Angel of Death

Miranda took a sharp breath. ‘You think she might be attacked again?’

‘Highly unlikely, but it is better to be safe than sorry.’

Closing her eyes, she asked, ‘Have you found . . . anything, yet?

’

‘In your flat? I told you, it had been thoroughly searched – he had been through all the drawers and cupboards and thrown stuff about, I’m afraid, all over the floor. Deliberate destruction, I’d say, there’s no reason to make such a mess, but he might be trying to scare you off, warn you against talking to us.’

‘I didn’t mean my flat – I meant have you found . . . her, yet?’

He grimaced. ‘Not yet, but then – where do we look? She could be buried anywhere. We’re still searching his father’s place, but we haven’t found anything, and it’s my opinion that that’s the last place he would put her, knowing you witnessed what happened.’

She nodded. ‘I see what you mean. Yes. And it would mean that Terry knew, was involved – which I can’t believe. You don’t know him, but he’s really a very nice man, I simply can’t imagine him getting mixed up with murder and . . .’ Her voice trailed away.

They stared at each other. Neil nodded slowly. ‘And these attacks on you and your mother? You don’t believe Terry Finnigan would do anything like that?’

‘No. Do you?’

He didn’t answer. ‘I must go. I’ll keep in touch. Oh, and I’ll ask the ward sister if you can visit your mother this morning.’ Drawing back the curtains he walked away. She saw him go into the ward sister’s glass-walled office at the far end of the ward, watched them talking, saw the sister nodding.

Half an hour later Nurse Embry came along with a wheelchair and helped her climb out of bed.

‘Going for an x-ray?’ Joan Patterson asked, eyes glinting with curiosity.

‘No,’ the nurse said, amused, deftly enfolding Miranda into a dressing gown before putting a much-washed hospital rug over her knees.

‘She isn’t going home, is she?’

‘No.’ Nurse Embry began wheeling Miranda towards the swing doors, leaving Joan Patterson seething with frustration.

‘What ward is my mother on?’ Miranda asked as they turned into the corridor.

‘Mary Leeman. It’s an observation ward, mostly head injuries; patients don’t stay long, they’re only in for a night or two but they need to be watched carefully so there are always plenty of nurses on the ward. I worked on it myself last winter. I didn’t like it much. You don’t get to know the patients – they come in and go out like on a conveyor belt.’

She pushed the wheelchair along another corridor and through more swing doors into a glass-walled waiting room.

‘I’ll leave you here for a minute while I check with Sister that they’re ready for you. She’s a tartar. She’ll bite my head off if I just barge in there without warning.’ She picked up a few magazines from the table in the middle of the room and dropped them on to Miranda’s lap. ‘Here you are, these will keep you occupied while I’m gone.’

The only other occupant of the waiting room was a man; out of the corner of her eye Miranda noted that he was expensively dressed; a beautifully cut suit, a crisp white shirt, a dark red silk tie and what she suspected were handmade shoes on his feet. He turned his head to glance at her and Miranda hurriedly looked down, embarrassed at being caught staring; she began to turn the pages of the top magazine, a glossy monthly which she saw was a year old. Odd how reading out-of-date magazines was somehow more riveting than reading the latest editions. She soon became absorbed in an article, which was why she didn’t notice the other magazines sliding slowly floorwards.

By the time she did realise what was happening it was too late. The magazines plummeted, pages fluttering.

The other occupant of the waiting room got up and came to help her.

‘Sorry, stupid of me,’ Miranda mumbled, very flushed. He might think she had dropped them deliberately, to get his attention.

He put the magazines back on her lap, then sat down on a chair right next to her and smiled. He had dazzling white teeth, a golden tan, which looked wonderful with his thick, curly, blond hair and bright blue eyes.

‘Which ward are you in?’

She couldn’t remember the name and made flustered noises, finally saying, ‘I’m visiting my mother in Mary Leeman ward.’

‘What is she in here for?’

‘A head injury, but they say she’ll be OK. Are you visiting someone?’

‘My wife.’ He sighed. ‘She’s pregnant, but has to be very careful. She’s had two miscarriages already. So she’s in here for observation. The same ward as your mother. I’m worried about Pan; she gets so scared, afraid she’s going to lose this baby, too. They would like her to spend the next six months in bed here, but I’ve just started a new job, at a hotel in Greece, I can’t stay on in London, and Pan won’t stay here without me.’