“I rather fancy us as Cagney and Lacey, actually,” interrupted Jonathan mischievously. He stopped and turned to look at Dominic. “Anyway, I think you’re right. I can’t imagine what we would do if the bad guy turns out to be in there. It’s going to be difficult making a citizen’s arrest when I’m wearing nothing but a smile. We’ll get a taxi from the rank in Old Steine and go over to the police station to meet the sweet young detective and his girlfriend.”
The three men walked past the entrance to the sauna. As they did so, the door opened, and a man pushed past them, heading down toward the seafront. Christophe suddenly shouted, “De Dieu! C’est lui. Jonathan, that’s him.”
Dominic glanced over his shoulder and saw the man, alerted by Christophe’s shout no doubt, turn to look at them. He hesitated for a moment before turning and running toward the main traffic junction, his left leg slightly dragging as if stiff and inflexible.
Christophe sprinted off first, followed by Jonathan and then Dominic. Despite having a head start, the man’s left leg was slowing him down, and it would take just a few more seconds for Christophe to catch up with him.
The traffic lights at the junction had just changed as the fleeing man ran into the path of a black Range Rover. His body flew up into the air and landed on the windscreen. The car screeched to a halt as the body slid off the car and onto the road. Dominic was already reaching for his cell as Christophe and then Jonathan got to the intersection. The driver’s door of the Range Rover slowly heaved open, and a tall, well-built young man climbed out of the car.
“He ran in front of me. There was nothing I could do.” The young man repeated the phrase several times over. He held his bald head in his hands for a moment before looking up at the three men. Dominic noticed that he had a rather attractive Tom Selleck mustache. “Didn’t you see? He ran out in front of me. I had no chance. I’ll call an ambulance.”
He pulled out his cell, and a few moments later, he was describing the location to the person at the other end of the phone. He hung up and turned to the others.
“The ambulance will be here shortly,” he announced.
Christophe was by this time examining the body on the ground. “I will not move him until the ambulance gets here,” he said. “But I do not think he is alive.”
The driver looked across to Christophe. “Are you certain?” he asked. Christophe nodded.
Jonathan took Dominic’s arm and pulled him out of earshot of the driver of the Range Rover. “I’ll leave you to do the talking when the boys in blue arrive,” he said grimly. “You’re the lawyer. But before they arrive, what should Christophe do with that folder of photographs?”
Dominic was furious with himself for being so stupid. Why had he allowed Jonathan to seduce him into this ridiculous adventure? It might have felt like a bit of fun to start with, but it had ended in a death for which they were at least partly responsible. Even worse, for all they knew, the body of the man on the road might not be that of Simon’s attempted murderer, but that of an innocent man, terrified of being discovered leaving a gay sauna and chased by three men he had never seen before.
“This is serious, Jonathan. We must tell the police everything we know and let them do their job. We can’t play amateur detectives any longer.”
By this time the driver of the black Range Rover was back on his cell phone, talking about what had just happened. Dominic walked across to Christophe where he crouched beside the body on the road and bent down to take a closer look. The man was probably no more than thirty years old, wearing a heavy winter coat and scarf and what appeared to be a smart navy suit underneath. A much more sophisticated style than the jeans and hoodie he had been wearing in the hospital. Dominic took a close look at the man’s face. There was no doubt; it was the face they had seen on the security monitor. Who was he and why had he apparently been intent on killing Simon Gregory? Dominic stood up and went to lean heavily against the back of the car as a wave of nausea threatened to overwhelm him. As he did so, Christophe reached inside the man’s coat and pulled out a slim wallet.
“What the hell are you doing?” hissed Dominic to Christophe, not wanting to attract the attention of the car driver.
“You want to know who he is, don’t you?” replied Christophe in a matter-of-fact tone. He pulled out the few cards that were in the wallet. “Here is his drivers’ license. It says his name is Peter Freedman, and he lives in Stockwell in London. He has another card here. For the House of Commons. Does this mean he is a member of parliament?” Christophe looked up at Dominic and handed him the card.
Dominic examined the photo identity card bearing the parliamentary crest. “No, this looks like a temporary pass that could be used by anyone who’s working there. He could be a researcher, or he could be a cleaner, although judging by that suit and overcoat, I would say he’s not a cleaner. Is there anything else?” Dominic was now intrigued to know just who the man was and had set aside any qualms he’d had initially about Christophe’s actions.
“There are a few credit cards and some money, but nothing else. No business cards.” Christophe fumbled with the wallet. “There is a phone number here. No name, just the initials BK. I’ll check the other pockets.”
Christophe reached back inside the man’s coat, but at that moment they heard the sound of sirens and saw the reflection of blue lights in the distance. Hastily, he put the wallet back and stood up as an ambulance turned into the street. A few moments later, it screeched to a halt alongside the body, and three men in green scrubs jumped out.
Dominic wished he were tucked up in his bed back in Oxfordshire. This was going to be a long night.
Chapter 9
THE THREE students sat around the kitchen table. They were having an emergency house meeting and discussing the aftermath of the police search a few hours earlier. Not much was being said; they were feeling numb with shock after witnessing all their possessions turned inside out by the forensics team.
