16

Kerry couldn’t have said which hit her first: the pain or the nausea. She came awake, saw glaring white light, breathed in the cloying smell of asepsis, felt her stomach cramp and at the same time groaned as a riptide of fierce pain swept the left side of her body.

Couldn’t keep it in. With a choked cry she bent over the side of the bed – what the hell was she doing in bed? – and threw up on the tiled floor.

Footsteps.

‘Oh, dear.’ A gentle hand on her shoulder, helping her back into the bed as she fought to catch her breath. ‘It’s okay. You’re okay.’

It was a woman, young, her hair tied back in a ponytail, wearing a uniform. Copper? No. Cox thought hard. A nurse. That was it.

‘How are you feeling?’ the nurse asked. ‘Arm hurt?’

‘ … Yes.’

‘You came off your bike, out in Richmond. You have a compound fracture of the forearm but it’s nothing we can’t fix. I’ll get you some painkillers. How’s your head?’

My head? Is something wrong with my head?

She tried to lift a hand, to feel her head, her hair, her skull, but the hand was clumsily entangled in the bedclothes.

‘It – it throbs,’ she said. Felt close to tears.

‘Hey. Don’t try to move.’ The nurse reached out a hand to brush a strand of hair away from Cox’s eyes. ‘You had a bang to the head when you fell, but you’re going to be fine, you hear me?’ She perched on the edge of Cox’s bed. ‘Can you tell me your name?’

‘Kerry. Kerry Cox.’

She knew that, at least – the certainty felt good.

‘Okay, Kerry. A doctor’s going to come and see you soon, run some checks. You took quite a tumble.’ She smiled. ‘But you’ll be back on your feet in no time. Is there anyone you’d like us to call? Family, a partner?’

She said the first name that came into her head.

‘Naysmith. Peter Naysmith.’ She reeled off the DCI’s mobile number.

‘No problem.’ The nurse noted down the details. ‘We’ll give him a call. And I’ll get you those painkillers.’

She smiled; went away.

Cox closed her eyes, settled her head back into the cool pillow. Bit her lip as again the bone-deep ache gripped her body, as again her gut boiled up in revolt. She could feel the cold sweat on her face, brow, forearms.

She remembered. The bike, the road, the night, the car, the crash …

An accident?

No. She remembered that, too.

By the time the nurse returned with pills and water, it was as though a fog had descended in Cox’s mind; the pain from her arm, the throbbing in her head, the nausea, the unreality of it all … She fumbled the painkillers into her mouth, gulped them down, drank as much of the water as she dared – any more, and she’d puke again.

Then she must have fallen asleep, or passed out, blacked out.

When she awoke, Naysmith was sitting by her bed. He smiled. Looked stressed and baggy-eyed.

‘Happy New Year,’ he said.

Cox blinked. Hadn’t occurred to her to wonder what time it was, what day it was – Christ, even what year it was.

‘It’s the new year?’ She struggled to sit up. ‘God, I said I’d be at Matthew’s party …’

‘You don’t need to worry about that.’ He lifted his eyebrows. ‘You were out for more than thirty hours, Cox. Bleed on the brain – I gather it’s stabilized now.’

‘Who – who found me?’

‘Passing motorist, around one in the morning. You were unconscious. He called an ambulance, they brought you here. Hammersmith, if you were wondering.’

‘And Matthew …’

‘I told you, you don’t need to worry about that. When you didn’t show up, your mum phoned the station.’ He smiled drily. ‘Assumed you were at work. We told her you were on leave.’ Nodded towards the bed. ‘When I told you to go away and put your feet up, by the way, this isn’t what I had in mind.’

‘Do they know I’m here now?’

‘Uh-huh. I rang them myself on my way over. They’ll be here soon.’

‘With Matthew? I don’t want him to see –’

‘No, just Aidan and your mum. You do look a bit X-rated in that bloody bandage.’ He chuckled, shook his head. ‘They showed me your bike helmet. Split open like a nutshell.’ The chuckle faded. ‘You were lucky, Kerry. You could’ve died.’

‘I could’ve been killed.’

‘That’s what I said.’

She closed her eyes; pinched the bridge of her nose between finger and thumb.

‘Guv,’ she said.

‘They said your bike was practically bent into a figure-eight.’

‘Guv.’

‘What?’

She remembered the roar of the revved engine.

‘It wasn’t an accident.’

He smiled uneasily.

‘Funny thing to do on purpose. I’d already given you the day off.’

‘Guv, you know what I’m saying. It wasn’t just a hit and run. The driver did it on purpose.’

Naysmith shifted awkwardly in his seat.

