The Collared Collection (31 page)

He bent to kiss her gently on the lips, ‘Sorry I couldn’t get in to see you earlier, it’s been manic at work. How are you?’

‘Getting stronger by the minute, thanks, I’ve had lots of people dropping by.’

‘Good. Real shocker about Ronan, isn’t it?’

‘I know … I couldn’t believe it when Elizabeth told me. His dying so suddenly of natural causes – without any assistance from Balaclava Man, I mean – really brings home the fragile hold we have over our continued existence.’ She did harbour grave doubts, however, about just how ‘natural’ his death had been, in light of Susan’s revelations.

David ate one of the few grapes Doris had missed. ‘It does … and I thought we had an open admission of guilt, with Susan leaving so suddenly like that, without a word to anyone – but I was wrong, her Paris story checks out. That’s official.’

‘I’m sure it is …’ Official meddling, more like. ‘Did you manage to ring Sam and Alex for me?’

‘I did; Sam wanted to get the next plane home to make sure you’re alright, but I managed to talk him out of it. Dominic and I have both assured the boys you are going to be fully recovered in no time and I’ve promised to set up a meeting when they get back, so they can check for themselves.’

She felt really excited at the prospect, ‘That would be great, I miss them so much it hurts …’ As her mood did an instant turnaround, an involuntary sob came from somewhere deep within her and she bit down hard on the inside of her cheek to stop herself dissolving into a prolonged fit of weeping.

In a bid to channel her thoughts elsewhere, David held up the sports bag he’d been swinging self-consciously, ‘I grabbed some of your toiletries from the bathroom and some underwear, a nightshirt, that sort of thing.’

‘Thanks, I was hoping you would think of that. Could you just stick them in the bedside locker for now, please? I haven’t got the energy to change yet, but I’m working up to it.’

Smirk alert. ‘That’s my gal.’

‘Any luck with the mysterious Christine Jones?’

‘No, nothing yet, but I’ve got Mike onto it – if anyone can come up with the goods, it’s him. He’s got some impressive contacts – and not just the UK.’

‘Good. It’s about time this mess was sorted, once and for all.’

He looked guilty, ‘I know …’ but his shame was short-lived, ‘I missed lunch – do you mind if I help myself to some of your chocolates?’

Chapter Forty-eight

On Thursday morning, Callie was allowed a pot of yoghurt for breakfast. It wasn’t a brand name, nor was it the thick, creamy variety; no matter, to her it tasted as good as any feast, and she savoured every drop of the runny, strawberry-flavoured liquid. And though she’d never admit as much to Sam and Alex, she licked the foil top too, to ensure none was wasted. Ambrosia! Even better, since she had been stripped of her tubes of honour and most surgical paraphernalia, she was allowed to venture from her prison cell to the shower rooms along the corridor.

Progress was slow; she clutched her soap bag, tiny towel (David was a man, therefore sadly lacking in common sense, she assumed) and a clean nightshirt in one hand, while she tried to hold her hospital gown together at the rear, to save the world from a view of her bottom. She shuffled along, feeling a little weak and wobbly and trying not to stretch her wound. She passed only two other patients before she came to the deserted Nurses’ Station – they were both middle-aged males with grey faces and shuffled along just like her, pushing metal drip stands with suspended bags, which pumped goodness knows what into their blood streams. Callie felt super-healthy in comparison.

While she ran water in the shower cubicle until it was hot, she carefully undressed. Very soon the small room was filled with steam; this was to be a luxury cleansing after sweating in her narrow sick bed for what seemed like weeks. The big moment arrived; she stepped gingerly into the ceramic tray, pulled the heavy curtain across, and stuck first her head, then her entire body under the pulsating flow. Damn, it felt good.

She was just beginning to feel a vague twinge of guilt for draining the hospital’s entire hot water supply, when she heard the door open. Like a fool, she had obeyed the instruction written in bold red lettering that warned against securing the lock, in case emergency assistance was required. Hair over her eyes and the thick water-resistant curtain prevented her from seeing who had come to play Peeping Tom – she didn’t think she was being paranoid, but she was sure it wasn’t any of the nursing staff, as they would have knocked first and announced their arrival.

