The beatrice stubbs boxs.., p.46
The Beatrice Stubbs Boxset Two, page 46
Adrian couldn’t leave Beatrice, Daan couldn’t leave Mink. So they compromised. Daan left for Hamburg while Adrian stayed the night in the hospital’s accommodation for relatives, sharing a narrow single bed with the flatulent husky. Other than walking the dog, he spent his time at Beatrice’s bedside, arguing.
In spite of the stitches down her forehead, half her head obscured by a bandage and her arm in a cast, her stubborn defiance did not waver. She refused to let him talk to Matthew.
“If I was him, I’d want to know,” Adrian insisted.
“No. He can’t do anything from Devon and God knows I don’t want him travelling all the way up here. I’m fine. I’ll be out tomorrow or the next day. This looks worse than it is.”
“Well, it looks terrible.”
“Thank you. Adrian, please let me deal with this my way. I promise I’ll talk to Matthew. But I’m going to play this down and you may not contradict me, do you hear? Go and visit Holger then get back to London. Once they’ve done the scan, I’ll follow you. I want to see Holger myself and apologise in person.”
“Me too.”
Daan returned on Monday afternoon with positive news about Holger’s condition and they switched places. Adrian prepared to depart for Hamburg, leaving Daan in charge of his obstreperous neighbour who insisted on getting out of bed and trundling around the hospital at every opportunity.
It was a strange farewell. In such a short time, this huge hairy man and his beautiful dog had become his close friends. On the station platform, he dug his fingers into the thick ruff of hair around Mink’s neck and scratched. She leaned into him, her back leg kicking. With one last stroke of her muzzle and a look into her trusting china blue eyes, he said goodbye.
Daan had obviously spotted the welling tears and saved them both embarrassment by opening his arms for a hug.
“Come back in the summer. We’re going to rebuild the house. Me, Holger and Joachim. Another pair of hands would be very welcome. Plus I never did give you the island tour.”
“I will. I don’t need asking twice. In fact, I’m already looking forward to it.”
Daan released him and looked down at Mink. “She’s going to miss you. So am I. Look after yourself, OK?”
“You too. Take care of Beatrice for me.”
“Don’t worry, you can trust me. See you in the summer! And Adrian?”
“What?”
“When you come back, can you bring me a Cornish pasty?”
As the train pulled away, Adrian strained to catch the very last glimpse of the hairy pair on the platform. Daan was still waving.
Chapter 31
How to look hot when seeing the most handsome man in the world? Head partially shaved with cumbersome bandage, stitches down forehead, left arm in sling and burnt-off eyelashes. In the grand cinematic tradition, set in the monochrome romance of a German railway station, Beatrice imagined Clark Gable meeting the Bride of Frankenstein.
Unlike all the other passengers on the train, Jan Stein didn’t flinch when he saw her. He was waiting at the end of the platform, looking chiselled and elegant in a long grey coat. When he spotted her, he smiled and came to take her suitcase. He didn’t even attempt a greeting over the constant noise of the Hauptbahnhof and simply guided her outside to his car. Once the door closed, he turned to look at her, his stare unreadable.
“Last time we spoke, you asked me to call you Beatrice Bloody Fool. Then you left for Sylt, alone and without back-up, to walk straight into a life-threatening situation which left one person dead and another seriously injured. Every single judgement call you made earns you the name Beatrice Bloody Fool ten times over.”
Beatrice lay back against the headrest, too tired even for sarcasm. “You’re right and I’m sorry. You can call me all the names you want and I’ll accept every one. Thank you for meeting me.”
“You’re welcome. How’s your head?”
She touched her bandage. “Bit of a mess.”
“Inside or out?”
“Both. Can I go and see Holger now?”
He drove through the city with no questions, no probing glances, no more comments on her behaviour. The silence acted as an unguent, soothing and healing.
She was the first to speak. “I don’t suppose there’s any news of the art collector?”
Stein gave her a sideways smile.
“There is?”
