Double Mortice (23 page)

‘No, Paul!’ He slid Philippa’s jacket up her arm and unbuttoned the sleeve of her blouse, rolling it beyond the elbow. She thrashed wildly when he applied his belt as a tourniquet. ‘For Christ’s sake! I don’t want that!’

Impervious to her pleading, he started whistling the Dambusters’ theme, smirking as he primed the second syringe. ‘Bombs
away!’ Philippa felt a sharp stab of pain as the needle pierced her skin, then the liquid started pumping, coursing into her veins. It was really happening to her. She twisted and jerked violently, her arms and legs flailing against their restraining bonds. Rivulets of perspiration oozed from every pore. All her restraint dissolved as the nightmare imploded. She screamed at the top of her voice, a long shuddering wail that seemed to fly from her body and hover like a mantle round the head of the crazed creature sitting by her side.

Paul went berserk, slapping her across the face and splitting open her bottom lip. ‘Shut up, you stupid bitch! Stop screaming! You promised!’ Another scream, cracked and half-whimpering, filled the room.

Paul grabbed the roll of adhesive tape from the bedside table and picked up the razor to cut off a strip. He slammed the palm of his hand under Philippa’s chin to force her jaws closed, then stretched the tape across her mouth. Slicing off several more strips, he used them to criss-cross her mouth before collapsing onto the edge of the bed, panting from the effort. ‘That wasn’t right. You’re spoiling everything. You promised not to scream. Why did you lie to me?’ He fixed her with a wild-eyed glare. ‘Why does everybody lie to me?’

Within seconds, the speedball started to take effect. Philippa felt wave after wave of hot flushes and the room started to swim crazily, the backs of her eyes throbbing and her brain filling with scrambled images. She was running through a black void, plummeting head-over-heels into a bottomless pit, her body twisting and turning – spinning and falling. She managed to pull herself out of the vertical dive and was now floating face-up in gravity-free space, her mouth gaping, her limbs dangling limply. Her eyelids grew incredibly heavy and she was consumed by an irresistible drowsiness as she struggled to blink away the sweat from her forehead, which was stinging her eyes.

She heard him speak. She could make out the words but the voice was detached from his body. It seemed to be coming from
another room, another universe. ‘Speedballs are great before sex. They heighten everything.’

She looked towards him. He was standing by the side of the bed, stripping off his clothes. His body was gaunt and white – a spectre. She thought this cackling, emaciated creature was ogling her but she couldn’t focus – his features were twisted and blurred, his face zooming rapidly towards her then receding at an alarming rate. He climbed onto the bed and lay on top of her. She felt his bare flesh pressing against hers. She watched helplessly as her left nipple stood proud in response to his touch when he rolled it firmly between thumb and forefinger. He clamped his mouth to her breast and started teasing her hardened nipple with his tongue. She could feel his hand creeping up the inside of her thigh, fingernails scratching gently at her flesh.

Philippa couldn’t control the cough building up in her lungs. With no release of air possible through her mouth, she gagged when the cough exploded in the back of her throat. Lathered in sweat from the effects of the speedball, light-headed from lack of oxygen, she was on the verge of vomiting as she struggled to exhale through her nose. Tears of despair streamed down her bulging cheeks.

Paul was totally indifferent to her agony as he knelt between her outstretched thighs, fumbling with the wrapping on the contraceptive. He winked at her as he dangled the condom in front of her terrified eyes, then he leered malevolently as he slowly unrolled it down the length of his erect penis. Stretching to the top of the bed for a pillow, he plumped it up and thrust it under her hips.

Philippa imagined she heard a noise – some kind of metallic click. She couldn’t make out what it was or where it had come from. Was she hallucinating? It sounded like a key turning in a lock. Her heart skipped a beat. She realised she hadn’t imagined it – Paul had heard it too. Springing from the bed, he grabbed the razor and moved silently across the room, standing stock still behind the closed bedroom door.

When Paul saw the door handle start to turn, he flicked off the top light, plunging the room into darkness. He crouched behind the door, razor poised. The door was slowly eased open. Philippa stared across. Through her blurred vision, she thought she could discern the shadowy image of a figure standing in the doorway.

She wanted to cry out a warning. She tried desperately to push her tongue through her teeth, striving to burst through the gagging tape, but to no avail. She blinked hard, attempting to focus. If she could only warn him with her eyes… Could he see her eyes? Could he see her at all? Looking straight towards him, then switching her gaze to behind the door, she pleaded with her eyes that he might understand. He’s behind the door! He’s behind the door! She switched her gaze back and forth as rapidly as she could – again and again. Her head was reeling. The nausea was overpowering. She passed out in a dead faint.

