By the time Molly arrived home, she felt as if she’d been knocked down again. Despite walking slowly and taking care not to be crushed or pushed on the tube, every part of her ached. It would have been sensible to take some painkillers but even though she popped two paracetamols from the packet, she couldn’t bring herself to swallow them and threw them into the rubbish with a groan of despair.
Too much coffee had made her jittery and given her heartburn. She took milk from the fridge, poured a glass and drank half straight off. Taking the rest, she lay down on the sofa, kicked off her shoes and tried to relax. There was no point in going over and over what Stuart had told her, she needed to speak to Jack.
Taking out her mobile, she rang his number. It wasn’t a surprise when it went straight to answerphone and she was invited to leave a message. He went to so many meetings, his phone was frequently turned off. Except, according to Stuart, he wasn’t going to meetings at all. Where the hell was he?
She composed a text asking Jack to ring her but deleted it without sending. She didn’t want him phoning and telling more lies. It was better to wait until he came home.
The feeling of weakness that had swept over her earlier returned. Unsurprising, since she’d hardly eaten anything recently. Struggling to her feet, she went to the fridge and peered inside. Almost hidden behind bottles of beer, she found some hummus only a day past its best-before date. She made tea and toast, took everything to the coffee table and lowered herself onto the sofa. The hummus was a good choice; she spread it on the toast and ate the two slices before sitting back with her mug of tea.
A ding from her phone told her she had a message. It was from Jack. He must have seen a missed call from her. Meetings all day. You okay? Text if you need anything, x
The lie made her stomach heave; she made it to the sink before vomiting all she’d eaten, the spasm causing her to flinch and clasp her ribs. She turned on the tap, closing her eyes as the undigested food swirled around the basin before being washed away. She scooped water from the tap with her hand, rinsed her mouth and spat. When the taste of vomit had been washed away, she splashed water on her face a few times before grabbing a towel to dab it dry.
Her head was thumping, her legs wobbly. She filled a glass with water and stumbled over to the sofa. A chill ran through her as she lay down, tired and worn out. She reached for a blanket that lay folded across the arm of the sofa, pulled it across and wrapped it around herself. Then, with a grunt of despair, she rested her head back and shut her eyes.
Exhaustion won over pain, and within a few minutes she’d drifted into a restless sleep.
When she finally woke, the room was in darkness. She reached for her phone, surprised to see it was almost seven. Jack was unusually late.
Especially since he wasn’t working.
She checked for messages, but there were none. Pressing the speed dial button for him, she listened to his voice asking her to leave a message. Instead of hanging up, as she usually did, she said, ‘Jack, it’s Molly. Where are you? Ring me, please.’ Her forehead creased in worry as her fingers flew across the keypad to send a message saying the same thing.
By eight o’clock, she was frantic, her mind working overtime. What if he’d had an accident? Horror coursed through her. Maybe whoever had tried to kill her had decided to go after him? There was no logic in it, but then there had been no logical reason for someone trying to kill her.
She looked at the speed dial number for DI Fanshawe and was about to press it when her phone rang. Startled, she yelped and dropped it to the floor, bending with difficulty and groaning as she scrabbled for it, finally picking it up and answering. ‘Hello, hello?’
‘Molly, it’s me.’
A sob escaped before she could stop it. ‘Jack! Where the hell are you? I’ve been going crazy worrying.’ He didn’t reply for a moment. In the background she could hear voices, noises. Wherever he was, it was busy.
‘I’m sorry,’ he said, his voice almost lost in the noise. ‘I’m in the Hyde Hotel. Can you come here?’
‘What? Jack, what on earth’s going on? I can’t go haring off to a hotel. I’ve been injured, remember; I ache all over. Why on earth can’t you come home?’ There was more commotion on the line. Pressing the phone as closely as she could to her ear, she was still unable to make out what was happening.
‘Please come here, Molly, ask for me at reception. I’ll explain everything.’
The line went dead. Staring at it, she pressed redial. It went straight to answerphone. This was crazy. She had no intention of going. Where on earth was the Hyde Hotel anyway? She did an internet search, finding it within seconds. Not simply the Hyde Hotel.
He’d left out the Casino bit. The Hyde Hotel and Casino.
Gambling. It appeared Stuart was right.