The George Elms Trilogy Box Set

by Charlie Gallagher

  ‘What’s the deal with the short-term memory, George? Is that still going to be a factor?’ Whittaker asked.

  ‘Yes, sir. The neurologist couldn’t tell me how long it would last for. He doesn’t think it will be permanent but he couldn’t promise that it wouldn’t be either.’

  ‘But our Stan . . . he knows what happened?’

  ‘He didn’t, not any of it. I had to give him the death message, sir. I had to break his heart all over again.’

  ‘Jesus, man, that’s not ideal. What about the house? Is there the need for a clean-up? I can’t have the poor old bastard turning up to that.’

  ‘I’ve sorted it, sir.’

  ‘George paid for it out of his own money, sir,’ Emily cut in. She eyed George as she did. ‘This was before he had any memory issues. George didn’t want him cleaning up what was left of his wife.’

  ‘Quite right, too. Why didn’t you use my budget, George? I won’t have you paying for something like that.’

  Emily was quick again, ‘I think sometimes George forgets that other people care about our victims, sir. It’s a fault. A good one, but a fault all the same.’ Emily’s gaze was still locked on George. Her discourse was impossible to miss.

  ‘Well, we’ve had a long day and we’re all very tired.’ Whittaker announced. ‘I think budget is definitely something that can wait for the morning. The way I see it, this investigation splits two ways . . . George, Paul and Emily . . . I want you to continue your work on Stan and the son. Mel and Jason will stick with me and the rest of the incident room and we will carry on trying to find our missing runaway. Somewhere between those two are all the answers we need. Does anyone have anything to add that we might need to know right now?’

  There were mumbled negatives around the table and then they all got up. Emily was out of the door before George could even call out her name. He watched her through the glass as she made for the exit. Whittaker was right: they were all tired. They would achieve nothing more that night.

  Chapter 25

  Jenny saw bright lights, unsettled and moving quickly. They were coming towards her. She was exhausted. All of a sudden the lights were gone. The sea washed over her; she felt the weight of it on her back, she could taste it strongly in her mouth and it stung her throat. She scraped against the beach. The pebbles moved underneath her; they bumped and smacked against her as the waves slid back out. Her breath came in short gasps.

  The lights were closer and shone directly in her eyes. She reached out her hand to try and grip the beach and stop herself being sucked back into the wash, but her strength was spent and there was little she could do. The water rolled back over the top of her and she felt the pebbles on top of her this time. She was being buried and drowned at the same time. She was resigned to it. She stopped trying.

  She felt rough hands under her shoulders. The grip was firm and strong and her face emerged from the sea. She was above the water now, looking down at it. Her bare feet scraped on the pebbles. She heard excited shouts.

  ‘That’s it! Get her out!’

  She tried to take in a deep breath but still choked on salty water.

  ‘Alright, love, stay calm. You’ve taken on some water.’ She was lowered down, still fighting for breath. The beach was solid and unforgiving on her back. She was tugged on to her side and was promptly as sick as a dog. It just kept coming: water and bile that frothed like the sea from which she had just been pulled. The lights were still bright, she couldn’t make out any details of the people around her. They were still talking, they still sounded excited. She finally got her breath.

  ‘You’re going to be okay,’ someone said. The same voice then shouted, ‘SHE’S OVER HERE!’ He must have moved his feet; she felt pebbles push against her head. She still gulped the air. She was facing the sky. She could make out the stars. Her whole body shook violently in a shiver. She no longer felt cold, though — just numb.

  She was aware of more people around her. More lights. The first voice she heard was back talking to her, telling her she was going to be okay. She could see a bit of him now. He had a boyish face and was wearing a head torch.

  Someone put a blanket over her. She was rolled back onto her side, and when she was rolled back again it was softer on her skin. Then she was lifted into the air. She was on a stretcher of sorts and was moving up the beach. She could hear heavy footfalls on the pebbles, as if they were struggling with her. It seemed like an age before the scrunch of pebbles stopped. By then, vivid white light was all around her and she narrowed her eyes to it. Someone bent over her, a woman wearing a lurid green with yellow epaulettes.

