Stitched

by Taylor, Peter

  He drank enough but resisted the urge to get drunk. Exhausted by events, he almost fell asleep, revived when he heard what he thought was another echo of Bridge’s mocking laughter, then realized it was just the cawing of crows from nearby woodland. Wishing time away, he kept looking at the clock but its hands seemed stubbornly unyielding. What if Bridge harmed Gloria? The thought was unbearable. In temper, he threw the whisky bottle across the room. Eventually he lost the battle to stay awake.

  A noise like a gunshot woke him with a jolt. As he leapt out of the chair, he glanced at the clock. Four hours had passed since Gloria had been taken. Knocking into the furniture, he ran across the room, through the hallway and into the kitchen. He opened the back door and hurled himself over the step into the fresh air. The car was back in the yard and Gloria was striding towards him. She looked as healthy and vibrant as a model bouncing along the catwalk. He realized it was the car door slamming he’d heard, breathed a sigh of relief and sucked in a lungful of fresh air.

  ‘Gloria, thank God. . . .’

  She was close enough for him to see her eyes. They were like cold, blue stones, no feeling there. Taken aback, he still managed to open his arms to embrace her but she brushed past him and entered the house, leaving him there with outstretched arms like a posed figure in a painting. He wondered why he’d expected anything else after what he’d done.

  Wary of her mood, he followed her into the living-room where he found her at the drinks cabinet pouring a brandy. She slugged it down, hands surprisingly steady considering her ordeal. She kept her back turned, as though she was gaining time to rehearse what to say. At last, with a heave of her shoulders, she spun round to face him, her expression as adamantine as her cold eyes.

  ‘How could you?’ she screeched, her composure vanishing, hatred in her eyes now. ‘How could you live a lie all that time?’

  Shocked by the venom of her attack, he forced himself to hold her gaze. ‘They threatened to hurt those close to me if I didn’t help. What could I have done?’

  ‘You didn’t tell me I was in danger just being here with you. You just didn’t care, did you?’

  She slammed her glass down, slumped in an armchair and hunched up, withdrawing into herself, pushing him out. Alex moved closer, reached out tentatively to touch her shoulder in a sympathetic gesture. She knocked his hand away as though it was a vile intruder in her personal space.

  Hurt, he said, ‘I thought you would be safer with me, that if he wanted to he could find you anywhere. I thought I could protect you. I thought it best not to worry you—’

  ‘You thought,’ she scoffed, eyes sparking. ‘You thought about yourself, not me. That’s what you did. Don’t pretend you were trying to be noble. You’ve made a big enough fool of me already.’

  Alex didn’t know how to answer. He’d never seen her like this and it didn’t seem the time to argue his case. Whatever he said would be consumed in that furnace of resentment towards him blazing away inside her.

  She pounced on his hesitation, snapped at him. ‘He told me everything, right from the start, enjoyed telling me. All that sordid business in the hotel. He made a meal of that. You kept that from me all right. Too ashamed were you, Alex?’

  ‘I was set up, Gloria. They drugged me. It was all part of their plan, for God’s sake.’

  Gloria wasn’t listening. She pushed her red hair back and continued her rant.

  ‘And you – helped him escape. That makes you a criminal. My God, I’ve been living with a criminal.’

  ‘I’m no criminal,’ he protested, arms splayed in a gesture of innocence. ‘They had me trapped, woman. I had no choice. They threatened to hurt—’

  ‘There’s always a choice,’ she yelled. ‘Like a fool you took the wrong one.’

  Her words found his soft underbelly because he already felt a hundred times a fool for believing Bridge. He realized that whatever he said was a waste of time because she’d clearly made up her mind. It dawned on him too, that if Gloria was seeing it that way, then others, not as close to him, would as well. Maybe only a few people would understand the pressure he was under when his family’s safety had been threatened.

  Gloria wasn’t finished with him. As though a wind might arise from nowhere and blow her away, she was gripping the arms of the chair so tightly her knuckles were showing pure white.

