Chapter 107

ONE HUNDRED SEVEN

It was almost 2a.m. when Kim pulled up outside the hospital.

She switched off the engine and took a breath as a car pulled into the staff car park. Even at this time in the morning, staff were coming and going.

The fatigue was starting to tell on her now, and the last few hours were fading into a blur.

While she’d been questioning Fred Guest, her team had been busy tying up loose ends.

Stacey had uncovered through social media that their visit had prompted Peter Harris to make one last effort to connect with his daughter. She had offered him another chance. He had checked into a Travelodge close to where she lived in Derbyshire. Despite his manner, Kim hoped it worked out for him.

Penn had drafted arrest warrants for Jared Truss and Ryan Douglas for obstruction. Both had withheld information that if shared earlier could have saved an innocent man’s life. There had to be some repercussions for their actions.

While trying to talk Fred down, she’d also received a text message from Dickie, the scrap man. Unable to believe that any of his team would be dishonest, he had questioned them all. After threatening them with the police, one of his employees had come clean and admitted to selling the Citro?n to an old guy who really, really wanted it just hours after it had entered the yard. He had pocketed the easy five hundred quid, which he’d need now that he’d lost his job.

Boyce Lane had been handed over to West Mercia to deal with. There was no doubt in her mind that Boyce had committed the crime, and the family would now have to live with the stigma they had tried so hard to avoid.

As he’d been driven away, Kim had placed a call to Melissa Keene, who upon hearing the news had collapsed into loud, incoherent tears. David Keene had taken the phone from his wife to confirm that it was really true and that the rapist was in custody. He too had then burst into tears.

Kim prayed that the news would give them both some peace and the ability to take back control of their lives.

The debrief with Woody had gone much as she’d expected, although she had been surprised to learn that during the course of the investigation, not one complaint had landed on his desk. Perhaps she was losing her touch with her ability to annoy people, but she seriously hoped not. It was a quality she was proud of.

She got out of the car and started heading towards the hospital.

Due to Nazeera’s safe return, the brass were not calling for her dismissal. She was under no illusion about it being due to the stellar performance of herself and her team. It was only because the optics wouldn’t look good if the investigator who’d ensured Nazeera returned unharmed was suddenly booted out of her job. Either way, she was grateful for both the absence of complaints and the disciplinary notification. Way too much paperwork to deal with. After a few sharp words from Woody about her performance at the press conference, she’d been sent on her way.

After checking that all the paperwork had been completed, she had dismissed her team and given them a thirty-six-hour break.

She had watched them go with a sense of pride that surprised her. Not one of them had seriously considered bailing on the case even before they’d known what was at stake, and although they had probably been too tired to realise it, they had all performed out of their skins. Stacey, as ever, had been unrivalled in digging out information and growing her hunches into viable leads. Penn had been doggedly determined to discover the identity of the missing homeless man and despite the challenge had never given up on trying to solve the clues, even at his lowest point. She knew he’d ignored her instruction to remain in the Bowl and had instead chosen to give his colleague a rest. That knowledge had only made her respect him more.

And then there was Bryant, the man who offered rare insights at the strangest times, the man who had formed and executed a dangerous plan that had saved the career of a brilliant surgeon, and the only one to prick her conscience and cause her to answer to herself. His words ensured that she would give thought at some stage to what she’d goaded Fred to do and whether she had been as professional as she should have been, and Bryant knew it. He didn’t force her to face her own reflection, but he sure did hand her the mirror.

After watching them leave, she had taken herself to Charlie’s to collect Barney who had been equally pleased to see her as she was to see him. After rolling around on Charlie’s floor with him for a good twenty minutes, she had taken him home, given him his favourite tea of kibble and chicken, taken him for a long walk and then given him his nightly treat of a crunchy carrot. After a quick trip outside, he had settled in his bed and hadn’t even stirred when she let herself quietly out of the house.

The roads had been deserted, and after the frantic pace of the last couple of days, she had found the night drive calming to her system.