As soon as the figure took a step inside the room, Paul launched himself round the side of the door, striking out blindly, stabbing at head height – going for the face. Charlie Anderson had only a split second in which to react. Instinctively, he turned side-on and threw up his arm, grunting as he felt the searing pain of the razor plunging into his shoulder. Letting out a roar like a bull elephant, he crashed into the door, sending Paul rolling and tumbling across the bedroom floor. Charlie winced as he eased the blade from his shoulder.

Paul scrambled to his feet and crouched, naked, wild-eyed, searching frantically for a way to escape. Charlie didn’t move, his frame blocking the doorway, blood dripping from his shoulder onto the floor. He flicked on the light switch.

‘Take it easy, Paul.’ Charlie dropped the razor and clasped his hand to his shoulder to stem the flow of blood. ‘It’s all over. Put on your clothes and come with me.’ Like a cornered animal, Paul’s eyes darted round the room. He yanked aside the curtain and tugged at the handle of the sliding patio doors, leading to the balcony. Dashing outside, he rammed the door closed behind him. ‘Come back!’ Charlie shouted. ‘You can’t go anywhere from there.’

Paul swung his legs over the railing and slid down as he far as he could, facing inwards, gripping the base of the concrete balcony with his fingertips. He knew there was an identical balcony on the floor below. Charlie wrenched open the patio door. ‘Don’t try it,
Paul!’ he yelled. ‘You can’t get down that way.’ Paul swung back and forth several times to build momentum, then with one final outward lunge of his legs, he released his grip as he started to arch inwards. ‘I can fly!’ he cried triumphantly.

His clawing fingers bounced off the railings of the balcony of the floor below and he made no further sound as his body spiralled downwards, arms and legs flailing like a rag doll. His spinning body crashed onto the paving stones then rolled, as if in slow motion, down the gentle embankment, coming to rest, face up, by the river’s edge.

Charlie stepped out onto the balcony and gazed down at the crumpled figure – naked – spread-eagled – silent.

Kay Anderson carried a steaming bowl of porridge across to the kitchen table. ‘Would you like me to pour milk on for you?’

‘I’m not a complete cripple. I can manage some things by myself. Anyway, I don’t need this damned sling. I’m going to take it off.’

‘The doctor said you had to keep it on for a week to give the wound a chance to heal.’

‘I don’t need it. It’s just –’

‘You’re worse than a bairn,’ Kay interrupted forcibly. ‘If the doctor said a week, he meant a week – not one night.’

‘I hardly slept a wink. I can’t sleep lying on my back.’

‘I suppose you’d be better off lying on your side and opening up the wound?’

‘It’s just a scratch. I don’t know what all the fuss is about.’

‘A week,’ she repeated firmly.

‘But Kay, I –’ His attempt at further protest was interrupted by the toot of a car horn outside. ‘That’ll be my driver. I’d better be going.’

‘He can wait until you’ve had your breakfast. I’ll let him know you’ll be out in a few minutes.’

When Charlie had finished his porridge, Kay held up his jacket while he slid his right arm into the sleeve. She tugged the left sleeve over his shoulder. ‘I’ll try to get away early tonight, love. Maybe we could have something for dinner that I could eat one-handed?’

‘You wouldn’t be thinking of shepherd’s pie, by any chance?’

He grinned and gave her a peck on the cheek before hurrying out to the waiting car. When he saw Charlie coming, the driver jumped out and held open the passenger door.

‘Been in the wars, I hear, sir.’

‘It’s nothing, Phil. Just a flesh wound, as they say in the movies. Sorry I had to drag you all the way over here, but the quack won’t let me drive for a week. It’s a bloody nuisance.’

‘No problem.’

‘Would you stop off at the Western on the way? I want to visit one of the patients.’

Charlie got Philippa’s ward number from the reception desk, then took the lift. He went to the office at the top of the ward where a nursing sister was seated at an oval desk, studying a patient’s chart. Her lapel badge identified her as Sister Tate.

‘DCI Anderson,’ Charlie announced, tugging out his I.D. ‘Could you tell me how Philippa Scott is, please? She’s the young lady who was brought into casualty last night.’