  ‘What do you think it was like being tied up like that and not knowing if he would kill me? Then being forced to drive him, with the same thought going round and round in my head.’

  Her words were like a whiplash laid across his back. He winced inwardly imagining what it must have been like for her.

  Gruffly, he said, ‘He didn’t hurt you, did he?’

  Her cold eyes, like jewels suddenly capturing the sunlight, flashed in his direction.

  ‘No thanks to you, you moron.’

  He hung his head. His voice travelled through a labyrinth of doubt to emerge eventually in a hoarse whisper.

  ‘Look – I’m sorry.’

  In answer, she propelled herself out of the chair. Throwing her hair back, she looked at him brimful of disdain.

  ‘No way can I stay here. Not after what’s happened. I can’t trust you and I’d be terrified of it happening again. I’m going upstairs to pack.’

  She marched to the door, slammed it behind her on the way out. Alex, rendered helpless by his own sense of defeat and guilt, stood and stared after her. He’d had so many blows recently that Gloria’s decision carried an air of inevitability about it. How could he blame her for going? Looking at it from her point of view, how could she stay?

  When he heard her come downstairs he was going to offer to carry her case to the car but thought better of it; she’d made it clear enough she didn’t want anything to do with him. Maybe she’d come round to seeing his point of view eventually, but he doubted it, given her hostility.

  He watched from the window as she put the case in the boot and climbed into the driver’s seat. Without a backward glance she started the engine and drove off. Alex watched the car disappearing down the track, then came away from the window with tears in his eyes.

  For a long time he just lay on the couch nursing mental wounds, brooding on his misfortunes. His life had become a catalogue of disasters. He’d lost his job, lost Gloria and was totally alone, not to mention the damaged prison officer. The man responsible for all that was running free, didn’t possess a conscience to haunt him. The injustice fostered a desire for revenge in Alex and an old fighting madness that he thought had gone for ever began to stir. But what had changed really? What could he do to make Bridge pay for what he had done without risking others?

  Chapter Nineteen

  Ali Hussein stepped out of the car and surveyed the building. The quietness here was so different from the noise of the town, his own habitat. He wondered if the locals lived the peaceful existence it implied. In the case of Doctor Alexander Macdonald, the man he hoped to see, he doubted it somehow, not in recent days anyway.

  ‘Wait in the car,’ he told the son who had driven him here, and walked up to the door.

  Nobody answered his first knock so he tried again and waited. It took a long time but eventually the door swung open and a tall man with dishevelled hair and two days’ bristle on his chin stared out at him with expressionless eyes. He looked as though he had just emerged from hibernation.

  ‘Doctor Macdonald?’ Hussein queried.

  Alex nodded. ‘That’s me.’

  ‘Then may I come in and have a word? There is a matter that could be of mutual interest I’d like to discuss.’

  Alex’s head lolled back. He looked warily at his visitor.

  ‘I’m in no mood for salesmen,’ he grunted. ‘You’ve caught me at a bad time.’

  He was about to close the door but Hussein said hastily, ‘The matter concerns Charles Bridge. Does that interest you?’

  Alex blinked rapidly. His brow knitted into a frown. There was suddenly more life in his eyes.

 
‘A policeman, are you? Why didn’t you just say so?’

  Momentarily amused by that mistaken perception, Hussein smiled.

  ‘Hardly! I am in fact the owner of a restaurant in Middlesbrough. But I have other interests, which are not in the public eye.’

  ‘You’re a friend of Bridge,’ Alex said, eyeing him distastefully, body tensing.

  ‘Far from it,’ Hussein answered. ‘If you’ll be so good as to let me tell you my tale, you’ll know how Bridge stands with me.’

  Alex hesitated a moment longer, then made up his mind. He stepped back from the door, opened it wide and made a vague gesture with his hand, indicating that Hussein should enter. The visitor followed his host into the living-room and they both sat down in armchairs.

  In the heart of his home Alex suddenly looked more alert, lost the faraway look in his eyes. It was replaced by a wary inquisitiveness about Hussein’s reason for being here.