She had called ahead to make sure it was okay to visit so late. Due to the circumstances, they had agreed.

She’d made a second call to a different department to be told that Jessica’s surgery was complete and that all the signs were good.

She’d shared the news with the team WhatsApp group and sent a short text to Woody.

She paused her thoughts as she approached the side entrance of the hospital.

‘Jesus Christ,’ she cried out as a shadow to her right took on solid form.

Steve Ashworth smiled at her reaction.

‘What the fuck are you playing at?’ she barked as her heart thumped against her chest. She’d completely forgotten about him.

‘Just wanted a quick word,’ he said as though it was normal to jump out at someone at two o’clock in the morning.

‘How the hell did you know I was here?’

He shrugged as though the source was confidential. On this occasion, nothing had been called in so there was only one explanation.

‘You followed me from the station?’ she asked. That meant he knew where she lived and where Charlie lived. She had been so tired that she hadn’t even thought about checking if he was still around.

‘Nice dog,’ he said, confirming what she suspected.

‘Don’t you dare even think about?—’

‘Hey, I don’t hurt animals. I don’t even hurt humans. I do expose people in positions of power.’

‘What exactly do you think I’ve done?’ she asked.

‘I don’t know – that’s what bothers me.’

‘Or you could just be stalking one of the good guys?’

He smiled. ‘I’m not stalking you. I’ve made no attempt to hide, and you won’t see me again for a while. But I will be back.’

‘All this because I went into a property while trying to save a man’s life?’ she asked with disbelief.

‘No. It’s the fact that you thought nothing of doing it. That you think the rules are there for other people. I’ve already told you I don’t like cops who break the rules. It tells me there are few limits you won’t go to in getting what you want. Oh, and nice move getting me trapped in the crime scene,’ he said with genuine admiration.

She took no comfort from it.

‘So, this is your idea of a warning?’ she asked, folding her arms. She was so over playing games.

He thought for a second before nodding.

‘Ooooh, I’m terrified,’ she said, nudging him out of the way. ‘When you wanna find the skeletons in my closet, give me a call and I’ll give you the key.’

‘Oh, everyone has skeletons, Inspector Stone, but some closets are deeper than others.’

With that he turned and headed back towards the car that she’d mistaken for that of a staff member.

Despite her bravado, a chill had stolen over her. He was right about skeletons, but hers had been buried well.

She took a breath before approaching the side entrance of the hospital where a nurse had appeared to let her in.

‘Thanks for letting me come,’ she said, forcing the encounter from her mind. There were more important things.

The nurse walked ahead. ‘She’s in a side room so you won’t be disturbing other patients, and unfortunately she’s not going to be talking your ear off.’

Tracy Frost was still in a coma from the injury she’d sustained simply because she had chosen not to follow Fred Guest’s instructions.

In addition to committing murder, attempted murder and kidnapping, it appeared that Fred hadn’t been the model carer either.

There were a number of injuries that had befallen his father over the years that had aroused the suspicion of the adult care services. However, Mr Guest senior had always supported his son’s claims of a fall here or a tumble there. No complaint had ever been made, and the man had always insisted he was being well cared for.

Maybe if he’d told the truth, Fred would have been released from his burden and wouldn’t have grown into the bitter, resentful man that he had.

Everything he’d done was to achieve fame, notoriety. He wanted to be remembered for something. He had been ready to kill and to die just so his name would live on in some capacity.

Unfortunately for Fred, he had been knocked off the news cycle when a story broke that a famous golfer had been caught cheating and was fathering a baby with his mistress.

It had taken Kim a while to understand why Fred had chosen to embroil them in a game, and she had only one answer.

Superiority. He wanted to watch as they scrambled around while patting himself on the back. It was a way to feel good about himself, about his own intelligence. Ultimately, it was a power trip, and he’d enjoyed every minute of it.

‘In here,’ the nurse said, pointing to the first side ward on the left.

Her voice had turned gentle, and Kim knew this visit had been allowed because no one knew if Frost would make it.

