know Daniel Crossman hadn’t done this to her that she fought to stay above the surface. But she couldn’t make the nurse understand. He didn’t know how passionately Pete hated Daniel Crossman.
With his past, Pete should never have been let anywhere near
Child Protection, but the powers that be hadn’t listened to her when she’d warned them. It wasn’t that he’d been physically or sexually abused himself as a child; they’d have understood that and kept him right away. But he had been emotionally terrorized by the grandfather who’d brought him up. Any male authority figure could make him suddenly behave weirdly. He’d responded well to Caro when they’d put him on her team, and she liked him. He was a demon for work, too, but he was driven by forces he didn’t properly understand, and that made him dangerous.
He had to be stopped now, before he took the law into his own hands and screwed up every chance they had of rescuing Kim. What was it Pete had said after Crossman had thrown him out of the flat? ‘Someone needs to teach that bastard a lesson. I hope I get the chance.’ Caro tried to call out. No one answered.
The white blob of the nurse’s uniform had dwindled to nothing and Caro’s voice didn’t seem to work any more.
Trish spent the following day listening to Ferdy Aldham and Antony as they tried to elicit from Furbishers’ witnesses sufficient evidence to persuade the judge one way or the other. It was hard to concentrate because it was all so familiar. Still, she had to keep her mind on the job, noting down each point the witnesses made and mentally ticking them off against the lists she and Antony had prepared. Then they had to go back to chambers for the usual post-mortem, so it was after eight by the time she was free to go back to Dowting’s to find out how Caro was getting on.
The news wasn’t good. At the front desk they told her that Caro had been moved into a proper bed. Trish made her way up to the tenth floor and found herself in a bay that was a lot quieter than the admissions ward. The view was good, too, straight over the Thames to the Houses of Parliament. If this had been a private hospital, such a position would have
commanded a big premium, but it wasn’t. It was the National Health Service at its best.
Trish went from bed to bed in the bay, apologizing to occupants and visitors as she peered at them. At last she found Caro, lying with her eyes closed and mumbling. She looked awful.
There was a man standing beside her, looking down at her ravaged face. He was wearing loose grey-blue trousers and a collarless natural linen shirt. As Trish approached, he looked up. She recognized his smooth-skinned roundish face at once, even though she could not put a name to him.
‘Trish!’ he said in a light voice that teased her memory. ‘How wonderful! It’s Andrew. Andrew Stane.’
‘Of course,’ Trish said, identifying him as the social worker she’d met over one of the worst cases of child cruelty she’d ever been involved with. She’d admired his devotion to the job from the start and she’d come to like him as they fought to protect the child whose parents had systematically tormented him for years. Starvation and cigarette burns had been the least of it. ‘How are you?’ They shook hands. ‘It must be a good five years since I saw you.’
‘More, I should think. But I’ve never forgotten the way you worked with little Dean Welkins when no one else could get through to him. We’d never have won without you.’
‘Thank you.’ Trish tried not to let her memory yield any details of the boy’s agonizing story, but she couldn’t keep them all down. She’d never forgotten her first sight of his heart-shaped white face and piteous black eyes, and the story she’d helped him to tell had shaken her more than any other.
‘How’s he doing?’
‘Not well, I’m afraid. But with that kind of start, how could he?’ Andrew’s smile was so sad it made
With his past, Pete should never have been let anywhere near
Child Protection, but the powers that be hadn’t listened to her when she’d warned them. It wasn’t that he’d been physically or sexually abused himself as a child; they’d have understood that and kept him right away. But he had been emotionally terrorized by the grandfather who’d brought him up. Any male authority figure could make him suddenly behave weirdly. He’d responded well to Caro when they’d put him on her team, and she liked him. He was a demon for work, too, but he was driven by forces he didn’t properly understand, and that made him dangerous.
He had to be stopped now, before he took the law into his own hands and screwed up every chance they had of rescuing Kim. What was it Pete had said after Crossman had thrown him out of the flat? ‘Someone needs to teach that bastard a lesson. I hope I get the chance.’ Caro tried to call out. No one answered.
The white blob of the nurse’s uniform had dwindled to nothing and Caro’s voice didn’t seem to work any more.
Trish spent the following day listening to Ferdy Aldham and Antony as they tried to elicit from Furbishers’ witnesses sufficient evidence to persuade the judge one way or the other. It was hard to concentrate because it was all so familiar. Still, she had to keep her mind on the job, noting down each point the witnesses made and mentally ticking them off against the lists she and Antony had prepared. Then they had to go back to chambers for the usual post-mortem, so it was after eight by the time she was free to go back to Dowting’s to find out how Caro was getting on.
The news wasn’t good. At the front desk they told her that Caro had been moved into a proper bed. Trish made her way up to the tenth floor and found herself in a bay that was a lot quieter than the admissions ward. The view was good, too, straight over the Thames to the Houses of Parliament. If this had been a private hospital, such a position would have
commanded a big premium, but it wasn’t. It was the National Health Service at its best.
Trish went from bed to bed in the bay, apologizing to occupants and visitors as she peered at them. At last she found Caro, lying with her eyes closed and mumbling. She looked awful.
There was a man standing beside her, looking down at her ravaged face. He was wearing loose grey-blue trousers and a collarless natural linen shirt. As Trish approached, he looked up. She recognized his smooth-skinned roundish face at once, even though she could not put a name to him.
‘Trish!’ he said in a light voice that teased her memory. ‘How wonderful! It’s Andrew. Andrew Stane.’
‘Of course,’ Trish said, identifying him as the social worker she’d met over one of the worst cases of child cruelty she’d ever been involved with. She’d admired his devotion to the job from the start and she’d come to like him as they fought to protect the child whose parents had systematically tormented him for years. Starvation and cigarette burns had been the least of it. ‘How are you?’ They shook hands. ‘It must be a good five years since I saw you.’
‘More, I should think. But I’ve never forgotten the way you worked with little Dean Welkins when no one else could get through to him. We’d never have won without you.’
‘Thank you.’ Trish tried not to let her memory yield any details of the boy’s agonizing story, but she couldn’t keep them all down. She’d never forgotten her first sight of his heart-shaped white face and piteous black eyes, and the story she’d helped him to tell had shaken her more than any other.
‘How’s he doing?’
‘Not well, I’m afraid. But with that kind of start, how could he?’ Andrew’s smile was so sad it made
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