Sister Tate put down the chart. ‘She had a disturbed night. I don’t know the full story but I’m told she was attacked and forcibly injected with drugs, which is probably the truth. Although her blood shows a high concentration of heroin and cocaine, there’s only one puncture mark in her arm. I don’t think she’s an addict.’

‘I’m aware of the circumstances. I was involved in the incident last night. Would it be possible for me to talk to her?’

‘Yes, but please be brief. She needs rest. She’s in the first bed on the right.’

When Charlie approached the bed, Philippa was lying on her back staring at the ceiling, her long, auburn hair splayed across the pillow. Her complexion was ashen, her cheeks gaunt and her
jaws were blotched with angry red weals where the gagging tape had adhered to her skin. Her eyes, sunken and red-rimmed, had none of their natural sparkle; the cornea cloudy and dull, the pupils dilated.

Charlie lowered himself onto the bedside chair. ‘How are you feeling this morning, Miss Scott?’

Philippa turned her head on the pillow and blinked as she adjusted focus. Slowly, she recognised Charlie. ‘Pretty groggy,’ she mumbled. ‘But I’ll survive. This makes it a bit awkward to talk.’ She fingered the stitches in her lower lip gingerly. ‘How’s your arm?’ she asked, staring at his sling.

‘It’s my shoulder. Nothing much wrong with it,’ he said dismissively. ‘Just a zealous doctor over-reacting.’

Philippa attempted a smile. ‘I’m told I have you to thank for saving my life.’

Charlie felt himself blush. ‘I wouldn’t go that far.’

‘I would. Paul would have killed me for sure if you hadn’t turned up. I can still scarcely believe it. I used to see him around the office, you know.’ She paused. ‘Is he…?’

Charlie nodded grimly. ‘He didn’t survive the fall. Broke his neck.’ Philippa shivered and looked away. ‘I realise you’re supposed to be resting, but do you feel up to answering a couple of questions?’ She nodded. ‘Why did you go to Dalgleish Tower last night?’

‘Would you get my handbag?’ She struggled to sit up in bed. ‘It’s in the locker.’ She produced the note from her bag. ‘I found this on my car windscreen when I came out of the office last night. You probably don’t know Michael Gibson’s handwriting, but I can assure you, this is a very good imitation.’

Charlie struggled, one-handed, to pull his spectacles from their case. Putting them on, he squinted at the note, then peered over the top of his glasses. ‘You should’ve called us as soon as you got this.’

‘I realise that now. But at the time I thought I was helping Michael. Despite our bust up, I was feeling guilty about the way I’d abandoned him. He’d left God knows how many phone messages
and texts asking me to get in touch with him, but I’d ignored them all. To be honest,’ she continued, ‘for a while I thought he had killed Anne because she wouldn’t let him have his freedom. It’s a terrible thing to say, but I actually believed he’d done it. That’s why I lied to you and your men when you asked if he’d been in contact with me. I didn’t want to get implicated – mess up my career and all that jazz…’ Her voice tailed off. ‘Then the guilty feelings started – and I had some serious doubts about whether Michael was capable of doing anything like that. When I read in the papers that the killer had struck again, I knew for sure it couldn’t be him. I tried to get in touch with him yesterday. I must have called his number a dozen times but there was no reply. When I got this note, I thought it would give me a chance to make amends and help him. Or at least listen to what he had to say.’

‘Do you know why Paul tried to kill you?’

‘I guess so. I got his whole life story last night. As far as I could make out he was using me as a decoy to entice his father to Dalgleish Tower. He was planning to kill him and make it look like suicide so he would get his hands on his money. Pretty crazy stuff. He also regaled me with the sordid details of how and why he murdered his mother and Gordon Parker.’

‘I’ll get a full statement from you later. I’m not supposed to overtire you this morning. And on that score,’ he added in a confidential whisper, ‘my standing in this hospital isn’t all it might be.’ Charlie winked and nodded towards Doctor McCormick who was striding down the ward. ‘Okay if I hang onto this?’ he asked, holding up the note.

‘Of course.’

‘Last night was a very harrowing experience for you. Are you sure you’re going to be able to handle it?’

‘I’m not at all sure. But deep down I’m a tough cookie. There’s a counsellor coming to see me this afternoon. If necessary, I’ll keep on with her.’ She smiled wryly. ‘At least this will give me a personal insight into the problems of some of my abused clients.’ Charlie
wrestled with his spectacles. ‘Let me help you with those.’ Folding Charlie’s glasses, she slipped them into their case and popped it into his top pocket.

‘Thanks. Try to get some rest. I’ll come back and see you later.’