Broken Bonds

Chapter One

Rudy van Heerden struggled up from the drug-induced sleep. The first thing to enter his awareness was the gripping pain in his right side.
    Fear closed his throat and he felt a rising panic begin deep in his gut. He needed air but the pain tugged at his chest as he tried to breathe in. He inhaled three short breaths, testing his lung capacity. A low moan sounded in his throat as a band of hot agony encased his ribcage.
    His eyes flickered open, blinking against the harsh white light. Unable to focus, he thought he was imagining the silhouetted figure to his left. He closed his eyes but opened them again when the figure spoke.
    “Mr van Heerden, can you hear me?” asked the man. The man pronounced the van in his surname with a hard v rather than the soft f sound used in his native South Africa. He remembered he was in England.
    Rudy’s mouth felt like a desert. He tried to open it but found his lips were stuck together. He pushed his tongue against them, forcing them slightly apart. The effort to speak was too much. Rudy nodded, squinting at the man.
    “Mr van Heerden,” said the man. “You are under arrest on suspicion of the murder of Mrs Lillian Tweedy. Do you understand what I’m saying?"
    Rudy blinked in surprise. Yes, he understood what the man was saying; his English wasn’t that bad. What he didn’t understand was why he was saying it. He nodded again, hoping for some more information.
    The man proceeded to read him his rights. Frowning, he tried to sit up. The fire in his chest forced him back against the pillows. Unable to comprehend, he allowed the comfortable darkness to take him once more.

Staff nurse Diane Tyler leaned against the double swinging doors, pushing them open with her back, and reversing into the room. She turned and placed the bowl of warm water she was carrying on the stainless steel over-bed trolley.
    “Bugger!” she muttered under her breath, wiping up the water she’d slopped from the bowl with the towel draped over her arm.
    The dozing constable’s eyes came open and he leapt quickly to his feet. He smoothed the front of his shirt with meaty pink hands, his generous mouth curling into an apologetic smile.
    “Sorry, Di,” he said. “Did you need help with that?”
     Diane smiled back and shook her head.
    “I’m fine thanks, Walshy,” she said. “Now get out while I see to my patient. There’s a cup of tea in the corridor for you.”
    Police Constable Simon Walsh reached under the sheet and the thin hospital counterpane and snapped Rudy’s wrist into the handcuff attached to the iron bed.
    “Thanks,” he said. “I would kill for a cup of tea.”
    Diane frowned at his choice of words. “Do you really have to do that?” she asked, pushing Rudy’s hair back off his face. “I very much doubt he’s planning to go anywhere.”
    “I’m afraid I do,” said Simon. “He was awake again earlier.”
    “Has he said anything yet?” Diane studied Rudy’s pale face.
    “Not a dickey bird,” said Simon. “I tried to read him his rights again and he just went straight back to sleep. If you ask me, he’s milking this unconsciousness thing for all it’s worth. A bed in the County Hospital’s got to be better than a prison bunk.”
    “It’s the medication,” said Diane. “Besides, unconscious or not, it’ll be a while before he’s ready to leave the hospital, or get out of bed. Can’t you leave him uncuffed? It would make my job a lot easier.”
    “Rules is rules,” grinned Simon. “A pretty young thing like you can’t be left alone in a room with a suspected killer on the loose.”
    Diane shook her head and put a finger to her lips. She had known Simon for years and was quick to forgive his frequent, often thoughtless, verbal blunders. She adored him, but he wasn’t her type. Pity, she thought.
    Diane wanted a tall man with some decent muscle in all the right places, a rugged, but handsome, face and a strong jawline. 
    Simon was about 5’8” and rather more lardy than muscular. Not that he was particularly overweight, but the word ‘cuddly’ often sprang to mind when she though of him. Simon’s boyish face was round, pink and dominated by a wide, slack mouth that was always quick to smile. The structure of Simon’s jawline was hidden by flesh and his fair hair and complexion gave the impression that, even at 38, he hadn’t yet begun to shave.
    “Out,” she said. “This water is getting cold.”
    Diane watched Simon leave the room then dipped a cloth into the bowl of water. She gently wiped Rudy’s face, paying special attention to his dry and cracked lips. She patted it dry with the towel then pulled the bedding back to his waist.
    Rudy wasn’t Diane’s type either. Judging by his length in the bed he had the height, and he certainly had the muscle, but the face was all wrong.
    Framed by thick dark hair that fell to his shoulders, it was a face more aptly described as beautiful than handsome.
    From the first time she saw him, Diane thought his finely modelled features and flawless complexion would not look out of place on a ten year old. According to the driving licence the police had found in his wallet, Rudy van Heerden was twenty-four. Eight years her junior.
    Diane soaped the cloth and set to work on Rudy’s torso. She dried his chest and rolled him carefully onto his left side while she washed his back.
    Rudy moaned as she eased him onto his back again.
   “Mr van Heerden?” Diane lifted Rudy’s hand and gave it a squeeze. “Can you hear me?” Rudy made no response.
    Diane laid his arm at his side, then covered him and folded the bedding up from the foot of the bed. She hooked her fingers into the waistband of the pale blue pyjama pants and let out a small yelp of surprise as she felt his fingers firmly enclose her wrist.
    “No,” he said, his voice hoarse and barely above a whisper.
    Diane removed her hands from the waistband and turned to look at Rudy. Deep brown eyes held her gaze, gentle, pleading, afraid. Diane smiled.
    “It’s okay,” she said. “It’s my job. I’ve done it everyday this week. It won’t take me a minute.”
    Rudy’s fingers tightened on her wrist and Diane felt a stab of alarm. His soft eyes had turned cold and, for the first time, she believed he might indeed be capable of killing.