Mother Love (23 page)

‘Do stay.' Sarah smiled. ‘You know why we're here?'

‘Of course. But I don't really know Olivia that well.' She rubbed the small of her back. ‘I'll be in the kitchen if you need me.'

Was it worth insisting? Not at this stage, and if it riled Kent it could be counterproductive.

She took a sip of coffee. It was instant, the biscuits non-existent. Oh, well. They weren't here to enjoy themselves. She covered the usual ground with Kent: his daughter's life and work, acquaintances, habits. Nothing new emerged and from what he said, he'd obviously not heard of Noel Barfoot, nor had Olivia confided anything about James Rust. He was well aware how great a friend Caroline King was, though she sensed his approval rating wasn't a hundred per cent. Kent seemed open, affable enough. Was happy to provide details of the Manchester hotel where he'd stayed all week, the conference he'd attended.

She glanced at Harries, who turned down a nothing-to-add-mouth. It was almost a wrap. Sensing it perhaps, Kent added a few right-sounding platitudes. ‘I couldn't believe it when Elizabeth rang to tell me what was going on. The abduction. The fire. Poor, poor girl. Naturally I got back the minute I could.'

‘You'll be seeing her today?'

‘I hope so.' The mouth tightened a fraction. ‘Elizabeth's there most of the time.'

And?
‘Is that a problem?'

‘It can be . . . difficult. Kate's quite . . . I don't like upsetting her.'

She could've helped him out with a bland, ‘I see.' But she didn't. And if she let the silence run he might clarify.

‘Elizabeth's a . . . formidable woman.' He finished the coffee, placed the mug on the tray. And that was as far as he'd go.

As they walked down the hall, Sarah asked if he'd ever heard from Jack Howe.

‘Jack? Not as often as I'd like. It's a great shame he and Liv split. I thought at one stage they'd make a go of it. He was good for her.'

Really?
‘I heard a different story from Caroline.'

Holding the door. ‘She's a journalist. Why am I not surprised?'

Sarah still had a smile on her face as they made their way to the motor. It was only when she answered her phone the expression changed.

‘What is it, boss?' Harries cut her a glance as he turned the engine.

‘Put your foot down, David. She's sitting up, talking.'

THIRTY-THREE

‘
F
or God's sake, try and remember.' Sarah snapped; for once couldn't hide her feelings: anger, impatience, frustration, bitter disappointment. Harries had jumped God knows how many lights, they'd hit the hospital in less than ten minutes and now this . . .

Olivia was unconscious again and the young nurse who'd been with her during what was supposed to have been a lucid spell was unable to recall what she'd said. They were in a corridor off the high dependency unit. Dr Pete Lovell who'd alerted Sarah leaned against the wall. Harries was parking the motor.

‘I've told you once, her voice was slurred and I wasn't really concentrating.' The name badge said Tina Small. She was red-faced and seriously overweight. Sarah wanted to shake her.

‘You must have some idea. You said she kept repeating it.'

‘It's not my fault.' She was on the verge of tears. ‘The patient was distressed. There was no one around and I wasn't sure what to do. I had to go and fetch the doctor.'

Sarah registered the exhaustion and humiliation in the young woman's eyes. She gave a wan smile. ‘I'm sorry. As you say, it's not your fault.' Sarah made to pat her arm, but the nurse backed off.

‘Can I go now, please, Dr Lovell?'

‘Sure, Tina. And don't take it personally. The police are desperate to talk to Miss Kent. DI Quinn didn't mean to sound rude.'
Did you
, was the tacit corollary.

‘That's it!' Small shrieked.

‘What?' Sarah and Lovell synchronized.

‘Quinn.' She flashed a smile. ‘Well, close anyway. It doesn't make sense and it sounds delusional but I'm pretty sure now she said something about wanting to see the King.'

The sight of Caroline King trying not to look smug was almost too much for Sarah. She concentrated instead on what Elizabeth was saying.

‘I'm sorry, DI Quinn, but when Olivia wakes again if she still wants to see Caroline then I think she should.'

She sounded anything but apologetic. ‘Of course, Mrs Kent. I just need to talk to her first. I'm the officer in charge of her—'

‘And I'm her mother.' Loosening the silk scarf from her neck, adding it to the coat over her arm.

Sarah heard the clock on the wall ticking. She counted to ten, then: ‘Surely as her mother you want to help me find—'

‘I want to do anything that helps Olivia get better.'

