He swallowed as he thought about that, tried to count them forward from the weekend. Eventually, he said, ‘Wednesday.’
‘What happened to you?’
He was able to focus on the person talking to him, and he saw it was a police officer. Young, surprisingly young, her radio squawking on her lapel. The ambulance door slammed and the engine started.
He held out his hands, as if to say that it was obvious, but no words came out.
‘It’s okay, you’re safe now,’ she said, as a paramedic busied himself, attaching a clamp to Dan’s finger and shining a light into his eyes.
The world gradually started to take shape again.
He tried to sit up, but the paramedic said, ‘No, no, no. Stay there, Mr Grant.’
‘No, I’m fine, let me go.’
‘You’re not. Trust me.’
Dan lay back and grimaced, a sharp jab of pain coming from his waist.
‘I was following someone,’ he said, gritting his teeth. ‘They jumped me.’
The constable leaned forward. ‘They?’
‘I was led into a trap. Two of them at least. I’m a lawyer.’
‘I know who you are, Mr Grant. We just needed to know whether you did. What was it all about? Do you know them?’
He didn’t recognise her, but after a while most of them blur into a stream of dark uniforms. ‘Carl Ogden. I was following him.’
‘Why?’
‘It was to do with a case.’
‘What did they do?’
Dan raised an eyebrow. ‘Beat the shit out of me.’ He winced. ‘And stabbed me, I think.’
The paramedic’s gaze became more intense. ‘Where?’
‘In the side.’ He gestured towards an area just above his waist.
The paramedic pushed up Dan’s hoodie and muttered, ‘Shit,’ when he saw the blood sticking his T-shirt to his torso. He prodded it with his fingers, making Dan groan as sharp jabs of pain shot through his body. ‘It’s not too deep,’ he said, his fingers still prodding around. ‘Your hoodie must have slowed it down, or you moved your body instinctively. A few stitches should sort it. It’s your head I’m worried about.’
‘I need to go though. This case, it’s important.’
‘No, you’re staying in tonight. They’ll insist on it.’
Dan turned his head to the officer. ‘How did you find me?’
‘Someone called your phone. Some young scallies were walking past and saw the screen lit up. They thought they’d found a freebie, but when they saw you, they called us.’
Dan closed his eyes. ‘There’s some good in the world.’
He tried to shut out the pain, but it was too hard. Instead, he relaxed into the sway of the ambulance, hoping to soothe it away.
The police officer must have received a message on her radio, because she pressed her earpiece and paid attention to what she was being told. After a few seconds, she said to the paramedic, ‘We need to avoid Union Street.’
Dan opened his eyes. ‘Union Street? What’s going on?’
‘One of the buildings is on fire.’
Dan felt sick. He knew straight away which building. He tried to sit up but was pushed down again. He asked the question anyway. ‘Which one?’
‘I don’t know the number or anything, but it’s a solicitor’s office. The one at the end.’ As soon as she said it, she put her hand to her mouth. ‘Is it your office? I’m so sorry.’
Dan didn’t respond. He just turned his head to the side and wondered what the hell he had got himself into. He wanted to go to his office, to see how bad the damage was, but he knew that he needed to be treated first.
As the officer radioed for someone to look for Carl Ogden, his thoughts went to Jayne. He’d dragged her back to Highford after she’d put it all behind her. He had to let her go back to Manchester.
Whatever was going on, it was his case, and his alone.
Chapter Thirty-Nine
The house seemed empty as Jayne woke. The sun was bright against the curtains, but there were no sounds. She reached across the bed, her eyes closed, but she knew it was vacant. It was missing Chris’s weight, his warmth, and instead her hand found some paper.
She lifted her head. It was a note. She yawned before she felt able to focus.
Early shift. Help yourself to breakfast. Thank you for a wonderful night. We must do it again. Call me. X
Again? She smiled to herself. Again and again was her memory.
She reached over to the curtain and pulled it back, letting the light stream in. She squinted at first. The sky seemed brighter than it ever had in Highford. That was something she’d noticed as she’d got closer to Brampton, that the sky seemed bluer, was fresher in some way that she couldn’t quite pin down. It was the same that morning.
She lay back and reflected on the night before.
There’d been too many times in her recent past where a sexual encounter had been about satisfying a need, the bad end to a drunken night, Jayne pretending to be asleep as whoever she’d brought home slinked off into the night. Even on those rare moments when she felt sexually fulfilled, there was an emptiness to it, that the person underneath or on top was nothing more than flesh.
It had been different with Chris. There was a connection there, that she had wanted his pleasure as much as her own, and for the first time in a long time she’d fallen asleep draped across him rather than turned away and buried under the sheets.
She grinned as she thought of her hands on his back, her passion digging deep into his skin, lost in the moment, Chris too. Both of them slow, careful of her bruises, but in sync. She giggled as she thought how he’d better not take his shirt off in front of others for a few days.
She swung her legs off the bed and carried her good mood all the way downstairs, her hair tangled, her clothes rescued from the floor. She needed to get back to the hotel to change, but she didn’t want to leave just yet.
Chris’s kitchen was at the back of the house, and she went in there to boil the kettle. A coffee and some moments of reflection would be a good start to the day.
