Dead of Winter

Chapter 31

After the big freeze had come the big dirty melt. The Thames ran high and icy cold.

Digger kept his eyes on the pavement now turned to slush as he walked towards the escalator and the new shopping precinct. An Italian café had somehow managed to survive amongst the concessions of fast food. He liked to sit and watch the children play. He bought a cappuccino with a dusting of chocolate and sat at one of the tables on the edge of the play area. The place was busy today.

He didn’t need to look to know that she had sat beside him. He felt a small flutter in his heart, the way he always did. His eyes stayed on the TV screen in the centre of the mall.

Totteridge Village bodies found.

‘Morning, my dear. .’

Nikki de Lange followed his eyes to the TV screen. ‘I see you have heard the news?’

Digger nodded. His eyes were dark but a smile remained.

She looked at him anxiously, her eyes flashing towards the TV screen. She was chewing the inside of her lip like a child.

‘Now, now. .’ He patted her hand. He looked at the aerial shot of the back garden, the patio and the white crime scene tent. ‘Don’t worry, my dear. Things will be alright. Are you feeling okay? You look pale.’

He was right. She felt nauseous; she had pains in her lower back. She followed Digger’s eyes as they moved from the TV screen to watching the children playing nearby.

‘I’ll be better soon, as soon as it’s over. I was in Sonny’s apartment when a man named Hart let himself in with Sonny’s keys.’

‘I’ve met Hart.’ Digger looked away from her back to the news on the screen. He pretended to watch it but she could see he was giving himself time to think. ‘We need to keep a close eye on Hart.’ He turned back to her. ‘I think he isn’t who he says he is. He walks like a Para. He smells like an ex-policeman. Oh, he covers it well enough with a backstory that reads like a Bond film but it’s not sitting right. I think we should err on the side of caution and kill him. What were your impressions?’

‘A man with ambition.’ She couldn’t hold Digger’s eye contact.

Digger smirked. ‘Do I detect a soft spot for the new man?’

‘I just don’t think we should kill him, yet. We could do with a shake-up. I’m thinking this is my time to break free with your help.’

Her hands were shaking as she lifted her cup to drink. Digger’s hands were rock steady as he sipped his coffee.

‘Yes, you are right, my dear.’ The sound of the children laughing in the play area filled the space between them. Digger’s eyes searched hers. ‘What do you want from me?’

She stared at him, unsure of his meaning and then she shook her head. ‘It’s all business, Digger. It has to be.’

‘You want me to keep an eye on him?’

‘I want you to give him what he needs to do the job we have to do and then I want out of it. I’m not going to stay with him after this trip. This trip will change everything for me.’

‘Of course. I will do anything you ask me to. You know that. You are my god-daughter and I am very fond of you. Back in the days when your father and I were friends we had such marvellous times.’ He looked across at her impassive face and sighed. ‘I remember-’ he began, but she cut him short.

‘No more memories, Digger.’ She smiled. She looked at her watch. ‘I have to go.’

An hour later Nikki de Lange was walking along an underground corridor; she looked up at the pipes above her head. The building above her creaked and hummed with the noise of trolleys and moving beds and nurses’ feet. She stopped at a room on the right and unlocked the door.

‘Hello, did you miss me? Have you been a good boy?’ She stopped just inside the door to cover her hands and arms with antibacterial gel and then walked across to the bed. The room had the smell of lavender. She sprayed it in a room mist. It helped him sleep. It helped him to stay asleep, just like her voice: calming, constant. It told his brain that he needn’t worry; he mustn’t fight it. Three weeks he had been in an induced coma. Nikki walked over to the bed and checked his chart. She flicked a switch controlling the drips into the boy’s neck and wrist and pressed buttons on the monitor at the head of the bed. The boy did not stir. The noise from the ventilator: the bellows breathing was a comforting sound. She bent down to check the catheter bag hooked to the underside of the bed then she peeled back the sheet and gently washed and dried around the electrodes that were stuck to his chest. She cleaned around the entry sites into his body: the neck, the wrist, into his mouth, his nose, his groin. She massaged the muscles in his legs. She looked at his face and sighed. He no longer looked like the boy he was. The drugs had bloated his face and the corrugated ventilating tube going into his mouth had distorted it.

She walked across to the chair, picked up his Arsenal shirt and folded it neatly.