“I expect to see those files on my desk later today,” he said, the warning in his voice implicit.
“You have my word, sir.” Drew had to practically force the words out. It felt as though his tongue had thickened in his mouth, making the formation of words almost impossible.
“I know this is hard for you,” Gregson said, his tone softening as pity began to creep in. Drew found himself beginning to despise the other man—or was it the other way around? Did he despise himself because he was someone worthy of pity?
It wasn’t a question he was willing to answer. At least not right now anyway and he buried the thought as far down in his mind as he could.
“This isn’t hard, sir,” Drew said, silently berating himself for the telltale strain that coloured his voice. “It’s my job. Nothing more and nothing less.” He yanked the door open, a little more forcefully than intended—before Gregson could say anything else to him—and it slapped against the plaster wall with an audible thud, drawing the attention of everyone else in the room beyond.
Drew kept his gaze trained on the rough brown carpet as he crossed to his desk and snatched his coat up before anyone else could find a reason to detain him.
“What did the Monk want?” Maz leaned over the desk toward him.
“Nothing.” Drew snapped and immediately regretted it. It wasn’t Maz’s fault. Hell, if he was honest about it this wasn’t even the Monk’s fault, they were all just doing their bloody jobs. So if that were true, then why did he feel like he was failing?
“Your phone rang while you were in with the DCI,” Maz said, his voice several degrees cooler than it had been just a moment before.
“Thanks, mate,” Drew said, sliding his phone out. The number was instantly recognisable. He’d dialled it less than an hour ago.
Glancing in the direction of Gregson’s office he made the decision there and then. The DCI might want the case wrapped up nice and tight and Drew was willing to give it to them if it truly was just a spate of tragic suicides. But the voice in the back of his mind refused to give up. Something about the whole case stunk to high heaven. The last time he’d ignored his gut instinct had brought him three years’ worth of heartache and sleepless nights and he wasn’t willing to go through all of that again. Not now, not ever.
“If the Monk is looking for me, tell him I had to chase something down.”
“And you’re really not going to tell me what all of this is about?”
“Later, but right now I’ve got to go.” Drew hit redial and pressed the phone to his ear, as he scooped his car keys from the desk drawer.
“You owe me a pint,” Maz grumbled.
“Keep the Monk off my case and I’ll owe you two.”
Rather than answer, Maz rolled his eyes and returned his attention to the computer screen in front of him.
By the time Drew had made it to the main door of the office the call had rang out and the clipped tone of a woman had cut in to inform him that he had reached Harriet Quinn’s office and he could leave a message if he so pleased.
Drew killed the call and slipped the phone back into his pocket.
He would go one better than leaving a useless message; he would pay Dr. Quinn a visit in person and perhaps she would have a better understanding of how he could put the case to rest once and for all.
Chapter Seven
“Tilly, grab your school bag,” Bianca called up the stairs and waited to hear the tell-tale sound of her daughter moving around.
When there was nothing, she set her coffee down on the counter and started up the stairs. She made it almost to the top and peered across the landing into her daughter’s room. Tilly sat on the side of the bed with Gruff, her favourite teddy clutched in her small hands. As Bianca watched, Tilly leaned in close and spoke to the bear in hushed tones.
From her position on the stairs, Bianca was too far away to hear what her daughter was saying but she could already imagine it.
It would be the same thing Tilly said every morning. Her little ritual had gone on undisturbed almost from the day she had started in pre-school right up to now.
Gruff had been Tom’s last present to Tilly before he died and while Tilly’s memory of her father was hazy to say the least and she definitely didn’t remember him giving her the gift there was still a bond forged between the two of them nonetheless and Bianca felt a familiar lump form in the back of her throat.
It was strange to think of Tom not being here. No matter how much time passed, it never changed the oddness of the situation. How could you go from being so vibrant and alive to suddenly gone? It didn’t make sense and not for the first time, Bianca felt like the universe had played some kind of terrible karmic joke on her.
It had given her Tilly, only to take Tom.
They could have been happy together, that much she was sure of.
“Tilly, I said get your school bag, please,” Bianca said, unable to keep the smile from her face as Tilly turned her large expressive dark eyes toward her.
“I was just telling Gruff that he needs to keep you safe today,” Tilly said sincerely as she clutched Gruff to her chest.
“I don’t think you need to tell, Gruff that,” Bianca said. “He already knows, and he’s done a pretty good job of it so far, hasn’t he?”
Tilly cocked her head to the side and seemed to consider her mother’s words very seriously before she nodded. “I suppose so...”
“We’re going to be late if you don’t get a wriggle on,” Bianca said, glancing down at her fit-bit.
“Ok!” Tilly jumped up from the bed and darted out of sight, only to reappear a moment later with her school bag clutched in one hand and Gruff in the other.
“You know Gruff doesn’t come with us on the school run,” Bianca said.
“But he could—“
“Tilly, Gruff stays on your bed until you come home. Or we’ll have the same problem we had last summer when he nearly got lost.”
Just thinking about Tilly’s heartbreak when her bear had been left behind on the train was enough to bring Bianca out in a cold-sweat.
