without.
“What’s your problem, love?” Even to her own ears, it was a threat. She felt Ozzie’s gaze on her.
Doctor Thorne had an uncertain smile on her face. “I beg your pardon?”
Bev was standing, feet apart, arms folded. “I’m not asking you to beg my pardon. I’m asking for a bit of respect.”
“I don’t know what you mean.”
“Yes you do. I’ve been hanging round so long someone wanted to plant flowers.” She jabbed a finger in the air. “When you eventually get your act together –
it’s a one-liner saying sweet FA.”
“I don’t have time for this. I’m a busy person.” She was fondling a stethoscope slung casually round her neck. Bev wasn’t impressed by the prop; she’d seen
enough episodes of ER to bluff her way into medical school.
“And I’m not?” She felt Ozzie’s hand on her arm. Another time, she’d have left it there. You could file nails on his graduate cheekbones. She kept her gaze on the
doctor who was finding it increasingly difficult to maintain eye contact.
“I didn’t say that.”
“That’s exactly what you’re saying. Your attitude? It sucks.”
“Sarge?”
Bev looked at Oz. He was tapping his watch. She glanced at the time. “Okay, okay. I’m out of here.” She turned to the doctor. “Let’s hope, Ms Thorne, that I get to
the mad bastard out there, before some other kid gets a taste for hospital food. Not that you can eat a lot when your jaw’s wired and your teeth have gone AWOL.”
The woman ran her hands through her hair. Bev watched as it fell perfectly into place.
“Look, I’m sorry. I’m dead on my feet.” The voice hadn’t got much life either. Bev examined the doctor’s face. Faint mauve smudges were just perceptible
beneath the immaculate make-up under the eyes; she’d probably been on call for ages without so much as a Kit Kat.
But Bev was fresh out of compassion. “And Michelle Lucas is dead. Full stop.”
Dr Thorne looked set to argue but capitulated quietly. “Point taken.”
Bev capitalised by pushing another. “Cassie Swain? We really need to speak to her.”
The doctor shook her head. “I really don’t know. I’m concerned about the head injury. The next few hours are crucial.”
What about the hours Cassie had already lost? Beaten and kicked within an inch, then tossed onto a skip. Not hidden. Not buried. Half way down Thread Street. It was a message. A bloody message.
And what if old Bert hadn’t been on the trawl? Thank God for insomniac winos. Bev shivered. She picked up her bag; they’d get nothing here. There was a clock on the wall. It had been
bugging her all morning. She pointed. “That needs a new battery.”
“Don’t we all?” the doctor said.
Bev smiled. Superwoman might be human after all. She glanced at Ozzie. “We’d best be off.” They were almost through the door when the woman relented and called them back.
Bloody hell, Bev realised, Thorne looked even better when she let down the barriers, stopped trying to put on her official face.
“Leave me your number. If there’s any change. Anything at all. I’ll let you know.”
“You’re on.” Bev took a card from her bag, scribbled on the back. It was only a few hours since she’d done the same for Vicki. Which reminded her… why hadn’t
the girl been in touch?
“Don’t want mine as well, do you?” The voice had hope rather than conviction.
“No, DC Khan.” Bev shook her head, smiling. “She does not.”
“Let me get this clear, Mr Leigh. You saw nothing, heard nothing and if you’d seen Lord Lucan waiting for a 35 bus you’d say nothing.”
Ronnie Leigh wiped lager from rubbery lips and burped. It was 11am and this was a house call that was going no further than the front step. “Bright for a cop. Aren’t you?” His
right hand transferred the excess alcohol to denims that had once been blue.
Powell moved forward but Byford put out a restraining hand.
“Perhaps we could talk about your involvement
“What’s your problem, love?” Even to her own ears, it was a threat. She felt Ozzie’s gaze on her.
Doctor Thorne had an uncertain smile on her face. “I beg your pardon?”
Bev was standing, feet apart, arms folded. “I’m not asking you to beg my pardon. I’m asking for a bit of respect.”
“I don’t know what you mean.”
“Yes you do. I’ve been hanging round so long someone wanted to plant flowers.” She jabbed a finger in the air. “When you eventually get your act together –
it’s a one-liner saying sweet FA.”
“I don’t have time for this. I’m a busy person.” She was fondling a stethoscope slung casually round her neck. Bev wasn’t impressed by the prop; she’d seen
enough episodes of ER to bluff her way into medical school.
“And I’m not?” She felt Ozzie’s hand on her arm. Another time, she’d have left it there. You could file nails on his graduate cheekbones. She kept her gaze on the
doctor who was finding it increasingly difficult to maintain eye contact.
“I didn’t say that.”
“That’s exactly what you’re saying. Your attitude? It sucks.”
“Sarge?”
Bev looked at Oz. He was tapping his watch. She glanced at the time. “Okay, okay. I’m out of here.” She turned to the doctor. “Let’s hope, Ms Thorne, that I get to
the mad bastard out there, before some other kid gets a taste for hospital food. Not that you can eat a lot when your jaw’s wired and your teeth have gone AWOL.”
The woman ran her hands through her hair. Bev watched as it fell perfectly into place.
“Look, I’m sorry. I’m dead on my feet.” The voice hadn’t got much life either. Bev examined the doctor’s face. Faint mauve smudges were just perceptible
beneath the immaculate make-up under the eyes; she’d probably been on call for ages without so much as a Kit Kat.
But Bev was fresh out of compassion. “And Michelle Lucas is dead. Full stop.”
Dr Thorne looked set to argue but capitulated quietly. “Point taken.”
Bev capitalised by pushing another. “Cassie Swain? We really need to speak to her.”
The doctor shook her head. “I really don’t know. I’m concerned about the head injury. The next few hours are crucial.”
What about the hours Cassie had already lost? Beaten and kicked within an inch, then tossed onto a skip. Not hidden. Not buried. Half way down Thread Street. It was a message. A bloody message.
And what if old Bert hadn’t been on the trawl? Thank God for insomniac winos. Bev shivered. She picked up her bag; they’d get nothing here. There was a clock on the wall. It had been
bugging her all morning. She pointed. “That needs a new battery.”
“Don’t we all?” the doctor said.
Bev smiled. Superwoman might be human after all. She glanced at Ozzie. “We’d best be off.” They were almost through the door when the woman relented and called them back.
Bloody hell, Bev realised, Thorne looked even better when she let down the barriers, stopped trying to put on her official face.
“Leave me your number. If there’s any change. Anything at all. I’ll let you know.”
“You’re on.” Bev took a card from her bag, scribbled on the back. It was only a few hours since she’d done the same for Vicki. Which reminded her… why hadn’t
the girl been in touch?
“Don’t want mine as well, do you?” The voice had hope rather than conviction.
“No, DC Khan.” Bev shook her head, smiling. “She does not.”
“Let me get this clear, Mr Leigh. You saw nothing, heard nothing and if you’d seen Lord Lucan waiting for a 35 bus you’d say nothing.”
Ronnie Leigh wiped lager from rubbery lips and burped. It was 11am and this was a house call that was going no further than the front step. “Bright for a cop. Aren’t you?” His
right hand transferred the excess alcohol to denims that had once been blue.
Powell moved forward but Byford put out a restraining hand.
“Perhaps we could talk about your involvement
Similar Books
