Taylor came back in and was delighted to see me up and awake.
“Oh thank God,” she said warmly, coming over to give me a careful hug. “We were worried about you.”
“I’m okay,” I said, not too reassuringly, I’m sure, considering the bandage wrapped around my head. “Any news from Stephen?”
She looked unsurprised at my question and nodded. “He said you’d ask as soon as you were up,” she said. “He’s been texting me. They finished interviewing, er- Will,” she hesitated, the conflicting emotions easy to read on her face. “They haven’t found much to pin him down. At the moment, it’s just the attack on you that they can attribute to him for certain.” She was frowning now, and I sighed.
“Was there a bag in the car?” I asked, wincing when turning my head elicited a spike of pain.
Taylor shook her head. “He hasn’t mentioned it. They searched the car.”
I swore, teeth gritted, and then clutched my head. “Dammit, he probably threw it out the window.”
“Stephen said he’s been refusing to say anything without a lawyer.”
“He’s smart,” I muttered, frustrated that I might’ve gone through all this and have little to show for it. Well, at least he was in custody and, if he was our killer, that was a very reassuring thought. Committing GBH on me wouldn’t improve his chances of making bail any time soon either. Still, Gaskell was going to be furious with me, because Stephen was right; I had been foolish to follow Will in the dark, with no backup and no weapon.
“Fingerprints?” I asked. We’d gotten a couple of solid prints from Abby’s room, and while one of them had turned out to have been Abby’s, the other had remained unidentified.
Taylor shrugged. “Not sure, I’ll ask.”
“Thanks,” I said, before looking at her properly. “Seriously, thanks, Taylor. You didn’t have to come here.”
She blushed and ducked her head. “It’s no problem. Stephen let me know, and I wanted to see for myself that you were alright.” She winced a little, her eyes drifting up to my head. “Or on the mend, anyway,” she amended.
I laughed quietly. “Yeah. Sooner rather than later, would be my wish.”
She gave me a fond look. “You’re probably the most driven person I’ve ever met. I reckon you’d rather chew off a finger than give up policing.”
I acknowledged that with a nod and then pulled a face at the ache. Taylor noticed and gave me a sympathetic look. “You want me to get the nurse?” she offered.
The pain was bad, but I decided I’d rather put up with it than be dosed up on meds. “I’d love something to eat and drink. Coffee, for example?” I said hopefully.
Taylor shook her head at me, in exasperation rather than refusal. “I’ll go see what you’re allowed, back in a minute.”
I settled back against the hard pillows after she’d slipped out, closing the door behind her. I could hear the everyday noises of the hospital through the thin walls, though I’d been lucky enough to be given a private room, and I wondered if the station had had anything to do with that.
I was already restless, though, and even Taylor returning with food and coffee didn’t calm my itch to be up and doing something. I wasn’t one to sit around a lot without anything to do. Sometimes I had to stay glued to my desk at the station, of course, but usually, I was at least busy with paperwork and could go for a run afterwards. Despite the pain in my head and tennis-ball-sized lump, I was desperate to be doing something, even if it was just research.
The doctor came by later, after Taylor had had to head off back to teach her classes at the university. The doctor dashed my hopes of being able to return to the station soon, and sternly told me about the dangers of a hit to the head like I’d had, and how they’d been worried for a period whether I’d have brain damage. It put something of a damper on my drive to get up and going again, but it didn’t last very long.
I was playing with the channels on the little TV, bored and irritable, when Gaskell came in. I perked up and turned off the TV.
“Sir.” I was happy to see him just as a break from the boredom. God, I’d only been here a day and a half, and I was already sick of it. Gaskell was probably going to tear me a new one, but at least it’d be something to do that wasn’t staring at the walls.
“Mitchell,” he said, looking his usual stern self. He shut the door behind him and came to sit in the chair that Stephen had vacated. “You’re a reckless fool. I hope you know that.”
I winced. “Sorry, sir.”
He fixed me with a glare that faded away after a minute, and he clasped my shoulder. “I’m glad you’re alright, you pillock. We’re all relieved. It could’ve been much worse.”
