Common Murder

“Yeah, okay,” she sighed, and put the phone down. Through the door of the booth, she could see other reporters arriving. She knew she couldn’t cope with them now, so she turned back to the call box and dialed home. Cordelia picked up the phone on the third ring. Lindsay’s voice shook as she said, “It’s me. Can you come down?”

“What?” Cordelia demanded. “Now? Whatever’s the matter? You sound terrible. What’s going on?”

“It’s Debs. She’s… she’s been attacked. Someone tried to kill her. I’m at the hospital now. I found her. I really could do with you being here.”

There was incredulity in Cordelia’s voice. “Someone tried to kill Deborah? How? What happened?”

“There was a candle-lit vigil. We were by the fence, about fifty yards from each other. Someone hit her on the head and left her drowning in a ditch,” Lindsay said, on the verge of tears.

“That’s awful! Are you okay?”

“Physically, yes. But I’m absolutely drained. I thought she was dead, Cordelia,” Lindsay wailed, tears finally coursing down her face. She sobbed helplessly, oblivious to Cordelia’s words.

When she managed to control herself again, she could hear her lover’s voice soothing her, saying, “Calm down it’ll be okay. Why don’t you come home now? There’s nothing more you can do there tonight. I’d come down and get you, but I’ve had too much wine.”

“I can’t,” Lindsay said numbly.

“Why ever not?” Cordelia asked. “Look, you’d be better off here. You can have a nice hot bath and a drink and try to get a decent night’s sleep. Come home, Lindsay. I’ll only worry about you otherwise.”

“I just can’t,” Lindsay replied. “There’s too much going on here for me to walk away from it all. I’m sorry. I’ll ring you in the morning, okay? Thanks for listening. Goodnight, love.”

“I’ll come down first thing, how’s that?”

“No, it’s okay, leave it. I’m not sure what I’ll be doing or where I’ll be. I’ll speak to you soon.”

“Be careful, Lindsay, please. Ring me in the morning.”

Bleakness descended on Lindsay. She stared across the busy casualty department in time to see Rigano shoulder his way through the flapping celluloid doors and head for the desk. He was immediately surrounded by reporters. She became aware that the phone was squawking.

“Lindsay? Are you there?”

“Yes, I’m here. Bye.”

She put the phone down, feeling utterly defeated. She left the phone booth but could not face the melee round the information desk. She leaned against the wall, shivering slightly in spite of the airless warmth of the hospital. Rigano, whose eyes had been sweeping the room for her, picked her up almost immediately.

“That’s it for now,” he said brusquely to the crowd of reporters and strode over to her, followed at a few paces by her colleagues. He took her by the elbow and piloted her into a corridor. He stopped briefly and said firmly to their followers. “Go away. Now. Or I’ll have the lot of you removed from the hospital altogether.” Reluctantly, they backed off, and he steered Lindsay into an alcove with a couple of chairs. They sat down.

“She’s going to be all right,” he said. “There’s a hairline fracture of the skull and a big superficial wound. She’s lost quite a bit of blood and had stitches, but they say there’s no brain damage.”

The relief was like a physical glow that spread through Lindsay. “When can I see her?” she asked.

“Tomorrow morning. Come round about nine, and they’ll let you in. She’ll still be heavily sedated, so they tell me, but she should be awake. It’ll be a while before we can get any sense out of her, though, so I need to know anything you can tell me about the attack.”

Lindsay shrugged. “I don’t know anything. I don’t even know what she was hit with. What was it?”

“A brick,” he replied. “There’s any number of them lying around. You use them to pin down the corners of your benders.”

“That’s ironic,” said Lindsay, stifling the hysterical giggle she felt bubbling inside her. “I really can’t tell you anything. I heard a short scream-not a long-drawn-out one, quite brief- and a squelch that must have been Debs falling into the ditch. Then I heard what sounded like someone trying to run off through the woodland.”

“Can you say in what direction?”

“Not really. It seemed to be more or less dead ahead of me as I ran towards the ditch, but that’s the vaguest of impressions, and I wouldn’t swear to it. I wish I could tell you that I’d seen someone, but even if he’d still been there, I doubt if I would have seen him. There was really no light to speak of.”

“Him?”

“Well, it wouldn’t have been one of us, would it?”

It was Jane who woke Lindsay at eight the next morning with a pot of hot coffee. Settling herself down on the end of the bunk, she waited patiently for Lindsay to surface. Brought back to the camp by one of Rigano’s men, Lindsay had needed several large whiskies before sleep had even seemed like a possibility. Now she was reaping the whirlwind.