Page 45 of Dying Breath
Lucy looked at him, amazed he’d just asked like that. No pussyfooting around, straight to the point. Tom opened his eyes and smiled to see them both standing there.
‘I’m alive.’
‘Good – you almost gave us a heart attack, the state you were in.’
Lucy kicked Mattie’s shin, shutting him up.
‘You’re in the best place; they’re doing an excellent job.’
Tom stuck his thumb up at them, then closed his eyes. Lucy bent down again and kissed his forehead, whispering ‘I’ll find him.’ Then she stood up and nodded at Mattie.
‘Come on, we don’t want to tire him out.’
Mattie looked from Tom to her. ‘Bye, boss.’ He followed her as she pressed the button to let herself out through the doors.
‘Well, that was short and sweet.’
‘I just wanted him to know we were thinking of him. There’s nothing we can do, is there? And I don’t want him getting stressed out over work.’
Mattie nodded. ‘I suppose not.’
They left the hospital and walked out to the car park into the heavy downpour that had just started; they had to run to reach the car.
Lucy had to call it a day by five; she couldn’t keep her eyes open. She was grouchy and snapping at everyone, which in her opinion wasn’t exactly professional. She went to see Patrick, whom Browning informed her had been out all day and was now sitting at Tom’s desk. She had to ask him if it was okay for her to finish early, and the thought made her even more irritated. She also wanted to know what the hell he was doing towards getting a positive ID on the body from the woods. Had he even been to speak with Jenny Burns’ parents? She knocked on his door, then walked in before he had a chance to answer.
‘Is it okay if I finish now? It’s been a long day at the hospital. I’ve got a migraine and I’m no good to anyone.’
‘Of course it is – would you like me to drive you home, Lucy?’
She shook her head; she didn’t want him anywhere near her home. ‘It’s okay, thanks. I just need some painkillers and a couple of hours’ sleep.’
‘It’s been a pretty rough week.’
She nodded; there was no disputing that. Her back was aching from the time she’d spent standing in the mortuary watching the post-mortems, one after the other. She’d forgotten all about the back-breaking pain that struck when you couldn’t move or sit down for hours at a time.
She turned to walk out of the door, telling herself not to do it – but then, completely ignoring her own advice, she asked, ‘Have you got a positive ID of the body from the woods?’
He shook his head. ‘You know as well as I do how long these things can take. The forensic odontologist is currently looking at the dental x-rays to see if they’re a match for the missing girl.’
‘Good. Fingers crossed it won’t take forever and a day.’
She walked out smiling to herself; she’d be checking up on that tomorrow. A quick call to Chris Corkill would tell her everything that she needed to know. If Patrick was bullshitting her, temporary boss or not, she’d have his balls.
Chapter Forty-Two
Parking his van in an empty bay opposite the pier, he sat and watched the world go by for quite some time. He was in no rush. He kept staring at the photograph on the front of the newspaper. He was about to make Lewis Waite an offer he couldn’t refuse. As soon as there was a lull in the traffic, he would squeeze through the gap in the rusted fencing. Someone had moved one of the panels to allow access onto the pier; he should be able to fit through okay, although he was much bigger than Lewis.
He jumped out of the van wearing the overalls he’d purchased. He’d thought about having his fake company’s name printed on them but had changed his mind. There was no point in making it too easy for anyone to identify him. Instead he’d opted for the navy-blue overalls that so many local companies favoured, allowing him to blend in with ease. He tucked a hard hat under his arm as he closed the van door and locked it, then crossed the road, striding purposefully towards the gap in the fence. He sucked his breath in to wriggle through and continued walking along the pier towards the run-down building at the end.
The trick was to make it look as if you were supposed to be doing what you were doing. That way nobody gave you a second glance. If you stood there looking around and fretting, it raised people’s suspicions. When he got close to the building, he saw that the ‘Bingo’ sign outside had fallen down and was now swaying in the breeze. He tried the front door, but it was locked. There was a big wooden board securing it shut, so he walked around the perimeter, looking for a way in.
The waves were crashing against the rusted metal and rotten wood of the pier struts below, and for a moment he wondered if the structure was safe enough to be standing on. Would his weight make any difference to it? He looked up and saw a broken window with no board covering it and a corroded bench underneath. So this was how Waite got in and out. He looked around. The building was right at the end of the pier and this wall faced out onto the open sea. If anyone had good enough eyes they might see him climbing in, but the sky had gone dark grey as the rainclouds threatened to let their heavy droplets fall. Everyone would be rushing to get home before the downpour began; he couldn’t imagine that many people would be interested in what he was doing at the end of the pier.
He put one foot on the bench, pressing his weight onto it to see if it held. It seemed okay, so he stepped onto it. There was a slight groan, but it didn’t let out an earth-splintering crack, as he’d feared. Pulling himself up, he managed to climb through the broken window, pausing for a second to see what was below him. Then he let go and jumped. Landing with a loud thud, he heard a scrabbling noise from outside the small storeroom he was in and paused. Someone was out there, which was good, as long as it was Lewis and not some homeless person. He shouted, ‘Hello, Lewis? Is that you? It’s not the police – I’m here to help you.’
Pushing open the warped door, he stepped into the huge bingo hall and tried not to inhale the damp and the mould spores that contaminated the air. There was no more movement from inside the darkened room, which was a mess of rotten, red-velour seating and overturned tables. He stepped forward and the floor beneath his feet crunched. He was walking on a carpet of broken glass. Standing still, he tried to get his bearings; he pulled a torch out of his pocket and shone it into the darkest corners of the room. He couldn’t see anyone, but he knew that Waite was in here, hiding.
‘You don’t know me, but I’m here to help you. I swear to you I’m not a copper – I know you didn’t kill that girl. I think I know who did, but I need you to help me find him.’
