Chapter Fifty-Five

“How is he?” Sergeant Jarral said as he joined Erin in the small waiting room outside the A&E treatment area. Trailing behind him was Constable McCrary.

“They’re treating him now,” she said.

“Is he conscious?” asked McCrary.

“I think so. What about Winton Pettibone?”

“He’s in custody.” The Scotsman shook his head. “I’ve known him for years. Such a mild fellow. Never thought him capable of such a thing.”

The doctor in charge entered the room. A dark-skinned, compact man of about sixty, he had kind, weary eyes behind large, black-framed glasses.

“Hello, Constable McCrary.”

“Dr. Patel—good to see you in charge,” said the Scotsman. “What’s the news?”

“Will he be all right?” Sergeant Jarral asked. Erin was touched by the urgency in his voice.

“It’s a nasty cut, but he was lucky. He should make a complete recovery, given some time.”

“When can we see him?” said Erin.

“You can go in now, but don’t wear him out—he needs rest.”

They followed Dr. Patel into the treatment area, where his patient lay on a gurney, his chest swathed in white bandages.

“How are you feeling, sir?” said Jarral.

Hemming smiled weakly. “I’ve had better days.”

“You’ll do just about anything to avoid work, won’t you?” McCrary said.

“Hello, Erin,” said Hemming.

It was the first time he had called her by her first name.

“Hello.”

“Pettibone?” Hemming asked the chief constable. “You got him?”

“Aye,” said McCrary. “He confessed to everything—I guess he knows the gig is up.”

“He even admitted to making the mysterious phone call, sir,” said Jarral.

“Did he say why he did it?”

“To throw us off our game. Also, he had a wild idea about implicating Hetty Miller, of all people.”

“I knew it!” Erin said. “The perfume.”

McCrary looked at her, his mustache twitching. “What perfume?”

Erin explained everything she knew. Hemming listened closely from his hospital bed, though his eyes were beginning to droop by the time the nurse came in to shoo them away.

“Sergeant Harris has been holding down the fort at the station house,” McCrary said as Sergeant Jarral settled into one of the green plastic armchairs lining the wall of the waiting room. “I’m going to go relieve him. Want a ride to your hotel?”

“I think I’ll stay here for a bit, if you don’t mind, sir.”

“Good man. Mind ye keep an eye on him,” he said to Erin.

“I will,” she said, smiling, though she wasn’t sure if he meant Hemming or Sergeant Jarral.

“I’ll call your mobile in a bit to check up on things,” McCrary said to him.

“Right you are, sir.”

“How long have you been working with Detective Hemming?” Erin said after the constable had gone.

“This is our first case together, miss.”

“Please, call me Erin.”

“Yes, miss.”

“How do you like working with him?”

He shifted in his chair and cleared his throat. “He’s very …”

“Moody?”

Jarral laughed softly. “He is that. But … he cares, you know, Miss?”

“Erin.”

“He cares, Erin.”

“I know.”

“I suppose that’s why he’s so—intense.”

“Probably.”

“I could use a coffee,” he said, standing up and stretching. He really was quite tall—at least six foot three. “Can I get you one?”

“Sure, thanks.”

“Be right back. You staying for a while?”

“Yes,” she said. “I believe I will stay.”