by Liz Lawler
A low guttural sound came slowly from his throat, like an animal’s warning. His nostrils flared and he seemed to sniff her presence as much as see her. His body shape changed, his shoulders becoming wider, his arms bulking with muscle and face contorting. His mouth was wide, his teeth bared, and he growled and charged.
Instinctively Emily tried to run, but he was on top of her already, his fists landing blows on her head, her jaw, her ear. She tried to roll over and felt the breath knocked out of her as he punched her full in the belly. She gagged and vomit rose up her throat. He now straddled her hips, pinning her flat on her back and her arms could only protect her face as he rained down blows on her chest and shoulders. She could taste blood in her mouth and spat it out. She gasped for breath and readied herself to scream when a searing pain entered the side of her left breast. Unable to turn from it she went rigid with shock. Her eyes shot open and she stared into his eyes. He was going to kill her. She was going to be that ‘someone’ one day. Then his face pulled back fast and his weight was gone.
She heard voices, all male, all loud, all talking fast. Then Ben spoke. ‘Jesus, he stabbed her. Get an ambulance, fast.’
Through bloodied lips, she smiled.
Chapter Thirty-Two
Jerry Jarvis’s expression had just about returned to normal. The initial fear at seeing her battered body had now gone from his eyes. She was still on one of the beds in the resuscitation area, but no longer surrounded by an emergency team. Only he stood next to her. ‘You are one lucky bunny,’ he said. ‘The knife was plastic, but the struggle has opened up your breast scar, which by the looks of it was ripe with a haematoma. You’re going to be the death of me, Emily Tomb Raider, if you keep coming in like this.’
She reached out and grabbed his wrist. ‘I can see that you’re going to discharge me, aren’t you?’
He looked her in the eye, his expression regretful. ‘They’re telling me they can nurse you there.’ He took hold of her hand. ‘Shit, Emily. I’m so sorry you’re there. What’s going on with you?’
She pointed at the pulled curtain around them and whispered, ‘Are they behind them?’
He shook his head. ‘Out sitting on the chairs. They’ve not moved from them. They’re waiting for me to tell them how bad you are. And you are pretty battered, but nothing that rest and painkillers won’t cure. The scar has gone back together with a couple of Steristrips and I’ll give you antibiotics for any infection. I can’t see how I can keep you here.’
‘You could say that I am in a bad way, I’ve got a wound infection. You need to admit me for intravenous antibiotics?’
Jerry stared at her, shaking his head in bemusement.
Her eyes locked on his, her voice serious. ‘Please, tell them you’re keeping me in. I haven’t got time to explain everything now, but I’m only in that place because I have uncovered something very bad that happened at The Windsor Bridge Hospital. So bad that people are going to go to jail for it. If they take me back I will never be able to prove what I know happened. They will keep me locked up for ever to keep me quiet.’
He leaned close as he too now whispered. ‘And what are you hoping another day here will give you?’
‘A chance to prove I’m sane, for one. A chance to show the police everything I’ve discovered.’
His eyes shot open in disbelief. ‘You mean, you think you’re just going to walk out of here?’
‘You mean you won’t let me?’ she asked in a wounded voice.
‘Let you?’ he blustered. ‘You’ll barely be able to get up off this couch.’
Her voice was determined. ‘Jerry, I can and I have to. And I won’t drop you in it. I’ll be gone in seconds if you can distract them.’
He closed his eyes in despair. She waited. Without looking at her he said, ‘Give me a minute.’
After a long minute, he stepped back through the curtains carrying a patient’s property bag. ‘My jumper. Your top is covered in blood. My trainers, as you have no shoes with you. Fifty pounds, that’s all I’ve got, but I don’t advise you get a taxi unless you can disguise yourself. My hat is in there too, along with painkillers, antibiotics and dressings, and the keys to my flat. I won’t be back till the morning. I’m on the night shift.’
Her eyes glazed with tears. ‘You believe me without even knowing what’s going on?’
