by K. J. Frost
She looks up. “And they’re really going to let you come home at the weekend?”
“As long as I keep improving the way I am,” I reply. “They got me out of bed three times today.”
“How was it?” she asks.
“Exhausting,” I reply, chuckling. “I felt utterly feeble.”
The door opens and I glance over, seeing Nurse West come in. She smiles at Amelie, then turns to me. “I’m just going off duty for the evening,” she says, checking her watch as though by instinct. “Is there anything else you need?”
“Some peace and quiet from the nursing staff?” I reply.
“Rufus!” Amelie scolds. “Don’t be so rude.”
“After the work this woman had me doing this afternoon, that’s nothing to what I could say… she’s a slave driver.”
Nurse West smiles. “That wasn’t work. Trust me, it’s going to get so much worse yet.”
“Why do I get the feeling you’re enjoying that?” I remark.
“Because I am?” She gives Amelie an exaggerated wink and turns to go.
“Your fiancé has no idea what he’s letting himself in for,” I call after her.
“That’s what you think,” she replies as the door closes and she gets the last word – again.
“She’s nice,” Amelie says, without a hint of jealousy, I’m pleased to say, given her previous reactions regarding Kate Pendry and Victoria.
“She’s a sadist,” I reply.
“She’s doing her job, Rufus.”
I nod my head. “I know. No doubt she’ll have me traipsing up and down the corridor tomorrow.”
“Well, if you want to come home at the weekend, I suppose you’re going to have to make some progress.”
“Yes, I suppose… The thing is, it just reminds me of how inadequate I feel.”
“You’re not inadequate,” she says gently, running her hand across my chest. I suck in a breath and capture her hand in mine, raising it to my lips. I don’t think she’s got any idea of the effect her touch has on me – especially when it’s her skin directly onto mine – but I need to stop her before it becomes too obvious.
“Well, I feel it,” I reply, trying to keep to the subject in hand. “Thompson’s running the case, and all I can do is give him my opinion. I can’t do anything…”
“I’m sure he values your opinion,” she says. “Although I didn’t realise you were talking about work.” Her lips twitch upwards as she tries not to smile.
“Oh… didn’t you?”
“No.” She shakes her head, although her eyes are fixed on mine and I feel like the temperature just shot up several degrees.
“What did you think I was talking about then?” I put the ball firmly in her court to see what she does with it, even though I think I might regret that decision.
She gets up and leans over me, her lips an inch from mine. “Something entirely different,” she whispers, and I reach behind her head, holding her in place and crushing my lips against hers.
Within moments we’re breathless and I have to break the kiss before things get too heated, because despite everything I’ve said, I’m not feeling that inadequate.
“See?” she murmurs.
“See what?” I keep our eyes locked.
“You’re not inadequate.”
“Ah, but I was talking about work, remember?”
She smiles. “Oh yes. Should I sit down again?”
I smile back at her. “It’s probably for the best.”
She puts her words into action and sits down. “Oh…” she says suddenly, releasing her hand from mine, “I bought you something.”
“You did?”
She reaches for her handbag, which is under her coat. “Yes. I went into the shops on my lunch break and picked it up.” She pops open her bag and pulls out a package, wrapped in brown paper, handing it to me. “I hope you like it,” she says, nervously. “I didn’t notice any of her books in your collection, so I thought I’d start with the first one, and see what you think…” Her voice fades and I glance at her. She’s biting her bottom lip uncertainly and I open the parcel and remove a book. Turning it around the right way, I see that it’s written by someone called Ngaio Marsh, and it’s called A Man Lay Dead.
“This is very kind of you,” I say, looking up at her again. “Have you read it?”
“Yes,” she replies. “I love her books.”
“Her? Ngaio Marsh is a woman?”
“Yes.”
“Anything like Agatha Christie?” I ask.
She thinks for a moment. “I suppose there are some similarities,” she says eventually. “But Ngaio Marsh’s detective is a policeman… a Scotland Yard Inspector.”
I laugh. “Anyone I know?”
“Possibly,” she replies, smiling and takes the book from me. “This particular one is set in a country house.”
“Oh. I like country house murders,” I reply. “The suspects are limited.”
“Does that make it easier to guess?” she asks.
“I never guess.” I pretend to be affronted that she could think so. “I use logic… and think like a detective.”
“And that’s why you never get it right,” she says, giggling. “Because you’re supposed to guess.”
She hands me back the book, still chuckling, as the door opens again.
“Good evening.” Thompson comes into the room. He notices Amelie and nods at her. “Miss Cooper,” he says.
“Please call me Amelie,” she replies, smiling and sitting back in her chair.
I place the book beside me and take her hand again, turning around to face Thompson, who comes and stands at the end of my bed.
“Any news?” I ask him, uncertain whether he’ll have any yet, or whether he’s just come to collect Amelie.
“Yes,” he replies.
“You can speak in front of Amelie,” I reassure him.
“I was going to,” he says, smiling, and runs his fingers through his hair.
“What’s happened, Harry?”
