All of that silent expectation weighed heavily on Warden Haveling’s shoulders as he watched the second hand make that final sweep; the silence so heavy that you could actually hear the clock ticking, making the seconds seem to pass more agonizingly, before finally, the last few seconds ticking down with the slow deliberation of full-swing axe-blows, Haveling gave a small, solemn nod towards Torvald Engelson.
Engelson acknowledged with equal solemnity, half-closing his eyes for a second, and then he lifted one hand towards the two medics.
They started feeding through the sodium thiopental.
Carmita’s eyebrows furrowed at something Jac had said the moment before.
‘New Orleo, senor? There have been some calls from there for you. Mickel something?’ She looked towards the corridor outside. ‘Your other friend in white brought your phone with him in case you needed to call anyone.’
Mike Coultaine. Calbrey. Jac nodded. ‘Yes, I… I might need to make some calls.’ But he was thinking more of calling Alaysha, telling her that he was all right and pouring out his soul, before hearing all the bad news from Coultaine. He wasn’t sure he could face that news right now. But when Carmita returned with his phone a minute later and he tried Alaysha’s number, there was no answer.
He scrolled down and looked at the time of Coultaine’s calls: one forty minutes before Durrant’s execution, no doubt to press for what was happening his end, Not much time left now… then two more since, one twenty minutes after and the other just over an hour ago to find out what had happened. Though Coultaine probably already half knew if he’d spoken to the hospital staff or Calbrey. With a tired sigh, Jac pressed to dial Coultaine back.
It answered after the first ring.
‘Mike… it’s Ayliss, uh… Jac.’
‘Jac…. Jac! Thank God! You’re back in the land of the living!’
‘Yeah… yeah.’ Jac’s voice subdued, not really wanting to share Coultaine’s exuberance at him still being alive at that moment. He exhaled heavily. ‘I’m sorry, Mike… I tried. And the damnest thing is, I had the proof right there in my hand at the last moment! Truelle had — ’
‘Jac… Jac! Stop! That’s why I’ve been calling… there’s still time!’
‘What?’ Jac sat up sharply, sudden lance of pain in his shoulder. ‘What do you mean — still time?’
‘Durrant got an injury the night before, which was stitched. But as the first of the knock-out feed came through and he strained against the straps, one of the stitches burst and the wound started bleeding. Head of the execution team, guy called Engelson, stopped it right there. It was re-stitched, medics then had to check and re-check him, the media here meanwhile having a field-day… and finally it was re-scheduled.’
‘When?’ Dizzy from sitting up so sharply, the room swam in and out of focus for a second.
‘Midnight. Just over an hour from now.’
Jac’s eyes darted frantically. The tape had been shattered, ruined! His eyes fixed back on the nurse. Truelle!
‘Gotta go now, Mike. Got some fast shuffling to do.’ And the second he hung-up, he asked the nurse, ‘My friend shot in the stomach — where is he? And how long before he comes round?’
‘I… uh.’ Momentarily flustered as to which question to answer first. ‘Just around the corner, next vestibulo. Not far. And a while.’ She held one palm out. ‘Though I can’t say exactly how long. Only his doctor can answer that.’
‘You’ll need to give me a hand with these. I have to get up.’
‘Senor, you’re not meant to… por favor!’
But with Jac already half-up, seeing that he was going to rip all the tubes off in any case, she quickly attended. Detached the monitor links and IV and saline feeds.
‘You’ll have to show me where,’ he said over his shoulder, already breaking into a run, Carmita struggling to keep up a few steps behind.
Jac felt the pain knifing through his shoulder sharper with each stride, the corridor tilting and shifting at one point, Jac bracing with a hand against one wall, afraid that he might be passing out again.
‘His operation was only completed twenty minutes ago,’ Dr Delgado, Truelle’s surgeon, informed Jac when Carmita located him a minute later. ‘So, at least another five or six hours before he comes round.’
Jac’s stomach dived. ‘Any possibility of sooner?’
Delgado shrugged. ‘Three and a half, four hours perhaps. But you’d be lucky to get more than a few words out of him then — he’d still be very groggy.’
Jac cradled his head in one hand, rubbing at his temples, the buzzing back suddenly, the corridor swaying again and tilting away for a moment… all options sliding away with it. And towards its end he could see Brent Calbrey sitting, elbows on knees, hands steepled thoughtfully against his chin.
Friends… insurance policies! Truelle said that he’d left details of the whole thing in envelopes with them.
Jac went towards Calbrey and asked him. ‘Left with close friends, apparently. Any idea who they might be?’
Calbrey shrugged. ‘No, sorry. He didn’t mention anything. I didn’t know many of his friends Stateside.’
‘Both killed recently,’ Jac prompted. But Calbrey’s expression remained vague. ‘Are you sure he didn’t say anything… anything?’ The clinging desperation in Jac’s voice echoing off the corridor walls as Calbrey shook his head.
Jac felt himself swaying uncertainly, the grey edges threatening to drag him back under. And in that moment it struck him that maybe it was better if they did, or if he hadn’t woken up in the first place? To get two shots at saving Durrant, and still fail. The cruellest fate of all.
He asked Calbrey the time, 12.07 a.m., fifty-three minutes left now, but it hardly mattered, there was nothing left to -
Briefcase! As Calbrey checked his watch, Jac recognized it from Truelle reaching for it earlier ‘…apart from what you’ve now got on tape, there’s something else that will…’ Jac confirmed with Calbrey that it was Truelle’s briefcase.
‘Yes, I… I brought it with me because it’s got his papers — including his blood group on a donor card.’
But Calbrey became hesitant when Jac pressed that there was probably something in it he needed urgently, and Jac’s patience snapped. ‘Look! I don’t have the time to fucking argue with you — I’ve got a man’s life to save! You can sort it out with Truelle later whether or not you were meant to let me have it.’
Calbrey handed the briefcase over with a palms out, hey, I’m not the enemy. It was me who fished you out the sea, for Christ’s sake.
Jac opened the briefcase, saw the buff envelope addressed to Truelle at the Sancti Spiritus apartado — ripped it open with trembling hands.
Cassette tape, nothing else inside as Jac tipped the envelope up. Anthony Redmort written on one side of the tape, no other wording. Jac began to worry that it was nothing to do with Durrant, just another patient’s history.
Jac asked Carmita if there was a tape-recorder somewhere in the hospital, and within three minutes she’d got one from another floor.
As Jac pressed play, Truelle’s voice from twelve years ago — conditioning Durrant with all the details of the robbery and murder of Jessica Roche — echoed eerily along the corridors of the Sancti Spiritus hospital, Jac’s voice crashing in after the first few sentences as he punched the air: ‘Yes, yes… oh, fucking yes!’
Pain rocketed through his shoulder, even though he’d used his good arm, but he hardly cared at that moment. He dialled Candaret’s number straight away.