Текст книги "Dead Silent"

Автор книги: Helen H. Durrant

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Текущая страница: 11 (всего у книги 14 страниц)

Chapter 19

“I don’t feel right! Jack—I need my medication.”

Where was he? She’d been alone for hours now, or so she thought. She had no real way of knowing. She’d been sleeping again and had woken up feeling weird. She wasn’t sure she could remember things correctly; she had a headache and felt dizzy. It could be the drugs he’d given her, but Patsy had felt like this before and knew what it meant. She also had a sore place on the inside of her cheek where she’d bitten it, so she must have had a small fit whilst she’d slept. If she didn’t take her medication soon, then she’d go on to have a major seizure.

She crept around the perimeter of the dark room, carefully feeling her way. He’d dressed her; she was wearing a loose top and jogging bottoms, but they weren’t her own.

“Jack! I need to speak to you.”

“I’m busy, Vida.” He stood in a doorway high above her, surrounded by a pool of light. He looked to be at the top of a staircase. “I must get on with this. I don’t have time to fool around.”

“I need my tablets! I have to take medication regularly or I’ll get sick.”

“Your imagination, Vida. There’s nothing wrong with you. You’re as fit as a fiddle—look at all the exercise you get at the gym.”

Patsy started to cry. “I’m not Vida and I do need my tablets. I get seizures, Jack.”

He moved a little closer, halfway down the staircase and pointed a finger at her. “Shut it, bitch—or I’ll make sure you never say another word.”

He was covered in mud. His boots were caked in it and his hands were filthy. What was he doing out there? Patsy shivered and wrapped her arms around her body. He wasn’t going to listen. She’d made the worst mistake of her life in trusting him: this man was evil.

He bent down and dragged something inside. A shape—an old rug, she thought, as he bumped it down the stairs. Whatever it was must be heavy because he was out of breath. He stood for a moment, wiped his palms down the sides of his jacket and left her alone again.

He was up to something—digging. Patsy crept closer to the bundle he’d left behind. She took one of the tiny candles and held it up so that she could see. It was wrapped in an old blanket, not a rug. She took hold of one end and shook it. It didn’t move. She put the candle down and, taking the ends of the fabric in both hands, pulled vigorously. The thing rolled forward making her jump away in fright. It smelled to high heaven. She bent down and moved the fabric a little more. There was something inside—something hideous, she could sense it. The hairs on the back of her neck were prickling. Another tug and her eyes widened.

The blanket was full of bones, old bones with ragged bits of putrefying flesh still attached to them. And if that wasn’t terrifying enough, there was the skull. For a moment it caught the flicker of the candlelight and seemed to leer at her, taunting. She couldn’t help but look a little closer. The thing had no teeth. The instruments in the cupboard! She began to feel very sick.

Patsy felt the room swirl around her. She had to keep her nerve.

She knew with absolute certainty now that she would become that thing lying on the floor if she didn’t do something. She had to get out of here. She had to seize any opportunity that presented itself.

It did just that a lot sooner than she expected. It had only been minutes since she’d found the bones, when the silence was broken by the sound of voices outside. Patsy closed her eyes to listen.

Someone else was up there arguing with Jack. She saw faint moonlight filtering through the door at the top of the staircase. So he must have left it ajar—and it must lead outside. She heard the voices again, swearing, and then a high-pitched wail. Jack was fighting with someone. This was her chance.

It was a risk. If Jack caught her, he’d kill her, she knew that. But what did she have to lose? Patsy crept up the stone steps, eased the door just wide enough and darted through it. She felt the cold night air envelop her body and she ran as fast as her legs would allow. She’d no idea where she was or where she was going, and each time the moon was obliterated by clouds, she was thrust into pitch blackness.

She ran blindly in what she thought was a straight line. She couldn’t hear anything behind her. She was soon gasping for breath and stopped for a moment, bending over with her hands on her knees. She still felt weird—she’d not had her medication and she had a pounding headache. But she daren’t stop. Wherever she was, Jack would know the lie of the land better than she, so he could be on her within seconds.

Patsy ran on. She had no awareness of time passing, just the rush of wind through her hair and the ache in her legs. Suddenly she came to an abrupt and painful halt as she crashed headlong into a hedge.

She hit her leg on a tree stump and ripped the jogging bottoms on thorns. She fumbled about wildly, trying to free herself, frantically trying to untangle her hair from the grip of the bushes.