‘Kerry, you’ve made some enemies in your time, we all have – but do you really think anyone’d go that far, just for a bit of payback?’ Scratched his nose, shook his head. ‘Nah. I know, it can be hard to believe, the way some people drive – some prick in an A3 doing seventy on an unlit road, you can’t credit it, can you? But –’

‘It wasn’t payback.’

‘Well, then –’

‘It was to shut me up.’

Naysmith stared at her.

The double-doors at the end of the ward opened. Aidan dashed in, with Mrs Cox following behind.

Kerry saw Aidan’s face, in the seconds before he realized that she was awake and talking, that she was going to be okay. His hair was uncombed, his jaw unshaven. He looked shocked, shaken – he looked terrified.

He smiled, a broad grin of relief, when he saw her looking at him.

Then he came closer, and the grin warped into a grimace of horror.

‘Jesus Christ, Kerry, what have you done to yourself?’ He approached the bed. ‘You’ve made a proper mess of yourself.’

‘Lovely to see you too, Ade,’ Cox muttered.

Aidan smiled.

‘Sorry. Christ, I’m glad you’re okay. I mean – are you okay? You must have taken a hell of a whack. You look like hell.’

‘Could we leave the personal remarks for now?’ Cox retorted. ‘I’ll be okay – so I’m told.’ She paused. Grimaced. ‘Am I really that bad?’

Her mum, half-hidden behind an armful of expensive-looking flowers, said: ‘You have looked more presentable, darling – but oh, goodness I’m happy to see you.’ She handed the flowers to Naysmith without looking at him and pushed past Aidan to embrace her daughter.

‘Careful, Mum,’ Cox murmured, as Mrs Cox’s elbow brushed her splinted right arm – but it felt good to be hugged, good to be loved.

Naysmith carefully laid the flowers on the floor and stood.

‘I’ll be off, then,’ he said, a little stiffly – not good with families, Naysmith.

‘Thanks for coming, guv,’ said Cox, as her mum reluctantly released her from her embrace. ‘But listen – could you do something for me before you go?’

‘Sure. What?’

‘Get me a mirror?’

‘No problem. I’ll grab a nurse.’ He moved off purposefully.

At Cox’s side, her mother let out a long, whimpering sigh.

‘Is that wise, darling?’ she said, bending forward to touch Cox’s forearm anxiously. ‘Do you really want to see yourself in this state? You’ll look much better in a day or two, once you’ve had a chance to put a bit of makeup on and do something with your hair –’

‘Ah, come on, Maggie,’ Aidan butted in, dropping into the chair Naysmith had vacated. ‘She’s a copper, she’s seen worse – though not much worse. No harm in her seeing the truth.’

Cox nodded.

‘He’s right, Mum.’ She fumbled for her mum’s hand, gave it a squeeze. ‘I want to know how bad it is. I’ll be fine, I promise – I just want to know.’

Margaret Cox nodded, uncertain. Cox looked at Aidan; he winked at her. Christ, that took her back.

Her head was pounding again.

Naysmith returned, a nurse in tow. The nurse was carrying a small hand-mirror.

‘Bear in mind, it looks a lot worse than it is,’ she said as she handed it over. ‘Nothing that won’t heal. Probably won’t even leave a mark.’

Cox nodded, lifted the mirror to her face.

In a way, it was good to know that she looked as bad as she felt.

A bandage covered her forehead from the eyebrows up. No blood, except on the tips of a few strands of hair that’d worked loose from the dressing. Her right eye was dramatically bloodshot, the socket around it blue-black, the skin of her temple a mottled yellow-brown. A layer of skin had been scraped from her nose. Bruising covered the whole right side of her face, down to her jaw. There was an ugly scab on the right side of her chin, and the left side of her lower lip was puffy and red.

‘I look like I’ve been twelve rounds with Joe Calzaghe,’ she muttered.

‘Beauty is only skin deep,’ supplied Aidan jovially.

The nurse leaned in to take the mirror back.

‘You should probably get some rest now,’ she said, with an apologetic sidelong look at Naysmith, Aidan and Mrs Cox. ‘Your body’ll do a great job of healing itself, you’ll see – but it needs sleep, and it needs quiet.’

‘Don’t we all,’ Naysmith mumbled.

Cox smiled.

‘Okay – clear off, all of you.’ She pulled her mum in for another hug. ‘Take care. Ade, don’t tell Matthew how bad I look.’

‘Do you think I want to give him nightmares? He was asking for you.’

‘What will you tell him?’

‘That your bike broke down, and that was why you couldn’t come to the party.’

Cox nodded. That’d do.

‘Thanks,’ she said. Felt helpless.

As they turned to leave, she called Naysmith back: work stuff, she explained in response to the others’ questioning looks.

