by Lisa Hartley
‘It’s up to her, Ghis.’ Carl’s voice was soft, sympathetic. ‘We’re all doing our best to help her, but the rest is her choice.’
‘Yeah, I know.’
Ghislaine blinked away the scars on Jasmine’s arms, the muttered protests, the muted yelps which plagued her dreams. She’d been woken several times by the misery of Jasmine’s unconscious.
She stood, cradling her drink, and went over to the small bookcase which stood by the door leading to the women’s bedrooms. Running a finger along the spines of the battered paperbacks, she selected an Agatha Christie mystery she remembered reading before. There was comfort in stepping into another world, the characters like distant relatives; vaguely familiar but indistinct.
She had read two chapters when the downstairs buzzer sounded. Carl’s face lit up.
‘This’ll be her.’
He heaved himself out of his chair. It seemed to breathe a sigh of relief, the back straightening, the wheels clicking. Ghislaine kept her eyes on the lines of text as she heard footsteps clattering on the stairs.
‘Did you hear the sirens?’ Jasmine launched herself across the room, coming to a stop in front of Ghislaine. Carl followed more sedately before lowering himself back into his chair with a groan. Ghislaine studied her friend’s face, taking in Jasmine’s excited expression and flushed cheeks.
‘What sirens? Where have you been?’
Jasmine flopped on the sofa, dropped her rucksack at her feet and crossed long, slim legs in front of her. The card players were watching with interest, and Jasmine flicked her hair, shooting a quick glance in their direction.
‘Ambulance and police cars, loads of them.’
Ghislaine closed the book, but kept her thumb inside to mark her page.
‘What’s happened?’ she asked.
The four men had stopped their game, turning in their chairs to hear the news.
‘A stabbing, about half an hour ago,’ Jasmine’s eyes glinted. ‘In the crowd, they were saying the victim was a copper. He stabbed her in the back, blood everywhere. They’re saying she’ll die.’
Ghislaine could smell alcohol on Jasmine’s breath. Had Carl noticed too?
One of the men snorted. ‘A copper? What sort of idiot would knife a copper?’
‘They don’t know, do they? He got away.’ Jasmine’s voice held a note of satisfaction. Ghislaine shuddered, unconsciously turning away from her friend. The new man, Lee, met her eyes again, his face unreadable.
*
The car park was deserted, visiting hours long gone and the dreamlike, neon-lit night fast approaching. Catherine leapt out of the taxi and slammed the door, throwing one of the notes Rafferty had given her towards the driver. The rain was still falling, gusts of wind driving it into her face. She ducked her head and ran for the hospital’s main entrance.
Thomas was hunched on a blue plastic chair, his arms wrapped around his body. Dressed in a damp shirt and jeans, his light brown hair was soaked, and he was shivering. A drinks machine lit a corner where a man slumped, looking dazed. Beside him, a woman was staring at the wall, her eyes vacant. Catherine ran towards her brother, pulling off her coat. Thomas staggered to his feet, allowing her to gather him in her arms. Catherine held him tight.
‘How is she?’
Thomas shook his head. ‘I don’t … She’s in surgery. I don’t know any more.’
Catherine guided him back into the chair, draping her coat around his shoulders. He managed a tremulous smile, and she took his hand.
‘What happened?’
‘We’d parked the car, were walking to the restaurant – the Italian place you mentioned? This bloke appeared – I don’t even know where he came from. He grabbed Anna, pulled her away from me, said if I left my phone and wallet on the ground, he wouldn’t hurt her. He had a knife, held it in front of her face. I was terrified, threw my stuff down as fast as I could. Anna was watching me, smiling like I was doing exactly the right thing. He swung his arm back … The look on his face, like he was deciding where to aim. I saw the blade glinting, slamming into her back. I heard it, Catherine, heard the knife tear into her.’ His hand flew to his mouth as he retched, his shoulders heaving. Appalled, Catherine rubbed his back, her mind blank as she tried to find words of comfort. After a time, Thomas swallowed his sobs.
‘Sorry,’ he whispered. Catherine shook her head.
‘Don’t tell me if it’s too difficult.’ She knew he would have to tell his story again soon enough.