There was every chance that her eyes would never open again.

‘Has anyone else been?’

The lips pursed. ‘Her mother. Didn’t stay long, said it was too much for her nerves. We’re to call her if there’s any change, good or bad.’

A wave of sadness stole over Kim. She had known their relationship was complicated, but she hadn’t realised it was non-existent.

‘There’s a coffee machine just?—’

‘I’m fine, thanks, but can I ask you something?’

‘Of course.’

‘What are her chances?’

The nurse weighed her words carefully before she let anything come out of her mouth.

‘Even though you’re not family, I’m gonna tell you that the doctors don’t hold out much hope. They’re not sure they were able to relieve the pressure before the damage to her brain had already been done.’

‘But?’ Kim asked.

She opened her hands expressively. ‘I’ve worked on this ward for eleven years. I’ve seen some folks not supposed to die take their last breath, and I’ve seen folks written off walk out of here on their own two legs. It’s down to the individual, but my logic is that it ain’t over until it’s over.’

Kim thanked her before stepping into the room.

However much she’d tried to prepare herself for this, it hadn’t been enough.

Tracy Frost looked half her normal size. Wires and leads linked her to machines on both sides of the bed.

Kim’s gaze immediately moved to the monitoring equipment on the left. She didn’t understand all of the colours and numbers, but she knew they indicated blood pressure, respiration and heart rhythm. A closer look told her there was a reading for intracranial pressure.

A ventilator was positioned to her right. That was what Kim hadn’t quite readied herself for, that a machine was breathing for her.

Less than two days ago, this shrunken figure had been banging on her door with the force of a wrecking ball. This was Frost: the bane of her life, always popping up when she least needed it, getting in her face, challenging her. The two versions were not melding into one.

She briefly thought of her team as she took a seat. How were they ending a case that had started less than forty-eight hours ago? Had they all gone home and picked up where they’d left off?

For her it was ending the same way it had started, in the company of a local reporter.

‘Come on, Frost – pull yourself together,’ she said, touching her lightly on the arm.

It was fair to say they’d shared quite the past. Kim had progressed from hating every bone in her body to tolerating her inevitable presence.

The woman was complicated, often ruthless, and uncaring in her efforts to get a story. And then there were those other times, like when she’d had Kim’s entire social services file in the boot of her car. There was so much she could have done with that, but instead she’d handed it back, unread.

Kim liked to think she’d returned the favour when she’d allowed Frost to stay in her home when her own had been a crime scene.

There had been much back and forth between them over the years. There was a history, and that’s why she was here now.

‘Listen, Frost, you gotta sort yourself out,’ she said softly. ‘No more messing around. You’ve milked it now. It was a bang on the head, and you’ve had a nice nap. Ain’t nobody coming in there to get you. It’s on you to find your way back.’

Kim paused. There was no change, and she hadn’t expected it. She had no idea if Frost could hear her, but it beat sitting in silence.

‘I need you to come back. You’re my measuring stick of progress in tolerance. If I can learn to put up with you turning up at my home at all hours of the day, there’s hope for me yet.’

Kim checked her eyelids for movement.

No response.

‘And just think how much you’d miss aggravating the life out of me. I know the satisfaction you get from rattling me. You’ve made it your life’s work.’

Kim sat back in the chair, content to sit in silence. If Frost could hear, then she knew she wasn’t alone. If she couldn’t, there was no harm done.

When the silence began to bear down on her, she turned to the reporter once more.

‘Seriously, Frost, you gotta put up a bit of a fight.’

Kim checked the eyelids again.

There was a flicker.

Kim froze.

Frost’s eyes opened.

An alarm sounded.

Kim instinctively reached out and squeezed her arm.

‘Well, you took your bloody time.’

* * *

If you were glued to every single chapter as Kim followed the Jester’s fiendish clues in a desperate race against time, you won’t want to miss what comes next! Sign up to Angela Marsons’ mailing list to be the first to know about Kim’s next gripping case.

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