Thicker Than Water

Were they really as close together as all that, though?’

She rounded the other bed and consulted the chart.

‘Three days,’ she admitted. ‘I thought it was only two.’

‘And the MO,’ I mused, chancing my arm. ‘Sometimes the differences can tell you a lot.’

Petra looked down at the frail old man lying in troubled slumber between us. ‘Lots of wounds again,’ she said. ‘But lots of little punctures, this time. And all more or less the same depth. Creepy. You’d think someone had tied him up with barbed wire or something.

K or th But he was just lying in his bed, wasn’t he? Until that priest found him and brought him in.’

Priest?

‘Father Gwillam,’ I said.

‘Yeah, him.’ She glanced up at me, her face earnest and unhappy. ‘Who’d do a thing like that to a poor old man?’ she demanded. ‘It’s horrible. Sometimes I hate this world.’

I nodded, but my mind was racing and it was all I could do to maintain a suitable poker face. Was it the differences or the similarities that were more important here? Was I looking at variations on a theme or two unconnected acts of random violence? One attack involved stab wounds, the other puncture wounds.

And Kenny had been ambushed in his car while this other guy seemed to have been attacked by a burglar. But from what Petra had said, both victims were from the Salisbury estate. And the Salisbury estate was suffering from two parallel infestations: sinister graffiti and the Anathemata.

It was worth taking the temperature one more time, particularly as I didn’t have anything to lose here.

Without asking permission I leaned down to examine the sleeping man at closer range. The puncture marks that Petra had mentioned weren’t in evidence, but three small dressings on the man’s face - at forehead, cheek and chin - showed where some of them had been. I touched his cheek gently with the back of my hand, as close to the edge of the bandage as I could.

Nothing. I wasn’t sure what I’d been expecting - or whether the same kind of searing, vivid newsflash I’d got from Kenny would have been welcome or not.

But this man was soundly asleep and his mind and soul were folded in on themselves: there was nothing to be gleaned from them, or at least not by me.

‘Thanks for taking the time to talk to me, Nurse Ryall,’ I said, giving her a nod as I stepped back from the bed. She was watching me with a sort of puzzled patience. ‘You’ve helped me to clarify some thoughts.’

‘Well, you’re welcome,’ she said.