Thomas scrubbed at his eyes. ‘It’s okay, I want to tell you. Anna made this noise. I can’t describe it, like nothing I’ve heard before, gasping and choking. She fell forward. I ran to her, but I couldn’t get to her in time. Her face hit the pavement, and she was quiet. I saw the blood …’
His face was pale, his eyes wide with horror. Catherine squeezed his hand.
‘What about the attacker?’
Thomas shook his head. ‘I don’t know where he went. He didn’t pick up the wallet or phone though, he must have panicked and run. I didn’t know what to do. Anna was gasping, there was blood every time she breathed … I took off my jacket, put it under her head, screamed for help. I grabbed my phone back, called an ambulance. A man and a woman came rushing over. He took the phone from me, and I stayed with Anna. The woman was on her knees, talking to Anna, said she knew first aid. I don’t know what she did. The blood …’
Thomas was staring at their hands, still joined. Catherine saw traces of vivid red staining the skin around his fingernails as he pulled away from her.
‘Thomas …’
He leapt to his feet, scrubbing his hands together in a frenzy, as if trying to fling them from his body. Catherine caught hold of him.
‘They gave me some wipes in the ambulance, I thought I’d cleaned it all away …’
‘Stop,’ Catherine told him. Then, with authority, ‘Thomas. Stop.’
The man and woman in the corner were staring now, open-mouthed. Catherine glared at them and led Thomas away. In some nearby toilets, she washed his hands gently, as if he were a child. He still shivered, despite her coat. When his hands were clean and dry, they went back to the waiting area, where she fed coins into the drinks machine and got them both a cup of tea. She tipped three sachets of sugar into one and stirred it well before handing it to her brother.
‘Were there police officers at the scene?’ she asked him. He shook his head.
‘Not when we got into the ambulance, but they were on their way. I asked for both on the phone. There was an officer here wanting to talk to me, but he didn’t stay long. The people who came to help us said they’d wait for the police.’ He frowned, his mouth working. ‘I never even thanked them.’
‘We’ll find them. They’ll be giving statements,’ Catherine reassured him. ‘Drink your tea.’
Thomas took a mouthful, screwing up his face at the sweetness of it. ‘I phoned Anna’s parents, they’re on their way. I didn’t know what to say, I’ve only met them twice.’
‘Did the paramedics tell you anything?’
His mouth trembled. ‘Not as such. I was panicking, especially about the blood she was losing, but they stay calm, don’t they? Amazing.’
‘Thomas!’ A middle-aged couple hurried towards them, worry creasing their faces. Thomas stood, tears soaking his cheeks again, disappearing as they enveloped him in a hug. Thomas explained what little he knew, Anna’s parents staring at him, faces pale. As they huddled together, Catherine drew away. She felt like an intruder. Anna was her colleague, her friend, but this was her family, the people who loved her. She looked at her brother again – his tear-stained face, Anna’s mother’s arm around his shoulder - and walked away, around the corner and into a darkened corridor. The lights came on above her, triggered by her movement, as she pulled out her phone. It was late, and she was being selfish. She made the call anyway. It rang for a while before she answered.
‘I was asleep, Catherine.’ Her voice was bleary.
‘I know, I … I�
�m sorry. I wanted to say I’m sorry.’
There was a pause. Ellie spoke again, her voice softer now.
‘No, I’m the one who should apologise. When I kissed you, I thought … Well, it obviously wasn’t what you wanted.’
Catherine shook her head, helpless, fumbling for the words to describe the mess of her mind. When she and Ellie had first met, they had quickly become friends, which was all Catherine had expected. There was no attraction, at least not at first. Slowly, gradually, she began to notice the dimple which creased Ellie’s left cheek when she smiled, the hints of gold and red in her dark blonde hair. Each time they met, she had found her gaze had lingered on Ellie’s face, her lips … There had been a shift in their friendship, a charge in the glances they exchanged. Unconsciously, they sat closer together, touched each other more often. Catherine hadn’t expected it, hadn’t realised what was happening. And now? Now she had spoiled it.
‘Catherine, I shouldn’t have done it. It won’t happen again.’ Ellie’s voice was quiet, her hurt evident.
‘Ellie, I … It’s not you.’ Catherine closed her eyes.
Ellie’s laugh was harsh. ‘“It’s not you, it’s me?” Are we at that stage already?’