“Yeah, I know,” I sighed. “I misjudged badly, sir.”
He nodded, before asking a little awkwardly. “How’re you feeling?” He wasn’t a man for small talk, and I had to hold back a smile.
“I’m alright. Bored stiff.”
He grunted, standing up. I expected him to head off, then, and resigned myself to another few hours of boredom and dozing before Stephen, Taylor or one of the medical staff came back. But I was pleasantly surprised when he just took off a satchel bag that I hadn’t noticed and sat back down again.
“I was in hospital for a week, a few years back,” he told me as he gave me the bag. “I know how awful the boredom is.”
I unzipped the bag and grinned at the sight of my laptop, and a couple of books packed in beside it.
“Thanks, sir.”
He gave me a nod. “Hurry up and get better, eh?” he said, getting up. “We could do with you back at the station, lad.”
I pulled a face. “Can’t wait to be back,” I said genuinely. “Soon as the doctors release me, I’ll be there.”
Gaskell nodded and patted my shoulder again. “I know you will.”
“Did we get anything on Will Seton, sir? Apart from his attack on me?” I asked, as he was turning to go. “Stephen said there wasn’t much…”
Gaskell’s mouth pulled down at the corners. “We’ll need your statement when you’re well enough, and I hope that that’ll be enough to hold him,” he said. “His fingerprints don’t match the one you got from the student’s flat, and we haven’t got anything else from him.”
“He was carrying a bag when I followed him-”
Gaskell shook his head. “There wasn’t anything useful in the car. I’m sorry, Mitchell.”
I sighed. “I can give my statement whenever,” I said. “My head hurts, but I’m lucid.”
Gaskell nodded. “You certainly as annoyingly persistent as ever,” he agreed, giving me a tired smile.
I returned it. “I’ll take that as a compliment, sir.”
“You should.” He cleared his throat. “Well, I’ll send a pair of constables over to get your side of things. Seton denies everything still.” His lip curled in evident disgust, before he focused back on me. “You heal up.”
He headed out, and I was left alone, though at least I had my laptop and some reading material now. I was amused to find that Gaskell had given me one book that was clearly a brutal crime thriller, whilst the other was a Charles Dickens. Light, cheery reading, the pair of them. But it was so like Gaskell that it made me laugh quietly.
A nurse came in and caught me laughing to myself. Her only reaction was to raise an eyebrow before she announced that she was here to help get me cleaned up.
“The way I smell, I need it,” I agreed. The blood had been cleaned out of my hair at some point, but lying in bed whilst in pain had made me sweaty, and I was glad to get clean.
The day slowly bled away in between meals, surfing the net, watching awful daytime TV, and brief visits from Taylor and Stephen. The doctor kept an eye on my head wound, and my dressings had to be changed, which was painful enough that I sacrificed lucidity for a painless haze for a while.
Time passed slowly, but I was apparently healing well. They moved me to a less serious ward the next day, and a day after that, I was releas
ed to go home. Stephen sternly repeated the doctor’s orders when he came to pick me up, that I wasn’t to go back to work for another week, nor do any sort of strenuous exercise. I’d begrudgingly agreed just so that I could get out of the damned hospital, and, even though I was facing another week of being cooped up, I enjoyed the breeze through my hair as Stephen drove me away from the hospital and back to my flat.
Eighteen
Stephen slapped me heartily on the back and grinned when he saw me . “Good to have you back, mate.”
“Good to be back.”
Stephen laughed. “I really can’t imagine you sitting on your backside for a week straight. Me, on the other hand, I wouldn’t mind a little holiday. Maybe I should get thumped on the head sometime.”
I rolled my eyes at him. “I didn’t sit around all week.” Ticking the items off my fingers, I said, “I cleaned the oven, had a clear out, baked bread, vacuumed the place, planned Christmas presents, ironed my shirts, planned some new runs-”
“Christ Mitchell.” Stephen shook his head at me, looking partly aghast and partly just amused. “It’s a miracle you healed at all. Haven’t you ever heard of having a lazy day?”
