She finally stopped, facing the little window again – breathless and euphoric. And for a moment she and the young woman stared at each other in perfect understanding of the universe and their place within it, which was everywhere—
Then Anna doubled over in sudden agony and dropped to her knees.
‘Water,’ she croaked. ‘Water!’
Emily Aguda leaped up from her chair and shouted for help and barrelled through the security door as fast as she could to help the crazy woman.
But by the time she reached her side, Anna Buck was dying.
19
ANNA BUCK WAS dying.
She was curled on her side like an old corpse in a lifeboat, eyes sinking, lips cracking, a yellow pallor spreading across her skin.
‘Water,’ she whispered.
‘Get her some water!’ Emily yelled it straight at the liar with the cut on his head. The man looked blank, so she pointed at the door marked Gentlemen. ‘In there! Quick!’
He bounced off his bench in startled obedience and hurried through the door.
‘All of you!’ she shouted at the rest. ‘Help him!’ and the whole lot of them – guilty and innocent alike – leaped to their feet like soldiers and trooped into the loo after the first man.
Two more officers banged through the security doors and knelt beside Anna with a defibrillator and a first-aid kit.
‘What happened?’ said one.
‘I don’t know. She was in a kind of trance, and then she fell over and started asking for water. She looks terrible. She didn’t look this terrible before. Thirty seconds ago she looked OK! This is mad!’
Anna Buck stared past her at the ceiling, but her lips were moving and Emily bent close so she could hear her.
‘Eighty-eight,’ she whispered.
Emily looked up but there was nothing there. ‘Eighty-eight what?’ she said.
‘Water,’ the woman croaked, and closed her eyes.
‘What the bloody hell is going on here?’
Marvel was already in a bad mood because of Mitzi Clyde, and had come all the way downstairs to give a public bollocking to that bitch on the front desk.
Aguda.
How dare she hang up on him? How dare she? And who else had she told about Mitzi? Was she down there now, laughing about it? Sharing it with the bloody peanut gallery? The cheeky little cow. Well, now she was going to get what was coming to her; he’d report her to the super for insubordination and put a nice dent in her future.
He’d run down the stairs, too angry to stand still in the lift, and by the time he’d hit the ground floor he had worked up a real head of steam. It was ages since he’d been this angry with anyone, and he was looking forward to venting his rage on a target that couldn’t hit back.
But all hell had broken loose in the foyer.
Two officers were kneeling next to a thin woman who was sitting awkwardly on the linoleum floor in a widening pool of water. There was a defibrillator unit off to one side, not being used, and a steady line of people hurrying to and from the toilets with little paper cups. Not police officers, but civilians – four men in jeans and hoodies, a woman with tattoo sleeves and a ring in her nose, an elderly man in a homburg hat, even a local burglar called Dickie Dixon, who had a cut on his head.
Aguda was directing operations – whipping the line into speedier action like the drummer on a slave ship. As each person handed their cup to her, she passed it to the woman on the floor, who gulped it so fast it splashed over her shoulders and down her T-shirt, then held out her hand for the next, while the first cup was returned to the water porter, who hurried back to the toilets for a refill, slipping and sliding on the spillage, but never daring to stop while the drummer urged them on.
Marvel was stunned. It was like a bizarre game-show that everyone knew how to play but him.
‘What’s going on?’ he demanded of Aguda.
‘This is the lady who wanted to see you, sir. She had a funny turn. She needed some water.’
Marvel looked around the foyer. Some water? This wasn’t some water. This was madness!
But he said nothing. He just stood back and watched in amazement as the thin woman continued to suck down water, soaking herself and those near her in her desperation.
Slowly the gulping got more measured, the spillage reduced, the line slowed and finally stopped. The line of random helpers backed up. They maintained formation though, hovering anxiously in case their services were needed again, each carefully holding a paper cup, like choirboys with candles, while WPC Aguda controlled them with a hand, a look, a presence.
The woman on the floor handed the last half-full cup to one of the officers and said, ‘Thank you,’ and then burst into tears.
It was only then that DCI Marvel recognized her.
The girl on the bridge, looking down between her shoes at the glistening rails. Crying.
Small world, he thought irritably.
The water line broke up slowly, and its constituent parts went back to the benches, talking quietly among themselves. A couple remained standing, watching Anna Buck with concern. All had oddly bonded. ‘Well done, everyone,’ said WPC Aguda quietly. ‘Thank you all for your help.’
She had done a good job, Marvel noted grudgingly. He’d save the bollocking for another time.
The two officers helped Anna Buck to her unsteady feet, holding her elbows. She stared around her with dazed eyes, not recognizing him even though he’d once saved her life.
Marvel bent and picked up a photograph a few feet away. It was swimming in water, and he shook it at arm’s length so that droplets flicked off the corners.
‘Don’t touch him!’
Marvel froze, but the girl wasn’t talking to him. She was shouting at the big woman with the tattoos and the nose ring, who was reaching into the buggy.
‘Don’t touch my baby!’ she yelled. She tried to shrug off the two police officers holding her arms, but their instinct was to tighten their grip, and they held her fast.
Aguda spoke soothingly. ‘It’s OK. She’s not going to hurt him, Mrs Buck, calm down.’