out. Then eventually: ‘Not yet. You still have something to do for us.’
Marina felt the tears threaten once more. She didn’t know if she had the energy to cope with them. ‘What … Tell me and I’ll do it.’ Her voice defeated.
‘Put this into your sat nav.’ It was a postcode. ‘Now go there. You’ll be given instructions.’
She tried to reassemble her thoughts. Regain her training. ‘Why are you doing this?’ she asked. ‘Look, let’s talk. What’s … what’s your name?’
The voice gave a bitter laugh. ‘Don’t try all that psychological profiler bullshit on me. You can forget that.’
‘But—’
‘Just go.’
She no longer had the strength to argue.
‘And the same rules apply. No police. No one else. No traces. You’ve done well so far. Don’t spoil it now.’
‘And then … and then can I see my daughter?’
‘If you’re a good girl and you do what we want.’
‘Please, don’t … don’t hurt her. Don’t hurt her. Please … ’
The phone went silent.
Marina had never felt more alone in the world.
She placed the phone on the passenger seat, perched on the summit of the mountain of debris she had taken from her bag. Put the car in gear, left the car park.
Kept one eye on the phone all the time, just in case it rang. Willing it to ring while she drove.
It didn’t.
16
It was another characterless corridor in another hospital. Mickey Philips should have been used to them by now, but he wasn’t. And in a way he was quite thankful for that.
Over the years, from uniform to plain clothes, he had sat in countless plastic chairs drinking awful brown liquid, and staved off boredom by reading and rereading posters full of stern advice. Advice he forgot instantly in the relief of leaving the hospital. But now, sitting in another plastic chair, nursing another plastic cup of unspecified brown liquid, all those years came back to him.
Waiting for car crash victims to come round and see what parts of their anatomies, their minds, they had lost in the process. Having to tell them they were lucky to be alive. Seeing the look in their eyes saying they didn’t share his opinion.
Waiting for women whose husbands had turned their homes into war zones and used them as punchbags and target practice to come through surgery. Seeing if the latest tactical round of tough love had made them brave, given them the courage to press charges and break away to a new start, end the war and win the peace. Or left them wilting and broken, giving their nominated murderer one more chance, because he really did love them.
Waiting while injured children were opened up and operated on, watching every single solid belief the parents had built up about the world and their place in it shown up for the lie they were. Their life’s guarantee torn up and no one to complain to about it.
Mickey had sat there every time and hoped their heartache wouldn’t infect him. But this time was different. This time he was the grieving friend, the anxious relative. Looking up every time a nurse or doctor walked past. Asking them what was happening, knowing he would only get an answer when there was one to give. Knowing he had to wait like everyone else.
And it was his boss.
Phil Brennan was more than just a boss to Mickey. Where others in the force had seen only a bull-headed borderline fuck-up, Phil had seen something special and given him a chance. And Mickey hadn’t let Phil — or himself — down. Or he had tried his best not to. Phil had encouraged him, nurtured him. Brought out things in him he didn’t know were there. Made him the best DS he could be. And feeling valued, working as part of Phil’s MIS team — the Major Incident Squad — for the first time in his career, his life, Mickey had felt like he truly belonged. So to Mickey, Phil was more than his boss. He was one of his own. Closer than family.
The double doors at the end of the corridor opened. In strode a stocky, compact man. Red hair, red face. Early forties. Wearing a weddings-and-funerals suit, but under duress and clearly uncomfortable in it. He looked like a retired rugby player but one who could still surprise with a quick burst of speed or a bout of aggression.
DCI Gary Franks. Phil’s — and Mickey’s — new boss.
He reached Mickey, stopped.
‘So, what have we got, then?’ His Welsh accent as vivid as his red hair. ‘How’s our boy?’
Mickey stood up, ditched his plastic cup in a nearby bin, grateful to be relieved of the pressure of drinking it. ‘Still the same. In surgery.’
‘Chances?’
Mickey shrugged. ‘Pretty good, they say. If they can … you know.’ His features darkened. ‘Better than his father’s.’
Franks nodded. ‘Bloody waste. His father gone like that, his mother hanging on … Any word on the daughter?’
‘Nothing.’ The words seemed reluctant to leave Mickey’s mouth. Forensics are on the scene. They’re thinking if she was right near the blast, it could have … ’ He trailed off.
Franks nodded. ‘But they’re not sure.’
‘They’ve got uniforms on door-to-door. She’s prioritised. If anyone’s seen her, they’ll find out.’
‘And Marina?’
Mickey had opened his mouth, about to tell him what had happened, when DC Anni Hepburn arrived. Out of breath, perspiring. Chest rising and falling rapidly, her dark skin covered by a thin sheen of sweat. Mickey, despite the situation, couldn’t help stealing an admiring glance at her. Or several. She caught them. The sides of her mouth flicked up in response, then it was back to work.
Mickey and Anni had been dancing around each other for months. Both of them clearly attracted to the other, neither wanting to make the final push. In case something were to go wrong and a good friendship — not to mention a great working relationship — was lost. But the attraction was there. It crackled in the air between them like invisible static.
‘Just the person,’ said Mickey.
‘Sorry, got here as quick as I could,’ said Anni, taming her breathing.
Franks turned to her. ‘Marina?’
Anni looked at Mickey, as if unsure whether to continue. Mickey returned the look. She had no choice.
‘She’s gone,’ Anni said.
‘What d’you mean?’ said Franks. ‘Gone where?’
‘I don’t know,’ said Anni. Cautious.
MIS didn’t have a good history with its recent DCIs. But Franks, blunt and straightforward, honest to the point of offensiveness, seemed different. He had been brought in to give stability, to ground the team. He hadn’t been in place long, but they had all taken to him. Even started to respect him. And the respect was mutual.
Franks gave her a look that would have terrified the Pontypool front row.
‘She’s taken my car.’
Franks frowned. ‘What happened?’
‘She told me she was going to the loo, and off she went.’
‘And you just let her go.’
‘What could I do?’
He kept staring. Mickey could see Anni becoming uncomfortable. ‘What state was she in?’ he asked.
