No Sleep for the Dead

Chapter 35

An hour later, Riley and Mitcheson were in the intensive care unit of Ashford hospital, waiting for an overworked staff nurse to let them see Lottie Grossman. The ward smelled of over-heated air and a tang of bleach, and had an atmosphere of intense but fragile calm, like the aftermath of a car crash moments before the victims realise what happened and begin to panic.

‘If you’re not family, I can’t admit you,’ the young Australian nurse repeated, shaking her head. ‘I’m sorry.’ Each utterance ended on an up-note, as if she were asking questions. She checked her watch and muttered beneath her breath. Clearly she was approaching the end of her shift and wanted shot of these two.

‘I understand that, I really do,’ said Riley. Having to bite back a feeling of irritation wasn’t entirely a pretence; they had told the nurse they were looking for an elderly neighbour who’d wandered off. Playing the part came surprisingly easy, faced with such staunch bureaucracy. ‘But if she is our neighbour, we can confirm her identity, can’t we? If not… well, what have you lost? Please. We’re desperately worried about her.’ She eyed the nurse intently, hoping compassion and common sense would penetrate her rulebook armour. At least she had confirmed that an elderly woman brought in by a passing motorist carried no form of identification, and appeared to be suffering from a stroke. Unfortunately, the motorist hadn’t hung around, so they couldn’t even confirm where she had been picked up.

A bell pinged in the background, and a porter came skimming along the corridor with a gurney. A shrill voice cried out behind a door further along, and a nurse came bustling out, shaking her head, the front of her uniform drenched with something dark and heavy.

‘Wait here.’ The staff nurse hurried away, leaving them in limbo, yet desperate to go inside and confirm what they expected to see.

‘So what exactly did you have in that bag?’ Riley asked Mitcheson. It was the first opportunity she’d had of broaching the subject after leaving Ragga’s place. After a quick consultation with Palmer to show they were all right, they let him use Riley’s car to take Szulu home and grabbed a cab for Ashford Hospital. On the way, Riley had clutched Mitcheson’s hand. They had said little, each wondering what they would find when they saw Lottie.

‘Nothing much,’ he said. ‘A couple of flash-bangs — stun devices — hidden inside spray cans of polish.’ He reached into his jacket and produced the feather duster, which had an aluminium handle. ‘And this.’ He twisted the handle and discarded the feathered end, revealing a long spike with a lethal point. ‘I called a mate who makes security equipment. It was all he could come up with at short notice. Fortunately, Ragga’s people weren’t as efficient as they might have been.’

Riley looked at him and wondered if anything ever fazed this man. ‘I was glad you were there. Szulu said Ragga was unpredictable; he was right.’ She told him of Ragga’s final threat if she ever wrote about him.

Mitcheson nodded. ‘Just stay off his radar and he’ll forget all about you. If he doesn’t,’ he added, ‘let me know.’

Before Riley could comment, the staff nurse returned. ‘Okay, I’ll let you see her. But only because we need to know who she is.’ She turned and led them along the corridor, her heels squeaking on the polished floor. They stopped outside a side ward, where the nurse pushed open the door and signalled for them to go inside.

‘Two minutes. I’ll be at the desk.’ She nodded and hurried away, letting the door swing shut behind her.

Riley stepped up to the bed, ignoring the cluster of tubes, wires and machinery at its head. A faint hum filled the air, and a low beeping sound came from a small monitor. She had a vague thought about how much power was being generated through all this equipment for such an evil old woman, and whether the nurse, if she knew Lottie’s background, would approve.

The figure under the covers looked tiny and frail, more like a child than an adult. But the lined face was instantly familiar, the contours little changed since Riley had last seen her. Thinner, maybe, with more crepe-like sagging of the skin around the throat, but that could have been the effects of lying down coupled with the stroke. A smear of vivid lipstick was still evident at the corner of her mouth beneath the oxygen tube, and one hand lay curled like a frozen claw on the bedspread, the nails heavy with the glossy red polish that Riley remembered. There was no breathing movement beneath the covers, and Riley thought for a moment that Lottie had already gone.

She leaned closer, aware of Mitcheson moving in on the other side, and listened. Nothing at first. Then she heard a faint hiss of breath and smelled a sourness in the air around Lottie’s face. She felt nauseous and pulled away, her every instinct railing against being too close to this woman for a second longer than necessary.

In the same moment, she realised Lottie’s eyes were open and looking right at her.

Riley she felt the hairs stir on the back of her neck, and fought the temptation to step away from the bed and move out of the line of those twin points of cold light. Was that a lingering malevolence she saw deep inside those eyes, a burning glow that was all too familiar? Or was it her imagination, giving the old woman an ability to express hatred even though she was this close to death? She glanced up at Mitcheson, who shook his head in surprise. He leaned over until he was looking right into Lottie’s eyes.

As Riley moved back, she fancied she saw a flicker of movement in Lottie’s face. But she couldn’t be sure. Whatever had happened inside the old woman’s head had plainly done enormous damage, either severing any recognition or memory of people she had once held in such contempt, or at least nullifying any chance of showing a reaction to their presence. So, that was that. Strange that it should all end with not even a whimper, let alone anything approaching the scream of ugly defiance they might have expected. If only her legion of old enemies could see her now. They’d probably start doing a jig around the room.

The squeak of footsteps approached along the corridor. Riley glanced at Mitcheson. ‘What do you think?’

He nodded. ‘End of the road. I can’t pretend I’m sorry.’

As they turned away, the hand lying on the bedspread suddenly moved. It was a brief spasm, the fingers scrunching the material into a knot, the knuckles white and tensed as if carved in marble. At the same time, a sound came from Lottie’s mouth, and her eyes flickered. For a split second, Riley thought the old woman was about to sit up and spew one final burst of venom and hate at the world in general, and them in particular. But the movement was over in a second, and her hand released its grip on the covers. With that, her body seemed to relax and shrink even further, and her eyes closed just as the door opened.

The staff nurse took a second to evaluate the situation, then hit a button on the wall before shooing Riley and Mitcheson out into the corridor. As they walked away, a flurry of figures hurried past them into the room, and the door closed with a final swish.

Five minutes later, the nurse approached, shaking her head. ‘I’m sorry,’ she said. ‘She’s gone. I’m sorry.’ She looked at the two of them. ‘Was she who you thought? Grossman, wasn’t that the name?’

Riley nodded. At least they had awarded Lottie the courtesy of having her name back, rather than going unknown into whatever private hell might await her. Not that she would have thanked them for it. In the absence of an address, they had put down the house she had once owned in Buckinghamshire. The police would soon make the connection.

‘Is there anyone we should notify?’ the nurse continued, reaching for a clipboard and pen. ‘Family members? Friends?’

Mitcheson place a hand on Riley’s arm. ‘No,’ he said simply, voice empty of emotion. ‘She wasn’t the type.’