Night Vision by Jane A. Adams Page B

‘He got through to her voicemail but only left a message for her to call him.’
    â€˜Why would he call her?’ Parks wondered.
    Alec hesitated. ‘They were involved, once upon a time,’ he said. ‘Maybe . . . I don’t know.’
    â€˜Right.’ Munroe frowned but did not pursue the line of conversation. ‘How’s the statement coming?’
    â€˜Longer than we thought it’d be,’ Parks said heavily.
    â€˜How so?’
    Alec reprised his account. Munroe said nothing, but Alec was acutely aware of his disapproval, the dark-grey eyes fixed on Alec’s face. Parks’ already tight little cherub mouth seemed to have grown ever tighter as he wrote down Alec’s account, and Alec could feel a sense of unease, coupled with increasing guilt at having kept so much from his colleagues, weighing down upon him.
    Did he trust them? No, not at all. They were unproven strangers, behaving in ways that Alec neither understood nor wanted any part in. Did he feel bad about not entrusting them with this information before? Yes, because perhaps that secrecy had led to this attack on Travers; perhaps, too, Parks was right and Alec would be happier if his wife, too, were well out of the picture.
    â€˜Anything else you’ve not been sharing?’ Munroe said at last.
    Alec hesitated, and then nodded. ‘It might be nothing,’ he said, taking the small strip of card in its evidence bag from his pocket. ‘One of the inmates dropped this when we were at the prison today. I got the feeling he wanted me to pick this up, but—’
    â€˜And it didn’t seem obvious that you should mention it. Preferably when we were still there and could have talked to him?’
    Alec hesitated. ‘I think that was precisely why I held back,’ he said. ‘If this was meant for me, then it was dropped in a way so no one else would see. I think the man who dropped this was scared of being seen communicating with any of us. I said nothing because I didn’t want to expose someone else to the same trouble Neil Robinson got himself into.’
    â€˜You’ve had the rest of the day to say something,’ Munroe pointed out drily.
    â€˜I have, yes. Look, it might not even be relevant.’
    Munroe eyed him coldly. ‘Can’t have it both ways, Alec.’
    Parks picked up the evidence bag. ‘Looks like a phone number.’
    â€˜It is,’ Alec said.
    â€˜You rang it?’ Munroe said heavily.
    â€˜Yes,’ Alec admitted. Munroe and the others had a right to be angry, he admitted to himself. In their shoes, he’d have been furious. ‘I got no reply. The phone just rang out. It’s got to be a local number,’ he added. ‘No code.’
    â€˜Nice deduction.’ Munroe’s sarcasm stung, for all that it was probably deserved. ‘You should be a detective.’ He got up, taking the piece of card with him. ‘Looks like you’ll get your wish, anyway.’
    â€˜My wish?’
    â€˜Your wish not to be here. Eddison hears about all this, you’ll be gone.’
    A few hours ago, that would almost have been good news. Now it was anything but. ‘I’m involved,’ Alec said, ‘whether Eddison likes this or not. Travers—’
    â€˜Is irrelevant.’ Munroe said coldly.
    Not quite midnight, and Alec stood in the waiting area of the local hospital watching a doctor talking to Travers’ wife. Another woman – a neighbour, apparently – stood beside her with an arm wrapped tightly around Maureen’s slender shoulders. From time to time the neighbour glanced at Alec, her look cold and empty, as though she, too, blamed him for what had happened. Finally, the doctor left and the women returned, sitting down on adjoining plastic seats.
    â€˜What did he say?’ Alec asked quietly.
    Maureen buried her face in her hands and wept.
    â€˜He’s still in surgery,’ the