The Echo Man, page 26
“Just bring the prescription for Griffin. Thank you,” Jess mutters, then hangs up.
She waits for a moment, a lump in her throat, forcing it back down. Then she goes and joins Griffin on the bed, lying next to him. His eyes are closed.
“Nav’s bringing a prescription over later.”
“For oxy?”
“Yes.”
“Thank you,” he says quietly. He opens his eyes slightly and looks at her. “I’m not an asshole.”
Jess smiles. “Then stop acting like one, Griffin.”
He nods, then winces. She reaches over and takes his hand, winding her fingers around his.
They lie like that for a while. Jess listens to his breathing. She hears the cars on the road. Conversation coming from the garage forecourt outside.
“Alice is coming out of the hospital today,” she says quietly.
Griffin doesn’t reply. She wonders if he’s asleep.
“I want to go and see her.”
“You should,” he mumbles.
“What if there are police there? I should stay with you.”
“I’ll be fine. You know what to look out for. Take the Land Rover. Borrow one of my credit cards in case you need money. And if you see anyone odd, just drive away.” He opens his eyes, his focus hazy, then indicates toward the bedside table. “Bottom drawer.”
He doesn’t elaborate, and she leans down to open it. Then she stops. Inside is a gray cotton sweater, an embroidered logo of a rainbow on the front. It’s soft, and smells clean and well looked after.
“You need something else to wear,” Griffin mutters.
Jess looks down at her top—the same sweater Nav had bought her all those days ago. She’s been washing it when she can, but Griffin’s right; it’s stained and dirty from nearly a week’s constant use.
“I can’t take this—” she begins, but he interrupts her.
“Please. She’d have wanted you to have it.”
“I don’t know how I’ll ever be able to repay you for all of this, Nate.” Jess holds the sweater tenderly, looking at him. He’s closed his eyes again, lying back on the pillow. “For keeping me safe, for looking after me.”
He opens one eye briefly. “Just write me an IOU,” he says quietly. “Services rendered for a damsel in distress.”
She reaches over and takes his hand again, squeezing it softly. He returns the gesture. Then she sits up on the bed, getting changed quickly and putting her shoes on. The sweater is slightly too big, but it’s warm and clean and she takes comfort from it being a part of him. She leans over, kissing him softly on the lips.
“I’ll be as quick as I can. Thank you, Nate.”
She’s almost out the door when she hears his voice again.
“Jess?”
“Hmm?” She turns. He’s pulled himself up slightly, looking at her.
“You called me Nate.”
“Do you mind?”
He lies back down on the bed. “No.”
She smiles, and picks up the keys to the Land Rover.
* * *
The truck starts without a hitch, and Jess takes it as a good sign. She drives across town and parks a few rows down from her parents’ house. She knows which way they’ll come from if they’re driving from the hospital, but she has no idea when. Nav had said a few hours, so she settles herself down in the seat for a wait.
She scans the other cars parked in the road, but there’s nobody nearby. After all this time, there’s no way she’s handing herself in to the police. Griffin’s working on the investigation. They’ll find something. They’ll find this killer, and then they’ll know she had nothing to do with Patrick’s death.
The fire seems a distant memory. Her recollection of Patrick is hazy, like a surreal dream. It’s still too much for her to come to terms with—that her husband is dead. Her life with Griffin feels, not normal, but—Jess isn’t sure.
She thinks about Griffin, lying in pain back at the apartment. She can’t comprehend what that’s like, to suffer in that way, and for the first time she considers her condition as a blessing rather than a curse. Griffin seems like such an immovable force, to see him taken down so completely is sobering.
Sitting in the old Land Rover reminds her of him. It smells of cigarettes; there is mess strewn around. For the first time she wonders about his wife—the woman who used to wear this sweater. And what he was like as a husband.
The day is drawing to a close, and the street lights blink into life. A few cars come down the road but don’t stop.
