‘… and she’s alive, but she’s been badly hurt. We need to get to the hospital.’
Alex’s knees gave way for a moment and he had to lean against the wall. Amy, Amy…
While they raced to the hospital, image after sickening image strobed through Alex’s mind, but nothing could prepare him for the shock of seeing Amy in that hospital bed. He had to focus all his energy into pushing down the queasiness rising like a bubble of air inside him, before he threw up on those pristine white covers.
She was asleep – sedated, they told him. They wouldn’t collect specimens for forensics until she woke up, and they asked him not to touch her until they had done so. However, much of the evidence of what had occurred was clear for all to see. On her face and the unbandaged portions of her arms – the only parts of her visible – purple bruises flared in patches. Even the uninjured skin was raw, red and blistered from where the sun had had its own cruel way with her.
There were thick bandages on her left shoulder and wrist, but they were not as appalling as the large plaster stretched across her neck, covering the place where they had tried to slice her throat. Alex realised with a jolt that she was still there only because of poor execution on her attackers’ part.
Less than six hours ago she had been walking next to him, laughing, intact and unscathed. God, how he wished he could have a moment alone with the animals that had done this to her. A moment would be all he would need.
His legs felt unsteady and he stood with both palms on the edge of the mattress, letting his arms take his weight.
‘Hello?’
He turned slowly, to find a woman by the door, dressed in a navy suit. She walked towards him. ‘I’m Isla Bardello.’ Held out a hand, which he shook silently. ‘I’m your family liaison officer. You must be Alex?’
He nodded.
She looked at Amy for a moment, and then said, ‘You know, if you need to let yourself go, that’s okay. While she’s asleep is a good time for you to cry or be angry. When she wakes up she’ll need you to be strong.’
He didn’t know how to respond to this. Markham men did not emote on command, they found it difficult enough to do so at all. Especially in front of strangers. He couldn’t trust himself to have a conversation without losing control. He was not ready to be grateful for Amy’s life, as though he were thanking the bastards who had done this for the smallest of mercies. He was ready to punch flesh until he heard the bones splinter, to set fire to all the white transit vans he saw.
She was waiting and he was flustered, so he tried out a smile. ‘Thanks. I’m okay.’
She watched his face, and he wondered if she was disappointed in him. Then she straightened up, becoming more businesslike.
‘Have you spoken to Amy’s family?’
‘No. Have you?’
She ignored the snippiness of his reply. ‘They need to be told. It would be more reassuring coming from someone they know.’
Alex choked back an ugly laugh. There would be nothing reassuring to them in this news, whoever told them. He had already mentally gone over the dreaded conversation with Amy’s father a hundred times, trying to imagine what Raymond Duvalis would do when he heard about this.
However, she was right. There was no choice: he needed to let Amy’s parents know.
‘You can use my mobile,’ she said, handing him the phone.
‘Thanks,’ he replied, taking it and wandering out of Amy’s room after a glance back.
He searched the maze of linear corridors for somewhere private enough, ending up in the car park, on the far side by some eucalypts, their scent wafting over him as he dialled.
It was breakfast time in the UK. He imagined Ray and Tess sitting in companionable silence in their small kitchen, unaware of the devastating news about to reach them.
‘Hello?’ It was Amy’s mother.
‘Tess, it’s Alex. There’s been an accident,’ he began, trying to sound calm. ‘But Amy’s alive.’
‘Oh my god.’ Her voice broke immediately as he cursed his wording – by telling her that Amy was alive he had reduced her daughter’s present condition in the world to one of mere survival – but he couldn’t think what else to say. He was about to add more when he heard rustling at the other end. Then a gruff voice said, ‘Who is this?’
‘Ray, it’s Alex.’
‘What’s happened?’ Ray demanded.
‘Amy was grabbed off the street earlier today… and kidnapped. They found her a few hours later, but she’s been badly hurt. She’s in hospital; under sedation.’
‘What? Oh, Jesus, Jesus.’ There was a short pause, then, ‘Alex, tell me straight, how badly hurt? Will she be okay?’
Unless Raymond Duvalis asked him directly, Alex knew he could not bear to explain what they had done to the man’s daughter.
‘I… I don’t know. Physically, yes, I think so. Mentally, I don’t know. She’s still sedated.’
‘They didn’t… Was it…?’
Alex sucked in a breath. ‘Yes. And they meant to kill her.’ His voice cracked into a roughened croak. ‘They tried to cut her throat.’
He could hear the other man’s breath rasping as this was taken in. ‘We’re coming,’ Ray growled down the phone. ‘We’ll be there as soon as possible. I’ll sort the flights out. How do I contact you?’
‘Er… I…’ Alex looked around. He realised he wasn’t even sure of the name of the hospital. ‘I’m not sure where we are, to be honest.’ He felt pathetic.
‘Get me a phone number, and the hospital details,’ Ray barked. ‘As quickly as you can.’
‘Okay,’ Alex replied, and heard the click as Ray hung up.
He walked slowly back towards the ward, his legs dragging, his body feeling impossibly heavy, like he’d been drugged. He suddenly wanted to sleep, to sink into oblivion, where he could discard this day, the past six hours, at least for a while. He gave back Isla’s phone, and she told him she would return in an hour to check on Amy.
Finally, they were left alone.
Alex moved over to Amy’s face. The image he had of her sleeping just that morning overlaid the bruised, beaten face before him now. He went to stroke her hand, then remembered he couldn’t even touch her. The dam inside him crumbled and he finally broke down.
41
Mark waited at the bottom of the steps of one of Surrey’s grandest stately homes, fiddling with the hem of his dinner jacket.
He had been looking forward to the Christmas ball all week. It was hosted sequentially by a number of top London law firms that fell just outside the Silver Circle, inviting barristers, solicitors and their aides to put aside their quarrelling for one evening in the spirit of Christmas festivity. It was a night of good-hearted camaraderie, but with an underbelly of point scoring that saw everyone on their guard. The occasion had also become a mock awards ceremony to publicly congratulate and commiserate with the year’s successes and failures of those gathered. Mark, as a rising star, had thus far only been mentioned favourably on the two previous occasions he’d attended, while this was Chloe’s maiden voyage into the jurisprudent atmosphere, so neither of them felt the same level of trepidation with which others from their office approached the event.
‘Looking for me?’
Chloe was suddenly right in front of him. No wonder he had missed her, he thought, inhaling sharply at the sight of her. She had metamorphosised from besuited trainee lawyer to sexy and sophisticated debutante. Gleaming black satin hugged her body, accentuating her curves, the split skirt revealed flashes of tanned calves, and strappy black sandals sparkled as she moved.
‘Wow,’ he said. ‘Chloe, you look superb.’
‘Thank you,’ she replied, beaming.
Mark held his arm out and she slipped her hand through it. Then they turned and made their way up towards the light and noise.