Warhol's Prophecy (38 page)

She was on the point of setting the receiver down.

‘Hello,’ said the voice.

‘Caroline, it’s Hailey. Sorry to interrupt you if you were working.’

There was a moment’s awkward silence.

‘I wasn’t sure if you and I were still talking,’ Caroline Hacket said.

‘I need to ask you something.’

‘Go on.’

‘Did you see Adam Walker last night?’

Hailey heard the weary intake of breath. ‘Just tell me, please,’ she persisted.

‘I
could
tell you to mind your own business.’

There was an edge to Caroline’s voice that Hailey hadn’t expected.

‘Please yourself,’ Hailey said defensively.

‘I could, but I won’t,’ Caroline insisted. ‘I saw him for lunch, OK? Why? What’s the problem now?’

‘I think he tried to kill Rob last night.’ She explained briefly.

‘Don’t be so bloody ridiculous,’ Caroline said finally. ‘It seems as if you’re trying to blame Adam for
everything
lately. You wanted him out of your life – and he’s gone. Why don’t you drop it?’

‘I told Rob what happened between Adam and me. Rob walked out and I don’t know where he’s gone.’

There was another silence.

‘Caroline . . .?’

‘I heard you. You can’t blame Adam for
that.
’

Hailey swallowed hard. ‘Are you seeing him tonight?’ she wanted to know.

‘Look, I’ve got to go,’ Caroline told her sharply. ‘I’ll speak to you later.’

She hung up.

Hailey slammed the receiver down and sat forward in her chair.

Her office door opened and she looked up.

Jim Marsh walked in, smiling.

The smile faded as he saw the expression on Hailey’s face.

‘Are you all right?’

‘Fine,’ she lied. ‘I just didn’t get much sleep last night. I’ve got those details on the gig and the party afterwards that you wanted.’

Marsh sat down opposite her. ‘Are you
sure
everything’s all right?’ he asked.

My husband was nearly killed last night, then he walked out on me. My closest friend is seeing the man who tried to kill him. My daughter is almost suicidal, and I’m close to a nervous breakdown. Everything is fan-fucking-tastic!

‘I told you, Jim, I’m just tired.’ She handed him a couple of pieces of paper. ‘The guest list for the gig, the travel arrangements, and the details of the party afterwards. I think everything’s covered.’

Marsh scanned the documents, nodding approvingly every now and then.

‘It looks fine,’ he said, smiling. ‘Are Rob and Becky looking forward to it?’

She felt the tears building.

‘Can’t wait,’ she said, her voice cracking slightly. She coughed. ‘Jim, would you mind if I left a bit earlier today? There’s a few things I’ve got to do.’

He nodded. ‘I thought you trusted me,’ he said quietly.

She looked puzzled.

‘How long have we known each other?’ Marsh continued. ‘Eight years?’

‘Jim, what are you getting at?’

‘I just thought that you’d let me help if I could. I know there’s something wrong. If there’s anything I can do . . .?’

She managed a smile.

‘I wish there was,’ Hailey told him. ‘But
I’m
the only one who can sort this out. Don’t worry, it won’t affect my work.’

‘For Christ’s sake,’ he said irritably. ‘Sod the work. You’d never let me down. I’d like to do something to help
you
for a change.’

Marsh got to his feet. ‘If you change your mind, you know where I am.’

‘Thanks, Jim, but, like I said, this is
my
problem.
I’ve
got to deal with it.’

‘Good luck.’

‘I think I’m going to need it.’

R
OB
G
IBSON RAISED
a hand to attract the barman’s attention. He picked at the bowl of peanuts before him while he waited for his glass to be refilled with Johnnie Walker. Once it had been, he sipped at the fiery liquid, feeling it burn its way to his stomach.

The pub was fairly quiet. Other than two or three youths gathered around a fruit machine in one corner, and another group of men about his own age playing pool just behind him, there wasn’t much activity inside the building.

Rob had been there for about an hour. He’d driven there straight from work.

Frank Burnside had tried to persuade him to leave the office earlier, but Rob had insisted he had work to complete, and allowed his partner to leave him alone in the solitude of BG Trucks.

There was work to do: there always was. And he was certainly in no rush to get back to the Travelodge. Hence the stop-off at the pub.

It was like many such places in and around the city centre, new, characterless and totally lacking in charm, but Rob hadn’t come in to enjoy the ambience. He sipped more of his whisky and looked around the bar disinterestedly.

There was a couple in their early twenties huddled in one corner over their drinks. Laughing and smiling, occasionally kissing. Rob watched them for a moment, until he became aware that the young man had noticed his intrusive stare and was meeting it almost challengingly.

Rob smiled, raised his glass in salute, and turned on his stool.

More peanuts. Another drink.

He was sure that he’d had too much already. He wasn’t drunk – nowhere near it – but it didn’t take too much to tip a breathalyser, did it? Just as well he wasn’t too far from the Travelodge. The last thing he needed at the moment was some over-zealous copper pulling him over for drink-driving.

What he’d needed
last
night was a fucking copper. One of the good old boys in blue to arrest the arsehole who’d been trying to kill him.

The arsehole who was shagging his wife.

