Darkness Looking Back, The (23 page)

He saw instantly he'd made a fatal error.

'What if that one chick damn well
was
your life?' Nathan wiped his eyes with the back of his left wrist, which was trembling. 'What if she took your life, and your house where you lived—' he waved at the room around them — 'and everything that made you happy, and just smashed it all to bits?' His chest was heaving. 'I saw her with him! She'd been doing him for months, laughing at me behind my back. The bitch! She told me she was scared of me, that she'd never loved me. Like I was
nothing
.
She smashed me into pieces with her own bare hands and walked away without a scar
.'

He kicked at Nielsen, roaring over her scream.

'Tell them what you did! Tell them what you did to me, you lying two-faced
bitch
!'

Tears ran freely down Nielsen's face. Her shoulders jerked as she tried to gulp down enough breath to speak between sobs.

'I . . . I . . . haven't done
anything
to you . . . I'm not her. Nathan, I'm not her.'

Paxton looked on, sickened.

'You're all the same!'

Paxton knew it was all over for Nathan Carter. And for anyone else he could take down with him.

Slowly Nathan bent over Nielsen's body, his gaze all the time fixed on the three men standing in front of him. Nielsen wriggled desperately back and forth, trying to roll out of the reach of the fame.

'
Nathan
.' Stirling tried to halt his progress with his eyes, but Nathan kept moving. Stirling whipped out his phone, dialling 111. Nathan made no move to stop him. Coleman shifted nervously on his feet, his voice stretched tight.

'Don't do this, mate. It's not worth it. You've been through enough.'

I saw that on a trailer for
The Bill
, Paxton thought, his mind beginning to separate itself from what it saw. This is all just a horrible cliché.

Nathan wasn't listening. Paxton wondered that the vapours hadn't caught already in the enclosed space. The fame was waving closer to Nielsen's turps-soaked shirt. Coleman was dancing on the balls of his feet. Stirling was clenching his fists as he shoved away his phone, then pulling at his hem, tempted . . . The fame was inches away. Riveting them all. Slowly descending . . .

Paxton few forward. Startled, Nathan jerked away from Nielsen, towards him, his thumb still pressed on the striker. Paxton's T-shirt smouldered, then was smothered as his body met Nathan's. Paxton cried out at the searing pain in his abdomen as they went down. Beneath him Nathan tried to re-ignite the fame, to torch him off, reckless of the fire against his own skin. Paxton grabbed his wrist and beat it against the floor, trying to make him let go of the lighter. At the same time he noticed that the lighter rested right by Gardner's head. One small spark and he would blaze up like a Guy on the top of a bonfire. And they were rolling in the turps.

Stirling appeared in the corner of his eye, dragging Gardner and Nielsen to safety. Just as Paxton registered this, Nathan's thumb reconnected with the button. In the same instant, Coleman grabbed the lighter in his hand.

Flick.

And the world turned to fame.

Fire whooshed across the floor, following the path of the turpentine. Nathan was screaming beneath Paxton, as the shoulder lying in the turps went up. Flames shot from his thrashing head, brushing Coleman's trousers and eating up his body with terrifying speed. Coleman's voice mingled with Nathan's in an unholy discordant howling. The smell of burning flesh rose to Paxton's nostrils as he scrambled to his feet.

Released from his weight, Nathan leapt up and jumped onto the worktable, shattering the glass through the sheet as he dived through the window, his body still blazing.

Stirling seized Coleman's shoulders and threw him to the floor, forcibly rolling him over and over as Paxton grabbed for a bottle of mineral water from the table and twisted off the cap, pouring it all over his faming clothes until it was empty. There was a sizzle as the water met the burning floorboards. The fire continued to throw smoke, strong with solvent and worse, into the air. Retching, Paxton glanced towards Nielsen and Gardner, near the doorway. He picked Nielsen up and carried her to the safety of the verge at the foot of the drive. Given the kicking Nathan had inflicted on her, it must have hurt, but she didn't make a sound. Still struggling to clear his lungs, gulping in breaths of untainted air, Paxton saw Stirling set Coleman on the soft grass beside her. Coleman's breathing was rapid and shallow, and his eyes were shut. It was almost a relief to turn his back on the sight and return to the house. Smoke was already issuing from the open door, and breathing it in had the same effect as a hand around Paxton's throat. The heat promptly turned his skin pink as he bent to get clear of the smoke and find Gardner.

