Staying Power (29 page)

The constable gave a grim smile. ‘He's conscious. They've got various drains in – looks dreadful – and he'll be in theatre as soon as maybe. But he knows you're here and wants to talk to you.'

Most of all though the kid wanted his hand held. Literally.

‘They say I'm bleeding inside, Kate. Does it mean I'm going to die?'

The nurse across the bed shook her head, but doubtfully.

Kate gave no sign that she'd seen her. Her smile mingled kindness and anger. ‘Don't you bloody dare, young Simon. Not until your evidence at county court has had whoever did this sent down. Then you can do what you bloody well like, of course.'

He managed a smile, and his fingers tightened on hers for a moment.

‘The other thing is I'm trying to get you a place to live. They're setting up this work scheme, with accommodation. I thought of you as soon as I heard.'

‘Did you really?' Somewhere amidst the bruises and abrasions, he summoned up a smile.

She squeezed his hand.

‘Is it right you came to look for me tonight?'

‘I'd brought you a sleeping bag and some other things.'

The nurse officiously adjusted his drip.

A couple of porters erupted between the curtains. ‘Coming to take you to theatre, young man. Simon, is it?'

His eyes closed as they moved him, but his grip on her fingers didn't loosen. Kate made no attempt to shift them. She caught the older porter's eye, and walked in procession with them until they reached the sterile area. She leaned down to kiss his cheek. ‘See you in the morning, love,' she whispered.

‘Why on earth did you have me bleeped? Why couldn't you phone me?' Graham demanded, getting to his feet as she came back into the waiting area.

‘I left a message,' she said, her voice dull even to her own ears. She shoved her hands into her pockets and sat down, next but one to the seat he'd vacated.

‘Got an ID on him yet?'

Kate explained. Graham didn't ask why she'd gone out there.

‘Is he well enough to make a statement? Maybe tomorrow?'

‘There's no guarantee he'll see tomorrow. He's a nice kid.' Her voice broke.

‘I'm sorry.' He sounded it. He looked at her under his eyebrows. ‘Any idea who—?'

‘The scene's a mess, of course. But I'd say we might find marks of the tyres belonging to a big Merc. if we try hard enough.' She scrubbed her eyes with a tissue, and then gave up.

Graham dug in his pocket and came up with more tissues. She wouldn't be contaminating one of the white linen handkerchiefs his wife ironed so beautifully.

‘He's not – important – to you, is he?'

She took the tissues, but let the tears drip off her nose. ‘Of course not. But I'm important to him.' She rubbed her face. ‘Bloody hell, Graham, I want to get those bastards. The poor kid's got nothing, absolutely nothing, only his life. And then someone tries to take that away from him too.'

The wait was interminable. She could tell Graham was impatient, but not for the same reason as her. Someone was waiting for him to go home, wasn't she? Not that Mrs Harvey was a cartoon character with rollers and a rolling pin, waiting on her front step with her sleeves round her elbows. Perhaps he even wanted to go back. For a bit of how's your father.

‘I'm going to talk to the people at the scene,' he said abruptly, getting to his feet.

‘You don't suppose there's any chance of a news blackout for a bit, do you?'

‘Why?'

‘With his well-known tact and kindliness, I'm sure Mr Sanderson would rather think Simon had simply expired, unnoticed. It'd be lovely to break it to him that we've a live witness. If we have, of course.' She tried for grim upbeat and found it. ‘The thing is, Mr Sanderson may be so delighted that Simon's alive he may want to beat up his wife. Or whatever he does to her.'

Graham sat down. ‘I know the man, Kate. My wife knows his wife. I really can't believe …'

‘When you hear all the other stuff we've been busily ferreting out, you'll believe it, Graham. In fact, wouldn't it be a good idea to have a conference tomorrow: all of us who are working on the case? So we can put everything on the table. Including, please God, Simon's recovery.'

‘He wouldn't beat anyone up himself, Kate. He'd hire people.'

Kate nodded. Yet another thread to ravel back to its source. Then she shook her head: ‘Are you sure? Perhaps he's the sort of man who'd really enjoy that sort of control over other people? He's certainly got that son of his under his thumb.'

‘I told you, Nigel needs some discipline. To stay in in the evenings.'

