‘A stroke?’ Jude lowered herself on to the chair, gripping its sides with both hands.
‘He’s already had an X-ray,’ Fox explained to his sister.
‘There’ll be a doctor along in a minute,’ the nurse added.
Fox nodded to let the nurse know everything was fine now. But when he made to squeeze Jude’s shoulder, she shrugged him off.
‘Don’t touch me,’ she said. So Fox stood there and watched as she leaned forward until her head was resting against the edge of the bed. Her whole body spasmed as she sobbed. Fox looked over towards the staff, but they’d seen it all before. Eventually the same nurse came with a few words of advice.
‘There’s a cafe in the main entrance. You might be better off there. Give us your number and we’ll buzz you when the doctor turns up.’
But Jude shook her head. She was staying, so Fox stayed too. Another chair was found for him and he placed it next to his sister. She was squeezing their father’s hand, and failing to dislodge the finger-clip.
‘They found him on the floor of his room,’ Fox explained quietly. ‘He hit his head when he fell.’ He paused, realising there was nothing else to add, apart from yet another apology. Jude wouldn’t look at him. When she did lift her face from the bed, she focused on the machine instead.
When the doctor arrived, he seemed impossibly young to Fox – barely out of his teens, surely. No white coat or stethoscope; just a shirt and tie and rolled-up sleeves.
‘No bones broken, no fractures,’ he recited, flicking through the notes he’d been handed. ‘Might just do a scan. We’ll keep him in a day or so…’
‘Someone mentioned a stroke,’ Fox said.
‘Mmm, it’s one possibility.’ Fox had been expecting the doctor to shine a light in Mitch’s eyes, or take his blood pressure and pulse… something like that. But the young man just glanced at the patient. The notes were telling him what he needed to know. ‘We’ll start to get a better idea when he comes round.’
‘Should we try rousing him?’ Fox asked.
‘Best leave it.’ The doctor had come to the end of his reading. ‘Scan later today or maybe tomorrow. After that, we’ll hopefully have some firmer news.’
And with that he was gone, moving to a patient on the other side of the room.
Jude didn’t say anything, and neither did Fox. He’d seldom felt as useless. When someone from the nurses’ station asked if they’d like a cup of tea, he nodded and felt pathetically grateful. Jude wanted water, and both drinks duly arrived. Fox said sorry again, and this time Jude looked at him.
‘You never think of me – either of you,’ she said.
‘Not now, Jude. Leave it for later.’ Fox nodded towards Mitch. ‘He might be able to hear.’
‘Maybe I want him to hear.’
‘Even so…’
She took a sip of water from the plastic glass, cupping it in both hands. Fox’s tea was too strong. The only way to make it drinkable was to add both sachets of sugar.
‘Look,’ he told his sister, ‘I was in the middle of something when they phoned me. I wasn’t thinking straight – even when I got here.’
‘No room in that head of yours for me, eh?’
‘Can we cut the martyr crap, Jude, just this once?’
He managed to hold her gaze, but only for a few seconds.
‘You’re some piece of work, Malcolm,’ she said, slowly and steadily. ‘You really are.’
‘Better to be something than nothing, eh?’ He made the mistake of glancing at his watch.
‘Somewhere you need to be?’ she asked.
‘Always.’
‘Don’t let family get in the way, will you?’
He was trying to calculate how long it would take him to get to Stirling. Would the evening rush hour slow him?
‘Christ, you really are planning to up and leave.’ Jude’s mouth stayed open. ‘Whatever it is, it can’t be more important than this.’
‘Just because you don’t understand doesn’t mean Dad wouldn’t.’
‘And I’m supposed to just sit here?’
‘You’ll do whatever you want to do, Jude, same as always.’
‘Said the kettle to the pot.’
It was hard to disagree, so Fox didn’t bother trying. He asked her if she needed money for the cafe. She kept him waiting for an answer before admitting that the taxi had cleaned her out. He placed a twenty-pound note on the bed, next to where she was holding Mitch’s hand.
‘I’ll be back later,’ he promised. ‘You going to be all right?’
‘What if I say no?’
‘Then I’ll feel worse than I already do.’
‘Just bugger off, Malcolm.’
Which was exactly what he did, after handing one of the nurses his card with his mobile number on it.
The nurse nodded, but then looked over towards Jude. ‘Is she going to throw another wobbly?’
Fox shook his head with some confidence. ‘Just so long as I’m not here,’ he explained.
35
It was a large, modern house down a side road opposite the university and not far from the Wallace Monument. A low brick wall separated it from its neighbours. There were fake shutters either side of each set of windows, and Palladian-style pillars flanking the front door. The gates had been left open for him, and the driveway was tarmacked. As Fox parked alongside a sleek Maserati and a small, sporty Lexus, the door opened. Fox recognised Stephen Pears from his photographs. The man beckoned towards him, as if welcoming a guest to a party.
‘Alison’s taking a phone call,’ he said. ‘She’ll only be a minute.’ Then he stretched out his hand for Fox to shake. He had good teeth and that tan, but was a stone or two heavier than necessary. His permanent five o’clock shadow could not disguise the double chin and jowls. Life, it seemed to Fox, was close to proving too much of a good thing for Stephen Pears.
‘Find the place okay?’ he asked as he led Fox into a double-height hallway.
‘Yes thanks.’
A dog appeared at Pears’s side, a Labrador with a glossy black coat. Fox reached down a hand to stroke its head. ‘What’s she called?’ he asked.
‘He’s called Max.’
‘Hiya, Max.’
But the dog had already lost interest in the visitor and was turning away. Fox straightened up. There were photographs lining the wall next to him. Fox recognised a number of celebrities. They were all pictured standing alongside Pears, smiling, occasionally shaking hands.
‘Sean Connery,’ Fox commented, nodding towards one particular photo.
‘Bumped into him and just had to get a snap.’
‘Looks like the New Club,’ Fox commented.
Pears looked surprised. ‘Are you a member?’
Fox shook his head. ‘You?’ he asked.
‘It’s nice and central when I want to impress people,’ Pears explained. ‘Come on through, won’t you? I was just pouring Andy a drink.’
Andy being Justice Minister Andrew Watson. He rose from the sofa at Fox’s approach and they shook hands.
‘Malcolm Fox,’ Fox said by way of introduction. No reason for Watson to be told any more than that.
‘Lothian and Borders Police?’ Watson commented.
Okay, so the Justice Minister knew. Fox nodded and turned down Pears’s offer of a malt.
‘Water’s fine,’ he said.
It came with ice cubes and a wedge of lime in a heavy crystal tumbler. Pears clinked glasses with his brother-in-law and sniffed the whisky before sampling it.
‘Not bad, Stephen,’ Watson said approvingly.
‘Sit down, Inspector,’ Pears commanded, hands in movement again.
Most of the ground floor seemed to be devoted to this huge open-plan space. Four or five sofas, a vast glass dining table with a dozen chairs placed around it, a fifty-inch TV screen on one wall. Spotlights picked out undersized paintings in overwrought frames. Piano music was being piped from somewhere – Fox couldn’t see any speakers. The French doors to the rear of the room led out to a terrace with lawns and a tennis court beyond. The tennis court was floodlit, either in an effort to impress, or because Pears could well afford to waste the electricity.
‘How’s she bearing up?’ Watson asked his host.