During the flight, Gray tried to busy himself with the in-flight entertainment and even accepted the offer of the insipid airline food in an attempt to take his mind off Vick, but he couldn’t shake the concern he felt. He once again tried to focus on the obvious explanation that she’d just been out and had a bad reception when he called earlier, but something had soured his stomach, and it wasn’t the economy-class Chicken Supreme.
Despite managing ten hours of sleep the previous night, Gray eventually dozed off halfway through the journey, and was shaken awake by Smart as the Boeing 747 started its descent.
After touching down in a rain-lashed London, their travel documents once again faced scrutiny, but after a couple of phone calls they were cleared through immigration. Having no luggage, they walked through the baggage claim area and out into the arrivals hall, where Gray was none too surprised to see Harvey waiting for them.
‘Andrew, I’m so sorry—’
Harvey cut him off and took him by the arm, leading him away to a quieter area, his expression grim.
‘What is it?’
‘Tom, while you were gone, there was a . . . . ’ Harvey sought the appropriate words, but didn’t have time to find them.
‘Tom Gray!’
Both men turned to see Danny Boyd rushing towards them, a young photographer in tow. Harvey moved to intercept the journalist, trying to usher him away, but Boyd was intent on getting his story, shouting his initial question over Harvey’s shoulder.
‘Tom, what’s your reaction to the fire?’
Gray was confused by the question, and the incessant flash of the camera didn’t help matters.
‘How does it feel to lose a second wife, Tom?’
Harvey’s face was contorted with anger as he pushed the journalist backwards, sending him sprawling to the floor. ‘You’re a real piece of shit, Boyd!’
‘Maybe,’ Boyd said from the ground, ‘but I’ve got you on film, assaulting a reporter. Andrew Harvey, isn’t it?’
The photographer continued to take pictures, clicking away frantically as he sought an angle for the perfect shot of Boyd and his attacker. He was suddenly slammed up against the wall, and a hand began searching his pockets. It came out with a wallet, and Sonny Baines said between clenched teeth, ‘If just one of those pictures is published, I’ll be round to . . . . ’ Sonny checked the address on the driver’s license. ‘ . . . Twelve Tennyson Road. Your shit-heel friend here obviously knows us, so he can explain what we specialise in.’
Sonny stepped back and tossed the wallet at the shutterbug’s head. ‘Now I suggest you walk away before I get really pissed off.’
The shocked photographer quickly decided that a hasty retreat would be the shrewdest move. He dragged Boyd to his feet and pulled him towards the exit. The journalist initially resisted, but when Sonny turned his attention toward Boyd, he immediately thought better of it.
Gray turned to Harvey, praying that he’d misheard Boyd. But the look on his friend’s face said it all. ‘What happened?’
‘There was a fire at her aunt and uncle’s place. Vick and Melissa had been staying with them while you were away, and . . . I’m sorry, Tom.’
Gray’s instinct was to picture the scene, something he’d done when his first wife, Dina, had ploughed into a concrete overpass a few years earlier. This time, he saw Vick, screaming for help as flames licked around her, hugging her daughter to her chest.
He grabbed Harvey’s shoulders. ‘What about Melissa?’
‘She’s at the hospital. They said she’s stable but not out of danger yet.’
Gray turned to Smart and the rest of the team, who were just catching up. Tears had begun welling in his eyes. He needed to fashion a quick exit.
‘I’m sorry. I have to go . . . ’ he managed, his voice cracking on the last syllable.
Concerned, Smart put a hand on Gray’s arm and asked what was happening, but even as he formed the words in his head, the tears flowed unabated.
‘Vick is dead.’
Smart looked stunned, as did the others. Few of them had met Gray’s family, but they all felt his pain. No words were wasted, and Gray didn’t expect any. Death happened, a fact they’d long ago accepted. Everyone knew fellow soldiers who’d lost their lives in the service, but when it was someone so close it always offered a different perspective.
‘Go,’ Smart said.
Gray nodded, suddenly unable to move.
Harvey put an arm around his shoulder. ‘Let’s get you to the hospital.’
