Part 32 (2/2)

”Blankets,” called Gemma. ”Can someone get blankets?”

”Oh, G.o.d,” whispered Andy. Beneath the blood, his face was ashen. ”I thought she was dead.”

Melody gave his arm a squeeze. ”I think she's okay.” She pointed back at the house. ”Joe. What happened to him?”

”He was- He was waiting. He jumped me, then tried to strangle me. Then Nadine. I stabbed him.” Andy's voice shook. ”Screwdriver. I think it was a Phillips.”

More smoke rolled out the door. Dread clutched at Melody. ”Gemma, come on. We can't wait for the fire brigade or the medics. Andy, you stay with Nadine. We've got to get Joe out or he'll burn.”

”Melody, no.” Andy grabbed her arm. ”You can't go back in. It's not safe!”

”I can't leave him. I'll be all right.” She gave him what she hoped was a rea.s.suring smile, then followed Gemma.

Sirens wailed in the distance, but Melody didn't know how long it would take the emergency vehicles to get through the traffic, and even when they did, they wouldn't be able to get down the hill.

”b.l.o.o.d.y steps,” said Gemma as they reached the bottom. She paused for a moment, then slipped out of her coat and threw it over the first couple of risers. ”But I'm not leaving Joe Peterson in that house. If he's murdered two people and almost killed a third or a fourth, I d.a.m.ned well want him to stand trial.”

Melody's old down coat covered the rest of the risers. They tamped the fabric down, then climbed the steps and ducked back in the door, locating Joe as much by memory as by sight. The smoke was heavier now, the heat fierce.

”Get one shoulder. I'll get the other. We'll have to drag him,” said Gemma through a strangled cough. Melody's eyes were stinging.

Joe was whimpering, but when they got their arms under his shoulders and began to pull him towards the door, he screamed, then started to struggle and swear at them.

”It hurts, it hurts. You b.i.t.c.hes! You're killing me.” Even with their arms under his shoulders, he managed to reach for the handle of the screwdriver that they could now see protruding from his gut. A dark, wet patch surrounded it and Melody could smell blood beneath the smoke. ”Get it out!” he screamed as Melody yanked his arm back.

”Don't be an idiot. You want to bleed to death? Leave it alone.” She and Gemma backed out as fast as they could, and when they were out the door there were again helping hands to transfer him down the steps.

”Careful, careful,” Gemma said. ”Move him as little as possible.”

In the light, Melody could see that Joe's face was contorted with pain, his lips drawn back from his teeth in a feral snarl.

The sirens were close now. When she looked up, she saw blue lights flas.h.i.+ng at the top of the street and welcome figures in blazing safety-green jackets moving down the hill.

Her cheeks felt scorched and her knees were threatening to buckle. Leaving others to tend to Joe Peterson, she stepped back, searching for Andy.

Turning, she saw him sitting on the far curb, his face still a smear of blood, a blanket-wrapped Nadine huddled in the curve of his arms. Then their figures were obscured by the whirl of snow and ash.

The first ambulance had taken Joe Peterson, the second, Nadine. Andy, protesting, had also been transported to Casualty at King's College Hospital in a panda car, to have his head wound cleaned and treated.

The fire brigade had managed to run hose down from Westow Hill. They'd kept the fire from spreading to the neighboring houses, but the flat itself was gutted. Gemma hoped the new owners had been well insured.

Having had to abandon Melody's Clio, which was well and truly stuck on Westow Hill, she and Melody had been given a lift-a very slow lift-to the hospital in one of the area cars. In the hospital toilet, Gemma scrubbed the soot from her face and hands and brushed her hair, but there was no way she was going to disguise the smell of smoke emanating from her clothes. She'd have to explain when she got home, and Duncan was not going to be happy when he learned she'd run-twice-into a burning building. Oh, well.

She came back into the waiting area to find Melody looking pale and exhausted. ”Are you all right?” she asked.

”All's well that ends well, isn't it?” Melody tucked a slightly singed bit of hair behind her ear and smiled, but Gemma could see that her heart wasn't in it.

”Andy's going to be all right.”

”I know,” Melody answered, not meeting her gaze. ”Should we see him first?”

”No. I think we should talk to Nadine. There are still some things I don't understand.”

Nadine Drake had been treated for heavy bruising on her throat, but the A and E staff had informed Gemma that she was not seriously injured and could be interviewed.

Joe Peterson would not be answering questions any time soon. He was being prepped for surgery to determine the extent of the damage from his abdominal wound.

They found Nadine in a curtained cubicle, sitting, propped up on a gurney. As they entered, an aide was spreading another warmed blanket over her. ”She's still a little shocked and cold,” the aide told them. ”And her throat's very sore, so don't stay long.”

It was Gemma's first real look at Nadine. Even with her dark hair still stringy and damp from the snow, and her face pale from shock and streaked with ash, she was lovely. Full lips, a straight nose, high cheekbones-it was the sort of face that aged well. But it was her eyes that held Gemma. Deep and dark, they held intelligence, pain, and, even now, a flash of humor.

