Perfect Crime. Helen Fields
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took her by the shoulders and shook her. She looked at him, horrified, then her eyes filled with tears and she collapsed, shaking against his chest.
‘I’m sorry,’ he muttered into her hair. ‘You scared me. Come on, let me look at that gash on your face.’
Ava turned so he could wipe the worst of the blood away to inspect the injury beneath.
‘The cut on your cheek’s not too bad, but you’ve got a hell of a bump on your forehead. We should get you checked out for concussion. Can you walk?’
Ava nodded, rolling to her knees to get upright.
‘Slowly,’ he said. ‘Let me hold you.’
Standing, he pulled her up, sliding one arm around her waist and protecting her damaged face with his other hand. They took the spiral staircase at a snail’s pace, with Ava gripping the wall on one side and Callanach’s hand in front of her as if she were on a ship in a squall, pausing every few steps. He pulled her into one of the tiny but secure side rooms to rest before taking a look at her leg.
By the time they reached the ground, she was shaking so badly, Callanach was worried she might pass out.
‘Let me carry you. It’s flat from here.’
She looked up at him, her grey eyes huge in her ashen face, her hair bloody and flattened against her head.
‘Like hell you will,’ she managed with the smallest of smiles.
He laughed, loud and hard, the tension leaving his body in fierce waves that left him nauseous and breathless.
‘We need to get you warmed up,’ he said when he could finally speak again.
Finally, they staggered in through the visitor centre door, making the uniformed officer posted there jump up and grab for his ASP baton.
‘It’s all right,’ Callanach reassured him. ‘There was an accident, not an incident.’
‘Shall I call an ambulance for you, ma’am?’ the young man asked, keeping his distance from them as if they might be contagious.
‘No, I’m fine. Nothing a couple of paracetamol won’t fix,’ Ava said. ‘Lock up behind us then report back to your station, Constable. Would you mind being discreet about this? I don’t want anyone thinking DI Callanach and I had a fist fight.’ She did her best to smile, but her face was losing its numbness and redefining the definition of pain.
‘Absolutely, ma’am, you can count on it,’ he said stoically, opening the door for them to exit towards the car park.
‘One thing,’ Ava said, looking at the castle employee who was staring at her as if she’d just landed in an alien spacecraft. ‘If you did get trapped inside the castle walls at night, is there any way at all you might get out? I mean, if it was something like a life-or-death situation.’
Kevin, his name badge proclaimed, snapped to remarkably quickly.
‘Two options,’ he mused, rubbing his greying bread and glancing back up towards the castle as if he could see the answers. ‘If you were slim and wanted to badly enough, even an adult could maybe climb through one of the bomb holes then get out down the banks of the moat. Alternatively, if the tide was out, you could clamber down the rocks to the sea and walk along to the section of the beach from where it’s possible to get back up. You’d have to be fit, though. Uninjured and strong. I wouldn’t want to try it.’
‘Thank you,’ Ava said. ‘I take it I can count on you not to say too much about the state I’m in …’
‘I’m a Scot, madam,’ Kevin said. ‘We survived a tumultuous history by being loyal and having an uncanny ability to keep our lips sealed. Nothing’s changed.’
Ava gave Kevin a smile that Callanach thought would have melted the heart of every Scottish warrior ever to have fought the English at Tantallon before taking hold of Callanach’s hand and pulling him towards the exit.
Callanach opened the passenger door and helped Ava in.
‘The Royal Infirmary’s on our way back into the city. There won’t be any traffic this late. Just relax. I’ll have you there in fifteen minutes.’
‘Stop, please, it’s a few bumps and bruises. Nothing’s broken except my pride. Just get me home.’ Ava rested her head backwards and closed her eyes.
‘Are you kidding? After what just happened? Can you feel the size of the lump on your head? Come on, Ava, that’s more stupid than wilful.’ He started the car and pulled away.
‘Luc, please.’ She extended a hand slowly to rest on his forearm. ‘What I did was rash. It was unfair to you. If an officer in my command took a risk like that I’d suspend them. Even I’m not sure what came over me. If you take me to the hospital, this goes official. Give me a break, okay?’
He sighed, the admission that she was right unnecessary. ‘What about going to see Ailsa at home? She’ll look you over.’
‘I’ll scare her rigid. She’ll be furious and I’ll never hear the last of it. No. I just need a hot bath, a stiff drink and a first-aid kit.’
‘Natasha?’ he tried.
Ava’s best friend would be just as angry, but she’d look after Ava overnight without a second thought.
‘Spending most nights at her new girlfriend’s house. Would you let it go? I’m not a child. The shock was worse than the injuries.’
‘Do you even have ice in your freezer, because you’re going to need some for your head?’
‘Not sure, and the bump’s come out so it’s safe, right? You only have to panic when there’s no lump.’
‘Remind me never to let you make important medical decisions for me. You’re staying at mine. There’s still a chance you’re concussed and you shouldn’t be alone,’ he said firmly. ‘No arguments. And stay awake while we’re driving. If you fall asleep now, you’re waking up at the hospital whether you like it or not. Don’t bother arguing.’
For once, Ava didn’t, which told Callanach all he needed to know about her underlying state.
His apartment in Albany Street was the front first floor of a Victorian terraced house. He ordered her to sit on his sofa while he made up an ice pack and fetched her a blanket.
‘I’m running you a bath,’ he said. ‘Can you get your jeans off or do you need help? Your left leg’s badly cut and I need to take a look at the damage.’
Ava stared down at her jeans, cut almost in two on the left where she’d snagged them on the wall.
‘Hadn’t noticed,’ she said. ‘I don’t suppose you’ve got any whisky? Brandy or port would do at a push.’
‘I’m making coffee,’ he replied, running a flannel over the bump on her head before putting the ice pack on it. ‘I’m afraid alcohol and head injuries don’t mix, whatever you Scots might regard as being traditional in these circumstances.’
‘Killjoy.’ She unbuttoned her jeans and wriggled out of them, inspecting her left leg by kicking it out from under the blanket. ‘I guess I’m not going to be wearing a skirt for a few weeks. That’s nasty.’
The leg was blotched purple and black down her shin from the knee to the ankle and a four-inch cut, thankfully not too deep, was going to make an impressive addition to her collection of scars.
Callanach handed her a steaming mug and perched on the end of the sofa.
‘Are we going to talk about what you did tonight?’
‘Are you going to psychoanalyse me, because you know I find that boring?’ She took a sip, screwing her nose up at the strength of the coffee. ‘This stuff can’t be good for you.’
‘Don’t change