He leaned over and gently knuckled her forehead in a spot without bruises. ‘Of course I do. Someone has to.’
*
Nina switched on the second lamp in her small sitting room, chasing away the shadows. Her visitor was late. She had gone to evening mass after work in the hope of divine intervention, but God wasn’t talking to her. She was on her own with this. She had already drunk a large sherry and now poured herself a second one. Waiting for her visitor was stretching her nerves. She had rehearsed what she would say, which would be short and to the point, just to get it over with. There was no way of dressing it up or undoing what she knew. She was at least giving them warning.
She stared around her small sitting room, the two high-backed armchairs she’d inherited from her parents, the old-fashioned sideboard bearing scratches on the doors, which she never sanded as a reminder of their beloved Labrador. The silver tray, crystal decanter and sherry glasses were one of her parents’ wedding gifts, passed down to her like most of the furnishings and objects filling this two-bedroom house which had once also been theirs. She was born in this house, had lived in it all her life, and if at one time she had hoped to share it and see a child sleeping in the second bedroom where she used to sleep, that notion left her a long time ago. Minding elderly parents had taken that time almost sneakily, until she realised she was alone and it was all too late.
Her doorbell rang. Placing the sherry glass down, she took a calming breath and went to open her door.
‘Oh,’ she said, stepping back in surprise. ‘What are you doing here? You’re not who I was expecting. What do you want?’
‘Only to give you this,’ her visitor said, while moving into the hallway and closing the door.
‘Give me what?’ she asked, startled by the invasion of her home.
The hand that held the knife didn’t hesitate and she gasped as she felt it enter her flesh, through her ribs, all the way to unresisting softness. She stared down at the handle sticking out of her. She looked into the eyes of her killer and saw they were smiling and thought, how rude to smile. How rude . . . when you know I’m dying.
Chapter Thirty-Three
Geraldine had a decision to make concerning the two separate incidents that had occurred the night before: a woman found murdered in her home this morning and an escaped psychiatric patient from A&E. Ideally, she would like to focus only on finding the missing patient and leave the murder case to Detective Chief Inspector George Crawley, the SIO in charge, if she wasn’t so concerned that there may be a connection between the two incidents.
Emily had absconded from A&E, and no sighting of her had been reported. Nina Barrows was one of the people that Emily thought was involved in this missing patient fabrication. Geraldine now had to consider if Emily had any involvement in Nina Barrows’ death. From all accounts Emily was in a bad way, badly beaten, and would struggle to even walk. Was she even physically able to carry out such an act? Was the timing just a coincidence? And was Emily innocent of any wrongdoing? The woman had been found by her neighbour, a railway worker leaving his home at five this morning, after seeing her front door ajar. Emily was at large.
Before she decided on a course of action she would have to speak to Crawley, to put him in the picture with the various possibilities. She would give him a possible motive and suspect. And in doing so, relinquish responsibility for Emily Jacobs, as much as she was loath to. She was not looking forward to this day at all, and had to remind herself that Emily was an ill young woman. Had she heard voices telling her to do this? Had she gone to the woman’s home to maybe question her and something had gone badly wrong? There was no way of knowing w
hat she had got up to. She was a psychiatric patient. Anything was possible. She needed finding as much for her own safety as for the safety of others. Geraldine had to consider all of this because Emily had once more put herself in the firing line.
*
The water in the shower tray was running clear, the last of the pink washed down the drain. Most of the blood was dried, spilled blood from her breast scar where it had burst open. She managed to keep the Steristrips from getting wet by covering them with a waterproof plaster. Her chest and stomach were marbled with fresh bruising, adding to her collection of older ones on her hip and thigh. The fresh scab on her lower lip worked free, and she’d tasted the slight saltiness of fresh blood before rinsing her face. Her body was moving easier under the hot spray and she had taken the full quota of painkilling drugs before the hour they were next due. She needed to be dressed and out of here before Jerry got home. He’d put his career at risk by helping her. The least she could do was to be out of his flat when he got home.