'Here!'

Gardner's cry was followed by a series of coughs, and Paxton scuttled forward, almost tripping over the sergeant on the floor. He hoisted Gardner over his shoulder with a grunt, nearly fell over with the weight, but managed to keep his feet. As quickly as his legs would carry him, he made it outside, into the cooler air. He had to put Gardner down on the drive before he reached the others, fighting for breath.

He heard Stirling speaking softly to Coleman.

'You'll be all right, mate.'

Paxton took a few steps closer. 'Shit . . .'

Stirling had ripped Coleman's faming shirt off, exposing a singed chest. To Paxton's unpractised eye the burns looked fairly minor, the brunt of the fire having been borne by the cotton fibres, but they were nevertheless bound to be painful. The worst would be Coleman's legs. Stirling hadn't dared remove the blackened fabric around them, for fear of what else he might strip away.

Stirling coughed, breathing as hard as Paxton, and turned his hands over slowly to gaze at them. The skin was scorched and blistered.

'Are
you
all right?' Paxton asked him quietly.

'I'll live.'

Stirling's eyes went back to Coleman, lying still on the grass. Nielsen too had rolled over to look, the tears drying on her face. The smell of roasted flesh reminded Paxton horribly of a Christmas ham. He closed his eyes, bending to suck in more air.

A metallic sound recaptured his attention, along with a grunt of pain. With excruciating delicacy, Stirling was extracting his keys from his pocket, teeth clenched in agony as he used his hands. Silently Paxton took over, opening the pocketknife attached to the keys. He knelt down in the grass beside Nielsen, holding the cords away from her skin as he sawed her free, then went to do the same for Gardner.

'Thanks,' Gardner muttered, very quiet.

He got slowly to his feet, his face furrowing in pain, and walked carefully over to Coleman. 'Bastard,' Paxton heard him say. '
Bastard
.'

The first fire engine arrived a minute later. Stirling went to brief them.

Paxton wasn't there to hear him, already round the side of the main house, in front of the burning studio. The leaves on the trees overhanging the roof had gone up in fame, dry and crackling. But Paxton stood staring at only an empty lawn hazed over with smoke. Nathan was gone.

AN EDDY OF warm air and citrus fragrance blew in the entrance of the burns unit at Middlemore. Lena let the door swing shut behind her, lost. She gazed uncertainly at the institutional stretch of lino and walls with many doors. Down the hall, Paxton stood to let her see him, and she came forward almost at a trot, wrapping her arms around him and pressing her face tightly into his chest. Paxton closed his eyes. Her voice was muffled and breathless.

'God, you smell of smoke! Are you really okay?'

Paxton ran curled fingers along her cheek. 'I'm fine.' He drew back a little and raised his shirt, exposing the small red burn on his stomach, glistening with salve. 'Won't even leave a scar.'

Lena pulled him closer again, kissing his cheek and resting her face against it for a long moment. Then she turned her head, seeing Stirling inside the room, legs dangling over the edge of his bed. She took in the bandaged hands resting in his lap and took a breath to speak, but Stirling forestalled her.

'Not bad going. Second holiday in six months.'

Lena exhaled slowly. 'You're in the wrong ward, Andy. Psychiatric's somewhere else.'

Paxton rubbed her shoulder, just as heels tapped hastily on the lino behind him. 'James, thank you so much for calling me. Where is he?'

Paxton barely had time to turn round before Nicola had swept past him, enveloping her husband in a hug.

'Hey, sweetheart.'

With his bandaged hands Stirling was unable to hug her properly back, but Paxton saw his eyes close tightly as she held him. Nicola eased back, gingerly touching his hands.

'How bad is it? Are you all right?'

