Hurt (DS Lucy Black) (28 page)

When she came into the kitchen area, the fluorescent lights seemed unnaturally harsh. Robbie was finishing his own mug of coffee. He handed her a steaming cup. ‘Give me your keys,’ he said. ‘I’ll start the engine up and get the car heated. There was fairly heavy frost last night and the windows’ll need cleared.’

Lucy rooted through her bag, handed him the keys, then began drinking the coffee, after blowing on it to cool it down. Finally, to speed up the drinking of it, she moved across to the sink, turned on the tap and poured in cold water to cool it, then drained the cup.

She was just at the door when the windows shivered. She heard the dull thud of the explosion outside, saw the blast of light from the car, felt the thick buffet of air from the blast, as the glass rained around her.

It took Lucy a moment to regain her balance. The room filled with a high-pitched whining and she tugged at her ear, as if to loosen whatever obstruction she felt was there.

Finally, recognizing the noise as an after effect of the explosion, she hauled herself through the doorway, struggling to pull her phone from her pocket. She could see flames ballooning in the darkness beyond.

Her car sat in the driveway, though had shifted several feet sideways from where it had been parked. The side panel around the wheelbase of the driver’s side was shorn open, the under carriage of the car exposed. The tyre of the front wheel, deflated now, was alight, the metal wheel itself sitting askew. The driver’s door hung at an angle from its upper hinge, the glass of the window shattered in pieces on the ground beneath. The windscreen, while still intact, was a mesh of cracks and fractures, which made it impossible for her to see in to Robbie. All she could tell, through the black smoke of the burning rubber and the thick cloud of dust in the air, thrown up by the blast, was that he was no longer sitting upright.

She managed to key in 999, screaming as she did for Robbie, hoping that, perhaps, he had not been in the car at all, scanning the shrubbery bordering the driveway lest the force of the blast had blown him onto it. She heard the emergency operator respond to the call and managed the salient details, before dropping the phone, still connected to the operator, onto the ground

As she approached the car, the flames from the burning tyre were building now, licking across the side panels, scorching the metal. Grabbing at the handle to pull the door open, she could see now, through the shattered window, that Robbie lay across the two front seats. She could see blood on his shirt and face.

She tugged at the door, but the twisted metal of the frame had caught somehow and, try as she might, she could not pull it free. She suddenly realized that the flames had caught her jacket, the bottom of which was now alight. She shrugged it off, pushing her way around to the passenger side of the car.

She tugged open the door and clambered into the car, reaching for Robbie’s head, desperate to check if he was, at least, still breathing. She leaned in as close as she could, shaking him by the shoulder, calling his name. Finally, a soft moan formed on his lips. She noticed that his face carried a deep gash on the side that had faced the blast, perhaps a result of the flying glass from the window. She also knew that, as the fire spread on the other side, there was a much greater chance that the petrol tank, which had not yet seemingly been affected by the blast, could ignite. She needed to get Robbie out quickly.

She reached across his body, spidering her way along his trunk until she felt the hard edge of the seat belt. Tracing along its length, she finally was able to stretch far enough to feel the metal clasp. She fumbled in the half-light of the flames beyond, trying to find the release latch which would loosen the belt. As she did so, she was acutely aware that she did not know the extent of Robbie’s injuries. Leaning any weight on him might only exacerbate any internal damage already done. Still, leaving him here was not an option.

At last, the clasp gave and the seat belt recoiled across his body. Lucy pushed it out of the way, then, gripping him beneath his armpits, she hefted him across, away from the building flames.

A groan escaped his lips as she pulled, though he himself did not seem conscious. ‘Robbie,’ she cried, as she tugged at him, dragging him towards her. Her left hand slipped, causing her to lose her grip and, looking down, she saw it was slick with blood from the right-hand side of his face. Wiping it on her own top, she tugged at him again, but he would not move, as if caught on something. She shifted over the top of his body, pulling at his legs, but they seemed free of obstacles. Then she realized that the handbrake had caught his belt, preventing movement. She had to angle herself in order to push him back towards the flames in the hope that, in doing so, it might free him from the lever. As she did so, she heard the metal frame of the car keening as it warped beneath the heat.