Then, at last, she sees her Mom’s Nissan Note come toward her and turn into the drive. She watches as the car is parked, and the headlights turn off. Her mother gets out of the car and opens the door at the back. Then—there she is. Alice is chattering away happily; her hair is loose and cascades around her face.
Jess instantly relaxes. Her daughter is here, and she is fine. She puts her hand on the door to open it; then something makes her pause. Out of the corner of her eye, she sees a white hatchback drive slowly down the road. It stops a few cars down from Jess and turns its headlights off, but nobody gets out. She can see a woman sitting in the front.
Every muscle in Jess’s body wants to get out of the car. She wants to go to her daughter, to hold her in her arms, but instinctively she knows that this car is police. She knows she can’t move.
She starts to cry as she turns the ignition key to the Land Rover. She takes one last look at her daughter. The front door to her parents’ house is open, and her mother is ushering Alice inside. She’s safe. She’s happy. She’s well. That’s all that matters, Jess tells herself as she pulls out of the parking space.
She drives away from the house, looking in her rearview mirror as she goes. The white hatchback isn’t following her. She’s alone.
She wants to get back to Griffin. The absence of her daughter is a heavy weight, but with a weird jolt, she realizes how much she needs to be back with him. That being next to Griffin will ease that sadness slightly, and she drives quickly through the dark streets.
She sees the garage ahead and pulls the Land Rover back into its parking space, then climbs out. The garage is closed now, the lights in the office turned off; she looks toward the one basement window. It’s strange—it’s dark there too. She wonders if Nav has been. Perhaps Griffin is asleep, lulled into slumber with the arrival of new pharmaceuticals.
She pushes open the unwieldy metal door and goes down the stairs. She puts the key in the lock and opens the door. It’s dark and she stops, letting her eyes adjust. She looks toward the bed. It’s empty. Griffin’s not there.
She frowns, worried. He can’t have gone out. She has his keys, his car. She takes a step forward, but her foot catches on something on the floor. She looks down. There’s a lump in front of her, something in the dark.
She takes a quick breath in and grasps around for the light. The sudden brightness dazzles, but she knows.
She falls to her knees next to him, shouting his name.
Griffin’s lying on his side, his head at an angle. It looks as if he was trying to get to the door. She shakes his body, trying to wake him, but he doesn’t move. She panics, her brain racing to remember even the slightest bit of basic first aid. She shakes him again, then rolls him onto his back. She leans next to his mouth. His breathing is labored, his heart rate slow, but he’s alive.
She picks up the phone on the table and dials 999.
“Ambulance,” she gasps. She’s put through, and a voice asks her name, where she is. She gives the address but then stops. Her name. She tells them who she is, and she’ll be arrested. She’s called the ambulance; she should leave, run now. But she can’t leave Griffin. She can’t.
“Jessica Ambrose,” she says. “Please come quickly.”
The operator asks her about the patient.
“Nate Griffin. He’s unconscious, barely breathing.”
Jess crouches next to him. Then she notices it. Written in the dust next to his hand are what look like letters. She squints. They’re shaky, but she can make out a few. S H I. She turns her head, trying to read them the right way around. P M.
She takes a sudden breath. She knows. She knows what Griffin was trying to tell her.
“Diamorphine,” Jess shouts down the phone. “He’s had an overdose of diamorphine.”
“Stay on the line,” the operator says. “The ambulance is on its way.”
Jess slumps back on the floor, sitting next to Griffin, the phone clutched in one shaking hand, his hand gripped in the other.
“Shipman,” she whispers to herself. “Harold Shipman.”
CHAPTER
63
THE PARAMEDICS ARRIVE, pushing through the open door, and Jess moves backward out of their way. They’re a mass of movement around Griffin, relaying messages to each other, putting a mask over his face, pushing air into his lungs.
