Chapter Nine
"Good evening, Toby. Thanks for this. I know it'll be easier for Sam not to have to come in." Ron took a step into the house before turning back to the street. "I parked over there is that okay?"
The idea that Ron couldn't park wherever he damn well chose briefly amused Toby but seeing the mass of reports Ron had tucked under his arm soon dispelled any humour he found in the situation. "You'll be okay there," Toby told him as he shut the door behind him and gestured to the sofa. "Okay, or would you prefer to be at a table?"
"This is fine," Ron said and sat down placing the files at his feet. He immediately stood on seeing Sam. "Good evening, Sam. This shouldn't take too long." He waited for Sam to sit and then immediately opened one of the files. Sam sat forward in his chair. Toby didn't miss the fact that Sam hadn't made eye contact with him since entering the room. As much as he didn't want to miss a word of what was being said, Toby went into the kitchen to get the coffee.
Listening at doors was not something Toby made a habit of but he felt on this occasion it was justified. Sam had seemed so vulnerable earlier and Toby wasn't sure just how he was going to handle Ron's questions. He watched the coffee dripping into the pot and silently willed it to hurry up. If he hadn't have needed to rescue Sam earlier he would have had all this done. He moved closer to the door and listened as Ron began to tell Sam what the man who had been arrested had said.
"Does he have a name?" Sam asked. "It's just that everyone keeps referring to him but no one seems to know his name."
Toby shook his head. Sam was interrupting already. This wasn't good. He needed to sit still, listen and then talk, not interrupt. He pulled the pot away despite the drips of coffee that continued to fall and evaporate loudly as they hit the hot plate. A tray, three cups, sugar and he was ready to go. He toed the door open and placed the tray down on the table. He poured out two cups and placed them in easy reach of Sam and Ron before filling his own.
"His name is Joseph Nelson. He's thirty-two, single and has served time for assault and robbery." Ron took a sip of coffee and looked across at Sam. He wasn't sure if he was glad he knew more about his attacker or not but nodded to show he was grateful for the information and Ron moved on. "We already have your statement from the DC police and I spoke to you briefly in the hospital but what we need to do is fill in some gaps." Ron picked up a file and browsed through the contents until he found what he was looking for. "This is a statement from a witness who saw Nelson leave the alleyway. Nelson has told us he left before his accomplice-"
"Do you know his name?"
"We think it's Benson."
Toby couldn't tell if Sam genuinely wanted to know their names, was stalling, or was just trying to control the conversation. He suspected it was all three.
"Nelson told us that he left before Benson and did not meet up with him again. Now I know that you've said that you can't remember much about the final moments of the attack but it would be really helpful if you could just try to think back and see if anything comes to mind." Ron reached inside the folder and pulled out a picture of Nelson which he placed on the table in front of Sam. "This is Nelson. It was dark and I know it's unlikely you got a good look at either of them but just take a look and see if the picture helps." Ron sat back and picked up his cup again. Toby watched as Sam's eyes shifted to the floor beside the table then slowly up to the picture. He remembered the man and Toby could see it as clearly on his face as if he had said so out loud. Sam folded his arms, but then, suddenly aware of the defensive gesture; he unfolded them and placed them back in his lap.
Ron missed none of this and decided to press on. "Sam, I'm going to read to you what Nelson told us he said to Benson in the alleyway. That may help you to remember more clearly." Again Ron flicked through the papers in front of him until he came to Nelson's statement. He skimmed the text and then paused briefly glancing up at Sam before he began. "Nelson told us that when he realised the attack was becoming more intense than he had bargained for he told Benson to 'leave it' and that he'd been told to-"
"Rough him up, we were told to rough him up," Sam interrupted, "he's had enough, leave it, that's what he said then he added 'fuck this' and ran off." Sam looked at Toby and saw the shock on his face reflected on Ron's. He had control, despite Ron's clever questioning techniques he had the upper hand and so he continued. They wanted to know what happened, then he'd let them know and maybe then they'd leave him alone. "I heard the footsteps as he ran off and couldn't hear anything else. I couldn't get up. I tried but I couldn't. I heard a crash behind me like something being pulled down or broken up and then footsteps from behind coming closer and I thought it was Toby or someone who'd help me but then there was a blow and it was worse than the others and I was so sure that he would kill me. I felt it hit my chest and heard the sound of my ribs breaking and he didn't stop. He walked around me and came from every side and when he'd done that he kicked me in the stomach and then he pulled me up and pulled my face right up to his and then he…"
So nearly, he had so nearly told them what he had said. His heart was pounding and he felt his stomach turning as he allowed himself to relive the attack. "And then he stabbed me but I didn't think he had. I thought he'd pinched me really hard, you know how a bully has that way of finding the spot that will hurt the most, that's what I thought he'd done." Sam laughed nervously at admitting this. "But it stung and it didn't stop and my arm started to feel cold and I knew that he hadn't pinched me. Then nothing, he went and I lay there and I waited and then Toby was there."