Gemma broke the silence first. “They even cut open my teddy bear. How shitty is that? What do they think I am? Some kind of drugs mule?”
Jay was flipping a beer mat on the edge of the table. “Do you think we can claim compensation or something? They’ve fucking destroyed my room, even ripped the carpet up. Then they just walk out and leave us with this shit to clear up. It’s not as if they’ve found anything.”
John looked up at him. “How can you be so sure? They took quite a few plastic evidence bags away with them. Who knows what they found in Si’s room? And what about your stuff from Barton Kane?”
Jay rounded on John. “Shit, you’re damn quick to bring that up every time, aren’t you? I’m not dumb enough to keep it here, am I? Anyway, there was no stuff in Si’s room. I checked.”
John was seething as he stood up. “You went into Si’s room and went through his stuff? You little shit!”
“What the fuck else did you think I’d do? I didn’t want the police finding something and trying to pin it on us. You should be grateful I did. He had some pretty weird porn shit in a rucksack under the bed. I took that out before they arrived.”
John crossed the kitchen and stood over Jay. “Who the hell do you think you are, taking Si’s stuff from his room? Where did you put it?”
Jay stood up, his face inches away from John’s. “Wouldn’t you like to know, lover boy? I got it out of the house, of course. It’s in the skip across the street. I reckoned they wouldn’t go through that. At least, I hoped they wouldn’t. Go and dig it out now if you need to. Did you know he was into bondage and shit?” Jay’s pearly white teeth gleamed as his face broke into a wide smile. “So that’s what you two faggots were up to, was it? Christ, you’re one hell of a piece of work.”
John’s face heated until he was sure it glowed red. He was hearing about a side of Simon he knew nothing about, and he was hearing it from Jay of all people.
“It’s none of your damn business, but no, that’s not ‘our thing’ at all.”
John stormed
out of the kitchen and walked outside to the skip that had been sitting across the road from their house ever since they had moved in. Under the orange glow of the streetlamp, he started rummaging through a mound of builders’ rubbish. A few minutes later, Jay appeared on the path, with Gemma just behind him.
“Look, mate, I’m sorry,” said Jay. “I’ve got a mouth and no brain, and this whole thing is freaking me out right now. I know it’s really shitty for you because of you and Simon being—” He searched for the words. “—for being so close. Look, it’s a scruffy rucksack you need to find. I put it in a supermarket bag before I shoved it in there so it would be less conspicuous. It should be around here.” With that, he started digging around in one end of the skip. A few moments later, he pulled out a grubby, damp white-and-blue plastic supermarket bag and handed it to John. “Here you go, mate. It’s all yours. None of my business.”
John took the bag and pulled out the large black rucksack. He turned it over in his hands and examined it curiously. “I’ve not seen Simon with this before, but then, I suppose I don’t know everything about him,” he said in a flat voice. “I’m going to take a look at it back in the house. If he’s hiding stuff from me, maybe it’s none of my business either. But this whole thing has got out of control. There might be something in here to explain what’s happened in the last few days.”
AS JOHN walked back into the house, Jay looked over at Gemma. “All right now?” he asked.
She stared at John’s receding figure. “It wasn’t just porn, was it?” she said quietly. “What else was in there that made you hide it? Were there drugs as well?”
Jay rubbed his face nervously. “Not much escapes you, missy, does it?” He paused. “There was some really weird porn, but there was something else that I didn’t think would do Simon any favors if the police got hold of it. We’d better go inside. John’s about to get a bit of a shock about his beloved Simon.”
SAMANTHA SAT staring at the unconscious figure of her son, her mind whirling with all that had happened in such a short space of time. She was desperate for sleep, but since returning from the security office, she had not wanted to leave him in case something happened while she was away. For her, the police officer posted outside the door of Simon’s intensive care room was not enough. Her protective motherly instincts kept her at her son’s bedside. A nurse had offered her the cot at the end of the ward, normally used by the staff, but Samantha had refused, preferring to doze fitfully in the chair. Seeing the security images of the hooded figure earlier had made her angry and frightened in equal measure. She had also begun to wonder what secrets her son had been keeping from her. The fact that he had not been open about his sexuality was, as far as she was concerned, entirely understandable. But she feared that there were other secrets he had withheld, otherwise why would someone try to kill him? Whoever the killer was, they had made two attempts now, and they were desperate enough to risk entering the hospital a second time. Samantha had so many questions. Sitting next to Simon, listening to the insistent beeps of the monitoring equipment, she felt alone.
From across the room, her cell buzzed as a new message arrived. The nursing staff had told her she could keep her cell on provided she kept it at a safe distance from the monitors. She got up and walked over to check the screen. It was from John. The fourth text in an hour. The previous three had been asking her why he could not visit Simon. The wording of John’s messages was increasingly desperate. They asked after Simon’s condition and whether or not he was getting any worse.