Rob lowered his head, unwelcome thoughts spinning around in his mind.

Thoughts of infidelity.

Visions of Hailey on her back with her legs wrapped around some other bastard’s back.

Visions of her mouth on some other guy’s cock.

Doesn’t feel too good, does it? Boot on the other foot and all that shit. How do you like it? Can you imagine what Hailey felt like whenever she thought about you and Sandy?

Sandy?

For insane seconds after he’d first left his own house the night before, he’d contemplated driving over to her flat.

Revenge?

Revenge for revenge? Remember who started this little merry-go-round of infidelity going. Take a bow, Rob Gibson.

He downed what was left in his glass and looked at the empty tumbler.

One more?

Rob ran a hand through his hair and looked up, catching sight of his reflection in the mirror behind the bar.

He ordered a mineral water instead, to wash down the last few peanuts that he scraped from the bowl.

The clock at one end of the bar told him it was after ten.

Becky would be in bed by now, asleep with any luck.

He finished half the water and got to his feet, fumbling in his jacket pocket for his car keys. He passed the young couple on the way out. They were still kissing.

Rob sucked in several deep breaths as he stepped into the pub car park. He shivered a little, surprised at how chilly it had become.

The gravel crunched beneath his feet as he walked across to the waiting Audi.

It was parked beneath a large oak tree, and he noticed there were several dollops of bird shit on the roof.

That was meant to be good luck, wasn’t it?

On any other occasion, he probably would have smiled.

The car park was dimly lit, illuminated only by two sodium lights near the exit onto the main road.

Rob squinted in the gloom, trying to make out the door lock.

The tree towering above him and the bushes that grew so thickly around this side of the car park helped to blot out any natural light, and he was forced to bend forward to find the lock.

He heard the rustle of leaves, and was about to straighten up.

More crunching of gravel close behind him.

He realized in that split second that he wasn’t alone.

And then the first blow landed.

R
OB FELT A
crashing impact on the back of his head.

The blow was so hard it slammed his head forward, smashing it against the side window of the Audi.

He fell to his knees, the gravel digging into his skin, adding to the pain he already felt. But at least this added pain kept him conscious.

A foot connected hard with his ribs – once, twice.

The breath was torn from him, and he felt a crack as one of his ribs snapped from the force of the kick.

He tried to roll over, tried to clamber to his feet in an effort to protect himself from this sudden assault.

If he could just get up . . .

Something struck him in the face.

He wasn’t sure whether it was a fist or the same object that had clouted him around the back of the head.

Whatever it was, it split his bottom lip and he tasted blood.

Rob shot out a hand to block the next kick aimed at him, and he succeeded in deflecting the worst of the impact, but he shouted out in pain as his little finger was crushed.

With his other hand he clawed at the door handle, trying to pull himself upright, desperate to at least defend himself against this frenzied onslaught.

Another blow caught him in the mouth and shattered a tooth, but he grabbed at the hand that struck him and managed to ensnare the wrist in a vice-like grip. He pulled his assailant towards him, driving his own forehead towards the onrushing face of his attacker.

Rob felt the impact, but heard a satisfying groan from his assailant as he was headbutted.

He had little time to savour his triumph.

Another powerful blow caught him across the bridge of the nose, pulverizing the bone. Blood burst from it, and Rob fell to his knees once again.

He took another kick to the stomach. Then several to the small of the back.

He curled into a foetal position, hands covering his head in an attempt to prevent further damage.

But his attacker seemed to become more incensed by this, and started stamping on his head, on his protecting hands.

Rob was convinced he was going to die.

He was battling to remain conscious while kicks rained in from all directions, mainly aimed at his head now.

Where the fuck was everyone? Why hadn’t someone from inside the pub come to help him?

Blood was pouring down his face, and he felt agonizing pain from his broken finger and rib.

Still the blows rained down, and Rob was beginning to wonder if this madman was ever going to run out of energy.

This madman . . .?

One thought flickered briefly into his head.

Was this the same person who had tried to kill him the previous night?

Was . . .?

The assailant was now stamping on his arm, trying to knock it away from his face.

A kick cracked part of Rob’s bottom jaw. Two teeth spilled onto the gravel as he opened his mouth in pain. The blood that poured from his burst lips and lacerated face looked pitch-black in the gloom.

Rob was losing consciousness.

A particularly powerful kick sent him onto his back.

Like an upturned turtle.

He couldn’t protect himself any longer.

More kicks to his sides and stomach.

He couldn’t focus properly any more. Blood in his eyes. Pain. Fear.

A thunderous kick to his head.

Someone was using his skull like a football.

Something else broke. Another bone shattered.

Rob’s eyes rolled upwards in the sockets.

Darkness . . .

S
HE WAS DREAMING
: that was the only explanation.

Hailey rolled over in bed, trying to force her eyes open. Expecting the residue of her dream to vanish with the intrusion of waking.

She heard the sound again.

The doorbell?

She looked across at the radio alarm: 11.56 p.m.

Hailey was gripped by a feeling of unease.

Who the hell would be ringing her doorbell at this time of night?

Somebody playing a joke?

She was grateful she’d put the security alarm on. She glanced across at the phone beside the bed, thought how easily she could reach it if she needed to.