‘Not so far, but I’m only about halfway through and there’s one or two I now want to go back and look at again. I had a much better look at the knifeman last night than I did at my flat. I have a vague feeling I’ve seen his face before.’
‘I’ll leave the iPad with you, then. Give me a call if you spot anyone familiar.’
‘Talking about giving people a call, is there any chance someone could fetch my phone? I dropped it during the struggle in my flat hallway, and I feel totally lost without it.’
‘Ah yes, that reminds me,’ said DI Galvin. ‘I have your front-door key.’ He dug in his pocket and placed the key on the bedside locker.
‘Did you hear what I said? Could someone please fetch my phone?’
‘We’re finished there now,’ the inspector replied, not properly answering the question. ‘Is there no one else who could go for you?’
‘I suppose I could ask my sister to go.’
‘Good,’ he said, standing up. ‘You will need to make a formal statement about the incident here last night. Can you write it yourself?’
I nodded. Another bloody statement. And I still had to do the one for DS Jagger. ‘I’ll do it later,’ I said wearily.
‘OK. But, in the meantime, keep looking at the mugshots. I’ll be back later for the statement.’
‘How about my bodyguard?’ I said.
‘I’ll arrange for a uniformed officer to be present in the ward reception area. The nursing staff are demanding it anyway.’
Good for them, I thought.
The detective went away and I went back to my snoozing. But about an hour later I came face-to-face once more with my would-be assassin.
He was younger and had a moustache, but I was certain it was the same man — my friend with the carving knife.
Mugshot number 282.
He was indeed one of those I’d gone back to have another look at, having passed over him before. It was the dark unfeeling eyes that gave him away, the same eyes I’d stared deeply into when I’d been convinced he was about to kill me. They were not eyes I would forget in a hurry.
Just the picture of him sent shivers of fear down my spine.
‘Two-eight-two,’ I said to DI Galvin when I called him using the hospital phone.
‘Are you sure?’
‘A hundred per cent.’
‘Two-eight-two, you say?’ I could hear him tapping it in on a computer keyboard. ‘Right, got him.’
‘What’s his name?’ I asked.
‘Lawrence. Darryl Gareth Lawrence. Ever heard of him?’
‘No,’ I said with certainty.
‘He was born sixteenth July 1978. Originally from Port Talbot in Wales, his last known address was in Streatham, south London. He’s got previous — lots — mostly for violence, including wounding with intent.’
‘With intent to do what?’
‘Cause grievous bodily harm. Sentenced to seven years for that at Southwark Crown Court in 2008. He was released on licence in November 2012 having served two-thirds of his sentence. According to his record, he’s been out of trouble since then but that only means he hasn’t been arrested for anything.’
‘Well, you can arrest him now for wounding with intent to commit murder.’
‘I’ll get on to it straight away.’
He hung up.
In some strange way, I felt slightly safer knowing who was trying to kill me. All I needed to know now was why.
20
After speaking with DI Galvin, I called Faye and asked her if she could fetch my mobile phone from my flat. She came to the hospital at noon to collect the key.
‘The phone should be on the floor in the hallway,’ I said. ‘And the charger as well, if you can find it. That’ll be on the worktop in the kitchen next to the microwave.’
‘Nothing else? How about some clothes?’
‘No. I’m fine. I have clothes.’
I did think about asking her to get my laptop but I could do most things via the internet with just my iPhone. Furthermore, my laptop was somewhere in my bedroom and I wasn’t at all sure I wanted Faye exploring more of my home than was absolutely necessary. To be honest, I would have been much happier if the police had agreed to retrieve my phone. I knew that asking my sister to go there was a mistake.
Faye was a naturally tidy person. She had been since childhood, and she had unsuccessfully tried to instil into her younger brother the same culture of neatness and order. Hence, since Lydia’s departure and the move to my new flat, I had resisted all Faye’s attempts to come over to check up on me.
And now here I was sending her there unaccompanied. I must be crazy. But I really needed that phone. And surely, whatever the state of the place, sending Faye was better than asking Henri to go.
Only after she had gone did I worry about her security.
What if Darryl Gareth Lawrence and his sidekick were waiting in the bushes outside my front door?
But why would they do anything to Faye? Lawrence had specifically asked the nurse, Where’s Hinkley? It was me they wanted, not my sister.
Nevertheless, I was greatly relieved when Faye returned about an hour and a half later with my phone plus charger.
‘How are things?’ I asked.
‘It’s not very tidy,’ she said in an accusing manner.
‘That must have been due to my attackers. Or possibly the police forensic team.’
She looked at me. ‘I don’t suppose either of those would be responsible for the stack of dirty mugs and plates in the sink, or for the washing hung on the back of your sofa, or even for the clothes lying on the floor of your bedroom.’
I looked rather sheepishly at her.
‘And they surely wouldn’t have packed up those removal boxes to leave in the hallway. How long have you been there now? Nearly a year? Isn’t it time you unpacked?’
‘I will,’ I said.
And I would. I’d tidy the place too, especially if I was going to entertain a certain Miss Henrietta Shawcross there anytime soon, as I dearly hoped I would be.
‘So, are you coming out tomorrow?’ Faye asked.
‘I’m not sure,’ I said. ‘I had to have some of my stitches redone this morning.’
‘Why?’
‘A few of those on my abdomen split open.’
‘You haven’t been doing those press-ups again, I hope,’ Faye said with a laugh, but she must have seen something in my face because she stopped laughing. ‘What happened?’
‘I had some unexpected and unwanted visitors in the night.’
‘Not the same men?’
I nodded.
‘But that’s dreadful. How did they know you were here? And how the hell did they get in?’
‘That’s what the police are trying to find out,’ I said. ‘But at least we now know who one of them is. I recognized him from a police photo.’
‘Who is it?’
‘Someone called Darryl Lawrence.’
She stared at me with a blank expression.
‘I’ve never heard of him either,’ I said, ‘but he’s had lots of previous convictions for violence and has spent time in prison.’
‘Why is he coming after you?’
‘I don’t know. I can only imagine that someone is paying him to kill me. The police are searching for him, so we might find out more when they find him.’
Faye was distressed.
She had been under the erroneous impression that the attack at my home had been as a result of a random burglary which had somehow gone terribly wrong. To discover that her little brother was being specifically targeted by a hired killer came as an unwelcome shock.
‘But who would want to kill you?’ she asked desperately, like a mother wondering how anyone could harm her beloved child.
‘That is exactly what I’ve been trying to figure out.’