Stitched

by Taylor, Peter

  ‘You’ll keep coming back,’ he said. ‘Bleed me dry.’

  ‘Wrong, Doc! We’re not greedy people. We’ve other fish to catch. We don’t want the police nosing around and if we push too hard, get too greedy, that likelihood increases.’

  ‘Why pick on me?’

  ‘You’re a professional person at the start of your career with a lot to lose. We specialize in people like you. Go too big and it gets dangerous, see? People like you, they pay up and we’re gone for good. The bigger the fish the more dangerous it gets. Nothing personal here, Doc, just business.’

  Alex digested his words. The rationale seemed plausible enough. At least there was no grudge involved and it was, like the man said, just business. The money involved was moderate too.

  ‘Five thousand, you say, and I won’t hear from you again?’

  ‘What I said, Doc.’

  ‘How would I pay?’ Alex, even as he said it, felt pathetic, his voice weak, a coward’s subservience.

  ‘Cash in a simple carrier bag. Go to the car park in the nature reserve at Seal Sands, Friday at noon. Someone will relieve you of your burden and that’s us done.’

  ‘For good? No more of these calls, a month, a year from now?’

  ‘I told you. No more trouble for you, Doc.’

  Alex sighed in resignation. ‘OK, I’ll be there with the money but just this once. Ever try this again and I’ll get the police, no matter what.’

  ‘Fair enough, just make sure you’re there Friday – and Doc.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘No police, right. Be a good egg and you’ll stay out of the papers.’

  ‘Agreed,’ Alex said. ‘This time.’

  ‘We understand each other then. I’m your cure, see, Doc. After Friday this current malady will just seem like a bad dream and you can get on with your life, no worry.’

  The line went dead and Alex stared at the phone in his hand, disbelieving that words of such import could, a moment ago, have entered his world through that tiny voice piece. Then he put the phone down and sat mulling over the conversation and his own reaction. He supposed that £5,000 wasn’t too bad to save all the potential hassle, the mud which would cling if the photos were published. So many hard nights studying, too much stress on his family life, his marriage eroding, had been the price he’d paid to qualify as a doctor. After hovering near death from his wounds in the Desert War, being medically discharged with nothing to his name except trauma, he wasn’t prepared to let scum ruin it for him, to bring him down to the bottom of the mountain it had taken so much toil and sacrifice to climb.

  What surprised him, however, was how little aggression he’d shown towards his blackmailer. He put that down to his experiences in the Gulf. The fighter in him was buried deep now, with the corpses of all those friends he’d lost. Peace was all he’d desired. He supposed that was why he was willing to pay up to rid himself of his problem.

  *

  For the rest of that day he did his best to avoid his own staff and the prison officers, fearing they would detect his mood, the inability to concentrate properly which was the result of his unpleasant telephone conversation. In a prison you couldn’t afford any carelessness because it could lead to a mistake with disastrous consequences. Any hint of it and there would be trouble.

  Avoiding people became difficult in the afternoon because there were two houseblocks, Houseblock Five for drug therapy prisoners and Houseblock Three, the vulnerable prisoners, allocated clinic time. Six prisoners from Houseblock Five arrived first and presented him with no difficulties beyond the routine and, when only four men were brought in from Houseblock Three, he figured he’d get through his work without too much extra strain on his nerves, be able to maintain an outward composure.

  Even on days when he was feeling good the vulnerable prisoners could make him uncomfortable, because some of them had committed horrible sex offences and it was hard to put revulsion aside if you knew the nature of their crimes. Today, only the first patient was one of those sex offenders, but his ailment was minor and the appointment short. The second and third were men who owed money and needed protection. Both had cuts and bruises from fighting, nothing drastic, so he sent them to the nurse for dressings.

  The fourth man entered the room with an arrogant swagger. His prison clothes aside, Alex thought that by his demeanour you could have mistaken him for a governor rather than an inmate. He was a big man, just starting to run to fat. There was an excessive intensity in the way he stared at Alex, who’d been subjected to that kind of scrutiny before and knew it was a characteristic of prisoners who would try to dominate and browbeat you with the force of their own will if you let them.