They waited while the nurse picked up the flowers Mrs Cox had brought – said how lovely they were, and said it was a shame they’d have to be kept out in the corridor, not on the ward: regulations.

Then it was just the two of them.

Naysmith shrugged; looked anxious.

‘So?’

‘I need to get out of here,’ Cox said.

‘What’s your hurry? I’m pretty sure they want to keep you in at least another day or two.’

She gritted her teeth.

‘Someone,’ she said, ‘tried to kill me. They followed me, ran me off the road. They tried to kill me.’

‘Who?’

‘I don’t know, and I’m not going to find out sitting in here.’

‘Okay then – why?’

She looked at him until he met her gaze. Then: ‘You know why.’

Naysmith looked older and more weary than ever; hunted, run down.

‘This Radley thing?’

‘You know I’m on to something here, guv, and you’re not the only one. There’s some seriously dark stuff out there. If I keep digging, I’m going to find out where the bodies are buried. And then –’

‘Then there’ll be hell to pay,’ Naysmith finished. He rubbed his chin, looked at her pensively. ‘Look,’ he said. ‘If you’re right, you needn’t be in such a hurry to get back out there. You’re pretty safe in here.’

‘This isn’t about me being safe. It’s about three suspicious deaths – and God knows how many more.’ A thought occurred, in step with the thump of her headache; a memory she’d been skating over. She lifted her chin. ‘Here, guv – what do you know about Sam Harrington?’

Naysmith looked surprised.

‘Harrington? That gonk from the MoJ? What’s he got to do with anything?’

‘That’s the question, isn’t it? He was first on the scene at Radley’s death.’

‘Come on. The guy’s a civil servant, just another Oxbridge desk-jockey. Only in it for the fat salary and the pension pot.’ He paused. ‘Isn’t he?’

Cox shrugged – winced at the pain in her arm.

‘I can’t prove otherwise,’ she said.

‘Well, then. And while we’re on that subject.’ He looked at her seriously, drumming his fingers on his knee. ‘I looked over the evidence from the Allis murder. The wallet.’

‘The restaurant receipt?’

‘Well, that’s the thing. The wallet was there, contents logged in the file: credit cards, a few receipts, for petrol, stuff like that – but nothing from any Olympus Grill.’

Cox turned cold inside.

‘What?’

‘Nothing from Christmas Day at all.’

‘But guv, I saw it, I’m telling you – I had it in my hand. Chalmers was there, and the guy from SOCO, Chang –’

‘Did you show it to them?’

‘I – no.’ She remembered: how uncertain she’d felt, there in the park – how uneasy. Mistrustful.

Now she felt like she had a lead weight in her gut. ‘I didn’t know then what I know now,’ she muttered.

‘Look, Cox. Is it possible you got – carried away?’

She fixed him with a look.

‘Guv. After all we’ve been through. For Christ’s sake.’

‘Don’t get defensive. You’re under a lot of stress, I know that. Stress makes people do funny things.’

‘Like make up evidence?’

‘I’m not saying that.’

‘It’s exactly what you’re saying. Or do you think I hallucinated that bloody receipt?’

Naysmith frowned.

‘Watch your tone, Cox,’ he rumbled with little conviction.

Cox was about to reply – about to snap back with something angry and unwise – when she noticed the nurse hovering uncertainly behind Naysmith.

‘I’m sorry to interrupt,’ she said, with a nervous smile. ‘But really – you do need to get some rest, Kerry. Perhaps the work issue could wait till tomorrow?’

Cox hated herself for her first thought: how much did she hear?

Naysmith was already rising to his feet, reaching for his coat.

‘She’s right, Cox,’ he said. ‘This can wait. You try and relax. Get yourself better. We’ll talk again soon.’

She swallowed down her exasperation. What else could she do?

‘Sure. Okay.’

‘You look after yourself.’ He nodded emphatically. Stomped out.

Cox asked if she’d had her phone with her when she was found. Found. The word tasted bitter on her tongue – she hated the passivity, the helplessness of it. Yes, the nurse said – tucked in her leggings pocket, and fine except for a bit of scuffing.

‘Better than me, then.’ Cox smiled. ‘Could I have it? Then,’ she added quickly, ‘I promise I’ll go to sleep.’

It was in the drawer of her bedside table. The nurse, with a bit of tutting and if-you-really-must frowning, passed it to her.

‘I just need to send a text,’ Cox said.

She texted Wilson; funny, she thought, how quickly she’d got into the habit of turning to Greg bloody Wilson when she needed help. She asked him to come to the hospital the next day, and bring her some clothes from her flat.

A reply buzzed back quickly: What are you doing in hospital?

Cox – head thumping, bones aching, mind spinning – barely had strength to reply, Tell you later, before she sank into sleep.