Page 90 of The Unforgiven

“Not long. We’ve had patrol cars coming by every couple of hours overnight. You might want to check your alarm system, or consider getting one, and maybe helping Sophie take extra precautions,” Vinny said, looking thoughtful. “I know it sounds a bit useless, telling you that, but I’m not sure what else there is to say.”

Mike shrugged looking at the photos on the mantlepiece. “It is what it is. Will you let her know? At the hospital. I can call her but if she’s in surgery she won’t have her phone with her.”

“How about you call the ward and let them know. They can keep an eye out but if she’s in surgery, she’s safe. We’ll head up there and ask to speak to her.” It felt urgent now, we needed to let her know to take precautions, have someone walk her to her car at the end of her shift – does she usually come straight home?”

“Usually. She is tonight – we’ve got friends coming round for a Chinese.” He looked at the photos again. “My van’s in the garage so I’ve got a mate picking me up. I’ll get dropped off at the hospital and meet her there after her shift. She won’t be on her own till you tell us it’s safe.”

The truth was; it would never be safe. Even after we’d caught the person who’d killed five of the Aberwyn girls and probably Charlie Mason, there would still be people around who meant to cause harm, needed it to get their kicks.

“We’ll head there now.” Vinny pulled his card out of his pocket. “Here’s my details. Any concerns, just call me or the land line number on there.”

“Thank you, mate. I hope I won’t need it.”

It was a fifteen-minute drive to the hospital, but we did it in ten, Vinny turning sharply around side roads like he was being pursued by a mobster in a supercar.

I made it there in one piece, my stomach stuck somewhere in my throat, and my lungs lacking oxygen, but still in one piece. “You’re not driving back to the office.”

“Why not?”

“Because you’re a psychopath and not safe on the roads.”

“There’s nothing wrong with my driving.”

“That’s blatantly untrue.” I checked the map of the hospital for cardiology, a waft of antiseptic and trauma blasting through the entrance when the automatic doors opened. “Time to show off your navigating skills on foot. Which way do we go?” I pointed at the map.

“To the help desk and get someone to take us. This place is like a maze; it must be a dementia test.”

“One you’re not passing. I’m impressed you’re asking for directions. I didn’t think your male pride would allow that.” In times of stress, poking Vinny the bear was good relief.

“I’m only asking if it’s a cute nurse.”

“I suggest you stay away from sleeping with members of the medical profession. May I remind you of the last time you did that?” We walked into the hospital and towards the help desk. If Sophie was in surgery, it might not be in the cardiology ward anyway.

“I’ve wiped that experience from my mind. Buried trauma.”

“I can help with that. We could try some EMDR therapy, help you recall it and process it. I can offer you some prompts – Dr Miz has been quite descriptive.” Again, Vinny was proving to be a great distraction tool.

“No, you’re okay. I’m happy to keep those memories buried.” He smiled too charmingly at a young receptionist, who blushedand looked impressed at his ID when he showed it her, asking if we could be shown where Sophie Linwood was working.

An eight-minute trek later to the side of the hospital near where we’d parked, and we were in a waiting room that needed a lick of paint and a makeover, waiting for Sophie to come out of theatre, we were promised would only be fifteen minutes.

There were complications, which added another half an hour, Vinny tapping out every minutes with his foot. He lacked in patience what he made up for in irritation.

Sophie emerged looking drained, her hair scraped back, her face make-up free. She was sharply pretty and petite, and I wondered how odd a couple she and Mike looked when they were together, not that it mattered. He obviously worshipped anything she walked on.

“Is Mike okay?” She sat down opposite us. We were the only people in the waiting room; I didn’t know if that was on purpose or just how it’d happened and no relatives or friends were actually waiting.

“Mike’s fine. You might want to call him after we’ve spoken,” I reassured. I was used to being met with suspicion and worry.

“Oh good - I haven’t done anything, have I? It’s perfectly fine where I’ve parked my car - ”

I wished the most urgent thing we had to deal with was illegally parked cars.

“This isn’t about your parking. We’re investigating the murders of Chelsea Bainbridge, Brooke O’Hara, Morgan Skelton, Dolly Armitage and Evelyn Smith. I believe you were friends with them when you were about twelve or thirteen.” I laid it out there.

Her face paled. For a moment I was glad we were already in a hospital because she looked as if she was about to pass out.

“I was. I went to Aberwyn one summer with my aunt. We stayed at her friends lodge there, and they were all staying atthe site as well. Does Aberwyn have something to do with them being killed?” She rested her hands on her knees, her arms braced, almost translucent now.