Chapter Twenty-Five
Saturday 12 October 2013
The familiar antiseptic smell assaulted Gray’s senses as he and Harvey entered the intensive care unit.
Neither man had said a word on the way to the hospital, Harvey wanting to let his friend handle things his own way while Gray descended into a black hole filled with self-loathing. On the flight back to England he’d been looking forward to holding his wife and child in his arms again, to say sorry, to promise never to abandon them again.
And now it was too late.
He’d never see her smiling face, or know the smell of her hair, the gentleness of her kiss . . . .
The next thing Gray knew, he was following Harvey into the hospital building, time having shrunk the journey to what felt like seconds. Staff seemed to be few on the ground as they walked to the reception desk, where the nurse on station directed them to Melissa’s room. They followed the directions and came to a locked door, which buzzed open once Gray identified himself.
A nurse stood over the child’s incubator, making notes on a clipboard.
‘How is she?’ Gray asked as he gazed down at his daughter. She didn’t appear to have sustained any burns, but a tube was taped over her mouth, helping her to breathe, while an assortment of sensors covered her tiny frame and an intravenous drip fed her a clear liquid.
‘She’s stable, bless her,’ the nurse said, looking down at Melissa. ‘The doctor will be round in a few minutes.’
She left before Gray could ask any further questions, and he had to satisfy himself with watching his little girl’s gentle breathing. He wanted to rip the plastic cover off and sweep her up into his arms, but somehow managed to restrain himself.
‘How did this happen?’ he asked Harvey.
‘I don’t know the details. I got a call from Ryan, your solicitor, to say Ken Hatcher was looking for you. I spoke to Ken and he told me about the fire. They’re okay, by the way. Both are being treated upstairs for smoke inhalation but they should be released in the morning.’
‘Do you know what caused it?’
‘Not yet. The fire investigation unit are still sifting through the debris.’
The door opened and a doctor entered, the look on his face telling them it had been a long shift. He introduced himself as Roger Duckitt and looked over Melissa’s notes, adding his own comments.
‘Is she going to make it?’ Gray asked.
‘Yes, she’s going to live,’ the doctor said, comparing the notes with the digital readout on the screen next to the incubator, ‘but we won’t know the effects of the cerebral anoxia for a while. Melissa had to be resuscitated at the scene, and we simply don’t know how long the brain had been starved of oxygen. Brain cells start to die within about five minutes of the oxygen supply being cut off, and at this stage we simply cannot tell how much damage has been done. The EEG scan looked reasonable, which suggests there isn’t too much injury.’
‘When will you know?’
‘She’ll be having an MRI scan in the next hour, and that should give us a better indication.’
‘Why are you waiting so long?’ Gray asked, his concern palpable. ‘Can’t you do it now?’
‘I totally understand your anxiety, Mr Gray, but we only managed to stabilise Melissa a couple of hours ago, and there have been other tests to carry out. We’re doing everything we can for her at the moment, and the MRI won’t cure her; it will just tell us how to manage her recovery going forward.’
Gray pressed for more information, but the doctor assured him there was nothing more to be done.
‘Go home, Mr Gray. There’s little point in being here right now.’
‘I want to be here when she wakes up,’ Gray said, defiantly. ‘She needs her daddy.’
‘That won’t be any time soon,’ Duckitt said. ‘She’s in a medically induced coma. It was necessary to prevent further damage to the brain. Go and get some rest. You look like you could do with it.’
‘Come on,’ Harvey said, ‘I’ll take you home.’
Gray shook his head, never taking his eyes off his daughter. She looked so peaceful, despite all the medical equipment attached to her tiny frame. Tears flowed as he recalled hearing of his son’s death all those years ago, and he knew he wouldn’t be able to cope if he had to go through it all again.
‘I can’t, Andrew. She needs me.’
‘Come on,’ Harvey said, ‘you’re staying at my place tonight.’
Gray found himself being led out of the room, and after initial resistance, he allowed himself to be torn away from his daughter.