Ron knew that he wouldn't have much longer with Sam who looked as if he was ready to pass out or puke up. "What did he say to you?"
"Nothing! Why do you keep asking me that?"
"This attack was planned, directed at you and revenge for something. What did he say?"
"I told you, why can't you just accept what I'm telling you?"
"Because I don't believe you, Sam. I think you're hiding something and I think you're doing it to protect someone. I can't catch this man if you're not honest with me."
Sam could feel the sweat prickling his forehead. Maybe if he told them now that would be an end to it. Josh would get over it. Sam could forgive him. Things could go back to how they were. He opened his mouth but no sound came out. He heard Ron repeating his request and more distantly Toby telling him to relax. "I…there's nothing…I can't-." He moved quickly off the sofa and half stumbled to the bathroom.
Toby leaned back, wiped at his face and tried to block out the sounds of Sam retching. Ron placed the papers back in the file and shook his head. "He was so close to telling us something. He has to let this out, whatever it is. Apart from the investigation, he's not doing himself any favours by keeping it all in."
"I'll talk to him, later. When he's not puking."
"I'll keep you up to date. Tell Sam he did well. I'm grateful." Toby nodded and held the door open. He watched as Ron walked towards his car and took a few breaths of the cool night air. On shutting the door he saw a brief glimpse of Sam's back as he entered his bedroom shutting the door behind him.
Toby cleared the cups away and then sat down at the kitchen table. Sam had told them more about the attack and that was good but judging from the effect it had on him, he was nowhere near coming to terms with what had happened. Toby thought back to how Sam had rambled then almost stammered at times. Despite this his recount had been pretty fluent apart from when he had spoken for the first time of what had happened when Nelson had fled. He had been about to say what Benson had done and then clammed up. Toby rubbed at his tired eyes and rested his head against the back of the chair. Maybe it was just remembering being stabbed that had halted Sam like that. One thing Toby was certain of; Sam didn't want to be disturbed tonight. He decided that wasn't an option and poured a tall glass of milk, placed it on a tray added a quickly made sandwich and made his way to Sam's room.
There was no reply to his knock on the door. He could see a line of light creeping out beneath the doorframe and that decided him to knock again. "Are you up?" He tapped again. "Are you awake, Sam?" There was still no reply. Toby looked down at the tray. He had made Sam a sandwich; he never made sandwiches for anyone and Sam was going to eat this one even if he had to wake him up to do it.
The door creaked slightly as Toby gently opened it. As he had thought, Sam's bedside lamp was on and Sam was on the bed but he wasn't asleep. He was lying almost curled into a ball, his legs tucked up and his back to the door but Toby saw his head rise slightly as the door was opened.
"Go away, Toby," a muffled voice came from the bed.
Toby walked around to the other side of the bed and looked down at Sam who had made no further movement since he had entered the room. His eyes opened slightly and on seeing Toby standing there he rolled over onto his other side.
Sam could hear the soft footsteps as Toby walked around the bed and stood facing him again. "Go away," he repeated but there was no anger to his voice just a weariness that made Toby even more determined that Sam would eat something before he left the room. Sam started to turn again and so Toby started another turn around the end of the bed.
"I can do this as many times as you like. It'll be good for me. It's probably not so good for you though, it's probably hurting like crazy."
Sam started to roll again but lay on his back instead. "What do you want? I've told you what you wanted to hear?"
"I made you a sandwich," Toby replied and because there was just enough hurt and surprise in his voice that the gesture hadn't been given its full recognition, Sam opened his eyes. The tray was held out and on Sam's slow nod was placed on the side of the bed. "Tuna."
Sam reached out and folded back one of the slices. He nodded slowly as if to confirm it was indeed Tuna in the sandwiches. "Thanks," he mumbled and sat up higher. His face was lit by the lamp and Toby pretended not to notice his red rimmed eyes.
