MONOLITH (13 page)

Only when the screaming stopped did Jess raise her head.

‘What the hell was happening?’ she murmured.

She sat forward in her seat and looked across at Mark Paxton.

‘What time did you pick that call up?’ she wanted to know.

‘About half eleven,’ Paxton told her.

‘Let’s hear it again, Spike,’ Jess insisted.

Paxton pressed the required button on the console before him and the room filled once again with the sound of Brian Dunham’s voice. Jess looked evenly at the floor as she listened to him. Only when she heard the first of his wife’s screams in the background did she register anything like emotion. When the call came to an end she sat back in her seat and reached for the can of Coke she’d been sipping from since minutes after arriving at Paxton’s place. It was a one bedroom flat above a dry cleaners and most of that one bedroom was filled with the equipment from which the sound of Dunham’s emergency call of the previous night had come from.

There was a small bed pushed up against one wall which seemed to have been chosen for its small size so that none of the surveillance equipment had to be compromised. A huge bookshelf, empty of all but half a dozen books, occupied another wall, crammed with speakers, receivers and Christ alone knew what else. Jess certainly had no idea what most of the equipment was for or what it did. But then again, she told herself, her business here wasn’t to work out what Paxton’s equipment was for. She was only interested in what it gave her by way of information.

She sipped her Coke again.

‘He didn’t want to talk about it this morning,’ she said. ‘I didn’t really think he would.’

‘But you asked him anyway?’ Paxton grinned.

‘It’s my job to ask questions.’

Paxton nodded.

‘But right now there’s too many questions and not enough answers,’ Jess added.

‘Perhaps you’re talking to the wrong people.’

Jess shrugged.

‘If I could only prove that Dunham knows Voronov,’ she murmured.

‘And what good would that do you? Just because they know each other doesn’t mean the Russian had anything to do with the attack on Dunham’s house. Why would he want to attack his house?’

‘Because he’s trying to frighten him, Spike. Voronov wants planning permission for this new building project of his and Dunham won’t give it.’

‘Dunham’s not the only one to decide on planning permission.’

‘He’s the head of a committee that advises Westminster Council; his decision is the one that counts. If he says no then nothing gets done. Voronov’s not stupid, he knows that. If he wants his buildings built then Dunham’s the one he has to persuade.’

‘Then why threaten him?’

‘Because it’s cheaper than paying him off.’

‘Voronov’s a billionaire, why the fuck would he be worried about shelling out a bit of bribe money here and there? It’s not like he’s going to miss it.’

Jess shook her head.

‘Maybe he’s trying a new approach this time,’ she offered.

‘What do you mean this time?’ Paxton wanted to know.

‘He bribed Dunham to grant permission for the Crystal Tower to be built and he got what he wanted.’

‘How do you know? You can’t prove it. And you certainly can’t put it in one of your stories, Dunham and Voronov will sue you and the paper.’

She waved a hand dismissively.

‘You’re obsessed with Voronov,’ Paxton insisted. ‘You blame him for all these accidents at the Crystal Tower and now you’re saying he had Brian Dunham’s house attacked.’

‘I’ve got a gut feeling.’

‘It’s indigestion.’

Jess smiled, raising one middle finger in Paxton’s direction. She took another sip from the can of Coke. ‘Play me that tape again,’ she said.

Alex Hadley hesitated before pressing the call button on the lift. He always did. Before that most simple action of extending his index finger and jabbing it against the required button he paused and glared at the metallic circle as if that fraction of a second would save him from what was to come.

And every time he endured this peculiar ritual he rebuked himself inwardly.

Just press the fucking thing. You’ve got to go up. Nothing’s going to change by standing around here is it?

He pressed the button and waited and the lift bumped to a halt seconds later.

Hadley stepped in and rode it to the third floor where he stepped out smiling perfunctorily at a woman who was dabbing at her nose with a tissue. She nodded back at him and stepped into the lift as Hadley left it. He walked towards the set of double doors that would lead him into Maple Ward. Again he paused momentarily before entering but then barged through the doors like a gunslinger entering a Western Saloon careful not to drop the bottle of Lucozade he was carrying.

