Like a zombie, aware of nothing and nobody, he made his way back to his office. For the rest of the day he went through the motions of doing his work, his mind wandering but consumed by guilt and a burning hatred of the man who had used him and brought him down. Was it his imagination or paranoia that his staff seemed already to have distanced themselves from him, that he could see something new in their eyes, even in the imperturbable Joyce’s? How much did they know? It was a great relief when he finished for the day, but he was aware that his mood wouldn’t be assuaged by a change of scenery because his part in the damage to Clark had embedded itself in his soul.
Chapter Seventeen
Guilt-ridden days and nights passed. Life was a living hell for Alex, the nights barely relieved by the increasingly familiar solace of the whisky bottle, the days allowing no reprieve at all. He managed to drag himself to work each day, go through the motions, but self-disgust lay heavily on his shoulders, sneering at his attempts to pretend he could go on as normal, that everything was the same. Of his own staff, only Joyce treated him in anything more than a perfunctory fashion. Yet, even in her eyes, he could see the conflict between loyalty and doubts about him. Twice, during those days, she had cause to reprimand him for careless, uncharacteristic errors; she told him that if he wasn’t himself, he should go home and rest. In return he had snapped at her about minding her business.
Worse than anything was the attitude of the prison officers towards him. Wherever he went he could feel their eyes following, was aware of them avoiding his when he happened to look in their direction, of their conspiratorial whisperings. Blatant contempt, in the faces of those who had already judged him, was the hardest thing to take because he couldn’t deny it was justified. Clearly the word was out that he was the one responsible for Bridge being in the ambulance when, judging by his miraculous recovery during the escape, he was perfectly fit. The popular Officer Clark was paying the forfeit and Alex himself, the doctor, because of his perceived incompetence, was an obvious scapegoat.
On the morning of the fifth day after the escape, Joyce knocked on his office door and he called her in. She looked worried.
‘The governor’s rung down,’ she said. ‘He wants to see you immediately.’
‘Put him off will you. I’ve work to do.’
From under arched eyebrows, she gave him a stern look, the one that must have caused many a junior nurse trepidation over the years. It captured his attention.
‘You have to go. After all, he is the boss of this prison and it sounded like an urgent command to me.’
Alex sighed, pushed his chair back and ran a hand through his dishevelled hair. ‘Oh, very well,’ he said impatiently.
‘No need to take it out on me,’ she snapped at him. ‘I’m just the messenger.’
Before he had a chance to apologize she had closed the door behind her. He immediately regretted that he had offended her again but, when he went out after her, she’d disappeared.
On the way to see the governor all the black thoughts he’d been holding at bay rose up like demons. The possibility that they had discovered evidence of his part in the escape was one. But the worst was the depressing thought that perhaps Clark had died leaving a widow and two kids behind.
His heart beat like a drum and invisible forces pulled his stomach as he entered Baker’s office. He’d half-expected the police to be there, so it was a measure of relief when only the governor was present. Baker was seated at his desk. His face was expressionless as he watched Alex cross the room. For a moment Alex dispatched his demons, dared to hope. Perhaps he had only been called here to discuss work matters after all.
The governor’s demeanour soon disposed of that possibility. First, he didn’t invite Alex to sit down, let him stand before him like a recalcitrant schoolboy due for a severe rebuke. Secondly, Alex could detect a certain distaste, as though an unpleasant odour had entered his room and he wanted rid of it as soon as possible.
‘I’ll get straight to the point,’ Baker announced, his voice cold and formal, eyes never leaving Alex’s face as he shuffled papers on his desk. ‘I have evidence here of your gross incompetence, Doctor Macdonald. This leaves me no choice other than to suspend you from your duties forthwith and for an as yet indeterminate period.’
Alex thought the game was up, that they were on to him and, curiously, he felt some sense of relief because it would mean he could drop the pretence. Yet, logically, wouldn’t the police be here to arrest him if that were so?