Jess is stunned to see Griffin like this: unconscious, close to death. A uniformed cop appears by her side. She’s ready for the arrest, but he’s oblivious, asking her questions about what happened.
“My friend Nav was supposed to come over,” she gabbles. “I don’t know if he did.”
“Full name?” the policeman asks, notepad poised in his hand.
“Dr. Navin Sharma—he works in oncology at the General. He might still be on shift.”
He makes a note, then looks up as a woman comes into the room. Her face is stern, eyes locked on Jess. She recognizes her: it’s the detective from the hospital.
The woman moves forward, blocking her exit.
“Jessica Ambrose.” The detective gets straight to the point. “I am arresting you on suspicion of the murder of Patrick Ambrose on Monday the twenty-fifth of January.” The uniformed cop backs off, confused. The detective jerks Jess’s hands away from her sides, fastening cuffs in front of her. “You do not have to say anything. But it may harm your defense if you do not mention when questioned something that you later rely on in court. Anything you do say may be given in evidence.”
She pulls her away, out the door and up the metal stairs, away from Griffin, but Jess resists.
“Please,” she pleads. “Just let me know that Nate’s okay.”
One of the paramedics goes to push past them on the stairs, and the detective gets his attention.
“How is he?” she asks.
He pauses. “We’ve given him an intramuscular dose of Naloxone. He’s responded well, so we haven’t needed to intubate,” he says. “We’ll take him in shortly. They’ll probably follow up with an IV at the hospital.”
“So he’s going to be all right?” Jess asks in a rush.
The paramedic nods. “Looks that way.” He looks to the detective. “He doesn’t have the hallmarks of your usual intravenous drug user, although we found a needle mark on his forearm.”
“He’s not,” Jess blurts out. “He didn’t do this to himself. The floor …” she tries, desperate to make them listen. “He knew …”
The paramedic gives her an apathetic look and carries on his way to get something from the ambulance.
The detective pulls on Jess’s hands, and they follow on up the stairs and out into the parking lot, where a police car awaits. As they go, Jess remembers back to where Griffin had been lying. The letters on the floor had been obliterated, scuffed out by the paramedic’s shoes.
PART 3
CHAPTER
64
WHEN NOAH APPEARS in the doorway of her office, she knows from the look on his face that it’s bad. But Nate? She almost can’t believe that her strong, no-nonsense brother has been attacked again.
“The hospital says he’s going to be fine,” he adds quickly. “But I’ll get your car, we’ll go and see him now.”
Cara grabs her coat and they rush out of the station. But before they get on the road, Cara stops him. She puts a hand on his arm, and Deakin looks at her.
“Noah,” Cara says. She’s forcing herself to speak slowly, her whole body in panic mode. “I need you to do me a favor. Something I only trust you to do.”
He sees her expression and looks worried. “Anything.”
* * *
“You’re kidding me. We can’t just up and leave!”
Cara stands in front of her husband at the restaurant, Deakin hovering in the background.
“Roo, listen to me. Someone tried to kill Griffin. I can’t have you or the kids put at risk.”
Roo gestures around the kitchen. “I have a lunch service to run. I have—”
“Screw the lunch service!” Cara shouts. “I’m not asking you, I am telling you—you need to take your car and go with Noah. Pick the kids up from school and head to the lodge. You’ll be safe there.”
“For how long?” he asks, stunned.
“Until this is over.”
“Until …” His voice trails off. “This is absurd,” he mutters, but Cara knows he’ll do as she asks. “I’ll call Lauren. I’ll get her to pack the kids’ things.”
Cara shakes her head. “No. Not with Lauren,” she adds quietly.
Roo stares at her.
“I know, Roo,” Cara says. She’s aware her voice is wobbling; she can’t fall apart now. “I know what you’ve been doing. Together.”
He stops. She notices his cheeks color slightly. “I haven’t …” he starts, but she can tell by the tone of his voice that she’s right. “But we can’t leave her here,” he manages to stutter. “If we’re in danger, then so is she.”