Harvey thanked the consultant and handed over a card, asking him to call if there was any change in Melissa’s condition in the next few hours, then led Gray back through the building to the deserted car park. The roads were quiet at one in the morning, and Harvey made it back to his flat in record time. Once inside, he got Gray settled on the couch before making up the spare bedroom, throwing a sheet and duvet onto the single bed. When he got back to the living room, Gray was sitting in silence, staring at the faux-fireplace.
‘Your bed’s ready, Tom. Go and get your head down.’
Gray nodded imperceptibly, but didn’t move.
It was heart-breaking for Harvey to see his friend in such a state. He’d personally known Vick for over a year, and the news of her death had come as a huge shock. He simply couldn’t imagine what Gray was going through, but he knew Tom wasn’t in a good place right now. The tough façade had cracked, and Harvey saw a helpless man on the edge of a breakdown.
He thought about sitting down and talking things through, but decided against it. He could see that Gray needed time and space to himself.
‘Can I get you anything before I turn in?’
A slight shake of the head answered his question, and he reluctantly left Tom Gray to deal with his loss.
Chapter Twenty-Six
Sunday 13 October 2013
‘It’s me,’ said Detective Inspector Frank Wallace. ‘Buy yourself a burner cell phone and call me back on this number.’
Wallace ended the brief call and rubbed his head, wishing he’d stopped at just half a bottle of whisky the night before. While he waited for Hart to get back to him, Wallace forced himself into the shower, the hot needles of water helping to soothe away the dull ache from the previous night’s overindulgence.
Reinvigorated, he dressed in jeans and a T-shirt before making his third coffee of the morning. He was pouring the water when his pay-as-you-go phone chirped.
‘Bill, what the hell have you done?’
‘I don’t know what you mean, officer,’ Hart chuckled into the phone. ‘I was here the whole time.’
Wallace gripped the handset until his knuckles went white, again cursing his luck at being saddled with such a stubborn imbecile. He’d seen the initial news report that a house fire had killed a woman in London, which was nothing noteworthy, but when the morning newspaper revealed the identity of the victim, he knew Hart had to be behind it.
‘Are you telling me that Tom Gray’s wife is dead and you know nothing about it?’
‘People die all the time. Get over it.’
‘This is no joke, goddamn it. Your sons have a run-in with Tom Gray and a few days later his wife is dead. You don’t have to be a genius to join those dots.’
‘Then make it go away,’ Hart said, his voice suddenly serious. ‘That’s what I pay you for.’
‘That’s not the point. You’re drawing unnecessary attention to yourself. The idea is to stay off the radar, not stamp your name on every crime you commit.’
‘Who says it was a crime? Are they calling it arson?’
‘Not yet,’ Wallace admitted, ‘but it’s standard practice to investigate the cause of all domestic fires, and given the high-profile victim, I think this one will be thorough.’
‘Listen, the boys and I will be back from Gran Canaria in a few days. If it turns out to be arson, you bring us in, we provide the perfect alibi and that’s the end of the matter.’
You wish. Wallace wasn’t concerned with Hart being put in the frame for the fire. The alibi was cast iron, irrefutable. No, that wasn’t what disturbed him at all.
The problem was Tom Gray himself.
The last time Gray lost a family member, he’d used his military know-how to bring the country to a standstill. With that kind of prior record, would Gray simply let this lie just because Hart had a rock-solid alibi?
Unlikely. It had taken Wallace about three seconds to tie Hart to the crime once he’d heard the name Vick Gray, and her husband was no fool. Hart may not have lit the match himself, but he sure as hell had a hand in it, a conclusion Gray was certain to reach if the investigation showed the fire was no accident.
Armed with that knowledge, what would Gray do? He might be content to rely on the police to handle it, Wallace thought, then immediately dismissed the notion. Gray had baulked at dropping the assault charges against the Hart boys, so there was no way he was going to sit back and let his wife’s killers carry on while the force quietly went about the task of gathering evidence.
Would Gray take Hart out? Possibly, if he was one hundred per cent convinced of Bill’s involvement.
