Chapter Eight
Philips was aware only that he was going to be sick. Waves of nausea racked his stomach but nothing happened. Perhaps he had already coughed up all there was. He was deaf and blind and dumb, there was only a green grey haze and throbbing pain from his hair to his soles. He slid into unconsciousness again.
A policeman seated by the door glanced at him briefly, then turned the page of his magazine and continued reading. The night light glowed softly from the ceiling.
He opened his eyes cautiously, half expecting a flood of pain which didn't come. White ceiling, white walls, white door with a clear glass pane in the top half of it. His nose wrinkled. Antiseptic. Was he in a hospital? He looked at the door again, now aware of the occasional nurse bustling past, pushing a tinkling trolley or carrying a mute bedpan. Yes, a hospital definitely. But why? Accident? Did it really matter? He felt too tired to worry about it. He shut his eyes and tried to go back to sleep, but something started nagging him, something important, something he wanted to know. He frowned, what was it?
Who? Bill ... that's who, Bill had been telling him something important, but he had blacked out before he could hear what it was. He must be around here somewhere; maybe one of the nurses would fetch him if he asked. He tried to call out but there was no sound, he didn't even know if he had opened his mouth. Perhaps he'd wait till later. He felt so tired; he couldn't make another effort.
"'A sick man is a folder', seven letters," mused Constable George, biting the end of his biro. " 'Manilla' of course, that was an easy one really." He flattened the paper against his knee and wrote in the word. As he finished the downward stroke of the 'a', Harper came quietly into the room.
"Has he said anything yet?" he asked, low voiced.
"I'll say he has, sir!" The reply was startlingly vehement. The constable seemed to realize that and explained hastily, "It's not that his actual words have been very surprising sir, but he recognised me. I don't know how, as far as I know I've never met him. Called me by name." He bent down to put down his newspaper and pick up a blue notebook. Harper noticed that the top joint was missing from his middle finger and wondered if that had happened to him on duty. He still wore the now virtually extinct short back and sides hair cut and must have been nearly forty. He opened the note book and quoted from it.
"At one twenty seven he said 'no Bill' as clearly as that sir and me just sitting here. Then he said 'Come back Bill, it's alright,' and I hadn't made a move except to write down what he was saying. That was in one outburst sir," he glanced up then consulted his note book again. "At three fifty he said, 'I didn't do it Bill! Why are you trying to kill me?' gave me a bit of a shock that did sir because I hadn't even gone near him. I thought he must be delirious, but it was funny his knowing my name wasn't it?"
"Yes, it was Constable," Harper answered slowly. 'I didn't do it' was clear enough but why had he said 'Come back, Bill'? Would Philips ever tell him now? "Did he say anything else?"
"No sir, not yet."
"Well, stay with him and call me if he comes to. I'll have a relief here for you in a couple of hours."
"Righto, sir."
Harper paused to look down at the patient before he left. His hand reached out automatically to smooth back the hair from his forehead and he snatched it back. "Hands off Bill," he told himself. The face was undamaged, the lashes still thick and long, framing his closed eyes, the pale lips still firm and curved, his skin like suede asking to be stroked, the line of his cheek ... Harper brought himself up short. His unnatural passion for him had cost Richard too dearly already, he mustn't encourage it.
Constable George looked after him curiously, so he was still involved with the case was he? There were some funny things being said about him in the canteen, since Philips was shot. That he had been over eager to have him charged with the murder for example, and that in Philips' apartment he had actually confessed to being jealous of the girl's relationship with the other man. People were starting to say that Philips had been telling the truth about the existence of a second lover, who had been the one to murder the girl. Especially when it had come out that there were no fingerprints on the back door handle, none at all, which was impossible unless it had been deliberately wiped, and that both Philips and Austin had said he had come out the front door. No one had actually dared to add it all up aloud, but they thought about it. As for himself, he was reserving his judgement. In other circumstances he wouldn't have given the rumours a second thought, but at the moment there was certainly something strange in the Chief Inspector's behaviour.
XXX
That was Thursday afternoon. Twenty hours later, and five days after the shooting, Philips finally regained consciousness. His first significant words were a demand to see 'that bastard Harper'.
Harper's reaction to that was dizzying relief, followed closely by the desire to go in the opposite direction as fast as he could. The young nurse who had brought the message, frowned impatiently at him until he stood up guiltily, leaving his coffee, and followed her down the corridor to Philips' room. The nurse went across to Philips, plumped up his pillows efficiently and said, "There, now." She eyed Harper and announced, "Ten minutes only."
She went out as Harper turned to the constable. It was a younger man this time with collar length blond hair and a long moustache. He looked, at the moment, as if he had a plum stone stuck in his throat and was trying not to swallow it. He'd evidently heard the rumours about him and was probably wondering why he was not in jail, let alone connected with the case. What did the boy think he was going to do for heaven's sake? Murder Philips in his bed? Come to think of it that was probably exactly what he did think!
"I'll take over now Constable. You can have a break for ten minutes," Harper told him.
The uniformed man hesitated, obviously uncomfortable. "My orders are to stay here the whole time sir," he ventured.
"Yes but I'm here now aren't I? I'll take note of anything that's relevant, don't worry."
"Well sir, if you insist, but-"
"I do insist," broke in Harper pleasantly enough. The young constable got up, still visibly reluctant, and left the room, taking his notebook with him.
