Agnes was at my side. I was kneeling in his blood, which was pooling around him, congealing quickly in the cold air.
‘I’m going to try turning him over,’ I said, ‘check his breathing. Keep this pressed down.’
She put her hands on the sweatshirt, I arranged his limbs and hauled him on to his back. I bent low, my ear by his mouth and nose listening, my eyes watching his chest for motion. It was hard to tell. I turned my head to look at him. His eyes flew open and his hand grabbed my throat. I screamed and scrabbled to get away, clawing at his hand with my own. His grip weakened and I pulled free. I scrambled to my feet, slipped in his blood and nearly fell on him. I regained my balance and fought to slow my breathing. His eyes were shut again.
I struggled to remember first aid. There was something about raising the wound above the heart – or was that only legs and arms? ‘I’ll go for help,’ I said. ‘Here,’ I pulled my jacket from the dummy and fashioned a cushion, ‘lift his head, put this underneath. Will you be all right?’
Agnes nodded, her face was blank with shock. ‘Go on,’ she said.
It didn’t take me long to establish that there were no offices in the warehouse, no phones. Outside dawn was breaking, the light hurt my eyes. I could see Goulden’s car and across the yard the main building. Steel shutters covered all the doors and windows. No one was at work yet. There was a heavy dew, the world was soaked and there was a powerful smell of fertiliser.
It was hard to think straight. Where could I get help? Looking about I could see fields, trees and pylons but no other buildings. The land was flat, the sky dominating most of the view, grey to the east where the day was beginning but still dark behind me. I listened for traffic. I thought I could make out a distant drone but I couldn’t tell if it was in my head or out there.
If I’d had my wits about me I might have taken his car or used his car-phone to summon help but I’d lost all sense somewhere in the fear and the bleeding, and the only thing that occurred to me was to walk until I found someone.
I set off jogging slowly down the narrow road that led to Malden’s. It was laid with white gravel, like the stones that Hansel dropped. I wanted to lie down and sleep. I wanted to hide somewhere far away where they’d never find me.
Guilt. Fear. Had Tina Achebe’s killer felt it? Had he been drenched in blood. Beaten to death she’d been, how many blows? She was a tiny woman, nothing like Goulden with his broad shoulders, his big bones. Had Tina’s murderer used a weapon or just his fists? There’d never been anything in the papers about a weapon. Had her head burst like Goulden’s?