Sarah sensed the woman's implacability. Their priorities, which had once seemed similar, were now diverging. Olivia was back in safe hands. Elizabeth was happy. Sarah would have no peace until the man who'd put her in danger was behind bars.

‘Look, I think we all want what's best for Livvie.' King peeled herself off the chair in the corner of the small waiting room, sauntered closer to the stand-off. ‘As I see it you're both right.'

Sarah tightened her mouth; the reporter looked as if she'd just solved the war on terror.

‘Livvie wants to see me, but you need to talk to her soon as. The answer's simple.'

She could tell by the open, candid expression on King's face that simple was the last thing it would be. ‘Go on.'

‘I'll go in and see her.' The smile widened. ‘And ask the questions you need answers to.'

‘No.'

‘Why?' Elizabeth asked.

‘She's a reporter, for God's sake.' She took a deep, calming breath. ‘Look, I'm sorry but I waste a good deal of my time keeping people like her away from situations like this.'

King tapped a toe. ‘You're not my sister's keeper. And what sort of lowlife do you think I am? I'm offering to help here. It's more than you've ever done for me.'

‘Let's keep it professional, Ms King. I'm trained in interview techniques.'

‘And I'm not?' A perfect eyebrow arched.

‘You know what to ask to get a good story. We're not dealing with tomorrow's headlines or the late night news. Olivia's a vital witness in a vile crime. It's my job to find the perpetrator.' God, that sounded so sodding pompous. She unclenched her fists, realized how clammy her palms were. King looked the cool professional.

‘Look, my job isn't the issue here. I don't know how many times you need telling but I'm not acting as a reporter. My friend's in there – she needs me. End of.'

‘I just wish I could believe that.'

‘I'm sorry, DI Quinn.' Mrs Kent. ‘I do believe it.'

All three heads swivelled as the door opened. Harries appeared and trailing him a smiling ward sister. ‘Good news, Mrs Kent. She's back with us again. And is one of you two ladies Miss King? She'd like a word.'

THIRTY-FOUR

‘
I
t's OK. There's no rush.' Polite inquiries and social pleasantries dispensed with, Caroline had started posing real questions. ‘We've got all the time in the world.' She gently stroked her friend's cheek, saw the ghost of a smile appear on her lips. ‘That's more like it, Livvie.'

She gave a slight shake of the head. ‘All the time in the world. Weird expression. Reminds me of something. I'll tell you one day maybe.'

‘You bet.' Fulsome.

Then silence; the latest in a series.

The touching scene wasn't living up to Caroline's expectations. Despite the more-than-my-job's-worth protestations to Quinn, of course wanting the story was part of the deal. Caroline hadn't lied in the pub claiming she wasn't interested in flogging a few pars of copy; she intended trading the full exclusive article. So far Olivia wasn't playing ball; she'd not come out with a line, let alone a lead.

‘I really just don't want to talk about it, Caro. Sorry.' She turned her head away.

‘That's fine, Liv.' Not. She unclenched her teeth, engaged the voice into gentle coax mode. ‘But you did ask to see me. And there are people out there desperate to speak to you.' She gave Olivia a few seconds to mull it over, then: ‘Look darling, perhaps it's best I come back later. I know the police—'

‘Caro, no. Please. I don't want to talk to the police.' The plea appeared heartfelt.

‘Livvie, you have to talk to someone.' The voice was a verbal massage. It usually worked.

‘Don't try that on me, Caro. I'm just not . . . ready.'

‘I understand, but—'

‘No, Caroline. You don't.' The tone was hard. The reporter thought she heard a warning in it.

Olivia was right, Caroline didn't understand. She'd imagined Olivia gradually opening up to the gentle probing of her journalist's scalpel. She'd already cast Olivia as the brave and beautiful heroine courageously recounting her horrifying ordeal: my days with the devil, my hours of hell. Caroline could see the coverage now; Olivia wasn't even looking.

Olivia was inwardly reflecting, not sure how to say what she wanted, torn whether to say anything at all. She and Caroline had been closer than sisters. They'd shared so much, gone back so far, in a way too far. Knowing Caroline inside out, Olivia had no illusions about the reporter's priorities. Caroline loved her, for sure, but her motives for being here were mixed. It worked both ways.

‘Can I trust you, Caroline?'

‘You really need to ask?' A frown marred the flawless forehead. The hurt expression was perfect and no doubt practised.

