After he left I laid back into the pillows and found I was already drifting off again. Something told me that, by rights, I should be angry; after all, I had been coshed on the head with Christ knows what instrument, and then viciously kicked whilst I lay on the ground. Except – I was quite unable to take it personally. I was much more concerned for Connie’s safety, still afraid it could be she the assailant was after and not me. I was just a bloody nuisance who happened to have got in his way. But what was even more frightening was the confirmation of what Paul had said, which was just how desperate this character was becoming – that’s if it was our perpetrator.
Before I slipped into that semi-conscious state, somewhere between a black hole and sleep, the thought occurred to me that I could not simply leave Connie at Ashworth House as bait. If I was right and he now knew where she was, he wouldn’t stop until his objective was achieved; except that next time he would be a lot more careful. I decided, for her own protection, that I would have to move her out of there. The problem was: where to?
I had no idea how long I was out this time, but I awoke feeling much better, with a clearer head. It didn’t stop me groaning when I saw Jim standing in front of me, looking decidedly irritated.
“Are you here to give me a telling off too?” I asked.
He shook his head, with disappointment, I suspected. “I’m here because you frightened the life out of me, and because I’m worried about you. How you feeling now?”
“Better...thanks, Jim. And thanks for coming.”
“So. Want to tell me about it?” He held out a hand. “Not the Frank Kewell version. The real one.”
“Why? Don’t you believe me, sweetie?” I said innocently.
He bent down to kiss me and then said, “Come on, Ange; this is not the least bit humorous. And I know you too well to buy that crap about checking out security.” He took a seat and then grasped my hand. “You do realise you could have been killed, don’t you? What on earth were you up to?”
“I don’t honestly know, Jim. I couldn’t sleep last night…”
“The night before. You’ve been out of it for almost 24 hours. I called in last night but they wouldn’t let me see you. I brought some things for you: toothbrush, nightie, one or two bits and pieces.”
“Good God! Have I?” I lay there for some time – I think ‘gob smacked’ is the word.
When Jim leant over and kissed me again, softly on the forehead I felt the tears spring to my eyes.
“And you don’t have to play the tough guy with me, either. Just tell me what happened, Ange.”
“Yeah…well, as I was saying, I couldn’t sleep,” I began tearfully. “So I decided I’d go to the station – you know, make myself useful. Anyhow, there I was, on my way, when something made me change direction, and the next thing I knew I was outside Ashworth House and wondering just what the hell I was doing there. Can you believe that?”
“I can believe anything where our Connie is concerned. By the way, Frank told me you were worried about her, so, just to ease your mind, Peter Conway’s now put her under 24-hour protection. Although I have to tell you I agree with him about this being a botched attempt at a burglary.”
“Well, I suppose that’s something; I’d rather be patronised and keep Connie safe than take a risk.”
He shrugged again as if to say he was indulging me. “What happened then?” he continued.
“Right. Well, I was about to leave when I saw what I thought was a flashlight flicking on and off; as if whoever it was realised someone was watching.” I squeezed his hand as hard as I dare. “I know; you don’t have to tell me, Jim. I shouldn’t have gone in there on my own. I just didn’t think; I mean, I certainly didn’t think it was our man. Anyway, the next thing was I got a crack on the head. I remember trying to turn to see who it was when he hit me again; I went down and the bastard put the boot in. Pity I didn’t get a look at his face. Don’t suppose we’ve got any clue who it really was?”
He shook his head. “’Fraid not. Whoever it was got lucky; the footprint was too smudged to tell us anything.”
Then I suddenly remembered: the footprint in the cow shit. There was something about it I had intended to investigate, but had overlooked it. “Jim, do you mind doing me a favour?”
He looked at me suspiciously. “If it’s anything to do with work – yes, I do mind. Look, Ange, apparently they’re doing another scan this afternoon, to make sure there are no blood clots. If you’re clear they might let you go home tomorrow, but you’ll need another week, maybe even longer, before you’ll be fit enough to return to work. As a matter of fact, I was going to suggest you stay at my place; at least I can look after you at night.”
I grinned. “I know your idea of looking after me, especially at night; except this time I really will have a headache! Besides, I’m not asking for a lot; I just want to have another read of that forensic report on the earlier footprint. Something’s nagging at me and I think it could be connected. Surely you can do that little thing for me, can’t you?”
He leant over and gave me another kiss, this time on the cheek, choosing to ignore my request. “I’ll see how you are this evening, sweetie-pie. I’ll be in about eight – all being well.”
“Jim. How are the enquires into the vehicle checks getting on?”
He put a finger to his lips to silence me. “Bye, Ange. See you later.”
“Bastard!” I managed to say, but I think he’d already left.