In the end, she had to twist him slightly before pulling once more, finally hefting him across onto the passenger seat and out of the car. She dragged him away from the car, back towards the unit, managing as far as the doorstep before she lost balance and fell back into the hallway. She scrambled back to the step, pulling Robbie towards her, cradling his head in her hands as his blood seeped onto her jeans.

The air popped as the petrol tank caught, the force of the subsequent blast throwing Lucy and Robbie onto their backs on the step, scattering flame onto the trees at the edge of the garden from whose branches now dripped flame onto the frosted grass below.

Then, through the thickening smoke, Lucy noticed the flickering blue of the ambulance lights in the distance, dancing along the fronts of the houses opposite where, one by one, lights were coming on.

Lucy was examined in one of the ambulances while Robbie was receiving attention in the other. The closeness of the hospital to the residential unit meant that they had been on the scene within minutes. After the paramedic had checked her over and offered her a foil blanket against the pre-dawn chill, she moved across to where Robbie lay, still inert.

‘Is he going to be OK?’ she managed.

‘He’s alive,’ the man tending him commented. ‘He’s not awake yet, but he’s alive. He has a fairly deep leg wound. We need to get him into surgery. Do you want to come with?’

Lucy nodded. For a moment she thought she had blood on her face, for her skin felt suddenly chilled. She smeared her hand across her cheek and was a little surprised to find that she had been crying.

‘Climb in,’ the man said, offering her a hand.

She steadied herself. ‘I’d best wait here. They’ll want to know what happened,’ she said. ‘I’ll be straight up then.’

In fact, it was almost an hour before Lucy was even able to leave the scene. Soon after the first patrol cars arrived, her mother appeared, her face drawn, her mouth a pale line.

‘What happened?’

Lucy nodded towards the wreckage of the car. ‘A bomb by the looks of it. Robbie went out to defrost it and it went off.’

‘Your car was here all night then?’ her mother asked.

Absurdly, Lucy could not discern if she was asking in a maternal or professional capacity. ‘Yes. It was here all night. As was I.’

‘Who would have known that?’

‘Gavin Duffy,’ Lucy said. ‘The kid in the unit. Gary Duffy’s boy. I came up last night to see him, to see if he recognized the man from the Foyleside CCTV image. He’d told me before that he saw someone with Karen Hughes matching the description Sarah Finn gave me.’

‘Did he recognize him?’

‘He said he didn’t,’ Lucy replied. ‘But he’s done a runner.’

Her mother pantomimed bewilderment.

‘I think Gavin was part of the gang that torched Kay’s house. I think when he found out that Kay might not have been responsible for Karen’s death, it pushed him over the edge. He helped kill the wrong man.’

‘You think he knows who the man in the picture is?’

Lucy nodded.

‘And Duffy told him that you were here?’

Again Lucy nodded.

‘How’s Robbie?’

‘I don’t know,’ she said. ‘I’m not —’

She felt her eyes fill, felt the tears brimming. Her mother stood, looking at her a moment, then leaned in towards her and put her arms around her, hugging her lightly, shushing in her ear. Lucy accepted the embrace.

‘You can say I told you so,’ Lucy managed. ‘It’s my fault he was hurt.’

Her mother shook her head sadly. ‘You know that’s not what I meant,’ she said.

‘But it
is
my fault,’ Lucy said.

One of the technical officers who had been examining the now smouldering car came across to them. They moved apart. Lucy daubed her eyes dry with the sleeve of her top. Her mother held her other hand, clasped tightly.

‘Ma’am,’ he said, nodding lightly to the ACC. ‘Sergeant.’

‘Did you find anything?’ Wilson asked, glancing quickly at the wreckage.

‘He was very lucky,’ the man began.

‘Lucky?’ Wilson repeated, incredulously.

The man blushed, aware of the insensitivity in the statement. ‘It was a rushed job, ma’am. They placed it under the engine block, which absorbed most of the blast. If they’d had it a foot to the other side of the wheel bay, it would have taken a fair chunk out of the whole side of the car. They’d not have stretchered him away from it.’

Robbie was still in surgery when Lucy reached the hospital. Her own hands having been scorched while she’d tried to open the driver’s door, she was sent to A & E where they applied salve to the already blistered skin and dressed it with light gauze. She returned again to the theatre ward to see how Robbie was, but was told instead to wait at the café for word.