A light went on in Wallace’s head as an idea began to take shape.
‘Okay, Bill. We’ll play it like you say, but you have to tell me everything. I don’t want any surprises coming across my desk, so you need to give me all the details you have about the fire.’
Hart told him about the meeting with Paul Ainsworth, stressing that he didn’t know who had carried out the actual deed.
‘Is there any way you can find out?’ Wallace asked. ‘I can look up a list of Paul’s known associates when I get to the office, but every search made on the PNC is recorded. Unless this turns into a murder investigation, I’d have a tough time explaining them away without a crime to pin them to.’
Hart promised to get in touch with Ainsworth on his return to the UK that evening, and with nothing else to discuss, Wallace ended the call.
The seed of an idea that had planted itself in his mind began to grow. While the money he got from Hart was nice, Wallace wanted nothing more than to be rid of the thug. It was only a matter of time before the idiot made a mistake that landed them both in hot water, or more specifically, the rest of their lives in prison. Over the years, Wallace had hoped for a young pretender to move into Hart’s territory and remove the family from power, but it hadn’t come to pass.
Perhaps it was time to use the false passport he’d acquired the previous year, one of the benefits of working with criminals every day. He could take the money he’d saved and say goodbye to Frank Wallace, Detective Inspector, and start a new life as Herman Ulrich, German national. With his sizeable bankroll, he could live comfortably in South America for the rest of his life. Southeast Asia was also an option—lazing on a beach while the young local women catered for his every whim.
It was a daily dream, but Wallace knew he would only disappear as a last resort, when all other options were exhausted. He needed someone to deal with Hart, and if anyone could, it was Tom Gray.
All Wallace had to do was push the right buttons . . . and that was easily done.
By the time Andrew Harvey surfaced, Tom Gray was long gone. His bed hadn’t been slept in, and there was no note of explanation.
Harvey didn’t need one.
After a quick shower, he drove to the hospital and found Gray standing over Melissa’s incubator. He was a
bout to tell his friend that he looked like shit, but figured Tom already knew and didn’t particularly care.
‘Any news?’ Harvey asked.
Gray looked up, finally acknowledging his presence. ‘The doctor said she has a thirty per cent chance of making a full recovery.’
As Tom’s gaze returned to the plastic cocoon, Harvey knew his friend was close to losing it completely. Facing up to the death of a wife and child was hard enough for any man to bear, and a few years earlier it had driven Gray to extreme measures, but to then lose Vick and see his daughter teetering on the edge . . . .
‘Have they found out what caused it?’ Gray asked, never taking his eyes off the tiny figure.
‘I haven’t been into the office,’ Harvey admitted, ‘but I’ll go and check in now.’
He left Gray alone with his thoughts, bleak as they were, and once in the hallway he dialled Thames House. He asked his colleague, Hamad Farsi, to get what information he could from the emergency services, the cause of the fire in particular.
As he waited for a response, he saw a couple approaching the room. Their hollow expressions told him they were Vick’s aunt and uncle. They ignored him and entered the room, closing the door quietly behind them, and Harvey watched through the window as the woman hugged Gray like a long-lost son.
Farsi came back on the line and gave Harvey what they had, which wasn’t very much, though it did leave a few questions in Harvey’s mind. After promising to be in within the hour, he went back into the room, where the woman was recalling the events of the fateful night.
‘ . . . . and I heard Melissa crying, but I thought Vick was in there with her, trying to get her to sleep. When I finished in the toilet I went back to bed and was just dozing off when the fire alarm went off.’
‘We jumped out of bed,’ Ken interrupted, ‘and I went to get Vick, but when I opened the door there was just Melissa, lying on the floor, screaming. I told Mina to grab her while I went looking Vick, but I couldn’t find her upstairs.’
‘I took Melissa,’ Mina said, taking up the story again, ‘and wrapped her in a blanket, but by the time I got halfway down the stairs, the hallway was already filled with thick smoke. I couldn’t even see an inch in front of my face. There were flames coming out from under the living room door, so we couldn’t get to the front door.’
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