‘Exactly what have I done?’ he asked, keeping his voice as calm as he could.
‘I’m coming to that,’ Baker said, maintaining his detachment. ‘My decision was based on a security check made last night. The security personnel found the door to the pharmacy unlocked and discovered that you were the last one to draw the key. As you well know, it was a dangerous breach. Anyone could have walked in and stolen drugs.’
Alex felt himself flush but was unable to defend himself. Without a doubt, he’d been struggling just to get through the days, his mind preoccupied. Though he couldn’t exactly remember leaving the pharmacy unlocked, the accusation was probably true, given his state of mind and inability to concentrate properly. No doubt the amount of booze he’d been consuming had contributed.
‘Furthermore and probably more dangerous,’ Baker continued, ‘a pair of scissors, traceable to your office, were found in one of the cells where an inmate had secreted them away. The same scissors were marked with your initials and were missing from your cupboard, to which only you hold the key.’
Alex opened his mouth to speak but nothing would come out because he knew he must have been careless on both counts. What could he say? Both charges were serious enough for him to be dismissed from his job. It was an inevitability, in fact, and he’d only himself to blame. The irony was, when Bridge’s gangsters first entrapped him, he’d co-operated because he’d wanted to keep his job and reputation. Now both were forfeit. Worse, he had the added worry and guilt about young Clark. How much worse could his life and luck get?
‘Do you want to say anything?’ the governor asked, his tone and heavy frown implying that he had little sympathy to offer.
For a second Alex was tempted to tell Baker the whole story, relieve his conscience. But then the police would go after Bridge’s people and, if the criminal suspected he’d talked, his gang might retaliate against his own family and Gloria. That apart, he’d have to face charges himself; he might be able to face his punishment but he knew it could devastate his daughter.
‘Nothing,’ he grunted. ‘No excuses. I made mistakes for which I’m sorry.’
Baker leaned back, entwined his fingers on the desk. ‘Very well. You’ll hear from us in due course.’
Nothing more was said until, head down, Alex walked to the door. His hand was on the doorknob when the governor called after him.
‘You’ll be relieved, no doubt, to hear that Clark has woken from his coma.’
To Alex, at that moment, those words seemed like a blessing and he felt as though a great weight had lifted off him. Someone up there loved him after all; no permanent damage had been done to anyone. He turned to face the governor.
‘Thank God for that!’
‘Unfortunately,’ Baker continued, ‘his left arm is paralysed. They don’t think it will improve. He’ll receive compensation but he’ll lose his job and his working life will never be the same.’
Alex’s relief disintegrated. He realized the governor’s words were more to do with blaming him for his dubious misdiagnosis than a compensatory gesture. Without a word he left the room and made his way back to the medical centre. He felt completely defeated but, by the time he arrived back at his own office, his hatred for the criminal who had used him and hurt Clark had mushroomed. More than that, a desire to hit back had started to flourish in a part of him that he thought he had buried when he’d become a healer.
After he’d gathered his personal possessions together, he put them in a bag and called
Joyce into the office. She entered unsmiling and he could see she was still smarting from his rudeness earlier.
‘I’m sorry,’ he said. ‘I was out of order.’
‘Forget it. Just get back to being yourself.’ She arched an eyebrow when she saw the bag with his possessions on the desk.
He cleared his throat. ‘Joyce, I’ve been suspended. I don’t think I’ll be back. I’d like to say I’ve appreciated all your help.’
‘What’s happened?’ she asked, obviously bemused. ‘I’ve heard gossip but this. . . .’
He told her about the pharmacy and the scissors. ‘I haven’t a leg to stand on,’ he said. ‘It was me being careless and they can’t allow security to be compromised.’
She cast her eyes downwards. ‘There’s been something wrong with you for a long time, hasn’t there?’
He was tempted to tell her about Bridge. Instead, he said, ‘I’ve had terrible trouble in my life.’
