Tanika Parry glared at him as she held the dressing aside. She hadn’t wanted to let him see, but he’d been insistent.
‘She’s been through enough,’ the doctor had said, blocking the doorway to Tash Brady’s room. She’d been moved from A&E to a side room on one of the surgical wards.
‘We’re probably looking at attempted murder,’ said Francis through gritted teeth. ‘I need to find out who did this. Sooner rather than later.’
The girl had been sedated and was barely conscious as Parry and the nurse had once again gently rolled her over.
Angie, pale and fidgety, stood on the other side of the bed.
‘What is it, boss? What does it mean?’
‘Clavos pedum, plagas duras, et tam graves impressuras circumplector cum affectu,’ said Francis. ‘It’s Latin.’
Harsh words, gouged into a young girl’s back. This was no Friday-night mugging.
He nodded at Tanika Parry. He’d seen enough.
Once he and Angie were out in the corridor, he pulled out his phone.
‘Rory, I need you here now. And I want you to put Rose Lewis in charge of this morning’s crime scene. I don’t care that it’s Saturday – get the team in. We need CCTV of Tash Brady last night, we need someone down at whatever nightclub she was at, and I want statements from Alex Mullins, Marni Mullins, and anyone who was with her at any point yesterday evening. Fast, Rory – I’ve got a bad feeling about this one.’
‘I’ll sort it,’ said Rory. ‘I’ll be with you in fifteen minutes.’
‘Angie, where can we get coffee? I need you to tell me everything Tash Brady said to you.’
As Angie headed in the direction of the coffee machine, Francis caught Tanika Parry as she came out of Tash’s room.
‘You’ll need to call me as soon as she’s fit to be questioned.’
The doctor frowned.
‘Someone tried to kill her. Don’t you get it? There’s a potential killer out there who might strike again.’
‘Of course. We’ll let you know.’
As Francis headed after Angie, he called Rory again. ‘Get a uniformed officer stationed up here, Rory. We don’t know if she’s still in danger.’
‘Francis!’
He looked up, already recognising the voice.
‘Robin? What are you doing here?’
His older sister squinted at him, leaning hard on one of a pair of walking sticks she was holding. ‘You got my message, right? That’s why you’re here, isn’t it?’
Francis glanced down at the phone in his hand.
‘You didn’t?’ Robin’s tone was sharp. She already knew the answer.
‘I’m on a case. A girl’s been attacked . . .’
‘Mum’s here, in the hospital, Fran.’
‘Since when?’
‘Since yesterday afternoon. You need to check your phone.’
Francis did remember seeing a missed call from his sister the previous evening, but he wasn’t going to admit it.
‘What happened?’ he said. He couldn’t look her in the eye.
‘She’s got a chest infection. It wasn’t clearing with antibiotics, so Doctor Chamberlain referred her.’
Doctor Chamberlain was the GP who looked after the residents in his mother’s care home. His name was becoming increasingly familiar. The MS that had plagued Lydia Sullivan for more than twenty years seemed to be progressing ever more rapidly, and Francis knew that a chest infection could be dangerous for her.
‘Sorry I missed the call. Work . . .’
‘She told me she hasn’t seen you for over a month, Fran.’ Robin shifted position on her sticks. She also suffered with MS, so she found their mother’s deterioration especially hard to cope with.
‘Okay, what ward is she in? I’ll come up as soon as I’ve finished here.’
‘She’s on the second floor of the Barry Building, in the respiratory unit. But take your time. Another hour or two won’t make any difference.’
‘Robin . . .’
‘I know. Work comes first. Brighton’s very own superhero.’ She spoke with venom and turned away from him.
His phone rang and he glanced down to see it was Rory. Robin walked off without another word.
Damn.
He met Rory and Angie in the hospital coffee shop.
‘We need to get on top of this as a matter of urgency,’ he said, slapping his palm down on the table. ‘It’s not a robbery, so what’s the motive? Was it someone out to get Tash, or was she the unfortunate victim of a random attack?’
