The Infirmary (DCI Ryan Mysteries prequel)(2)

He emerged from the stairwell onto a precarious gangway wrapping around the topmost level of steel frame and the height was enough to make him dizzy. His legs were shaking with fatigue and black dots swam in front of his eyes as he clung to the wall. He heard the rattle of metal as they climbed the stairs below and he searched desperately for a way out.

Dobbs spotted a door halfway along the gangway and began to edge forward, sweating as his feet slid against bird excrement and the gangway creaked beneath his weight. The birds were all around now, cooing and crying like the pealing of bells.

“John! Stay where you are!”

He clasped a hand around the heavy door handle that would lead him out onto the top of the bridge. On the other side, he could hear the thrum of traffic and he tugged harder, desperate to get out.

The door was locked.

A sob escaped him, echoing around the cavernous tower.

Frantic now, he put his weight behind it and kicked out at the old chain lock, but it wouldn’t budge. He was almost beaten when he spotted a small hook to the side of the door with a set of old keys, coated in cobwebs and grime. His hands shook as he tried each of them in the lock until, miraculously, the chain fell away.

The police were only metres away by the time he prised the door open. When he burst onto the bridge, a gust of strong wind hit him like a fist to the face so that he almost fell backwards again. Cold air rolled in from the North Sea and whipped through the high arches, the metal screeching and moaning like a woman in torment. He shook his head to clear the sound, pressing the heels of his hands to the sides of his head to relieve the pressure.

“John?”

He backed away from the door as the two police officers joined him, red-faced and out of breath.

“John,” the woman repeated, palms outstretched. “I’m Detective Constable Hitchins and this is Police Constable Jessop. All we want to do”—she paused to catch her breath—“all we want to do is talk to you.”

But he heard fear and mistrust buried beneath the empty platitude.

“I don’t believe you,” he whispered and began to cry.

Jessop and Hitchins glanced at each other, neither sure how to handle a situation that was escalating rapidly out of their control.

Where was Cooper?

Vehicles and pedestrians moving in both directions across the bridge had come to a standstill and the road was blocked by the shrieking arrival of several squad cars. In his peripheral vision, Dobbs watched as more police officers swarmed out of their cars and began to set up makeshift barriers to protect the public from the madman on the bridge.

Tears spilled over his face. Small, salty rivers that pooled in the lines on his cheeks as he continued to edge backwards.

“John, listen to me,” Hitchins began.

“It’s all over!” Jessop cut across her, adopting the kind of aggressive stance he thought would help him get ahead in life. “Give yourself up, man!”

But he wasn’t listening to either of them. He watched a seagull weave through the metal struts overhead with an elegant flap of wings, then dive towards the water somewhere below.

“…John Edward Dobbs, I am arresting you on suspicion of murder. You do not have to say anything. But it may harm your defence if you do not mention when questioned something which you later rely on in court. Anything you do say may be given in evidence.”

As they surged forward to restrain him, Dobbs grasped the thick safety rail on the edge of the bridge. Drawing on the last drop of strength he had left, he heaved himself over the barrier and clung to the top, his knuckles glowing white as he held tight. He pressed his cheek against the cold metal and closed his eyes, mouthing a silent prayer.

“John, come down from the railing,” he heard one of them say.

“Stay back!” he muttered, and opened his eyes. Far below, the river glistened diamond bright in the early afternoon sunshine as it undulated gently towards the sea.

“John!” Hitchins’ voice sounded urgent. “Don’t do anything stupid. You don’t want to do anything final.”

But he knew she didn’t care. She couldn’t; not if he was a killer.

Another radio crackle.

“Subject is volatile, there’s a strong suicide risk. We need a crisis negotiator here, now!”

Slowly, Dobbs began to relax his grip on the metal railing.

“John, there’s still time to come down and talk about things,” the woman tried again, her voice wobbling.

How strange, he thought, that it was they who were frightened in the end.

He watched the river, mesmerised by the ebb and flow of the waves as the police continued to talk, to cajole, and finally to threaten. New officers came and went, more sirens and more noise while Dobbs retreated to the recesses of his own mind.

“John! Tell us why, John! At least tell us whether there are any more! You owe us that!”

In his last moments, he thought of his life, and of the people he had known. He couldn’t recall ever feeling truly happy; there might have been flashes over the years, but they had been outweighed by crushing loneliness. He thought of all the stupid, desperate actions he had taken to quell it. He thought of the dead woman, and started to laugh through his tears, a hysterical, maniacal sound that jarred in the surrounding silence.

And then, sweet oblivion as the water rose up to meet him.





CHAPTER 2