The sun was shining in my eyes and it was only a couple of metres away. I twisted my head and that hurt more than the burning sun. I tried to lift my arm to block out the light; my shoulder was stiff and painful but I got my hand across my face.
‘He’s all right,’ a voice said.
‘Who’s all right?’ I said.
‘You are.’ This was another voice. ‘Do you know where you are?’
‘Hospital grounds.’
‘You’re inside the hospital. You’ve been unconscious.’
I tried to lift the upper part of my body from what I discovered was a narrow bed. It hurt and someone tried to hold me down but I got there. Everything swum around-room, faces, my legs stretched out in front of me for all of two metres. I closed my eyes. That was better. My neck hurt probably worse than my shoulder. Nothing else hurt very much. My mouth was dry.
‘Some water, please.’
I opened my eyes when I felt the glass held to my mouth, took a sip and swallowed. Much better.
‘A possible concussion?’ one of the voices said. A shadow fell across me. ‘I’m Dr Grey. Just lie back and let me examine you.’
I did it. Why not? As awakenings from physical attacks go it was much better than most. I felt strong hands on my temples; the light shone again but this time the sun had gone back up where it belonged.
‘Look left, look right, look up. Possible concussion, but I think not.’
I could feel sympathy and concern waning so I stayed lying down. The next voice was milder. ‘I’m Dr Smith. I want your explanation for what happened.’
I looked at them through half-opened eyes. Grey was a bulky man with heavy spectacles. He wore a white skull cap like a surgeon which was an alarming thing to see from my position. ‘I was trying to be non-violent, Doctor. I pushed one man and tripped another. Then someone clobbered me.’
‘That is not funny.’ Grey said. ‘You trespassed in the company of another man who behaved in a way calculated to disturb some already very disturbed people. You… ‘
‘Where is he? Did he get away?’
‘Listen to me! You are in serious trouble.’
I sat up again and took the water from the man I took to be Dr Smith. He was an older, gentler-looking type wearing similar clothes to Grey-white coat over shirt and tie. Another man stood by the door in the white-painted, almost chilly room. He was the rabbit puncher. ‘I’m a little confused, Doctor,’ I said. ‘I may owe you an apology. Things sort of got out of control.’
‘That’s not good enough,’ Grey spluttered. ‘I want… ‘
‘Now, Bruce,’ Smith said, ‘I think we have a reasonable man here. I’m the administrator of the hospital, Mr Hardy. We should be able to straighten things out.’
Grey didn’t like that. ‘I’ve got a half dozen people down there who’re going to need special treatment for days over this, maybe longer. This bloody hooligan… ‘
Even though I wasn’t at my most acute I could tell that Grey was under more pressure than was good for him. He was red in the face and a purple vein was throbbing under the flushed skin near his right eye. ‘Have you called the police?’ I asked.
‘No.’ Grey bit down hard on the word.
I drank some water and handed the glass back to Smith. ‘Perhaps you should.’
‘I don’t think that’s necessary,’ Smith said. ‘Just tell us what you and the other man were doing.’
‘You have to see it from my point of view, Doctor. I’m here in some part of a building I’m not familiar with in the company of three men who could be axe murderers for all I know.’ I pointed to the man at the door. ‘I know he delivers a good hit. You know my name so I assume you’ve taken my wallet. I just don’t feel safe.’
‘This is absurd,’ Grey snorted.
‘So, call the police. What’s stopping you?’ I swung my legs off the bed and put my feet gingerly on the floor. I wondered if I could support my weight. A pratfall wouldn’t have created the right impression just then.
‘What circumstances would make you feel more comfortable, Mr Hardy?’ Smith said.
Any public place, I thought. Preferably where they serve drinks. ‘What about your office? With a view of the gate, a few people around, a telephone on the desk and my wallet in my hand.’ I pointed again. ‘I can do without him and I wouldn’t mind a drink.’
Smith smiled. ‘Happily, my office has a view of the gate and of the water and I’ve got a good single malt. How does that sound?’
We sat in Smith’s pleasant office, admired the view and I rubbed the back of my neck. I examined my wallet and put it in my pocket.
‘Now,’ Smith said, ‘try this.’ He poured the whisky; I sipped it and nodded. Smith took a sip and favoured me with one of his benign smiles. ‘What were you up to?’
That made it sound almost like a schoolboy prank. I could’ve climbed through the window and walked to the front gate. There were no men bigger than me around, no guns. I wondered why I still had a sense of extreme danger.
‘I was hired by a man who had undergone psychosurgery here. He said he had a friend named Guy who was in danger of receiving the same treatment. He was very upset about it. I got the impression he wanted my help in securing Guy’s release.’
‘I see.’ Smith drank some more whisky. He swung around to a table on which there was a fair sized computer with a monitor to match. His back was turned to me as he took something from his pocket. I recognised it as my notebook. The neck punch must have fogged me because I hadn’t realised it was missing. Smith flicked open a page, nodded and closed the book. He tapped keys for a while, consulted the screen and tapped some more. I finished my drink and looked at the view.
Smith swivelled slowly away from the screen until we were face to face; he handed me the notebook and reached for the bottle. I shook my head. ‘Moderation,’ he said. ‘An excellent thing. We have a mystery on our hands, Mr Hardy. This hospital has never had a patient of the name your client gave you, that is, Gareth Greenway, and does not have one with the name of Guy-either as a first or second name.’