The Next Girl(Detective Gina Harte #1)(63)

‘Not many people understand the demands of the job. No one cares that we’re understaffed or that a major crime has just come in. You do a cracking job. I mean look at me – most of my relationships last a month, max. They get fed up of not being able to go out on weekends or evenings. They get fed up when you leave in the middle of a date. Balancing the job and relationships, it’s a tricky one. Not all of us can find a husband or wife like O’Connor’s. She certainly is one in a million.’

‘She certainly is.’ Gina paused. ‘I’ve tried my best to be a good mother.’

‘Listen to me, guv, you are a good mother. You rid the streets of dangerous people, the same streets that your granddaughter will be out on in a few short years. When that little girl is old enough to understand how cool her nanny is, you’re going to be her hero.’

Gina smiled. ‘Oh, you’re smooth, Jacob.’

‘I heard something like that on the TV – Jeremy Kyle, maybe. Those words aren’t mine. And tell anyone about what I said and I’ll blankly deny it, especially the Jeremy Kyle bit. Right, moving on. It sounds weird, Herman sourdough cake? I hear it’s good.’

Gina laughed and nodded. She knew why she loved the job so much. Yes, it was satisfying to catch the bad guys, but it was also about the comradeship, the police family. ‘Quick piece of cake and back to work,’ she said. ‘A starving body equals a poor mind.’

‘Who said that?’ Jacob asked.

‘Me, I think, unless I just heard it.’

‘Grab one of your mouldy cups. I hear mould tastes good with coffee.’

‘Who said that?’ Gina asked.

‘Me. I always drink my coffee with mould in it and look how healthy I am. Police perk.’ Jacob coughed, pulled a tissue out of his pocket and spat in it.

Gina pulled a mock grimace. ‘I’m heading to the Jenkinses’ in a short while, so I’ll catch up with you later. Get on to the farms and bring me good news.’





Forty-One





‘Mother always said I was too kind for my own good. A sensitive, caring boy, she calls me,’ he said as he held a cold compress against the lump on the back of her head.

Debbie remembered heading towards the door, but he’d grabbed her chain and yanked, then it had all gone dark. She flinched as she opened one eye. Since the tumble down the stairs, she’d been seeing a halo around objects and was struggling to adjust to any light. She had no idea how long she’d been unconscious. It could have been a few hours, it could have been a day. Fragments of strange dreams began to surface. Her head felt as though it has been smashed with a sledgehammer. Then she remembered: he had tapped her with a hammer. Not quite the sledgehammer that she was picturing in her mind, but it had hurt. As she shivered, gritty sweat gathered above her eyes.

‘I can’t believe you turned on me after I’ve been so kind.’ He stopped dabbing the back of her head. ‘Why? I keep you clean, I feed you, I do everything for you and you know it. You know how much I love you, but I don’t feel loved in return.’

She looked away from his cold stare.

‘Look at me,’ he yelled, as he pulled out a knife, grabbed her hair and forced her to face him. ‘Look at me or I’ll slice through your neck.’

‘I’m sorry,’ she whimpered.

‘You’re sorry. Right. I’ll tell you where I am with sorry. Sorry means nothing if you don’t really mean it. I can see in your eyes that you don’t mean anything you say. Where we go from here is anyone’s guess. Slicing through your scrawny neck is sounding like a good option.’ He stared into her eyes before placing the knife back in his pocket.

‘Can I go home? Please let me go,’ she begged as she leaned her head against his chest. She’d pleaded so many times. Why she thought that this time it might work, she had no idea. Hope was all she had in her mind. Hope that he’d see her pain. But the only pain he could see was his own.

He began to breathe deeply and quickly. Spittle emerged in bubbles through his partially closed lips. He flung the compress to the floor and stood. He paced up and down, as he often did. She looked into her lap and watched as her tears dripped from the end of her nose onto her cotton nightdress.

A sharp pain flashed through her head. She pulled the blanket over her knees. Sweat dripped down her forehead and she laughed out loud as she thought of the blow she’d delivered to his head. She’d only managed to strike him once with the kettle, but it had felt so good.

He stopped pacing and his face reddened as he began to seethe. Debbie continued to laugh. She’d laugh through the pain, through the fever, through the racing thoughts. In her mind, she relived the smashing sound over and over again.

A memory darted through her mind, one where she was reading a story about a magic frog to Max and Heidi. She laughed as tears rolled down her face. She was never going to see her children again, so why punish herself with any more misery. Whatever he did to her, she’d laugh. Maybe she’d antagonise him so much that he’d kill her. What difference would it make? She was already dead. If this existence was her life, then death would be a welcome change.

Luke had moved on. Her children were no doubt getting on with their lives. Did they call Luke’s new woman Mum? As for Isobel, there was nothing she could do to protect her anymore. Her groin and stomach throbbed. She’d known she was getting worse when the burning pain had started to spread outwards from the wound. Every time she peed, it burned like hell. Her whole stomach was on fire. All night she’d been shivering but hot. Without antibiotics, her days were numbered. Living in filth after a traumatic birth wasn’t conducive to a healthy body.