Then she fell like a stone onto her front, winded. She closed her eyes and took a moment to recover. This was no good. If Jack’s place was in an enclosed area, then she wouldn’t be able to get out.

Perhaps that’s why he’d not bothered to chase after her.

She scrambled to her knees and felt along the ground—it was just grass. Patsy crawled on her hands and knees, disappearing into the dense hedgerow. The twigs and branches of the hedge dug into her body and scratched her face but she didn’t care, she had to keep going. She tore at the undergrowth cutting and scraping her hands, until finally her palms hit tarmac. She was out. She’d stumbled upon a gap in the hedge and had made it onto the roadside.

Patsy lay still listening to her heart race. She felt dizzy and sick and there was a smell—the one she knew only too well, the one that always heralded a seizure. She turned onto her side and closed her eyes. Within seconds she lost consciousness.

* * *

Calladine was late home again. When he entered the house, both Zoe and Jo were back, sitting chatting with Lydia.

“You’re a dark horse! Zoe called out as he walked into the sitting room. “Why didn’t you say you were expecting a guest?” She winked.

“Because I wasn’t.” He rested the envelope Monika had given him on top of his writing bureau. “You came as a huge surprise—didn’t you, Lydia?”

She smiled up at him. “You should have known I wouldn’t stay away for ever. I mean, how could I?”

Calladine knew very well that she could have stayed away quite easily. But she wanted something from him. Information about his renegade cousin.

“We’ll talk about that later. But before you get too comfortable, I should tell you that I won’t help you with you know who. So if that’s what you want from me, then you’re barking up the wrong tree. My advice is to leave him well alone. He’s about to get a nasty surprise anytime now, and I don’t want you involved.”

Lydia stuck her pretty nose in the air. “I’m going up to have a shower. When I’m done we’ll talk, Detective.” She frowned at him and stalked upstairs.

“I don’t get it.” Zoe shook her head. “What are you doing? This gorgeous woman turns up on your doorstep and you go all difficult and uncooperative. You don’t know when you’ve got it made.”

“And you don’t know what she’s like.”

“I know you’re making her feel uncomfortable, and that’s not fair. She’s only here visiting friends before she starts her new job.”

“If she says so.” He glared at her. He knew better than to take on Zoe in this mood. Soon she’d have Jo at him and then Lydia would have all the back-up she needed.

How had this happened anyway? A few months ago he’d been a loner—the place was his own, his refuge from the stress of work.

Now all that had changed, and his tiny little cottage was full of women, each one with an axe to grind. Zoe had no idea what Lydia was like. She might very well be the most gorgeous woman in creation, but she took some keeping in check—and where her livelihood was concerned, she had a complete disregard for her own safety

“Devon rang earlier. He wants to speak to you again,” Jo told him, coming into the sitting room to join them. That meant he probably had something—hopefully something he could use.

“Okay. I’ll take the laptop into the kitchen, Skype him and see what he’s got—then perhaps we can eat.” Calladine was glad of the chance to disappear for a while.

“We’ll have to send out for something,” Zoe called after him.

“We’ve not had time to sort anything food-wise.”

“Make it Chinese, then.” One day they’d have to sort out a proper shopping and cooking rota. All these takeaway meals, convenient as they were, weren’t doing him any good.

“Tom! Nice to touch base again.”

Devon DeAngelo looked a little smarter than the last time they’d spoken. He was wearing a grey suit and a shirt and tie.

“Have I got you at a bad time? Are you going out?”

“I’m off to court. Homicide case we worked on. I’ll be glad to get the whole thing out of the way; the damn case was driving me insane—but you know that feeling, I bet. Now it just has to go right in court and I’ll cross my fingers that we get the result we want. The shit will hit the fan if the bastard walks.”

Shades of Fallon there. Calladine understood that feeling very well.

“Anyway, I’ve had your list checked and we can account for all the names, bar six.”

“Six! I don’t think we’re looking for that many—well, I hope we’re not.”

“I’ve emailed them over, plus the DNA profiles for four of them.

If you find any more bodies you’ll have something to check against.

Let me know what you find, then, if necessary, I’ll contact the families and break the bad news.”

“You’ve been a great help, Devon. There’s no way we could have come up with that information so quick. I’ll do my best and get back to you as soon as. Best of luck in court. Hope it works in your favour.”

Calladine closed the Skype window and accessed his email and looked down the list. There were six names—all on Alice’s original list, and all of them missing from home back in the States. As well as the DNA profiles, Devon had made notes beside each name—a brief sketch of their home lives, not good in the main. He wasn’t surprised some of them hadn’t gone back.

