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‘Come on,’ she snapped at her phone. Even if it was a call or text full of abuse, it would be something.
With her limited patience already running low, she hit the call button again. If Leanne thought she was going to give up so easily, she could think again.
The call went straight to voicemail.
Damn it, the woman had blocked her number.
SIXTY-ONE
It was 3.15a.m. when Kim’s phone rang.
Oh yeah, it would be just like Leanne to call at such a time, she thought, reaching for the sudden light source.
‘Hell no,’ she said, seeing the caller’s name.
‘Get to the hospital,’ he said breathlessly.
‘Jesus, Keats, for what?’ she asked, hauling herself out of bed.
‘We’ve got another one.’
‘Why aren’t you with him?’ she asked, switching the phone to speaker. She grabbed a pair of black canvas jeans from the wardrobe.
‘I didn’t get the call. Paramedics attended the report. There was some small movement so they knew he wasn’t dead. Initially thought he was passed out on drink or drugs, so no forensics, no photos. I only know because Jimmy was working late. He grabbed a coffee and heard the paramedics talking about it while they were having a bite to eat.’
‘Shit, how far into this are we?’
‘About three hours I think. So do you want to get off the phone and get to the hospital as quick as you can?’
‘What about you?’
‘About five minutes away from leaving the house.’
‘Why are you coming?’ Kim asked, grabbing her jacket.
‘Because if he’s anywhere near the same state as the others, it’s only going to be a matter of time.’
‘Okay, don’t suppose you got a name for me?’
‘Yep, Jimmy clearly had his thinking head on. The man’s name is Nathan Yates.’
‘Damn it,’ she growled, heading out the door.
SIXTY-TWO
At 3.45a.m., Kim was parking her Ninja on the pavement outside the doors to A&E at Russells Hall Hospital.
Despite there already being a few hours on the clock, this was where Nathan would have started his journey after being brought in. It was quicker than running from ward to ward explaining herself every time.
Kim wasn’t surprised to see the waiting room three quarters full, though she often wondered what people were doing at this time in the morning to injure themselves.
‘Nathan Yates,’ she said to the receptionist as she held up her ID. ‘Brought in a few hours ago.’
The woman tapped the name into her computer. ‘What do you need…?’
‘Where’s he been sent?’
‘Nowhere,’ she said, shaking her head. ‘He’s still under assessment.’