She sat alone, drinking a cup of hot chocolate from the vending machine, so tepid and watery that neither part of its name seemed wholly accurate. The foyer was in semi-darkness, the only illumination coming from the padlocked fridge which, during the day, would hold sandwiches and plastic dishes of salad. In the half-light, she stared at her reflection in the windows. The sky beyond was still dark.

She reflected back on all that had happened. On Kay. Carlin. Louisa Gant. Karen Hughes. Sarah Finn. All of them featuring in Kay’s collection. A collection that, she believed, had been planted by whoever was actually responsible.

Louisa Gant. She had planned to go back to the start, to see where the groomer had crossed paths with Karen and Sarah. She remembered that the information she had requested from the schools would be in her office in the Public Protection Unit in Maydown. However, perhaps she needed to go back further, she reasoned. Louisa Gant was actually where it started; she was, in reality, the first victim who had found their way to Carlin’s house.

She took out her mobile and called Tara. The phone rang out three times before she eventually answered, her voice little more than a whisper.

‘Lucy, is everything all right?’ she managed.

‘Did I wake you?’ Lucy asked.

‘It’s fine. Is everything all right?’

‘The Louisa Gant murder. Has anyone been looking back at the files?’

‘We all have,’ Tara said. ‘Why? What’s wrong?’ She sounded a little angrier now and Lucy realized that she had woken her without explanation.

‘Someone put a bomb under my car this morning,’ she said.

‘Jesus. Are you okay?’

‘Fine,’ Lucy said, her mouth dry. ‘Robbie was the one in the car. He’s in surgery.’

‘Is he ... ? Will he be ...?’

‘He was alive when I pulled him from the car. I think his leg is injured. They’ve not told me.’

‘Do you want me to come up to you? Are you in the hospital?’

Lucy was touched by the offer. Her own mother had asked an officer to bring her across while she went back to the station. While Lucy could understand that, had the ACC accompanied her, it might have drawn attention to the fact that she was taking a personal interest in Lucy, at the same time she couldn’t help but feel a little annoyed that she’d been left on her own.

‘I’m OK, thanks,’ Lucy said. ‘I wanted to know about the Gant killing though. Was it definitely Gary Duffy? Was there any suggestion that someone else might have been involved?’

‘Why?’

‘Louisa Gant’s body was buried at Carlin’s farm, supposedly by Gary Duffy. Except Duffy’s dead now and yet the house is still being used, by Karen’s abductor for his house parties. Maybe Duffy didn’t kill Louisa Gant. Or maybe he had help and the person who helped him then is the one grooming these girls now. Was there any suggestion of other people being involved in Duffy’s file?’

‘I don’t know,’ Tara said. ‘The file was full of gaps.’

‘Why?’

‘Because Duffy was who he was. His being connected with the paramilitaries, it seems that Special Branch took over the case. A lot of the files contained intelligence material apparently. Names of informants that couldn’t be revealed.’

‘Said who?’

‘Burns. He said the ACC told him herself.’

‘Mr Gant lives locally, doesn’t he?’ Lucy asked. If the files couldn’t offer new light on the girl’s killing, perhaps her father might still recall something from that time. Whether he’d thank Lucy for reopening old scars was a different matter. Though, Lucy reflected, if her feelings over Mary Quigg’s death were any indicator, those old scars might not have healed anyway.

‘I don’t know. I’m not sure,’ Tara said. ‘Look, maybe you should take—’

‘He does,’ Lucy said. ‘Thanks.’ She hung up. Leaving her cup, she crossed to the main desk where a night porter was playing Temple Run on his phone.

‘Can I borrow your phone book?’ Lucy asked.

Just after nine, a doctor came down to tell her that Robbie was out of surgery. He’d lost a significant amount of tissue and muscle from his right leg and had required stitching to his side and face. That said, he was, she argued, lucky to not have been more badly hurt.

‘Is he awake?’

‘He’s coming round,’ she said. ‘He’ll be on morphine for the day though, so he’ll be out of it. You can see him briefly if you want to.’

She stood by his bedside, watching him drifting in and out of consciousness. At one stage she thought he recognized her, for he smiled lightly, his lips moving as if he were trying to say something.