Her tone cleared his head. She was saying to him, “…uniforms down here, round the clock, wherever he is, wherever they move him. Christ, what a cock-up. I bloody well told him not to approach.”
He noticed that she was wringing her hands and he thought inanely how he’d never seen someone do that although he’d read the expression often enough in books as an indication of someone’s anxiety. Doubtless, she’d be feeling anxiety in spades. The Metropolitan police in pursuit of someone who ends up in hospital? No matter that they were identifying themselves as they pursued him. It wouldn’t play that way in the newspapers, and she’d know that. She would also know that the ultimate head to roll-if it came down to it-was going to be hers.
The doors opened. Philip Hale came in, his expression distraught. Sweat made rivulets from his temples and beaded on his forehead. He’d removed his jacket. His shirt clung to his body.
Ardery moved. She had him by the arm and then against the wall and she was inches from his face before he had even noted her location in the room. She hissed, “Do you ever bloody listen? I told you not to approach the man.”
“Guv, I didn’t-”
“If we lose him, Philip, you’re taking the blame. I’ll see to it personally.”
“But, guv-”
“Under review, in the dock, in the box. Whatever it takes to get your attention because when I say you are not to approach a suspect, I do not sodding mean anything else, so you tell me-you God damn bloody tell me, Philip-which part of that you didn’t understand because we’ve got a man who’s been hit by a car and likely to die and if you think anyone’s about to let this go and pretend it didn’t happen, then you’d better have another God damn think about the matter and you’d better do it now.”
The DI glanced Lynley’s way. There could not be, Lynley knew, a better cop and more decent person than Philip Hale. Given an order, he’d follow it to the letter, which was what he’d done and all of them knew it.
Hale said, “Something spooked him, guv. One moment he was playing the violin and the next he was on the run. I don’t know why. I swear to God-”
“You swear to God, do you?” She shook his arm. Lynley could see the tension in her fingers, and her grasp had to be a raw one because the tips of her fingers were red and the skin beneath her nails had gone crimson. “Oh, that’s very pretty, Philip. Step onto the pitch. Take responsibility. I’ve no time for men who snivel like-”
“Guv,” Lynley intervened quietly. “That’ll do.”
Ardery’s eyes widened. He saw that she’d eaten the lipstick from her mouth and what replaced it for colour on her face were two circles of red fury high on her cheeks. Before she could reply, he said to her urgently, “We need to get to his brother and let him know what’s happened.”
She began to speak and he added, “We don’t want him to hear this from a news report. We don’t want anyone significant learning it that way.” By which he meant Hillier and she had to know that, even as she was driven by demons he well recognised but had never actually understood.
She released Hale’s arm. “Get back to the Yard,” she said and then to Lynley, “That’s twice now. You’re warned.”
“Understood,” he said.
“And it makes no bloody difference, does it?” Then she swung on Philip Hale once again. “Are you an idiot, Philip? Did you not hear me? Get back to the Yard!”
Philip Hale looked from Ardery to Lynley and back to Ardery. He said, “Guv,” with a nod and he left them. Lynley saw him shake his head as he went.
Ardery said to Lynley, “Get on to the brother, then,” and she began to pace. As Lynley made the necessary calls, he watched her and he wondered at what point she’d make another trip to the ladies’, because there was little doubt in his mind that she desperately needed a drink.
However, during the forty minutes they waited for Hiro Matsumoto’s solicitor to find the cellist and to bring him to St. Thomas’ Hospital, the acting superintendent remained in the waiting area and Lynley developed a reluctant respect for the manner in which she mastered herself. She made the appropriate phone calls to the Yard, putting the press office into the picture and passing along information to AC Hillier’s office as well. Hillier, Lynley reckoned, would ultimately give Isabelle Ardery an earful. There was nothing the assistant commissioner hated more than bad press. Half of London could shoot the other half in the street and Hillier would not be as bothered as he would be by a tabloid screaming MORE BRUTALITY FROM THE MET.
When they finally arrived, Hiro Matsumoto was far calmer than his solicitor, who breathed fire and threatened lawsuits, neither of which was unexpected. She was interrupted only when they were joined by the physician who’d initially seen to the violinist’s injuries. He was a gnomelike man with overlarge and oddly translucent ears and a nametag reading HOGG. He spoke directly to Hiro Matsumoto, obviously recognising him as the party probably most intimately connected to the injured man. He ignored the others.
A broken shoulder and a broken hip constituted the initial information, which sounded hopeful considering how bad things could have been. But then Mr. Hogg added fractured skull and acute subdural haematoma to the mix, as well as the fact that the size of the injury was going to cause a dangerous increase in intracranial pressure, which in turn would result in damage to delicate brain tissue if something was not done immediately. That something was decompression, effected only by surgery, and Yukio Matsumoto was being prepared for the operating theatre as they spoke.
“This is a murder suspect,” Isabelle Ardery informed the doctor. “We’re going to want to speak with him before anything is done to make him incommunicado.”
“He’s not in any condition-,” the doctor began, to be interrupted by both the brother and the brother’s solicitor.
One said, “My brother did not kill that woman,” as the other said, “You’re not speaking to anyone but me, madam, and let’s make certain that’s very clear. And if you so much as approach Yukio Matsumoto without my knowledge-”
“Don’t you threaten me,” Isabelle Ardery cut in.
“What I’ll do-what I intend to do-is to find out exactly what led to this unbelievable development and when I find out, you’ll be under a legal scrutiny the likes of which you have never seen. I hope I’m being completely clear.”
The doctor snapped, “My interest is in the injured and not on whatever quarrel you two are having. He’s going into surgery and there’s an end to the matter.”
“Please,” Hiro Matsumoto said quietly. His eyes were liquid. “My brother. He’ll live?”
The doctor’s expression softened. “It’s a traumatic injury, Mr. Masumoto. We’ll do our very best.”
When he departed, Isabelle Ardery spoke, saying to Lynley, “We need to collect his clothing for forensics.”
“I’ll have something to say about that,” Zaynab Bourne snapped.
“He’s a principal suspect in a murder investigation,” Ardery snapped back. “We’ll have the appropriate paperwork and we’ll take the clothing and if you have a problem with that, you can take it up via the proper channels.” To Lynley, “I’ll want someone posted here as well, someone capable of staying on top of every development. The moment he’s able to speak, we want an officer in the room with him.” She turned to Hiro Matsumoto and asked if he could tell them where his brother had his digs.
His solicitor was winding up to protest, but Matsumoto said, “No, please, Mrs. Bourne. I believe it is in Yukio’s best interests to clear this matter up.”
“Hiro, you can’t…” Mrs. Bourne drew him away from Lynley and Ardery. She spoke urgently into his ear and he listened gravely. But the end result was no different. He shook his head. A few more words passed between them and Zaynab Bourne made for the outer doorway, flipping open her mobile phone as she went. Lynley had little doubt the solicitor had resources upon whom she was calling to light a fire under the feet of the Met.