Blood Work

The man shook his head as he studied the picture. 'Sorry, he doesn't look familiar. He might have been in yesterday, you say?'

'Might have been.'

'I'll get Suzanne. She was on the morning shift yesterday. She might recognise him.'

The doctor left the room. Sally picked up the picture that the doctor had left on the desk. 'Why do you think he came here?'

'It's pretty common.'

'What is?'

'Flashers. Think about it, he gets to expose himself and have the goods handled at the same time.' He shrugged with a rueful smile. 'And if he's got a thing about nurses . . .'

Sally grimaced. 'Please tell me you're joking.'

Delaney grinned again. 'It's a sick world we live in, Sally.'

'You can say that again.'

'A pound to a penny our boy likes to get his pickle tickled.'

Sally frowned. 'Don't they stick little spoons up?'

Delaney nodded and Sally grimaced again. The office door opened and the doctor came back in followed by an Afro-Caribbean woman, five foot two and weighing close to a couple of hundred pounds by Delaney's reckoning, but she fitted into her neat, dark blue uniform like a Horse Guard on parade.

Andrew Burke gestured towards her. 'This is Suzanne.'

'How can I help you, Inspector?' Her voice was thick and rolling, like a wave of wind through a field of molasses cane.

Delaney held the photo out to her and she nodded. 'Yes, bless him, he was here yesterday. If it's who I think it is.'

'Why bless him?'

'The poor lad. He's had some disfigurement.'

'Scarring to his penis?'

The nurse nodded. 'Indeed. And then he got a bit embarrassed when we did some tests.'

'Embarrassed?' Sally asked.

The nurse smiled at her. 'He got himself a little aroused. It does happen.'

Sally's scowl deepened.

Delaney took the photo from her. 'If you could let me have his name and contact details it would be very useful.'

'Sure. It will take a few minutes.'

'Quick as you can.'

Suzanne looked up sharply at the seriousness in his voice, and hurried away to get the information.

Outside the clinic Sally could barely contain her exuberance.

'You think he's our man, sir?'

'He's our flasher, that's about all we know for sure.'

'Should we call it in, send uniform round?'

'We'll take care of it, but first, as we're here, let's see if the Kraken has woken up.'

Sally looked at him puzzled. 'Sir?'

A stray dog slowly approached the motionless body of Agnes Crabtree, tentatively sniffing the air, and moved closer. It was a ragged thing. A composite of hair and bone and appetite, scabby, starving and neglected. It nuzzled Agnes's face with its jaw and scented the fresh blood that had spilled along the pitted line of her chin into a small, brown stain on the wet stone. The smell made the dog's stomach rumble and flex with pain. He opened his jaw wider and, taking the old woman's ear between his teeth, gave a little tug. Agnes Crabtree groaned and shifted but did not awaken and slumped again, her breath exhaling in a wet, barely audible sigh. But the dog had long gone by then, his tail between his legs and his meal forgotten. In his experience human beings never meant anything but pain.

Delaney looked down at the still motionless body of Kevin Norrell as Sally picked up his medical chart at the foot of the bed.

'He's lucky to be alive.'

'If he makes it.'

'What do you think he knows?'

'People talk in prison. They brag. Someone may have told him something. Maybe he was involved himself.' Delaney shrugged.

Sally hesitated then put Norrell's chart back and looked at her boss. 'Yesterday I looked at the reports, boss. The incident . . .'

Delaney, hearing the hesitation in her voice, glanced over at her. 'Just spit it out, Sally.'

'The hold-up at the petrol station.'

It flashed back unbidden into Delaney's mind. The darkness of the night split by the sound and the flare of lighting cracking. Of glass exploding, of tyres squealing and a woman's voice screaming, then silence. Those shards of glass flying through the night air like barbs of conscience to bury deep into Delaney's brain. The guilt hooking him, ever since, like a bloodstained puppet to jerk and twitch under the hand of a punishing god.

'What about it, Detective Constable?' he asked simply.

'They robbed the place. And then they left, shooting out the window. Why would they do that?'

'Because they're mindless thugs.'

'Maybe. But three heavily tooled-up villains and a driver? Sounds like a professional job to me.'

'Go on.'

'For a petrol station?' Sally shrugged. 'Makes no sense. Everyone knows they don't have the sort of cash on the premises to merit that kind of operation.'

Delaney took it in, the realisation giving him a feeling in his stomach akin to a lift dropping several floors quickly. Sally was right, he had been the worst kind of idiot. Four years of alcohol-induced rage, but it had been directed at himself not at the people really responsible. He'd been flailing around in his own misery and self-disgust to see what Sally had seen almost immediately. No self-respecting, professional outfit would target a petrol station, it made no sense.

'So, it wasn't a robbery?'

'No, sir, I don't think it was.' She looked at her boss sympathetically. 'I think it was a warning, and your wife just got in the way.'

'Warning to who?'

I don't know, sir.'

Delaney looked down at the sleeping figure of Kevin Norrell. The comatose man knew something, he was certain of that. But Sally had provided him with somewhere to start at least. Four years of nothing. Dead ends and false trails. And now his bright-eyed detective constable, fresh out of college, was seeing things he should have seen straight away. He cursed himself for a fool and then realised he didn't have the time for any more self-pity. It was time to put matters right.

'Come on then, Sally.'

'Where to?'

'Work.'

Delaney held the piece of paper the Afro-Caribbean nurse had given him tightly in his hand. The flasher was called Ashley Bradley, he was twenty-eight years old, on unemployment benefit and lived at 28b Morris Street in Chalk Farm, just a couple of stops down on the Northern Line from South Hampstead Tube.

He was heading for the exit when he saw a familiar face waiting at the lift. He stopped and waved Sally ahead. 'Wait for me in the car, Sally.' He tossed her the keys. 'You can drive.'

Sally looked over to where Delaney's gaze was focused and her mouth twisted in disapproval. 'Do you think that's a wise idea, sir?'

'Just do it, Constable.'

Sally walked on to the exit and Delaney crossed over to the lifts just as they opened. The man turned round as Delaney approached. 'Do you want to step away from me or do you want me to call security?' he said, a little nervous catch in his voice.

Delaney pushed him into the lift.

'What the hell do you think you're doing?'

He tried to force himself past Delaney and back out of the lift, but Delaney blocked his way, pushing the button for the fifth floor. The doors closed and Delaney turned to face him.

'You and I need to have a little talk.'

Paul Archer crossed his arms across his chest. 'The only person you need to talk to is a lawyer. Because you better believe I am calling the police.'

Delaney pulled out his warrant card. 'Can you hear my knees knocking?'

Archer leaned forward to read it and laughed humourlessly. 'Even better. You'll be out of a job as well.'

'Kate Walker was upset yesterday, I want to know why.'

'What business is it of yours?'

Delaney leaned in. 'Just answer the fucking question.'

Paul Archer smiled, which Delaney figured was a big mistake. He was moments away from smashing the smug look off his face and spoiling his looks for good.