Secret Smile

CHAPTER 40

My eyes were closed, hard, my breath coming in gasps. My heart was beating so fast that my body seemed to hum with it. I was sweating. I could hardly feel the pain. I knew it was there. On my face, around my jaw. I could taste blood, warm, metallic. Around my neck, the scraping. My ribs, sore, bruised. My eyes still closed, afraid of what was in store. I felt the sounds of someone approaching, the vibration of footsteps on the stairs. The touch, when it came, was gentle on my face and cheeks, but it still made me flinch. I didn't open my eyes. I murmured something.

'Jesus, Miranda!' said the voice. 'I heard glass breaking… What the fuck? Miranda?'

I opened my eyes. The light hurt them. Don. Don's lovely face looking down at me, close, distressed. He ran over to the window. I spoke in a murmur, but Don couldn't make it out. He leaned close to my face.

'Said he was going to kill me,' I said in little more than a whisper.

'Who?'

'Hurt me,' I said. 'He hurt me.'

His expression darkened. 'Was it him? Brendan?'

'Said he'd come for me.'

'What's he done to you?'

I felt him gently touching my face, stroking my hair, unfastening my shirt, assessing the damage.

'You're bleeding.'

I just groaned. He was looking around.

'There's blood on the… What the fuck did that bastard do to you? I'm calling the police. And an ambulance.'

'No,' I said, half raising myself and flinching at the pain it caused me. 'Don't… It's not…'

'What are you talking about?' Don said, almost angrily. 'I'm sorry, Miranda. I'm not listening to you.' I heard three little bleeps as he punched the numbers into his mobile phone. I sank back almost sobbing, partly with the pain, partly at the thought of what was to come.

I wasn't there when the police examined the room, when they dabbed at the blood on the wall and picked hairs off the carpet and put the knife in a plastic bag. I was grateful for that. It would be like the death of Troy all over again. I might have found it hard to retain control. Don told me about all that later. He had wanted to come with me in the ambulance, but a policeman told me he ought to stay and help to identify objects at the scene. What was mine, what was his and what was 'foreign'. Much, much later Don told me that he had been – in the midst of his distress – rather interested to see the scene-of-crime procedures with all their special gloves and tweezers and scalpels, plastic bags and labels, flash photography. He'd been rather excited to be on the inside of the tape that was shutting the crime scene off from the outside world.

Meanwhile I had been taken away in an ambulance with a female police officer for company. She was like a free pass that took me to the front of the queue. I was led through a waiting area full of people who, whatever their injuries, were inordinately interested in me – a young woman being led by two nurses and a uniformed police officer. What could have happened to me? They would probably have to wait hours. Within two minutes I was being examined by a young doctor and a nurse. A minute later he stepped aside when a consultant in a white coat and a spotted tie arrived. I felt nervous, as you do with doctors.

He examined my face and the inside of my mouth.

'What were you struck with?' he said.

'A wall,' I said.

'Do you know who did this?' he asked.

I nodded. He turned to the police officer.

'You'll need to photograph this. The neck as well.'

'He's on his way,' said the WPC.

'We'll be taking an X-ray, but the cheekbone is probably fractured.'

I gave a cry because as he said it he had given a dab on my cheek with his finger, as if to test his theory. He shone a light into my eyes and into my ears. He held up his finger and asked me to look at the point as he moved it around.

'Were you sexually assaulted?' he asked.

'No.'

Even so, he asked me to take off my clothes so that he could examine me. The female police officer said that she was called Amy O'Brien and did I mind if she were present for the examination. I shook my head. As I took my clothes off, she said that she would need them for evidence. Was that all right?

'What am I going to wear?'

'We'll get you a nightie,' the doctor said.

'Your, erm… you know…' said Amy.

'My boyfriend.'

'Could he bring you some clothes?'

'I guess so.'

