07.40 Thursday 29th October
‘It’s good of you to give me a lift, sir,’ Andy said, opening the door of Peter’s car, which had pulled up outside his home in Headington Quarry. ‘But there was no need. I could have managed on the bus while my car’s in dock.’
‘Just get in and make yourself comfortable.’ Peter looked up from scrutinising his mobile phone and smiled towards the young detective constable. ‘I need to give a friend of mine a ring. He’s left me two missed calls in the time it’s taken me to drive here, so he must be keen to speak to me. It won’t take long.’
He punched in the numbers and waited for the ringing tone. It had hardly started when it was replaced by the voice of Dr Martin Riess, Geology Fellow at Lichfield College and one of Peter’s few close friends.
‘Peter! Thank God!’ Martin sounded anxious and distressed – fearful, almost. There was a pause, as if he did not know what to say next. Then, after a gasp for breath, he went on. ‘We’re at A and E. Can you come over?’
Peter’s heart started beating faster as he tried to imagine what might have happened. He opened his mouth to ask, but Martin continued, speaking quickly, stumbling over the words, his voice rising as if in panic.
‘It’s Lucy. Don’t worry. She’s not badly hurt. We brought her here just to be on the safe side. I think she probably needs a couple of stitches – but, like I said, it’s nothing much really. But I think you ought to be here. Can you come?’
‘Of course. I’ll be right over.’ Peter’s training as a police officer enabled him to speak calmly, although his heart and mind were both racing. What could have happened to his young stepdaughter to require hospital treatment and to send the usually placid Riess into such a tailspin? He was about to end the call when another voice sounded in his ear.
‘Don’t listen to him. It’s nothing much really – just a little cut on my cheek, that’s all. And you mustn’t blame Martin. It was all my fault.’
‘Lucy!’ At least she was conscious and able to speak, even if her voice did sound rather strained, as if she were finding it hard to keep back tears. ‘I’ll be right over. It’ll only take a couple of minutes – we’re not far away.’
‘I’m sorry,’ Martin’s voice came on again, ‘they’re calling us in now. We’ll have to go. You will come, won’t you?’
‘Yes, of course. I’ll be over in a couple of minutes,’ Peter repeated.
‘Thanks. And Peter – I’m so sorry!’
Peter slipped the phone back in his pocket and turned to Andy.
‘Change of plan,’ he said briskly. ‘As you may have gathered, my stepdaughter, Lucy, has had some sort of accident. She’s in A and E. I need to get over there right away. Do you mind coming for the ride? I’m hoping it won’t take long. It sounds as if it’s probably just Martin getting himself worked up about nothing,’ he added, more to reassure himself than for Andy’s benefit.
‘No problem,’ Andy shrugged. ‘I’m fine with that. I can always get the bus from the hospital if it looks like taking a while.’
It was just a little over a mile to the John Radcliffe hospital, but the rush-hour traffic was starting to build and Peter had a frustrating stop-start journey. The promised couple of minutes stretched to five and then to ten. As he queued to turn on to London Road, he tried to close his mind to the pictures that kept forming in his head of pretty, golden-haired Lucy with her face covered in blood. How could it have happened? Would it leave a permanent scar? What would Lucy’s mother say when she found out? Should he telephone her at once or wait until she got back from Manchester?
Glancing to the left as he eased the car out into the line of traffic heading towards the centre of Oxford, he realised that Andy was watching him intently. Presumably, his anxiety was evident on his face. He tried unsuccessfully to relax and to concentrate on identifying the correct road on the right to bring them to the hospital.
‘Shall I ring in to let them know we’ll be late?’ Andy asked.
‘Yes, you do that. Thanks.’ Peter murmured absently, his mind still occupied with the puzzle of how things could have gone so disastrously wrong that morning.
Only two hours earlier, he had been waving off Lucy, Martin and Bernie as they cycled out into the dark October morning. Bernie had rung him from the train to say that she was on her way, and she had mentioned parting from Lucy and Martin at Hythe Bridge Street and seeing them making their way down the path to where his boat was moored. An early morning trip in Martin’s narrowboat should have been a safe enough treat for a nine-year-old. She had been so looking forward to the idea of having breakfast aboard and watching the sun come up over Port Meadow. How could anyone have imagined that she would get hurt?
And Martin was a dependable sort of chap – he wouldn’t have allowed her to do anything silly. Admittedly, he didn’t have much experience with children, being a single man still living quietly at home with his mother. But he was always very cautious and safety-conscious. He had insisted on Lucy wearing a buoyancy aid while she was in the boat, despite her protestations that she could swim like a fish.
Lucy must have fallen, Peter supposed, and cut her face open on some sharp object – but what could that have been? He had been on that boat – there were no obvious hazards of that sort.
At last, they pulled up outside the Accident and Emergency department. Peter got out and then leaned back inside to hand the car keys to Andy.
‘Park the car for me, will you? And then come and find me.’
‘Yes, sir.’ Andy obediently slid himself into the driver’s seat. ‘See you in a bit.’
Peter was not listening. He was intent on getting inside as soon as he could and finding his stepdaughter. He waited impatiently as a casualty was wheeled out of an ambulance and in through the doors of the emergency department. Was there another entrance for those arriving on foot? No – better to wait than to wander off looking for one. He followed the trolley into the building and looked around for someone to ask about Lucy’s whereabouts. At last! There was the reception desk. The woman there must surely know.