‘If she has worked the street, someone will know, Kev. Do some digging on your way back to Westerley.’
‘Will do, boss. And Curtis Grant is due back there today. I want a quick chat with him. The sudden insertion of Darren James as the night-time officer seems a bit odd. And I think Curtis Grant has been at Westerley a bit more than is actually necessary this week. There’s something there that doesn’t feel right.’
‘Well stick with it, and let me know if anything jumps out.’
Stacey ceased tapping for a minute. ‘What do you want me to do about Ivor and Larry?’
Kim sighed heavily.
She knew the case was active again and belonged to Brierley Hill, yet something inside her did not want to let it go. She and her team had found out more in two days than had been discovered in three years.
They now knew that every effort had been made to remove the identities of both men. They were friends or at the very least acquaintances, and Stacey had confirmed that both were registered sex offenders.
Kim now had far less sympathy for the fact that Ivor had remained anonymous for years.
‘Do some digging on their victims, Stace. They’ve both done prison time, but it may be that someone out there doesn’t think they’ve done enough.’
‘Yeah, me for one,’ Dawson offered.
No one voiced their agreement. They didn’t need to. It was a universal opinion. As was the belief you didn’t get to go around killing people, no matter what they had done.
Sixty-Six
Isobel took a sip of the weak tea she’d been handed by the day nurse. She almost spat it onto the crisp white sheet before a hesitant smile began to form. Looked like she didn’t take sugar after all. Fact learned.
Isobel was sorry that she’d missed Marion. The sister had been true to her word and had woken her at eleven thirty, then at two a.m. and again at five, gradually lengthening the periods of sleep. She’d been woken for the last time at seven thirty by the oncoming shift.
She’d heard the staff talking, and the snippets had told her she would be moved to a different ward later today. Apparently both her short-and long-term memory abilities were showing positive signs. She had retained the fact that she preferred toast without jam and that Duncan was her boyfriend. Her physical recovery was being hailed as miraculous.
Part of Isobel didn’t want to be moved, despite all the indications that she was recovering.
There was safety in the silent, cloistered environment where foot traffic was kept to a minimum. But she was breathing without aid, her morphine had been successfully reduced and she’d managed to get some sleep.
She experienced a brief second of panic that Duncan wouldn’t be able to find her. She reassured herself that the staff would point him in the right direction. She hated it when he had to leave and looked forward to his return. Just the feel of his palm against hers was a comfort.
When he returned she would ask him again about their dates. And she would keep on asking until she could remember herself. Maybe one time he would recall something different which would spark a memory of her own.
She found herself touching the scars on her wrist. There was a familiarity in the gesture. Why had she done this to herself? Before she’d been abducted, what in her life could have been so bad that she’d felt death was the answer? The irony was that she had very nearly had that wish granted by her attacker.
Her mind returned to the dreams that had taunted her during the night. Being carried, being touched but not sexually. A voice. Each time she’d been woken she had tried to make sense of the images that were no more than shadows dancing in the cave of her mind.
Isobel had now stopped grasping. She had learned that chasing the activity in her own mind was like trying to hold on to an oil-covered eel.
No, she couldn’t bring the images into focus, but she knew what she’d heard.
One for you and one for me. And there was a female somewhere called Mandy.
They were two pieces of information that didn’t grow, no matter how many times she looked at them. Two little nuggets that she twisted and turned in her mind, looking at them from every angle like a precious stone being inspected for its carat.
But the nuggets remained the same. Precious because they had come from somewhere inside her head, had managed to crawl out of the locked box.
The day nurse approached and checked her teacup.
‘It’s gone cold, love,’ she said.
She opened her mouth to say something about sugar but closed it again as she saw the unmistakeable figure of the policewoman she’d met yesterday.
She had asked the ward sister to give the detective a call as soon as she’d woken, but she hadn’t expected to see her quite yet.
‘Hey, how are you doing?’ the woman asked.
Isobel smiled at her visitor. Strangely she felt very pleased to see her.
Yesterday she’d been intimidated by the manner of the female detective. But today she was reassured. There was honesty in that face, and although the mouth didn’t smile much there was a passion behind the dark eyes.
‘I’m okay, I think I’m being moved later.’
The officer shook her head as she sat down. ‘I’ve asked them to keep you here for just a little while longer. I don’t think you’re ready to be moved.’
‘You mean you haven’t caught him yet?’
The words were out before she could stop them.
The detective raised one eyebrow. ‘Let’s just say I’d be happier if you stayed here a little while longer.’
Isobel was not unhappy at the police’s involvement. Until her memory returned she relished the safety of the cloistered environment.
‘I don’t like sugar,’ she said, shrugging her shoulders.
‘Neither do I,’ the officer answered.
‘I need to tell you some things, but I don’t know if they mean anything,’ she blurted out. Now the detective was sitting here in front of her the things she had to say seemed inconsequential. Not least because she couldn’t substantiate that she’d heard either one of them while she’d been with her captor.
It could just as easily have come from her previous life.
‘Mandy. I think he may have someone else – someone called Mandy. I keep hearing the name, but I can’t recognise the voice. It might be nothing. It might be completely unrelated, and I might be sending you…’
‘It’s okay,’ the officer said, patting her hand. ‘It’s up to me to decide what’s relevant. Just tell me anything that comes into your mind.’
‘One for you and one for me,’ she blurted out.
‘What?’ the officer asked.
Isobel shrugged her confusion. ‘I know. It’s strange, but when I close my eyes the phrase plays like it’s on a loop. The trouble is I don’t know if that’s because of me.’ She felt the sigh building inside her as the tears pricked her eyes. ‘I just don’t know anything any more. I don’t know the difference between a thought and a memory. I just don’t know what’s real.’
‘Hey, don’t get upset. You’re doing brilliantly.’
The cool, firm hand was resting on her arm. The strength she felt pulsating through stemmed her tears.
‘You’ve suffered a horrendous attack that was intended to end your life. You fought yourself out of a coma, and your body is trying to heal. So give yourself a break, eh?’
Isobel noticed the absence of any false reassurances that her memory would return. They both knew it might never happen, so the officer didn’t bother to indulge in the pretence.
Her visitor stood and Isobel felt an immediate sense of loneliness. There was a security that surrounded this woman. Although her manner was brusque and unyielding, Isobel enjoyed the frankness in her face.
‘Anyway, it’s only the really famous that can carry off having only one name,’ she said, glancing at the nameplate above her bed that stated simply ‘Isobel’.
Isobel smiled at the statement as the detective squeezed her arm. ‘I’ll be back to check on you again, okay?’
Isobel nodded her thanks. She found the prospect reassuring.
With a final smile, the officer turned and walked away, her gait confident and assured.