Olivia stifled a snort. Caro hadn't answered the question, didn't need to. Olivia had seen glints in the reporter's eye before, the flared nostrils, firm mouth. Caroline scented her story, but Olivia wanted something as well and could see only one way of getting it.

‘I need to see Jack.'

‘Now I know you're delusional.'

‘I need you to find him.'

‘I'm only glad he's lost.'

‘Please, Caro. I must speak to him.'

‘Why, Livvie? He's an ace shit – you're well shot of him.'

Olivia licked her lips. ‘Do it for me, Caro? Don't tell anyone. Not mother. Not the police. Just do it, please?'

‘Is he mixed up in this madness, Olivia?' Caroline narrowed her eyes. ‘Is he?' Still no response. ‘If he is, you have to tell the police, Livvie.'

‘No. I'm not talking to them.'

Caroline gently turned Olivia's face towards her. ‘You have no choice, Olivia. There's a major investigation going on: abduction, attempted murder. You're not just the victim, you're the prime witness.'

Pausing, she held Caroline's gaze. ‘I can't give them what I don't have.' She'd no doubt the reporter's frown this time was genuine. ‘I can't remember a thing.'

THIRTY-FIVE

‘
D
oesn't remember? What the fuck's that supposed to mean?' Sarah strode to keep pace with the reporter, failed to keep a lid on her temper.

‘Keep your voice down. And watch the language. This is a hospital, y'know.'

A lecture from Caroline King? That was all she needed. Not. She wanted chapter and verse on what had transpired during the session with Olivia Kent. The reporter had hurtled out of there like a bat on speed. Woman on a mission or avoidance technique?

Sarah grabbed King's arm. ‘Will you stand still for one minute?'

‘Boss?' Harries cautioned. A porter and a couple of patients pushing drips were enjoying the floor show.

Shaking off the DI's restraining arm, King continued the power walk down the corridor. ‘You can talk to me on the go. If you must.'

Short of slapping on cuffs, Sarah didn't have much option. Harries trailed along. ‘You were in there over an hour. She must have said something.'

‘'Course. But nothing that would interest you.'

She couldn't believe it. Didn't want to believe it. ‘If you're concealing information, I'll—'

Eyes flaring, she whirled round. ‘Are you accusing me of lying?'

Aware of the gathering audience, Sarah lowered her voice. ‘Do you have any idea how serious this situation is?'

‘What do you think?' Shrugging she turned to leave again.

Sarah made another grab for her arm. ‘I think I'm trying to track down a sick bastard who almost killed your friend and you're in there talking knitting patterns. Get real, woman. What did she say?'

‘You're not tracking down anyone, Quinn. You're harassing me. Why don't you get out there and do your bloody job. I've told you twice now: she can't remember anything.'

Sarah searched the reporter's face for the merest hint of duplicity. Standing inches apart, they couldn't have been further away. The DI took a deep breath, an icy calm returning. ‘If I discover you're jeopardizing my inquiry, withholding intelligence, witness tampering or riding a bike without a bell, I'll throw the bloody library at you. Is that clear?'

‘I can't give you what I don't have.'

Sarah watched her walk away. The reporter called back over her shoulder. ‘Throw the Albert Hall if you like, you don't scare me.'

Harries cleared his throat. ‘Shall we have a word with a medico, boss?' She nodded, tight-mouthed. At least they'd discover whether the amnesia claim held water. Wandering back along the corridor, she blew out her cheeks on a sigh. ‘Well, David, that was a master class. How not to handle the press.'

When he didn't respond she cut him a glance. King may have been impervious; it looked as if she'd scared the excrement out of Harries.

Looking at her daughter, Elizabeth tried hiding her fears. Caroline had thought Olivia was just tired, needed rest. But the reporter didn't know everything. She certainly hadn't foreseen Elizabeth's polite request that Caroline leave The Gables. Piqued, was the word. Caroline would get over it, but would Olivia recover from what she'd endured? She seemed so subdued, so tearful; a pale shadow compared with how she'd been before the ordeal. Maybe it was the medication, the side effects of all the sedatives, the strong painkillers? God help her if the memories returned. According to the doctor – if Elizabeth had got it right – the amnesia could be organic, down to the carbon monoxide poisoning. Or psychogenic brought on by emotional trauma. The latter was reversible apparently and could end within hours or days. If the nightmares came flooding back, what would it do to her frail mental defences?