I wrinkled my nose. “Nope. Sounds dull as hell. Now, get me up to speed.”
“You say that like you haven’t been badgering me every day for updates. Nothing new has happened since you last called, mate. Will is on remand and cooling his boots over at Full Sutton. We still can’t link him to any of the killings, just aggravated assault on you.” He shrugged, looked frustrated. “He probably would’ve got out on bail if it weren’t for his history of shifty behaviour.”
I rubbed my head. “Great.”
Stephen followed my movement. “How is your head? Hurt still?”
“Not really.” I guessed that he wanted to see the damage, so I turned around and pushed my hair out of the way to show him where I’d had the stitches put in. They’d shaved a small area, but it was mostly covered up by my frizzy curls and wasn’t too obvious.
“Ouch,” he said. “Lot less swollen, though.”
“Aye. Having a golf ball on my head sucked.” I turned back around and rubbed my hands together. “Alright, slacker, let’s do something useful.”
Stephen sighed but conceded, and we sat down at our desks. The day passed in a slow blur of me catching up with reports and paperwork, re-reading the statement I’d given, and reassuring the officers that came over to wish me well that I was whole and healed.
“Mitchell,” Sedgwick said, as he was passing.
“Yeah?” I looked up.
He gave a stiff nod. “You’re back then.”
“Aye.” I flashed him a grin. “Can’t get rid of me that easily.”
Sedgwick’s lips twitched in what I swore was a smile before he shook his head and strode off.
“You see that?” I said, leaning over toward Stephen.
“The half-smile?” He chuckled. “Yep. Should’ve taken a picture for evidence, no-one will believe you if you tell them.”
“Sadly, true.”
After a day of paperwork and research, I desperately wanted to run home, but I still hadn’t been given the go-ahead by the doctor. As much as I wanted to run, I didn’t fancy passing out on the pavement and giving myself another concussion.
Stephen patted my shoulder. “You’ll be back at it soon, I’m sure.”
I grunted. “Lost all my fitness. My legs feel like jellyfish after only climbing the stairs.”
Stephen rolled his eyes as he headed off out of the door. “That’s how the rest of us feel, Darren.”
Driving home amidst the rush hour traffic, I brooded over the case and how, even after nearly getting my noggin smashed in, we still hadn’t managed to nail this guy.
My evening proceeded in the same tone, with my excitement at returning to work overshadowed by frustration. I wasn’t supposed to be drinking alcohol, but I figured one beer wouldn’t hurt. I flopped down on the sofa with the TV on, though I mostly stared out the window at York’s eclectic skyline, the buildings looking like lego blocks of varying sizes all bunched together tightly.
I was getting into my pyjamas when my phone started buzzing. The number wasn’t one I recognised, and I ignored it. But when it started up again as I was heading to the bathroom, I relented.
“Y’hello?”
“Uh, officer Mitchell?” It was a woman’s voice, high and scared, and I immediately straightened.
“Yes, that’s me. Who’s this?”
There was loud music in the background, and I had to focus on hearing her. “It’s- it’s Abby.”
“Abby?” I said, surprised. “What’s wrong?” I checked my watch. It was nearly midnight.
“I-I came back to York, just for a weekend,” she said, and I closed my eyes, lifting my hand to drag it through my hair. Her breath hitched. “I-I’m sorry. I thought it would be okay b-but there’s a g-guy.” She broke off, and I could hear her crying.
“Abby?” I said, getting more alarmed by the second. “Where are you? Are you alone?”
“At Nix, y’know, the nightclub? I-I’m with friends.”
My shoulders relaxed marginally. “Good, okay. Tell me what happened, Abby.”
“A guy, he tried to grab me,” she choked out. The music in the background swelled, and I winced, frowning as I tried to hear her over the raucous racket. “When I was coming out of the loos. I-I don’t want to g-go outside.”
“Stay where you are,” I ordered firmly, already shucking my PJs off and fumbling one-handed for my trousers. “I’m on my way, okay? Stay near the bar where the staff can see you and near your friends. Ask if you can stand behind the bar for a bit, alright?”
