by Andrew Grant
The next two hours were lost underground. I must have walked at least two miles without setting foot outside even once. It was stifling, and the whole time I couldn’t shake the thought that during the cold war, people actually believed they could live like that for years at a time. Every time I passed the junction of the four corridors I was tempted to jump in the lift, head up to ground level and grab a breath of fresh air. But I resisted. I stuck to the task at hand, and in the end I was glad I did. Because the hospital may have looked picturesque from the outside, but it was in the basement where it really became interesting.
The swimming pool was my first port of call, but I spent more time in the machine room that lay behind it. There were dozens of drums of chemicals stored there, bristling with toxicity warnings, which would have been heaven for anyone with a mind to cause trouble. I found three boiler rooms. Each had miles of inviting, vulnerable pipework, which would be a gift for anyone wanting to cause a diversion. There were four separate storage areas. Each one was large enough to hide a dozen men. Or all the supplies they’d need to lay siege to the whole complex. An office belonging to the hospital’s security firm was down there, too - tucked in between a standby generator room and a tool store - which didn’t recommend working for them. But the thing that sounded the most interesting of all, I didn’t even get to see. It was sealed away behind a rusty, steel door. I only found out about it from a maintenance guy who saw me trying to pry it open. He swore it was the entrance to a fully equipped World War II rifle range, and that he knew this because his father had been inside. The government had built it in 1940, he said, when they were more worried about improving the hospital workers’ ability to shoot invading Germans than their skill at patching up injured Londoners.
That maintenance worker wasn’t the only person I spoke to. I also talked to five of his colleagues. I found them in a huddle, sneaking crafty cigarettes in a room at the far end of the red corridor. It was full of ancient-looking ventilation equipment. The old machinery appeared basically redundant, with just enough life left in it to dissipate their smoke. I asked if they’d rigged the place back up specially for that purpose, and one of them admitted they had. Then the subject of the recent fire alarm came up. That wasn’t much of a surprise, given the cigarettes in their hands and the piles of flammable debris on the floor. The biggest talking point wasn’t whether the hospital had been in danger of burning down, though. It was the attention they’d attracted from the police, afterwards. All of them seemed pretty indignant about the implied stain on their characters, but one guy’s complaints were particularly strident. He was standing furthest from the door, so when the others made a move to leave it wasn’t too hard for me to head him off. I penned him back in the corner, and when the sound of footsteps had died away in the corridor outside, I asked him his name.
“Elvis Presley,” he said, without irony. “What’s it to you?”
“Just being friendly,” I said. “I thought maybe we could talk.”
“Haven’t got time,” he said, eyeing the narrow gap behind the largest machine. “I’ve got work to do.”
“It won’t take long,” I said, stepping to the side to show how easily I could block his escape route if he tried to worm his way out. “Give me a minute. I think I might be able to help you with something.”
“Help me? How.”
“Let me give you my card,” I said, reaching into my jacket pocket, then pulling a frustrated frown. “Oh, damn. They must all be upstairs, in my room. I’ll get one for you later, if you’re interested. In the meantime, let me tell you what I do. I’m a lawyer. And I specialise in police brutality cases.”
“You’re a lawyer? Good for you. Why would I care?”
“Because I saw how you reacted when your friends mentioned the police, just now. I know the signs. If the police are giving you a hard time, I can make them stop. And if they’ve crossed any lines, I can make them pay.”
“Why should the police be giving me a hard time? I haven’t done anything.”
“I’m not saying you have. But I’ve been cooped up in this place for a few days, now. I know about the fire alarm. I know some hospital property was damaged. And I know the police are looking for someone to pin it on.”
He didn’t reply.
“How many times have they questioned you?” I said.
He looked away from me.
“How many times?” I said.
“None,” he said.
“And you’d like it to stay that way?”
He nodded.
“Were you working that night?” I said.
“No,” he said.
“So where were you?”
He didn’t answer.
“You can tell me,” I said. “Anything you reveal to me is privileged information, because I’m a lawyer. It can’t get you in trouble. But it might make it easier for me to help.”
He looked at the ground, and remained silent.
“You were at the hospital, weren’t you?” I said.
He nodded.
“Down here?” I said.
“Yes,” he said.
“What were you doing?”
“Collecting something. Then the alarm went off. And I saw firemen all over the place. I thought it was for real.”
“So what did you do?”
“Tried to get out without any of them seeing me. I wasn’t supposed to be here, remember.”
“Did you make it?”
“Almost. Then two of them practically fell on top of me.”
“Where was this?”
“At the end of the hot corridor.”
“The hot corridor?”
“Where they keep the hot waste. Along there.”
“Why were you in that corridor?”
“I wasn’t. I was passing the end of it, and I heard voices. Two men, arguing. I paused for a moment, curious, like an idiot. Then the door opened and they burst out, one dragging the other by the arm.”