“Yes, there is. Tomas never gives up. Dutch police analysed all the communications logged by the art theft ‘agency’. The collector was using various re-routing IP addresses to hide his tracks. One was in St Petersburg, and another in Amsterdam.”
Beatrice snapped her head up and wished she hadn’t. “De Vries!”
“You’re spoiling my story. Tomas remembered what you said in your report about de Vries and his business interests in Russia. He passed the information on to Meyer. This time, Meyer took him seriously. The BKA followed up that line of enquiry and Dutch intelligence forces made an arrest early this morning. Geert de Vries is an art dealer in more ways than one. He has a private gallery filled with stolen artwork on his country estate in Amersfoort. Some but not all of the paintings have been recovered.”
“What an absolute swine! Getting his own paintings stolen, claiming insurance and then selfishly depriving anyone else of the pleasure. His greed beggars belief. Will the Köbels get their picture back?”
“I don’t know yet. I have no information on which paintings they seized. But I hope so.”
“So do I.” Beatrice wondered if that sweet woman’s blank face might react to seeing her favourite picture again.
Stein continued. “Not only that, but Waring has agreed to a plea bargain and given a full statement, implicating seven other high-profile businessmen in arranging to have their own artworks stolen. It seems we lifted the lid on an international operation. Red faces from here to Washington.”
“But bloody Waring weasels his way out of a jail sentence by squealing on everyone else?”
“He’ll serve a few months, I expect. Somewhere comfortable.”
Beatrice snorted and looked out at the city streets, the sparkling shop windows, Christmas lights and shoppers. For the first time since her arrival, she missed the familiarity of London, of Matthew, even of Hamilton.
She spoke. “Human nature still surprises me.”
“Me too. Which is why we need people like Tomas, Margrit and Rudi. They still have a lust for justice.”
Beatrice studied his fixed expression and accepted the confidence without question. She thought of DS Pearce and his intellect, Dawn and her sympathy, Ranga and his open mind, all battling the endless effluent of London’s underground.
As if reading her mind, Stein spoke. “I booked you on the 16.40 flight to London City. I can take you to the airport when you’ve finished at the hospital.”
“That’s kind of you. But a detective has better things to do with his time than ferry me around. I’ll call a cab when I’m ready.”
He didn’t speak for several minutes. “Do you want to tell me what happened at Daan’s house, or would you rather not talk about it?”
“We don’t have the whole story yet,” she sighed. “Current theory is Patricia Waldmann got into the house via Daan’s not-so-secret key and switched on the gas rings in the kitchen while Adrian and Daan were asleep. Whether she intended to cause carbon monoxide poisoning or create an explosion, we don’t know. The dog woke them and they got out the back door. They ran down to the beach and Daan called the emergency services from his boat. A taxi dropped Holger and me at the end of the lane and we saw a fire on the beach. We assumed it was them and I stopped at the top of the steps to call Adrian. I sent...” she clenched her teeth and swallowed. “I sent Holger down to the house. Patricia was hiding behind the garage. I actually saw her face. Frightened the life out of me. Then she attacked Holger. The gas ignited and the house exploded, burning Holger, injuring me and killing Patricia.”
Stein shook his head. “Why did she want to kill Daan and Adrian?”
Beatrice sighed more deeply. “God only knows.”
The Mercedes finally peeled out of the traffic and into the hospital drive. Stein reversed into a parking bay and switched off the engine. “I’m happy to wait. I’d like to make sure...”
“... I leave the country? I promise I’ll go this time. Thank you, really, but a taxi will be fine.”
He came round to open her door and helped her heave herself gracelessly out. She extended her right hand.
“Thank you. For everything.”
He took her hand and reached for her shoulder, his fingers squeezing gently yet with a particular pressure. “Please take good care of yourself, Beatrice. We need to keep you.” Leaning closer, he brushed his lips against both her cheeks. “Goodbye. Or better, Auf Wiedersehen. Till we see each other again?”
