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Smithy was about to make an excited dash for the door, when it opened of its own accord, and Bruce Malcolm walked in…
For a moment, the two just stared. Smithy was beyond hatred, and if he'd managed to convince himself that his feelings for Andrea were purely platonic his conscious took a sudden reality check. How dare this man, who had been the source of so much of Andrea's pain, how dare he come now, when she was on the verge of death? Was there anything else he could steal away? But glancing at the bed Smithy saw there was.
Yvonne was standing behind him, and Smithy wasn't sure he'd ever seen a woman look so scary. Drawn to her full height, she looked like some giant mother hen returning to its primal instincts. However, Bruce was obviously braver than Smithy had anticipated, because he remained firmly where he was.
"What are you doing here?" The words spat out covered in the disdain.
"Why shouldn't I visit my favorite reporter?" Bruce smiled, his eyes laughing at some private joke. "After all, for all you know she could be the love of my life."
Smithy's nerves were well beyond snapping point, but thankfully, he was not alone. It was only Yvonne's strong voice which saved Malcolm from a broken nose. She may have been deceived, but Yvonne knew Andrea. She knew her favorite drink and that she was afraid of spiders, and the way she liked to wear red. God, she even knew Andrea was in love with a married man!
"You shouldn't visit her because she doesn't want to see you." (And she can't) Yvonne thought sadly to herself. At these words, Malcolm just shrugged. Why was getting anything out of Andrea Dunbar always so difficult?
"We had an arrangement. She was supposed to meet me the afternoon of the blast. I'm just here to collect something, and then I'll go."
To Yvonne's consternation and Malcolm's relief, Smithy suddenly relaxed a notch. "OK, go ahead. Yvonne, watch him, I have to go see the Super."
Then he walked out of the room, the newspaper cutting safely tucked into the pocket of his uniform. He headed straight for DI Manson's room. The last he had heard, the Inspector had been stationed there almost permanently, but as he walked in, a shocking sight greeted his eyes.
Gabriel was leaning over Manson's bed, his hand resting on the switch to his respirator. Beneath him, the DI was peacefully asleep, his chest gently rising and falling, laboured, but definitely there. As the Smithy watched in horrified fascination, Gabriel flicked the switch and a piercing beep filled the room. Suddenly Manson's chest seemed to freeze, and the regular breaths were replaced by strangled gasps for air.
"Gabriel!" Smithy yelled now, running towards the dieing man. At the sound of his name, Gabriel spun, and seeing he had been caught in the act, he looked desperately for an explanation, but this time, there were no convenient scapegoats, no lies. This was straight out murder. So he did the only thing he could, he turned and ran.
Smithy's first instinct would have been to follow, but on the bed, Neil Manson was slowly suffocating to death. Smithy knew what it felt like to have smoke fill your lungs till it felt like there was no room left to breath, and even now, he probably couldn't have chased Gabriel without collapsing in an asthma attack at the first sight of stairs. So he hurriedly righted the respirator, pulling a mobile from his pocket.
Neil's gasps turned to a hacking cough, so violent that for a moment Smithy was sure Gabriel would succeed in his deadly plans. Then, just as he was starting to panic again, a nurse ran in with Inspector Gold.
On sight of Smithy's traumatized face, Gina drew in a sharp breath. "What on earth happened here?" Unable to answer coherently, Smithy reached into his pocket and pulled out the battered newspaper cutting. Gina's face slowly turned as white as her Sergeant's and she reached for her mobile.