“Don’t,” Larry snapped. “Don’t do that.”
“He’s bloody unconscious!” Shrapnel was panicking, flapping his arms. He glared at Larry. “He’s soaking wet — look at the sheets.” He glanced again at the deathly still face, at the blood channeling down from the nose across the mouth and neck. “I’ll call an ambulance,” he said. He ran off up the passage.
Ten minutes later an ambulance with Von Joel and Larry inside was blue-lighting westward across London. Shrapnel followed in a patrol car. In the back of the ambulance an attendant leaned across Von Joel, trying to stabilize him against the shocks and bumps of the racing vehicle.
They had been traveling a couple of minutes when Von Joel sat up. He grinned across at Larry, who had been panicking nearly as badly as Shrapnel
“I’m okay,” Von Joel told the attendant, who stared, not seeming to comprehend. “Larry” — Von Joel looked around the man’s bulk — “I need to talk. Get him to sit up front!”
The attendant was looking from one to the other. He narrowed his eyes at Von Joel and asked him what was going on.
“Shut it! Tell him, Larry.”
It took Larry a moment to gather himself. He turned to the attendant and nodded curtly.
“Do it,” he said.
The man edged reluctantly into the driving cab, his eyes darting from Larry to Von Joel.
“It’s okay,” Larry assured him, getting out his warrant card. “This is my ID. I’m a police officer. Now shut the door. Do it!”
The attendant huffily slid the door shut. Larry put the ID back in his pocket and got out his handcuffs. He told Von Joel to hold up his hands and clasped the cuffs on him.
“I’m going to give you one last chance,” Von Joel said.
Larry sat back. “You’re giving me?”
There was room to cultivate some drama in the situation. Larry had taped on the outdoor transmission gear before they left the safe house. He knew he would be picked up loud and clear.
“Eddie, when they hear about this, do you know what McKinnes will do to me? You bastard!” Larry let that part soak in, then he said, “You want to talk?”
“Half a million,” Von Joel said calmly. “That’s what I will be giving you, Larry. You could spend the next twenty years in the force and never make that much.” His voice was warm and beguiling as he pushed himself up on the bunk, leaning closer to Larry. “I’m offering you the chance of a lifetime. You’ve only got one life, and already you’re halfway through it.” He held Larry’s eyes. “You’ve got a map, it’s a walkover. Listen to me, Larry... I’ll arrange passports, tickets. If you want your wife and kids along, that’s fine by me.”
Von Joel gasped suddenly, his face twisting. “No violence,” he said, panting softly. “No guns. We walk in and take it, Larry.”
He gasped again, then dropped back, his eyes rolling upward and closing.
“Eddie?” Larry shook him carefully. “Eddie, are you messing me around?”
There was no way to know if this was more playacting, but Von Joel appeared to be unconscious. Larry went to the front and banged on the partition door. The attendant turned and glared at him.
“Get back in here. He’s passed out.”
Attempts to bring him around did not work. He still appeared to be unconscious when they arrived at the hospital. He was rushed directly to an X-ray suite; X-rays and CAT scans were taken, then he was transferred to an observation room in Accident and Emergency, where monitors were set up.
When McKinnes arrived, his face congested with anger, he ignored Larry and DI Shrapnel and demanded that someone in authority tell him what kind of state his prisoner was in. After some administrative flurrying he was taken into an X-ray viewing room and introduced to a radiologist who tried to clarify the position.
“If you’ll take a look at these...” The doctor pointed to a row of backlit X-rays, showing Von Joel’s skull from a number of angles. “There’s no fracture, but you can still see the indentations from the crash.”
McKinnes stared at the plates, discerning nothing.
“You don’t think he’s conning us, do you?”
“Does he have a reason to?”
McKinnes shrugged.
“This is from when he was first brought here.” The doctor hooked a frontal skull plate on to the viewing screen, “he’s very lucky his skull wasn’t crushed. Lucky, too, that there was no cervical or brainstem damage. Given the degree of impact his skull actually withstood, and taking tonight’s episode into account, it would be reasonable to assume he’ll continue having spasmodic blackouts and severe headaches for some time to come.”
“But...” Panic sparkled behind McKinnes’s eyes. “He’ll be all right, will he? To stand trial, that is?”
“Unless he blacks out,” the doctor said, half smiling. “It could happen again, as I said, but it’s not really a debilitating factor, and he’s a fit man, in very good shape...”
Later, McKinnes sat down with Larry in the corridor outside Von Joel’s room. Behind them, through an opening in the curtains, Von Joel was clearly visible, lying on the bed with a blanket over him. His face was turned aside, his eyes closed.
Larry explained to McKinnes what had happened earlier in the day, immediately before Von Joel had been taken ill. He showed the boss the map.
“That’s the bank. See, he’s marked out the escape route. He used the Monopoly game for cover — have they got it on tape?”
“Yes, they have,” McKinnes nodded. “Did he talk in the ambulance?”
“What?” Larry stared at him.
“Was he unconscious? We didn’t hear a word, Jackson, just a lot of static...”
“In the ambulance?” Larry blinked. “You said you got it on tape. I’ve got the mike taped to—” He touched the front of his shirt and shot to his feet. “Shit...”
McKinnes stared as Larry frantically patted his shirt and pulled it out of his trousers.
“Shit! Aw shit!” He looked helplessly at McKinnes. “It’s got loose, I... Christ...” He threw up his hands. “I don’t know where it is.” He stood there with his shirttails hanging below his jacket, trying to think. “I put it on, I remember, Frank was there. Then we helped carry Von Joel out of the bedroom to the stretcher...” He looked at McKinnes, distraught. “It must have come loose around about then. I just don’t know where it is.”
Larry turned and stared at Von Joel, a thought occurring to him. Von Joel’s eyes remained closed.
“He was unconscious when you took him out of the flat,” McKinnes said, standing up and facing Larry. “So I take it he didn’t say anything in the ambulance. Is that right?”
Larry bit back his panic, wondering which way to jump.
“I had the cuffs on him, Mac.”
McKinnes sniffed, dismissing that as irrelevant guff.
“Did he say anything in the ambulance? Or do I have to go and bloody ask the ambulance attendant? Did he or didn’t he?” McKinnes’s color began to rise. “Was he or wasn’t he unconscious?”
“Yes,” Larry blurted. He swallowed hard. “And no, he didn’t say anything.”
McKinnes nodded. He turned and walked away. Larry glanced into the room. The pale head turned slowly on the pillow until it was facing the door. The eyes opened, staring eerily. And then Von Joel smiled.
21
At lunch time the following day, a Saturday, Larry had another informal meeting, in a pub, with DCI McKinnes. The first chance he got, Larry made an admission of defeat. His statement was plain and unequivocaclass="underline" this case was too much for him, he was not the man for the job. He waited for a response as the barmaid brought a I portion of leaden shepherd’s pie and put it in front of McKinnes. No answer came. For the moment McKinnes seemed more interested in attacking his lunch.