She bit her bottom lip. ‘I knew there was something. If I can help—’
‘Nobody can,’ he interrupted. ‘But thanks.’
He picked up his bag and made his way to the door. When he was on the threshold, Joyce called his name.
‘I believe you’re a good man,’ she said, ‘in spite of what they’ve been saying.’
He smiled sadly. ‘It’s easy even for a good man to slip, Joyce.’
Chapter Eighteen
The previous day Gloria had arrived back from York. She’d rung him every night while she was away. He’d managed to put up a front during their conversations but tonight was different. He knew his mood would filter through so he sat her down, told her he’d been suspended and why, adding he’d had things on his mind which had made him careless. She looked at him with her big blue eyes and, in a sympathetic voice, said something must be wrong with his health, suggested, without any sense of irony, that he should see a doctor. Maybe if they discovered he was ill they’d forgive him his lapses and he’d keep his job. In bed that night she held him in her arms, spoke soothing words and he was glad that at least someone was there for him, that he wasn’t all alone.
Next morning he was up early and forced himself to drive into Glaisdale, the nearest small village, to collect a paper and buy some groceries. As he drove the black mood hit with full battalions. All his hard work and sacrifices to become a doctor seemed to have been in vain. How would he find employment now? Perhaps there’d be a job for him somewhere, but it wouldn’t be easy to find it if the reasons for his current plight became known. And how was he going to tell Liz and Ann? They’d be ashamed of him, wouldn’t they?
Even those black thoughts paled besides his torment over Officer Clark’s plight. That young man had a family as well; they would be suffering. Like an evil genie released in his brain, Bridge’s face with its supercilious grin floated into Alex’s consciousness. The criminal, the instigator of all this trouble, became the focus of his pent-up rage. How he wished he could make him pay?
He carried the groceries into the kitchen and dumped them on the table, calling out Gloria’s name. There was no answer. He thought she must have gone upstairs so he slipped his jacket off and headed to the living-room for a quick nip of whisky before she came down.
Gloria wasn’t upstairs. She was in the living room. He saw her through the open door and halted mid-stride. She was sitting bolt upright, unnaturally so, on a hard backed chair in the centre of the room, sideways on to Alex. Her face was immobile. Sensing there was something wrong, he started forward without a moment’s hesitation.
When he entered the room, he saw the ropes binding her to the chair. He halted, his body tensing. From the corner of his eye, he saw a movement. His head swung round. A man he didn’t recognize was standing by the window. He had a gun in his hand and there was something familiar about his stance.
It took a minute because the hair was dyed grey and the intruder had the start of a beard. But the arrogant stance and the supercilious grin clinched it. Alex’s heart pounded. Charlie Bridge in the flesh; the last man he’d expected to see here. His confusion rooted him to the spot. Questions raced through his brain. Why wasn’t this man right out of his life by now? What could he possibly want here?
‘Surprise! Surprise!’ Bridge said, brandishing the gun. ‘Guess who?’
Alex swallowed hard, recovered some composure. He was conscious that Gloria was looking at him now.
He mumbled, ‘Has he hurt you?’
‘No!’ Her voice was strong enough but carried a hint of rebuke and her eyes seemed to be accusing him.
He faced Bridge, fired questions in temper. ‘What are you doing here? Why is she tied up?’
‘Now, now, Doc,’ Bridge said lazily. ‘Calmness is called for here, like when you’re operating or dealing with a crazy patient like me.’
‘You’re crazy coming here,’ Alex snapped back.
Bridge pulled a face. ‘Don’t go all self-righteous on me, not when we’ve got history together.’
Alex glanced at Gloria. Bridge continued: ‘Don’t worry, Gloria and me have had a little chat, a little update. She’s really surprised you didn’t tell her about our arrangement. She’s disappointed in you. I know women. I can tell.’
Alex sat on his temper. The bastard had told Gloria he’d helped him escape. Who else might he tell? Where was it all going to end?
