Mason squinted as if she didn’t quite believe him. ‘Well you got lucky, in more ways than one. The blade went straight through the fleshy part in your side, right under your ribcage. It missed all your vital organs and swerved your spine. A few inches to the left and you’d’ve been in a wheelchair for the rest of your life.’
He lay back against his thin white pillow feeling deflated, relieved. ‘And what else?’ he asked.
Mason frowned.
‘You said I got lucky in more ways than one.’
‘We didn’t know where you’d gone, Nick. It was half an hour before anybody knew you were missing. Jonathan told me later that you suspected the killer was still in the house and we began to assume the worst. Then we received an anonymous call to the station, some woman telling us where you were, that you needed an ambulance. Without that tip you would’ve bled out, we wouldn’t’ve reached you in time.’
His eyelids began to feel heavy again. ‘What about David Newport?’
‘We let him go. No reason to hold him, he gave us a detailed account of what happened when he left the house. His dad gave the same story.’
York nodded groggily.
‘Holly’s funeral will be next week,’ Mason muttered. She shifted uncomfortably on the plastic seat. ‘I know you’ll want to be there.’
He didn’t reply. Something else was coming; he knew Mason too well.
‘If you want we can ride together –’
‘Spit it out, Judy,’ he cut in.
More uneasy shifting. ‘Fine. You’re off this case, Nick. There’s so much at stake here and you’re too close to this now. Holly’s death is going to mess with your head, no question.’
‘I’m fine,’ he implored. ‘I’m not done with this fucker.’
‘Yes you are.’
‘No, I’m not.’
‘Yes you are, Nick! You’re done, it’s over. And that’s not even bringing your addiction into it. I can’t even begin to tell you how many protocols you’re in breach of by filling your veins with that shit. Tony Braddock’s already begun taking over the investigation.’
‘Jesus, that cheesy dickhead? So that’s it then. This bastard kills my partner, puts me in hospital and I’m supposed to sit here like a fucking melon!’
‘I’m sorry, Nick, I know Holly meant a lot to you. And that’s exactly the reason you’re off this thing.’ She stood to leave. ‘If you want some advice, take a couple of weeks off, watch some reruns of Star Trek, whatever. Recover, and when you come back we’ll get you into a programme, see if we can’t get you back on track. But this investigation does not exist to you anymore, is that understood?’
Not waiting for a response, she turned silently and left the ward.
Allowing his eyelids to droop, he began to drift again. He tried to put his thoughts in order but his head was fuzzy. He’d been right, already Newport was becoming an icon, a reason for things - a reason for him being off the case. He filed that away, attempted to go back to other things. Moments later, the room dissolved away.
*
When the ward reappeared, Cliff Richards, if that really was his name, was still snoring and fidgeting, his tangle of sheets amassed at the foot of his bed. A nurse was checking his chart.
He looked for a wall clock. There wasn’t one. Instead he tentatively sat up wincing at the pain in his side, which had transformed into some kind of dull ache.
‘Ah, there he is,’ called out a voice from the corner of the ward.
‘Shhh,’ grumbled the nurse. ‘People are sleeping.’
Filling a polystyrene cup from the water fountain, Will Graham held up his hand in apology.
‘Get me one of those, Will,’ York requested.
Sitting on the same visitors’ chair Mason had used, Graham handed over the water. He was smiling. ‘Good to see you up, Nick.’
‘He’s been here for about two hours waiting for you to come around,’ the nurse revealed. ‘Thank god you’re awake, he’s been hassling the nurses.’
Graham smiled. ‘What can I say, I like a girl in uniform.’
‘You’re in the right profession then.’ Smiling, the nurse replaced Cliff Richards’s chart and walked away.
‘So, I hear the Pit Bull’s been to see you,’ Graham said. ‘How’d that work out?’
York snorted. ‘Like you don't know.’
‘Yeah, I’m sorry, man. Really socked it to you is what I hear.’
York shrugged. ‘I had it coming.’
Graham leant in. ‘Well listen, I have some juicy facts for you. How’s your hearing?’
Meeting the technician’s gaze, York's eyes widened. ‘I’m supposed to be off the investigation.’
‘Which is why,’ whispered Graham, ‘I’m not telling you this stuff. In fact, I was never here.’
York sat up.
‘For starters,’ Graham began, ‘Kilroy took another mould from Janine Bluestock’s heart. There were only very slight variations to the mould taken from Harriet Fuller’s heart, so he's pretty confident that they belong to the same man, perhaps wearing some kind of mouth guard.’
‘What about our guy, has he contacted the station again?’
‘Not yet, but get a load of this. I have a fingerprint sample from the last crime scene that Braddock, seconded by Mason, is choosing to ignore.’
‘Choosing to ignore,’ York echoed. ‘Why would they do that?’
‘Let me finish. We took the print from the knife that was found…erm, found in…’
‘It’s okay, Will, you can say it.’
Graham looked embarrassed. ‘The knife that was…you know, in Holly. I couldn’t work it out, he’d been meticulous so far. Why would he suddenly not wear gloves?’
York knew the answer to that. ‘Same reason he didn’t take her heart. The whole thing was rushed, bodged. He was careless.’
‘We ran the print and it belongs to a Julian