Paralysing shafts of fear shot through her before self-survival instincts engaged. In one fluid and unusually co-ordinated movement, she pulled the emergency rip cord so hard she feared the ceiling would cave in, and assumed the crouch position, ignoring sharp spasms of pain where her appendix used to be. She’d expected a bell or siren to ring, but there was no sound at all … none except the creepy, asexual voice that had threatened her over the phone weeks before:

‘Callie … oh, Callie. This is your
Psycho
moment. Enjoy.’

The blade of a long knife plunged through the curtain, roughly at the height her boobs would have been had she remained standing. She opened her mouth, only for the scream to freeze somewhere in her throat …

The door opened once more, ‘Mrs Ashton? Is … Who are you? Get out of here at once!’

There was a scuffling noise and some grunting, then a yelp, then nothing. And when a security guard threw back the curtain, she thought her life was over.

Once she started to scream, she couldn’t stop.

‘Shh … you’re safe, he’s gone. You can come out now.’ He helped her up and held her close. She didn’t care that she was stark naked; encircled by those strong, uniformed arms was exactly where she wanted to be at that precise moment.

A nurse she hadn’t seen before was slumped on the floor, her hand losing the battle to stem a flow of blood from the gash in her upper arm, which pooled on the floor. ‘Are you alright?’ she whispered to Callie, before her head flopped forward.

Other nurses rushed in to help their colleague, while the security guard tried to wrap her miniscule towel around her, to warm her and stop the shakes that vibrated her body.

When the injured nurse came to, Callie asked her, ‘Did you see who it was?’

She managed, ‘No … white coat … balaclava …’ before losing consciousness once more.

Callie was afraid David might physically attack the hapless security guy – his fists balled as he paced her room, making hissing noises through clenched teeth. ‘You assured me Mrs Ashton would be under surveillance at all times!’ He repeated, much louder, ‘At all times!’

‘I … I couldn’t do that while she was in the shower – have a heart, mate. I thought that was a good time to go on me break, mate.’

‘I am not your mate!’ He paced some more, and then asked more calmly, ‘Have you at least arranged for me to have all the CCTV tapes?’

The guard stretched his neck in his tight collar. ‘Yes sir, they’re on their way.’

‘At least you can do something right. For an encore, would you like to explain to me how someone wearing a face mask, when it’s hot and months away from Halloween, was able to roam the corridors at will, without being challenged?’

‘I … I don’t know, mate. There weren’t many people around – doctors’ rounds.’

She raised her hand, like a schoolgirl wanting to be excused.

‘Yes?’ She couldn’t ever remember seeing him so annoyed, or so close to losing it.

She pulled the blankets tighter around her body. ‘I just wondered how the injured nurse is.’

‘She’s doing well,’ said the guard, grateful to be able to focus away from David. ‘Luckily, the wound wasn’t as bad as it looked. I think it was the shock more than anything that laid her out.’

David seethed some more, while the target of his fury hopped from foot to foot, looking around the room at anything but David. ‘Get me two white coats and a wheelchair,’ he demanded.

The guard dared to ask, ‘What for?’

His answer was menacingly restrained. ‘We’re getting out of here. I’ll send someone for the tapes. Try not to lose them in the meantime, or I won’t be responsible for my actions.’

Chapter Forty-nine

David had notched down the fury a fraction, but was still fuming when he gunned the Beemer out of the hospital car park, heading for his flat. If he’d had a blue light to flash, no doubt he would have used it and had his siren on full blare. Callie’s subtle sideways glance at the set of his jaw told her she’d be wise to let him stew for a while longer; a pulse throbbed its rhythm on his left temple and she was pretty sure his teeth were grinding.

At the first red traffic light they encountered, he spoke. ‘I can’t believe those security clowns!’ He banged the steering wheel with both palms. ‘They promised me you’d be watched all the time – bloody buffoons couldn’t guard a bedpan.’

She pulled the stolen white coat around her. ‘It’s OK, David, they didn’t abandon me on purpose, it was an accident of timing … fortunately nothing fatal happened and I’m still in one piece.’

‘No thanks to them! And something fatal
almost
bloody well happened – some lunatic missed stabbing you to death by inches!’