‘And why those particular wounds?’ said Rory.
‘Stigmata,’ said Francis. ‘They exactly replicate Christ’s wounds on the cross, and the Latin verse tattooed on her is probably religious too.’
‘So we’re dealing with a God-botherer?’ said Rory.
Francis shrugged. ‘It’s some kind of message, that’s for sure.’
Angie was quiet, still pale, but jotting down the tasks Francis assigned in her notebook.
Half an hour later, having briefed them on what they and the team needed to do, Francis made his way up to the respiratory unit. A nurse pointed him in the direction of his mother’s ward.
Lydia Sullivan was lying in the bed furthest from the door, closest to the window. A plastic oxygen mask covered her face, and if it hadn’t been for Robin sitting next to the bed, he would have had to look twice to make sure it was her. The curtain between her bed and the next one was pulled across.
When she saw him, she struggled to pull the mask to one side.
‘I must be dying for you to show up,’ she said and for a split second, Francis saw the ghost of a familiar smile.
He bent to embrace her, noticing as he kissed her cheek how cold her skin was. Every time he saw her, she seemed to have aged, diminished in some way that he could never quite put his finger on. The MS taking its toll. She looked tiny in the hospital bed. She’d always seemed so tall and graceful to him when he was a child, but he could hardly equate the crumpled body in the bed with the woman she once was. Her hair was in need of attention and the hospital gown swamped her.
He held her tightly for a minute, feeling a lump forming in his throat.
‘Maman,’ he said, reverting back to what he called her as a child. ‘When were you brought in here?’
Robin, sitting on a chair between the bed and the window, gave him a withering look without bothering to say hello.
‘When . . .?’ said Lydia. She looked confused and Robin cut in.
‘I told you everything earlier, Fran.’ She sounded irritated.
Lydia cleared her throat to speak but was immediately racked by a crushing cough. Her chest rattled and she barely seemed to have the strength to raise a hand to cover her mouth.
‘Sorry I didn’t come sooner,’ said Francis.
Lydia gazed up at him, the mask back over her face. He forced himself to smile at her, though he hated seeing her like this – it was why he visited less and less often. But he hated himself more. He used his work as an excuse and he knew it was a feeble one.
Robin rolled her eyes. Francis could understand her anger. Watching your mother laid waste by a horrible disease was distressing enough, but looking on in the sure and certain knowledge that you were following her down the same path? It was unspeakably cruel.
Francis looked across the bed at her. ‘How are you, Robin?’
She shrugged. ‘Exhausted. It hasn’t been a great week.’
Francis had noticed how she’d laboured with her sticks in the corridor earlier.
His phone rang. It was Rory calling from the police station in John Street.
‘Boss, we’ve got CCTV footage of Tash Brady leaving The Haunt. We’re about to spool through it.’
Francis glanced across at his mother. She seemed to be asleep.
> ‘I’ll be right with you.’
‘Of course you will,’ said Robin. ‘Of course you bloody will.’
A surge of relief swept through him as he left the ward and the knot of tension in his shoulders loosened. Then, feeling disgusted with himself for it, he turned his attention back to the messages queued up on his phone.
7
Saturday, 12 August 2017
Marni
It was close to eleven, but there was no point in trying to go to bed. Marni knew sleep wouldn’t be her ally. Her mind was still plagued with what she’d seen at the bandstand that morning. Tash, as they’d found her, sprawled on the paving behind the bandstand, bleeding and unconscious. And the interior of the café . . . the stench of congealing blood still hung in her nostrils. Who the hell could have done such a thing? And why Tash?
It was close and the air seemed heavy. The back garden was dark and quiet, but it didn’t bring her any comfort. Neither did a tumbler of red wine. She hadn’t eaten all day and that had messed up her insulin schedule. She lit a cigarette – God knows how many she’d smoked since she’d been sitting there – and stared up at the sky, wondering if it would rain. But the only clouds she could see were as wispy as the smoke curling up from the end of her cigarette. She tried closing her eyes. The noise of a car somewhere on the road at the front made her open them and the endless rotation of questions and images started all over again.