He sighs and comes to sit down in the chair to my left, pulling it down the bed slightly so I don’t have to turn too much to see him. “Tooley got the search warrant really quickly,” he replies. “And we went to Miss Pendry’s flat this afternoon.”
“And?”
“And she refused to let us in,” he says simply. “I pointed out that we didn’t actually need her consent and she still argued, until I threatened to arrest her.”
“And then she backed down?”
He nods. “We turned the place over,” he says. “I didn’t want to leave without making sure we’d searched it properly.”
“But you didn’t find anything?” I feel a weight dropping onto my shoulders. I was convinced there would be something. I don’t know why exactly, but I thought there had to be something.
Amelie squeezes my hand, as though she senses I’m troubled.
“We didn’t,” Thompson says. “And we were about to leave, with Miss Pendry shouting the odds about harassment and living in a police state…” He pauses. “And then I trod on a floorboard at the top of the stairs,” he says, lowering his voice a little.
“A floorboard?” I sit up slightly, as best I can.
“Yes.” His eyes light up. “She was standing there, ranting away at me, and I stepped to one side to get past her, and trod on the edge of the floorboard, and it gave slightly under my weight.”
“And?” Amelie asks, joining in.
“I got Pearce to lift it,” Thompson replies, looking at her. “Miss Pendry went a little quieter at that point,” he adds. “Which isn’t that surprising when you consider that we discovered a revolver and a box of bullets hidden there.”
I hear Amelie suck in a breath, but I just feel like that weight has been lifted again.
“What about the knife?” I ask.
“Well,” he says slowly, “we’d already gone through the whole flat once, but after we found the revolver, I went through the kitchen again by myself, and found a sho
rt bladed knife, with a wooden handle. It was in with lots of other knives in a drawer, so was fairly indistinctive… except for the swan that had been etched into the handle.”
“A swan?” I say.
“Yes.” He nods. “I had Wells take it to the pub and they identified it as theirs. They use knives in the bar sometimes, and have them, and some of their glasses engraved with a swan, sideways on.”
“She took it from the pub?” Amelie asks. “And then used it to stab Rufus?”
“It looks that way, although we haven’t had a chance to talk to her yet,” Thompson replies.
“Why not?” I ask him.
“Because the Chief Constable decided he should exclude himself from the interview, on the grounds of being too close to you. He’s asked the new Chief Superintendent to come over tomorrow and sit in with me, even though he’s not officially due to start with us until Monday.”
“Why not just have a PC join you?” I ask. It makes more sense to me, and would mean they could start today.
“She’s killed a copper, Rufus,” he replies, with feeling. “She shot him in the face, and then she tried to kill you and came pretty close to succeeding. The Chief Constable wants to make sure everything’s done properly and that means having an outside man in on the interview – someone who had no connection with you, or the Ellis case, at all. That way, she can’t argue any form of prejudice or unfair questioning.”
I nod my head. With hindsight, it probably is wisest. “Seems sensible,” I remark. “How has she reacted so far?”
“She’s just sitting in the cell, staring at the wall,” he replies.
“Defiant, or relieved?” I ask, because they’re usually either one or the other at this stage.
“Hard to say,” he replies. “But then she was never the most predictable person in the world, was she?”
I recall her reaction when we gave her back her photographs and letters, that we’d found in Janet Gibson’s room, and how her gratitude turned to anger in the blink of an eye; how she was ultimately ready to blame me, and everyone else, for her grief.
Maybe I should have noticed it, even then.
Maybe I just didn’t want to.
Chapter Nineteen
The sergeant sits opposite me, with another man in uniform. He looks very superior and stern, although he’s sitting just slightly behind the sergeant. There’s a third officer standing by the door. He’s huge and looks vaguely familiar, although I can’t place him.
“This is Chief Superintendent Webster,” the sergeant says, clearing his throat and indicating the man beside him. “He’s from another station and he’s going to witness everything that’s said.”
I nod my head, although I really couldn’t care. The man could be from the moon and it wouldn’t mean a thing to me. Nothing does anymore.
The sergeant leans down and places several items on the table in front of me. There’s the revolver, the knife, and a small box containing bullets.
“Do you recognise these items, Miss Pendry?” the sergeant asks.
“Yes.” I can’t see any point in denying it, being as they found them in my flat. Besides which, I’m not ashamed of what I’ve done. It was justified.
“Can you tell me what they are?” he says.
I point to them in turn and reply, “That’s the gun I used to shoot the policeman, and those are the bullets. And that’s the knife I used to kill Inspector Stone.”
He looks up sharply from his notes. “Did you say ‘kill’?” he asks.
“Yes.”
“Inspector Stone isn’t dead,” he replies, quite reasonably, and I feel my stomach twist into a knot.
“He’s not… he’s not dead?” I whisper.
“No,” he says, smiling. “The wound you inflicted wasn’t fatal.”
I get to my feet and everything starts to spin. “But… but…” My voice sounds distant, even to me and I feel a hand on my shoulder.
“Sit down, miss.”
I turn and, through my misted sight, notice that the tall policeman who was standing by the door is now right beside me, preventing me from moving.