They shot forward the second the lights changed. She didn’t need him to remind her she’d had a very narrow escape – what might have been didn’t bear thinking about. She tried to think of herself as fortunate … though that was difficult when her body was doing its ‘closed down in shock’ routine at the same time as reminding her she’d recently had surgery, no matter how minor. By the time she crawled onto the bed, she felt dizzy and sick and sweat was dripping from her brow. David folded the duvet over her and she slept.

It was dusk when she woke. She struggled with care to a half-sitting position and switched on the bedside light. Mike popped his head round the door. ‘Welcome back, Callie, you’ve slept very well. Fancy a cup of tea?’

‘I do, but could I have a glass of water first, please? My mouth’s really dry.’

‘Coming right up. Do you need me to help you sit comfortably?’

‘No, I’m good; I think I’ll get up in a minute.’

‘OK, but have your water first.’

She drained the glass and rattled an ice cube around her mouth with her tongue. It felt good. Mike helped her get dressed in a pair of rhino-bottom tracksuit pants and a loose shirt that wouldn’t bother her wound, then deposited her on the sofa and made tea.

‘You had a close encounter of the scary kind today, Callie,’ he called from the kitchen. ‘Don’t you think it might be time to disappear until Balaclava Man is caught?’

‘Simon suggested I take off somewhere hot. It’s tempting, but I think that would be the coward’s way out.’

‘Not at all, it’s a sensible idea. Maybe you could meet up with the boys in Turkey?’

She shook her head as he set down a tray in front of her. There was always the nagging fear she might lead Balaclava Man to Sam and Alex. ‘Thanks, you’re not going to join me?’

‘No, I’ve had several cups while you’ve been asleep, I’ll be peeing the stuff. Will you at least think about getting away?’

She grinned up at him, ‘I promise I will. Have the team made any progress while I’ve been laid up?’

‘Nothing much to report, but I’ve got a lot of feelers out and I’m confident it won’t be too long before we get the break we need.’

She wasn’t sure whether he was trying to convince her or himself, and wondered if she should pass on the two names given to her by Susan. No, she thought she’d wait and see what Elizabeth’s Keith could come up with first; his people weren’t so bound up in red tape as the police. Callie had the feeling Mike wanted to confide something to her during the two hours they watched television until David’s return – whatever it was, he kept it to himself in the end, despite having ample opportunity to speak out. She reminded herself that was his prerogative, no matter how much she wanted to interrogate him.

David joined her on the sofa after he let Mike out. ‘Did Mike look after you alright?’

‘Oh yes, thanks, he waited on me hand and foot, made me soup and really spoiled me.’

‘Damn right, you deserve nothing less. I’m sorry I couldn’t be here myself.’

‘Hard day at the office, dear?’

‘Funny. Actually, I drove over to see my brother.’

‘Oh? Is something wrong?’

‘No, it was a professional visit – you remember I told you he’s a psychologist?’ She nodded. ‘I wondered if he could throw any light on the sort of person we’re dealing with here.’

Her interest was fired. ‘And could he?’

‘In general terms, yes – his guess is someone suffering from some form of Obsessional Compulsive Neurosis.’

‘What’s that, when it’s at home?’

‘A person whose mind is totally dominated by an idea or emotion, leading to impulsive acts which are beyond the control of their will or judgement.’

‘Wow, a genuine single-minded fruitcake on a mission, then?’

‘Pretty much, I don’t think the condition precludes them being a sociopath or psychopath as well, but Rob blinded me with science a bit at that stage, so I could be wrong.’

‘So in a nutshell, Balaclava Man is obsessed with getting rid of me and anyone else in his way, in much the same way people feel compelled to clean their house from top to bottom everyday? They have to do it, whether it’s rational or not?’

‘I think so.’

‘I suppose that could explain some of the childish prank-type attacks – he’s not someone who’s firing on all cylinders.’

‘Mm … he’s probably long ago forgotten exactly why he wanted to eliminate you. But remember, this is just Rob’s opinion, based on the very small amount of information I was able to give him – even he said he might be way off-target. Ah, before I forget, he’s invited us over, as soon as you are feeling better.’

‘Ooh! So I’ll get to meet the pretentious madam?’

‘Jocelyn? Yes you will. And don’t be surprised if my parents wangle an invitation too – they’re dying to look you over, make sure you’re good enough for their precious little boy.’ He winked.

‘Uh-oh, maybe Mike and Simon are right; I should do a bunk and lie low somewhere hot.’