Хилари Боннер - Wheel of Fire

‘Smoother than yours, I shouldn’t wonder,’ said the DI smiling. ‘God knows, I don’t know a lot about gardening, but I’ve never seen a gardener with hands like that.’

Dr Carlisle was young, thin, and bespectacled. He wore a white coat and a harassed expression. He was a stereotypical junior hospital doctor. Straight out of central casting, thought Vogel, who had met a number of junior hospital doctors in his time but didn’t think he had ever encountered one who so fitted the part.

‘Phillip Carlisle,’ said the young man thrusting out a bony, long-fingered hand. ‘How can I help?’

‘I’d appreciate your professional opinion on Mr Grey’s injuries,’ said Vogel, taking the doctor’s hand in his. He noticed that, in spite of his harassed air, the young man’s skin was cool and his handshake firm.

‘Well, he has suffered multiple wounds, incisions, to different parts of his body, four to his right shoulder and upper arm, and three to his left thigh,’ replied Dr Carlisle. ‘They are clearly consistent with stab wounds, probably inflicted by a knife of some sort.’

‘And how serious are these wounds?’

‘Not nearly as serious as we thought at first. Mr Grey was bleeding profusely when he was brought in. But he was extremely lucky. The wounds were not that deep, they may have been inflicted by a knife with a short blade, like a penknife, or even a Stanley knife, and certainly none of them were in any way life threatening. They had to be stitched, of course, and I’m sure are painful and debilitating. But they were all in areas of the body where there are no vital organs. Nonetheless, with as many stab wounds as were sustained, I would have expected at least one of them to have hit a major artery. They didn’t. They missed.’

‘So your prognosis is that Mr Grey will make a full recovery?’

‘Oh yes. We will keep him in tonight, but he will probably be discharged tomorrow.’

Vogel was thoughtful as he left the hospital with Saslow.

‘We need to check out the Greys, Saslow. See if you can get hold of Micky Palmer, will you? Never misses anything, Micky. I want to know all we can about them before we talk to Grey’s missus, and before we take a formal statement from George Grey.’

‘Right, boss,’ said Saslow.

‘Meanwhile I’ll call Taunton nick and get them to send somebody here to stand guard over George. As a matter of urgency. I don’t trust that man.’

‘I know what you mean, boss. What will our next move be?’

‘Looks like it might be a bit of a pub crawl, Dawn,’ Vogel replied.

The DC smiled. These were words she never expected to hear from DI David Vogel. After all, everyone knew that Vogel never touched alcohol.

‘Shall we start with lunch at the Blue Ball?’ the DI asked.

As soon as the two police officers had left his bedside, Grey reached for his mobile phone, which was on the bedside cabinet, alongside his wallet. He dialled the number of a pay-as-you-go mobile.

‘Look, I don’t know what your plan is now, but this isn’t what I signed up for,’ he said. ‘Nobody was supposed to die.’

The voice at the other end of the phone was cool and assured.

‘He wouldn’t have lived long anyway,’ said the voice. ‘The Parkinson’s would have got him sooner or later. We probably did him a favour. Saved him a lot of suffering.’

‘Oh yeah, that makes it all right, does it? What about that poor cow of a nurse?’

‘She was trouble from the beginning. Asked too many questions. And she couldn’t be trusted. We got lucky there.’

‘She didn’t seem like trouble to me. In any case, what the hell do you mean “lucky”?’

Involuntarily Grey raised his voice. He realised he had more or less shouted the word. He hunched himself even more closely over his phone and lowered his voice to little more than a whisper. ‘Is that what you call it?’ he hissed.

‘In this case, yes,’ said the voice.

‘Look, I’m fucking furious,’ said George, trying hard not to raise his voice again. ‘I could get done for fucking murder.’

‘No.’ The voice was still cool, controlled. ‘You’ll be fine as long as you keep your head. You didn’t do anything wrong, after all, did you? That fire was down to our mysterious intruders, wasn’t it?’

George grunted. ‘You know what,’ he said. ‘I’ve just had the filth round. Two of the Avon and Somerset’s finest. And I don’t think they believe a word of my story about armed intruders. Not a word of it.’

‘Maybe not, but not believing you and proving you are lying are two different things. Just keep calm, George, and everything will be fine.’

‘Will it?’ snapped George. ‘I don’t think so. This is murder. And the cops never let go when they’re investigating a murder. This DI Vogel, he wants to see me again, take a formal statement. I just don’t know what I’m going to say...’

He felt as if every nerve in his body was jangling. He’d been in a few scrapes in his life, lived near the edge, always taken chances, but George Grey had probably never really experienced true fear before. So, this is how it is, he thought. This is how it is to fear life almost more than death.

The voice was speaking again.

‘Look, how long are you being kept in hospital?’

‘I don’t know. Not long, I shouldn’t think.’

‘You’re all right, then?’

‘Oh yes, great! No, I’m OK. Just about. So they say. Hurts like fuck though.’

‘Well, as long as there’s no permanent damage. We need to meet, don’t we? Soon. But I can’t come to you.’

‘I’m in hospital.’

‘Not for long, you said so. We have to talk. I will look after you, you know, and that missus of yours. I said I would, didn’t I? Whatever happened, I would make sure you were looked after.’

‘Yeah well, it doesn’t feel like it right now. I’m in fucking agony and I’ve got the filth all over me.’

‘I can sort it. But we need to meet. And you need to keep out of the way of that DI Vogel until you feel more up to dealing with him. I will guide you, you know that.’

‘All right.’

George realised he had little choice. He was already in too deep.

‘OK,’ he continued. ‘Straightaway, after I’m discharged.’

‘And when will that be?’

‘I don’t know. Tomorrow probably. Or maybe the next day. They haven’t told me.’

‘We haven’t got time to waste. If you’re OK, why don’t you discharge yourself? Just get out of the hospital, and out of Somerset. We could meet today. I owe you, don’t I?’

‘In more ways than one,’ said George.

‘I was thinking of the practical way,’ said the voice. ‘You have completed a service. I owe you a substantial payment. And, yes, probably an explanation.’

‘Yeah, both.’

‘Both will be forthcoming. And a new plan. Just get on a train. Yes?’

‘Yeah. I suppose so. Are you still in the same place?’

‘I am. Let’s meet in the pub. You’ll need a drink by the time you get here.’

‘All right.’

‘But make sure you don’t leave a paper trail. And ditch your phone. Get yourself a pay-as-you-go.’

‘All right,’ said George again.

The call ended. George Grey leaned back on his pillows and closed his eyes, shutting out the world. Just for a few seconds. He was worried. Very worried indeed.

It was quiet in the pub. Monday lunchtime. Vogel decided not to make himself known at this stage, not to the landlady or any of the other customers. He preferred to observe.

The food was good, with a reasonable vegetarian selection. Vogel noticed that there were even vegan dishes on offer. He pondered momentarily on how times had changed. Vogel had become a vegetarian as a teenager after watching a TV documentary on abattoirs. In those days UK pubs and restaurants made scant concession to what was regarded as little more than an inconvenient dietary peculiarity. And his parents had dismissed Vogel’s vegetarianism as a phase. But Vogel never touched meat again. He didn’t do phases. Not even as a boy.