To Kill For by Phillip Hunter

her. When I did that, Apron rushed over and started to shake Tina, yelling at her to wake up. The walls of these places were paper-thin and if I wasn’t careful, I’d have neighbours banging on the door. I wondered when the police were going to arrive. I’d have to shoot out the back and hop over the rear wall. At the back was a concreted area and a row of garages. I’d left my car there.
    â€˜I know someone,’ I said. ‘A doctor. I’ll call him. Okay?’
    That stopped them for a moment. They looked at each other.
    â€˜He’s legit,’ I said. ‘A GP.’
    They agreed. I phoned Browne. He took a long time to answer. When he did, he muttered something unintelligible. He sounded drunk. I told him about the woman. That seemed to sober him up.
    â€˜Call an ambulance,’ he said.
    â€˜Can’t do that. There’d be a report. I don’t want the law involved.’
    â€˜I don’t give a damn what you want. Call for a bloody ambulance.’
    â€˜Tell me what to do for her, or I hang up.’
    He was quiet for a while. He didn’t know where I was phoning from, so he couldn’t call anyone himself.
    â€˜I’ll come over,’ he said.
    I didn’t trust him not to dial emergency, so I told him to take the tube to Debden and then to call me. I’d direct him on the phone from there. In the meantime, he told me to give her black coffee, strong and sweet. I put the women on this. They were happy to be doing something.
    I poked around the house some. I got looks now and then, but nobody tried to stop me. In a drawer, I found bills and letters addressed to Christina Murray. I found no mention of a man.
    â€˜Where’s her husband?’ I asked Apron.
    â€˜She’s not married.’
    I titled my head at the framed photo on the TV. Apron shrugged.
    â€˜Divorced.’
    We spent a while pouring coffee down the woman’s throat and then I hauled her into the bathroom and got her to vomit, then we fed her more coffee. I tried to get the swelling down around her eye. I didn’t want the other women to get the idea that an ambulance was needed. She didn’t seem badly hurt.
    Browne called and I told him how to get to the house. When he arrived he looked bleary and hungover. I carried the woman into the bedroom. He pushed me out and shut the door. After a half hour, he came out and glared at me.
    â€˜Who is she?’
    â€˜Does it matter?’
    â€˜I suppose not. Did you do that to her? Beat her?’
    â€˜No.’
    â€˜You know what happened?’
    â€˜Cole happened. He wanted information from her. He set his men loose.’
    He looked at his hands, and rubbed them, like he was washing them.
    â€˜They sexually molested her, you know.’
    â€˜Uh-huh. She’ll be alright?’
    â€˜Define “alright”.’
    â€˜Will she talk?’
    He glared at me again, like it was my fault the world was fucked up. He fished around in his case and brought out a syringe and a bottle of something and went back into the bedroom.
    After another hour or so, she was in a reasonable state. There’d been no law, and I thought I knew why, but I needed to make sure.
    She was drinking the coffee by herself now, holding it in both hands. The other women were suspicious of me, but they could see that I wasn’t a threat. They’d relaxed since Browne had shown up and I think they must have realized I had something to do with Paget. They probably had an idea what he was. They didn’t want aggro. They were smart.
    Browne had taken himself into the kitchen and was making coffee for himself. He was a moral doctor, didn’t want to treat anyone when he was pissed.
    When I thought the woman was up to answering me, I said, ‘When did you call the police?’
    She looked at her friends.
    â€˜I… I didn’t.’
    â€˜Why?’ Apron said.
    The short one, I noticed, hadn’t said anything,