‘Does Nigel need to stay in in the evening to forge Ecstasy tablets?'

Graham turned towards her, mouth agape.

‘At least that's what I strongly suspect. We're hoping to talk to him tomorrow. Well, today, more like.'

He got to his feet again. ‘I'll go and talk to the Bournville Lane people about that news blackout.' His assurance deserted him. ‘Are you quite sure you'll be all right? Shouldn't you leave all this to Uniform?'

She shook her head.

‘You'd be better catching some sleep, so we can nail whoever did this.'

‘I'm sure you're right. But he depends on my being here, Graham. If I can be. I'm the nearest he's got to family, see?'

He bent to look at her with more tenderness and compassion than she could deal with. ‘Are you sure, Kate, that he's not the nearest you've got to family?'

Lizzie looked ostentatiously at her watch as Kate arrived. ‘I thought you and Bill were supposed to be doing something this morning.'

Kate nodded. Better to ride the criticism than whinge about not getting back till four, sleeping through the alarm and getting enmeshed in the rush hour. She dumped her bag on the desk. ‘Has Graham been in touch with you yet?' she asked, hanging up her coat.

‘Any special reason he should be?'

‘To arrange a conference this afternoon. To pull everything together. Including the assault on young Simon.' She boiled the kettle. ‘Coffee?'

Lizzie nodded and thrust her mug forward. ‘The dosser? Tell me.'

‘Some bastard beat him up and left him to die. Well, he's in a high dependency unit, so he's not out of the woods yet. But they say we can talk to him briefly late this morning. Meanwhile, Graham's asked for a news blackout.' She made coffee, passing Lizzie's mug back.

Lizzie smiled. ‘Bright guy, Graham.' She wrapped her hands round the mug, and stood up to peer at the iron-grey sky. ‘Very bright. University, like you. He got a very good degree. Is there such a thing as a starred first? Because if there is, he got one. Then he joined the Force. Only
he
came up the hard way.'

‘He's never spoken to me about his degree.' Kate hoped she kept the hurt out of her voice. And the anger: all Lizzie's banging on about the accelerated promotion scheme wouldn't help either of them.

Lizzie gave an exaggerated shiver and turned back to the room. ‘Past history, I suppose. The word is his prof. wanted him to stay on and do some research or something.'

The chance of a lifetime! ‘Why didn't he?'

‘Well, he'd got responsibilities, hadn't he? A wife. So he needed the security of a job.'

Kate shook her head. ‘Aren't we talking about the seventies? Weren't women rather keen on equality in those days?'

‘She was keen enough to support him through college. Come on, we're not all professional women striding around being career-orientated. And he doesn't seem to mind. He's got a good job, after all.'

Had anyone listened to him long enough to find out? Not that he'd complain.

‘What was his subject?'

‘Search me. Look, Bill's been hanging round for long enough. Not to mention the kid.'

‘Nigel! He's come here?'

‘Him or his twin brother. Down the corridor.' Head already bent over the next item on her desk, Lizzie pointed a finger in the general direction of the interview rooms.

She was guided to the right one by the sound of laughter. Whatever was going on was clearly not overly heavy. In fact, Bill winked at her as she came in, rather in the manner of that consumer-protection woman on TV.

‘Morning, Gaffer,' he said. ‘Young Nigel here's just popped in to talk to us. We've been talking football. Hey, you're into footie, aren't you?'

So he wanted to keep everything low-key.

‘Well, I haven't been head-hunted by Man. United yet to replace their manager, but it's on the cards. I coach a Boys' Brigade team,' she added. ‘Real big time.'

‘But they're not losing any more, are they? You must be doing something right.'

‘You can't be wrong all the time, Bill. How's things, Nigel?'

He took a deep breath. ‘I know I should have a solicitor here. And Mum. But I want to say that I shall tell you everything as soon as I can. But not while Dad can still get at her. 'Cause I shall be in big shit with you lot. Big. After what you said about being in trouble for selling real grass. I'm not doing any harm, honest.'

‘What does your dad do that scares you so much?' Hitching her trousers, she sat down astride a chair that Bill produced.

