Gardners, Ditchers, and Gravemakers (A DCI Thatcher Yorkshire Crimes Book 4) by Oliver Davies (best black authors txt) 📗

“Did anyone see who?” I asked with a frown.

“No, sir. But we’ve sent Waters over to cover it while we stay put.”

“Good. And inside?”

“No word from inside, sir. The hospital has restricted access to the hallway, so there won’t be any civilians milling about.”

I breathed a sigh of relief. “Good work. We’ll be there in five,” I told him, figuring out where in the city we were as Mills whirled us through the streets.

“Roger that, sir.”

The radio went quiet, and I clung to my seat as Mills deftly dodged some groups of tourists that wandered along the wide roads and clipped the kerb in the process.

“I would quite like to get to the hospital in one piece, Isaac,” I told him through clenched teeth. He gave a short, dry laugh, and eased up slightly as he took us down the road to the hospital, swooping into a space to park.

We practically fell from the car, me getting my legs all twisted as I tripped over the pavement in my dash to the hospital entrance. One of the PC’s approached me. The others stayed at their post.

“Sir,” he nodded to me, walking with us to the door. It was Baker. He was who I spoke to over the radio.

“Mills and I will head inside, go to Whelan’s room. If there’s a sign of him, let me know. Bear in mind, he might be armed with a drug of some kind.”

Baker nodded his stern-looking face and squared his shoulders back. I nodded to Mills, and he followed me through into reception, where we received an acknowledging grim smile from the nurse on duty. We strode straight past, coats flying behind us, heading to the stairs, not in any mood to wait for the lift. The stairwell was empty, quiet, and nothing but the sound of our shoes on the stone slabs filled the echoing space as we legged it up several flights to the floor where Abbie was.

I slowed down as we neared her hallway, walking around the corner at a pace that didn’t make us look mad, and gave me a chance to catch my breath. I ought to go on more runs, or at least, any runs. As I rounded the corner, I spotted the constable outside her room, slumped on his chair. Anger brewed, if he had fallen asleep on duty… then I spotted his arm. It hung limply by his side, and on the floor just beneath his fingertips was his radio. Shit.

I charged down the hall, Mills dropping to the constable’s side and pressing his hand against his neck.

“Alive,” he breathed, calling into his radio for help. I walked to the door, and my stomach dropped.

Kask. Standing over Abbie’s bed, a horrible looking needle in his raised fist.

I shouldered the door open and charged in, getting an arm around his waist and tackling him away from Abbie. Mills ran in after me and kicked the needle from Kask’s hand as he struggled against me. I got him on his front, arms twisted around his back and slipped the handcuffs into place before standing up and dragging him to his feet by the back of his collar. He’d stopped fighting and hung limply in my grip like a puppet with its string cut.

“Toomas Kask, you are being arrested for the suspected murder of Sonia Petrilli and the attempted murder of Abigail Whelan. You do not have to say anything. But it may harm your defence if you do not mention when questioned something which you later rely on in court. Anything you do say may be given in evidence.”

I shoved him towards the door, to the PCs from outside that came running to us, confused and bewildered as to how he got in.

“Take him to the station,” I ordered Baker. He nodded, gripping Kask from the back of his arms and walked him towards the door. I leant against the wall, the adrenaline waning, and turned around to look at Abbie. A doctor and nurse had come running, and were bent over her, flustering.

“We’ll check over her vitals,” the nurse said, ushering us to the door. “And call you when she’s ready to take visitors.”

I didn’t want to leave. I wanted to talk to her now whilst everything was fresh, but Abbie looked so small in her hospital bed, wide-eyed and confused and so much like Grace that I led Mills drag from the room, the door shut in our faces.

“By the time we’ve got Kask in the station and processed, she’ll be ready,” he muttered. I nodded, knowing he was right, and shrugged him off. We climbed into his car and drove slowly back to the station, where Baker had got Kask into a cell, and we got to begin the fun paperwork ahead.

Someone from forensics came up to us, taking a sample of DNA to compare with the blood found with Abbie. Sharp stuck her head into us, sliding us both a cup of coffee. Weariness had begun to sink in, all the panic and rushing of the last few days, leaving me feeling bone-tired and nearly falling asleep at the desk. I slurped at the coffee Sharp brought, my head propped up on my fist as Mills” pen scratched across the page. When my phone rang, we both jumped like we’d been electrocuted. As I picked it up, Mills groaned, rubbing his face with his hands.

It was Paige.

“Miss Whelan,” I answered.

“You got him?” She asked with no beating around the bush.

“We’ve got him.”

She laughed breathlessly, ‘thank God. And you, I suppose. Anyway, Abbie’s awake. You can come and see her.”

“We’ll be there right away,” I told her, finishing my coffee in three big gulps, slipping my phone back into my pocket. Mills stood up, pulling his coat on with a slowness that I knew I had also had. The day had been long, and I was very much looking forward to bed now. But we got