He held her gaze and the magnetic pull of those eyes might have drawn her closer, had she not caught sight of her reflection in the glass doors of the hospital behind him.
“Yes, Auf Wiedersehen sounds about right.” She dragged herself and her suitcase away.
She’d expected worse. A tent lay over Holger’s legs and gauze bandages covered the lower parts of his arms. Tubes snaked under the sheets and he appeared to be hooked up to an extraordinary number of monitors. One ear and the left side of his face looked raw and painful but his eyes and smile were as genuine as ever.
She couldn’t speak at first, pressing her fingers to her mouth, holding back tears which were both inconvenient and painful.
“I want to hug you,” she said. “But I can’t see a safe place to touch.”
His voice was hoarse and breathless. “There isn’t one. Virtual hug?” Holger raised his arms and shoulders a few millimetres but she could see it cost him considerable effort.
She embraced the air in front of her. “I can’t tell you how relieved I am to see you. We were all so worried.”
He indicated his throat and pointed to a thin tablet computer on a side table. She passed it to him and watched him use one finger to type. When he’d finished, he turned the screen to her.
The specialist says I will be fine. It is going to take some time and I don’t want to think about what I would do without morphine. My worst fear was that I had permanently damaged my hands, which is not the case. There will be some scar tissue but I will be able to use them and that is the important thing. What about you?
Beatrice sat on the visitor’s chair and pointed to her bandage. “Fifteen stitches and a fractured ulna, plus a few other bangs and scrapes. Good news is it gets me off work for a week. I should have been back in the office this morning.”
He typed some more, his eyes reddening.
Beatrice, I am so sorry. I want to apologise to you, Adrian and Daan for this whole stupid, ugly mess.
“This mess is not your fault. You can’t blame yourself. Your sister is not your responsibility. For her own twisted reasons she wanted to destroy you all, so she alone bears the guilt.”
He shook his head and spoke. “She tried to save me.”
“Holger, she attacked you!”
He shook his head again and typed. In a way she was glad of the enforced wait for a reply. It gave her time to control her temper.
No. She stopped me from going into the house. When she screamed, I turned around. She was dressed in black so all I saw was a white face coming at me. I stepped backwards and fell over. She helped me up and pushed me behind the Jeep. All the time she was hissing at me to get away. When the blast came, her body took most of the impact. That’s why I’m still here and she is not.
Beatrice chose not to argue. Painkillers could do funny things to the brain and even if the woman was an attempted murderer, she was still his sister. Her own speech, apologising for mistrusting him, now seemed surplus to requirements.
“You’ve seen Daan and Adrian, I gather? How was that?”
Half his face smiled.
Emotional! My family visited too. They said Daan and Mink should live in our place on Sylt over the winter. After I get out of hospital, I am going there to recover. My brother and I are going to help Daan build a new house, in spring, when the weather improves. Adrian plans to take a holiday and join us. I think the four of us could make a good team.
He’d added a smiley at the end. Beatrice touched a finger to his unburnt cheek, the only gesture of affection which would not cause him pain.
“Four men and a dog. Sounds wonderful. Will you invite me to the house-warming? Sorry, poor choice of phrase. How about a Phoenix Party?”
He lifted a hand in a gesture of triumph and rasped, “You can be Guest of Honour.”
Chapter 32
The taxi driver who took her the final leg of the journey, from London City Airport home to Boot Street, was a wellspring of advice. The best thing for bruising was to drink pineapple juice. He should know. Twice he’d been beaten up while working nights and the last time, he tried pineapple juice. Bruises faded almost overnight. Like a charm. Beatrice should try it. She promised she would.
As she paid him and waited for her receipt, she noticed with surprise and disappointment Adrian’s windows were unlit. He’d sent her a text last night to assure her of his safe arrival, so there was no call for alarm, but she’d been looking forward to a debrief and a hot dinner. He was probably still catching up at the shop. It was not yet seven o’clock. She asked the driver to leave her case in the hallway, exhausted at the thought of trying to heave it upstairs one-handed. She tipped him and trudged up to her flat.