Sweat trickled down between her breasts and she pressed the cold glass against one of her cheeks. Pepper, the bulldog, muttered restlessly in a fitful sleep on the lawn.
Why would someone have attacked Tash? Surely she didn’t have any enemies?
The front door slammed and she stubbed out her cigarette in a pot of sand next to her chair.
‘Alex, is that you?’
‘Mum?’
‘I’m in the garden.’
She stood up and hugged him as he came out onto the back doorstep.
‘Are you okay?’ He smelled of stale sweat and he looked wiped out. He’d been at the hospital all day.
‘Where’s Dad?’
‘He’s at Charlie’s, watching the football. He’ll be back soon.’
Alex grunted and went into the kitchen. He returned a moment later with a bottle of beer in one hand.
‘How’s Tash?’
‘Um . . .’ He took a swig from the bottle. ‘Scared. Confused. Mostly she’s been drugged up to the eyeballs, so I haven’t really been able to talk to her.’
‘Did her parents arrive?’
‘They made me leave, Mum.’ There was a tremor in his voice that carried Marni back to the days when he’d been a little boy on the verge of tears.
‘Who? The doctors?’
‘Tash’s parents.’
She took a step back from him. He moved past her and dropped into the deckchair she’d just vacated. His shoulders slumped and his head drooped forward. He looked defeated.
‘Why did they want you to leave? You’re her boyfriend. Don’t you get on with them?’
‘They don’t know who I am,’ said Alex. The words tumbled out quickly, awkwardly.
‘What? Why don’t they know you?’
Alex sighed and stared at his feet. ‘Tash wanted to keep it a secret. They wouldn’t have approved of her going out with me.’
‘Look at me, Alex. Do they think their daughter’s too good for you?’
Alex exploded with anger. ‘D’you really not get it?’
‘No, I don’t.’
‘Jesus, Mum. Sometimes you forget that I’m black. Other people don’t.’
For a few moments Marni was unable to speak. She wanted to throw a brick through a window, but that wouldn’t help Alex. She’d fought so many battles for him when he was a kid – against the headmistress who demanded he cut his dreadlocks, against the little shit down the road who would make monkey noises out of the window when he saw Alex walking by. At nineteen, he was old enough to fight his own battles now, didn’t want her wading in. But would it never fucking end?
‘I’m so sorry, Alex. You should have told me.’
Alex shrugged. ‘I have and now you’re upset.’
Marni lit another cigarette.
‘Bastards,’ she said.
‘I don’t care,’ said Alex. ‘I didn’t want Tash to cop a load of grief.’
‘Yeah, but I care.’
Neither of them spoke for a few minutes while Marni smoked.
‘Alex, have the police spoken to you yet?’
He shook his head. ‘Not apart from DI Sullivan, this morning.’
‘What happened last night?’
‘What d’you mean?’
‘Why did Tash leave the club on her own?’
Alex stared out across the garden. Even in the darkness, Marni could see he was biting his bottom lip.
‘Alex?’
‘We had a row.’
‘About what?’
‘She thought I was messing with another girl while she was in the toilet.’
‘And were you?’
‘No, Mum. But she wouldn’t believe me, so she left.’
‘What did you do?’
‘I went after her.’
Marni waited. The silence lengthened.
‘And?’
‘And nothing.’
‘Alex, you can’t just say that to the police. What happened? Didn’t you find her?’
‘I stopped for a smoke.’
Marni sighed. She knew he meant a joint – Alex didn’t smoke cigarettes.
‘Then?’
‘I wandered about a bit. There was no sign of her, so I came home.’
‘At what time?’
‘I don’t fucking know.’ He was getting impatient with her questioning.