‘Of course not. I’m trying to explain.’
‘What is there to explain? We’re friends, I hoped for more. I kissed you, you ran away, you’ve avoided getting in touch. It seems pretty clear to me. We should say goodnight now, and pretend it never happened.’
‘I’m away for work, it happened at the last minute. I wasn’t avoiding you.’ It sounded pathetic, even to her own ears.
‘Away? Where?’
‘Lincoln.’ Catherine winced.
‘Lincoln? Not Australia, not the moon. Lincoln.’
‘I know. It happened quickly, I can’t talk about it.’
‘But you can use it as an excuse not to get in touch? Goodnight, Catherine.’
‘Ellie, wait. I’m at the hospital.’
Breaking the news about Anna would now seem like manipulation, as if Catherine were trying to use the situation to garner some sympathy. It was a risk she had to take, because Ellie would want to know. She had met Anna, and liked her. Keeping the news from her wasn’t fair.
‘The hospital? What do you mean? Are you okay?’
Catherine told her as much as she knew. Ellie was shocked, expressing her disbelief, asking about Thomas and Anna’s parents. ‘Do you want me to come over?’
Catherine was touched, knowing how difficult it must have been for Ellie to make the offer after her rejection. It would have hurt, and she wished she had behaved differently. Ellie was right – she had invited the kiss, had wanted it, right until the second it happened. Catherine swallowed, ashamed.
‘It’s okay, you’re in bed,’ she said. ‘I’ll have to phone DI Knight, if someone hasn’t already, and the rest of the team. Thank you though.’ She felt tears in her eyes, wanting Ellie to be there, to pull her close, tell her Anna would be fine.
‘Are you sure? I don’t mind, honestly.’
‘It’d be great to see you, but you need your rest. I’m okay, honestly.’
When they had said goodbye, Catherine selected Knight’s number. He answered immediately, said he was on his way.
Then there was nothing to do but wait for news.
13
At Phoenix House, people were drifting off to bed. Ghislaine was still reading her Agatha Christie, keeping half an eye on Jasmine, who was chatting with the newcomer, Lee, in a corner. Her rucksack, the one she’d made such a fuss about Ghislaine touching, was on her shoulder. Jasmine was laughing as she leaned towards Lee and touched his arm. Ghislaine glanced at the clock and decided she’d had enough. She went across to them.
‘I’m off to bed, Jas.’
Lee looked at her with a smile.
‘Yeah, it’s getting late.’
‘Lightweights,’ Jasmine mocked.
‘Early start tomorrow,’ Lee told her, getting to his feet.
‘Oh yeah?’
He grinned, tapping his nose. ‘Got a meeting.’
‘Oh right. Conference call with the Japanese office, is it?’ Jasmine snorted.
‘Bit closer to home than Japan. What can I say? I’m a busy man.’
He disappeared, heading for the men’s bedrooms.
‘Twat.’ Jasmine smiled as she followed Ghislaine into their own room. ‘Good-looking twat, but a twat all the same. I would though, wouldn’t you?’
Ghislaine sat on her bed. ‘Thought you didn’t like him?’
‘I don’t have to like him.’ Jasmine pulled off her sweatshirt, tugged at her socks. ‘What do you reckon to the copper being knifed?’
‘How do you mean?’
‘Reckon they’ll catch him?’
‘How do I know?’
Jasmine grinned as she unbuttoned her jeans.
‘Couldn’t find their arses with both hands. Anyway, they won’t know where to look.’
In her underwear, she strutted towards the bathroom, leaving Ghislaine, unease prickling her skin, staring after her.
*
With the sides of the plastic chair digging into her thighs, her eyes scratchy and sore, and the sickening worry for Anna dominating her thoughts, Catherine was unlikely to get much rest. Unable to sit still, Thomas was pacing the small waiting area, running his hands through his hair and cracking his knuckles. Anna’s parents sat close together. Mr Varcoe wiped his eyes every few seconds with a handkerchief while his wife reassured him in a voice little more than a whisper. An hour before, a nurse had informed them their daughter was still in surgery, but they had heard nothing since. Thomas finally sat on the chair beside Anna’s mother, his eyes red, his voice choked.