To his left there was a nurse’s station where two uniformed staff were in deep conversation over a stack of charts and notes. Next to them another woman was speaking evenly on the phone apparently oblivious to the mutterings of her colleagues beside her. Straight ahead the long corridor stretched down to the canteen and day room and to the right were the wards or bays as they preferred to call them in this particular hospital. Hadley glanced into the first as he walked down the corridor and saw three patients all of roughly the same age. A man was lying staring fixedly at the ceiling while opposite him the occupant of that particular bed was propped up on several pillows with a plastic cup in one hand. He was sipping slowly from it the expression on his face making it look as if every mouthful was an effort. The third occupant of the bay was asleep with the sheets pulled up so far they were practically covering his face.

Hadley walked on until he found the bay he sought.

His father was lying on top of the sheets clad in light green hospital issue pyjamas which were open to the waist. Hadley sucked in a deep breath and approached the bed noticing that there were now two drips attached to his father’s thin and wasted arms both of them half full of clear fluid. The other occupants of the bay glanced in his direction as he walked in, one of them raising a hand in greeting and Hadley returned the gesture as he drew nearer to his father who had his eyes closed but didn’t seem to be sleeping.

Hadley’s overwhelming instinct was to turn and walk straight back out but he knew he couldn’t do that. Instead he glanced across at the television that was propped on the windowsill, its picture barely visible beneath the blanket of static that covered the screen. There was an aerial propped on top of the set but it didn’t seem to be doing much good.

As he drew nearer to his father’s bed he stopped, gripping the metal rail that ran alongside the bed.

‘Dad,’ he whispered softly.

His father’s eyes opened slightly and turned towards Hadley who smiled and placed the bottle of Lucozade on the nightstand with the others both of which were still sealed and unopened. His father’s glasses were also lying there, one of the lenses cracked. On the table over the bed there were a couple of plastic cups half filled with water both of which had red stains around the rims, stains that Hadley recognised all too quickly as blood. When he looked at his father’s mouth he could see that the older man’s lips were dry and cracked, so parched at the corners that they were split in a number of places. Hadley let out a low sigh of frustrated despair.

‘Dad,’ he said again wanting to reach out and grip his father’s arm but not quite managing that simple act.

Again the older man looked blankly at him.

‘Dad its Alex,’ Hadley said.

‘I know,’ his father said, his voice low and rasping in his throat. ‘I want to go home.’

‘You can’t Dad, not yet, not until they get you better.’

‘I want to go,’ his father insisted, raising one hand to his forehead and rubbing it.

‘Do you want some water?’ Hadley enquired, reaching for the jug on the table near the plastic cups.

‘No, don’t want anything.’

‘Dad you’ve got to try and drink and you’ve got to eat what they give you too. If you eat you’ll get stronger.’

And then what? You can go home? Don’t tell him that for fuck’s sake. You know he’s never leaving here, don’t bullshit him. Not now.

Hadley saw a nurse enter the bay and she gestured to him, beckoning him into the corridor beyond.

He nodded.

‘I’ll be back in a minute, Dad,’ he said, momentarily leaning a little closer to his father.

‘Am I going home?’ his father said, the sounds dissolving away into a bronchial sounding cough.

Hadley hesitated a moment then turned and walked out into the corridor where the nurse was waiting.

She was a pudgy-faced brown-haired woman in her late twenties who looked at him with the bluest eyes he’d ever seen. She managed a smile but Hadley felt it was more professional than heartfelt.

‘I need to speak to you about your father, Mr Hadley,’ she said.

‘What’s wrong with his mouth?’ Hadley enquired. ‘It looks as if it’s bleeding.’

‘He’s severely dehydrated because he won’t take any fluid that’s why we had to put him back on the drips.’

‘But someone told me last time I came that he’d been eating and drinking. One of the other patients told me.’

The nurse shook her head.

‘He hasn’t had anything for over a week now and he’s been refusing his medication for the last two days,’ she went on.

‘Oh Jesus Christ,’ Hadley sighed. ‘Why?’

‘We don’t know. He just won’t take it. We tried to give it to him in a drip but he pulled the drip out. He pulled the other glucose drips out too so we had to tape them to his arms. He’s got to realise that we’re trying to help him, Mr Hadley, it’s as if he’s trying to stop us.’

