he was with is not his wife.’
‘Bloody hell. Who is she then?’
‘I’ve no idea. That’s what I want you to find out.’
‘Rory’s at the hospital.’
‘Right I’ll give him a ring. Is Dr Kean still there?’
‘No. She got a call. There’s been a suicide on London Road; she’s gone to attend.’
Bloody hell, it’s all go tonight. ‘Is there anything there at all that can identify who the woman is?’
‘Nothing at all. There are no mobiles, no purse, no bag. It’s like she’s never been in the car before.’
‘Oh God.’
‘What?’
‘They were parked in a quiet lay-by. Why would a married man have a woman who isn’t his wife with him while they’re parked in a tree-lined lay-by?’
‘You think she’s a prostitute?’ Aaron asked his voice louder with surprise.
‘It’s a possibility.’
At the Northern General Hospital DC Rory Fleming wasn’t having any luck trying to find out who the mystery woman was. She was in theatre with a team of surgeons battling to save her life. With massive internal bleeding, a punctured lung, swelling on her brain, and two gunshot wounds, it was a miracle she had survived so far. It wasn’t just the next few hours that were critical – the following minutes were touch and go.
Rory paced up and down the corridor waiting for somebody, anybody, to remember he was still there and bring him some kind of information as to the condition of the woman. He looked at his watch. It was rapidly approaching one o’clock in the morning but the hospital was still a hive of activity or maybe it was just the heaviness of the footfalls against a backdrop of silence that echoed louder in the small hours. Surely Sheffield’s emergency surgery wasn’t in such high demand all the time?
After twenty minutes of pacing and two chocolate bars from a vending machine he left the hospital and called his boss.
‘Any news?’ Matilda didn’t bother with a greeting.
‘Nothing so far, ma’am. She’s in theatre.’ He relayed the information he had been given by a duty nurse. ‘To be honest, I doubt she’ll survive the night.’
‘Bloody hell. Look, go back in and try and get her clothes from the nurses before they’re destroyed. Then get them straight to forensics. After that go home. Back at the station first thing for a briefing.’
He was just about to reply when he realized he would have been talking to dead air.
Matilda looked down at her mobile and watched as the display faded before going back into standby mode.
‘I think we may have a double murder on our hands.’
She was in the front passenger seat of a pool car with DC Scott Andrews behind the wheel. They were parked up at the side of the road halfway between the crime scene and Kevin Hardaker’s home.
‘Do we know who she is yet?’
‘Not a clue.’
‘You really think she could be a prostitute?’
‘I’ve no idea, Scott. It’s too early to say.’
‘So … what now?’ he asked after a full minute of contemplative silence.
‘There’s not much more we can do tonight. Drive me home then you get off home yourself. We’ll make a proper start of it first thing.’
Scott turned the key in the ignition and headed the wrong way to Matilda’s house. She quickly informed him of his error and he made an illegal three point turn before heading in the right direction. There was very little traffic around at this time of night; nobody noticed.
That wasn’t technically true. One person did witness the traffic violation. The driver of a black BMW, several yards back so as to avoid detection, was watching very carefully and had to make the same illegal move in order to keep the pool car in their sights.
The next morning started very early for Matilda. When she woke her duvet was half off the bed and the fitted sheet was not living up to its name; evidence of a bad night tossing and turning. Her dreams had been unsettling and disturbed; her mind unable to rest. She constantly thought of the dead woman, who she might be and if anyone was missing her; the impending closure of the Murder Room and what that meant for her job and her team. Eventually at five o’clock she decided to get up.
When she went into the living room her eyes fell on the framed photograph of her and James at their wedding. She could not believe it was almost the first anniversary of his death. How did that happen so quickly?
Whenever she thought of the death of her husband she immediately thought of the disappearance of Carl Meagan. Even if Carl was eventually found safe and well she would always think of him whenever she grieved for her husband. The two would be forever entwined. Like James, Carl would constantly be in her thoughts; he was engraved on her memory and nothing would erase it.
It was too early to go to work but Matilda knew one person who would definitely be up and ready to face the world at this time.
‘Perfect timing! There’s coffee in the pot and bread waiting to be burnt.’
As always, Adele Kean was bright and cheerful. How it was possible so early in the morning was way beyond Matilda’s reckoning. Should a pathologist, who spends her days up to the elbows in dead bodies, have such a bubbly personality?
Adele was neatly dressed in well-fitted clothes. Her hair was tidy with not a split end in sight, and she was wearing just enough make-up to be professional with a glamorous edge. Matilda couldn’t remember the last time she’d applied make-up or when she had her hair professionally styled; probably around the time of James’s funeral.
‘So what brings you around here so early?’ Adele asked, feeding bread into the toaster.
‘I couldn’t sleep.’ She slumped on the stool at the breakfast counter and released a loud, wide yawn that would make a Labrador jealous. ‘What time did you get in last night?’
‘It was almost two o’clock. An elderly man had jumped from a tower block on London Road.’
‘So you’ve only had about two or three hours sleep?’
‘About that, yes.’
‘You’ve no right to look that good on three hours’ sleep. If you weren’t my best friend I’d be scratching your eyes out.’
Adele gave a sweet smile. ‘I’m just a naturally beautiful woman. L’Oréal are testing my skin to find out why I’m so youthful and good-looking.’
Matilda rolled
