Justice for the Damned (13 page)

‘I’m on my way there. I just thought I’d stop by and see how you’re going on.’

‘Well, I’m feeling much better.’ Jim approached his bed, avoiding Margaret’s gaze.

‘I’ve brought you something.’ Margaret placed a Tupperware container on the bedside table. ‘It’s steamed salmon, rice and vegetables. I know it’s not what you like to eat, but you’re going to have to get used to that kind of food from now on.’

‘I’ll bet you told Ian it was for your lunch, didn’t you?’

A slight frown formed on Margaret’s forehead. ‘I can’t stay long. I’ve got some free time this afternoon. I could come back then, if you like.’

‘I’m seeing Doctor Advani after lunch.’

‘Yes, but that won’t take all afternoon, will it?’

‘I don’t know.’ Jim’s voice was brusque. ‘You’d have to ask her.’

A moment of silence passed. Then Margaret spoke, and the hurt in her voice hurt Jim. ‘I’m a little confused, Jim. I thought you wanted me to come see you.’

‘I do.’ The words were out before Jim could remind himself of all the reasons he shouldn’t say them. He looked at Margaret. Any remaining pretence of being emotionless was stripped away, as he’d known it would be, by the sight of her gentle face. ‘It’s just that there are things going on…’ He tailed off.

‘You mean the things you mentioned on the phone?’

‘Yes.’

Margaret’s hurt turned to concern. ‘Are you in some kind of trouble?’

‘I really can’t talk about it.’ Guilt flickered in Jim’s eyes. ‘I’m sorry, Margaret. I know I shut you out during our marriage. And I know I’m doing the same thing now. Believe me, I don’t want to, but—’ He fell silent again. He’d already said more than he meant to. If Margaret went to John Garrett with her concerns, he could find himself having to answer all sorts of awkward questions.

Margaret smiled thinly. ‘At least you’re acknowledging that you shut me out. I suppose that’s something.’ She stood up. ‘I’m glad you’re feeling a little better. If you ever want to talk, you know where I am. Bye, Jim.’

Jim watched her leave, clenching his teeth to stop himself from calling her back. He knew that if he did, it would all come spilling out, the whole incriminating truth. His gaze fell to the Tupperware container. He placed a hand on its warm lid, telling himself it had to be this way, hating himself for not having swallowed his pride and pleaded with Margaret to come back to him years ago, before things had gone beyond the point of no return. He turned his attention to the television. There was still nothing on the news channels about Edward Forester. An uneasy frown creased his features, but he resisted the impulse to reach for the phone and try to find out what was going on.
Give it a couple more hours
, he told himself. He rested back against the pillows, letting out a long breath. He tried to focus on what needed to be done, but his mind kept drifting back to Margaret, her hair, her eyes. He found himself fantasising about being with her in some sunny place. It didn’t matter exactly where, just so long as it was far away from his job.

At midday, Jim was woken from a sleep he hadn’t realised he’d fallen into by a nurse with his medication. As he swallowed the tablets, he scanned through the news channels. Still nothing. That decided him. He picked up the phone, dialled Directory Enquiries and asked for the number of the Sheffield constituency office of Edward Forester. When the operator came back with it, Jim asked to be connected. He knew that if Forester was dead there was a good chance the police would be monitoring his office telephone. In which case, the call would quickly be traced back to him. But he figured that didn’t matter. After all, if Forester was dead the truth would have to come out anyway. A woman picked up and said, ‘This is the office of Edward Forester, Labour MP for Sheffield South-East, how can I help you?’ The woman sounded calm and businesslike. There was nothing in her voice to suggest anything was amiss.

‘Can I speak to Mr Forester please?’

‘Mr Forester isn’t here. I’m his PA. Can I help you?’

‘I was told he was going to be in the office today.’

‘I’m sorry about that, but he’s suffering from the flu. If you’d like to leave your name and contact number, I’d be glad to pass them on to him.’

‘That’s OK. It’s not an urgent matter. I’ll phone again in a few days’ time.’