“Chinese it is then. Want your usual?” Zoe shouted through. “I think me and Jo will go over to hers for the night—give you and Lydia some space. A little quiet time to sort out your differences.”

“There’s no need. You can both stay; we don’t mind.”

“You speak for yourself, Tom Calladine.” Lydia stood in the kitchen doorway. She’d showered and was wearing a skimpy robe.

“I have a night of wine and debauchery planned for us both, so perhaps it would be better if your daughter was elsewhere.”

Zoe and Jo laughed at that. Why fight it? “See you tomorrow, then!” he called out as they left.

He sent the list to his printer. “I have a little work to do, and by the time I’m finished, the food should have arrived and we can eat.

After that—we’ll see where the night takes us.”

“You know very well where the night will take us, so don’t be coy. You do what you have to while I fix my hair. Keep the food warm when it arrives.”

He’d given Lydia the back bedroom, but she had no intention of using it. After she’d blow-dried her hair, they shared the food and took a bottle of red wine and two glasses up to Calladine’s bedroom.

“I like your house—it’s cosy.”

“You mean it’s small.”

“No, I said cosy. Sort of warm and comforting.” She ran her fingertips down his naked chest. “This bed is cosy too, and I like the way you’ve done the room.”

“It wasn’t me. My mother did most of the decorating in the house, ages ago.”

“Well, I guess it does all look a little dated …”

“Dated!”

“Yes, Tom, dated. Very eighties—or is it even seventies? I mean, just look at the wallpaper and all this furniture. Dark wood, sturdy and very ancient.”

“It suits me. Moments ago you said you liked it. You’ve become a very hard woman to please, Lydia Holden. Time away has done you no good at all.”

“I never saw your place the last time, did I? A girl doesn’t like to be rude, but perhaps you could do with a makeover? I could help.”

“Perhaps—but not yet. We’ve both got too much on.”

“Case giving you trouble?”

“Yep, and a number of other things too. You for instance.” He turned so that he was looking at her full in the face. “I want you to leave the Fallon thing alone. It’s good advice, and for your own safety you should heed it.”

“That is the problem, Tom. I find that people are always giving me advice, mostly what suits them. So I don’t take too much notice. I’m too single-minded, I thought you realised that.”

“Leave Fallon alone, Lydia. He’s a ruthless bastard and he’s going to get what he deserves very soon. I don’t want you being any part of it.”

“So you do know something! Go on, tell me. I won’t write anything—well not yet—but one way or another I intend to find out what I need.”

“Not from me you won’t. This is no joke, Lydia. Fallon’s a killer.

Get in his way and he’ll think nothing of getting rid of you.”

“It’s no use going on at me, Tom. We’re going around in circles.

It’s just so much white noise in my head. All I’m working on is a human interest story, nothing heavy.”

“Nothing to do with Ray Fallon can possibly be described as

‘human interest.’”

“You’re not listening, are you? I need this. I need something big to kick start this new career of mine. After the Handy Man case and what I earned out of the story, I had a sort of epiphany—I realised where the big money is. And more than that, I discovered that I’ve a real talent, Tom. I also have a shrewd idea how much the editors of the bigger papers will pay for an exclusive on Fallon.”

He wasn’t going to win this one. He could only hope that the forensic boys would get the evidence they needed to drag Fallon in and lock him up before Lydia did something stupid.

“Isn’t all this just wasting time, Detective? I’m lying here, naked in your bed, and all you can do is talk work. Not very flattering, Tom Calladine. I want you to make love to me, not talk me to sleep.”

No answer to that. He flicked the switch on the bedside lamp and took her in his arms.

Chapter 20

Day Seven

Calladine left Lydia sleeping. He’d phone her from work and arrange something for later. Spending the night with her had done him the world of good. He was revitalised—the blood was coursing around his veins and he was raring to go. He made himself a couple of sandwiches for lunch and grabbed the envelope from his mother—a quick goodbye to Lydia, and he was gone.

Imogen called to him as he came in, “We’ve had an odd one this morning, sir. Jane Rigby rang—she has our office number from when Cassie was missing. She says her husband didn’t go home last night. What do you make of that?”

Calladine recalled the rather odd couple, and the way they behaved towards each other. Perhaps not getting Cassie back had been the final straw, and he’d left her.

