A Traitor to Memory

Barbara felt she could leave at that point, and she was doing so—indeed, she was out in front of the hospital and sussing out what buses, if any, served Fulham Palace Road—when she saw that she was standing in front of Charing Cross Hospital, where Superintendent Webberly was a patient. She ducked back inside.

On the eleventh floor, she waylaid a nurse just outside the intensive care ward. Critical and unchanged were the words the nurse used to describe the superintendent's condition, from which Barbara inferred that he was still in a coma, still on life support, and still in so much danger of so many further complications that praying for his recovery seemed as risky a business as thinking about the possibility of his death. When people were struck by cars, when they sustained injuries to the brain, more often than not they emerged from the crisis radically altered. Barbara didn't know if she wished such a change upon her superior officer. She didn't want him to die. She dreaded the thought of it. But she couldn't imagine him caught up in months or years of torturous convalescence.

She said to the nurse, “Is his family with him? I'm one of the officers investigating what happened. I've news for them. If they'd like to hear it, that is.”

The nurse eyed Barbara doubtfully. Barbara sighed and fished out her warrant card. The nurse squinted at it and said, “Wait here, then,” leaving Barbara waiting to see what would happen next.

Barbara expected AC Hillier to emerge from the ward, but instead it was Webberly's daughter who came to greet her. Miranda looked just about done in, but she smiled and said, “Barbara! Hello! How very good of you to come. You can't still be on duty at this hour.”

Barbara said, “We've made an arrest. Will you tell your dad? I mean, I know he can't hear you or anything … Still, you know …”

“Oh, but he can hear,” Miranda said.

Barbara's hopes rose. “He's come out of it?”

“No. Not that. But the doctors say that people in comas can hear what's being said round them. And he'll certainly want to know that you've caught who hit him, won't he?”

“How is he?” Barbara asked. “I talked to a nurse, but I couldn't get much. Just that there wasn't any change yet.”

Miranda smiled, but it seemed a response that was generated to soothe Barbara's worries more than a reflection of what the girl herself was feeling. “There isn't, really. But he hasn't had another heart attack, which everyone considers a very good sign. So far he's been stable, and we're … well, we're very hopeful. Yes. We're quite hopeful.”

Her eyes were too bright, too frightened. Barbara wanted to tell Miranda that she had no need to play the part for her sake, but she understood that the girl's attempt at optimism was more for herself than anyone else. She said, “Then I'll be hopeful as well. We all will. D'you need anything?”

“Oh gosh, no. At least, I don't think so. I did come from Cambridge in a terrible rush and I've left a paper behind that I have due for a supervision. But that's not till next week and perhaps by then … Well, perhaps.”

“Yeah. Perhaps.”

Footsteps coming along the corridor diverted their attention. They turned to see AC Hillier and his wife approaching. Between them, they were supporting Frances Webberly.

Miranda cried out, “Mum!”

“Randie,” Frances said. “Randie, darling …”

Miranda said again, “Mum! I'm so glad. Oh, Mum.” She went to her and hugged her long and hard. And then, perhaps feeling a weight lifting off her that she should never have had to bear in the first place, she began to cry. She said, “The doctors said if he has another heart attack, he might … He really might—”

“Hush. Yes,” Frances Webberly said, her cheek pressed against her daughter's hair. “Take me in to see Daddy, won't you, dear? We'll sit with him together.”

When Miranda and her mother had gone through the door, AC Hillier said to his wife, “Stay with them, Laura. Please. Make sure …” and nodded meaningfully. Laura Hillier followed them.

The AC eyed Barbara with a degree less than his usual level of disapproval. She became acutely aware of her clothing. She'd been doing her best to stay out of his way for months now, and when she'd known she'd be running into him, she'd always managed to dress with that expectation in mind. But now … She felt her high-top red trainers take on neon proportions, and the green stirrup trousers she'd donned that morning seemed only marginally less inappropriate.

She said, “We've made the arrest, sir. I thought I'd come to tell—”

“Leach phoned me.” Hillier walked to a door across the corridor and inclined his head at it. She was meant to follow. When they were inside what turned out to be a waiting room, he went to a sofa and sank into it. For the first time, Barbara noted how tired he looked, and she realised he'd been on family duty since the middle of the previous night. Her guard slipped a notch at this thought. Hillier had always seemed superhuman.

He said, “Good work, Barbara. Both of you.”

She said cautiously, “Thank you, sir,” and waited for what would happen next.