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Chapter 11

She was sitting at the kitchen table. Parents in the living room. Max was home and making her food. He hadn't asked about it. But she knew he had questions.

"I'm fine."

"I believe you. How's he?"

"He's not fine. But yesterday he made me tell his sister he was."

"Why?"

"She's on holiday, didn't want her to come home early."

"When does she come home?"

"Two weeks."

"Not long then. Don't worry."

"I know... I'm going back in a few hours."

"Do you need anything?"

"No, I'm fine. I think."

oOo

He was lying facing the ceiling. The pain in his leg, chest and throat stopped him from drifting into sleep. Pain in his head was now joining the list. He was trying to figure out what to do now. Nick and Ilsa would take him in, but he didn't want to disrupt their lives. From what the doctor said, his recovery would take a while and they couldn't be saddled with looking after him. He jumped when the door opened.

"Hey man, how's it going?" Wardle looked tired, stressed and worried. Strike wanted to talk to him, he had managed to speak with the doctor earlier.

"Not bad. You?" His voice was weak and quiet and speaking irritated his throat. But seeing the smile on Eric's face was worth it.

"Listen to you," he pulled the chair over and sat by the bed, "how'd you feel?"

"You look like shit."

"That's rich coming from you right now mate. Look, this is a social call, wanted to see you but..."

"You need my statement."

"It's not urgent, but... the higher ups want it before you can talk to Robin, so she'll have to stay away..."

"No. I'll do it now."

"You need time."

"I need to see her. Is... Is she ok?"

"Statement first. We'll keep it brief, she'll want to talk to you when she gets here. We'll begin at the cemetery."

"I got there. Walked to the meet-" he winced as he swallowed, waving away Eric's concern, "-she was there, two men either side, the guy in charge... he... asked for the money. Her face was bruised... she was in different clothing..." Eric met his eyes, seeing the worry.

"They didn't rape her. They didn't do anything... anything like that." Strike nodded, small smile on his face. It was what he had been worrying about, what he didn't want to ask via whiteboard.

"As soon as I handed over the bag... I knew it was a mistake. He pulled me forward, my leg... I couldn't fight back. Before I knew it, I was down. Kicked my knee. Then I was being pulled under the tree, noose 'round my neck."

"Did they say anything?"

"I... I wasn't really paying attention. The look on her face. The fear. It had changed, she wasn't scared for herself anymore, she was scared for me. One of them tried to pull me up, but he wasn't strong enough. His mate helped. Then... it went fuzzy, then black." His voice was becoming painful to use, sounding hoarser with each word. Wardle just looked at him, knowing he was leaving bits out.

"What did he say to you?" Silence.

"What?"

"He... said something to you. Robin told me. She couldn't hear him. I need to know."

"No, you don't." He regretted it instantly; should've said he didn't remember.

"It won't got in the file..."

"You can't promise that."

"I am. For you... I promise." Strike looked at him. He had considered Wardle a friend for some years now, but this statement showed how close they really were. He deserved Strike's trust.

"He told me they were going to take her somewhere. They would... tie her up, strip her down and... each have a go. She would scream and I wouldn't be able to help her." There was silence for a full minute. Both men letting this sink in. "She can't know."

"That won't go on the record, I promise."

"He wanted that image to be the last thing I thought of before I died. And it was."

oOo

Robin, Linda and Michael were back at the hospital, they had left their police guard at the door. As they walked close to Strike's room, they saw Wardle. Robin didn't knock before they entered.

"What are you doing? He's recovering, leave him alo-"

"He was taking my statement." His voice was soft and quiet and sounded painful to use, but he was smiling. She couldn't help smiling back.

"Oh my God. You're-"

"He was giving me his statement. I wanted to say, we've started talking to the guys we arrested... they had no idea who you two were or anything about your cases." He looked at Michael then Strike, seeing the relief in both face.

"What does that mean?"

"Means it was random."

"Like fuck it was," Strike looked angry, remembering the package he had received but not disclosed. Robin sat down, hand over her mouth, for some reason this made her feel worse.

"I know man, but... it was opportunity. They said they saw Michael and Linda arriving from 'out of town' and decided to try make cash. That's why Barclay with the gun scared the shit out of them. I'll keep you updated..." He turned to leave, "Oh, yeah, Barclay was released this morning. Charges have been dropped, but I'll still need to see the paperwork for the gun."

"Why?" The question seemed weird to Robin, she looked at Strike's furrowed brow.

"Why what?"

"Why have the charges been dropped?" At this question Eric seemed agitated, like he didn't know how to respond. Closing the door he had half opened he stood at the end of the bed.

"Officially, lack of evidence. But... Well I suppose you'll see when he turns up. Arresting officers fucked up."

"Is he ok?" Strike looked worried.

"He's fine... now. When they arrived to get processed... no one had said he wasn't with them."

"Fuck." Strike closed his eyes, putting his palm to his forehead. Robin and Linda shared a confused look.

"Wasn't with who?" Robin hated being in the dark. She was looking at Wardle, but it was Strike who answered, "The guys who took you." She stared at him.

"They were all put in the same transport van. Fight broke out... well I say fight. The guy in charge had Barclay in a headlock as the other two punched and kicked him."

"Oh my God. How the hell does that happen?"

"I should've been there... travelled with them... but... I had stayed at the scene." Strike looked at him. The dark shadows under his eyes now making sense.

"How bad?"

"He was in the prison infirmary for a day, they turfed him out. Cracked ribs, dislocated jaw... otherwise mostly surface stuff."

"And you? How bad?"

"Not good. But I'll survive. I need to go, he got out this morning, so should be here at some point. Apparently all he asked was for a lawyer and how you two were. I better. Get going... Michael, can you come with me." He looked sheepish as he turned to leave, Michael following suit.

"Eric?" Strike looked at him, "Thanks."