Jim called Directory Enquiries again and asked to be put through to the Town Hall office of Councillor Philippa Horne. This time a man answered. Jim asked him the same question and was told that Philippa wasn’t working in the office today. Jim hung up, his forehead lined with thought. He’d detected no hint of a lie in either the woman or the man’s voice. But that didn’t mean much. Both of them could have been coppers. If they were, he’d soon know about it when their colleagues turned up at the hospital wanting to talk to him. And if they weren’t, well, Bryan Reynolds had either backed out of or failed in his attempt to kill Edward Forester. Whichever the case, it was only a matter of time now before he knew what the score was. Of that he was certain. What he wasn’t so sure about was which way he wanted it to go. On the one hand, he might be facing a life sentence. On the other, Forester would remain free to continue his depravity.

Jim’s line of thought was broken by the approach of a porter with the lunch trolley. Jim shook his head when the porter made to place a tray on his bedside table. ‘I just need a knife and fork.’

The salmon, rice and vegetables tasted bland to Jim, but he savoured every mouthful. It was a long time since he’d eaten food cooked with real care. After lunch, the hours seemed to drag by interminably. Every passing minute lay heavy on him. Every sound in the corridor brought with it the expectation that some of his colleagues had arrived to question him. Towards late afternoon, Doctor Advani came to see him. ‘Good news, Mr Monahan,’ she said. ‘The echocardiogram shows your artery has opened up. Given proper medication, rest and diet, I see no reason why you shouldn’t soon be back to your normal self.’

The blood rushed from Jim’s face. Not at the doctor’s words, but at what he was seeing on the television screen over her shoulder. The local news was on. It showed a live image of Philippa Horne. For an instant, Jim thought she was at a police press conference, appealing for information. But then he realised her face wasn’t that of a grief-stricken wife, it was that of a politician playing to the cameras. She looked confident and relaxed as, gesturing at a huge piece of machinery behind her, she said, ‘This hydraulic press, the largest of its kind, will create up to eighty new jobs, as well as having a knock-on effect for—’

‘Are you feeling alright, Mr Monahan?’ Doctor Advani’s voice drew Jim’s attention away from the screen. ‘Your colour has suddenly dropped.’

‘I’m fine.’ As Jim said it he realised it was true. He
was
fine. A sense of relief hit him, a sense that he’d been pulled back from a precipice. He’d thought his life was over, but now he had a second chance – a chance to try and make things right with Margaret. He found himself caught up again in his fantasy of them together in some place of sunshine and happiness. But this time he didn’t resist it, he allowed it to wash over him like a summer breeze. The breeze turned cold as Edward Forester’s face intruded on his daydream. A shudder of revulsion ran through Jim. He could leave behind his job, but he could never leave behind the knowledge of what Forester had done and what he would do to others. No matter how far away he went, there was no escaping that. It would always be there, like a shadow blocking the sun. There was only one way to break free of it. He had to bring Forester to justice.
But this time
, he told himself, clenching his fist,
I’ll do it right. This time it will be real justice, not vigilante justice. You owe that much at least not just to yourself, but to Mark, to Grace, to Amy, to everyone that filthy bastard’s ever hurt.

Doctor Advani took Jim’s wrist and began to count his pulse beats.

‘I told you, I’m fine,’ said Jim, swinging his legs out of bed.

‘What are you doing?’

‘Checking myself out of hospital.’

The doctor’s eyebrows drew together. ‘No, no, Mr Monahan, you need to remain here for another two or three days.’

‘But you said my artery has opened up.’

‘Yes, but there’s no guarantee it’ll stay that way. You need to rest. Too much physical activity could bring on another heart attack.’

Jim took his clothes out of his bedside cabinet and started to change into them. ‘Look, Doctor, I’m not about to start running around. All I want to do is get a proper night’s sleep in my own bed.’

‘Physical activity isn’t the only factor to consider. We need to monitor your condition to be sure your medication is—’

‘I’m sorry,’ interrupted Jim. ‘I know you mean well, but I’m going and that’s all there is to it. Now if you could just sort out whatever tablets I need.’

Doctor Advani looked at Jim for a moment, her eyes troubled. ‘Please wait here.’ She made her way to the nurses’ station. After a conversation with the head nurse and another doctor, she returned to Jim. ‘Is there nothing I can say to change your mind?’

‘No.’

Doctor Advani proffered a pen and a clipboard with a sheet of paper on it. ‘You need to sign this. It’s a disclaimer that exonerates the hospital in the event of serious complications or death directly related to your early release.’