Nigel's face flushed, then returned to its usual pallor. ‘I don't know. I really don't know. If I ask, she says not to worry. She says if I get to Uni she'll leave him and come and look after me. But she won't. I know she won't. Because he'd come after her and she wouldn't want to lead him to me. Fuck it, can't you just arrest him?'

‘On what charge, Nigel?'

‘Making me – you know, sell that grass. And – this other stuff. And he's making a lot of money. A lot.'

‘Even if we had all the evidence we needed to arrest him and charge him, the chances are he'd be bailed and could go home. To you and your mum. We have to do everything step by step,' she said.

‘How would you feel about giving evidence against him in court, son?' Bill asked. ‘Some people wouldn't like sending their own dad to jail.'

‘I'd lock him in and throw away the fucking key!' He was near to tears. ‘Look, you've got to get him. Honest. And keep him in prison a long time. Look at that businessman who got let out after only six months. What if Dad came out that soon?'

‘Wasn't that man in for fraud? They don't hand down life sentences for fraud, Nigel. Your dad'll be out sooner or later, anyway.'

‘Even if he's killed someone?'

Kate froze. She could sense Bill freezing too. ‘Killed someone?' she repeated at last. Alan Grafton swung backwards and forwards, his trousers dirtied, his jumper slashed. He lay on the slab, grimacing as Patrick Duncan pulled forward his scalp.

Perhaps gripping the back of the chair would bring her back to the present.

‘As good as! You ask my mum. Only she won't tell you, will she? Because he's taken away her life, as sure as if – Hey, you thought I meant something else, didn't you?' He stood up, swallowing painfully. ‘You thought I meant. …'

‘It's OK, son. Sit yourself down.'

Nigel shook Bill's arm off. ‘Has he? Has he? Oh, Christ!'

Kate touched Bill's hand, miming coffee, and left him with the lad. He was the expert, after all. A father. And she knew how kind he could be. The drinks machine responded quickly, and she was back probably before Nigel noticed she'd gone. Her pulse was racing. What she wanted to do was prod and probe the agonising spot. What she had to do was remember that the police had to obey the law.

‘Look, kid,' Bill was saying. ‘We're the Fraud Squad, aren't we? It's money problems we deal with. But if you've any evidence of any wrong doing, you've got to tell us. Any evidence. Any wrong doing.'

‘Sit yourself down and drink this,' Kate said.

Nigel dashed the cup across the table with the side of his hand. ‘You reckon my dad's a fucking killer and you give me fucking coffee! I'm out of here.'

Bill was between him and the door. ‘Sit down and don't be such a bloody fool. Watch my lips. Right? We want to talk to your dad about money. The only reason we're not doing that at the moment is your mum's safety. Right? You're not under arrest so you can come and go any time you want. But if you want to have tantrums like this, you can bloody have them somewhere else.'

There was a very long moment before they detected a grudging, ‘Sorry.'

‘What about that college of yours?' Bill asked at last. ‘Shouldn't you be there this morning?'

Nigel nodded.

‘You're going to be very late. Does your dad get to hear about lateness and missing classes?'

‘You know he does.'

‘In that case, you'd better hop in my motor. I'll make sure no one at the college splits. OK? Come on, Kate'll sort out that mess.' At least he had the grace to wink at her as he guided Nigel out.

There was a message on her desk telling her to contact Super-intendent Neville immediately – no clues why. She organised someone to mop up the interview room, and sat down to dial.

To her surprise, she got through direct to him, unintercepted by his secretary. His tone was curt, but not hostile: she sensed there was someone else in his room.

‘DS Power: I gather there's to be a meeting to discuss strategy in the Sanderson case this afternoon.'

‘Sir.'

‘I take it you'll be there?'

‘Sir.'

‘I'd ask you to stay behind here afterwards. We have a squad issue to discuss. So if you have any work scheduled for then, I'd be grateful if you would delegate it.'

‘Squad issue, Sir?' Cope and Selby's angry faces flew in front of her eyes.

‘Correct. Till this afternoon, then, Kate.'

So despite all the formality and chill of tone, he'd ended on an informal note. Was this to offer some covert reassurance? Dared she phone Graham to find out what the hell was going on? Not openly: he believed in the hierarchy so devoutly he'd clam up. But she could certainly get an update on Simon's condition, and phone him with that.