‘I’m sorry. I wish it were me in there instead of Anna.’
‘Stop.’ She was firm. ‘This isn’t your fault, Thomas.’
Her eyes were exactly like her daughter’s, and Catherine had to look away, tears blurring her vision again.
Four heads snapped up as they heard footsteps approaching, but it was Jonathan Knight walking towards them, his face pale, his lips tight. As he reached Anna’s parents, he held out his hand, and introduced himself, offering condolences. They greeted him blankly, their eyes straying past him, towards the door the nurse had emerged from. Knight shook Thomas’s hand and patted his shoulder.
‘Are you okay?’ Knight asked as he sat beside Catherine. She shook her head, her lips pressed together. Knight slid his arm around her trembling shoulders.
‘I should be at the shelter. They lock the doors at ten-thirty, it’s too late now.’
Her voice was shaking too. Knight held her tighter.
‘One night won’t matter. I’m sure DCI Dolan will understand. Why don’t you phone her?’
Catherine grimaced. ‘Should I?’
‘She needs to know.’
She got to her feet, knowing he was right. Around the corner, Catherine listened to the phone ring, half-hoping Dolan wouldn’t answer. At least she could leave a voicemail and say she’d tried.
‘DS Bishop?’
It was Isla Rafferty.
‘Oh, I …’ Catherine’s voice disappeared.
‘We’re still in the incident room,’ Rafferty told her. ‘The DCI’s gone to the loo. Is there a problem?’
Rafferty’s tone implied she knew there was, and she had been expecting it. Catherine explained.
‘I see. I’ll tell DCI Dolan, I’m sure she’ll understand. We’ll speak again tomorrow.’
‘Thank you.’ Catherine kept her tone detached, professional, to match Rafferty’s, though she was surprised. There was another of Rafferty’s seemingly trademark silences, long enough for Catherine to move the handset away from her ear and glance at the screen to see if she’d lost the connection. At last, Rafferty said, ‘I hope she’s okay.’
‘Me too. But thank you.’
Rafferty cleared her throat. ‘Though I’m not sure what you hope to achieve by …’
&nbs
p; Without hesitation, Catherine cut Rafferty off mid-sentence, turned off the phone and shoved it in her pocket. She’d no doubt be in trouble for doing so, but she didn’t care. Let Dolan complain, let Rafferty roll her eyes and sneer. It didn’t matter. John McKinley was dead, and as much as Catherine wanted to find the person who killed him, Anna Varcoe was still alive. She was the one who mattered tonight: Anna, her parents, and Thomas.
As she made her way back to retake her seat in the waiting area, a man appeared, dressed in dark blue scrubs, rubbing his eyes with one hand. Catherine’s heart rate quickened. His expression, his posture – none of it boded well.
‘Good evening. You’re Anna Varcoe’s family?’ he asked.
‘Yes,’ Mrs Varcoe replied. Thomas opened his mouth to explain, but she took hold of his arm, wordlessly telling him he was family now too. He was quiet, his eyes fixed on the doctor’s face. Knight glanced at Catherine with the faintest of smiles. Her hands were knotted together in her lap, dreading the medic’s next words.
The doctor cleared his throat.
‘I’m one of the team who’s been caring for Anna. Mr and Mrs Varcoe, if you’d like to follow me?’
Mr Varcoe shook his head. ‘Tell us, Doctor, please, all of us. How is she? How’s Anna?’
‘I’m afraid her condition has deteriorated.’
14
Conversation hummed through the room, outrage and disbelief simmering. Mary Dolan had arrived at Lincolnshire Police’s headquarters early, summoned from her hotel room by a phone call from the Chief Constable himself. She stood at the front of the briefing room as the scrum of assembled officers found themselves seats. DS Rafferty and DC Zaman sat on the front row, both looking tired. Though she was used to working with a variety of officers on different investigations, she was glad they were with her. Zaman caught her eye and smiled, while Rafferty stared straight ahead, her face blank, a notebook open on her lap.
Running her hands through her hair, hoping she didn’t look as knackered as she felt, Dolan cleared her throat. Instantly, there was silence. Scanning their faces, she saw what she had expected – every officer in the room leaning forward, eager to hear what she had to say. There was always a buzz in the air on a new investigation, but this time, it was heightened.