Stirling gave a defeated laugh. 'Well, I'm a bit dopey at the moment — they've given me morphine.'

'He says he wants to go mountain climbing these holidays,' said Lena.

They all watched as he raised a swaddled hand and realised he couldn't separate the fingers. Stirling's face took on a pained expression. 'They say it's not too serious. I shouldn't even need grafts. It was all over pretty quickly. I'm not nearly as bad as Sean.'

They'd rushed Coleman straight into theatre. He was going to
be there for a good six hours. Not only had he sustained burns to a large
part of his body, but there was inhalation damage to his nasal passages from
the heat. The team at the emergency department had told them he was lucky
to be alive. Paxton found himself wondering.

THEY BROUGHT NATHAN Carter into the emergency department half an hour later, already hooked up to an IV, a pair of uniformed constables trailing behind. Stirling wasn't supposed to be down there, but that hadn't stopped him jumping in the lift as soon as he heard.

'Hey!' He called over one of the constables, careful to keep his hands hidden. 'Pete, what happened? We've just come from that fire.'

'Hello, Andy. Was that
you
? Christ, you were lucky to get out of there. Looked like the centre of hell.'

'I got out fast. Not as fast as him, though.' His eyes returned to Nathan, just at the moment the young man looked in their direction. He jerked a bit, forgetting himself, as he caught sight of Paxton waiting beside Stirling. Nathan gazed at him unfathomably for several seconds before turning his head away, his face twisting as if at a sudden chop of pain.

'How did you get him?' asked Stirling.

'Dogs. Found him in someone's yard, trying to cool his shoulder under a tap. It looked pretty bad. He was crying.' His partner waved at him, and he nodded back. 'Better go. But well done for finding him, Andy. Another big feather in your cap.' Smiling, the constable clapped Stirling on the shoulder and strode back to Nathan.

'Not
my
cap,' said Stirling.

Paxton looked grim. 'Don't be jealous of what I've got. You can shove that frigging feather any damn place you like.'

As Nathan was wheeled away, his eyes were drawn back to Paxton. Only the door shutting behind him broke the connection.

'My gran had an expression.' Paxton was still staring at the closed door. 'She called it the darkness looking back. You look into the eyes of an outwardly harmless, unremarkable human being and, suddenly, there's a monster at the controls.'

'You felt sorry for him too, didn't you?'

Paxton met Stirling's glance.

'Funny, isn't it?' he said quietly.

THE SMALL BARE room to which Paxton had been summoned was empty of patients, but full of visitors. Those who were sitting all stood as Paxton entered with Lena. All five faces were sombre.

Paxton nodded warily to the tallest of them, a face he'd seen once before. 'Hello.'

'Afternoon, Mr Paxton,' said Rees. 'Another lucky escape, I'm told. Must have a guardian angel. Or whatever.'

Paxton gave a weary smile. 'Something like that.'

Rees turned his head towards the silent man in the centre, dressed in blue, and as Paxton looked at him, he suddenly recognised the man from the TV. 'I might as well introduce you. This is Detective Inspector Woodward. The Senior you know . . .' Kirkpatrick nodded to him. 'And Vicky.'

Nielsen had found new clothes somewhere, and her wet hair smelled of shampoo. The bruise was still startling on her face, and she moved gingerly, but she shook Paxton's hand with a bright smile.

'And this is Detective Sergeant Paynter.'

'Hello.' Paxton glanced at Lena. She looked as puzzled as he felt by all the attention.

'Do you mind if my girlfriend stays?' he asked, unsure to whom to address his question.

Woodward answered him. 'Not at all. She's welcome to stay.' He gazed down at Lena, solemnly assessing. 'Miss Bradley, isn't it?'

'Lena.'

Woodward nodded. 'Nice to meet you.' He shook her hand and didn't automatically look back at Paxton, as others often did. 'How are you doing?'

'I won't say things are back to normal — they can't be. But I'm fine anyway. Thank you.'

'Fine is all you can ask for, most days. And there's nothing wrong with that.' The inspector returned her smile, showing all the lines on his tanned brown face. Then he did look at Paxton.

