Tania Carver - Choked

She sighed once more. ‘You’re going to meet the woman who’s going to help you.’

‘To do what?’ Said without looking at her, straight at the wall.

‘To … make you feel better. Well.’

‘Am I ill? I’m not ill.’

‘No, no, you’re not ill. But she’s going to help you feel … happier. And make you rich.’

‘Rich?’

‘Yes. And … and make up for all the things that have happened to you.’

‘How?’

‘She just will. But you have to come and meet her. And we have to go now.’

He gave her words some thought. Rich. He couldn’t imagine what rich was like. He remembered a time when he was supposed to have been rich, but that was a long time ago. Before prison. Before he was Malcolm Tyrell. He couldn’t remember it clearly. All he knew was that it had been a happy time. Before …

Before everything went wrong.

But rich meant happy. He knew that much. He had been told. And happy, he knew, was good.

He stood up. ‘All right, then.’

‘Thank Christ for that. Just—’

‘But there’s one more thing.’

Another sigh. He could tell she was trying hard not to get angry. Not to get all red-faced again. She wasn’t doing a good job of it.

‘What?’ She looked at her watch. ‘Come on, we haven’t got time for this.’

‘I want to see the little girl.’

‘Oh, Jesus … ’

‘I want to make sure she’s all right.’

‘She’s fine. She’s OK. Come on … ’

He sat down on the bed once more, unmoving.

Another exasperated sigh from the woman. She looked like she wanted to hit him. He didn’t look at her. She waited. Nothing happened.

‘Right. Fine. I’ll go and get her.’

‘Thank you.’

‘And then we’ll go.’

She stormed out of the caravan. He heard her stomping angrily back to the house. He sat on the bed looking through the window, watching her go.

I’ll see that the little girl is all right, he thought, then I’ll go with them. He thought again. Go where? And who was this woman they wanted him to meet?

Although the caravan wasn’t cold, he found himself shivering.

I wish I was back in prison, he thought.

I wish things could be easy again.

‘You took your time.’ Anni was waiting in front of Ipswich General. Franks had called her, said that since Suffolk were doing all they could to track down Josephina, she should join Mickey in hunting for Marina.

Mickey pulled up and she got in. He drove off, heading down the A14, on to the A12.

‘Sorry,’ he said. ‘Been doing proper police work. How’s the boss?’

She thought of the figure she had seen lying in the hospital bed, bandaged, wired and tubed. His eyes were taped up; his body was battered, misshapen and damaged. The dressings hid the areas that had been shaved and stitched, cut open and rejoined. They both defined and exaggerated the shape of him.

‘Well as can be expected,’ she said. She told Mickey that Phil hadn’t been near the centre of the explosion but had been caught in the blast. The flames had seared his arms, his torso. Flying debris — most likely a part of the wall — had hit him on the head. That was what was giving most cause for concern. He had been operated on, the pressure relieved, and now left to recover.

Mickey winced. ‘Fingers crossed, then.’ For a long time he said nothing, then Anni became aware of him looking at her.

‘What?’

He looked back to the road. ‘What d’you mean?’

‘You were staring at me.’

‘Sorry.’ He felt himself blushing. ‘I just … You don’t look like you’ve been roughing it all night, that’s all. You look fresh. Alert. You look … good.’ Eyes facing front all the time he spoke.

A smile crept around the corners of Anni’s mouth. ‘Thank you.’

He shrugged, mumbled, ‘Welcome.’

‘The things you can do with concealer.’

Mickey said nothing more. Put the radio on. Anni settled down into the seat, smiling to herself.

It took them the best part of an hour to reach the hotel near Braintree that Marina had last been spotted at. The two uniforms were waiting for them. Mickey parked up. He and Anni went into reception.

‘She just ran,’ said the first constable, Alison Irwin. ‘We tried to stop her, talk to her, but … ’ A shrug. ‘Tom tried to flag the car down.’ She indicated her partner, who nodded.

‘She just drove round me,’ Tom Crown, the other uniform, said.

Anni crossed to the receptionist. Questioned her too. She had nothing much to add.

‘Apparently she hid from us in a supply cupboard,’ said Tom Crown. ‘Told the maid she was hiding from an abusive husband.’

‘Inventive,’ said Anni.

They went to the car park, traced the path Marina had taken. They went up to her room to see if she had left a clue behind, anything to show where she was going, what she was doing. Nothing.

‘We’ve put the registration number of her car out as a general alert,’ said Alison Irwin, ‘but we’ve had nothing back yet.’

They thanked the uniforms for their help, went back to the car.

‘Where to now?’ asked Anni.

‘Maybe we should head back to base,’ said Mickey. ‘See if there’s been any more sightings of her car.’

‘You mean my car.’

‘Sorry. Your car.’

They drove away from the hotel. Anni looked at Mickey this time.

‘So I’m still looking good, am I?’

Mickey glanced at her, frowned, shifted his eyes back to the road. ‘Yeah. Why?’ Suspicion in his tone.

‘Just wondered. I heard that this DS from Suffolk’s been giving you the glad eye, that’s all.’

‘What, you mean Jessie?’

‘Oh, it’s Jessie, is it?’

‘Yeah, Jessie James.’ Mickey smiled. ‘And she says she’s heard all the jokes before.’

‘What, even the one about the Suffolk force being a bunch of cowboys?’

‘Apparently. But I don’t know if she’s been giving me the glad eye or not.’

‘OK. Just checking.’

‘Why, you jealous?’

She shrugged. ‘You know me. Not the jealous type.’

Mickey and Anni had been involved in a tentative on-and-off relationship for the last few months. They had been out a few times, dinner, cinema, drinks, but neither had wanted to be the one to push it further. They were good friends, excellent work colleagues. And they were worried they could lose all that.

Anni’s phone rang. Relieved at the break, she answered it. Milhouse, the unit’s resident computer expert. Milhouse wasn’t his real name, but with his thick glasses and studious demeanour, he bore such a strong resemblance to the character in The Simpsons that that was what everyone called him. Even his girlfriend, probably. If he had a girlfriend. Which Anni doubted.

‘Got a lead for you,’ he said.

Anni took out her notepad. ‘When and where?’

‘Shell garage in Marks Tey. Marina’s debit card’s been used.’

‘We’re on our way.’

‘I’ll phone ahead,’ said Milhouse. ‘Get them to line up any CCTV footage they’ve got.’

‘Brilliant. Thanks, Milhouse.’ She rang off.

‘What’s occurring?’ said Mickey.

Anni told him.

‘Let’s go, then. Not far from here.’

The radio continued to spew out top-forty hits in between the DJ’s banal inanities.

They drove on in silence.

The Golem enjoyed being in the car. The doors were locked and there was a metal and glass barrier between him and the rest of the world. And he was going forward. Heading towards something.

Even if that something involved someone else’s death.

In the car, he could tune out everything else. Centre himself. Meditate while moving.