Tilly nodded and set Gruff back down on the bed. “Sorry, Gruffy, mommy’s right.” Bianca watched with love as her almost too serious daughter pressed a small kiss to the side of the bear’s cheek before she darted for the stairs.
“Have you got your swimming gear?” Bianca asked.
“Yup!”
“And your notebook for Mrs Callan?”
“Yup! When am I going to Nana’s?” Tilly asked, pausing on the stairs.
“Wednesday night,” Bianca said. “They’re picking you up after school.”
Tilly looked very serious. “And when am I coming home again?”
“Thursday after school.” Bianca gave her daughter a reassuring hug. “You like going to Nana and Grandad’s, don’t you?”
Tilly nodded and chewed her lip. “I do...”
“But?”
“But I wish you would come too.”
Bianca grinned at her daughter. “But just think how good it’ll be to come home to me on Thursday afternoon. We can make cookies and watch a movie together.”
Tilly’s serious expression faltered and was replaced by a wide smile. “Extra chocolate chips!”
“All the chocolate chips you could possibly want,” Bianca said, feeling her daughter’s infectious excitement spread to her.
Tilly hopped up and down on the stairs and only Bianca’s steadying hand kept her from falling.
“Be careful, Tills,” she said, despite the chastisement, her voice was gentle. Tilly stopped jumping and her expression turned deeply thoughtful again.
“You don’t want to slip.”
“If I fell would I end up like Daddy?”
It took Bianca a moment to recover. Tilly was a pretty serious child but she wasn’t usually prone to asking such deeply philosophical questions, at least not a ten to eight in the morning.
“You’d get hurt and I’d be very upset.”
“B
ut would I die like Daddy did?”
“You might,” Bianca said. The counsellor had said that honesty, in Tilly’s case was definitely the right policy and so she hadn’t kept anything from her daughter. Even when it had seemed impossible to talk about Tom’s passing, she had forced herself to do it. Part of her had wondered on more than one occasion if it was the right thing after all?
“Will you die like daddy?”
Bianca shook her head. “I’m not going anywhere, Tills, you don’t need to worry.”
“But—"
“Tilly, what’s brought all this on?”
Tilly looked down at the floor and scuffed the stair carpet. “Nothing...”
“You can tell me.”
“I know,” she said before she raised her head. “Can we have white chocolate chips too?”
Bianca let go the breath she’d been holding onto and smiled as she took her daughter’s hand. “I’ll pick some up before Thursday.”
Tilly started to jump and then changed her mind at the last second. “Sorry, Mommy,” she said. “I won’t do it again.”
“That’s good.” Bianca led her daughter down the stairs by the hand.
“I won’t do it because I don’t want you to be sad.” There was such sincerity in her little daughter’s voice that Bianca felt her heart constrict painfully in her chest. Life definitely wasn’t fair.
As Tilly, pulled her coat on, Bianca’s phone dinged in her pocket. She slid it out quickly and stared down at the text message on the screen.
“Hey, babe! How are you this morning?” Ryder’s message instantly brought a smile to her face and she hastily tapped out a reply.
“Fine. Just about to do the school run. How are you?”
She grabbed her keys from the kitchen as the phone dinged a reply.
“Damn, I was thinking maybe you were still in bed.” The words were followed by a salacious winky emoji and Bianca felt heat spread up into her face.
“Ready!” Tilly said from the hall as she tugged the front door open.
Bianca slipped the phone into her pocket and dived after her daughter, sweeping her up into her arms before she could escape outside.
“Let me go!” Tilly giggled, squirming violently in Bianca’s arms.
“No, one last hug!” Bianca buried her face in against her daughter’s neck and inhaled her warm familiar scent. There was something so terribly comforting about it and a sliver of fear slid down her spine as she thought of all the possibilities that could befall her.
Her world had changed drastically after Tom. They were supposed to be together forever and look how that had worked out. What if something happened to Tilly too?
Tilly’s giggles dragged her black thoughts back from the destructive route they’d taken, and she pushed them aside. With one last kiss to her daughter’s face, she let Tilly down and took her small hand on the walk to the car.
The phone in her pocket buzzed against her leg and the urge to check it was overwhelming. Was she mad? Here she was thinking about Tom and everything she’d lost when he’d died and in the same breath, she was thinking about the man at the other end of the text message chain.
Perhaps she hadn’t deserved Tom after all?
Cut that out right now. She could almost hear the words spoken in Harriet’s voice. During it all, Harri had been a rock upon which Bianca had built what little stability she had in her life. Without her help and guidance, she dared not think what state she might be in now.
It had been Harri who had helped pull her back from the brink of destruction after Tom’s untimely death. Harri, who had pointed out to her that it wasn’t about her, that Tilly needed her. Not that she hadn’t known it but that was the problem with grief wasn’t it? When you slipped into that black hole it was very difficult to see a way out, never mind see the others around you who were suffering too.
But with Harri’s help she’d begun the difficult climb back to some semblance of a life and the result was the man on the other end of the phone.
It probably wouldn’t even work out with Ryder anyway, but it was a nice distraction all the same.