Twenty minutes later she was ready. Jerry’s clothes made her look like a teenage boy, especially his rugby cap. As a bonus it hid her bruised forehead and covered her short dark hair. She had no idea what her plan of action would be, but getting out of here had to be the priority.
*
DCI George Crawley was a bear of a man, with a broad back, sloping shoulders and thick arms, and a large head taking the lead whenever he moved forward. His office was based at headquarters in Portishead, but the incident room for this murder enquiry had been set up at Kenneth Steele House, the base of the Major Crime Investigation Team, in Bristol. Its location suited both cities, Bath and Bristol, as well as the surrounding towns and villages. It was kitted out to solve major crimes and its air of seriousness never failed to impress Geraldine.
The freshly assembled team of officers were giving the SIO their full attention, as they would be well advised to do if they didn’t want to end up with Crawley’s heavy paw landing on their shoulder. He was an impatient sod at times, particularly with those who asked questions for the sake of asking. Geraldine could hear the bite in his voice as he answered a newly recruited DC. ‘Now, let me think about that one. Are we going to be visiting her hospital? She worked there. She went there most days. People there might know her, might even know something. It may have even been one of her colleagues who had killed her. I can’t think of any reason why we’d go there. Can you?’ The blond DC’s ears turned red to match the patches on his cheeks, and Geraldine bit her lip in amusement. Crawley had earned his rank through a solid career of hard police work and had solved more cases than most other police officers, and not just because of his length of service. He’d passed that benchmark while still in his forties. The job was, then as now, as much a part of his DNA as the blood and bones of his body. If at times he was irascible, Geraldine put it down to his approaching retirement. She could not see him ambling off to join the rest of the retirees without a roar or two of protest.
She stood at the back while he listed the tasks he wanted actioned, picking out individuals to take charge of them. His priorities were focused on gathering information, finding eye witnesses, working out Nina Barrows’ last movements, possible motives and – most wished for – finding the murder weapon with prints on its handle.
As his briefing came to an end and officers shuffled off to do his bidding, she came up to the front to speak to him. She knew he liked her and had put in a good word on her last promotion. She had started off as a DC under his supervision and regretted none of her time as part of his team, learning from someone who had seen it all.
‘Hello Geraldine, you look like you have something on your mind you wish to discuss?’
She took a photograph of Emily from behind her back and handed it to him.
He stared at it briefly. ‘Emily Jacobs,’ he stated. His eyes went to whiteboards behind him, to the only photograph presently pinned up, a head and shoulders shot of Nina Barrows in uniform. ‘The connection?’ he asked.
Geraldine shrugged reluctantly. ‘She’s missing, as you know, and something she told me, something very off-the-wall I might add, has Nina Barrows’ name mentioned in it.’
He eyed her for longer than was comfortable. ‘You look worried, Geraldine.’
‘I’m not,’ she said confidently. ‘I’m sure she didn’t do it. I just think you should know Nina Barrows’ name has come up recently.’
‘Sure is not the same as know. Sure is an opinion. Let’s you and I have a little chat and see how sure I am after that, shall we?’
Feeling as if she’d just been transported back in time, Geraldine felt a familiar quake in her shoes and followed in his wake to the office he used when he was here.
Chapter Thirty-Four
An hour later Geraldine was back at her own office, with Eric for company, watching the local Monday-morning news on the wall-mounted television. The main topic was the murder of Nina Barrows. A blue tarpaulin tent had been erected over the front door of the victim’s house and two female police officers, wearing yellow hi-vis vests, stood guarding it. Geraldine was grateful for Eric’s presence, feeling that he alone understood the turmoil she was going through. He’d turned up to offer help finding Emily as soon as he heard that she was at large, and Geraldine was prepared to hear any insight he might have that would lead them to her whereabouts. Along with a police helicopter with infrared camera, police dogs and handlers, beat bobbies and PCSOs, the search had gone on till late last night and there was still no sighting of her. The hospital was sandwiched between Locksbrook Canal and Penn Hill, giving someone plenty of opportunities to either hide or get injured.