“Could you hear what they were arguing about?”
“The door to the hot room. One had tried to get through it. Whacked it with his axe. And the other was tearing him a new one for it. No one’s supposed to touch that door, ever. Anyone working here should know that.”
“So, it was one of these firemen who’d damaged the door.”
“Right.”
“Are you sure they were firemen?”
“What kind of question is that? There was a fire alarm. They came in a fire engine. They had firemen suits. Yes, they were firemen.”
“OK. So why didn’t you tell the police what you saw?”
“They didn’t ask.”
“Because you weren’t supposed to be here that night?”
“Right.”
“And you didn’t volunteer the information because that would have revealed you were here when you shouldn’t have been?”
“Right.”
“And is that such a big deal? Being at the hospital when you’re off duty?”
“It is, lately. The rules changed. There’ve been some thefts, and stuff.”
“How do your chances look, keeping the police off your tail?”
He shrugged.
“Not good, I guess,” I said. “They’re still crawling all over the place. And it won’t be long before they start pulling everyone in, not just the ones who were working that night.”
“Do you think so?” he said.
“I do, based on my experience of these things. It’s how they operate. They’re like clockwork. They have a procedure, and they follow it. But you don’t need to worry about that. There’s a way we can shield you from it.”
“There is? How?”
“There’s a special kind of statement you can make. An Incoactus Inviolati. Don’t worry about the weird-sounding name. It’s from the Latin, and it just means that because you voluntarily provided information which was helpful to the case, the circumstances which led you to be in possession of that information – even if they were in and of th
emselves illegal – will be excluded from the resulting investigation.”
“Really? Are you sure?”
“I’m a lawyer. It’s my job to be sure. The Inviolati is a very useful tool for the police. Without it, they wouldn’t be able to get half their informants to come forward.”
“How come I’ve never heard of it?”
“Well, they don’t exactly advertise. They don’t want people trying to use it to wriggle out of crimes that aren’t really related. But in your case, it’s completely legit. We could get it done in five minutes.”
“We could? How?”
“Well, I’ll be out of this place probably the middle of next week. I should be able to fit you in a couple of days after that, if you don’t mind coming over to my office.”
“Wait, wow, no way. Far too long. The police will come knocking long before that.”
“There’s not much I can – oh, hang on. It’s a little unconventional, but my assistant is here at the hospital, too. We were in the same car, you see, hit by one of those dodgy new bendy buses. She has all the basic forms with her, in her briefcase. We could head up to her room, right now? Take care of it straight away?”
There was no answer at Melissa’s door when we knocked, ten minutes later. Elvis’s resolve wasn’t dented, though, and he was happy to head back down to my room and pass the time till she returned. Happy, until I stood back and let him cross the threshold in front of me.
A man was already inside my room, waiting. A uniformed police officer. I’d guess he was in his mid forties. I couldn’t get a good sense of his height, though, because he was sitting on my bed, his helmet at his side, brushing sandwich crumbs off the front of his tunic. He looked up as we appeared in the doorway and locked eyes with Elvis, who promptly turned on his heel and took flight down the corridor. I spun around and went after him. We were less than half way along when a second police officer appeared. He was coming towards us, from the direction of the staircase, holding a polystyrene takeaway cup in each hand. Elvis and I covered three more strides, still at full speed, then the policeman bent down and placed the drinks neatly on the floor by the left-hand wall.
“Stop him,” I said, slowing down to avoid a collision.
The officer straightened up, stepped into our path, and stretched his arms out wide like an angry bear. He looked me straight in the face, and dodged to the side, letting Elvis race past him. Then he launched himself forwards, wrapping his arms around my knees and bringing me to the ground in a classic rugby tackle. He held on tight despite my protests, and by the time I’d rolled over and wriggled myself free, the two of us were alone in the corridor.
“You moron,” I said, getting back to my feet. “Which part of ‘stop him’ did you not understand?”
The officer also stood up, and took a step closer to me, blocking my path.
“Is your name David Trevellyan?” he said.
I didn’t reply.
I heard a sound behind me. It was the door to my room almost being ripped off its hinges. Then the officer who had been sitting on my bed marched into the corridor with a strange, twisted look on his face. I couldn’t tell if it was anger, or embarrassment, or a mixture of both.
“Are you David Trevellyan?” the officer who’d tackled me said. “Come on. Yes? Or no?”
The officer from my room pushed past us and picked one of the cups up from the floor.
“Is this one mine?” he said.
“They’re the same,” the other officer said.
“Thanks, Dale,” he said. “That’s good. I’ll take things from here.”
He took a long swig, nodded his head like he was some sort of connoisseur, then made a show of looking me up and down.
“Tut, tut, tut,” he said, after a moment. “Oh dear. Running from the police. Not a good idea. What was that all about, eh?”
“I don’t know,” I said. “I think you frightened him.”
“Frightened who?”
