Mark Pearson - Death Row

‘He can comment on my boot up his arse he doesn’t watch himself.’

The Mexican snarled challengingly at Bob. He didn’t speak English but he could recognise the tone in his words. ‘ You old man, ’ he spat in guttural Spanish. ‘ Save your brave words for your bitch of a whore, you pussy! ’

Kate put a reassuring hand on the woman’s knee. ‘Are you okay?’

‘I’m fine. We don’t need you here. Please to go.’ The woman half spoke, half sobbed the words, her tiny hands still covering her face.

Kate spoke soothingly. ‘We received complaints. Fighting. Shouting. A woman screaming. Your neigh-bours called us. They were scared for you. We want to help.’

‘Please, you go now.’

Kate gently lifted the woman’s hands away. The woman was younger than she’d first guessed, beauty still there somewhere in the frightened, despairing eyes and despite the ugly bruise that marred the right side of her face with puffy swollen tissue. Kate looked at her for a moment, the anger inside her simmering. ‘Did he do this to you?’

‘No. I tripped up. I hit my head on the door.’

Kate looked across at the door to the small room. There was no handle, just a simple Yale lock. Put your key in and push. She already knew the woman was lying but that confirmed it for her — you couldn’t get the kind of injury she had sustained from a flat door. The skull was designed that way to protect the eyes. She took the woman’s hand. ‘We can help you, Maria. We can protect you.’

The woman’s eyes flicked nervously to her boyfriend and she shook her head. ‘I hit the door, is all. These neighbours, they should mind their own businesses.’

‘ You heard her, puta! Time for you to leave .’

Kate sighed and stood up. It wasn’t the first time she had reached this kind of impasse in a domestic-abuse situation. She was getting pretty sick and tired of not being able to help people because they weren’t able to help themselves. A vicious circle of fear, abuse and misery that all to often ended in tragedy, people only coming to their senses when all reason had been knocked out of them, and by then it was too late. She took a business card from her pocket and gave it to the woman. ‘Come and see me in the surgery tomorrow. I’ll treat you for that eye.’

‘I’ll be fine.’ The woman held the card out but Kate shook her head.

‘You keep it. Call me any time you need anything. Any time.’

‘ You heard her — she don’t need your fucking card. What are you, some pussy-eating lesbian ain’t got no man to do her right? Maybe you should come back one night, just you and me. I’ll sort you out .’

Kate turned round and looked at the Mexican stepping closer, watching his nostrils flare, watching the jaunty jut of his chin, the cockerel breath swelling his thin chest. She knew exactly what he was capable of, exactly what would happen when she left, and she pretty much decided there and then that this was one time she wouldn’t walk away. She looked at the man and spat on the floor. ‘ What are you, some homo with balls the size of peanuts? You think you’re a man hitting a woman, I think you’re a faggot pansy who can’t get it up and takes it out on her because you know what you really are and despise yourself for it. ’

‘ What did you call me ?’

‘ I called you a cock-sucking faggot .’

And the Mexican lunged forward, his fist flying towards Kate’s face. Time slowed for her. She watched the punch coming and flicked his arm away at the wrist with an open left palm. As it passed she drove her right fist hard into his sternum. Years spent keeping fit with karate paying off in spades. The man grunted and fell to his knees, his face beetroot-red now as he struggled to draw breath, his eyes flicking with shock and panic. Kate had to fight really hard to suppress the urge to kick his head and really hurt him. She took a deep breath and calmed herself. She turned and nodded at Bob Wilkinson. ‘He just attacked an officer of the law. That’s an offence, isn’t it?’

Bob grinned back. ‘It is in my book. What did you say to him?’

‘I was just asking him what he recommended on the menu in the restaurant he works at. Thinking about picking up some takeaway. I might have pronounced a word wrong. It’s been a long time since I vacationed in Spain.’ Kate smiled innocently.

Bob nodded dryly. ‘These Latin types, they sure do fly off the handle sometimes.’

‘It seems so. It’s the climate, no doubt. Maybe the chillies?’

Bob Wilkinson pulled out his radio ‘I’ll call for backup.’

As the sergeant moved to the door and put the call through, Kate turned back to the woman, who was still holding her card, clutched hard in her small fist — crumpling it, but not wanting to let it go. ‘Come in and see me tomorrow. He’s not going to be doing anything for a while.’

The man on the floor was making a whistling sound now as he finally managed to coax some air painfully in and out of his lungs. His hand was clutched to his stomach as he rocked back and forth on his knees, like one of the faithful called to prayer, and a low mewing groan could be heard under his rasping breath. Bob walked back to him as the man struggled to his feet, putting one hand on the table and wiping tears from his eyes with the other. Bob winked at him as he unclipped handcuffs from his belt. ‘They’re going to take you for a little ride in the nice police van. And then, when we’ve got you nice and cosy in a little room of your own, we’ll see if your papers are all proper and correct. You wouldn’t believe it but some people try and sneak into this country without proper permission.’

*

Twenty minutes later, downstairs and outside on the pavement of Camden High Street, the sound of a police siren dwindled into the distance. It was twelve o’clock but the night was bright and raucous with noise. Laughter, raised voices and music spilling from the pubs that were starting to close and the late-night clubs and pubs that were beginning to fill up. Takeaway fast-food joints were doing a roaring trade as burgers, kebabs, greasy fried chicken, chips and pizza slices were ordered to assuage lager- and alcopop-fuelled hunger. Doctor Kate Walker was no stranger to the sight of feeding time when the pubs closed, except that in Hampstead, where she lived, you could also get crêpes with your choice of filling, sweet or savoury, or toasted panini or ciabatta rolls with all kinds of exotic fillings. And the people queuing to eat them had probably had a glass of bubbly too many rather than too much vodka and Red Bull. Jack Delaney might be among them, she thought, with a small smile to herself; they weren’t all Hooray Henrys in Hampstead, after all. Jack Delaney with a glass or two of whiskey in him, hugging her warmly to him as they waited in line for a takeaway pizza from Pizza Express. Arguing whether they should go up to the hill to her house or down the hill to his new place in Belsize Park. The area was certainly a lot better with him in it. Her life was a lot better with him in it.

Breathing in the rich smells wafting out of a kebab shop as they passed it Kate realised she was pretty hungry herself. It had been a long shift — she’d grabbed a quick sandwich before coming on duty at six but that seemed like a lifetime ago now and she was thinking she might just pick up a crêpe Suzette herself to enjoy with a well-earned and well-chilled glass of Viognier when she got home. Loaded with calories, she knew, but hey, she had just had a workout and, after the day she had had, she reckoned she deserved a treat or two. She smiled to herself as they passed Big Enchilada, the Mexican restaurant Rodrigues Sanchez worked in, where a chicken-and-ribs joint had once been. She glanced at the menu — tacos and burritos and her favourite, chicken quesadillas, marinated and grilled chicken meat folded in toasted tortillas with three kinds of melted cheese and fiery jalapeño sauce. Kate felt her mouth salivating and her arteries hardening at the same time and considered for a moment buying some takeout to bring home to share with Jack. And then she remembered the haunted battered face of the woman who worked long hours waitressing here to pay the rent on the squalid bedsit that they had just left. Remembered the pain written into her fragile flesh and the hurt branded in her eyes and Kate’s appetite disappeared. Besides, Jack had an early start tomorrow and would probably be sound asleep in bed. And as for her glass of Viognier? She was pregnant so that was going to have to wait a long while; it would be quite a good few months before she could look forward to that luxury again.