But this latest text was different. In it John claimed he had something important for her to know. That he needed to talk to her. Samantha put the cell down and went back to sit at her son’s bedside. Perhaps she was being too hard on John. But with the recent turn of events, she felt she could no longer trust anyone. She did not want to leave Simon’s bedside, and she did not want anyone else in the room, even if she was there in person. The cell buzzed again. Wearily, Samantha hauled herself out of the rigid plastic chair and went over to look at the screen again. At that moment, the sounds from the monitoring equipment changed. The beeping rate increased, and an alarm sounded. Samantha whirled around, panic-struck that her cell phone had triggered something with the sensitive equipment.
The door burst open as a nurse hurried into the room.
“I’m so sorry,” Samantha began, but the nurse ignored her and went to the trolley of electronics by the side of the bed. Samantha looked across at Simon. Was it her imagination, or did his face twitch? She rushed to his side and held his hand in hers, staring intently at his face. There it was again! His left eyebrow twitched, and the side of his mouth moved slightly around the ventilator tube inserted down his throat.
“Nurse,” she half whispered, “he’s moving!”
“Yes, I know,” said the nurse as she reset an alarm on one of the instruments. “It can be quite common for patients in comas to demonstrate involuntary facial muscle spasms sometimes. Don’t read too much into it just yet. Although there does seem to have been a change to his respiration and heart rate in the last minute or so. That’s why the alarm went off.”
Simon’s hand momentarily tightened under Samantha’s, then relaxed again. At the same time, his head stirred on the pillow.
“I’ll go and get the registrar,” said the nurse. “I think young Simon may be coming back to us.” She hurriedly left the room.
Samantha’s own heartbeat quickened, and she grasped Simon’s hand tightly in her own. There was no way she was leaving him now. John’s text messages would just have to go unanswered.
Chapter 10
AT JUST before midnight, Dominic, Jonathan, and Christophe sat at the bar of the Bulldog pub in St. James’s Street, the main road that snaked through Kemp Town, the gay district on the eastern end of Brighton. For Dominic it was mercifully quiet, with no thumping music like the brightly lit and pulsating Legends. It had been Jonathan’s suggestion to retreat to the oldest gay pub in Brighton. Partly because they all needed a drink, and partly because it had recently become fashionable with gay students in the city. He suggested it might be an opportunity to find out if Simon had ever visited there.
Dominic was not feeling good. The phrase “economical with the truth” kept echoing in his head. The police had questioned them at the scene of the accident, and he had provided most of the answers. He had truthfully told them that they had witnessed the accident after leaving the Sauna Bar. What he had not told them was that they had been chasing the man. True, the police had not asked any questions as to why they thought the man had run into the path of the black Range Rover. But he had not volunteered the information either, and he felt uncomfortable with that. It was one thing not to volunteer information in his legal disputes for clients. It was quite another to withhold key information from the police.
The police were more concerned about dealing with the dead body and the driver, so the three men had not been kept long at the roadside. They were invited to visit the police station the following day to give witness statements and to answer more questions. It was this invitation that they were talking about at the bar, the discussion occasionally interrupted by Jonathan and Christophe breaking off to stare when yet another beautiful young thing arrived late in the bar. Dominic was in the middle of his latest proposal for handling the situation when Christophe and Jonathan again turned their heads to eye two young men who had just entered the bar. Exasperated, Dominic picked up his drink and took a long draft of his lemonade. He longed to get back to Jonathan’s cottage so he could pour himself a straight malt whiskey and finally unwind from the evening.
Dominic turned to see what latest “talent” his drinking companions were ogling and nearly dropped his drink in his lap. Standing at the entrance were two young men. One he had not seen before, but the other was John from the student house.
He grabbed Jonathan’s shoulder and pulled him close to say in his ear, “That’s the boy! That’s Simon’s friend, John. I wonder who he’s with
.” Dominic maneuvered himself so that Jonathan and Christophe masked him from John’s view. He did not want to scare John away before he had properly settled in the club, and he certainly did not want another chase like the one earlier that evening.
“What are you doing?” asked Jonathan. “Don’t you want him to see you? Why don’t you nip through to the restroom behind me? Happy to start up a little chat with him. He’s very cute, and so is his friend. You can pop back in a short while once he’s sat down at my side.”
Feeling unnecessarily furtive, Dominic slipped behind Jonathan and through the restroom door. It was a move he instantly regretted. Hanging around restrooms was not his scene and never had been. He tried to go into one of the two cubicles, but they were both occupied. He started to wash his hands and became aware of a man around his age wearing jeans that were far too tight and a fake biker’s jacket. The man was staring at him in the mirror. Dominic turned away to the hand dryer to find it was broken. He looked around for paper towels to find the dispenser empty.
“It’s such a bore, isn’t it?” said the man, suddenly at his side.
Dominic backed away, shaking his hands in a vain attempt to dry them. He was far too tired to be polite to the unattractive pickup. He just wanted to walk out, but it was too soon for him to rejoin Jonathan at the bar.
“Well, if you’re not interested, then why the fuck did you follow me in here?” said the man with a pained expression on his face. Before Dominic could protest, the man had stormed out the door. Dominic sighed. Judging by the sounds emanating from both the cubicles, they were occupied with men engaged in activities other than evacuating their bowels. He felt like he was watching a porn movie wearing a blindfold. An activity that he was confident he would never try.
The Necessary Deaths Page 6