As she waited, she walked through the house and to the window at the front, moving the blinds to peer along the road.
It had that seaside look of the world at a cliff edge, where the buildings carried on and then came to an obvious stop, just the sea on the other side. The constant cry of gulls filled the air, but she thought she could get used to it here. There was something about the pace of it she liked, lacking the rush-hour snarl, but what was there to rush to? There were no office complexes, no large warehouses. Just a few streets of shopfronts, livings scraped on novelties and postcards, and the rest of the town was houses and small bed and breakfast hotels.
She liked the people too. Not many had any glamour to them, most with a hard-worn look, skin made old by the freezing and salty sea air, but she found that appealing, as if there was no need to compete.
The kettle clicked off, so she wandered back to the kitchen. Ruby’s picture took away some of the smile, reminded her why she was there, but she remembered what Chris had said, that he wanted to be reminded about the happy times, not just think about her death.
Once in the kitchen, she entertained herself with the thought of staying in Brampton, of this being her new home. It wasn’t really about Chris, because she knew from experience that one night didn’t tell her much about a man, but about the new start. Highford felt like a different life, Manchester too. Maybe she could start over.
She poured the water over the coffee granules and, as she stirred it, her gaze drifted along the worktop.
There were some papers, torn in half and waiting to be put into the recycling bin. One was the remains of a bank statement. She didn’t mean to look, but something caught her attention. Just one word, but it made her go cold, and then angry.
She reached for it, hoping she’d read it wrong, but as she looked closer, her eyes swam with tears.
She slammed the scrap of paper onto the worktop and ra
n upstairs, looking for her shoes, throwing the duvet around as she looked on the floor to make sure she didn’t forget anything. She wouldn’t be coming back.
She rushed down the stairs and slammed the door, wiping her eyes as she rushed towards the hotel. She needed a shower, wanted to get back to her room, to wash him away.
But the memory of what she’d seen on that small piece of torn-up bank statement made her feel sick.
Just for a moment, she thought she’d connected with someone. No, it was more than that. She’d allowed herself to connect. That’s why it had been different. That shield she put up so wilfully had dropped, and for one night it had been wonderful. But she should have known it was too good to be true.
It had been just a line on the bank statement. Millbrook Service Station. £65. A petrol station, his car filled up for his long journey. But it was the other word that had wiped out the morning glow, because the bank statement revealed the whereabouts of the petrol station, and she knew it well. Highford.
Chris had been to Highford a month earlier, a town he’d claimed he didn’t know.
He’d lied. There was something else going on, a hidden agenda behind the night before.
As the hotel got closer, her anger was replaced by something else: disappointment. At herself. At Chris. One more lie told by one more man, and once again she’d believed it.
She wanted to go home. Just get the hell out of Brampton. She’d had enough of the cold and the gulls and the taste of salt on her lips.
She paused as she got closer to the hotel. It wasn’t about her. She could shut out her feelings, she’d had enough practice, but why had he lied? There had to be a reason, and it had to be connected to the case.
A chill ran through her. Chris. He’d been to Highford and he’d lied.
She had to get back to Highford for a different reason. She needed to speak to Dan. He had to know all this.
And as she thought of Dan, she surprised herself. She missed him.
Chapter Forty
Dan trudged through the hospital, wincing at the movement of the stitches in his side and the aches everywhere else.
He hated hospitals. Always had. They reminded him of lives ending, not of being saved. Misery, illness, grief. He knew that was the circle of life, and he couldn’t fight against it, but it didn’t make it any easier to deal with.
It wasn’t just that though; the hospital in Highford had darker memories, because he’d walked the same corridors when his mother was ill, cancer destroying her body until she finally succumbed. He remembered the numb feeling, almost disbelief that it had to happen to his mother. His father internalised his grief: he just went out more, got drunk more. Dan threw himself into his working life and pushed away closeness, because he hadn’t properly worked out how to deal with something good coming to an end. All he’d been left with was the realisation that they do.
He saw the same look in the eyes of those he passed.
As he thought of the events of the night before, he knew that his pessimism was well‑founded. All he had left to do was visit the town centre to see what was left of his business.
The doctors had advised him against leaving, but he needed fresh air more than he wanted to be monitored.
The corridor opened out as he got near the exit, and there were shops and a cafe, somewhere for the hospitalised unhealthy to stock up on sweets and cakes. He kept on walking through, desperate to get outside, when he saw someone he recognised. Zoe Slater, the prosecutor who was running the case against Nick. There might be an experienced barrister for the trial, but Zoe did all the legwork behind the scenes.
He’d known Zoe throughout his career. They’d qualified at around the same time and had seen each other grow as lawyers. He remembered advice Zoe once gave him, passed down from one of the older prosecutors: in court you’ll make a fool of yourself just as much as you get older, but you’ll care less about it. They’d had fall-outs, it was the nature of the job, but they got on most of the time, and there was mutual respect. She was the prosecutor he didn’t like to see when he walked into a courtroom, because she was shrewd and smart, but was always glad it was her when there were gaps in the proceedings and conversations turned to the mundane and the gossip.
