Val McDermid - Common Murder

“I can’t,” Lindsay said numbly.

“Why ever not?” Cordelia asked. “Look, you’d be better off here. You can have a nice hot bath and a drink and try to get a decent night’s sleep. Come home, Lindsay. I’ll only worry about you otherwise.”

“I just can’t,” Lindsay replied. “There’s too much going on here for me to walk away from it all. I’m sorry. I’ll ring you in the morning, okay? Thanks for listening. Goodnight, love.”

“I’ll come down first thing, how’s that?”

“No, it’s okay, leave it. I’m not sure what I’ll be doing or where I’ll be. I’ll speak to you soon.”

“Be careful, Lindsay, please. Ring me in the morning.”

Bleakness descended on Lindsay. She stared across the busy casualty department in time to see Rigano shoulder his way through the flapping celluloid doors and head for the desk. He was immediately surrounded by reporters. She became aware that the phone was squawking.

“Lindsay? Are you there?”

“Yes, I’m here. Bye.”

She put the phone down, feeling utterly defeated. She left the phone booth but could not face the melee round the information desk. She leaned against the wall, shivering slightly in spite of the airless warmth of the hospital. Rigano, whose eyes had been sweeping the room for her, picked her up almost immediately.

“That’s it for now,” he said brusquely to the crowd of reporters and strode over to her, followed at a few paces by her colleagues. He took her by the elbow and piloted her into a corridor. He stopped briefly and said firmly to their followers. “Go away. Now. Or I’ll have the lot of you removed from the hospital altogether.” Reluctantly, they backed off, and he steered Lindsay into an alcove with a couple of chairs. They sat down.

“She’s going to be all right,” he said. “There’s a hairline fracture of the skull and a big superficial wound. She’s lost quite a bit of blood and had stitches, but they say there’s no brain damage.”

The relief was like a physical glow that spread through Lindsay. “When can I see her?” she asked.

“Tomorrow morning. Come round about nine, and they’ll let you in. She’ll still be heavily sedated, so they tell me, but she should be awake. It’ll be a while before we can get any sense out of her, though, so I need to know anything you can tell me about the attack.”

Lindsay shrugged. “I don’t know anything. I don’t even know what she was hit with. What was it?”

“A brick,” he replied. “There’s any number of them lying around. You use them to pin down the corners of your benders.”

“That’s ironic,” said Lindsay, stifling the hysterical giggle she felt bubbling inside her. “I really can’t tell you anything. I heard a short scream-not a long-drawn-out one, quite brief- and a squelch that must have been Debs falling into the ditch. Then I heard what sounded like someone trying to run off through the woodland.”

“Can you say in what direction?”

“Not really. It seemed to be more or less dead ahead of me as I ran towards the ditch, but that’s the vaguest of impressions, and I wouldn’t swear to it. I wish I could tell you that I’d seen someone, but even if he’d still been there, I doubt if I would have seen him. There was really no light to speak of.”

“Him?”

“Well, it wouldn’t have been one of us, would it?”

It was Jane who woke Lindsay at eight the next morning with a pot of hot coffee. Settling herself down on the end of the bunk, she waited patiently for Lindsay to surface. Brought back to the camp by one of Rigano’s men, Lindsay had needed several large whiskies before sleep had even seemed like a possibility. Now she was reaping the whirlwind.

Jane smiled at her efforts to shake off the stupor and said, “I thought I’d better make sure you were up in time to get to the hospital. I’ve already rung them-Deborah is out of danger and responding well, they said. Translation-she’s been sedated to sleep, but her vital signs are looking good. They say it’s okay for you to go in, but they don’t think Cara should visit yet.”

“How is Cara?” asked Lindsay, who felt as if her limbs were wooden and her head filled with cotton wool.

“A bit edgy, but she’s with Josy and the other kids, so she’ll be more or less all right,” Jane replied. “She wants her mummy, but at least she’s old enough to understand when you say that Deborah’s in the hospital, but she’s going to be all right.”

“Do you think we can keep her here and look after her okay, or are we going to have to get something else sorted out?” Lindsay asked anxiously.

Jane smiled. “Don’t worry about Cara. She’s used to the routine here now. It’s better that she’s somewhere she can see Deborah as much as possible.”

“I’m just worried in case social services find out about her and take her into care,” Lindsay said.

“If anyone comes looking for her from the council, we’ll deny all knowledge of her and say she’s with her father. By the time they sort that little one out, Deborah will be convalescent,” Jane reassured her. “Now, drink this coffee and get yourself over to the hospital.”

“Five minutes,” warned the nurse as she showed Lindsay into a small side room.

Deborah lay still, her head swathed in bandages. There was a tube in her nose and another in her arm. Her face was chalky white and dark bruises surrounded her closed eyelids. Lindsay was choked with a mixture of pity, love, and anger. As she moved towards the bed, she sensed another presence in the room and half turned. Behind the door, a uniformed constable sat, notebook poised. He smiled tentatively at her and said, “Morning, miss.”

Lindsay nodded at him and sat down by the bed. Reaching out cautiously, she took hold of Deborah’s hand. Her eyelids flickered momentarily, then opened. The pupils were so dilated that her eyes no longer appeared blue. Frowning slightly, as she tried to focus, she registered Lindsay’s presence and her face cleared.

“Lin,” she said in a voice that lacked all resonance. “It’s really you?”

“Yes, love, it’s me.”

“Cara?”

“She’s okay. Josy’s in charge. Everything’s under control.”

“Good. I’m so tired, Lin. I can’t think. What happened?”

“Somebody hit you. Did you see anyone, Debs?”

“I’m so glad it’s really you, Lin. I think I’m seeing ghosts. I think Rupert Crabtree’s haunting me.”

“I’m no ghost, Debs. And he can’t hurt you. He’s out of your life for good.”

“I know, but listen, Lin. It’s crazy, I know, but I have this weird impression that it was Rupert Crabtree who attacked me. I must be going mad.”

“You’re not mad, you’re just concussed and sedated up to the eyeballs. It’ll all be clear soon, I promise.”

“Yes, but I’m sure it was him that I saw. But it couldn’t be, could it? Just like it couldn’t have been him I saw walking his dog on Sunday night. Because he was already dead by then, wasn’t he?”

“What?” Lindsay suddenly stiffened. “You saw him after he was dead?”

“I told you before that I saw him. But he was walking towards his house. And he’d already been killed up by the fence. It’s his ghost, Lin, it’s haunting me.” Her voice was becoming agitated.

Lindsay stroked her arm. “It’s okay, Debs. There’s no ghost, I promise you. You’ve got to go to sleep now, and when you wake up, I swear you’ll be much clearer. Now close your eyes, go back to sleep. I’ll be back tonight, I promise. No ghosts, just good old Lindsay.”

Her soothing voice lulled the panic from Deborah’s face, and soon she was sleeping again. Lindsay rose to go, and the policeman followed her. Outside he said, “Could you make head or tail of that, miss? All that stuff about being attacked by a ghost?”