Geraldine took a sip of the takeaway coffee Eric had brought her, needing the hit of caffeine. ‘Where is she?’
He shrugged. ‘She could be anywhere. The thing is, she has few friends, unless she’s met up with one from her past. I take it you’ve already checked with known associates?’
‘Yeah, we have. Her GP sounds like a good friend. She said she’d call us if she hears from her. Her parents have heard nothing, but that’s no surprise. We’ve got officers at her hospital now, killing two birds with one stone, questioning everyone about Nina Barrows and the possibility that one of them might have seen Emily or have had contact with her.’
‘You’ve tried calling her or tracking her phone?’
Geraldine gave a pained look. ‘She’s not got one with her. She got taken in as an emergency patient, remember. They didn’t pack a bag for her or anything, or put in a handy mobile for her to use.’
Eric leaned against the office windowsill. ‘What about if we put out an appeal to her? Simply saying we need to talk to her and let her know we’re worried about her.’
‘You think she’d trust us?’ Geraldine’s face showed what she thought of that suggestion. ‘I think that door’s long closed.’
‘She might. We’ve been there with her since the beginning. Who else has she got to go to?’
‘Well, that entirely depends on the reason she’s out there in the first place. Was it simply to get free, or did she have something she wanted to do?’
Geraldine’s eyes went back to the television as she heard the name Jacobs being spoken. Her mouth fell open as she stared at the images now appearing on the screen. She raised the volume. Doreen Jacobs was preparing to talk to a reporter; the backdrop was the woman’s house. John Jacobs had a dress shirt on over baggy jeans and needed a shave.
‘Mrs Jacobs, you must be greatly concerned for your daughter’s safety. Is there anything you’d like to say to her to bring her home?’
Doreen folded her arms and gave a hard stare into the camera. ‘If you can hear this, Emily, get yourself back to that hospital.’
The news reporter kept the microphone a fraction too long in front of Doreen, clearly expecting to hear more. Doreen simply stared. The reporter tried another tactic to get the woman to open up. ‘This must be a very difficult time for you both. Your younger daughter, Zoe, went missing over
a year ago, and now Emily is missing. This must bring back terrible memories of that time.’
Doreen shook her head stubbornly. ‘I’ve got nothing to say on that.’
Geraldine sighed. ‘Thank god for that.’
But Doreen wasn’t done yet. ‘It’s got me thinking, though, whether she had anything to do with her sister’s disappearance.’
Geraldine shot out of her chair. ‘For fuck’s sake!’ she shouted at the television screen. ‘What the fuck is she doing?’ She stared at Eric in disbelief, stabbing a finger at the television. ‘She’s out to hang her own daughter. Can you believe it? What an utter cow.’
Eric shook his head in disgust. ‘Whether she truly believes that or not, she should never have said it on live TV.’
‘What do you mean, whether she believes it or not? Of course she doesn’t believe it. She’s just looking for attention.’
‘She may do, Geraldine,’ he said quietly. ‘In the absence of another suspect, she may think it was Emily who took Zoe.’
Geraldine gaped at him. ‘And would you mind telling me how long you think she’s been harbouring that little thought? Please don’t tell me you think it too?’
He put a hand up to calm the sudden tension between them. His voice was warm and soothing. ‘I’ve never thought she had anything to do with the disappearance of her sister, but I have thought that guilt is holding her back. Guilt for perhaps not loving Zoe as much as we think she did. It would stand to reason that she would have some resentment towards a younger sibling, taking all the love of both parents while Emily put in the hard graft of bringing her up. Then when Zoe is an adult she’s still clawing at Emily for support, both financially and emotionally. Emily would feel the burden of guilt if she, at any time, wished Zoe gone so that she could live her own life. That’s all I’m saying, Geraldine. Her mother may think her involved for another reason, the one I already gave you, or it could be as simple as disliking her older daughter. I feel guilty for even thinking this of Emily, so please don’t think I’m the enemy here. I just want to help.’