Authors: Alex Highcliffe
Chloe sat there staring at Drake. The lines on his face drew a picture of absolute concern. Whether that was for her or for his precious law firm she didn’t know, but it was certainly genuine. She hadn’t really got to know him very well in the couple of weeks she’d been there. If she was honest, she could have made more of an effort, but he was always so busy and distant. They’d found some brief connection when she discovered he had a daughter her age, but there was never any time for chat, or niceties; it was all business, and then only important business. He seemed like a decent bloke, but she couldn’t put her hand on her heart and say she knew that for sure.
‘Chloe, are you okay? Did you hear what I just said?’ He ran his fingers through his hair, stood up and walked over to the window. ‘It’s not your fault, you know that don’t you?’
Chloe looked at the framed picture of Drake and his wife that sat on the desk. They were dressed for skiing, stood on the top of a snow-capped mountain and smiling widely into the camera. It was a picture of normality which seemed a million miles away from where she was now. Drake’s relaxed face grinning out at her from the photograph bore stark contrast to the anxiety he was displaying now.
‘What…’ Her voice was trembling and she cleared her throat. ‘What happened?’
‘They don’t really know. There were signs of a struggle in the kitchen, and they were both found in the hallway. He was declared dead at the scene, and she’s now in an induced coma at the hospital, lucky to be alive by all accounts. Very serious internal injuries, apparently. Fortunately a neighbour heard screams and called the police. They broke the front door down and found them both lying just inside.’ He walked back to the desk and sat down again.
‘I only saw her a couple of days ago. We went to a meeting in town together. She seemed really optimistic about things.’ She took a sip of the tea in front of her. ‘Oh God, what about George? That poor little boy. What will he do if she dies?’ She was crying now. How much had she cried in the last few days? Drake passed her a tissue.
‘Well let’s hope for all our sakes that she doesn’t…’
‘For all our sakes? You mean for your own bloody sake. For the sake of this bloody firm…’ She had so many emotions surfacing at once she just couldn’t control them all.
‘The firm that pays your wages young lady, don’t forget that. And yes, we really could do without the publicity that comes with this kind of thing. But it’s happened now, and we’ll deal with it. As I say, it’s not your fault, but it would be better for everyone, obviously, if she pulls through.’ He was assertive but not angry, aware that the girl sat before him was battling with her conscience.
‘I feel so guilty. I should have applied for a non-molestation order to restrain him before it went too far. I knew he was violent, I knew that he’d already hurt George and I knew he’d been harassing her. What more did I bloody well need, a sodding dead body?’
‘Chloe, go home. I’ll pass the file on to Ray…’
‘No!’ she barked. ‘Not Ray. I mean, don’t pass it on. I want to deal with it. I need to make sure that George’s interests are protected. I know more about this case than anyone else.’
Drake stood up again and paced across the room again, thinking. He seemed genuinely unsure as to the best thing to do.
‘Okay,’ he agreed at last. ‘You keep the file, but I still want you to go home now. Come back tomorrow and we’ll have a chat about it in the morning.’
She stood up and walked to the door, still dabbing her eyes with the tissue.
‘And Chloe?’
She turned to look at him.
‘It really wasn’t your fault.’
She nodded, giving him the best half-smile she could muster, and then left the room.
Maybe not, but I’ll make damned sure that George is well looked after now.
Chloe turned the key in the front door and pushed it open. She was home early for the second day in succession and she knew her father was going to have a lot of questions. She loved living with him, but just very now and again she longed for the privacy and independence that would come with having her own place.
‘I know I know, please don’t go on dad,’ she begged as he looked up from his chair in the lounge. ‘I’ve had another shit day and I just need some space. I’ve got another cracking headache. I’ll be going back in tomorrow and things will settle down soon, I promise.’
She continued on to the kitchen before he had chance to reply. She knew his injured leg would prevent him following her immediately and she felt guilty that she was using it in that way. There was a pot of tea on the side and she poured herself a mug full. As she sipped at it she took in the view from the kitchen window. Her eyes wandered off into the distant fields and she wished for a moment that she could do the same. Grateful that her father had allowed her a few minutes to herself, she returned to the lounge and sat down opposite him.
‘Dad, I’m sorry. I just don’t want to have to explain everything to you. It’s just work and it
will
improve.’
‘Okay love, as long as you’re sure. Here, do you want a biscuit with that?’ He offered her a packet of custard creams and she took one.
