Matilda knocked on ACC Masterson’s door and waited for Valerie to tell her to come in. It was a long wait.
‘Come in.’
Matilda pushed opened the door and carefully entered, closing it behind her.
Valerie wasn’t behind her desk, as usual, buried under a mountain of paperwork and reports. In fact, her desk was relatively tidy. The ACC was standing by the window, her back to the room, gazing out at the sprawling view of Sheffield in autumn. Beyond the double glazing, new buildings were rising as Sheffield continued to go through its seemingly endless regeneration process. The high street was facing the same hardship as others up and down the country. People didn’t seem to want to shop on the street anymore, preferring to do it online. Shops were closing, footfall was easing, and city centres were turning into ghost towns. Sheffield seemed to have the solution. A new cinema had recently opened, and a bowling alley and pool hall were scheduled to open sometime next year. New restaurants and coffee shops were popping up, and, thanks to the new HSBC headquarters opening next summer, the city centre would hopefully start to see people return, if not to shop, then to be entertained.
Valerie’s eyeline followed a crane as it turned, carrying a heavy slap of concrete high up above the streets of the city centre.
‘Do you think Sheffield needs any more hotels?’ She asked, not turning around.
‘I don’t know. I haven’t given it much thought,’ Matilda said, stepping further into the room.
‘Apparently there’s going to be one where the old market was and there’s talk of an Ibis at the bottom of the Moor, right next to the Premier Inn. Who knew Sheffield was in such high demand.’
‘It’s not exactly a holiday destination,’ Matilda sniggered.
‘No.’
‘Is everything all right?’
Valerie turned from the window. She looked smart in her crisp uniform. Her grey hair was swept back. She was a small woman, barely over five feet tall, but her personality was titanic, as was her reputation as a powerful leader. However, recent events had taken their toll. Her face was heavily lined and there was an air of sadness about her which filled the room.
‘Fine,’ she quickly replied, taking her seat behind the enormous desk.
‘How’s Arthur? Any news?’
Valerie visibly sank in her seat. Her head bent down to her chest. She sniffled. She wiped away a tear before looking up.
‘Not good,’ she managed to say, her voice cracking. ‘He’s regained consciousness, but …’ She shrugged. She couldn’t speak.
Matilda sat down in front of her desk. ‘Is there anything I can do?’
‘You could make him remember who I am.’
‘He doesn’t remember you?’
She shook her head as the tears fell. Matilda ran around the desk to comfort her boss.
Earlier this year, Valerie had been all smiles and full of plans as she and her husband, Arthur, a retired dentist, were charting their route through Europe in a motorhome. Valerie was taking early retirement and they were going on the trip of a lifetime. A month ago, their plans had been thrown into chaos when Arthur suffered a massive stroke. He was unconscious and in intensive care for three weeks. Valerie had taken a few days off work but wallowing alone in their large house in Derbyshire made her feel worse, so she made a quick return to work, one eye permanently on her phone, waiting for the call from the hospital.
‘He’s lost all feeling down his left-hand side. He’s lost his speech, he can’t feed himself, or dress himself. He doesn’t recognise me, or the children. It’s like talking to a complete stranger who just happens to look like Arthur.’
Matilda plucked a few tissues from the box on the desk and handed them to Valerie for her to wipe her eyes and nose.
‘What are you going to do?’
‘I’ve no idea.’ She blew her nose loudly. ‘What can I do? It could take years for him to get any form of movement back. He may not even get his memory back. All our plans, all our dreams, everything we’ve both worked for, ruined.’
Matilda didn’t know what to say. She hoped that wrapping a comforting arm around her shoulders would help her to open up. When she was grieving for James, she had her best friend, Adele, to talk to, and crying and screaming at the world really did help.
‘He’d hate this,’ Valerie continued. ‘We always talked about what we’d be like as old people. I’d laugh and joke about us causing havoc in a nursing home, but to Arthur, it wasn’t a joke. He hated the idea of growing old, of not being able to do the things he’s always been able to do. That’s what this trip was all about; visiting all the places we’ve only seen on TV before it’s too late. Now look at him.
‘You know, I sit in the hospital room and I watch him. He looks so sad. He’s got tears in his eyes and I know that he’ll be screaming inside, screaming at me to help him, to do something so he’s not feeling like this. It’s so unfair, Matilda.’
It really was unfair, and Matilda knew exactly how she felt. James was only forty-five when he died. A brilliant man at the top of his field, handsome, caring, loving, and he was taken from her.
‘You need to be strong for him,’ Matilda eventually said. ‘Physiotherapists can help with his speech and movement, but you, and your kids, need to help with his memory. You’ve been married for such a long time, you’ll have thousands of stories and photos to show him, to help him unlock the door to help him remember. It’ll be hard, I know it will, but you can relive everything together again. His will to get better will be strong; you have to match that strength.’
‘You’re right. I know you’re right. It’s just …’
‘When you feel low, when you need to scream and shout and cry, come and visit me. I’ve got a huge garden you can stand in the middle of and scream and nobody will hear you. You helped me when James died. Please, don’t go through this on your own.’
Valerie placed a clammy hand on top of Matilda’s. ‘Thank you. You’re a good friend, Matilda. Now,’ she wiped her eyes. ‘We’ve got a kidnapping on our hands, I hear.’
‘Yes. A nine-year-old girl. Keeley Armitage.’
‘Any clue as to who might have taken her?’
‘Not so far. I’ve got an FLO at the house. I’m going to see her in a bit.’ She stood up and went around to the other side of the desk. ‘The kidnappers said they’d call back in twenty-four hours. That’s around four o’clock this afternoon. We’ve no idea if they’re watching the house or not so we can’t go knocking on doors. We’re just having to wait.’
‘I’ve been told it’s all over social media.’
‘Yes. The eldest daughter, Jodie, put something on Twitter last night. I’m guessing she thought she was helping.’
‘And I see our favourite journalist has reared his ugly head again,’ she turned the open laptop around to face Matilda. The screen was showing the home page of the local newspaper, the Sheffield Star, and a brief breaking news story written by Danny Hanson.
‘Ah,’ was all Matilda could think of saying after she read the short article.
‘I knew he’d bring up the Carl Meagan case at the mention of a kidnapping,’ Valerie said. ‘Are you thinking … you know … similarities with Carl?’
‘I’m trying not to.’
‘I can assign someone else to this case if you’d rather not get involved. Nobody would think badly of you for taking a step back.’
I’d think badly of me.
‘That’s fine, thank you, but I can do this. A year ago, probably not, but I’m stronger now.’
Valerie smiled. ‘Yes. You are, aren’t you? I suppose now is as good a time as any to tell you.’
‘Tell me what?’ Matilda frowned.
‘There’s a restructuring process planned for South Yorkshire Police to begin late next year. I’ve been asked to recommend officers who I believe would be suited for more demanding roles. I already see Christian Brady as a future DCI and Sian Mills should have been an inspector years ago. Have you considered being Superintendent Matilda Darke?’