Bianca strapped Tilly into the car seat in the back and shut the door, leaving her daughter to read one of her many books that littered the rear of the car.
Before climbing into the car, she slipped the phone out and read the message, her heart skipping in her chest as she scanned the words.
“I can’t wait to see you. Saturday can’t come fast enough. Do you want me to book a hotel room?”
God, what a question? Did she want him to book a hotel room? The thought of hooking up with him, while thrilling also terrified her.
She pushed the phone back into her pocket and pulled open the driver’s door. The hair on the back of her neck prickled as the sensation of being watched slid over her. Turning she scanned the street but found it reassuringly empty.
Don’t be so daft. The Fitbit on her wrist buzzed and she glanced down at the time before she swore violently under her breath. There was no doubt about it, they were definitely going to be late now.
Hopping into the car, Harriet started the engine and reversed out onto the street, her thoughts completely consumed by what she should reply to Ryder.
Chapter Eight
Harriet sat behind the steering wheel of her compact Mini and tapped her fingers against the soft black leather. Just who the hell did Dr Baig think he was? What right did he have to tell her she was falling behind on her duties as a lecturer in the university?
Harriet knew the man had every right. As the head of her department it fell to Dr Dennis Baig to ensure everything ran smoothly. But that didn’t change the fact that in this instance he was wrong. She wasn’t falling behind on her workload and she hadn’t actually missed any of the lectures on her schedule—despite his protestations to the contrary.
Granted, she had been a little pre-occupied and her classes had lacked some of the imagination of last semester’s lectures but surely everyone was allowed to be a little off their game?
The rain drummed against the windscreen and with a sigh, Harriet reached over to the passenger seat and grabbed her navy-coloured rain mac. It wouldn’t provide much protection against the elements but it was better than nothing.
Scooping up her leather briefcase, she pushed open the car door and launched herself into the driving rain. Within seconds she was soaked to the skin as she dashed across the carpark toward the front door of The Hermitage Hospital. Harriet’s first introduction to the place had been when it was still operating under the name North York Moors Mental Asylum.
It was an imposing building on a good day but with the pewter-coloured storm clouds gathered over head and the heavy fog of rain that blurred the cement walls—which some foolish do-gooder had decided to paint a crisp white causing it to stand out in the landscape like some huge white elephant—it looked more like a prison than a hospital. Of course, there were those within the harsh cement walls who would have agreed with calling it a prison. And in a way, Harriet could understand their perspective. Anywhere that deprived you of your civil liberties—which demanded you give up your personal freedoms—was nothing more than a prison.
But Harriet had to concede there were those whose personal freedoms needed to be curtailed, for their own safety as well as the safety of those around them. Sometimes humans were incapable of conducting themselves within the bounds of a society. And it was those humans who usually wound up in places like this. As cruel as she might consider it to be, unless those people could be rehabilitated, this was the safest place they could be.
Pushing into the main reception, Harriet was greeted by the familiar scent of bleach and chlorine, a combination that didn’t exactly lend itself to a peaceful environment. It had a tendency to irritate the soft tissues of the nose and lungs if you were exposed to it too often. It lent an air of the clinical to the surroundings, a constant reminder to the patients and visitors alike that this was nothing more than a hospital.
Harrie
t had tried to persuade the hospital board to change the cleaning products to something a little more gentle but her suggestions had been met with stony silence. She’d been informed that it was necessary for the health of staff and everyone else and that the toxic combination was a necessity to keep the infections and bacteria to a minimum. Harriet doubted that. From what she had seen, it all came back down to money; bleach and chlorine tablets were cheap.
“I see it’s started raining then,” Clara said from behind the reception desk. Harriet set her briefcase down on the floor. Water dripped from her coat onto the floor, causing small puddles to form beneath her as she pushed down her hood and fluffed her dark, shoulder length curly hair out.
“What gave you that impression?” she said wryly as she slipped the rain mac off and placed it over one arm before she retrieved her briefcase from its place on the wet tiles.
“I haven’t been out since eleven and it hadn’t started raining then.” Clara glanced over at the screen in front of her and frowned. “Monday isn’t usually your day. Is there something up?”
Harriet shook her head, sending a light dusting of water droplets down onto her shoulders. “I had a little free time and I thought I’d drop in.”
Clara nodded sympathetically. “Well, she’s currently in painting but if you want to head into the visitors room I’ll get them to bring her up to you as soon as she’s done.”
Harriet smiled gratefully. “Thanks.” She turned in time to see Dr Jonathan Connor buzzing out through the side door into the main reception area. His hair had that natural salt and pepper look that so many men craved and yet never achieved. The white coat he wore emphasised the natural glow from his tan and his brown corduroy slacks and pale blue dress shirt lent him an air of sophistication many tried to imitate but he managed to achieve effortlessly.
“Harriet, I swear you can read my mind. I was just going to ask Clara to call you.” His pale blue eyes crinkled up at the corners as a wide smile curved his full lips.
Her heart sank and she fought the urge to knit her fingers into the fabric of her wet jumper.
The Hanging Time Page 4