandrew noticed a BMW saloon with the “Show Me” plates of Missouri take off from the kerb and settle in behind him. He didn’t think anything of it until it registered that it was still there some three miles further on. He had left home in plenty of time and had consequently not been driving fast. The BMW had had ample opportunity to pass. It had tinted glass screens but Macandrew could see that there were two men in the front. He tried persuading himself that thinking he was being followed was just too melodramatic but it didn’t stop him slowing down for a while and then speeding up to see if he could lose his tail. The BMW stayed with him. It was still there when he turned off into the street where Karen lived.
As he slowed on nearing her apartment block, it suddenly speeded up and swerved in front, causing him to brake violently and mount the sidewalk. Almost before he knew it, the two men had jumped from the car in front and were running towards him. They were big and dressed in jeans and plaid shirts.
‘What the hell do you think you’re doing?’ demanded Macandrew, getting out the car. He was unprepared for the punch that seemed to come from nowhere and dropped him to his knees. He had barely time to taste the blood in his mouth before a boot swung into his stomach and the wind was completely knocked out of him. Up until that point neither of his assailants had spoken, now he heard one say to the other, ‘Turn him over.’
Through a haze of pain Macandrew felt himself being rolled over on to his face before he took another vicious bow to the side of the head. He was dragged forward by the hands and left face down by the open door of his car. He didn’t have the strength to turn his head to see if his attackers had gone but he heard their car start up.
Slowly, he reached out and gripped the door sill of his own car to with both hands to start pulling himself up. Unknown to him, he was supposed to do this. It was part of the plan. Only one of the men had returned to the BMW, the other had been standing behind him, waiting for this to happen. As Macandrew gripped the door sill, the man slammed the door shut.
Pain flooded through Macandrew’s head like a nuclear explosion. The bones in his hands broke like matchsticks and, through his agony, he heard a man’s voice rasp, ‘You won’t be fuckin’ around with no one else’s wife from now on.’
Seven
Macandrew curled up into a ball on the road and held his hands to his body. He was vaguely aware of the BMW roaring off but his mind was being overwhelmed by successive waves of pain that shot up through his arms and burst like starshells inside his head. Someone, somewhere, was asking what all the noise had been about. Another demanded that an ambulance be called. Yet someone else was telling neighbours not to get involved.
No one approached him directly. This was Kansas City suburbia where the real world never came to call. Drama was the stuff of television, always held at a comfortable distance. But now, there was an injured man lying in the street, beside an empty car with its driver’s door swung open.
Macandrew managed to prop himself up a little using his elbows but the pain in his hands was so bad that he feared he might pass out. His vision was being blurred by waves of red mist. ‘Can somebody help me please,’ he croaked.