  Without fuss, Hussein began: ‘I have contacts in prison. They tell me things that go on inside if they think I might be interested.’

  Alex interrupted, a touch scornfully, ‘Things like the price of heroin? Or am I being presumptuous?’

  ‘Nothing like that,’ Hussein came back at him, his expression darkening. ‘Other things, like the rumour that you were part of Bridge’s escape plan, that you lied and said he had a heart attack on the day he escaped. Apparently many of the prison officers suspect that you were an accomplice.’

  ‘You must be a policeman.’ Alex stated sarcastically, his face angry. ‘Only a policeman would feel he had the authority, or the effrontery, to say that to me in my own house.’

  ‘You must forgive my bluntness,’ Hussein retorted. ‘What I am is a father who holds Bridge responsible for his daughter’s death and wishes revenge. If you can tell me anything it will go no further than this room. I promise you.’

  Alex’s first instinct was to tell him to leave but there was something he saw in the man’s expression, perhaps a reflection of his own melancholy, that curbed it.

  ‘You say Bridge was responsible for your daughter’s death?’

  Hussein’s eyes took on a distracted look, as though he was wrestling with the reality of what had happened even as he spoke.

  ‘Bridge and his sister got my daughter hooked on heroin. The sister procured her for her brother with pretended affection. She lived with them both until Bridge grew tired of her. Then they threw her out on to the streets where she killed herself with a massive overdose.’

  ‘I’m sorry to hear that,’ Alex said, moved to sympathy, knowing how he would have felt if it had been his own daughter.

  Hussein gave a little shudder. With an effort, he gathered himself and continued.

  ‘One of my contacts heard Bridge on the phone in the prison. Apparently his exact words were that “the doctor would come round in the end” so I felt there could be some substance in those rumours. I admit it is flimsy evidence but I am trying hard to find Bridge and I had to come to you.’

  Alex crossed his arms. ‘Why would I admit it to you if it were true?’

  Hussein thought for a moment. ‘Understand this, Doctor. I have no interest in what you did, or did not do, or in what happens to you. I only want to find Bridge and am hoping you may know something to help me find him.’

  ‘And you intend to kill him if you find him?’

  ‘Don’t doubt it. In my life I have done wrong, broken laws but I have never dealt in drugs, nor harmed anyone physically who did not strike the first blow. This man has. He deserves to die.’

  From the determined look in Hussein’s eye, Alex didn’t doubt he would kill Bridge. He understood, too, the power of his emotions. If Bridge had hurt Ann he would be feeling equally vengeful, would want to kill the gangster with his bare hands. It was that kindred feeling which made him decide it would be safe to open up.

  ‘Bridge threatened my family,’ he said with a regretful sigh. ‘I had to do exactly what he told me to help him escape. I bitterly regret my part but I feel I had no choice. Truly I feel for you over what he did to your daughter but there is nothing I know about him that would help you find him. I was hardly his confidant.’

  Hussein dropped his eyes, stared at the carpet, disappointment engulfing his body like an invisible cloak.

  ‘You can think of nothing, no clue where he might be hiding?’

  ‘Like I say, I was just a pawn in his game. He gave nothing like that away. I hate him as much as you. If there was anything, I’d gladly tell you, but I’m afraid I’m no use to you.’

  Hussein lifted his eyes, their laserlike intensity piercing any barriers until they reached the core of Alex’s being, his soul, where only truth could reside in pure form. Their power subsided when he found no evasions and his expression softened. He nodded his head and rose from the chair. Reaching into his pocket, he took out a business card and placed it on the coffee table.

  ‘If you recall anything at all, please ring me, Doctor. Even a small, seemingly insignificant fact, may help. My arm can stretch a long way if it has to.’

  Alex stood up and faced him. ‘If anything comes to mind, I’ll do that.’

  Hussein crossed the room. Alex followed him out to the door. He turned and shook Alex’s hand.

  ‘Thank you, Doctor,’ he said, his eyes sad now. ‘I wish I had protected my family the way you have yours. Don’t ever doubt you did the right thing. The consequences of neglecting to do so are hard to live with, believe me.’