“File the paperwork and pass it on to uniform. They can keep their eyes peeled. Circulate details of his car.”

He nodded to Ruth to follow him into his office.

“I’ve got the information from Devon. Six of them haven’t returned to their homes in the States, so we need to do some digging. Is Alice here yet?”

“She’s gone out somewhere with Rocco. They’ve been visiting the local estate agents.”

“When she returns get her to look at this.” He passed her the list.

“And you? What are your plans?”

“I need to lean on Julian for more information—the soil sample and the CCTV from the pub, for starters.”

He put his mother’s envelope on his desk.

“Something I should know about?”

“Nothing to do with the case—it’s personal.”

Ruth scrutinised the list of names. “There are six names here. I thought we were looking for three, sir.” She shuddered. “Aren’t you going to open that?”

“I’m trying to pluck up the courage. I keep putting it off; it’s something of a mystery. It’s from my mother, a letter from beyond the grave. She didn’t want me to have this until after she…well, until she was gone. So she left it with Monika. I went round last night and she gave it to me.”

“That’s good—you went to talk, so I presume things are better.

I’m glad you took my advice. Did you get anywhere? Are you and Monika back on track? Is that why you look tons better today?”

She wasn’t going to like this. No doubt she’d think he was a right idiot.

“Er, no—not really…Well, no not at all. Me and Monika are definitely over for good, I’m afraid.” His face was a picture of guilt.

“I don’t understand. What went wrong? Why didn’t you make her listen? You obviously didn’t do the right sort of grovelling.”

“No, that’s not it. I changed my mind about the whole thing. I actually went to the care home for an entirely different reason.”

“So what happened? And don’t spin me a tale either, Tom, because I know you.”

What was the use? She was going to find out sooner or later.

“Lydia’s back. She turned up on my doorstep yesterday, and—I just can’t resist her.”

“The blonde bimbo? Tom! Where’s your self-control?”

“Where she’s concerned, in my boots.”

“So, why’s she back now? What does she want?”

“I’d like to say because she can’t live without me—but that’s not it. She’s chasing my bloody cousin. He’s going to be the subject of some scoop she’s planning to write. Investigative journalism, she calls it, and I’m a soft target for the information she needs, apparently.”

“So she bats her lashes and you go to mush—is that about right?”

Calladine nodded. “I’m not proud of it, but I’m a push-over where that woman is concerned. She’s a weakness I can’t control.

Monika paled to insignificance the instant I saw Lydia.”

“You’re a disgrace! Lydia Holden’s bad news. Your future is with Monika and you know it. You’re not stupid. That blonde will dump you the minute she gets what she wants. You won’t know what hit you, it’ll happen so fast. Remember last time? She didn’t hang around then, did she?”

“I know all that, but having it stuffed down my throat doesn’t help. I like Lydia—really like her, so get off my back.”

Ruth knew she’d have to rein it in. “Okay, but don’t say you weren’t warned, when it all comes crashing down around your ears

–and it will. Anyway, you should open the envelope. That letter must contain something very important. Your mother left you that for a good reason.”

“The truth is it’s scaring the hell out of me. Why would she do this? Why couldn’t she simply tell me whatever it is, when she was alive?”

“I’ve no idea, Tom, so you should read it and then you can stop fretting.”

He picked it up and looked at the delicate handwriting. His mother’s hand. He’d not really felt the loss before, but now he felt it keenly. His stomach knotted and there was a lump in his throat.

She was gone and there wasn’t a thing he could do about it.

My dearest Tom,

If you’re reading this then I’m no longer with you. I know how upset you’ll be but please try to temper that with the memories you have of all the lovely times we spent together. I want you to be happy, son, and I don’t want you to mourn my passing. Do things as you think fit with regards to the funeral but put me in with your dad.

Now—to the real point of this, I have a confession to make. I have agonised over this all your life, and while you were with me I never had the courage to tell you. I knew you would be upset and I knew it would change things, which is why I decided to do it this way.

With this letter there is a key—it fits the cupboard in the back of the grandfather clock I gave you—the one in your hallway.

Inside the cupboard is a box and in there you will find the documents to support what I’m going to tell you now.

Fifty-two years ago your father had an affair. It didn’t last long and I forgave him. I never reproached him about it and you never found out. However—the outcome of that affair was you, Tom.

One night he came home with you in his arms. He also had a few baby clothes, your birth certificate and some photographs of your birth mother.