‘Thanks.’ She smiled. ‘Dad, I’ve been thinking about what you were saying the other day. About me not having to stay at this firm. I know I’ve only been there a couple of weeks but I really don’t think it’s going to work out in the long run. I’ve had a particularly awful start, and things will get better, but I reckon it’s always going to be very different to where I was before.’
Her father smiled. ‘I think that’s the right choice, love.’
‘I can’t hand my notice in yet. I’ll have to stick it out for a few months, but I’m going to start looking around and getting some ideas about what I want to do next. I think I still want to do family law, but a smaller firm would suit me better. It’s just a little bit too business-like for me there, a bit cold, if you know what I mean?’
‘If you’re really unhappy there, why not just tell them to stick it now? What are they gonna do if you don’t go back, come and find you?’ It occurred to her that she didn’t know the answer to that question. Would they just let her leave? What about Crawford and Peters, what would they do if she left the firm? She felt guilty for the second time as she thought about all the things that she hadn’t told her father, not least the cash that was sitting in her account. It was the main reason she hadn’t been to the police, but she also knew that was exactly why it had been deposited in the first place.
‘That
is
tempting dad, but I think it’s easier to get a job if I already have a job and anyway, I might need a reference from them, so I don’t want to burn too many bridges.’
‘Well keep thinking about it. You know we can manage on my pension if you do decide that you’ve had enough. Anyway, what are you going to do now? Get some rest?’
‘No, I’m feeling okay actually; my headache’s gone off a little. I think I’ll pop down to the hospital and see one of my clients who’s had a bit of an accident. I’ll take the car if that’s okay, so I won’t be long.’
‘Be my guest.’
Chloe had no idea whether she’d be allowed to see Chelsie or not, but she thought she’d take a chance. She grabbed the car keys and headed off back into the city.
The Timer stopped and looked up at the front of the club. He’d been here many times before but this felt like a watershed moment. He wasn’t entirely sure what was going to happen inside, or even what he wanted to happen. The best case scenario would probably be an apology from Drabble and an explanation that the whole thing had been some kind of terrible mistake. But did Drabble ever apologise, had he ever bothered to explain anything to anybody? The Timer knew the answer to that question, and he briefly touched the outline of his hunting knife inside his jacket for reassurance.
He paced up to the main door of the club and pushed it open. As he walked inside, Mickey looked up from the bar, his usual grin replaced by a puzzled frown.
‘You’re a wanted man, you know. Drabble’s fucking livid. I’d do one if I were you before he sees you.’
‘Hi Mickey. Yeah, thanks for the warning, but I need to ask Mr Drabble a few questions. Is he in?’
‘Yeah, he’s in the office. Are you sure you know what you’re doing mate?’ Mickey’s face showed real concern for his friend. Most people treated him like dirt but the Timer had always shown him respect, always stopped to chat, had the odd game of snooker. He appreciated that, and it meant far more than the few hundred quid that Drabble threw his way from time to time.
‘I’ll be fine, Mickey. It’s just a chat I want. Just a few answers, that’s all. I’m not looking for trouble.’
He approached the sturdy wooden door behind the bar and banged his fist once in the centre, entering before anyone could reply. Drabble was sat behind his desk, and Jez was hovering in the corner. Whatever they had been discussing, the conversation ended abruptly. Drabble gawped as if he’d seen a ghost.
‘Well, well, well. What the fucking hell do we have here then? I have to say, Mr T, you’ve got some balls, turning up here like this. Where’s my fucking package?’ He stared in such a way that his eyes seemed to grow too large for his face.
‘Yeah T,’ added Jez, ‘what the fuck is going on?’
The Timer grinned and held his hands out in front of him, trying hard to stay composed, but also determined to keep everyone else calm.
‘Gentlemen, please. I’ve come to ask you exactly the same question. You sent me out to retrieve some drugs, like I’ve done many times for you before, and what do I find in the truck? Not drugs, but a child. A fucking child! What the hell do you want with a child? I never had you lot down as paedophiles.’
Drabble stood up. ‘We’re not. I’d castrate the fucking lot of ‘em and you know it. This isn’t about that, it’s some kind of adoption racket. I don’t know the details; we were just passing the kid on to the Kirklands. They’re the ones who are organising this whole thing.’
The Timer couldn’t believe what he was hearing. ‘Adoption? You mean rich wankers buying kids for their own satisfaction? How the fuck is that ever gonna work? This girl I picked up must have been at least five, maybe even six years old. How do they expect to stop her telling someone? There’s no way this thing can work.’