  ‘Can’t sleep, Doc,’ Charles Bridge said and sank into the chair opposite Alex as though he were there for the duration. ‘Give me some knockout pills, will you?’

  ‘Not as easy as that,’ Alex told him, hiding his annoyance at the man’s attitude, needing it today like he needed toothache. ‘We can’t just dole out pills in a prison as you well know. Going to the gym for exercise will help, as would a job on the wing if you haven’t got one already. Keeping the mind occupied is vital.’

  For a moment, Bridge’s stare reached for a new height of intensity, then the intensity dissipated, leaving disdain in his eyes. He leaned towards Alex.

  ‘Gotta tell you, Doc, there’s swarms of Pakistanis after me, not to mention one or two of our own. Ain’t that enough to keep my mind occupied? Ain’t that enough to put me off going to the gym? Just give me something to help me sleep, uh?’

  Alex met his gaze. ‘Exaggerating a bit, aren’t we?’

  Bridge was silent a moment but his face was growing ever more crimson as he clearly struggled with his temper.

  ‘You ever hear of Ali Hussein, Doc? Big restaurant owner, very rich man. Well, he’s the man with the grudge and he’s told his minions to get me. Would you sleep, Doc?’

  Alex leaned back, studied Bridge. ‘That’ll be why you’re on a protected wing – safe on the wing. If you feel otherwise, report it. I have to repeat that I can’t give you anything except the same advice I’ve already given you.’

  Their eyes locked. Bridge’s frustration reached boiling point. Suddenly, he stood up and Alex was afraid he was going to lose it. Instead he stepped back, his face sullen, lower lip protruding.

  ‘Some doctor you are,’ he snarled. ‘You’re as bad as the screws. At least they didn’t take no Hippocratic oath or whatever. I’m wasting my time here.’

  Alex wondered if he was going to turn violent. But they both knew there were two prison officers outside the door and he didn’t believe Bridge would risk it.

  ‘Look,’ Alex said, ‘I’ve been in a bad place myself and I still have the nightmares. Stop being stubborn and take my advice. It will help.’

  Bridge ignored him and lumbered to the door. As he opened it, he said, loud enough for Alex to hear but not the officers outside, ‘You’re a disgrace to your profession, that’s what you are.’

  When he was alone Alex soon dismissed the incident and the insult. In the context of that day’s unfolding, it was no more than a minor irritant and fortunately it was time for him to go home.

  When he’d tidied up his office he bade a cursory farewell to the medical staff. On the way out he trailed behind two officers he didn’t know, caught part of their conversation.

  ‘What do you think of that young supermodel, Johnny? The police caught her with her boyfriend in his flat high as a kite! All over the newspapers it was. What an example!’

  ‘Drugs, eh! They never learn, do they?’

  ‘Claims it was her first time, that it was her boyfriend’s fault.’

  ‘Well, she would, wouldn’t she? Don’t they all?’

  ‘Bet they escape jail though.’

  ‘One law for the rich. . . .’

  As he walked towards his car their conversation kept coming into Alex’s mind. Driving home, he reconsidered whether he was right to comply with the blackmailer
s’ demands. Why didn’t he just go to the police, hang the consequences? But the words he’d overheard served to reinforce the decision he’d made. No matter what his excuse, people would judge and mud always stuck.

  Chapter Nine

  Friday at noon and, as he’d agreed, Alex was standing in the nature reserve car park at Seal Sands holding a carrier bag full of money. The main road was close by. On either side of the road silvery expanses of water lay like mirrors on the flat green expanse of land. Lines of pylons criss-crossed the landscape and, further off, industrial chimneys belched smoke and fire. At the limits of vision, the North Sea was a grey band on the horizon.