“The guy who ran away from you. And now we need to get him back.”
“Who was he?”
“He calls himself Elvis. I don’t know his real name.”
“Well, we don’t care about him. We’re here for you. Your name is David Trevellyan?”
“It is. And I’m really happy you’re taking the theft of my boots so seriously - I honestly didn’t think you would, or I’d have called you myself - but right now, finding that guy is more important.”
The office shot a quick glance at his colleague, then turned back to me.
“This has nothing to do with any boots,” he said. “Or with finding Elvis impersonators. What it does have to do with is us taking you into custody.”
“What?” I said. “Are you insane?”
“David Trevellyan, I am placing you under arrest for occasioning actual bodily harm, disturbing the peace, and aggravated assault. You are not obliged to say anything, but anything you do say will be taken down and may be used as evidence against you in a court of law. Understand?”
“I haven’t got time for this nonsense,” I said. “We need to get after the guy I was chasing. Quickly. Before he disappears back down his rabbit hole.”
The policeman handed his coffee to his colleague then reached around behind him and took a pair of handcuffs from his belt. I didn’t like the way things were heading. They clearly had the wrong end of the stick, and I knew if I let them continue, things were only going to get worse. That’s a road I’ve been down before.
“OK,” I said. “I have no idea why you think I’ve done anything wrong, but we need to turn this around before you have a real problem on your hands. The guy you just let escape? He’s a witness. A very important one. In fact, he just hit the top of the Security Service’s hot list. So if you know what’s good for you, you’re going to stop talking about arresting me and start searching for him.”
“Listen, David,” the policeman said. “Can I call you Dave?”
“No.”
“Well, Dave, let me tell you something. You’re not doing yourself any favours here. You need to stop talking and come with us.”
“I don’t think so. You need to help me, right now. Otherwise this moves from a minor bollocking into full-scale arse kicking territory.”
The policeman took a step towards me, still swinging the handcuffs between his finger and thumb.
“Look,” he said. “Come quietly, and we’ll let you stay on your feet. Keep shooting your mouth off, and we’re going to drag you down the station. Your choice. But just so you know - there’s lots of concrete staircases between here and there. Going down those when you’re not properly balanced? Bad idea.”
“You’re not going to bring those cuffs anywhere near my wrists,” I said. “You might as well put them away, right now. And give me some space. I need to make a call.”
“You can call from the station. Now. Last chance. What’s it to be?”
I’ve known people resort to assaulting police officers in nine or ten countries, over the years. I’ve aided and abetted them in four or five. I’ve done it myself, in two. But never until that moment had I been tempted to take a swing at a British bobby.
“We don’t seem to be communicating very effectively, do we constable?” I said. “I need to make a call, and I need to make it now.”
“Enough is…” he was saying, when his radio crackled into life. He stepped away, unhooked his handset, and spoke to someone for forty-five seconds. Then he turned to his colleague.
“Dale,” he said. “We’re going to forget about this joker. Come on. Let’s go.”
“What about my witness?” I said. “You frightened him off. You need to get him back.”
“Mr Trevellyan,” the officer said, scowling at me again. “Something you should know. This time, you’re lucky. But I never forget a face. If I see you again, you won’t like what happens.”
“How do you know?”
“What?”
“How do you know what I like? And don’t like?”
/> “Well, I… ”
“There’s no sugar in this one, right?” I said, leaning down and taking hold of the remaining polystyrene cup. “What about milk?”
Neither of the policemen answered.
I pried open the lid and looked inside.
“Good,” I said. “Thank you. Now, goodbye, gentlemen.”
Chapter Eleven
I’d been back in my room for less than four minutes when I heard a squeak outside in the corridor. There were two urgent knocks, then the door swung open without me saying a word. It was Melissa, still in her chair.
“David,” she said. “Are you all right? The police? Have they…?”
“They were here,” I said. “Then they left. Someone called them off.”
“That was me. Well, not me directly. I got word they were going to arrest someone because of those idiots in the garden, and I figured it had to be you. I insisted they drop it.”
“Who told you about it?”
“A sergeant at the local station. I made them aware we were working here when I first arrived. It’s standard procedure. They’re supposed to keep us in the loop about anything they’re doing in the vicinity, and luckily this guy was on the ball. I’m just sorry I couldn’t get to them before they showed up here.”
“Me too.”
“They didn’t get rough, did they?”
“Not even close. But they did cause a little bit of fall out.”
“What do you mean? What kind of fall out?”
“I’ll get to that in a second. What I want to know is, why did they come after me? Did those idiots actually file a complaint?”
“Yes, they did.”
“And the police listened to them?”
“Unbelievable, isn’t it?”
“And those morons were able to describe me so accurately the plod came straight to my room? Seems like a bit of a stretch.”
“There’s a little more to it than that. David, remember how I told you that CCTV camera wasn’t working?”