Bless Adrian. He’d collected all her post, put the heating on and watered the plants. She opened the fridge. And to crown it all, he’d bought milk. She made a cup of tea and sat back on the sofa, savouring the sense of peace and sanctuary. Her head and neck throbbed so she lifted the weight of the sling from her shoulders and rested her cast in her lap. Just for this evening, she would ignore the pile of letters, overlook the blinking light on the answer phone and forget her promise to Dawn to phone as soon as she got home. All of it could wait till tomorrow.
Everything except Matthew. She reached for the landline, grateful it was not her right arm in plaster, about to press speed dial 1.
From the dining-table, her mobile rang. Great minds think alike. She got to her feet in anticipation, but the caller display showed Rangarajan Jalan. She answered.
“Hello, Ranga.”
“Beatrice, I heard about your accident. How are you?”
“Could be worse. Bashed about a bit and totally shattered but glad to be home in my own flat.”
“You’re home already? I wasn’t sure if you were fit to travel. Did your neighbour come home with you?”
“Adrian flew back yesterday.”
“I mean is he with you now? Is someone there to take care of you?”
“No, but I’m fine, Ranga, really. I’m relieved to be alone and enjoying my own company.”
There was a pause. “The reason for my concern is that I have some bad news and despite the awkward timing, I wanted to let you know personally.”
“What do you mean, bad news?” Beatrice’s mind seemed to seize up entirely, incapable of even fearing the worst.
“Superintendent Hamilton passed away this weekend.”
She sat down with a thump, jolting her arm. “Hamilton is dead?”
“A terrible shock for us all, I know.”
“He told me he was seriously ill, but I had no idea it would be so soon.”
“None of us did, except for him. Beatrice, he chose the timing. Hamilton ended his life at a clinic in Switzerland on Friday.”
Beatrice’s skin cooled. “Friday? So he came to say goodbye,” she whispered.
“Sorry?”
Tears stung her eyes and her face grew hot and swollen. “He came to Hamburg on Thursday. We had dinner. He told me about his illness and mentioned taking some time out. I assumed it was a holiday.”
“Beatrice, are you sure you’re OK?”
She swallowed. “I should have realised. It’s classic Hamilton, controlling to the last. Literally.” Her voice lacked any bass tones.
“Everyone said the same thing. Myself included. I only wish he’d given us the opportunity to say goodbye. At least to say thank you. But you’re right, this is classic Hamilton. As always, he did things his own way.”
She sniffed and dug in her pocket for a tissue. “What happens now?”
“Chief Super asked me to act up over Christmas and the board will make some decisions in January. Beatrice?”
“What?”
“Both our names are on the table as replacements. Can we talk about it, just between us, before the end of the year?”
She held the receiver away while she blew her nose.
“Of course. I think that’s best. Thing is, I’ll be in Devon over the Christmas holidays but let’s ring-fence a breakfast meeting on the first Monday back to work.”
“Perfect. Thank you. Listen, I don’t know when you plan to leave for Devon, but there’s a memorial service for Hamilton on Friday. Eleven o’clock. Sharp.”
She released a snort of tearful laughter at Ranga’s use of Hamilton-speak. “I’ll be there. Thanks for letting me know, Ranga. Goodnight.”
The desire for solitude instantly transformed itself into the opposite. Beatrice became a communicator. She made a series of calls.
Reassuring Matthew she was well.
“Ready whenever you are and already steeling myself. Worse or better than the incident in Vitoria?”
“Worse, I’m afraid. Fractured ulna. You’ll have to peel all the parsnips.”
“So long as you are here with me and supervising the Christmas pud, I’m sure we’ll muddle along. I miss you, Old Thing. ”
Exchanging shocked exclamations with Dawn.
“Nope, not a bloody clue. Board must have known as he’d helped them choose a successor. Cooper’s talking about organising a wreath from the whole team – want to contribute?”
“Of course I do. I’m officially on sick leave, but can we have lunch on Wednesday?”