I was X-rayed and I was photographed and then I was taken to a private room with a vase without flowers and a window without a view. The doctor said they wanted to keep me under observation for a night. Amy said that they would like to take a statement. They said they could wait if I didn't feel well enough, but the sooner I could manage it the better. I said I could do it immediately. Things were happening so quickly. Within the hour a detective knocked on my door, took his jacket off and removed a sheaf of paper from his bag. He was called Seb Brett and he looked pale, as if he were kept in the dark. He pulled a small table alongside my bed and started to take dictation.

Now things became slow. It was like being back at school. He took my name, my address and my date of birth. He laced his fingers together and pulled them back sharply in that unpleasant way that makes the joints crackle like dry sticks of wood.

'Now,' he said. 'From the beginning.'

There was no pressure of time, no shortage of paper. I gave him the story in every detail: Brendan ringing at the door, forcing his way inside, grabbing the back of my head and slamming my face into the wall, pulling the knife from somewhere and pushing it against my throat, my pleading, his smile and telling me that this was the end, then the sound of the door, Brendan jumping up in alarm, running, I couldn't see where. It had only taken a few minutes, but it took a couple of hours and fourteen pages to make the statement. At the end I was exhausted, but Detective Brett asked me to read it through and sign at the end of each page. My words seemed different in Seb Brett's rounded, precise handwriting. They were all mine, but he had selected particular phrases and made alterations. It wasn't inaccurate, but it sounded a bit like something translated by a computer into another language and then back into English by another computer. I found it difficult to concentrate, so this was a slow process as well. Halfway through there was a knock at the door. I felt a spasm of something not good. It was Rob Pryor.

'Miranda,' he said. 'I just heard. I came straight over. How are you?'

'Shaken,' I said.

'I'm not surprised.' He walked over to the bed and picked up the pages I'd finished with. 'Do you mind?'

I looked across at Brett, who just gave a shrug. So I said I didn't mind. This was even worse. I read the pages with Rob reading the earlier pages beside me. I kept losing my place, so he quickly caught up with me. Each time I signed a page, he would take it from me and read it with a tut-tutting sound that I found infuriating. I signed the last page and passed it over to Pryor, but he gave it straight back.

'You need to sign it immediately where the text ends,' he said. 'Just here.'

'Why?'

'So some wicked policeman can't add a bit at the end saying "I woke up and it was all a dream", and you would have signed it off.'

I signed my name hard against the last word, which was 'police'.

'How did you get here so quickly?' I asked.

'Mr Block is being questioned. He rang me.'

'But what are you doing here?'

'As you very well know, I've been involved with him previously, so it seemed like a good idea to have continuity…'

'But you're making it sound like he's your client.'

'Not at all,' he replied brusquely.

I turned to Brett.

'Is this legal?' I said. 'Pryor is a friend of Brendan's.'

Brett looked quizzical. Pryor walked across and they had a whispered conversation that I couldn't quite hear. It went on for several minutes with puzzled looks from Brett. At the end of it he nodded and looked at me.

'DI Pryor has asked if he can have a quick word with you. Is that all right?'

'What about?'

'It'll only take a minute,' Pryor said.

'I don't believe this,' I said, looking at Brett. 'Do you realize who this man is? This is like letting Brendan's lawyer come in and nobble me when everything has just happened. I just can't… I've just been attacked.'

'I was telling Seb about your previous connection with Mr Block.'

'So?'

Pryor walked across and sat by my bed. It was like having Brendan himself there. His proximity made me want to gag. He looked at me closely. I held his gaze.

'It looks nasty, Miranda,' he said. 'It must hurt.'

I didn't reply.

'What time did the attack happen?' he said.

'You've read the statement.'

'Your boyfriend made the call at – what was it? – five past seven this evening.'

I still didn't speak. I wasn't going to be drawn into a conversation.

'Your boyfriend,' said Pryor. 'Some sort of doctor, isn't he?' I only shrugged. He leaned in closer, his eyes narrow. 'You know what?'