Jim signed and passed it back. The doctor handed him another sheet of paper. ‘This is a prescription. You can pick it up at the pharmacy on the ground floor. Then you must go straight home to bed and stay there for at least forty-eight hours. And at the first sign of pain or breathlessness, you must phone an ambulance.’

‘I will. And thanks.’

As Jim gathered together his belongings, Doctor Advani spoke about how he’d need to return to the hospital for a check-up in a few weeks, and how he’d have the opportunity to take part in a cardiac rehabilitation programme. Jim nodded as if he was listening, but his mind was focused on one thing and one thing alone – nailing Edward Forester. He caught the lift downstairs, picked up his prescription and made his way outside. It was a cold, clear day. As he breathed in the sharply fresh air, a clean feeling spread through him. As though the pain of his heart attack had somehow washed away all the mistakes he’d made, all the bad things he’d done. The illusion was broken by the feel of the tape recorder in his pocket. People were dead who might not have been if he’d done things by the book. Nothing could wash that away.

Jim ducked into a taxi and gave the driver his home address. As they navigated through the early afternoon traffic, his thoughts turned to Bryan Reynolds. It was hard to believe the gangster had changed his mind about killing Forester. Reynolds wasn’t the type to back out of anything. So what had happened? That was the first thing he needed to find out.

Jim was relieved to see his car still parked outside his house. He paid the fare and approached it. The keys weren’t in the ignition where he’d left them. He went into the house and rifled through drawers until he found the spare set. He turned to leave, but hesitated. He stared uncertainly at the phone, before reaching for the handset and dialling Margaret. She picked up and said, with a note of surprise, ‘Jim, is that you?’

‘Yes.’

‘But this call’s from our home—’ Margaret pulled up and quickly corrected herself, ‘from your home number.’

A faint smile curled Jim’s lips at his ex-wife’s Freudian slip. ‘I discharged myself from hospital.’

‘What? Why?’

‘There’s something important I need to do.’

‘What’s more important than your health?’

‘I’m calling because I wanted to apologise for the way I was earlier. And to tell you not to worry about me. I thought I was in trouble, but… well, the situation’s changed.’

‘That’s great, Jim, but you didn’t answer my question.’

‘I will do when there’s time. I’ll answer anything you want.’

‘Anything?’

Jim caught the doubtful note in Margaret’s tone. ‘Anything at all. I promise. I’m not the same man you were married to, Margaret. Some things have happened recently that have changed me. I’m not just talking about my heart attack. So much…’ He paused a beat, then continued, ‘Like I said, there’s no time to go into it right now. There’s something I need to do. I’ll call you as soon as I’m done and we can get together and talk. If you want to talk, that is.’

When her reply came, Jim let out a low breath of relief. ‘Sure, Jim, I’d like that. Just promise me you’ll take care of yourself. Whatever you’re up to, it’s not worth dying over.’

‘Believe me, I’ve no intention of dying. In fact, quite the opposite. I want to make a fresh start.’ More accurately, Jim might have said,
I want to make a fresh start with you.
But the time wasn’t right. Not yet. ‘Bye, Margaret. I’ll speak to you soon.’

Jim drove into the city centre and parked up opposite a takeaway in a terraced row of shops. Above the door a sign in oriental-style lettering read ‘Xinchun Chinese Takeaway’. The takeaway hadn’t yet opened for business. Jim resisted the temptation to knock on the door and find out if it its owner, Li Xinchun, was in. Li was a known criminal who’d been seen by surveilling officers entering Bryan Reynolds’s strip club the previous night. There was a chance that he, too, had subsequently been put under surveillance. The chance was small – after all, the majority of Reynolds’s associates were criminals, and it simply wasn’t possible to keep tabs on them all – but it was there.

As Jim watched the takeaway, he popped pills out of blister strips and washed them down with bottled water. When he was done, he released a long, weary breath. He’d been buoyed up by the early autumn air, but now an almost irresistible heaviness was seeping into his body, tugging at his eyelids. He needed something to stave off the sensation. With a habitual movement, he took a cigarette packet out of his glove compartment. The cigarette was almost between his lips before he realised what he was doing. He looked at it with a momentary frown of longing, then returned it to the packet. A movement inside the takeaway attracted his attention. The short, stocky figure of Li Xinchun emerged from the front door and got into a white Transit van. As Li pulled away, Jim scanned the street for any vehicles that showed signs of following him. There were none. He accelerated after the van.