The old man shrugged. “I’ve only just got here, pal.”
“He left about ten minutes ago,” said the barmaid, coming back with the second pint Andrew had ordered from her. “Hit the booze pretty hard for an hour or so and then went on his way.”
“Do you know where he went?”
Steph shook her head. “Never said more than a couple words to me the whole time he was here. What you want with him anyway?”
“I’m going to kill him.” Andrew said bluntly. He let the words linger in the air for a moment and realised that he had shocked the others into silence. Maybe they didn’t think he was serious, so he elaborated. “And I’m going to do it tonight.”
“What for?” the barmaid asked in a way that seemed like she was merely humouring him.
Andrew was happy to tell her the truth, though, despite her lack of belief. “Because last night Dom helped murder my wife and put my daughter in hospital. He did it for kicks.”
Steph stared at him hard. She was trying to work him out, to see if he was serious or just one of the regular whackjobs that were par for the course of a barmaid’s job.
“You really don’t know where he went?” Andrew said.
Steph shook her head. “I’m sorry. Even if I did know, I wouldn’t help you commit murder.”
Andrew understood and thanked her anyway, got off his stool and begun to walk away. He stopped when Old Graham reached out and touched him.
“Are you telling the truth?” the old man asked him.
Andrew nodded.
“What are you doing, Graham?” Steph grunted from behind the bar.
The old man sighed back at her, but continued speaking to Andrew. “I don’t know where he was heading, pal, but he took a phone call just before he left.”
Andrew nodded. “And?”
“I didn’t hear most of what he was saying – he was upset and angry – but I did hear him say something about a hospital.”
Andrew’s stomach boiled hot with acidic fear and threatened to expel its contents all over the worn carpet. Jordan was dead, which meant that his brother, Dom, would have only one reason to revisit the hospital and only one thing on his mind.
He’s going to go after Bex; pay me back for what I did to his brother. The person on the phone was probably Frankie, egging him on – eager to have a potential witness dealt with. I have to get there first.
Andrew turned and addressed the barmaid. “He’s going after my daughter. Please, call the hospital and tell them that Rebecca Goodman is in danger. Rebecca Goodman, you got that?”
The barmaid just stood there, befuddled.
Andrew shouted at her. “Just do it!” Then he turned and fled, barging through the pub’s main door without stopping to acknowledge the pain that shot through his ribs. The rain had gotten ferocious in the short time he was in the pub and it now hit Andrew’s skin with enough force to sting.
Andrew stopped at the bottom of the pub’s steps and allowed himself a brief second to consider his options. He needed to get to the hospital as quickly as possible, but he was at least three miles away, with no car. There was a bus route nearby but Andrew had no idea how regular it was or even where it went to.
What do I do? What do I do?
A taxi would be the quickest option but he’d still have to wait for it to arrive. He couldn’t take the risk of it turning up late. There was only one solution that seemed viable right now: Andrew would have to race back home and get to his car.
He started to run, dodging over rain-filled divots and cracked paving stones. Breathlessness came quickly, forcing a stitch into his side that merged with the pain of his stab wound, but he had to keep going. Each second he took was a second that his daughter might not have.
He ran as fast as his legs would take him.
He ran until his chest was near-bursting, his wounded side bleeding.