Читать книгу Gone in the Night - Mary-Jane Riley - Страница 20

Alex stepped out of the Forum – a modern building constructed of glass that housed the city’s library, a café, a shop and television and radio studios – and into the grey and drizzly daylight. Norwich was getting ready for work, and people splashed to and fro huddled under umbrellas. The market stallholders were busy pulling back the awnings over their stalls and putting goods out on display – all manner of things from spare vacuum cleaner parts to high-end leather goods. The smells of bacon and coffee from the fast-food outlets wafted over to Alex, making her stomach rumble.

The interview down the line to BBC Scotland had gone well, even though she’d been stuck in a small cubbyhole behind the Norfolk radio station’s reception and had to imagine the jolly-voiced person at the other end of the microphone. Still, at least the presenter had read her book and had formed some interesting questions about it. He had even gone on to ask her about her other work, though obviously didn’t want it to get too serious, as he cut her off when she began to go down the mental health route. It seemed she was destined for evermore to be known for her love of coupons.

It made her back itchy. Ever since she had begun her career – one that was blown off course almost straightaway when she became pregnant after an unfortunate one-night stand in Ibiza – she had lurched from one freelance job to another. Heath was right, she had to get off her backside and find herself a project, a decent story. If she wanted to be taken seriously, she had to do something serious. Sure, she had won a lot of professional acclaim for that series on Internet suicide forums, but she knew she was only as good as her last article. Or book. And if she didn’t want to be remembered for all eternity for a book about finding and using money-off vouchers, then she had to get on with it and stop feeling sorry for herself. Give herself a new sense of purpose.

Alex yawned. Sleep had been elusive overnight, images of the crashed car and the broken man flashing through her mind. The blood. The look on his face. Frightened, not relieved when those people turned up to take him to the hospital. She had a nagging feeling that the whole set-up was wrong. Why hadn’t she been more insistent that they told her exactly where they were taking him? Too much drink. Befuddled brain, maybe.

And there had been no call from the police. There had been a crash, a man had been injured, she was a witness. The man in the coat said he would call the police. They would want to talk to her.

Then she remembered she had given one of the men her card. There was no excuse for them not to call. Right. She wasn’t going to wait, she was going to call round the hospitals – there weren’t that many in the area – and find out the state of the injured man. It had been, what? About eleven o’clock when she left Riders’ Farm. Allow about fifteen minutes for the walk down the road and then another three quarters of an hour for them to get to a hospital, so, it would be somewhere around midnight when he arrived, a bit longer if they went to the Norfolk and Norwich Hospital. She turned and went back into the Forum.

Five minutes later and she was in the radio cubbyhole again. The man on reception had assured her that it wasn’t going to be used until lunchtime and said she was welcome to make her calls from there and could he have her autograph. For his mother. Of course.

She took her damp coat off again and settled down and spent fifteen frustrating minutes on the phone. No injured person had been brought in by one or two men at midnight to any of the hospitals she called – Norwich, Ipswich, Great Yarmouth and Bury St Edmunds. She even tried Colchester just in case. The only road traffic accident victims had been taken to hospital by ambulance.

‘Sorry, love,’ said a kind nurse at Colchester. ‘Are you sure you weren’t mistaken? Maybe the man wasn’t that badly hurt after all and they took him home.’

Had she been mistaken? Could the blood and bruising have been superficial? You did hear about people walking away from horrific crashes without a scratch on them – perhaps that was it?

No, he had definitely been in pain, definitely needed hospital treatment.

‘Maybe. Thank you for your help.’

‘I hope you find him, love.’

Her journalistic instincts were beginning to kick in. It didn’t smell right. How could someone seemingly so gravely injured disappear off the radar? The only explanation was if the men in the car hadn’t taken him to hospital at all. But why wouldn’t they? Perhaps the more pertinent question was: who were the men in the car? And how was she going to find that out?

Coffee, she thought, to help the brain function. She picked up her coat from the chair and looked at it. The same one she’d been wearing last night. And the injured man had pushed something into her hand that she’d stuffed into the pocket. Reaching inside, she took out a damp, crumpled piece of paper and carefully smoothed it out on the desk. The ink had run, blurring the letters and numbers, but she could just about make them out. A name and a phone number. She stared at it. No time like the present.

The phone was answered after the third ring. ‘Hello?’

‘Is that Cora?’ asked Alex.

‘Who is this, please?’ The voice on the other end was wary.

‘Cora, my name is Alex Devlin. A man gave me your name and number last night.’

‘What do you mean, a man gave you my name and number? What man?’ Wariness had given way to suspicion.

Alex hesitated. Something told her not to go into the events of last night on the phone. ‘Look. It’s a bit of a story. Can I come and see you?’

‘But I don’t know you. You could be anybody.’ Her tone was hostile. ‘And I’m busy. This is a scam.’

‘Wait.’ Alex didn’t want her to put the phone down. ‘I’m a journalist, Cora. I freelance mainly, you can google me. I’m quite harmless. Honestly.’ She injected a smile into her voice.

There was a silence at the other end of the phone. For a minute Alex thought Cora had hung up.

‘I see you,’ said Cora. ‘Articles for a London paper and a book on—’

‘Yes,’ Alex said hastily. ‘I know it doesn’t sound too serious, but I do know what I’m doing.’