I hope you are sitting down to read this, son. I can only imagine the shock you must be feeling now. Anyway—I took you. Your dad and I never had any children of our own, so you were a gift I couldn’t refuse.

Despite how you’d been brought into my life, I loved you from the very moment I set eyes on you. You look very much like your father—so how could I not? He never extxted to me why your birth mother gave you up and I never asked. But he assured me that she would not come looking and she never did.

Forgive me, son, and please, try to understand why I kept this to myself. I couldn’t bring myself to spoil things—the things we had as a family. Look in the box and try not to think any worse of me.

Your loving mother.

Tears blurred his vision.

Ruth looked at him tenderly. “Cup of tea, Tom.” She patted his arm and rose to go and put the kettle on.

“Stick a scotch in it…Well she’s really gone and done it this time, hasn’t she?”

“Look—you don’t have to tell me just because I’m here. Like you said, it’s personal and I won’t pry. But if I can help, if there’s anything I can do, then tell me.”

Calladine tossed the letter over to her. “You are one of my closest friends as well as being my work partner—so go on—read it, please. I need to share this with someone, otherwise I’ll go barmy.”

Ruth sat down again opposite him and read through the letter.

“It’s one giant confession she’s making there; one that changes everything, don’t you think?” His voice was faltering. “Why didn’t she just tell me, explain it while she could? Reading that, it’s clear that the mistake was dads, not hers. At least then I could have got used to the idea – asked all the questions.”

“Perhaps she couldn’t, she’d be protecting him. She must have loved your father very much,” Ruth looked up. “She’d know that it would inevitably change how you felt about both your parents and possibly everything else too.”

“I’m a grown man—she could have told me. What did she imagine I was going to do? Go off the rails?”

“She brought you up—from infancy, so she is still your mother, Tom,”

“Not according to that, she isn’t. Not by blood anyway.”

They both fell silent.

“But does that really matter? Freda raised you, loved you and helped to make you the man you are. Surely that must count for something?” Ruth offered.

“Yes, of course it does, I’m not daft. But all these years and I never knew—I didn’t even suspect, not once. She should have told me—they both should have told me. Everyone has a right to know the truth about their parentage.”

“Well, she’s told you now, hasn’t she? And if you think about it, she didn’t have to. So the knowledge must have been a burden for her, and it will have taken some courage to write that.”

Ruth was right. There was no date on the letter, and he wondered when she had written it.

“You need time to take this in. Why don’t you go home? Look in that box and get your head together.”

“I can’t spare the time.” He reached in his desk drawer for the whiskey bottle and poured some into his tea. “Want some?”

“No. We might have to drive somewhere. Look—spending half an hour at home won’t hold up the case. Go and settle this. I’ll take you in my car and you can get it over with.”

“Okay. As long as you stay with me while I open that damn box.

I might need the voice of reason to keep me sane.”

“Hold your hand, more like. Okay, we’ll do this together. You can open Pandora’s Box and air your skeletons—then it’s straight back to the case. Alright?”

He nodded. Until he’d seen for himself what the box contained, he’d be unable to concentrate anyway.

“What I can’t understand …” he began, as Ruth pulled up outside his home. “… is why my dad never said anything. And who was this other bloody woman anyway?”

“Are you sure you’ll be alright doing this? If it’s going to bother you we could leave it.”

“See, even you’re getting cold feet now! But yep—I have to do this, like you say, get it over with.”

“Your dad will have had his reasons for keeping quiet, guilt probably. He’ll have discussed it with your mum when you were tiny, and then as you grew up, it’ll have been buried deep. That’s what families do.”

* * *

Calladine unlocked his front door and made straight for the clock. He took the key from his coat pocket, moved the clock away from the wall and unlocked the door at the back of the casing.

“Here we are then—the complete, hitherto unknown, history of Tom Calladine—the man who wasn’t who he thought he was.”

“Of course you know who you are, Tom. You’re being melodramatic now. You’re who you’ve always been—a good man, a damn good copper and a loving son.”

The box was a biscuit tin that looked as if it dated back to the fifties. He carried it through to the kitchen table and prised it open.

There were a couple of letters inside, a small number of photos and the all-important birth certificate.

“I was registered as Thomas Frank Calladine—Frank after my father. But they weren’t married, so how come?”

“Because your dad will have gone with her to register your birth.

Who was she, then? What’s her name?”

He stared at the document—at a name he’d never before seen or heard of.

“Eve Walker. Mean anything?”

“Not off the top of my head.”

