Outside Chance (36 page)

Grunting in response to Ben's apology, he took a slim torch out of his bag and switched his attention to his patient, shining a beam of light into his eyes.

‘Did you black out at all?'

Ben couldn't shake his head because his jaw
was being held firmly between the doctor's fingers and thumb.

‘No, I don't think so.'

‘Pain in the head?'

‘It aches.'

‘Double vision?'

‘No.'

‘How many fingers?'

‘Three.'

The doctor switched the torch off.

‘Don't think you're concussed. Now let's look at those cuts.'

In due course Logan reappeared with a compact digital camera in his hand. In his mid-thirties, lean and fit, with close-cropped fairish hair and blue eyes, he was no more than five-foot ten, but there was something about his quiet confidence that commanded respect. Ben could see that Mike was instantly aware of it.

The policeman asked no questions until the doctor had completed his examination of Ben and reluctantly admitted that he would probably survive without the benefit of hospital treatment.

‘Painkillers and rest; arnica for the bruising, if you want. Can't see what internal damage they may have done, of course, so any sharp pains, bleeding from nose, ears or anywhere else, and you get yourself checked out properly, all right?'

Ben nodded obediently and thanked him. As Mike accompanied him to the door, the doctor could be heard saying, ‘Well, I'll go and find my dinner then, though I expect it'll be cold by now. Good day to you.'

Ben glanced at Logan.

‘Where did you find him?'

‘Oh, he's an old family friend. He's always moaning but he doesn't mean anything by it. He's patched me up a time or two, and he'd be mortally offended if I went to anyone else. The thing is, he doesn't ask questions. Just does his job. He's a treasure. So . . .' he eyed Ben speculatively, ‘Want to tell me what this was all about?'

‘I think it may have had to do with my visit to Lenny Salter yesterday,' Ben said slowly. ‘I don't have any proof, but I've a strong suspicion that my good friend Eddie Truman was behind it. You see, Lenny had quite an interesting story to tell, which I got on tape and persuaded him to put his name to.'

‘How'd you get the bugger to do that? All I've ever got is the story about kids doing him over for drug money, and I presume that's not the story he gave you.'

‘No, it wasn't. But he didn't know I was taping him. So then I offered him a large sum of money and the chance to get back at our mutual friend if he'd put his name to it. I just wish he'd got away before Truman cottoned on. I'm sure he thinks I double-crossed him.'

Logan shrugged. ‘Looks like he dumped you in it, anyway. So they came here looking for the tape, is that it? And did they find it?'

Ben shook his head.

Logan looked round at the chaos.

‘So where was it?'

‘In my jacket. There's a mobile phone pocket, here – beside the zip. Just about the only place they didn't look. I was out all afternoon – Truman
invited me over to lunch – so they had plenty of time to turn the place over.' He remembered the trainer asking him to call in before he left Castle Ridge, and suddenly it all made sense. ‘I suppose they reported back that they hadn't found anything and Truman let them know when I was on my way.'

Logan strode over to the phone, pushed a couple of buttons, then shook his head. ‘No. Nothing there. An 0845 number, eight-thirty-five last night.'

‘The internet. Broadband hasn't made it to these parts yet.'

‘So what's on the tape? Is it enough to make trouble for Truman? Is there anything we can work with?'

‘No, not really. I'd be surprised if it would give any defence counsellor worth his salt any sleepless nights.'

‘So why on earth get yourself beaten up over it? Why didn't you just hand it over?'

‘Because Truman doesn't know that, does he?'

Logan looked at him long and hard, then shook his head slightly.

‘I always thought you were a crazy bastard,' he said. ‘Your landlord said they put something over your head, so I suppose it's no good asking for a description.'

‘Yeah, this.' Ben showed him the cushion cover. ‘One of them called the other one Spence, if that's any help, but Mike might have got a look at them.'

‘I'll have a word. You know, we really ought to get CSI to go over this place. There might be something we can use.'

‘Oh, God, no. They'll take for ever and, at the end of it – even if you nailed Spence and his pal – you can bet they're not going to lead you to Truman.'

