Simon Beckett - The Calling Of The Grave

'I was trying to sleep.'

The pale eyes were cold and hostile. 'Don't think you're going to come out of this with any credit, Dr Hunter, because I can assure you that you won't.'

'What are you talking about?'

'I'm talking about these… these wild allegations you're making! That Jerome Monk is innocent, that a police officer fabricated evidence against him. You can't seriously think anyone will believe that?'

'They aren't my allegations. And I didn't say-'

'In the past week Monk has caused the death of a helpless man and almost killed two police officers. Or have you forgotten that?'

I felt a stab of guilt. 'There was nothing I could-'

'A former police consultant is fighting for her life because of him, yet you still seem intent on exonerating a convicted rapist and murderer. It's no secret that people around you have a habit of getting hurt, Dr Hunter, but I never expected this sort of recklessness, even from you!'

I must have pushed myself upright in the bed but I couldn't recall doing it. 'I'm not trying to exonerate anyone. I'm just saying what happened.'

'Oh, yes, this "fit" that Monk conveniently threw in front of you. I supposed it never occurred to you that he might be doing it deliberately? Or that he'd already fooled the prison doctors into believing he was having a heart attack?'

'What I saw wasn't faked. And he didn't fake the cardiac symptoms either: he induced them. There's a difference.'

'You'll have to forgive me if I don't share your credulity, Dr Hunter. It's obvious Monk manipulated you. He spoon-fed you this… this cock and bull story and then let you go, hoping you'd do exactly this!' He slapped the gloves against his thigh. 'Have you any idea of the damage this could do?'

'To your reputation, you mean?'

I regretted losing my temper straight away, but the words were out. Simms' pale eyes bulged. The hand clutching the gloves twitched, and for a second I thought he might actually strike me. But when he spoke his voice was controlled.

'I apologize, Dr Hunter. Perhaps I should have waited to see you. You're obviously overwrought.' He pulled on his gloves as he spoke, working his fingers into the tight leather. 'I hope you'll give some thought to what I've said. We're on the same side, and it'd be a shame for a professional disagreement to get out of hand. People are quick to talk, and I know police consultancy work is hard to come by.'

His face was completely expressionless as he stared down at me. Using the sleeve of his coat, as though even his gloves weren't proof against contamination, he swept aside the curtain and went out.

I watched it swaying behind him as his footsteps receded into the background hubbub. What the hell was that supposed to mean? I was too tired to care very much.

But I knew a threat when I heard one.

It was late afternoon before I was discharged. I'd managed to sleep after Simms left, but only fitfully, slipping in and out of wakefulness in the small cubicle. Still, I felt better for it, more alert if nothing else. At some point my clothes had reappeared, unwashed but dried and neatly folded in a plastic bag. The mud and bloodstains were proof that the previous night had been real, much as I might wish otherwise.

No one could tell me anything about Sophie, but I persuaded one of the nurses to check. She reported that she was out of surgery but still critical. I told myself that was only to be expected after an emergency craniotomy: the doctors would have had to remove a flap of bone from her skull to drain the build-up of blood.

But the news did nothing to lift my spirits. I dressed and sat fretting in the cubicle until a junior doctor finally told me I could go.

'Where's the ICU?' I asked her.

The intensive care unit was quieter and less bustling than Emergency, with an air of strained urgency about it. The desk nurse wouldn't let me in to see Sophie, but given the state of my torn and dirty clothes I probably wouldn't have either. Feeling a sense of deja vu, I explained that I only wanted to find out how she was. It made no difference: the nurse was adamant she could only give out information to next of kin.

'If you told me you were her husband or fiancй, perhaps… ?' she added pointedly. It was a deliberate opening, but I hesitated.

'Dr Hunter!'

The voice was Sophie's. I turned, ridiculously hoping to see her miraculously recovered. But it was another woman who was walking down the corridor towards me. Her face was blotched from crying, so that it took me a moment to recognize Sophie's sister.

'What are you doing here?' she demanded, without giving me a chance to speak. She was quivering with emotion, her hands whiteknuckled on the wadded-up tissue she clenched.

'I wanted to find out how Sophie is-'

'How she is? My sister's lying in intensive care! They cut open her skull, that's how she is!' Her face crumpled. 'There could be brain damage, or… or…'

'I'm sorry-'

'Sorry? Don't you dare! You said you'd look after her! I wanted her to come home with me, where she'd have been safe. Instead she's… she's…' She turned on the desk nurse. 'I don't want this man going near my sister! If he comes back, don't let him in!'

She spun round and hurried back down the corridor. The nurse looked embarrassed.

'Sorry, but she's next of kin…'

I nodded. There was nothing else I could do there. The heavy doors to the ICU swung shut behind me with finality as I headed back to the main wards.

There was one more person I had to see.

I was batted between wards before I finally found where Cross had been taken. At first I thought the policewoman was asleep. She had her eyes shut, and a cowardly part of me was relieved. But as I approached her bed she opened them and looked directly at me.

She looked a mess. The blonde hair was plastered darkly against her head. Her face was even more shockingly bruised and swollen than Sophie's had been, and a painful-looking assembly of wire and screws clamped her jaw shut.

Now I was there, I didn't know what to say. We just looked at each other for a moment, then she reached for something on the bedside table. It was a writing pad: she wrote briefly and then turned it round for me to see.

Looks wrse than it is. Morphine great.

I wouldn't have thought I could laugh, but I did. 'I'm glad to hear it.'

More slow scribbling, then the pad was turned round again.

Sophie???

I chose my words. 'Out of surgery. She's in intensive care.' The pen scratched once more. Miller conscious. Nrses say making bad jkes.

I smiled. It was the first good news I'd had in what seemed an age. 'That's great.' I took a deep breath. 'Look, I…'

But she'd started writing again. It was more laborious this time as she began to tire. When she'd finished she tore out the sheet from the notepad and folded it in half. Her eyelids were already starting to droop as she held it out for me. I think she was asleep again before it left her hand.

I waited until I was in the corridor before I opened it. Cross had written just a short message: U did right thing.

My eyes blurred when I read that. I had to pause for a while before I tucked it away. I desperately wanted to get out of the hospital, to breathe fresh air and clear my head, but that would have to wait.

There was something else I needed to do first.

My car was still at Sophie's with the rest of my things. I could have phoned for a cab, but I decided to pick one up outside. The walk would do me good, and I didn't want to stay at the hospital any longer than I had to.

A receptionist directed me to the nearest taxi rank, but I hadn't gone far from the entrance before a car pulled up alongside. I looked round as its window was wound down.

It was Terry.