'No,' I said. 'What?'

'I don't believe you.'

'What?'

'Did he help you? Your boyfriend? He could do it, couldn't he? A few bruises, things that would show, but not do too much damage.'

'What the…?' I stuttered. 'What are you saying?'

'There was a knife,' Brett said. 'He dropped it. We're checking the prints.'

'They lived together,' said Pryor. 'She could have saved it.'

'We never lived together,' I said. 'What the hell are you doing?'

He was so close to me now that I could almost smell him.

'He's got an alibi,' he said.

I took a deep breath. I had to control myself.

'I don't care,' I said finally. 'Why are you telling me this? I was there. I know what I know.'

'Don't you want to know?'

'All right,' I said. 'Who?'

'His girlfriend, Naomi Stone.' He looked at me with an expression of mild triumph. I'd seen it before. 'You don't seem very concerned.'

'Maybe I'm used to being disbelieved,' I said. 'As I said, I was the one who was there. He had his knife against my throat. Look.' I lifted my chin.

He clapped his hands gently.

'Oh, very good,' he said. 'It's a brilliant performance. Dignified. Not overdone. Pretty convincing. But then you've had a bit of practice.'

I tried to concentrate. Don't let him rile you.

'Have you ever thought that it's just possible that you could be wrong and that Brendan could be dangerous?'

'None of this matters,' said Pryor. 'He couldn't have attacked you. He was at home. He was at home when the police called and Ms Stone places him there for the entire evening.' He picked up the statement and glanced at it once more. 'You mention a dark blue shirt. When I saw him a few minutes ago, his shirt looked brown to me.'

'He might have changed it,' I said. 'Did that occur to you?'

He shook his head and smiled.

'Mr Block is making a statement. We'll make some calls and then we can bring this charade to an end. If you really want to know…' And now Pryor was interrupted by the ringing of his mobile phone. With a sigh of exasperation he took it from his pocket. 'Yes?' Suddenly his expression changed. 'What the hell are you talking about?' He looked at me with glassy eyes as he listened to the phone. 'I'll be right there.'

He mumbled something to Brett and then walked out of the room, banging the door behind him. Brett pulled a face at me. I think he was on my side, mostly. He ran out after Pryor. I was alone for several minutes and I lay back and stared at the ceiling, trying to empty my mind. I felt as if I were in another world now, unengaged by these events and disputes. When the door opened I barely looked round. It was another female police officer. She sat in the corner, but made no attempt to start a conversation. I tried to sleep although it was hopeless, but I closed my eyes so I wouldn't be bothered.

Much later, it must have been after an hour, the door opened and I was aware of someone by the bed.

'Are you awake?'

I opened my eyes. Brett.

'Sort of I said. 'You look cheerful.'

'Sorry,' he said. 'Are you all right?'

'I don't know.'

'It'll feel worse tomorrow.'

'The doctor told me. I've got pills for that.' There was a pause. 'So what's happened? What happened with Pryor?'

The smile spread across Brett's face.

'He's not a happy man,' he said. 'My colleague was talking to Naomi Stone. Just to see if she was sure about that alibi. She told her about some of the hairs recovered at the scene. And the knife.'

'So?'

'She's withdrawn her alibi. And better still, we've found the dark blue shirt.'

'Where?'

'It wasn't in his drawer. It was in the bottom of a rubbish bag outside his house. It has some stains on it. They are as yet unidentified, but we already know they are drops of blood. Human blood.'

'Mine?'

'We'll see. I told Rob Pryor that he should come here and apologize to you.'

'What did he say?'

'He had a previous engagement. Off the record, I think I can tell you that we shall be filing charges against Brendan Block in the morning.' He took my hand. 'We'll leave you now.'

Brett and the policewoman left the room, switching off the light before they closed the door. I tried to go over things in my mind for a while, to get them straight, but I was tired now and slept and had no dreams.