Ayo came out from the curtains holding a bedpan full of plastic line clamps and bloodied towels.
"Oh!" She put her hand on her chest. "You made me jump."
The good-looking detective again the one she'd imagined blabbing her mad ideas to. About Ben and Hal and how Josh was peeing on things. Maybe she'd tell him, make him laugh, show him there were no hard feelings.
"What's happened? What's going on?"
"Eh? Oh…" She looked back to where Alek Peach lay groaning softly. "He got agitated, coming out of sedation. Pulled his radial artery line out it looks worse than it is."
"The blood?"
"We were giving him blood when he pulled it out. Most of that," she nodded to the floor, 'is from the bag, not from him. He's in no danger."
"Right." He started towards the bed. "I'll talk to him now."
"Uh Ayo skilfully put herself in his way. "I'm sorry. Mr. Friendship still hasn't given me the all-clear."
"Mr. Friendship is more interested in pissing me off than anything."
"Maybe you should talk to him about that." She held up her hand to guide him out of the door. When he didn't move she dropped her head to one side. "Look, I'm sorry, and I really mean that. I'm sorry. If it was up to me…"
"Ayo, listen," he hissed. "It was him. He did it. He killed his son."
Ayo closed her mouth. So he is a suspect they should have warned us.
"Come on, Ayo…"
"Look." She closed her eyes and held up her hand. "Thank you for telling me, but I'm sorry, you know, I have to not care what you think he's done."
"Oh, for Christ's sake. You crappy fucking do-gooders."
Her eyes snapped open. "There's no need for that."
"I know." He looked around the room, helpless, frustrated. "But you're just proving that really you don't give a shit. I mean, did you read the newspapers about Rory? Did you read what that man in there did} To his own son?"
Ayo swallowed, her blood pressure rising. "I've already explained my our position, so…" She pressed her hand to her belly. The baby was kicking, as if it was angry on her behalf. '… so if you'd be good enough to leave now, please please just respect us, OK? Or I'll have to call Security."
"Thanks, Ayo," he said. "Thanks for the generosity of spirit." He opened the door to leave. "I'll remember it."
"And don't come back until we call you," she yelled down the ward after him, 'which could be several days."
Afterwards her hands were trembling. She put down the bedpan and went into the nurses' station where she sat, breathing carefully, waiting for her heart to stop thumping. One of the junior nurses was concerned. "Hey? You OK?"
"God I dunno. I think so." Ayo put her head back and breathed in through her nose. Her pulse was racing, she felt nauseous she supposed it must be some form of panic-attack. The nurse, seeing her clammy face, her shaking hands, came in and put the kettle on.
"I'm going to make you some camomile tea. Can't have you stressed in your condition, can we, Mother?"
"God, thanks you're a lamb." Ayo settled back, rolling the top of her tights down and cupping her hands around her stomach. A Braxton Hicks came and went, but she breathed her way through it. For God's sake he only raised his voice to you and look at the state you're in you're all set to go into premature labour over it. This poor, poor child, she thought for the thousandth time, a neurotic for a mother how will it cope?
"I'm sorry if I jumped the gun." The armed guard stood a little outside the I.C.U, embarrassed, shuffling from foot to foot. "All we heard were the alarms, and the nurses getting aerated thought you should be here."
"It's OK." Caffery's mobile was ringing. "Really -call me any time. Especially call me' he fished in his pocket for the phone, hit the OK button, and used his thumb to cover the speaker 'especially call me when the lovely Mr. Friendship gives us a clear, OK?" He nodded briefly, and turned away, speaking into the phone. "Yeah? DI?"
"It's me. I've heard something."
He hesitated, trying to place the voice. When he had it he raised his hand to the armed officer and headed off down the corridor. "Tracey," he said, as soon as he was out of earshot. "Say that again."
"I heard something that might be useful to you. Something about what we talked about."
"Nah that's OK, we managed on our own, after all."
At the other end Tracey paused for a moment. "I'm not talking about Brixton," she said. "I'm talking about that boy of Penderecki's."
Benedicte remained where she had shrunk, eyes pricking and bright with fear. She had meant to be a warrior, meant to save her family. Instead she had scuttled back and lain on the floor, panting, weeping in the sour darkness, a hopeless lump bubbling away. A shitty little curled-up coward on the floor. If she was rolled on to her back she would remain locked in this position, like a brittle bluebottle, dead from terror. Pathetic.
And all she could think was: He is a monster. Josh was right a monster.
Thick red lips, white hairless skin. Like Snow White, his dark hair was so luxuriant and shiny it almost didn't look real like a shampoo advert. His trainers were scuffed and dirty and the red nylon Adidas sweatpants were stained. She could imagine cloven hoofs and thick-haired legs under those trousers. And he was wearing pink rubber gloves.
Benedicte knew exactly when she'd seen him before. It had been one morning in the camping shop on Brixton Hill. He had been behind her one minute, back turned to them as if he didn't want to be seen, hood pulled smartly over his face the next she knew he was outside, holding up Smurf's tail to examine her. Now she thought about it she could convince herself that it had been Josh he was trying not to be seen by. Did Josh know him? Or was it just that Josh was the main focus of his interest? Suddenly her blood ran cold. The Peaches, they were supposed to be going on holiday too. Had he heard her talking to the assistant about the holiday in Cornwall? She tried to remember what she had said in the shop. Something about a long car journey, and Oh, Jesus, yes he would have overheard her talking about it she'd even told the shopkeeper when they were leaving for Cornwall. Maybe he'd followed them home, been watching ever since, and in that case it was all her fault.
Suddenly Smurf, who was lying next to her, lifted her head and began to howl, a high-pitched pained squeal, the sound that comes when the pain is deeper than skin and muscle.
"Sssh…" Benedicte tried to hush her, stroked her, tried to coax her to the copper pipe to drink, but Smurf turned away and dropped her head on the floor. Ben sat back and began to pray. Oh, Ayo, Ayo -please, God, come early realize something's wrong please.
Caffery drove through the afternoon lanes. It had been raining in Suffolk, but now the sun was out, shining through the pollarded willows and making a patchwork of the road. Through tree tunnels he went, past horse farms, pleached maple corridors and low spreading ornamental junipers on perfect lawns. His hands were damp. Rebecca is right you are so desperate to get fucked around that you just jump to it. Leave your backbone at the door, Jack, why don't you? Tracey Lamb, that bundle of selfish impulse wrapped in a human skin, had only to put her hand behind her back, look him in the eye and say, "Guess what I've got in my hand," and she'd got him by the nose. The smallest crumb, the smallest possibility that she could tell him something about Ewan, and he was prepared to risk everything.
For a moment, just outside Bury St. Edmunds, he got the sudden impression he'd picked up a tail. The flash of sunlight on a windscreen, a grille glinting in the rear-view, a red car, low, like a sports car. It had been with him for miles. He adjusted the mirror, wondering if he was being touched. What would the rubber heelers want with you? And before he even finished the thought the answer came to him: Of course.