Wednesday 31 October, 8.20 p.m.
Joanna used her phone to google the two words and she sat back and read the story.
In her office, Matilda Warrender had also googled ‘the Titanic bear’ and now was recalling some of Zac’s words.
His Auntie Elinor had been his mother’s aunt. She had drowned or died of the cold in that freezing sea. Her body had never been recovered. They had had compensation, which was as tainted an amount of money as had ever been minted. In Auntie Elinor’s memory they had spent it on one of the Steiff memorial teddy bears and his mother had given it to him, making Zac give a sacred vow that he would keep it for ever and ever.
Should she ring the police now? Or in the morning?
8.35 p.m.
DS Mike Korpanski was a creature of habit. On Wednesdays he went for a brief run with his son, Ricky, and then he headed for the gym. And this Wednesday was no exception. He dropped Ricky back at the house. He still had some homework to do. And then DS Mike Korpanski started a brisk jog towards the gym, The Fit Factory. Only he never got there.
As he was heading down the road, a car accelerated behind him. He heard the noise. And then he felt the impact.
9.30 p.m.
Joanna received the call at 9.30 p.m., having finally made it home. She reached across for her mobile phone and read the number. And knew immediately something bad had happened.
‘Ma’am.’ She stiffened. No one at their peril ever called her ma’am or boss or guv or anything else that spoke of rank. To all she was Joanna, except in particular circumstances.
‘It’s DC Alan King, ma’am.’
She waited, heart hammering.
‘DS Korpanski, ma’am.’
‘Mike? What about him?’
Out of the corner of her eye she was aware that Matthew was watching with concern. He had this idiotic belief that she should constantly be kept calm. And this wasn’t calm.
‘He’s been involved in an accident, ma’am.’ DC Alan King ploughed on. ‘Looks like a hit-and-run.’
She struggled to keep her voice level. ‘What sort of state is he in?’
‘We don’t have an update on his condition.’
She waited for more. It was the silence that finally broke her. ‘Where is he?’
More silence. Then, ‘Where is he?’
Matthew had risen to his feet, hand up.
‘Where is he?’
‘They’ve taken him to the University Hospital of …’
Now both Matthew’s hands were held up and he was mouthing, ‘No. Joanna.’
It was as though she hadn’t seen him. She hung up, grabbed her car keys, and was out of the door before he could react. For a moment Matthew Levin stood motionless.
Then he too was out of the door. He reached the car just as she was starting to reverse down the drive. He yanked the door open and sat down in the passenger seat. He’d play this a different way.
‘I think I might be of some help, Jo.’
And she dropped her head on to his shoulder. ‘Thank you.’
As she drove her mind was racing through all the possibilities. Dead. Brain damaged, spinal injury, amputation. The roads were quiet, the journey quick, and afterwards she would remember none of it.
Matthew had a permit to park at the hospital and at this time of night the car park had plenty of spaces.
Fran Korpanski had not been so lucky. Not having the right change, she was minutes behind Joanna and Matthew. They met outside the entrance to the Major Injuries Unit and greeted each other frostily. Fran was a nurse herself but not at this hospital. Joanna managed, ‘How is he?’
‘I don’t know, Joanna. I only know—’ She broke off to greet Matthew with a bit more of a smile. Fran Korpanski was only too aware of her husband’s close relationship with the DI and had never (would never, she had said) forgiven the inspector for putting her husband in harm’s way. Or, as she put it, risking his life. ‘If this is anything to do with you,’ she said, and Joanna shrank from the hatred in Korpanski’s wife. All she could do was shake her head. But Mrs Korpanski hadn’t finished. ‘If this is your fucking fault …’ The profanity was all the more shocking coming from Mike’s diminutive, normally polite, controlled wife. ‘He wasn’t working,’ Joanna said, stung into defence. ‘He was heading for the gym, wasn’t he?’
Fran simply pressed her lips together as though holding back another avalanche of profanities and accusations.
They entered together and approached the desk. Joanna hung back. However close her working relationship was with Mike, Fran was his wife. ‘I think you have my husband here?’
The woman behind the desk looked up. ‘Name?’
‘Michael Korpanski.’
The woman looked flustered. ‘Yes. We do have your husband here. You’re Mrs Korpanski?’ Fran nodded, tears pooling in her eyes.
‘Would you like to take a seat? A doctor will be with you in a minute.’
Fran Korpanski sank into a chair on the front row, Joanna and Matthew a few chairs behind. The sounds and activities of the unit a mere background.
The doctor, wearing green scrubs, was marked by a lanyard and a stethoscope looped around his neck. The receptionist pointed out Fran and he came straight over to her, introducing himself as Dr Stefan. He had brown hair and sympathetic eyes and spoke with a slightly Eastern European accent. He ushered Mrs Korpanski away from the crowds and towards a door which he closed behind them.
Joanna looked at Matthew. ‘What does this mean?’
‘I don’t know, Jo.’ Even Matthew looked worried. ‘Maybe not good news. They tend to want a quiet room to … Maybe …’ He covered her hand with his own. ‘There’s no point trying to second-guess.’
Joanna felt sick. Not helped by the baby bouncing around as though it was joyful. Matthew saw the activity underneath her top and smiled. Put his hands there, reassuring his son – or daughter.
Don’t say it, she thought. Not that lives come and go. Not . . . The Circle of Life. Korpanski cannot be dead. Or maimed. The memory flooded back of his strong shoulders and powerful arms, of the wry smile when he listened to her rantings, the warmth of those dark eyes and the unending, unquestioning loyalty and friendship. Without him she would be diminished.
The door opened and Fran came out. Looking smaller than when she had gone in. She stumbled back towards them, tears spilling down her cheeks, the doctor a pace behind, his arms held out as though he was worried she might fall.
Fran stood in front of Joanna and met her eyes with a fierce hatred that shocked even her. ‘They’re trying to save his leg,’ she said and sank down into the chair. ‘He’s in the operating theatre now.’
Joanna looked at Matthew and started to speak. ‘Is there anything …’
But Fran Korpanski got there first. She pointed her index finger at Joanna. ‘This had better not be anything connected with you.’
Joanna bit her lip. How could it be? she thought. How could it be?
Matthew managed to fill in the gap. ‘Is there anything you want us to do, Fran?’
At which point Fran stuck her small chin in the air and addressed him. ‘Yes,’ she said. ‘There is. Let them know at the station,’ she managed steadily, ‘and tell them all to stay away. He’s my husband and we want some privacy.’
And Matthew nodded.