Would he even be Tony any more? The last time they’d spoken to each other, he’d told her he loved her. True, he’d then broken all contact with her until she’d taken steps to recover from the PTSD she was still in denial about. But she’d done that now, she was on the road to rehabilitation. What if he couldn’t recognise that in her? What if he didn’t feel the same about her? If he no longer loved her?
And what if she didn’t feel the same about him?
‘This is ridiculous,’ she shouted. She reminded herself that she’d been trained to deal in facts. Speculation was only valuable if it led to answers. And there could be no answers till she had seen him for herself.
The journey seemed endless, even though she knew she was making good time. Carol tried to think about other things. About the difference the DNA evidence could make to Saul Neilson’s case. It certainly led to a strong supposition that Lyle Tate was one of a string of victims who couldn’t all have been killed by Neilson, since at least two of them had died after he’d been incarcerated. But she had to acknowledge it didn’t completely exonerate him. To do that, Paula and her team needed to find a killer and tie him to Lyle Tate’s death. That would take them over the line.
But there were other avenues she could explore. Tate had had a flatmate. There must have been other people who knew him. As far as Carol could tell from the original defence material, the effort to find anyone who might have spoken to him after he left Neilson’s flat had been desultory. She’d wondered why that had been. His defence solicitor wasn’t a name she was familiar with.
To take her mind off Tony, she decided to call Bronwen. This late in the afternoon, she’d be back from court. ‘Carol,’ Bronwen said. ‘Have you got news for me?’
‘I’m working on it,’ Carol said, not ready yet to pass on what she had. It was hard to break the habit of building a complete case before she let an outsider anywhere near it. ‘I’ve had a chance to look more closely at the defence files and it doesn’t look like his solicitor was very diligent when it came to looking for witnesses to Lyle’s movements after he left Saul. I’ve never heard of this lawyer. Was there an issue there?’
Bronwen snorted. ‘Just a bit. Saul had too much money for Legal Aid so he hired an old school friend who hadn’t defended a murder before. Or anything like that serious. And because Saul didn’t have any experience with the criminal justice system he didn’t realise his mate wasn’t out of the top drawer.’
‘Obviously he should have gone for you,’ Carol said drily.
‘Obviously. You think there’s any mileage in it after all this time?’
‘I won’t know until I try. Do you know where I can find Lyle Tate’s flatmate?’
‘I thought you were the investigator?’
‘I am, that’s why I asked the question. So, do you have any idea?’
‘No, sorry. You’ll have to dig that up yourself. You could start with the flat they shared.’
Carol rolled her eyes. ‘No, seriously? You think?’
Bronwen laughed. ‘Let me know when you’ve got somewhere.’ She cut the call. Really, Carol thought, being on the same side as Bronwen wasn’t so different to being up against her. Maybe later tonight she’d try Tate’s old flat. After she’d seen Tony for herself.
The miles passed slowly but they passed. When she saw the motorway mileage sign that read BRADFIELD 15, she called Elinor. ‘I’m sorry to bother you, Elinor,’ she said.
‘I’ve been expecting to hear from you. Paula said she’d managed to get hold of you.’
‘How is he?’
‘They operated this afternoon and the signs are good. They’ve reduced the haematoma and when I checked in about an hour ago, the last of the seepage had stopped. He’s sedated, but the prognosis is looking good. I spoke to the neurosurgeon and he thinks there’s probably no need to operate on the fracture as it’s not actively pressing on Tony’s brain.’ Elinor was brisk but reassuring.
‘Can I see him?’ Carol knew she sounded desperate but she didn’t care.
‘If it was up to me, I’d say yes, absolutely. But it’s not quite that straightforward. Because technically, he’s a prisoner. There’s an officer on guard outside the ward, checking people in and out.’
‘You managed to get in, though.’
‘Yeah, but I’m a consultant on the staff here, nobody’s going to question my right to be there.’
‘Please, Elinor. Can’t you think of something?’
A pause. Elinor sighed. ‘Where are you?’
‘About twenty minutes away.’
‘I shouldn’t even be contemplating this . . . you know the Starbucks opposite the main hospital entrance? Meet me there in half an hour.’ And she was gone.
Elinor used her pass to open the locked door to Ward 12. ‘It’s visiting hours in here, nobody will look twice at you,’ she’d said on the way in. She walked past the nurses’ station to the end of the corridor then led Carol into a walk-in cupboard. The shelves that lined it were stacked with laundered bed linen and surgical scrubs. ‘Green or navy blue?’ Elinor asked.
‘Does it make a difference?’
‘Not really. Whatever you’re wearing you’ll be found out as soon as anyone asks you a question.’
‘Navy blue, then. It goes better with my hair.’
Elinor grinned. ‘Your hair’s mostly going to be covered.’ She rummaged through the pile and handed Carol a set of scrubs then moved along the shelves to find a hat and mask. ‘Let’s go full-on,’ she said.
Carol stripped to her underwear and pulled on her disguise. ‘How’s that?’
‘Pretty good. Let the mask hang round your neck till we get out of this ward.’ She slung her
