Mark Pearson - Blood Work

Sally Cartwright spun the wheel, kicking up loose bits of gravel, and parked her car next door to a brand-new Land Rover Discovery. She turned to Delaney. 'You got any coins, sir?'

Delaney looked across at her puzzled. 'What for?'

'The parking meter.'

Delaney shook his head in disbelief and opened her glovebox and pulled out an on police business sign, which he put on the dashboard.

'Anybody clamps this car, Constable, and they'll have their bollocks as Adam's apples.'

'Yes, sir.'

Sally smiled and opened the door, looking up at the neo-Gothic splendour of the grand entrance to the South Hampstead Hospital. Delaney followed her glance, taking in the familiar sight. One thing the Victorians were good at. Hospitals and cemeteries.

They walked in through the main reception and headed towards the intensive care unit, or ICU; just like the acronyms with the Met, Delaney had trouble keeping up. Why they couldn't just stick with what people knew and what made sense, was a puzzle beyond the capabilities of his detective brain. Too many middle managers in unnecessary jobs, he suspected.

Sally followed him as he walked up the long sweeping staircase at the end of the corridor. The floor was cool, tiled and clean, but the smell of the place was just as every bit unpleasant to Delaney as it always had been. Even as a kid he had hated the smell of hospitals, the particular ethyl odours hanging in the air like an anaesthetist's gas. As a child it had reminded him of boring hours at sick relatives' bedsides, and of operations he had had, once for a broken wrist and another when a kidney was removed. But as an adult the smell reminded him of just one thing: the death of his wife. He strode forward purposefully as he reached the top of the staircase and turned left to the intensive care unit. At least now, maybe, if Norris survived, he could learn something about why his wife had had to die four years ago on that cold station forecourt in Pinner Green. He could finally learn who did it. And, more importantly, with that knowledge he could visit retribution on those responsible. It wouldn't ease the guilt he still felt over her death, nothing would do that, but the need to root out and hurt the people who had cut short her life was as powerful in him as the need for his lungs to draw breath and his heart to pump blood.

Since his mid-teens Kevin Norrell had been a larger-than-life character. Now, however, as Delaney looked down at his massive frame he looked as harmless as a beached and rotting whale. He nodded at the armed and uniformed police officer who stood on guard outside the intensive care room and turned to the young doctor who was adjusting a drip that protruded, like a number of others, from the comatose Norrell's arm. 'What's the prognosis?'

The junior doctor shrugged. 'He lost a lot of blood from the stabbing. He had to be resuscitated on the way into hospital and again on the operating table.'

Sally looked down at the grotesque figure on the bed. 'What does that mean?'

Delaney answered. 'It means his brain was deprived of oxygen for a while, he could be brain-damaged.' He turned back to the young doctor. 'How bad is it?'

The junior doctor shrugged again. 'We'll wait and see. If he doesn't come round we'll do some more tests. Check his brain activity.'

'When will you know?'

'Check back later in the day.'

Delaney nodded. 'Can I see the other guy?'

'He's in surgery now. When he comes out you can see him. You won't be able to talk to him though, not for a while.'

Delaney and Sally walked back down the corridor, outside and across the car park to a small canteen that was run by volunteers to provide refreshment to the hospital visitors. It was a wooden A-frame and built like an alpine ski lodge, as incongruent in the rain-slashed English morning as a palm tree in Piccadilly.

Sally went inside while Delaney held back, taking advantage of a lull in the rain to spark up a cigarette. He drew deep on it, ignoring the disapproving glances from passers-by as he let out a stream of smoke. He felt conflicted. Ordinarily, seeing Norrell in intensive care would have brightened his mood. But the steroid-enhanced, bonehead muscle for hire had information stored somewhere within his Neolithic brain that Delaney needed. The thought that the man might die was almost too much for him to bear. Not when he was this close, not after so long.

He ground his cigarette under heel and went inside to join Sally who had brought a couple of teas over to a small table by the window. Inside the cafe was more like a scout hut, or the village hall from Dad's Army. Delaney sat down half expecting to see 'Dig for Victory' posters on the wall or 'Eat less Bread'. He took a sip of his tea, scowled and poured some sugar into it from a glass dispenser.

Sally looked at him for a moment. 'Do you want to talk about it?'

'Talk about what?'

'What happened that night?'

'No.'

Sally didn't answer him for a second. 'We were due to interview Norrell this morning, right?'

'Operative word being due.'

'In connection with the murder of your wife?'

'That's right.'

Sally seemed to steel herself. 'Well, the last time I looked, and with all due respect, sir, I'm a police detective. Not a waitress. Not a chauffeur. Not a dogsbody.'

Delaney waved a hand, a little amused by her angry tone. 'And the point would be?'

'That this is a police investigation, as you told the governor. And as far as I know I'm on your team, aren't I?'

Delaney looked at her for a moment then sighed. 'I'm sure you know it all anyway.'

'Go on.'

'About four years ago. I was off duty. I stopped to fill up in a petrol station when it was being raided. They were armed with shotguns. My wife was in the car with me.'

'What happened?'

'One of them fired his sawn-off, shattering the plate window. I jumped in the car and attempted to follow them. They shot back at us. Disabling the car. Killing my wife.'

'I'm sorry.'

Delaney nodded. 'As I said, you've heard it all before. We were never able to trace the van, we never found out the identity of the raiders. It was a closed book. A cold case. And then Norrell started talking about it.'

'You think he was genuine? You really think he knew something?'

Delaney shrugged his shoulders. 'I hope so. I hope he lives long enough for us to find out.'

He looked out of the window; the wind had picked up again and with it the rain. Fat beads of water were splashing repeatedly and loudly against the glass of the window, running quickly down the pane now. Delaney turned back to Sally Cartwright.

'I'm going outside for another smoke.'

Kate walked across the quadrangle. Her head was angled down, her eyes squinting against the rain. She looked at her shoes, getting more spattered and besmirched by the minute, but she barely registered the fact. Still numb, her mind still reeling, she walked in a daze, not noticing her friend waving to her through the window of her office or the man at the far end of the quadrangle who was watching her.

She crossed the quad and walked into the entrance, shaking her hair as she hurried up the stone steps to the first floor. Jane Harrington ushered her into her office, making sympathetic noises about being wet through and helping her out of her coat as she shut the door behind her. 'Sit down, Kate. I'll make some tea. Are you hungry? Can I get you anything?'

Kate shook her head. 'Just tea would be great.' She smiled gratefully, pleased that her friend was letting her take her time and hadn't demanded to know what had happened straight away. If she could have answered that question she wouldn't be here in the first place. Jane had been her friend for many years. In her forties she was older than her and wiser than most. She had been pestering her for years to join her in private practice at the teaching hospital and clinic attached to the university, but Kate had always had different ambitions, a different agenda. Now, as she sat cocooned in an armchair behind mullioned windows, she was not sure she had made the right choices. But what she did know was that she didn't know anyone she would rather turn to if she ever needed help. And if she ever needed help, it was certainly now.