  ‘I’m not so sure I did the right thing,’ Alex replied. ‘There comes a point where men like Bridge have to be faced down or they just go on damaging lives.’

  Hussein’s features set hard. ‘Precisely, and his time is coming.’

  Alex watched him cross the yard to the car where his son had waited patiently. Before he climbed in, he called out:

  ‘Ring me if you remember anything.’

  Alex waved him off, shut the door and returned to the living-room where he sank into the same chair. It had been a strange visit and one that had left him feeling a fraction better than before. He knew the reason was that Hussein, a father who had lost his daughter because of Bridge, was one person who understood the pressure he had been under and concurred with his actions. Hussein had sparked something inside him, too, had blown on the embers of the fire, made him realize that, in spite of his guilty feelings, he had to do something about Bridge or go under himself and be no use to anybody any more. He’d spent too much time brooding about losing Gloria. He’d have to get a grip, face the fact that what had happened had put a chasm between them and she’d never return. End of the day, he’d have to get a life or go under himself.

  *

  Middlesbrough late at night, a few stragglers on the streets. Eddie decided one more fare and he’d knock off. The station was just coming into view and three women stepped out from under its arches. Like actresses emerging into the stage spotlight, they were caught in the orange glow of a streetlight. He figured they could be ladies of the night because the vicinity of the station was a known haunt for prostitutes. Their short skirts and short-sleeved blouses, inappropriate for the cold night, fitted the customary image.

  One of women hailed his cab. He decided to ignore her because, from previous experience of working girls, he knew they could be a nuisance especially if they’d had poor remuneration for a nightshift, sometimes refusing to pay him.

  He was almost past when he caught a glimpse of the dark-haired girl standing next to the blonde who had hailed him. There was something about her that was familiar. Maybe these women weren’t prostitutes after all and she was an old acquaintance. Out of sheer curiosity he applied the brakes and drew up to the kerb. What was it about the girl that had touched his memory? Before he could work it out, the blonde was round at his window, peering at him.

  ‘I’m going to Ormesby, love,’ she said through lips layered with lipstick. She was already reaching for the back door handle.

  ‘What about the others?’ he said
, watching the dark-haired girl in his mirror, struggling to place her, feeling there was something he should be remembering about her, the way, when he’d served in Northern Ireland, he’d developed a sixth sense for recalling dangerous faces from photographs.

  By now the blonde had the door open and was hauling herself in.

  ‘They live in different directions,’ she said and slammed the door. ‘Only one fare for you tonight, darling.’ She giggled. ‘But you got the fairest of the fares.’

  ‘Fair enough,’ Eddie said, playing along, his eyes still watching the dark-haired girl in the mirror as he pulled away, irritated that he couldn’t place her.

  Later on in the journey, still scratching at his memory, he asked the blonde about her.

  ‘The dark-haired girl back there. I’ve seen her somewhere. Can’t place her though.’

  The woman snorted. ‘Clara the snob. Lady Clara who wears a tiara. You wouldn’t want to know her, pet.’

  ‘A snob, is she?’

  ‘Thinks she’s a cut above, that one,’ the blonde continued, warming to her theme. ‘Got special clients and is very secretive about where she lives, like she’s afraid we’ll all turn up for tea and crumpets one afternoon when it doesn’t suit.’

  ‘Lady Muck, eh!’ Eddie smiled at her in the mirror. The girl was still nagging at his memory. Except for her name and confirmation that she was a prostitute, the blonde in the back seat hadn’t helped. But she wasn’t finished yet.

  ‘She’s always going on about her daughter, is Clara. She’s only six and the snotty little bitch has her at elec – electrocution lessons or something to make her speak proper. Pays for her to go to a private school over in Stockton as well.’

  Clara was turning out to be something of an obsession with the blonde. Eddie let her ramble, punctuating her diatribes with occasional questions to gain more specific information. Yet, as they neared the blonde’s destination, he still hadn’t a clue as to why he thought Clara was familiar. Was it just a case of mistaken identity on his part?