"You going to get crumbs in my spare bed or are you going to come back out here?" Toby hoped Sam would lift the tray and follow him back to the dining room but he made no move to get off the bed. "Come on," Toby said and he lifted the tray himself and carried it back out to the living room. "If you drink all your milk I've got thirty year old bourbon out here."
Sam pulled his arms above his head and winced at the sounds that came from his spine and at the pain in his arm where the stab wound was still healing. He washed his face with cold water and frowned on seeing that it had done little to rid his eyes of the puffiness. He walked into the living room and saw the plate and glass placed on the table in front of the sofa. Toby sat on an easy chair reading the sports section of last weekend's newspaper. He glanced up when Sam entered but then returned his gaze to the paper. A jazz CD was playing in the background and Sam allowed himself to relax into the sofa as he took a bite of his sandwich. Despite his sickness earlier, Sam was surprised to find how hungry he was and he finished one half quickly followed by the glass of milk before picking up the rest of his snack.
Toby knew Sam would take his plate and glass to the kitchen when he had finished and he used the time to pour a generous measure of bourbon into two glasses and place them on the coffee table. Sam smiled when he saw the glasses and came and rejoined Toby who had moved to sit next to him on the sofa. They shared a silent first sip of the liquid before one of them finally spoke.
"Ron said to tell you did good earlier. I know it was hard."
Sam shrugged. "It wasn't so hard. It was almost a relief to say it actually."
Toby nodded and twisted the glass around which sat cradled in his hands. "It would probably be an even bigger relief to tell me the rest of it."
Sam's soft huff of resigned laughter made Toby realise once and for all that his suspicions were correct. Toby leant forward, twisted awkwardly so that he was facing Sam. "Ron's got agents attached to the senior staffers; there are two sitting outside right now. If you know who-"
"No one's in any danger." Sam had been looking at the floor but now he raised his head and frowned at Toby. "Do you think I would withhold something that might stop you, Josh or CJ getting hurt?"
"No I don't, but I think you'd risk being hurt again if it meant protecting one of us." Toby saw the impact his words had on Sam. His mouth opened but he didn't speak. His eyes, still red from earlier, shone with new moisture.
"I'm not in danger either," he almost whispered and Toby had to lean closer to hear the words. "No one is. It's over."
"What is?" Sam flinched at Toby's raised voice and he took a deep breath in an effort to calm himself. "If you know why they attacked us you need to tell us. You need to tell us because then we can find them and make them pay. It won't be over until then."
Sam stood up so quickly that Toby lurched backwards to avoid clashing heads with him. "If I say it's over then it is. They attacked me, Toby, not you, not Ron, not some guy who happened to be passing, me! And I want it to end now because it's going on and on and everyone's asking me questions and trying to analyse what I'm feeling and speculating about what happened and no one is making it end!" Sam's voice had risen with each word and in the silence that followed the sound of his harsh breathing filled the room. "I just want it to end," he repeated and he looked at Toby wishing that he could find a way to make that happen right now. But all Toby could do was look at Sam helplessly.
"Sit down," he ordered softly and Sam obeyed, both men aware of the doctor's instructions and that Sam's heaving breathing now was proof that they hadn't been followed. Once Sam was back on the sofa Toby grabbed a cushion from the armchair. "Does your chest hurt?" Sam shook his head but his arms wrapped tightly around himself made a lie of the gesture. "Sam, are your ribs hurting?" Toby asked, his tone making it clear he could see they were. This time Sam nodded and took the cushion from Toby. "You know what to do," Toby said as he watched Sam place the cushion against his chest in an attempt to lessen the pain from his ribs until his breathing had calmed. Toby told him he was going to make some calls and Sam briefly wondered if they were about him, if he was phoning Josh or Ron to tell him to come back. He couldn't think very far past the pain in his chest though and he lost the thought in the bid to count his breathing to a slower rate.
By the time Toby returned, Sam's eyes were closed and his chest was rising and falling at a more natural rate. The cushion was still held in his arms though and it was only when he reached down to take it from Sam that he realised he was asleep. He thought about waking him, talking some more but then he pictured Sam's face again when he had told him he wanted it to end and decided to leave him be, allowing it to end for at least a little while. He pulled a throw off the back of the sofa and laid it over Sam, once more amazed at the man's ability to bring out this side to him. He sat back down beside him and reached for the remote. He would watch the news on mute and drink some more of the bourbon and later he would watch Sam go to his room and say nothing about what had happened tonight. That could wait for another day.