‘Do you?’ Another silence. ‘Okay.’

‘Where are you? Only I’m in Norwich at the moment and I’d like to come as soon as possible.’ All at once she realized Cora could have been anywhere in the country.

‘I live in the city, on the Ipswich Road.’

Alex looked at her watch. ‘I can be with you in about ten minutes?’

In fact, it took less than that for Alex to find Cora’s flat, which was up two flights of stairs in a sixties block with tidy grounds. It was the second one along the walkway, with a honey-coloured wooden bench beneath the kitchen window and pots of straggly, struggling herbs by the door. She rang the bell.

A petite and too-thin woman with dark rings under her eyes and a blooming bruise on her cheekbone answered the door. She was wearing jeans tucked into Doc Martens and a sloppy black jumper. Her vibrant red hair was coiled messily on top of her head. She made Alex feel like an elephant.

‘Alex?’ Cora dragged deeply on the cigarette she held between two fingers.

Alex smiled. ‘Yes. Thanks for seeing me.’

‘You’d better come in out of the rain.’

The flat was clean and tidy with an overlying smell of smoke, but there were touches of colour and flamboyance in the shape of velvet cushions and rainbow throws. Dramatic photographs of landscapes were on the magnolia walls. Alex stared at them. They made her feel as though she was there, standing in that landscape.

‘Good, aren’t they?’ said Cora, nodding at the photos and handing Alex a mug of coffee. As her sleeve slipped back, Alex saw three swallows inked on the inside of her wrist.

‘Fabulous. Where are they from?’

‘They’re my brother’s work,’ she said, and Alex saw a darkness creep into her eyes. ‘Please, sit down and tell me why you’re here.’ She held herself slightly aloof.

Alex curled her hands around the mug, warming up. A washing machine whirred in the background. Cora obviously wasn’t one for small talk. ‘Last night I came across a car accident,’ she began, searching for the right words. ‘A man had been thrown out of a Land Rover. He was badly hurt.’

Cora was still. ‘I don’t see what that has got to do with me.’

‘He gave me a piece of paper. It had your name and telephone number on it. Could he be a relative? A friend?’

Cora didn’t move. ‘What did he look like?’

Alex knew that question would be coming, but it didn’t make it any easier. ‘Cora, it was difficult to see. It was dark, he was covered in blood. There was one thing though—’

‘Yes?’

Alex had thought about this. She had remembered feeling something strange as the man had thrust the piece of paper into her hand. ‘I think he only had three fingers and a thumb, or at least, there was something strange about his hand.’

Cora gave an intake of breath and stood up abruptly. She went over to the bookshelf. ‘Is this the man you saw?’

Alex took the photo frame from her. It was a picture of a young man in battle fatigues, smiling, looking fit and happy. From the looks of it, the photo had been taken in a desert army camp of some sort. Afghanistan, perhaps? She looked more closely. The thick black hair, the shape of the face. As she’d had when she’d seen him on the road, she felt a flicker of recognition. ‘I think it could be,’ she said. ‘He didn’t have any hair as such though – it was only stubble.’ Then she nodded. ‘I’m almost sure.’

Cora exhaled. ‘That’s my brother, Rick. He’s missing most of the little finger on his left hand. I’ve been looking for him. I haven’t seen him for two weeks. He had long hair and a beard last time I saw him.’

Alex shook her head. ‘No beard. No hair. Stubble on top. But I think it could have been him.’

Cora stood, stubbing out her cigarette. ‘Where is he? Which hospital did you take him to?’ Her eyes were feverish, she looked as though she was ready to break out into a sprint. ‘I’ll get my coat.’

Alex put out her hand to stay her. ‘That’s the thing, I didn’t take him to hospital.’

‘What do you mean?’

Alex tried to avoid Cora’s glare. ‘My phone had run out of battery, so I couldn’t call anyone. I was about to go for help when two men turned up. They said they would take him, make sure he was seen—’

‘So, which hospital?’ Cora rubbed her face, as if trying to keep herself alert.

‘I’m so sorry.’ Alex’s heart twisted, she could understand Cora’s desperation. And she felt so stupid – how could she have let it happen? ‘I don’t know. They didn’t say where they were taking him. I’ve rung hospitals all around the area, but without any luck. Could he have gone home?’

‘Home?’ The laugh Cora gave was harsh. ‘That’s just it, He doesn’t have a home.’

Alex was puzzled. Then, with a sudden insight, she got it. And she remembered where she had seen the man before. ‘He’s homeless, isn’t he? I’ve seen him around Norwich.’

‘Yes.’ That single word held years of pain. ‘But all this talking isn’t getting us anywhere near finding him. I’ll try the hospitals again. I’m a nurse, I know the way it works. Sometimes you might get hold of the wrong people or something. Did you try the James Paget at Gorleston? You probably forgot that one.’ Alex saw her hands shaking as she began to punch in numbers on her phone.

‘Cora—’

She looked at Alex, eyes blazing. ‘Let me do this. I need to know.’

Alex looked on helplessly. She knew she had done her best to find the man – Rick. She had spoken to every hospital press officer, even the chief exec of Ipswich who she was on friendly terms with. But Cora had to see for herself.