  On the nearest stretch of water two swans were swimming gracefully as though they hadn’t a care in the world. Alex couldn’t help but envy the birds their serene composure, knowing how fragile his own was as he waited for his blackmailers to appear. He wondered whether, beneath the surface of the water, they were paddling furiously to maintain that outward dignity? For sure, he was and had been since this ugly business started. Today, thank God, it would be all over and he could relax again.

  Besides his own vehicle there was a white van and two other cars in the car park. Did one of them belong to the man he was to meet? He’d been here five minutes already. Nobody was stirring.

  Two gulls took off over the water, soared over his head, surprising him with the beating of their wings and high-pitched announcements. He followed their line of flight towards the bleak, grey, industrial chimneys and the ribbon of sea, their natural home. He remembered how industry had once dominated this landscape and nature had surrendered to it. Now man was trying to help her recover. Alex wondered if he would recover from his own contamination. Or would it poison his soul?

  ‘Strange, isn’t it?’

  Taken by surprise, Alex turned around. A man in a camouflage top was standing two yards from him. His white hair was long and loose and a grey beard and whiskers hid the lower part of his facial features. Like his voice a moment ago, his eyes were reflective as they gazed beyond Alex. A pair of binoculars were hanging from his neck. From all appearances he looked to Alex like a typical twitcher pursuing his hobby. Surely he wasn’t the one he was here to meet?

  ‘Beg your pardon?’

  ‘I was remarking,’ the man said, with the slightly distracted air of an eccentric, ‘how strange it is to see nature back here again. They tell me even more seals are coming upstream.’

  ‘Yes, there’s no pollution now,’ Alex said half-heartedly, hoping the man wouldn’t prolong the conversation when he had urgent business here. Worse than that, anyone watching him might become suspicious and abort the meeting. Fortunately, the man just smiled vaguely and pointed to a hide at the water’s edge.

  ‘I’m going in there,’ he said and started to move off. ‘One place the wife can’t find me. Different pecking order out here.’

  Alex watched him go, thinking he was a harmless fellow whom he could dismiss from his thoughts. A man interested in wildlife must surely have a gentle soul. Could a hobby make you like that or was the quality already there? Certainly, whoever was going to take his money from him wouldn’t possess much of a soft side, would be more a predator on human weakness than an observer of nature.

  A high-pitched screech of car tyres interrupted his musing. The sound panicked a flock of birds on the water. In a synchronized ascent they rose, zigzagged a crazy pathway across the sky accompanied by their own screeches of protestation at being disturbed.

  Alex whirled towards the offending car, watched as a Mercedes braked near the white van. A man got out, came straight towards him. A black anorak, hood up, hid most of him so that the only distinguishing feature was a rolling muscle-bound strut, like an overfed bulldog’s. He halted a few feet away and stood legs apart.

  ‘Is there a Doctor Macdonald in the house?’ he said. Alex recognized the voice from the phone call. It was dripping with the same arrogance.

  Alex stared at him, tried to see his face, but all he could make out with any clarity was a pug nose and two fleshy, obtrusive lips, which seemed ready to scream at the world at the slightest provocation. In the shadow of the hood, the eyes were just bony, Neanderthal hollows.

  ‘That’s me,’ Alex said.

  ‘Wasn’t really a question,’ the man grunted. ‘Just amusing myself. I know it’s you. You got the money in that bag, have you?’

  Alex held the carrier bag towards the man. He took it and his lips formed what might just have been a smile as he reached inside his coat and brought out a well-wrapped package which he thrust at Alex.

  ‘What’s this?’ Alex said.

  ‘Open it and see.’

  Trying to hide his discomfiture, conscious of the man watching like a vulture from those hidden eyes, Alex tore off the first layer. He almost had the second layer off when the man spoke again.

  ‘It’s all there, Doc. Hope you enjoy it.’

  Alex took off the last bit of wrapper to reveal a fat, transparent bag containing white powder. Nonplussed, he stared at the man who had turned away and started to move off. Before Alex had time to react, he was already back in the Mercedes and starting the engine. With another screech of tyres, the Mercedes reversed right out of the car park and sped off down the main road, leaving Alex staring open-mouthed after it.