“He must be dead,” I say, turning to look at the sergeant again. “You’re bluffing.”
He shakes his head. “No,” he replies. “He’s making a good recovery. He should be coming out of hospital in the next few days.”
“No!” I shout at the top of my voice and turn, shoving against the man beside me. He grabs my arms and pushes me back against the wall, turning me so my face is pressed hard against its cold surface, and holding my hands behind my back.
The door opens behind me and I’m aware of another man entering the room.
“Take her back to the cells,” the sergeant says. “Let her calm down a bit and we’ll charge her later on.”
The disappointment is too much. I’d have happily gone to my grave knowing that I’d taken his life and made his loved ones suffer like I have. But this… It’s too much. I can’t bear it.
Sitting in my cell, I stare up at the bars that cover the tiny window, barely noticing the grey sky beyond. I wish I had something I could use to hang myself. If I did, I would. As it is, all I can hope for is that they’ll try me quickly and let it be finished, because my life is already over.
It ended when Janet died.
*****
“You’re healing remarkably well,” Doctor Gascoigne says, studying my wound.
“So I can go home?” I ask as he steps to one side and allows the nurse to move in closer so that she can replace the dressing. The doctor is late doing his rounds because of an emergency that came in this afternoon, but I’m still hopeful I can get home tonight.
“You’re that keen to leave us?” he remarks, smiling.
“Yes.” I smile back. “Don’t take it personally, but…”
He shakes his head. “We don’t,” he replies. “As long as you promise to take it easy.” He looks at me sternly. “I don’t want to hear that you’ve gone straight back to work. They can manage without you for a few days. And have regular check-ups with your GP, won’t you?”
“I will.”
He nods. “Alright then. We’ll let you go.”
I want to jump for joy, but I doubt they’d approve, so I limit my celebrations to a hearty grin. “Thank you, Doctor.”
“You should really thank Nurse West here,” he replies, moving to the end of the bed and looking at her admiringly. “She’s the one who’s put in most of the work.”
“Hmm… and don’t I know it,” I reply as she finishes with my dressing and straightens up, her hands on her hips.
“You’ll need to have someone change your dressing twice a day,” she says bossily. “And make sure you don’t get it wet for at least another week.”
“Yes, miss.” I give her a mock salute and she grins at me.
“And behave yourself.”
“No, miss.”
She tucks in my sheets again, then stands at the end of the bed, beside the doctor. “Who would you like me to telephone?” she asks.
“I suppose it had better be my mother,” I reply, with an amount of trepidation.
“You’re sure?” She smiles.
“Not really, but I think she’s the best option.”
The doctor looks from her to me and shrugs his shoulders, clearly bewildered by our exchange. “I’ll explain as we walk,” Nurse West says and takes his hand, giving it a light squeeze before letting it go again… and the penny drops.
Half an hour later, Nurse West comes back in.
“Your mother has arranged for your sergeant to come and collect you later,” she says. “He’ll be bringing clothes, evidently.”
“Thank you,” I reply. “I suppose that means I’ll have to face the ordeal of having him help me get dressed again.”
She smirks. “He helped you get dressed?”
“Yes, when I did this.” I raise my broken arm, just slightly, nodding towards it.
“Oh, I see. Well… if you ask me nice
ly, I can probably lend a hand.” She comes over and starts clearing away the things on my side table.
“Are you supposed to do that?” I ask her.
“No, not really. I’m not supposed to help you get dressed either. You’re supposed to be able to manage by yourself before we can let you go, but I think in your case, we can make an exception.”
“Because you’re so desperate to get rid of me?” I suggest, smiling.
“No. Because the reason you can’t get dressed has nothing to do with why you’re here. Not this time around, anyway. It’s not your fault you’ve already got a broken arm, is it?”
“Well, there are some people who might beg to differ with that statement,” I point out.
“Yes, I heard you drove your car into a lamppost.”
“It was for a very good reason.”
She nods her head, going over to the window and closing the shutters. “So I gathered. The doctors said you probably averted a much more serious accident,” she adds.
I’m not sure how to reply to that, so I change the subject instead. “Speaking of doctors, was I imagining things, or did I notice a certain something between you and the young man who was in here earlier?”
She blushes quite noticeably. “You might have done,” she says.
“So, is he your fiancé?” I certainly hope he is, otherwise I’ve just put my foot in it.
“Yes.”
I nod my head, remembering the way he looked at her, the little touches and glances they’ve exchanged. “Well, I hope you’ll be very happy together.”
“Thank you, Inspector,” she replies, looking around the room. “I’ll come back when your sergeant arrives, shall I?”
“If that’s alright…”
She nods, gives me a slight smile, and leaves the room.
I think I might have just embarrassed Nurse West and, considering all the things she’s done to me over the last few days, that thought makes me chuckle to myself.
In the end, Thompson dropped a bag containing my clothes at the nurses’ station and left again, without even saying hello to me. He told Nurse West to tell me that he’s busy and he’ll be back later – with Amelie – and that being the case, I didn’t mind one bit.