  ‘How are you feeling?’

  Jenny tried to talk. She opened her mouth and could only grunt. Her body was shivering so hard now; she couldn’t stop.

  ‘We’re going to strip you down and then bring you back up to a good temperature, okay? It’s not really the night to be out for a swim, you know!’ She chuckled but Jenny could see the concern in her face. ‘What’s your name?’

  ‘J-J-J-J-Jenny.’

  The woman smiled. ‘Jenny, right?’

  Jenny jerked a nod, her whole body still contorted in shivers.

  ‘Well, Jenny, it’s lovely to meet you. Another few minutes in that water and I don’t reckon we would have. But you’re going to be just fine now, okay?’

  Jenny managed another nod. She felt the warmth of a tear on her cheek. She was aware she was being pulled around, the woman gave her another reassuring smile as she hovered above her with scissors. She cut off her top and it was replaced quickly by a blanket that rustled like foil. A softer blanket was laid on top of that. The woman spoke to someone, her voice raised a little. Jenny was again aware of being moved. She didn’t know where. She didn’t care anymore.

  Chapter 26

  George was lying on his sofa at 5 a.m. again when his phone went off. He had been asleep this time though. A shopping channel played softly on the television. George instantly felt terrible.

  ‘Hello?’

  ‘George! Sorry for the rude awakening, old boy.’ John Whittaker sounded wide awake.

  ‘Don’t worry about it, Major. Seems like it’s the week for it. What can I do for you?’

  ‘Nothing really, George. I just wanted a chat, you know. I couldn’t sleep.’ George’s eyes flicked to the clock hanging on his wall. He was about to make a point when Whittaker started laughing.

  ‘Very good, Major.’

  ‘Too early for banter, old boy? I’ve had a call. There’s been a development.’

  ‘That sounds more like it. Where do you need me?’

  ‘William Harvey Hospital.’

  ‘I’m on my way.’

  George was there in twenty-five minutes. He made for the accident and emergency entrance since he knew it was open twenty-four hours and it was the only place with any movement. Sure enough, Whittaker was in the waiting area, sat on the edge of a plastic chair. George took in the waiting room and did nothing to hide his surprise at how many people were having medical emergencies at five thirty in the morning. Whittaker stood up and then George noticed that Ryker was there too. Whittaker nodded and immediately walked into the corridor, away from the waiting masses. Emily followed but stayed silent and didn’t acknowledge George.

  ‘Has there been some sort of natural disaster I wasn’t aware of?’ George said. ‘I thought this was the quiet time for A and E.’

  ‘State of the NHS these days, George. Some of these poor bastards have probably been here for hours.’

  ‘Where are we going then, Major?’

  ‘Well, I was going to wait for Mel Richards, but we appear to have an opportunity, George. I received a call from the night duty DS. Seems a female was pulled out of the sea last night. A group of night fishermen found her. She was in a bad way, suffering the effects of exposure, exhaustion and a few other bits and pieces. Half-drowned by all accounts. It took a little while for them to work out who she is, but it’s our girl, George. It’s the runaway.’
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br />   ‘You’re sure?’

  ‘Certain. I mean, I haven’t met her yet, but she’s spoken briefly to a couple of uniform officers and told them as much. She’s shaken up, I hear, but I wanted to talk to her before we lose her to medical procedures and sleep.’

  ‘I agree with that.’

  ‘Well, good. I figured this is your thing. I mean, I was determined to find a use for you somewhere!’

  ‘Very good, Major.’

  ‘Of course we just need to find her first.’ George could see Whittaker was peering up at the hanging signs. He stopped and looked in opposite directions. He set off again. George tried to catch Emily’s eye and rolled his eyes playfully at the old man struggling with his directions. She was still ignoring him.

  A passing nurse helped with directions. It was obvious when they were getting close to their witness. George could see two bored-looking firearms officers in chairs that had been placed untidily out in the corridor. They snapped to attention as Whittaker approached.

  ‘Morning, men. Thanks for coming out. We have a VIP it seems?’ He grinned and they both relaxed.