“She’s not going with you.”
Cara turns away.
“But Cara …” Roo starts.
“Do not fuck with me!” Cara’s shaking, she’s so angry. “My brother is in the hospital, there’s an insane serial killer on the loose, and you want to take your mistress to our holiday lodge after having an affair under my nose for the past God knows how long?” She’s shouting, knowing she’s getting looks from the other chefs in the kitchen, but not caring. “Roo, get your stuff and go with Noah. Now!”
She walks out the back door of the kitchen and stands next to her husband’s car. She’s crying now, big snotty tears, and she angrily wipes them away with her sleeve.
Deakin appears by her side. She glances at him and he hands her a tissue.
“I’m sorry, Noah. This isn’t fair on you.”
“It’s fine. Really. I’ll take them to the lodge and get back as soon as I can. Listen, Cara?”
Noah looks uncomfortable, his hands shoved in his pockets.
“Yes?”
He goes to say something but then notices Roo coming toward them.
“It doesn’t matter,” Noah mumbles.
The two of them get into the car, and her husband winds down the window.
“Call me when you have the kids,” she says, and Roo nods.
Once the car turns the corner, out of sight, Cara instantly feels better. Her family will be safe; that’s all that matters for now. She’ll deal with the shit between Roo and Lauren later.
A waiter rushes out of the kitchen, a mobile clutched in his hand. “Chef!” he calls down the deserted road. But it’s too late. “He’s forgotten his phone,” he says.
“I’ll take it,” Cara replies, and he passes it across. She’ll give it back to him later. There’s no reception at the lodge anyway.
But as she gets back into her own car, throwing her husband’s phone on the passenger seat, she remembers Deakin and wonders what he was about to say. She shakes her head. It can’t have been that important.
It can wait, she tells herself. It’ll have to wait.
She needs to go to the hospital, see her brother, make sure he’s okay.
Then she has a serial killer to catch.
CHAPTER
65
THE DETECTIVE SAYS nothing during the ride in the police car. They arrive at the station, and Jess is escorted to custody. The handcuffs are taken off. Jess nods at the right points, signs the pieces of paper when she’s told to. She shakes her head when she’s asked if she wants a lawyer.
She’s shown into a cell. She sits down on the blue plastic-covered mattress. The door is closed with a metallic bang.
There’s muffled shouting from the cell next door. She’s aware of people coming and going in the corridor, but she doesn’t move.
Now that she’s here, now she’s been arrested for her husband’s murder, she feels numb. She doesn’t feel the fear she expected. Suddenly, she’s been swept along in a sea of inevitability, all decisions made for her. She thinks about Griffin, in the ambulance on the way to the hospital. She thinks about Alice.
She lies back on the crinkly plastic bed. She puts the blanket behind her head and closes her eyes, hoping that at least now she can see her daughter.
* * *
Jess is woken by the sound of the door opening. A man calls her name and beckons for her to follow him.
“It’s time,” he says, escorting her down a corridor and into an interview room. The detective is waiting; she points to the chair opposite. Jess sits down.
The woman detective introduces herself, then reads the caution again. DS Taylor, Jess remembers now.
“And you’re turning down your right to free independent legal advice?” Taylor says.
“Yes,” Jess replies. She knows it’s not sensible to refuse a lawyer, but her self-destructive urge has kicked back in. Charge me with his murder, she thinks, just do something to punish me for what happens to the people I love. They end up injured or dead. First Patrick and Alice, now Griffin. “Can I see my daughter?” she asks.
“All in good time.” Taylor looks at her notes. “You tell me what I need to know, and maybe we can sort something out. Now, please talk me through the events of the night of Monday, the twenty-fifth of January, when your house caught fire.”
Jess opens her mouth to talk, but a knock disturbs them.
“Interview paused, seventeen forty-six.” Taylor sighs and gets up to open the door.
