The Trespass by Scott Hunter Read Free Book Online Page A

seemed to be in agreement with the American. Dracup searched her face. She was pale, biting her lip. And then he remembered the body on the campus path. To Potzner he said, “You lost a man.”
    “Yes.” The American’s expression remained impassive. Only the jaw worked at a slow tempo, masticating the gum with practised automation.
    Dracup leaned back on the pillows. His head throbbed with a slow pulse. So Potzner was on his side; that was little consolation now. The theft of the diary had removed the only tangible link to Natasha.
    “Fact is, Mr Dracup,” Potzner continued, “it would have been a lot better if you’d just complied with my request and passed the document to me. Safer.”
    “That’s helpful.” Dracup’s mouth felt thick and there was a residual taste of antiseptic that made him feel nauseous. “You didn’t tell me there were other interested parties.”
    “You handled yourself very well, Professor. But I think it’s time to leave the rest to us.”
    Dracup raised an eyebrow. Even that small action sent splinters of pain across his face. “The rest?” Sara was vehemently nodding her agreement. She moved closer and took Dracup’s hand.
    “Mr Dracup. I just came to apologize for the inconvenience that’s been caused. I wish you the best for a quick recovery – oh, and you needn’t concern yourself about the incident in the hotel room. The police know nothing.” Potzner turned to leave, one hand on the curtain.
    “No. Wait .” Dracup reached out to grab Potzner but fell back on the pillow at the jarring pain in his shoulder. He heard his voice shouting, “My daughter is missing! You can’t just walk away –”
    Potzner hesitated; he seemed genuinely surprised. “I’m sorry – I didn’t know.”
    “You’re sorry? ”
    A nurse brushed past him into the ward enclosure. “Right,” she said brightly. “Calm down please, Mr Dracup. Mobile off inside the hospital.” She removed the instrument from Potzner’s gloved hand. “You’ll disturb the whole ward with all that shouting. Everybody out. I have to change Mr Dracup’s dressings.” She bustled off, presumably, Dracup thought, to allow his guests a minute or so to make themselves scarce.
    Potzner turned to leave. “I’ll see you in my office when you’re feeling better, Professor. In the meantime I suggest you talk to the police about your daughter. And I wouldn’t mention our little chat. Or the diary.” The curtains parted and Potzner was gone.
    Dracup felt his anger burning. “Now wait a minute –.” But Sara’s hand was on his arm, the nurse poised over him like some starched bird of prey. He listened as the American’s uneven footsteps receded along the ward, then turned his attention to the nurse. “I need to get out of here. I’m not ill. There’s nothing broken. Is there?” He challenged the nurse with a hostile jutting of his chin.
    “You have a little concussion and a bruised hip,” the SRN said. “But you’ll live. I presume there’s someone who can keep an eye on you?” She glanced at Sara. “Well, that’s all right then. The doctor will be round shortly. If you behave you’ll probably be discharged this evening.”
    “I’m discharging myself when you’ve finished the dressings,” Dracup told her. She opened her mouth to reply but, seeing his expression, thought better of it and turned her attention to the task in hand.
     
    Potzner’s office was a Spartan affair. Dracup slammed the door behind him and pointed a trembling finger at the American. “You’d better start explaining. Right now.”
    “Do come in, Professor. Take a seat.” Potzner waved vaguely in the direction of a chair. His attention was occupied by a set of photographs that lay askew on the surface of his desk. The omnipresent Winston was jammed into the corner of his mouth, although it remained unlit in irritated deference to the ‘No Smoking’ signs liberally scattered around the building.
    “I’ll stand if