When Inspector Bernard Sullivan had departed, I intended to do the same. I reckoned I needed a drink and some thinking time. And, boy, did I have something to think about. However, when I swung my legs around on the camp bed and attempted to stand up, the room began to bend and sway. With a groan, I slumped back staring at the ceiling waiting for it to settle down. Then into my field of vision appeared the face of nurse Ivana.
‘You are a naughty man,’ she said in her rich Russian voice, making it sound like an invitation to an orgy. ‘You cannot move just yet. You must rest for a couple of hours at least. Your system has had a very big shock. You lie back. I will bring you a cup of sweet tea.’
‘You couldn’t make that a double whisky, could you?’ I grinned, in spite of my discomfort.
She returned my smile. ‘You really are a naughty man.’
‘No ice,’ I added with a chuckle as she disappeared around the screen. She returned a few minutes later with a mug of hot, sweet tea.
‘Just as you ordered: no ice,’ she beamed, as she handed it to me. ‘Now drink that and rest for a while.’
‘Yes, ma’am.’
The tea was good despite the sweetness and I did feel as though it revived me a little, but I still hadn’t the energy or the sureness of foot to get up and leave and so I obeyed nurse’s orders and lay back and stared at the gently shimmering ceiling. In the distance I could hear station noises, the echoing hiss of steam, speaker announcements, the shrill screech of a guard’s whistle and the muted cacophony of the sea of travellers as they ebbed and flowed up and down the concourse and the various platforms. So many lives, so many journeys. It seemed that despite the drama I was involved in, the world was getting on with its mundane business.
I closed my eyes and ran through the events of the day. It struck me that I’d been lucky. I could be lying on a slab in the morgue now instead of a fairly comfy camp bed being nursed by a very pleasant Russian girl. The mystery surrounding Annie Salter’s death had been cleared up once and for all, but unfortunately the real villain of the piece, her murderer, had escaped. Strangely I felt sorry for Malcolm Salter. I knew he had been a deserter and an armed robber, (past tense) but I didn’t think he deserved to die in such a manner. Some leopards can change their spots and I’m a strong believer in giving a chap a chance at reforming himself. Well, there was no chance for Malcolm now.
I suppose my part in the case was effectively over. I had carried out Father Sanderson’s wishes and discovered the truth of poor old Annie’s death. However, I knew I couldn’t let it rest there. I had to find Horsefield and bring him to justice. If only in revenge for the gargantuan headache he’d given me. And besides, surely it is what the old priest would have expected me to do. Well, I was going to do it. Or at least try.
Mind you, I had no idea how I was going to do it. I reckoned that I would have a go at formulating some sort of plan after a good night’s sleep when I hoped the blitzkrieg in my head had ceased.
I gave a shrug, closed my eyes and, before I knew it, I had fallen into a gentle sleep.
I was woken sometime later by my Russian nightingale. She had her raincoat on and seemed to be ready to go somewhere.
‘I’ve just come to say goodbye,’ she said with a smile. ‘My shift is over and Nurse Kerry is taking over.’
I glanced at my watch. It was just after six in the evening: I had been asleep for over three hours.
‘You can stay here until you feel fit enough to leave.’
‘Oh, that’s now,’ I said, pulling myself up more quickly than I should. My head throbbed as though a small road drill were digging deep into the convolutions of cerebral cortex but my vision, though not perfect, was much better. Every-thing seemed to have a fine double edge.
Ivana caught my arm. ‘Whoa,’ she said, with a half smile. ‘Are you sure you’re ready for this?’
Certainly am,’ I said with more confidence than I felt, as I pulled myself to my feet. Thankfully the room stayed where it was, but the drills were still pounding away. ‘Perhaps you could walk with me a while, just until I get my sea legs, as it were.’
Nurse Kerry, whose rosy red features had been peering around the screen, gave me an old-fashioned look.
‘I suppose so,’ said Ivana.
Breathing deeply, I stepped forward and took her arm. I needed it for my legs were still weak and unsure of themselves. We left the first aid room with me clinging to Ivana like some over attentive boyfriend. She seemed to take this strange perambulation in her own confident stride. Once outside the confines of the station, I began to breathe in the cool night air. It filled my lungs and began to clear away the cobwebs in my brain. Like some magic rejuvenating elixir, it coursed through my body giving me strength. After we had gone a hundred yards or so, I was walking normally again and my vision was clear, but I was reluctant to release my grip on Ivana’s arm. It was good to be close to a woman again.
‘I don’t suppose you’d allow me to buy you a drink?’ I said as casually as I could.
‘Now why do you suppose that? I’d love a drink.’
I grinned back sheepishly. ‘I know just the place.’
