didn’t understand what had just happened. The lobby had been oozing male testosterone and his fuse was all but lit, but he’d been ready to punch out a total stranger. He unclenched his fists and tried to relax.
He guessed by the wary reaction of people stepping around him that he looked a mess. He was shaking, sweat poured out of him and blood from his head wound had dried on his shirt. Concussion, withdrawal or virus were all likely candidates for the way he felt, but he dismissed them with a scowl.
All he needed was Kit. All he could think about was Nell. She’d hexed him, jinxed him, done something, he was sure of it, though he had no idea what.
He cast a quick glance back the way he’d come. The lobby was still full, the man no longer visible. He tried to recall what he’d looked like, started to wonder if he’d actually been real when he couldn’t remember a thing about him.
He dragged his fingers through his hair desperately. Maybe Dennis was right and he did need professional help. He thought of the card that still lay on his kitchen table untouched. Defiance rather than common sense had left it face down on the melamine surface but Kit’s gentle scolding in his head had prevented him from tossing it in the bin. Maybe he would keep the appointment, if only to prove to himself that he wasn’t going mad.
Collapsed in the back of the taxi, his thoughts strayed back to Nell and her demand to go with him. She’d assumed his agreement, and he almost had. For a fleeting moment with her hand on his heart, it had seemed to him the right and only thing to do, to ignore procedure and protocol, take her from that room, and run far away, as if they were co-conspirators in a plot he knew nothing about. He felt misgiving creep over him, settling deep in his stomach, quite at home amongst the rest of the black things. She’d freaked him out, there was no denying it, and he’d fled when he should have stayed, but no way was he going back, not until he understood what was going on.
All the same, as the taxi pulled out of the hospital grounds and into the flow of traffic, he felt a shiver of something nasty slither in to accompany the doubt. If the PC on duty at the nurse’s station did his job, there’d be nothing for McNeil to worry about. It was a big if and McNeil wasn’t entirely convinced, but for now it would have to do. The PC could babysit the witness and Dennis could find the killer. He had something far more important to do.
He pulled out his phone and brought up Minkey’s number. It was first on his list of contacts, ahead of work and the local takeaway, which said something about the current state of his life.
“ Minkey?”
“Joey.”
McNeil scowled at the sharpness in Minkey’s tone. He didn’t have any energy left for contrition but accepted he had ground to make up if he was to get what he wanted. It was time to make amends for Friday night.
“How’s things?” he asked warily.
“You have the soddin’ nerve to ask me that? Ask my insurers when they get through sorting out my claim.”
“Your claim?”
“Don’t play the bloody innocent, Joey. You’re barred, for your own good as well as mine.”
McNeil grimaced. “Hey, come on, I’m your best customer.”
“Not any more. You wrecked the place on Friday night. I’ve got the man from the brewery down here right now shaking his head and thinking I can’t control the punters. As a purveyor of the finest alcoholic beverages, I never thought I’d say this, Joey, but you need to kill the booze, before it kills you.”
“Finest beverages!” McNeil snorted. “You forget the blind eye I’ve been turning to all the dodgy crates you have stacked in the cellar? I bet the brewery ayatollah would be very interested in that.”
“Piss off.”
“Gladly.”
“Hey, you’re not the only bent copper I know. Ten a penny, you are.”
“Bent?”
“Too right, bloody dented out of shape, you are.”
“Do one, Minkey. I’m not in
He guessed by the wary reaction of people stepping around him that he looked a mess. He was shaking, sweat poured out of him and blood from his head wound had dried on his shirt. Concussion, withdrawal or virus were all likely candidates for the way he felt, but he dismissed them with a scowl.
All he needed was Kit. All he could think about was Nell. She’d hexed him, jinxed him, done something, he was sure of it, though he had no idea what.
He cast a quick glance back the way he’d come. The lobby was still full, the man no longer visible. He tried to recall what he’d looked like, started to wonder if he’d actually been real when he couldn’t remember a thing about him.
He dragged his fingers through his hair desperately. Maybe Dennis was right and he did need professional help. He thought of the card that still lay on his kitchen table untouched. Defiance rather than common sense had left it face down on the melamine surface but Kit’s gentle scolding in his head had prevented him from tossing it in the bin. Maybe he would keep the appointment, if only to prove to himself that he wasn’t going mad.
Collapsed in the back of the taxi, his thoughts strayed back to Nell and her demand to go with him. She’d assumed his agreement, and he almost had. For a fleeting moment with her hand on his heart, it had seemed to him the right and only thing to do, to ignore procedure and protocol, take her from that room, and run far away, as if they were co-conspirators in a plot he knew nothing about. He felt misgiving creep over him, settling deep in his stomach, quite at home amongst the rest of the black things. She’d freaked him out, there was no denying it, and he’d fled when he should have stayed, but no way was he going back, not until he understood what was going on.
All the same, as the taxi pulled out of the hospital grounds and into the flow of traffic, he felt a shiver of something nasty slither in to accompany the doubt. If the PC on duty at the nurse’s station did his job, there’d be nothing for McNeil to worry about. It was a big if and McNeil wasn’t entirely convinced, but for now it would have to do. The PC could babysit the witness and Dennis could find the killer. He had something far more important to do.
He pulled out his phone and brought up Minkey’s number. It was first on his list of contacts, ahead of work and the local takeaway, which said something about the current state of his life.
“ Minkey?”
“Joey.”
McNeil scowled at the sharpness in Minkey’s tone. He didn’t have any energy left for contrition but accepted he had ground to make up if he was to get what he wanted. It was time to make amends for Friday night.
“How’s things?” he asked warily.
“You have the soddin’ nerve to ask me that? Ask my insurers when they get through sorting out my claim.”
“Your claim?”
“Don’t play the bloody innocent, Joey. You’re barred, for your own good as well as mine.”
McNeil grimaced. “Hey, come on, I’m your best customer.”
“Not any more. You wrecked the place on Friday night. I’ve got the man from the brewery down here right now shaking his head and thinking I can’t control the punters. As a purveyor of the finest alcoholic beverages, I never thought I’d say this, Joey, but you need to kill the booze, before it kills you.”
“Finest beverages!” McNeil snorted. “You forget the blind eye I’ve been turning to all the dodgy crates you have stacked in the cellar? I bet the brewery ayatollah would be very interested in that.”
“Piss off.”
“Gladly.”
“Hey, you’re not the only bent copper I know. Ten a penny, you are.”
“Bent?”
“Too right, bloody dented out of shape, you are.”
“Do one, Minkey. I’m not in
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