Looking up, she gave Gemma and Melody a tentative smile. ”I think I have you two to thank,” she said, her voice hoa.r.s.e. ”And Andy. Are you sure he's all right?”

”He's fine,” Gemma told her. ”He's just having the cut on his head seen to. It looks much worse than it is. Now.” She pulled up a plastic chair, although Melody remained standing by the curtains. ”Nadine-do you mind if I call you Nadine?-I think I understand part of what happened today. Andy got a note purporting to be from you, but it was actually from Joe Peterson, in an attempt to lure him to a place where he could be easily attacked. What I don't know is how you came to be there, too.”

”I followed him. Andy, I mean, not Joe. I didn't know about Joe. I still can't quite believe it.” Nadine sipped some water from a straw in a plastic cup and cleared her throat. ”I asked in Denmark Street this morning until someone told me where Andy was recording. On my way there, I saw him walking along Westow Hill. I wasn't certain he'd gone to the old house, but then I saw the flames . . . ”

Pausing, she sipped more water, then shook her head and sank back against the pillow. ”Andy could have been killed. We both could have been killed. And none of this would have happened if I hadn't come back to England,” she added, her voice catching. ”I thought I'd put that part of my life behind me, everything that had happened years ago. But being in London again . . . It began to prey on me. I-” Nadine swallowed and closed her eyes. When she opened them again, Gemma almost looked away from the raw regret in her gaze. ”I felt so guilty for abandoning Andy without so much as a good-bye. I knew he was a child at risk, that his mother couldn't care for him, and yet I-I failed him. And myself. That haunted me for years. So when I first saw his name in the window of the club in Denmark Street, I couldn't believe it. I felt so lost here, and that thread from the past seemed . . . ” She sighed. ”A sign, I suppose. I convinced myself that was why I'd been brought back to London, to make amends. I started to follow the band's gigs. I just wanted to speak to him once, to say I was sorry and to see if he was all right.”

”So it was Andy you went to see at the White Stag on Friday night?” asked Gemma. ”Not Vincent Arnott?”

”G.o.d, no, not Arnott.” Nadine shuddered. ”I couldn't believe it when I saw him drinking at the bar. I thought I was delusional. I still wasn't certain it was him until there was some sort of scuffle, then he-Arnott-went over and started shouting at Andy.”

She stopped and Gemma waited, not prompting her. The murmurs and clinks of the busy hospital ward flowed around them.

How long had it been, Gemma wondered, since Nadine had talked to anyone about her past-if ever? Guy, her boss in Paris, had seemed unaware of her reasons for leaving England.

”There was a girl,” continued Nadine, after some more water. ”Maybe in her early twenties. On her own. I watched him start to chat her up and I felt sick. That sanctimonious b.a.s.t.a.r.d. And I was angry, so angry that I couldn't think of anything else then, not even Andy. He-Arnott-all those years ago, made me out to be some sort of pervert, a violator of children, when I'd done nothing, nothing but try to be a good teacher. And there he was, trying to seduce a child.”

”What did you do?” Gemma asked softly when Nadine fell silent.

”I had to stop him. The girl was laughing, flattered. When she went to the loo, I went after her. I told her I knew him and that I'd just seen his wife come in, looking ready to kill. The girl ran out of the pub after that like a rabbit, and I'm sure Arnott had no idea what had happened to his conquest.”

”So you . . . consoled him . . . ”

Nadine nodded. ”I'd had a bit too much to drink by then. False courage. I only meant to let him make a play, then I was going to laugh at him, humiliate him. But then he . . . he treated me like a common tart. As if I should be grateful for his attention. And he-I could tell he didn't recognize me.” She bunched the hospital blankets between her hands. ”After everything he'd done to ruin my life, I was n.o.body. n.o.body! That was the worst thing.”

”So when he suggested the hotel-”

”I had to see what he meant to do. I wanted to prove that he was the one who was the pervert.” Nadine leaned forward, still clutching the blankets, her voice rasping with the effort of speaking. ”He had me wait at the fire door while he got a room. The place was disgusting, but it was obvious he'd been there often. Once in the room, he undressed and asked me to tie him up. I did what he asked. He was-enjoying it. It was-vile.” Her face grew paler and she hesitated before going on. ”I played along. I used my scarf to gag him. Then I had him turn over, facing me, and I told him it was part of our little game.” Nadine swallowed again, coughed, and took a deep rasping breath. ”Then-Then I stood there, looking down at him, and I told him I hoped he'd enjoy explaining himself to the hotel staff in the morning. The expression on his face . . . I felt such triumph. He still had no idea who I was, or what he had done to me, but possibly for the first time in his life, he had no control. And I just-walked out. It seemed like the ultimate revenge.” She lifted a shoulder in a gesture that seemed particularly French.

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