“I don’t understand how you never saw this before. You need your birth certificate for all sorts of things. What about when you needed a passport?” Ruth asked.

“Easy. My mum saw to all that. We went to Majorca when I was twelve and she got everything organised. When I left home I only ever had the cut-down version of the certificate, and that doesn’t have parents’ names on it.”

Ruth picked up one of the photos. It showed a young man, not unlike the inspector, and a pretty blonde woman. They were on a beach somewhere. He had his trousers rolled up and she was holding her shoes in her hand. They looked happy, carefree.

“She could still be alive, you know. Have you thought of that?”

“Alive and local. Who knows, she could have watched me grow up, been someone I saw every day, and I just wouldn’t have known.”

“And, of course, there is something else.” Ruth raised her eyebrows, giving him time to think. “Siblings. You could have brothers and sisters; something else you just don’t know.”

He sighed and stuffed his hands in his overcoat pockets. He didn’t have time to think about all this right now. It was a big deal, and it would need some pondering. He took the photo from Ruth and studied it for a moment. What had gone on between his father and Freda in those distant days when he’d brought him home? How had he explained what had happened and what he’d done? How had she taken to him—a newborn infant? In the letter she’d said she’d loved him instantly, but she must have been angry, jealous even.

One thing was certain—Freda Calladine must have loved his father very much, and because of that she’d been prepared to love Tom too.

“This whole mess does have its upside, Ruth.” He broke into a sudden grin. “It means Ray Fallon is no longer my cousin.”

“It means he never was—so make sure you tell the right people at work and get your career back on track.”

This cheered him up no end, and he whistled his way through repacking the tin box. “Right, Ruth!” His sergeant was now idly wondering around the house inspecting the mess Lydia had left behind.

“She’s got some cheek, that bimbo. She’s left make-up all over your kitchen worktops and the dishes are still clogging up the sink.

Look at the clothes strewn all over the sitting room—she obviously couldn’t decide what to wear today. Where’s she gone anyway? Did she tell you she was going out?”

“I’m not her keeper, Ruth. Lydia can do as she pleases.” He closed the tin box. “Will you look after this for me? You can see what things are like here, and I don’t want to risk Zoe finding all this until I’m ready to tell her.”

“Okay. I’ll put it in the boot of my car, and you can put the kettle on. If you can find it.”

His mobile rang.

“Sir! Good news.” It was Rocco. “Patsy Lumis has been found.

She’s in the general, in a coma.”

A coma—and that was good news? “Where was she found?”

“On the roadside. The one that leads up to the garden centre from the bypass.”

“Have you got forensics down there?”

“Yes. Julian’s lot should be crawling all over it by now.”

“Okay. Ruth and I will get down there and talk to the doctors. I’ll be back in later with an update.” He called out to Ruth.

“No time for tea—Patsy’s in the general. She’s been found.”

They had no idea how bad this might be. All they knew was that she was still alive. But what had she been put through?

Patsy Lumis was in intensive care and, according to the doctor, in a bad way.

“Her injuries are minor; nothing more than a few cuts and scratches. But she’s had a major epileptic seizure, and what’s really worrying is the length of time it may have lasted before she was found. We have no way of knowing, but what we do know is that she was both cyanosed and tachycardic when she was brought in—lack of oxygen and an erratic heartbeat. I can’t say when she’ll come round. I can’t say whether she’ll remember very much either.

I’m afraid we just have to wait and see.”

“Does she have any other injuries apart from the superficial ones? Her teeth, for example, are they intact?”

“Yes, everything is quite normal. It’s as I said; she has suffered mild abrasions from what seems to be branches and twigs.”

“What about toxicology? Has she been given anything?”

The doctor paused and studied the notes at the foot of her bed.

“Nothing obvious, but some of them don’t show up for a few hours

–the date rape drug for example. And there is evidence of sexual activity. She’s bruised, as if the experience was forced and very rough. If I had to give an opinion, then I’d say she’d been raped.”

Raped, but otherwise okay. It was something—bad enough, but nonetheless, in comparison to what had happened to the others, she’d had a narrow escape.

“What was she wearing?”

“The forensic people took her clothing away. But as I recall she was wearing a tracksuit—nothing else.”

“I see the name you’ve put on the notes is ‘Vida,’” Ruth interjected, looking first at the doctor and then at Calladine. “Why is that?”

“We had no idea who she was when she arrived, and it was the name embroidered on the tracksuit top.”