'We all wanted to come and thank you personally for what you did this afternoon. There's hardly a detective left in the office. Andy's told us all about it.' He extended his hand again, and the others followed suit.

Paxton hesitated a moment. 'Thank you.'

'And don't you
dare
feel guilty for anything that happened, all right? It would have been a lot worse if it weren't for you.

We still wouldn't have caught him.'

The acuity of Woodward's gaze rattled him. Again Paxton was reminded, bizarrely, of his gran.

'We have a proposition for you,' said Kirkpatrick. 'How would you like to be a permanent on-call —
paid
— consultant for the police?'

Paxton blew out a breath as he tried to regain his composure. 'Well, I'll have to think about it . . .'

'Not for too long. We need you,' said Nielsen.

'That's a great idea,' Paynter said. 'Make a good reference for your CV. You could start your own TV show.'

'Would he be forced into any more situations like this one?'

They all turned to look. Lena's arms were folded. She focused on Woodward. 'This is the second time he's been to hospital in six months. Both times he's been bloody lucky. I don't want any strike three.'

Kirkpatrick smiled gently. 'Believe me, Lena, being a detective isn't —
usually
— a high-risk job. All the dangerous part is over: the crime's already happened and all you've got is a body. You've just got to do all the spadework.'

''Allo, 'allo, 'allo, what's all this then?' Heads turned as Stirling walked into the room. 'There's bloody cops in the hospital! I thought there were hygiene standards.'

'Is Sean out of theatre then?' Nielsen asked as Kirkpatrick rose to let Stirling have his seat.

'Cheers, Graeme.' Stirling sank into the chair, his false levity disappearing. 'Yeah, his family's in with him now. He's still doped up, though. Apparently it all went well, but they don't want him awake just yet. He's in for a nasty time.'

Woodward broke the silence.

'We've just been thanking Mr Paxton here for everything he did today. Whatever reservations anyone might have had in the past, I think we've all got to accept he did something pretty incredible.'

'So where's Ray Gardner?' Stirling asked, scowling. 'I don't see
him
lining up to shake James's hand. The man saved his life.'

'Ray's overseeing Carter's arrest,' said Kirkpatrick. 'I told him he should be resting. He's had two ribs broken and he's badly dehydrated.'

'Well, that's a few more inches for the
Herald
,' said Nielsen. 'Whoever's selling our stories.' She looked embarrassed. 'I thought it might have been Ray, actually.'

Kirkpatrick looked thoughtful. 'You know, that's what I don't get. How on earth did the
Herald
get hold of the idea that there was some homicidal lesbian on the loose? I mean, most of it was spot on, but that . . . Good grief! I'm wondering if it was that ghastly Austin woman. There's no
way
anyone attached to the inquiry would have said something like that.'

Stirling gave a sardonic grin, looking anywhere but at Rees. 'Come on, Senior. They're reporters. They made it up. Sales must have been fagging that week.'

'No, it's true!' Paynter's eyes were alight with amusement. '
I
should be so lucky in my retirement. Apart from her love triangle with the two old guys, Helen McCowan actually had a lesbian thing going on with some other woman. Ask Tony, that's exactly what happened!'

'No, Ciaran, that's just what I told you happened.'

Total silence fell. All eyes went from Rees to Ciaran Paynter. He was gazing at the big man, locked in a long, horrible stare. Stirling felt rocks begin to slide loose in his brain.

'I wasn't sure it was you,' said Rees. 'I just heard you asking a few questions, and I got curious. So I played my usual trick with suss reporters — feed 'em something dodgy, swear them to secrecy, and see if they can be trusted.'

Paynter was examining the wheelchair in one corner, meeting no one's eyes. He gave a dry-mouthed swallow. Maybe it was just the pain relief, but Stirling's head seemed light.

Rees's face was, as ever, unreadable. 'I'm sorry, all of you . . . I should have said.'

His gaze met Stirling's. And suddenly Stirling understood. Rees wasn't a nark either.

Woodward came up quietly at Paynter's side. 'I think we should talk later.'