  As though on cue, a cloud broke overhead. With a soft, mocking sibilance the rain came down, becoming heavier until it struck the water like a myriad darts hurled down from above. Alex felt it on his hair, his face, down the side of his neck. It drove him to his own car for shelter.

  Once he was inside, he tore open the bag. Hands shaking, he tipped the contents on to his newspaper, dipped a finger in, smelled and tasted what he realized was talcum powder. What the hell was going on here? Was this some kind of practical joke? Were they trying to set him up as a fall guy in some kind of drugs deal? But how could that be? The place was virtually deserted. It made no sense at all.

  He sat there trying to figure it while the lances of rain beat against the window like a besieging force. In the end, he couldn’t come up with an obvious answer, just supposed it was by way of a warning that, if he decided to get funny, they could come back at him in their own duplicitous way and make him suffer all over again. It was the best he could come up with but he knew he was reaching. Just as confused as when he’d set out, he set off on the long road home hoping his trouble was over.

  Gloria’s car was parked next to the house. He put his own car in the garage and sat for a moment thinking it wasn’t too late to confide in Gloria and share his troubles, see what she made of the latest instalment. Or should he keep quiet and hope he could get on with his life without hearing any more from his tormentors? Even as he made his way to the house and entered, he was undecided.

  He found her curled up on the sofa watching television, pointing the control as she switched channels haphazardly. A cup of coffee sat on the table in front of her and it gave him a small surge of pleasure to see her looking so at home in his house. Today, particularly, he didn’t want to be alone to brood on events, needed to be taken out of himself. This house had been so lonely before she’d arrived. When she saw him, though, there was no welcoming smile, only a frown.

  ‘God, you look awful! she exclaimed. ‘Pale and tired.’

  A little hurt by her brusqueness, he muttered, ‘Bad day at the office, I guess And there’s not much fresh air in the prison. Not good for the complexion, eh?’

  ‘Is it the prisoners or the staff getting to you?’

  ‘Just one of those days when you wonder about people,’ he said sitting down and reaching for her hand.

  It was now or never, he guessed. He opened his mouth but hesitated, couldn’t find a way to say it. The relationship was still in the early stages and he didn’t want to ruin it, appear a fool in her eyes. When this thing had started would have been the time to tell her, not now. Even today, he had lied to her. He hadn’t been to work, had called in sick in order to keep the appointment at Se
al Sands.

  ‘How did your day go, Gloria?’ he asked, letting the moment go.

  She sighed. ‘There’s still a chance of a job with my friend’s company. I’ve just got to be patient. She’s doing her best for me.’

  ‘Well, I guess what will be, will be,’ he said, yawning. ‘But don’t put all your eggs in one basket.’

  ‘Oh, I won’t, I won’t,’ he heard her say as he laid his head on her shoulder. In seconds, he was drifting off to sleep and dreaming of man in a black, hooded anorak whose eyes were hidden from the world.

  Chapter Ten

  Six days passed. Alex had begun think he wasn’t going to hear from them again, that they’d kept to their agreement. Each day since that meeting at Seal Sands he’d been worried, hadn’t been himself. Just that morning Joyce had asked him if he was all right because she’d noticed he looked like a man carrying the world on his shoulders and was ready to drop it and kick it until it was in pieces. He’d smiled weakly, said he was glad in her imagination she saw him as Atlas and all that was wrong was that he was under the weather and it was a case of physician who can’t heal himself.

  Later the same day they brought the sickies from Houseblock Three to see him. Half the batch turned out to be malingerers, or broken men imagining illnesses to gain sympathy out of pure loneliness. He gave them as much patience as he could muster, then sent them on their way.

  He was surprised and groaned inwardly when the last of them, Charlie Bridge, bowled in with that proprietorial air about him which grated so much. They’d parted last time on less than good terms but there was no sign of a grudge as Bridge deigned to honour him with a smile.

  ‘Sleeping well, are we?’ Alex asked, trying to weigh up what was going on behind the superficiality.