Drabble looked surprised. ‘Six? She was meant to be younger - two or three. Those bloody idiots, all they had to do was pick up a young Dutch girl and…’
‘Dutch? This girl was definitely not Dutch. As English as they come in fact. Looks like your boys messed up big style.’ The Timer started to realise that Drabble and his gang were not as organised nor as professional as he’d thought. They were clearly out of their league with this latest arrangement, and the Kirklands would ride roughshod over the lot of them when the truth came out.
Drabble tried harder to hide his surprise this time, but the anger was clear to see. ‘I’ll deal with those two later. How the hell did they manage to go all the way to Amsterdam and come back with an English child? For fuck’s sake, how did that happen?’
He looked at Jez but wasn’t expecting an answer. Pacing up and down now, the lines on his face told the story of a very agitated man.
‘Fuck it, there’s nothing we can do about all that now. I don’t really care as long as we get paid. Now listen to me, the Kirklands are coming back in a few days, so we need to get the child here before then. Where is she now?’
And there it was; the question that was destined to be the turning point of the meeting. The Timer looked down at his feet to avoid Drabble’s stare and to buy himself some time, and only then realised that he was stood on a sheet of plastic. They must have laid this out on the off-chance that he’d come round. He’d seen them use it before. Levelling his eyes back to Drabble’s face, the sneer he saw confirmed to him what was about to happen.
Chloe pulled up outside the Northern General Hospital in the north of Sheffield. A sprawling complex of traditional brick-built buildings and modern glass structures, it was a huge, maze-like place to navigate. Having parked her car, Chloe headed into the first building she came across and enquired at the reception desk about Chelsie. After a quick search on the computer she was directed to the appropriate building.
On arrival at the correct department Chloe headed to the ward. As she walked the long white corridor a shiver travelled up her back. It might have been the cold, but she had always had a dislike of these places. She was just seven when her mother first became ill and then received her devastating diagnosis. They quickly learned that the cancer had spread and that her mother would be unlikely to live beyond a year or so. And time proved them right. Chloe said her last goodnight to her mother when she was eight years old, and her father brought her the news the next day that she was gone.
There had been many trips to the hospital; this hospital at first, and then to the specialist cancer hospital in Sheffield. They were lucky to have such expertise on their doorstep, and it made the hospital visits easier, but still fruitless in the end. And those visits had scarred her, instilled into her a dislike of hospitals. Of course she knew they did good things, and the people who worked inside them deserved all the plaudits they received. But for Chloe, a hospital would only ever mean one thing. Death.
She continued down the corridor until she found the intensive treatment unit. She stopped and took a deep breath before pushing open the door and heading over to the reception.
‘Can I help you?’ the voice belonged to a woman in her fifties who reminded her visually of Gloria on the firm’s own reception, but who was apparently far more pleasant.
‘Hi, yes, I’m here to see Chelsie Swanson please.’
‘Are you a relative madam?’
That caught Chloe by surprise, but she considered that a little white lie was nothing in the scheme of things, especially when she reminded herself of what she’d been involved in over the last couple of weeks.
‘Erm, yes, of course, I’m her sister Chloe. Chloe Swanson.’
‘Oh, right. Well I’m afraid she’s in an induced coma at the moment and can’t have any visitors. But you’re welcome to go down the corridor there and look through the glass. Let me just warn you that there are lots of wires and tubes, but it always looks worse than it is.’
Chloe didn’t agree; she remembered her mother looking beautiful until the night she died. In her case it certainly didn’t look worse than it was.
‘Thank you.’ She entered the corridor which the receptionist had pointed out to her. On the left there was a glass panel and Chloe braced herself as she walked out in front of it and looked into the room.
Even the receptionist’s warning could not have prepared her for what she saw. A ventilator handled the breathing and there were other tubes and wires all around the young girl, like something from a science fiction film. Chelsie looked so small and frail on the huge hospital bed surrounded by overwhelming machinery. Chloe steadied herself on the small ledge that ran under the window. She rested her forehead on the glass and stared.
How could anyone do this to such a defenceless young girl?
Thoughts of George entered her head and tears pricked her eyes. Surely he wasn’t going to lose his mother as she had lost hers all those years ago; she would never wish that on anyone. And he had no father to provide support as her own father had done. Chelsie had to pull through, she
had
to.
‘Excuse me, miss, I’m afraid I’m going to have to ask you to leave.’
Chloe looked up to see a hospital security guard heading towards her with a doctor by his side. She knew she’d been rumbled and didn’t want to make a fuss.
‘I’m sorry, I’m just a friend of Chelsie’s and I had to see her. I’ll go now. I’m sorry.’ She hurried down the corridor and past the burly security guard, who made no effort to stop her.