‘I know, I know,’ Hadley breathed exasperatedly.

‘If you could have a word with him and tell him that he must let us help him,’ the nurse continued.

‘I’ve been telling him. I’ve told him to eat and drink but all he keeps on about is coming home. I tell him that he needs to do as he’s told if that’s going to happen but it doesn’t make any difference. Can’t you give him his medication some other way?’

‘We can’t force patients to take medication, Mr Hadley. Just like we can’t force them to eat or drink.’

Hadley nodded.

‘If he keeps on pulling out the drips we’ll have to just leave him,’ the nurse went on.

‘Leave him to die you mean?’

The nurse looked evenly at him and Hadley suddenly thought that there was harshness to her features that he hadn’t noticed before. As he looked for longer he felt something building inside him that he could only identify as anger.

He wanted to grab hold of her and shake her. He wanted to get right in her pudgy face and shout:

‘You’re going to let my father die, you cunt? Why?’

‘That is what you mean, isn’t it?’ he said, sharply. ‘You’re going to let him die? I know the NHS is pushed for beds but surely you can’t need his that badly.’

The nurse shook her head and looked as if she was turning to walk away.

‘The problem’s in his head,’ Hadley said, irritably. ‘He’s senile for Christ’s sake; he doesn’t understand what’s happening to him.’

‘We’re well aware of your father’s psychological condition, Mr Hadley but that doesn’t help us when it comes to administering medicine and nutrition. As I’ve told you we can’t force a patient to take what we offer them.’

‘So you’re washing your hands of him?’

‘We’re taking the only course of action available to us. This kind of radical action is necessary I’m afraid. If you want to speak to a doctor about this situation then you can but they’ll only tell you what I already have.’

Hadley eyed the nurse with barely suppressed fury.

You smug fucking bitch.

‘So when do you start this … radical action then?’ he said through clenched teeth.

‘Well, if he doesn’t cooperate we’ll have to start immediately,’ the nurse told him, flatly.

‘Doesn’t cooperate?’ Hadley blurted. ‘You make it sound as if he’s some kind of prisoner. He’s frightened for Christ’s sake, he doesn’t know what’s happening to him.’

‘As I said, Mr Hadley, we’re well aware of his psychological state but that doesn’t make it any easier to deal with his physical condition,’ the nurse went on.

‘This is bullshit,’ Hadley snapped, the knot of muscles at the side of his jaw pulsing angrily.

‘There’s no need for that kind of language, Mr Hadley,’ the nurse chided.

He shook his head exasperatedly.

‘Do you want to talk to a doctor about your father?’ the nurse asked.

‘Would there be any point?’ he sighed. ‘They’re just going to tell me what you’ve already told me, aren’t they? That you’ve decided to let my dad die.’

‘It isn’t a case of that.’

‘You’re going to stop feeding him,’ Hadley snarled, taking a step towards the nurse and glaring at her. ‘You’re going to stop giving him medication. Why the hell don’t you just slip him a lethal injection now and have done with it?’

‘I understand how you’re feeling, Mr Hadley …’

‘No I don’t think you do,’ Hadley snapped, cutting across her. ‘I don’t think you’ve got the slightest fucking idea how I feel.’

They regarded each other in silence for a moment then Hadley swallowed hard.

‘And will you tell him that you’re not going to help him?’ he wanted to know. ‘Will you tell him you’re going to let him die?’

‘That isn’t the usual course of action.’

‘So you’ll just let him starve without him knowing?’

‘There are procedures that must be followed, Mr Hadley.’

He shook his head and looked back in the direction of his father for a moment before turning to face the nurse once again.

‘If he won’t take any food or medication,’ he began quietly. ‘How long will it be before …’ He couldn’t finish the sentence.

‘Between three days and a week,’ the nurse told him. ‘We’ve discussed the alternatives with you Mr Hadley.’

‘I’ve tried to get him into a hospice but there are no places,’ Hadley protested. ‘I can’t look after him myself. I’m just asking you to help me. Please.’

‘As you say Mr Hadley, we’ve discussed all the alternatives with you and there’s nothing more we can do.’

‘So my dad’s got a week to live,’ he murmured.