  ‘As we understand, sir. We have both corridors covered with patrols. I can hear from the radio chatter that there are other patrols coming down to sit out the front.’

  ‘Good stuff. Sounds like you have it covered. Do we have someone in with our young lady?’

  ‘Yes, sir. A local patrol.’

  ‘Very good. Is she just through there?’

  ‘The door on the right there, sir.’

  ‘Excellent. And have you been well looked after? Did anyone get you a tea yet?’

  ‘No, sir. They all seem rushed off their feet to be honest. I certainly didn’t like to ask.’

  ‘No. Quite. I will though.’ Whittaker chuckled and stepped to the door. George followed him. He stopped. ‘We think she’s Jenny, right?’

  ‘So you said, Major,’ George replied.

  ‘I was just checking that was what I said. Don’t get old, George. Not if you can help it.’

  Jenny lay on her side. The standard white sheets of the NHS were mostly covered with a thick-looking blue blanket that was plugged into a box that whirred. The cover on the box flexed slightly as if it was breathing. George had seen such a device once before; it was designed to keep the body temperature constant. Jenny looked to be asleep. The sheet was tucked in tight around her.

  ‘Good morning.’ Whittaker was cheery for the female officer who stopped writing in her book. ‘How has she been?’

  ‘She’s not talkative, sir. At least she hasn’t been with me. The nurses have been in and out and they seem to be very happy with her. I think it’s all observations now. The big challenge we’ve got is that she’s shattered. She talked to me earlier but every word was a fight.’

  ‘What did she say?’

  ‘She was terrified, sir. She said they killed her boyfriend, she said she saw it and she escaped by jumping off a pier. They’d tied a weight around her legs. It sounds like quite an ordeal.’

  ‘Blimey! It does at that, the poor thing. And this is just today’s episode. This young lady has had quite a time. When did she last speak to you?’

  ‘Oh, at least an hour ago. She’s not been sleeping soundly, sir. She’s very restless. The nurse said she would be while her body sorts itself out after the hypothermia. Her stress levels won’t be helping either.’

  Right on cue, Jenny murmured. She fidgeted under the thick blanket and moved onto her back. Her head rocked from side to side and it sounded like she was trying to form words. Whittaker and George leaned closer as her eyes fluttered open. Her eyes rolled in their sockets as if she wasn’t quite awake.

  ‘Hey, Jenny,’ George said, softly.

  Her eyelids flickered and then opened. He was close enough to see them focus.

  ‘You’re okay. You’re in hospital and you’re safe. I’m Detective Inspector George Elms and I’m—’

  ‘George Elms . . .’ Jenny murmured. Her eyes moved around and she grimaced as if confused.

  ‘George Elms. I’m a police officer. Take your time, okay? You’re safe here . . . we’re going to help—’

  ‘George Elms!’ she screamed. Her eyes opened wide. Her arms and legs thrashed under the cover. George took a step back and looked over at Whittaker and Emily. Jenny screamed again, it was long and more powerful. George stepped further back.

  ‘Not him! Not him!’ She fixed on him, then over at Whittaker. Emily pushed past George and placed her hand gently on Jenny’s forehead.

  ‘Hey, hey, Jenny! Shh . . . it’s okay, honey. It’s okay.’

  Jenny settled down a little though her breathing was still rushed and loud and her eyes searched the room.

  George moved further away.

  A nurse appeared at the door. ‘What the hell is going on here?’ she demanded.

  ‘It’s okay. I think Jenny woke up a little confused and surrounded is all,’ Emily said.

  ‘Not him! George Elms! He was there. He was there!’

  ‘Could you please leave?’ The nurse held the door open and she looked over at the two men. Whittaker led the way back out into the corridor.

  ‘What the hell was all that about?’ Whittaker said.

  ‘I have no idea? She can’t know what she’s saying.’

  ‘Does she know you?’

  ‘No, Major, of course not. She’s just woke up from hypothermia. She’s all over the place.’

  Whittaker sighed. ‘I suppose you’re right. I was kind of hoping she would come to and immediately regale us with her last three days. I suppose that was a little ambitious, thinking about it.’

