FB increased his pace and left the Inspector standing. He completed his sentence to FB’s back. ‘The one with the two bobbies outside…’ His voice trailed off and he scowled at FB.
As FB reached the door, a doctor emerged from the room. FB introduced himself.
‘ How is he?’ he then asked.
‘ He’ll be OK. He’s got a hairline fracture of the skull — not as serious as it sounds — a broken left tibia, and a certain amount of bone damage to his left foot where your man shot him, but he’ll walk again. Eventually. He’ll need surgery on it tonight.’
‘ Thanks, Doctor. By the way, you do know who the man is, don’t you? What he’s responsible for?’
‘ I have been informed, yes.’
‘ So you know he’s under arrest and in our custody. There will be policemen with him every second of every minute of every day. He’s highly dangerous, not to be trusted and never to be left alone.’
‘ This man is ill,’ protested the doctor.
‘ Oh, he can have his treatment — but he’ll have cops with him every inch of the way, even if it means cops with surgical gowns on. They’ll be there to prevent his escape and to protect members of staff. The man is a killer, a ruthless, bloody killer and cannot be trusted. I can’t stress it enough. If I could, I’d handcuff him to the bed.’
‘ That’s going a bit far.’
‘ If it’s necessary, I’ll do it,’ said FB, his words hanging in the air. The doctor’s gaze locked onto his; FB’s won hands down. ‘Message received and understood.’
‘ Thanks, Doc. Knew you’d understand.’
FB went into the room where Hinksman lay in bed.
His head was bandaged; a drip fed into his arm. A cage held the bedclothes off his feet. His eyes were closed and sunken. They didn’t open when FB came in.
FB regarded him for a moment. Then he turned to the two uniformed Constables who were in the room. Each had a gun holstered at his side.
‘ Has he said anything yet?’
They shook their heads.
‘ He says anything, you remember to note it down, OK? And watch yourselves. This man is a cunt. If he does anything you don’t like, shoot him again — this time through the head, not the damned foot. Got that? You have my express permission.’
‘ Yes, sir,’ they said in unison.
FB took one last look at Hinksman, nodded curtly at the officers and left the room.
Out in the corridor, the two PCs who were guarding the door from the outside were surprised to see a Detective Chief Superintendent punch the air with a fist of victory and jig down the corridor.
Henry walked back from the X-ray Department and handed his X-rays to a nurse at the Casualty Department. He sat down wearily on a chair in the waiting area and closed his eyes. He was completely wiped out.
A few minutes later the casualty doctor called his name and beckoned him into a cubicle where he hoisted himself onto the edge of the examination couch.
His X-rays were pinned to a lighted panel on the wall.
There were shots of his head and chest.
‘ Not too much damage,’ said the doctor. ‘Broken nose which will heal in its own good time. There shouldn’t be a problem with it. There won’t be any breathing difficulties and it won’t be deformed.’
‘ Good,’ said Henry. ‘I’m ugly enough.’
‘ Two cracked ribs… and they’ll heal themselves too. A couple of weeks and you’ll be as right as rain. I’ll get a nurse to re-stitch that head wound and you’ll need a couple of stitches in that bottom lip. You’ll have two cracking black eyes and plenty of facial and abdominal bruising and swelling, but time and rest will see it right. Take aspirin or Paracetamol for the discomfort. You’ll be a hundred per cent again — in due course. Now, I’ll get a nurse to do the business.’
‘ Cheers,’ said Henry, at which point his nose began to bleed again, gushing forth in a torrent down his chest. He tipped his head back as instructed. The bleeding stopped quickly.
‘ It may have a tendency to do that for a day or two,’ warned the doctor.
‘ So how’s the girl?’ Henry asked the doctor, referring to Ralphie’s ladyfriend who was in one of the other cubicles with a policewoman for company.
‘ Fine, fine… stitches and a sore head. Mentally very much on the edge, I’d say. She’s witnessed some very heavy stuff.’
‘ Know how she feels,’ said Henry bleakly.
‘ OK now? Bleeding stopped? Good. I’ll send that nurse along.’ The doctor slipped out between the curtains to be replaced a moment later by FE.
Henry peered up at him. He knew FB well and had worked in local CID under him some years before.
‘ Detective-Sergeant Christie,’ said FB.
‘ Hello, sir.’
‘ You look like shite, Henry,’ FB said truthfully.
‘ Feel like shite.’
A nurse came in and commenced to repair Henry’s face.
FB said, ‘Once she’s finished, come and see me in the cafe and let’s have a chat. I want to know everything that went on tonight.’ He shook his head in wonderment. ‘That was brilliant shooting, y’know. In the foot! Absolutely a-mazing.’
‘ Thanks, sir,’ said Henry. He didn’t have the heart to tell him he’d meant to shoot the bastard in the chest but his gun hand had been shaking so much that he couldn’t aim properly. Still, Henry thought philosophically, might as well perpetuate the myth that I’m a dead shot, capable of winging suspects at will.
‘ Proper little hero, aren’t you?’ said the nurse sardonically. Then she dabbed something nasty on his cuts that made him scream.
At a public payphone on the hospital, FB called the Chief Constable’s home number to give him the good news. Mrs August answered. The Chief wasn’t there. She’d expected him hours ago. FB thanked her and said he’d try later. He looked up another number in his Filofax and thought, I wonder…
Donaldson poured out two cups of instant coffee when he heard Karen coming down the stairs. She had been in the bathroom for twenty minutes and spent a further twenty in her bedroom.
Her eyes were puffed up and swollen; a combination of being slapped and crying.
Donaldson caught his breath when he saw her. Anger welled up in him and all he wanted to do was exact some form of revenge.
He handed one of the cups to her. She thanked him with a nod of the head and sat down on the sofa. The front room was warm, cosy and made her feel safe. Donaldson had drawn the curtains and put the gas fire on. Karen held the cup in one hand and rested it on the palm of the other, feeling the warmth of the liquid permeate through to her skin. She stared blankly at the gas flames which leapt up through imitation coals as though it was a real fire.
‘ Do you want to talk?’ Donaldson asked. ‘I don’t mind listening,’ he said gently.
A tear rolled slowly down her cheek. She wiped it away with the back of her hand. ‘You’ve turned out very sweet. I didn’t like you at first.’
‘ The feeling was mutual,’ he admitted.
She sighed, took a sip of her coffee. ‘I have a very bad reputation, you know. People think I’m a slut and I suppose to some degree they’re right. But I’ve only ever been a slut as far as this job is concerned. I wanted to go as far as I possibly could, I wanted to get to ACPO rank, but I realised very quickly it was an uphill struggle in a man’s world and that I would simply have to take them on at their own game if I was going to get anywhere.
‘ They talk about equal opportunity and equality of the sexes, but it’s all lip service. If you’re a woman it’s twice as hard because you’re always up against old-fashioned ideas and old-fashioned men — no matter how young or trendy they are. Ever heard of canteen culture? It rules the job here, don’t know what it’s like in America. This must be one of the most out-dated, slow organisations in existence, the police. D’you know how often I’ve had my bum smacked or my breasts tweaked? D’you know how often I’ve been told to get my pretty little backside up them stairs and put the kettle on?’ She shook her head in wonderment.