Minette Walters - The Ice House

"Did Fred and Molly know about this investment of yours?"

"No one here knew."

"Why not?"

"You know bloody well."

"You didn't want to look a fool."

She didn't bother to answer.

"Perhaps Fred and Molly did your dirty work for you, Mrs. Goode?"

She massaged the beginnings of a headache. "What a nasty manipulative man you are."

"Did they, Mrs. Goode?"

She studied him thoughtfully. "No," she said. "And if you ever dare ask me that question again, I'll hit you."

"And be arrested for assault?"

"It would be worth it," she said.

"You're a very aggressive woman, aren't you? Did you take out your aggressions on Miss Cattrell?"

She punched him on the nose.

Jonathan tapped his mother on the shoulder, then bent forward and looked at Anne. "How is she?" She was off the critical list and had been removed from Intensive Care to a side room on a surgical ward. She was attached via a catheter and a plastic tube to an intravenous drip.

"I don't know. She's very restless. She's opened her eyes once or twice, but she's not seeing anything."

He squatted on the floor beside her. "You're going to have to leave her for a bit, I'm afraid. Diana needs you."

"Surely not." Phoebe frowned.

" 'Fraid so. She's been arrested."

She was visibly surprised. "Diana? Whatever for?"

"Assault on a police officer. She punched Inspector Walsh and gave him a nose bleed. She's been carted off to the nick."

Phoebe's mouth dropped open. "Oh, lord, how funny," she said, beginning to laugh. "Is he all right?"

"Bloody but unbowed."

"I'll come. We'd better get hold of poor Bill again." She looked down at Anne. "Nothing I can do for you at the moment, old girl. Keep fighting. We're all rooting for you."

"I'll bring Jane in later," said Jonathan. "She wants to come."

They walked into the corridor. "Is she up to it?"

"I'd say so. She's coped fantastically since it happened. We had a long chat this afternoon. She was more objective than I've ever known her. Ironically, the whole thing may have done her some good, silver linings and all that, made her realise she's tougher than she thought she was. She likes the Sergeant, by the way. If they want to question her again, we should press for him to do it."

"Yes," said Phoebe. "Apart from anything else, he saved Anne's life. That would always commend him to Jane. She dotes on her godma."

Jonathan linked his arm through his mother's. "She dotes on you, too. We all do."

Phoebe gave her rich laugh. "Only because you haven't discovered my clay feet yet."

"No," he said seriously. "It's because you've never pretended they were anything else."

They walked on and disappeared round a bend in the corridor. Behind them, Andy McLoughlin inched with the embarrassment of the eavesdropper from where he had been hiding in a recessed doorway.

Damn Walsh and his bloody pattern, he thought. Logic was fallible. It had to be.

He showed his warrant card to the Sister. "Miss Cattrell?" he asked. "Any change?"

"Not really. She's getting restless and opening her eyes which is a good sign but, as I told the Inspector, you'll be wasting your time if you want to interview her. She could come out of it any moment or she could be like this for a day or two. We'll let you know as soon as she's up to talking."

"I'll stay for a few minutes, if that's all right. You never know."

"She's in side ward two. Chat to her," the Sister encouraged. "Might as well make yourself useful while you're here."

He hadn't seen her since she had been taken away in the ambulance and he was shocked. She was even smaller than he remembered, a tiny, shrunken thing with bandaged head and ugly, sallow skin. But, even unconscious, she seemed to be smiling at some private joke of her own. He felt no lust-how could he?-but his heart warmed with a sense of recognition as if he had known her a long time. He pulled the chair close to her pillows and started to speak. There was no hesitation for he knew, without thinking, just what would give her pleasure. After half an hour he ran dry and looked at his watch. She had moved once or twice, like a child in her sleep, but her eyes had stayed firmly closed. He pushed his chair back. "That's it, Cattrell. Time's up, I'm afraid. I'll see if I can get you alone again tomorrow." He touched her cheek with his fingertips.

"You're a mean sod," she mumbled. "Give me 'Tam o' Shanter.' " She opened one eye and glared at him. "I'm dying."

"You've been awake all the time," he accused her.

She opened the other eye and there was a twinkle amidst the confusion. "Was Phoebe here?"

He nodded.

"I remember Phoebe being here. Am I at home?"

"You're in hospital," he told her.

"Oh, shit. I hate hospitals. What day is it?"

"Friday. You've had a two-day snooze."

That worried her. "What happened?"

"I'll find a nurse." He started to get up.

"You bloody well won't," she growled. "I hate nurses too. What happened?"

"Someone hit you. Tell me what you remember."

She knit her brows into a deep furrow. "Curry," she said experimentally.

He gripped her hand tightly. "Can we forget the curry, Cattrell?" he asked her. "It'll be easier all round if you never saw me that evening."

She wrinkled her forehead. "But what happened? Who found me?" He rubbed her fingers. "I found you, but I've had the devil's own job explaining to Walsh what I was doing there. I can hardly admit to carnal designs on a suspect." He searched her face. "Do you understand what I'm saying? I want to stay on the case, Anne. I want justice."

"Of course I bloody understand." Humour danced in the dark eyes and he wanted to hug her. "I can chew gum and walk at the same time, you know." She thought deeply. "I remember now. You were telling me how to live my life." She looked at him accusingly. "You had no right, McLoughlin. As long as I can live with myself, that's all that matters."

He raised her fingertips and brushed them softly across his lips. "I'm learning. Give me time. Tell me what else you remember?"

"I ran all the way back," she said with an effort of concentration. "I opened the window, I remember that. And then"-she frowned-"I heard something, I think."

"Where?"

"I don't remember." She looked worried. "What happened then?"

"Someone hit you on the back of the head."

She looked dazed. "I don't remember."

"I found you inside your room."

A heavy hand descended on his shoulder and made him jump. "You've no business to be asking her questions, Sergeant," said the Sister angrily. "Get me Dr. Renfrew," she called to a nurse in the corridor. "Out," she told McLoughlin.

Anne looked at her with unalloyed horror and clung to his hand. "Don't you dare go," she whispered. "I've seen her picture on World at War and she wasn't fighting for the Allies."

He turned and raised his hands in helpless resignation. "Is there anything I should remember?" she asked him. "I wouldn't want to confuse the Inspector."

His eyes softened. "No, Miss Cattrell. You just concentrate on getting better and leave the remembering to me."

She winked sleepily. "I'll do that."

DS Robinson was after promotion. He had gone diligently door-to-door again, looking for leads to Anne's assailant, but he had come up against the proverbial brick wall. No one had seen or heard anything on that night, except the ambulance, and they'd all heard that. He had had another pint with Paddy Clarke, this time under the beady eye of Mrs. Clarke. He had found her immensely intimidating, more so since Anne's revelation that she had once been a nun. Paddy assured him they had looked for the map of the grounds but hadn't found it and, with Mrs. Clarke breathing over his shoulder, he expressed complete ignorance of Streech Grange and its inhabitants. In particular, he knew nothing at all about Anne Cattrell. Nick Robinson didn't press him. Frankly, he didn't rate his chances if he got caught up between Mr. and Mrs. Clarke and he was unashamedly attached to his balls.