  ‘We’ll get there. It’ll just take time. Ryker’s still in there. If anyone is capable of getting information out of someone, it’s Emily Ryker.’

  A few more minutes and both men glanced at the door. Emily Ryker appeared looking agitated. ‘Seems you’ve made quite the impression, George.’

  ‘What was that about?’

  ‘I’ll tell you what it was about, George. She saw you. At the hotel. While she was being kidnapped. I can’t get too much detail out of her — she’s repeating herself over and over. She’s very traumatised but says she was standing right opposite you. She just keeps saying that you wouldn’t even look at her.’

  ‘Jesus, Ryker. I swear I’ve never seen that woman before in my life.’

  ‘Which is what she is saying!’

  ‘At the hotel?’

  ‘The lift. She said you were in the lift with her. You were on your phone? I think that’s what she means.’

  ‘Jesus!’ George brought his hands to his face. He couldn’t look at Whittaker or Emily either. He turned away — and heard Whittaker’s voice.

  ‘Is that all she said? Can she not tell us more?’

  ‘She won’t engage. I struggled to get that much. She said she won’t talk to me.’

  ‘To us — because of me,’ George said. ‘She’s lost all faith. You can’t blame her.’

  ‘We had no idea who she was, George,’ Whittaker said. ‘Even if you were looking right at her it wouldn’t have made a blind bit of difference. You can talk to her when she’s a bit more compos mentis and explain. She’s had a traumatic time. Lord knows how she ended up in that sea.’

  ‘She must have known who I was, that I was a copper. She must have been looking right at me, knowing that I should be helping her. She would have been leaking fear from every pore. I’ve been letting people down, Major. I didn’t even realise this one.’ George was still facing away, down a long, straight corridor. He started walking. He didn’t know where he was going, but he needed to get away, to clear his mind.

  ‘You okay, George?’ Emily called out.

  ‘Yeah, Ryker. I’ll find us all a coffee or something, yeah?’

  George kept walking. He hadn’t gotten far when he saw a courtyard through the window. A bare square of concrete surrounded on all sides by corridors leading to different parts of the hospital. He stepped out through a door th
at clanked shut. Two wooden benches faced each other and a man stood leaning on the back of one of them. He had a drip on a wheeled holder and he was wearing pyjamas. He smiled at George. George ignored him, his back found the glass window and he slunk down to sit on the ground. The man was smoking and took a deep drag. George was aware he was still looking over in his direction.

  ‘Shit day?’ the man said. ‘Or shit news, more likely, in this place.’

  George knew he was going to have to engage. ‘Shit day,’ he said. He quickly looked back down at the floor.

  ‘Shit news,’ the man said.

  George looked up at him.

  ‘For me, I mean.’ He sucked on his cigarette for a last time. It dropped to the floor and he stood on it with his slipper. ‘You any good at telling families shit news? ’Cause I’ve been out here for three of these now and I still can’t think of how to do it.’ The man expelled some smoke in a sort of laugh. George thought he might break down. That was the last thing he needed. But he couldn’t help but feel for him. The man’s head dropped, he turned away as if he had accepted that George didn’t want to talk.

  ‘How shit?’ George said. He forced himself back to his feet and moved over to the bench that faced the man. He sat down.

  ‘There’s nothing they can do. That shit.’

  ‘That’s right up there with the shittiest, friend. I’m really sorry.’

  ‘Ah, don’t be. If you don’t look after your lungs they can come right back at ya! Who knew?’

  ‘The problem isn’t not knowing though, right? It’s not caring. We’ve all been young and invincible.’

  The man smiled ruefully. ‘Yeah we have. And now I get to be middle-aged and dying. I got a year, max. My kids . . .’ The man broke off.

  ‘They’ll be fine. Trust me, they will. How old?’

  ‘Adult.’ It was all he could manage.

  ‘And now you know you’ve got twelve months to make the most of them. To make sure their memories of you are what every kid should have of their dad. Most people don’t get that. I’m not saying anyone would swap with you, friend, but, actually, you get something most of us don’t. You get a timetable. You get a motivation to make the next twelve months the best time you have ever spent with them. And it will be.’