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told. Alison Barker went on watching him for perhaps half a minute. Then she said, ‘I don’t understand what you’re doing here.’ Her voice was frail and fractious, impatient with her weakness and with him.
    He gave a shrug. ‘I’m not entirely sure myself. When you
started waking up the staff wanted to find you a familiar face. I was the best they could do.’
    â€˜The guy who knocked me down.’ She laughed at that – bitterly, immoderately enough to trigger a coughing fit that racked her abused body. Daniel helped her to sit while she caught her breath. When she could speak again she said roughly, ‘Which says pretty much all there is to say about my life.’
    â€˜That’s silly,’ Daniel chided gently. ‘I know you have friends. One of them was here – Mary Walbrook? But the staff nurse knew where to find me and didn’t know where to find her. She’ll be back. She said she’d bring you some things.’
    â€˜Mary was here?’ Alison nodded fractionally. ‘She is a friend. She’s been a good friend to me, and I’ve been bloody ungrateful. Will you call her for me? I know the number.’
    â€˜Of course I will. I’ll go find a phone now, if you like.’
    The girl looked puzzled again. ‘Find one?’
    He got this from Brodie too. ‘I know. It’s just, I try not to clutter my life up with things I don’t need.’
    She thought she understood. ‘I’ll pay you for the phone-call, as soon as I find my clothes.’
    She wasn’t being sarcastic: she thought it might matter to him. Daniel wasn’t going to take offence where none was intended. ‘There’s no rush. Don’t go anywhere, I’ll be right back.’
    â€˜Funny guy,’ she growled. But there was the hint of a smile in it.

Chapter Seven
    Deacon heard that Alison Barker was awake soon after Daniel did. His first thought was to send Voss to interview her, perhaps accompanied by Jill Meadows because – so he’d heard – women were good at these things. At reassuring the frightened and encouraging the reluctant. At probing deeper by pushing gently than by shoving hard. At not losing their tempers when obstructions were put in their way. Deacon had heard these things about women often enough to believe they were probably true, although – the woman he knew best being Brodie Farrell – he couldn’t vouch for them from personal experience.
    But then he thought that perhaps the gentle touch wasn’t what was called for here. Alison Barker wasn’t in any real sense a victim, except of her own foolishness. She had taken a drug so new that virtually nothing was known about its effect, let alone its side-effects. Presumably she had done so in a spirit of adventure. Well, she could look on this interview in the same light. He took his coat and headed for the car park.
    Staff Nurse French saw him coming and fell into step with him. ‘You won’t have to stay too long. She’s still very disorientated. You may find she simply doesn’t remember what you need her to. She almost died. Nobody’s brain comes out of a coma in the same condition it went in.’
    Deacon gave her a crocodilian smirk. A lot of people have trouble remembering things when I first talk to them. You’d be surprised how much better they do with a little help.’
    Sharon French had been a nurse for twelve years: she saw scarier things than Jack Deacon every day. She said without rancour, ‘You want to use thumbscrews, you wait till she’s off my ward.’
    He tried to look hurt. ‘Staff Nurse French, you know we don’t do things like that.’
    He’d forgotten she worked with Charlie Voss’s fiancée. ‘Where was it you lost that monkey wrench again, Superintendent?’
    He dropped his chin onto his chest and gave his tie a secret smile. ‘Let’s put it this way.