‘This wasn’t part of our arrangement. You said I’d never see you again. Just what do you want that’s worth the risk of coming here?’
‘Method in my madness, old son.’ He walked to the window, gestured with the weapon in the direction of the run-down barn. ‘It wasn’t exactly comfortable for a man of my impeccable taste living out there, not your actual Savoy, but it served its purpose. Thing is, it’ll be easier to move by now.’
Alex’s temper flared. He felt more used than ever. Bridge had had the cheek to hide on his property. Gaining an inch, he had taken miles. And he was still here taking liberties because he figured he had a hold over him.
‘I shouldn’t have believed a word that came out of your evil mouth.’
Bridge laughed. ‘Don’t spoil things. No need, is there? Not when you’ve mother and daughter to consider, not to mention the pretty lady here.’
Alex didn’t need reminding. It was all that stopped him taking his chances and flying at the gangster. Instead, he glared across the space between them.
‘Why did you harm that officer? You said nobody would get hurt. It was understood.’
Bridge snorted, ‘Get real, Doc. Did you really believe something like that wouldn’t happen? Or did you want to believe it? That screw was foolish enough to try it on and he got what he deserved. End of story. Move on, man.’
Inside, Alex fumed, but he couldn’t find an answer because there was an element of truth in the gangster’s words. He had wanted to believe it would be all right, had pushed aside the fact that he was dealing with violent men. But there could be no doubt about it; he was guilty by association and therefore tainted. As a result, Bridge’s hold over him was stronger than ever.
Bridge stepped away from the window. ‘Darling Gloria is going to drive me away from this country retreat suitable only for social pariahs. But don’t worry, she’ll drop me somewhere and be back before you know it. All you have to do is wait a few hours and not get panicky.’
‘Why don’t you drive yourself?’ Alex came back at him, fearing for Gloria’s safety. ‘Or take me instead of her?’
‘A man and a woman out for a country drive is much less suspicious and I couldn’t be sure of you, Doc. You might go Rambo on me. Knowing your lady love is with me you’ll wait here like a good boy, won’t you?’
Alex looked at Gloria. Her face was expressionless. At least she seemed to be in control, no sign of fear.
‘If anything happens to her—’
‘Nothing will unless you kick off. Like I said, she’ll be back and unharmed. Now be a good lad and untie her. My patience is wearing thin.’
Alex conclu
ded he had no choice but to obey. Bridge was the one holding the gun and all the other aces. He worked the knots holding Gloria loose. When their eyes met he could see no fear in hers, just what he interpreted as a calm understanding that they had to comply with Bridge’s demands. When he’d finished he helped her up and faced the gangster.
‘Over here, my dear,’ Bridge commanded, sickening Alex with the confident mock familiarity, which seemed to give him a kick.
Without so much as a glance at Alex and betraying not a flicker of emotion, as though today’s happenings were an everyday occurrence, Gloria crossed the room and stood next to Bridge. Even in his distressed state of mind Alex marvelled at her composure. He wanted to tell her everything would be all right, that he was sorry, but when he saw the triumphant grin on Bridge’s face he held back.
Bridge took her elbow and, pointing the gun at Alex, walked her to the living room door.
‘End of our acquaintanceship, Doc.’ he said. ‘No more guest appearances. Thanks for your co-operation and the use of that old barn. It meant the world to me and I’m off to see the world soon. Hope it works out for you and Gloria when she gets back.’ Bridge winked. ‘The truth had to out, Doc. I did you a favour when you think of it.’
Held on a tight leash by his fear for Gloria and the people nearest to him, not to mention the weapon Bridge was pointing at him, Alex remained where he was and watched them leave the room. From the kitchen came the sound of Bridge’s laughter, a last dying echo of the criminal’s triumph over him.
He watched the car set off, then sank into a chair, cursing his enforced inertia and the man who was responsible. He only hoped Bridge would do what he said and release Gloria, let her return to him unharmed, because he was powerless to help her now.
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