Zoe was at the enquiry desk, and it looked as if she’d come straight from the office, in her suit, not off-duty casuals, her long dark hair hanging forward as she spoke to the woman behind the computer monitor.
Dan came up behind her and said, ‘Hi Zoe. Are you visiting someone?’
She turned, surprised, and was about to smile her welcome when she noticed his injuries.
‘I’m here to see you, but, hell, I didn’t think you’d be this bad.’ She held up her hand. ‘Don’t give me the you should see the other guy gag.’
He smiled, despite himself. ‘There were two at least, and it was dark, but I took a beating. There’s no bravado from me.’
‘Do you want a coffee?’
‘No, I want daylight and real air. Come on, walk and talk.’
They headed to the exit doors, and when Dan was outside, he closed his eyes.
‘Thank God for this.’ He sighed and opened his eyes. ‘Why have you come to see me? I’m glad, of course, but I’m curious.’
Zoe glanced to one side, to the small group of smokers in dressing gowns, their cheeks florid, one attached to an oxygen tank, a small breathing tube attached to her nostrils.
She leaned in so they couldn’t hear. ‘We heard about what happened to you, and your office, and people were worried. As far as defence lawyers go, you’re one of the good ones.’
‘Thank you,’ Dan said, touched. Although they were on opposite sides, the legal community in Highford was a small one.
‘What happened?’
‘I became too involved in your case. Nick Connor.’
‘How come?’ Then she raised her hand. ‘You don’t have to tell me. That’s why I’m here though, to let you know that if there’s any paperwork you need before Monday, I can get it for you.’ She cocked her head. ‘If you don’t mind me saying, though, Nick seems pretty guilty.’
‘He looks that way, I agree, but I’m not in the mood to talk about it. It nearly got me killed, and I haven’t even seen my office yet.’
‘Brace yourself.’
‘Not good?’
‘No. It’s only bricks and mortar though. As long as you’re okay.’
Dan didn’t voice how he felt, because it would be too sentimental, but he didn’t agree with her. His office was about his former boss, Pat Molloy, who gave the firm its name. He’d promised him that he would keep the name, and the lettering on the windows, because it was Pat’s legacy. He dreaded the thought that it had gone.
He checked his watch. Nine thirty. ‘I’m supposed to be in court.’
‘Don’t worry. Whoever you have in court will know all about this. The cases will get adjourned. Work doesn’t always matter. Most things are electronic anyway, but if you need paper copies of any cases, not just Nick Connor, call me and we’ll sort it out.’ She frowned. ‘There was one thing though. You’re not planning any surprises, are you?’
‘What do you mean?’
‘Last night, I spoke to the DCI in this case, and he told me he’d received a call from a retired seaside cop from Yorkshire, said that you were fishing around over there, something to do with an old case.’
‘That’s why you’re really here then. You’re worried about the case, but you can’t call me at my office because it’s burnt down.’
‘I’m not worried, Dan. But I don’t want you playing any games. A man died, and your client killed him, except I know that you can get a bit creative sometimes.’
‘I call it discovering the truth,’ he said.
‘Nothing you’re ready to disclose?’
‘Not yet.’
‘Okay, fair enough.’ She took Dan’s hand. ‘I’ve got to go back, but look after yourself.’
‘Thank you,’ he said, and watched as she made
her way back to the car park.
For a few seconds, he wondered whether she was part of a world he was about to walk away from. Zoe was right. There was more to life than this.
But retired Chief Inspector Porter had been calling. He must be worried about something. Now his intrigue was sparked. Perhaps he wasn’t ready to walk away just yet.
Then his thoughts turned to Jayne.
He pulled his phone from his pocket and dialled. It rang out six times, before the message service took over.
He knew it wasn’t going to be a good day.
Chapter Forty-One
Jayne spent a long time in the shower, scrubbing away the last of Chris, hoping it would wash away how foolish she felt.
Her phone rang. It was still in the bedroom, but she was in no rush to answer. The hot water soothed her bruises, now an angry purple, and it could be Chris, checking in, doing whatever new lovers do. She wasn’t ready for his cheery deceit.
But it was enough to make her step out of the shower and start her day.
As she dried herself, she stared at her bruises in the mirror. Her hair hung wet over the eye that was bruised to its peak blue. It seemed so obvious now that Chris was wanting to be close to her for a reason, not for her looks.
She went through to the bedroom to check her phone, wrapped in a towel, and saw that it was Dan.
She thought about not returning his call but she knew she had no choice. She was in the hotel he was paying for, doing work on his case. She sat on the bed and called back.
‘Sorry, I was in the shower,’ she said, when he answered. ‘What ideas do you have for me today?’ Her tone was flat.
He didn’t answer at first, and Jayne thought there was a problem with her signal, until he said, ‘I need you to come back now.’
‘That’s a good idea. I’ve made some progress, but I’m done with this place.’
‘What have you found out?’
‘I’ve spoken to the people who Mark spoke to, went down a couple of dead ends, but no one knew what excited him. More importantly, if they were going to kill him, they’d do it here, not Highford. No, it must be to do with something that happened away from here, closer to Highford.’
The Innocent Ones Page 18