I was nervous that the crowd in the nightclub could conceal someone snatching her away and then it’d be too late.
“Okay.”
“Anything happens, call me right away. I’ll be no more than ten minutes, okay?”
She agreed quietly, and I ended the call, immediately calling Stephen. I hated to keep disturbing his evenings but, especially after what had happened just a week ago when I’d gone off alone, I wanted his steady presence by my side.
“Yeah, Darren?” Stephen sounded tense.
“I’ve had a call from Abby-” I started.
Stephen groaned, cutting me off. “I can’t tonight. I just can’t.”
“Why?” I said, alarmed. I’d grabbed my keys and shrugged my coat on with my phone pressed against my shoulder. “What’s wrong?”
“My girl’s sick, really sick. We might need to take her to the hospital.”
I took the phone from my ear and swore quietly. “Okay,” I said, once I’d gotten my calm back. “Stay with your kid. I’ll call Gaskell. I’ve got to go.”
“Sorry, mate,” Stephen said.
“It’s alright,” I said. “Hope she gets better.” I didn’t have the time for any more talk and hung up, dialling Gaskell straight after. I was heading out to the car, patting my pocket for my police badge and keys as I waited for Gaskell to pick up.
He sounded groggy when he answered, and I figured he’d probably been asleep. “What?” he grunted.
“Sir, I’ve got a call from Abby, the student. I need back up. Stephen’s kid is sick.”
Gaskell swore and sighed heavily. “Fine, I’ll send someone. Where is she?”
“Nix nightclub, said a guy tried to grab her. I’m about to drive over, sir,” I said, switching the phone to speakerphone, tossing it onto the passenger seat and putting the car into gear. “I can’t wait. Abby might be in danger.”
He exhaled heavily. “Remember how I said you were a reckless fool, Mitchell?”
“Yes, sir,” I said. “I did call for backup this time.”
“Yeah, yeah. Just, no heroics, Mitchell, seriously. I’m not visiting you in hospital again this month.”
I twitched a smile. “Noted, sir.”
He hung up, and I pressed down the accelerator. I wasn’t in the police car so couldn’t turn o
n the sirens, but it was quiet enough at this time of night that it didn’t matter too badly.
I pulled up outside Nix and, though we’d found Hannah at a different nightclub, seeing the similar, boxy building with its flashy sign and beer garden outside turned my stomach.
Hurrying out of the car, I headed to the front of the queue where a bouncer tried to hold me up.
“DCI Mitchell,” I snapped, flashing the badge. “I need in.”
He frowned, looked me up and down. “I’ll get the manager.” He turned to head off.
“No, mate,” I said sharply. “There’s a woman inside who might be in danger right now. You’re gonna let me in right now.”
“Fine,” he growled. “I’ll escort you, whatever your name was.”
“Mitchell,” I said tightly, shoving my badge away as the bouncer finally showed me in. Clearly, he wasn’t a guy with much respect for the law.
I headed straight to the bar, shoving through the sweaty dancers, most of them a good decade younger than me and already plastered, though it wasn’t yet one. I got more than one drink spilt down me just on the short trip to the bar. The bouncer followed behind me, his bulk making it harder to push through even as people tried to get out of his way. The place was completely packed.
I made it to the bar and looked frantically around, my shoulders dropping in relief when I spotted Abby’s dark hair. She was standing in the middle of a group of women in clubwear, and one of them had an arm wrapped around her.
“Abby!” I called, shouldering my way over to her.
Her eyes lit up when she saw me, and I was taken aback when she flung her arms around me. I tried to push her away gently, but she clung on.
“I t-thought he was gonna kill me!” she sobbed.
“Abby, Abby,” I said loudly over the music, taking her arms and firmly easing her back so I could meet her eyes. “Let’s go somewhere quieter, where you can tell me what happened.”
I wasn’t sure she completely heard what I’d said, but when I yelled at the bouncer that we needed somewhere quieter, he grudgingly led the way. Abby trailed willingly after me, a couple of her friends in tow.
DI Mitchell Yorkshire Crime Thrillers: Book 1-3 Page 44