Nine Lives by Anita Waller (best english books to read .txt) 📗

The evening was uneventful; Erica wouldn’t have had it any other way. She felt she needed time out, time to stop thinking, to make her journal entries that were more relevant to home life than work life, to enjoy her book. Together they finished the bottle of wine, and Erica felt almost normal by the time they went to bed. A lie-in was on the cards, and a full day of doing little, before Monday and the interviews and follow-ups.

The river flowed, the rain fell, and Beth remained in a coma. Evan Yeardley didn’t sleep much – the pain from the beating of two hours earlier was overpowering, and he was hoping to God that the bitch would die, then it might make all this worth it.

22

Frannie woke Erica with tea and toast for both of them, then sank back into bed. ‘The way I see it, we can stay in bed for the day, or we can get up, put on our boots and go for a walk in the rain.’

Erica looked at her, horror etched into her face. ‘You don’t think I’ve been wet enough this week? You ever seen underneath the Midland Station?’

Frannie thought for a moment. ‘No, but I’d like to. We need permission?’

‘I understand we don’t, and I definitely don’t with my magic wand of a warrant card, but as it’s still cordoned off with crime scene tape that might be a warning not to go there. However, crime scene tape notwithstanding, my lovely wife, anybody can go. You walk through the culverts, which on a bright summer day would be something to explore, but it’s early November, it’s been flood conditions for over a week, and it’s simply not advisable. Now eat your toast and let’s think of something else to do.’

The something else proved to be a shared shower followed by a drive to the local supermarket to stock up on everything in one go, instead of the haphazard corner store shopping they’d been doing all week. Frannie had pointed out they were running out of Haribos, and might need more normal food.

The rain fell all day and eventually the two women gave in, returned home after a short half-hour walk, dried off and settled down for the evening. A Chinese takeaway was the general consensus, and duly ordered, and by the time the two of them retired for the night it was agreed the day had been exactly what they both needed.

Monday the third of November began shortly after six for Erica. She left a still-sleepy Frannie in bed, and was on her way into work by half past six. The weather forecaster on the radio told her it was likely to be a dry Bonfire Night and she sighed. Bonfire Night. Every fifth of November was a nightmare for all the emergency services, and yet the British people loved it.

Her first job on reaching her office was to ring the hospital for an update on Beth; her team would want to know how she was doing. The news was neither good nor bad. Beth was still heavily sedated, with no visible changes, but tests would be performed later in the week. Erica thanked the nurse and said she hoped to be able to call round later.

She put down the phone and rubbed her arms. Tests being performed had sounded ominous to her, and she decided not to mention that. It was enough to say there was no change and she was still under sedation. But the mention of tests being performed worried her. Brain stem?

Erica gathered her papers together and walked into a full briefing room. ‘Is everybody here?’ she quietly asked Flick.

Flick nodded. ‘Yes, boss. You’re good to go.’

Erica tapped on a desk, and the room became quiet. ‘Okay, this is a briefing session, but I want all bums on a chair or a desk, we’re not here for two minutes and then out. I want to hear thoughts, I’m going to give you new information, and by the end of this week I’m hoping we’ll be moving on to the next case.’

She waited through the clatter of chairs being moved, and once everybody was settled she moved across to the whiteboard. She pointed to the pictures. ‘We let these four girls down. In twenty-fourteen we didn’t catch the killer who has ultimately moved on to killing these four beautiful young women. As you already know, it’s definitely the same person. The roman numerals carved into the palms was never revealed, neither was the removal of the little fingertip and yet it has carried on with this new set of murders. Even without the presence of DNA it is unquestionably the same person. There are too many similarities to even doubt that.

‘However, things are moving on apace. We received a valuable clue on Saturday which is a kind of confirmation that the black car used to pick up Susanna Roebuck was driven by the killer. That same car, an older-type Fiesta, was seen around ten o’clock in the car park adjoining the pocket park on the banks of the Porter where we have DNA evidence of Susie being left there by the killer. When Ian went to the park on Saturday he was offered help with putting on his waders by a young woman.’ She waited while the laughter and claps for Ian died down before continuing, and trying to hide the grin on her own face.

‘Ian being Ian, he declined the offer, but talked to the young woman and her partner, who, it appears, have been in a cottage in the New Forest for a few days. They’ve only caught up with the news since Friday night when they returned home, so went down to the pocket park on Saturday to see if there was any police presence still there. And there was our Ian. They told him on that Sunday night, when we know Susie was positioned in the park, they had a