Page 98 of The Scene of the Crime

Wood put his pint down. ‘Don’t take this the wrong way, but what do you want from me in return?’

‘Nothing, apart from the next round. The thing is, I can’t stand the client.’

‘Are we talking about a male or female client?’

Stubbings looked around, then leaned forward, speaking quietly. ‘We’re talking about Michelle De Klerk, aka “that bitch Belsham”. I think she might be involved in what happened to her husband.’

‘Are you serious?’ Wood asked.

‘Deadly serious. Take it from me. She’s only interested in herself and her career. There’s a jeweller called Nathan Cole you need to check out and a friend of hers called Chandice Bramston you need to talk to. Just don’t mention my name for Christ’s sake.’

‘There’s always a way round, Stubbs,’ Wood said reassuringly. ‘Just tell me everything you know.’

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

Michelle De Klerk sat beside her husband’s bed in the private room he’d just been moved to, wanting to be there when he woke up. She watched his heart monitor, willing it not to stop beating, and felt a sense of relief as she noticed his eyes twitch and his fingers move during the night. Exhausted, she wrapped a blanket around herself and eventually fell into a deep sleep. Around 2 a.m., the night nurse entered the room. She moved quietly, checking Johan’s pulse and heart monitor, careful not to disturb Michelle. After completing her task, she left to prepare her report, dimming the room lights on her way out.

About an hour later, Johan began to stir and then, suddenly, he was awake. For a moment, he felt disoriented, taking steady, deep breaths. As his eyes adjusted to the semi-darkness, he focused on Michelle’s sleeping figure beside him, but he couldn’t understand why she was there or where he was or why there was excruciating pain coursing through his entire body.

He slowly began to take in the darkened room and tried to remember what had happened and how he had got there, but nothing made sense. His mouth was dry, and his tongue felt too big for his mouth. He closed his eyes, feeling as though he was trapped in a nightmare. Another hour passed; he felt less pain but was still unable to lift his head. This time, however, he found that he could form words.

‘Michelle, Michelle . . . wake up,’ Johan croaked weakly. He closed his eyes then tried again.

She shot up, hardly believing he was awake, throwing the blanket aside and crossing to the bed. He was struggling to sit up. ‘Oh my God, my love, I’m here, I’m here, let me help you, don’t move.’ Michelle eased one of his pillows up, then perched beside him, taking hold of his hand and kissing it.

‘I’ve been trying to wake you for ages,’ he said, sounding groggy.

‘I was exhausted. I’ve been here for you all the time. How are you feeling?’

‘Really rough. My body aches like hell, and my throat is killing me. Can you give me some water?’ he rasped.

Michelle went to the bottle beside her chair. She held it gently to Johan’s mouth. He took a few sips and then licked his lips.

‘What day is it?’

‘It’s Thursday morning now. Someone broke into the house and assaulted you in the early hours of Monday morning. You were badly injured, and the doctor put you in an induced coma.’ She couldn’t tell whether he took in what she had just said.

‘What hospital am I in?’

‘Hackney. Can you remember what happened?’ He was about to say something when Michelle touched her mouth, indicating he should keep quiet. She went to the door, opened it and looked down the corridor, but no one was there. Johan started to ask her what she was doing, but she shook her head and put her finger to her mouth again.

‘I just wanted to be sure no one is eavesdropping.’

‘I don’t understand . . . I feel terrible,’ he said in a hoarse voice.

‘I need to talk to you, it’s very important, Johan, so for God’s sake just listen to me.’

‘Yes, yes . . . OK.’

‘The police have been asking questions, and I don’t know the answers. You need to tell me what happened.’

He closed his eyes and winced in concentration. ‘I remember hearing a noise downstairs . . . then when I went to look, someone attacked me.’

‘The doctor said you’re lucky to be alive,’ she told him.

He took a slow, deep breath. ‘The safe . . . did they . . . ?’

‘For Christ’s sake, it doesn’t matter, Johan.’