‘You're probably right.' Logan looked speculatively at him. ‘So what are you going to do with the tape now?'

‘Well, I was thinking maybe I'd ask you to take care of it.'

‘OK. Can I listen to it?'

‘I assumed you would anyway.'

Logan grinned.

‘Probably, but I'd rather have your permission.'

‘Yeah, go ahead.'

They heard the front door open and close and shortly after Mouse came trotting in, looking slightly apologetic, as she often did. Footsteps approached from the hall, and suddenly Lisa was there in the doorway, her eyes wide with shock.

‘Ben? What's happened? Mike says – Oh, my God, Ben!'

Ben held out his hand.

‘It's OK. I'm all right. It's all over now.'

Lisa came closer and stood looking down at him.

‘You don't look all right.'

‘She has a point,' Logan murmured.

They both ignored him.

‘What happened? Were we burgled?'

Ben hesitated.

‘No. Actually, it's a bit complicated.'

Sitting on the ruined sofa beside him, Lisa gave the impression of one who was prepared to wait.

‘Try me,' she said.

Ben took one of her hands in his, looked into her clear blue eyes and had absolutely no idea what to say. Had it just been the two of them it would have been hard enough, but with Logan hovering, it was ten times more difficult.

His gaze dropped to their loosely clasped hands and he caressed her soft fingers with his thumb. When he looked up it was to see resignation spreading slowly over her face. She removed her hand from his.

‘Lisa . . . '

She stood up. ‘No it's all right. We said we wouldn't interfere with one another. I'm sure you have things to talk about with your friend. I'll go and make some tea – if I can find the tea bags.'

‘Lisa . . . '

She left the room without looking back, and Logan raised his eyebrows.

‘I know it's none of my business, but you'll lose that girl, you know.'

‘You're right. It's none of your business,' Ben said sharply; then, as Logan raised his hands to signify withdrawal, ‘Sorry, Mark. I'm not feeling my best. Don't pay any attention to me.'

When Logan and Mike left, some three quarters of an hour later, the worst of the debris had been swept up and deposited in three black bin bags which now sat at the entrance to the courtyard, awaiting collection the following morning.

Lisa had worked solidly to restore order to the kitchen and bedroom, whilst Mike had picked up the smashed remains of Ben's stereo system and CDs and attempted to seal the slashed sofa
cushions temporarily with brown parcel tape.

The wood-burning stove had been stoked up and was billowing heat, which, in his aching, shaky condition, Ben found a great comfort. His token suggestion that he help clear up was given short shrift, for which he was immensely thankful, and so he spent the duration of the operation lying full-length on the ravaged leather, wishing he was the kind of journalist that covered village fêtes and hundredth birthday parties.

Logan had lent a hand with the clear-up but he never stopped trying to prise more information from Ben. Eventually, because it was on his mind, Ben asked him if he had any contacts in Hungary.

Logan had stopped, mid-sweep. ‘Might have; why?'

Ben hesitated, already regretting the impulsive query.

‘Er . . . I want to find out about a fatal car crash that happened nearly twenty years ago but I'm not sure where to start looking. I looked online but there's not a lot in English, and nothing at all going back that far.'

‘And this is to do with . . .?'

‘I can't tell you at the moment. It's just a hunch and it could get someone in a whole lot of trouble.'

‘Would this have anything to do with the horse circus you're spending so much time with at the moment?'

Ben glanced sharply at him and Logan raised an eyebrow.

‘Does it?'

‘Actually,' he said evasively, ‘It has to do with
a jockey who used to ride for Castle Ridge. Can you help?'

‘You know Ford will have looked into that already.'

‘Mm. But nevertheless . . .'

Logan regarded him steadily for a little longer and Ben braced himself for further questions, but thankfully they didn't come. Logan merely made a note of the details, said he'd see what he could do, and then apparently lost interest.

