I came round in a hospital bed and immediately thought I was back in Lennox Hill, the hospital where I’d spent six months after the car wreck that’d shattered my legs. Strange how that place that held only bad memories now served as the closest thing to a safe haven my brain could dredge up. It was only when the fog lifted some that I realised the surroundings were foreign to me.
I was alone in an empty ward, three beds made up with stiff white sheets along the wall opposite, and one either side of me. I could smell starch and sweat, and my head was splitting.
Then it all came back. Lizzie—
I went to get up, but as I moved, a handcuff chained to the bed rail bit into my wrist. I rattled it and tried to call out, but my voice was hoarse and weak.
A police officer in a uniform I didn’t recognise appeared at the end of the room and made his way towards me, but a nurse overtook him. She rushed to my bedside and put her hand on my arm. ‘Try to be calm, Mr Yates. You’re quite unwell.’
‘My wife— I need to get to a telephone . . .’
The cop stationed himself at the end of my bed, hands on hips. I saw the badge on his shirt, made him as Arkansas State Police. ‘I’ll notify the prosecuting attorney that you’re awake.’
‘Please. I need to make a call . . .’
‘Mr Masters will be along in good time.’ He marched back the way he’d come.
The nurse fussed with my pillows. My mouth was drier than desert sand, and I thought I could taste smoke. I realised that it was light outside. ‘How long have I been here?’
‘Twelve hours or so. They brought you in last night. Doctor says you’ve suffered the effects of smoke inhalation, and he suspects you suffered a serious concussion. Does your head hurt?’
I mouthed an affirmative.
‘It’s to be expected. Doctor may be able to give you something for the pain. Are you experiencing shortness of breath?’
‘Yes.’
She nodded as if she assumed as much. ‘Can you tell me what year this is?’
‘Nineteen forty-six.’
‘And the name of the president?’
‘Truman.’
‘That’s good.’
‘I need a telephone. Please, my wife—’
‘I’m sorry, sir, I don’t have the authority for that.’ She turned to go. ‘I’ll be back with the doctor. Try to rest.’
I yanked at the cuffs again, rattling them, barely the strength to do it. The effort left me gassed, and I slumped against the bed, wondering if Lizzie was already dead.