"He's probably gone to ask for instructions," the Chief Inspector told Philips lightly. "I am under a cloud at the moment you know, chief suspect after you, and not so very far after either!"
"What on earth for?" frowned the man on the bed.
"That's what they deduced from our final conversation and my careless remark about jealousy. Some bright spark came up with the idea that I've been trying to put all the blame on you because I killed her from jealousy. Apparently, you'd overheard me say something incriminating and were finally putting two and two together and trying to threaten me into letting you go. In short, the theory is doing the rounds that I might be that second lover you were talking about."
Harper smiled wryly. "It's all unofficial of course, there's absolutely no evidence to support it, but the Super has been asking me some pointed questions. I've told them it's a personal matter between us and nothing to do with this case, but they don't like that. In fact I bet someone is going to be in trouble for letting me come in here and see you unsupervised. I'm expecting that constable to be back any minute with orders to write down everything we say," he added, hoping to discourage Richard from asking him anything personal. He paused, "What did you want to see me about?"
Although Philips suspected that the whole speech had been made with the purpose of distracting him, he was grateful for the way it had broken the ice between them. He studied the detective's face, noting the lines of strain around his mouth and the wariness in his eyes. His gaze was currently focussed on the policeman's empty chair, he hadn't met Philips' eyes once. "I want an explanation, from you."
"I thought you might." Harper had spent the three days where Philips' life was hanging in the balance, in an agony of bitter remorse. He had been almost faint with relief when he heard the news that Philips was going to pull through, but now he was reluctant to revive his shame and self revulsion for his own sake, let alone to humiliate himself before the other man. Wasn't Philips resentment better than his disgust? The silence grew oppressive.
"Who were you jealous of Bill?" the writer prompted softly. "It wasn't me, was it? It was Toni."
"Yes!" the word was explosive. "God damn you, if you must know. I was never interested in her. I only went into the shop a couple of times to buy things; it was you that I...I wanted. Oh hell, Richard! She was dead, murdered. And I was jealous of her! Because at least she'd had you love her while she was alive. I always believed that part of the story, you know - that you loved her. That made it so much easier to believe the evidence against you. Remember, I'd heard practically the whole case against you before I saw you again and then you lied so much that the policeman in me thought it must be true."
"Policeman?" interjected Philips. "But what about as my friend?"
"To be honest, I don't think I ever looked at the case as your friend! I was so blinded - obsessed - with my own reactions that I never calmed down enough to ask myself if you could really be guilty of a crime like that." He paused, adding in a low voice. "I think I even wanted you to be guilty."
"But why?" cried Philips in bewilderment.
"I was angry at you, for my behaviour. I kept thinking that you said 'no' to me and I'd held off, so why couldn't you? I wanted to punish you...and myself I guess...for knowing that I would have given anything to have been in her place." His hand shook as he rubbed the back of it across his eyes in the now familiar gesture of weary torment. "I shouldn't have come anywhere near the case once I knew you were involved. It was an act of criminal irresponsibility. When you threatened me in your flat, I knew I deserved everything you were saying to me. I really thought you were going to shoot me. Afterwards, I wished you had."
Philips was silent, not knowing what to say.
Harper spoke again. "Why did you say you were going to kill me? Didn't you know the police were just outside?" His voice sounded as if he already knew the answer.
"I knew, alright. I just didn't care. Everyone thought I'd done it - even my parents! I just lost the will to keep fighting. I didn't fancy twenty years in prison." He shifted position slightly in the bed. "I suppose it was partly pride - I just couldn't bear the fact that everyone thought I could do something like that. Not the police, I mean. I could understand that, but the people I thought knew me. Do you know, not one person even asked me if I had done it?" He looked at Harper's bowed head and continued, "I was really hurting and I guess I wanted a way to hurt back. I admit I did everything I could think of to hurt you in that room." Harper's hand went involuntarily to his lips, and both of them remembered that kiss. "Looks like neither of us have much to be proud of."
Their eyes met for the first time, tentatively. They were both aware that each had succeeded far too well in his desire to hurt the other, and wondered whether it was still possible to salvage something from the mess of shame and anger, hurt and humiliation that was their friendship. Perhaps they shouldn't even try, thought Harper, for both their sakes. Could a relationship where one person wanted sex and the other didn't be anything but hurtful?
Philips looked suddenly embarrassed. "Bill, if..." he stopped and started again. "Do you..." By now his face was hot and flustered. He took a deep breath before he rushed out with, "Bill do you still-" He broke off as the constable and a young red haired nurse arrived together before blurting out, "...Believe I did it?"
Harper knew that hadn't been what Philips was going to say and didn't know whether to curse or bless the interruption. "Do you think I did it?" he countered, as much for the policeman's benefit as Philips. Philips grinned and the constable looked extremely uncomfortable. So Harper knew then, what was being said about him.
"That's enough for today," the nurse said firmly, unaware of the dual appropriateness of the words. She held the door open pointedly for Harper. He went out obediently, suddenly self conscious in front of Philips. He felt exposed, like he had bared too much of himself.
"If I'm not sent to jail, I'll come and see you when I get out," Philips called after him, "We can compare stories of police brutality!" Harper snorted back a laugh and the constable looked scandalised.