* * *
It was around seven o’clock by the time we arrived at The Velvet Cage, my favourite watering hole. We had walked part of the way and then taken a taxi. It was quiet in the club, with very few customers and the musicians were only just setting up for their first set that evening.
We sat in a booth. Ivana asked for a sweet sherry – I grimaced at this but ordered the drink all the same while I settled for a whisky. For some time we sat in awkward silence. We seemed to have run out of conversation. We had chatted merrily on our journey, she telling me that she shared a small flat in Earl’s Court with another nurse called Mildred and how she liked to read in her spare time ‘the great British writers like Charles Dickens and Emily Bronté.’ I had told her about my accident when I lost an eye and why I was a detective. ‘So you get beaten up a lot,’ she had observed wryly.
‘I try not to be,’ I said.
But now we seemed to have run out of steam. My supply of small talk was very limited at the best of times but now it seemed as though it had disappeared altogether.
Suddenly she turned to me and placed her hand on mine. ‘You seem sad. I know you joke and smile, but I think you are a sad man. Why is that?’
I gave a non-committal smile.
‘You perhaps have lost someone?’
‘In this war, hasn’t everyone? You, your parents.’
‘Yes, that’s true. But I hide my pain. I see yours in your face.’
‘Look lady, I’ve just been bopped very hard on the head. No wonder you see pain in my face. Ouch!’
She grinned. ‘Yes, you cover it up with a joke. Let me see your hands – your right hand.’
I held it up and wiggled my fingers. She took it gently and laid it palm upwards on the table and stared intently at it.
‘Well,’ she said, ‘you will be pleased to know that you have a very healthy life line. You should live into an old age.’
‘Goodness, you’re not going to read my palm?’
‘Of course. All my family have the gift. The God-given lines on your hands tell many secrets about your character and your life. See, your heart line is strong and straight.’
‘What does that mean?’
‘You are idealistic and sometimes you let your heart rule your head.’
I took a drink of whisky. Can’t argue with that, I thought, but said nothing.
‘You are complex man, Johnny. Some of your lines do the oddest things.’
‘Do they tell you whether I’m going to capture the fellow who tried to break my skull?’
She smiled and shook her head. ‘I’m afraid not.’
I was about to make some flippant remark when I was conscious of a shadow falling over us and the heavy wheezing breathing of its owner.
I looked up and saw Benny, his face shiny with sweat and his eyes bulging from the exertions he had obviously just undergone. He mopped his brow with a handkerchief before he spoke. ‘Johnny, thank heavens I’ve found you.’
‘What is it, Benny? You look done in.’
‘That’s because I am. I ran most of the way. I’m so relieved you’re here. Peter said you might be.’
‘Peter? What about him?’
Benny shook his head. ‘Such a foolish boy. Apparently, he’s been trailing one of your villains – the bank robber.’
‘Horsefield!’
Benny nodded. ‘I think that was his name. Well, Peter’s traced him to an address in Houndsditch’. He paused to drag a scrap of paper from his pocket. ‘23 Commercial Street. He said he’d wait for you there, somewhere outside in the street.’
‘The idiot. How long ago was this?’
‘About twenty minute… half an hour ago.’
I turned abruptly to Ivana. ‘I’m sorry, I have to go.’
‘Of course.’ She squeezed my hand. ‘Be careful.’
‘I’ll try,’ I said giving her a quick kiss on the cheek.
Without another word, I left the two of them staring after me as I dashed for the exit.
* * *
After a rather hectic and bumpy taxi ride, I arrived in Houndsditch. I asked the cabbie to drop me a few blocks away from Commercial Street. On the journey my mind had been trying to work out how Peter had ended up trailing Horsefield. He’d studied those bloody newspaper reports he’d shown me, hadn’t he? No doubt on a hunch he’d gone down to Houndsditch and somehow by some fluke found where the fellow was hiding. I doubted if he realised how dangerous Horsefield was – especially now he was wounded and had managed to retrieve the cash from the bank robbery.
I suppose it was my fault that Peter fancied himself as a super sleuth, trying to impress me, and if he got hurt or worse, it would be on my conscience for life and possibly longer.
It was now quite dark as I turned into Commercial Street. The place was quiet and empty. There were no pedestrians and no traffic. An eerie silence seemed to inhabit the place. Casually, I lit a cigarette and strolled along the pavement noting the house numbers as I did so. Eventually I came to number 23. It was cloaked in total darkness which, of course, was not unusual in these days of the blackout. I looked around for Peter. There was no sign of the scamp.
Where the hell was he? What was he up to now? I called out his name, hoping that he would emerge from the shadows and greet me. But he didn’t.
My heart sank.
What was I going to do now?