As The Pig Turns

seen through his fake post-traumatic stress but after his treatment of Sue had decided it would be better just to get rid of him. His parents knew all about his spying for Mixden and looked at him sadly, as if they could not believe they had created such a monster.
    There had been a police guard outside his door, but when he had been considered strong enough to move to a general ward, the police guard had been taken off. The fact that his parents had not seen fit to pay for a private room for him had shaken him.
    Sometimes, in his lowest moments, he began to wish he really had died. And yet it was his fear of Tulloch returning to finish the job that kept him alert, had made him refuse the sleeping pills.
    The other patients did not talk to him. He had heard one say, ‘He’s probably a criminal.’
    He was thankful he now had enough strength to go to the bathroom himself without enduring the indignity of ringing for a bedpan. He emerged from the bathroom and hesitated, wondering whether to see if he could get any food from the kitchen. Soup and a sandwich had been served at six o’clock in the evening, and he knew he could not expect more food until the following morning. The night nurse was not at her desk. He managed to find a small kitchen outside the ward and made himself a cup of coffee and a cheese sandwich. Beginning to feel a bit weak and shaky, he cautiously emerged from the kitchen to make his way back to his bed. In front of him was what looked at first like a hospital orderly pushing a trolley of medicine. The orderly stopped outside Simon’s ward, selected a syringe and filled it. Simon began to shake with fear. There was something horribly familiar about that burly figure with the fair hair. He retreated slowly and then began to run until he reached the main desk, crying, ‘Get the police. It’s Tulloch. He’s trying to murder me!’
    Soon the hospital was surrounded. In the abandoned cart, they found a syringe full of cyanide. Bill Wong, hurrying to the hospital, wondered if he would ever get a decent night’s sleep again. But Tulloch – and it must have been Tulloch, for who else would want to kill Simon? – had disappeared.
    Simon was once more removed to a private room with a policeman on guard outside. He had a sudden longing for the abrasive person of Agatha Raisin.
    Agatha was awakened by the shrill ringing of the phone by her bedside. She squinted at the clock. Three in the morning? She picked up the phone.
    ‘It’s me, Simon,’ the voice on the other end whispered. ‘Don’t hang up.’
    ‘What do you want, you sneaky little toad?’ demanded Agatha.
    ‘Tulloch’s been here at the hospital.’ He rapidly told her what had happened, ending up by saying, ‘I need to see you.’
    ‘God knows why,’ said Agatha acidly. ‘Look, you’re no longer in intensive care, I gather. So I’ll be along in the morning when they allow visitors.’
    She slept uneasily for the rest of the night. Every rustle in the thatched roof made her think of Tulloch crawling up there; every creak from the old timbers made her think he was trying to find a way in.
    I have never been this frightened for so long, thought Agatha miserably. Oh, for the boring life of lost teenagers and cats back again. I swear I’ll never complain.
    Agatha took her time getting to the hospital. She went to Achille in Evesham to get her hair done before going to see Simon.
    Simon saw her approach through the open door of his room and called to the policeman on guard to let her in.
    ‘Glad to see you’re looking stronger,’ said Agatha gruffly. ‘But I can now tell you, you are one sneaky piece of work.’
    ‘I’m sorry,’ said Simon. His thick hair was ruffled up, and he looked very young. ‘The fact is I’m terrified. Every doctor who enters the room makes me shiver. It’s going to be one horror of a night ahead.’
    ‘How did you leap to the conclusion that one bent copper would try to buy an expensive car?’ asked Agatha.
    ‘It’s the sort of thing I thought he might do. Most chaps who win the lottery, well, the first thing they want is a flashy car.’
    Boys and their toys, thought Agatha. ‘If only we could catch him,’ she said, half to herself. ‘He’s one mad psycho.’
    ‘I’ve an awful feeling he’ll try again,’ said Simon.
    Agatha looked at him thoughtfully. She was tired of the police treating her like a bumbling amateur when they wouldn’t even have found the drugs factory if it hadn’t