‘Listen, Alex. The police are going to be all over you like a rash. I suppose people saw you arguing in the club?’
Alex heaved himself out of the deckchair.
‘You need to get your story straight.’
‘You’re being ridiculous, Mum.’ He went towards the back door.
‘No, Alex, I’m not. It’s always the same. The police want to find the quickest and easiest way to close the case.’
‘You’re paranoid. You’ve always been weird about the police.’
‘With good reason.’
‘What are you talking about?’
Marni shook her head. Now wasn’t the time to go into the past.
‘Don’t be a fool, Alex. It’ll be the easiest thing in the world for them to arrest you and charge you for this. They won’t care if you actually did it or not.’
‘Fuck the police,’ said Alex, disappearing back into the kitchen.
8
Sunday, 13 August 2017
Alex
Alex couldn’t remember the last time he’d been up this early on a Sunday morning, but he needed to see Tash. Getting up wasn’t exactly difficult when you couldn’t sleep, and despite the mugginess, he practically jogged the five-minute walk to the County Hospital. Stepping through the main doors, he stopped for a moment to catch his breath under the cooling blast of the air-conditioning vent. But only for a moment. Then he raced down the hall to the lift to go up to Tash’s ward.
He had hoped that Tash’s parents wouldn’t be there yet and that he might snatch some time alone with her before they arrived, but it wasn’t to be. As soon as he got out of the lift, he saw Kath Brady standing in the corridor outside Tash’s room. Thankfully, she had her back to him and her phone glued to her ear. He ducked down a corridor leading in the opposite direction, then cautiously looked around the corner, back towards Tash’s room.
What a difference twelve hours had made. When Kath Brady had arrived at the hospital the previous afternoon, she’d been groomed to within an inch
of her life, with expensive blonde highlights that matched the colour of her discreet gold jewellery. Now, her hair was dishevelled and her clothes were creased. They must have stayed in the hospital all night.
She finished her call and leaned in at the doorway of her daughter’s room.
‘Richard?’
Tash’s father appeared. He was a tall man, with thinning hair. Yesterday, he’d been wearing an elegant navy suit. Today, it was shirtsleeves and rumpled trousers. Alex couldn’t make out their hurried conversation and quickly retreated as they turned to come towards the lift. He slipped into an empty toilet cubicle so they wouldn’t see him as they waited for the lift.
Five minutes later, he ventured out again. The corridor by Tash’s room was empty – the whole unit seemed quiet. He was hoping the Bradys had gone to get some breakfast, or better yet gone home for a change of clothes. He waylaid one of the nurses who’d seemed friendly the previous day.
‘Are her parents with her?’ he said in a low voice.
The nurse shook her head. ‘I don’t think so.’
‘What’s going on?’ he said. ‘Is she getting better?’
The nurse looked around, shuffling her feet.
‘Don’t worry. The doctors are looking after her.’ It didn’t sound as reassuring to Alex as it was supposed to and he hurried in the direction of Tash’s room.
As he reached her door, he felt increasingly nervous. He knew he could only afford to stay for a few minutes, or he would risk being caught by her parents. His stomach lurched. He felt sick, despite the fact he hadn’t eaten anything before coming out. With a dry mouth, Alex put his hand on the door handle, wondering what he would find inside. Why wasn’t Tash getting better? He hoped she’d be sitting up, smiling and whinging about when she’d be allowed home.
It turned out the nurse had been wrong. They hadn’t gone anywhere. Richard Brady emerged from a men’s toilet further up the hall and turned towards Tash’s room. He stared at Alex. But Alex had had enough. Tash was his girlfriend and he had a right to be with her. He stood his ground, blood rushing in his ears, dreading the thought of how her parents would react when he insisted on seeing her.
Tash needed him, though.
Taking a deep breath, he opened the door and stepped inside, with Richard Brady right behind him.
Her Last Breath: The new crime thriller from the international bestseller (Sullivan and Mullins) Page 4