Once they were alone Lisa ran Ben a hot bath, into which he creakily lowered himself, grimacing as the water touched the cuts and sore places. The bathroom mirror had, predictably, been a casualty of Spence and Co., only its antique frame remaining intact, but in his current state Ben felt that this was quite possibly a mercy.

Lisa found clean sheets for the bed, joined Ben in the bath, and then, afterwards, gathered together enough salvaged ingredients to make a passable shepherd's pie.

Ben ate slowly and without much appetite, his swollen lip making it awkward and his mind replaying the events of the day, over and over. He tried to concentrate his thoughts on the unexpected appearance of Truman's illegitimate grandson and how this might affect the overall picture, but his subconscious kept returning with uncomfortable clarity to the utter, terrifying powerlessness of his recent ordeal. Closing his eyes against waves of recurring panic, he took a couple of deep breaths and opened them again to find Lisa watching him through eyes that were swimming with tears.

‘I can't do this any more, Ben,' she whispered and inevitably, the tears spilled over.

‘Lisa . . .' he began, helplessly.

‘This isn't what I want. Sharing your house and your bed when our paths happen to cross. I can't pretend that's enough any more.'

‘But you said . . . I thought that was what you wanted – what we both wanted.'

‘No, Ben! That was never what I wanted. I thought it was – at least, I thought it was better than nothing at all, but it's not. I can't do it any more. It's just too hard!'

‘I didn't know.'

‘No, how could you know? We never talk; not really
talk
, I mean, about things that matter. About how we feel. I have no idea how you feel. Is this enough for you, Ben, what we have? You're thirty-two. Are you happy with how things are? Don't you ever want more?'

‘Lisa –'

‘No, of course you don't – silly question – you're a guy, you'll always take the path of least resistance where relationships are concerned!' She was in full flow now, releasing emotions that had clearly been building up over a considerable length of time.

‘Lisa, hold on a minute –'

‘Well it's not enough for me. I need someone who I can share things with; not just everyday things but other stuff, emotional stuff, worries, you know . . . '

Ben rubbed his forehead. He'd had no idea this was all bubbling away under the surface, but he couldn't help thinking she could have timed it better.

‘Lisa, I'm here for you, you know that. You can always talk to me, surely – I thought you knew that.'

‘Oh Ben!' She slammed the tabletop with her hand in frustration, making him wince and the cutlery rattle. ‘You don't get it do you? That's just the point:
I
can talk to
you
, but it should be a two-way street and you never talk to me! I never feel needed. I never get a chance to help you. Look at you now: you're hurting, I know you are, but you won't tell me about it. I never know what you're thinking, or even what you're doing, half the time. Who were those men today? What did they want? Why was Logan here? You see? I'm completely in the dark.'

Ben put a hand over one of hers. ‘I'm sorry. I didn't realise you felt that way. I never meant you to.'

‘Yes, well, I do,' she said unnecessarily, but she left her hand where it was. ‘You're so bloody self-sufficient, it's like admitting you need someone is some kind of failure.'

‘I suppose I thought I was protecting you. That if you didn't know, you wouldn't worry. I didn't want to load all my troubles on you.'

‘But I want to be there for you! Not just when things are going well but all the time. It doesn't all have to be flowers and chocolates and candlelit meals, we're past that now. Don't get me wrong – it's nice to be spoilt once in a while – but what I'd really like is to feel like I'm a part of your life. All of it.'

Ben smiled crookedly. ‘Not often you hear a girl asking to be taken for granted!'

‘Oh, you know that's not what I mean!' she said.

His heart-rate stepping up a notch or two, Ben took a deep breath.

‘You mean, for better or worse?'

To his surprise, Lisa snatched her hand out of his grasp and stood up, her stool scraping back over the flagstones.

‘God, Ben, you've got lousy timing!' she exclaimed, taking his plate with its unfinished meal and stacking it on her own before removing them both to the sink.

Ben watched her in bemused silence. The proposal had been completely unpremeditated but genuine, nevertheless, and whether it was something to do with the battering he'd had or not, he couldn't really fathom why Lisa had reacted the way she had.