Michael Robotham - Bleed For Me

‘She’s traumatised,’ I say.

The doctor nods and scratches his initials on a form. ‘Quite possibly, but the neurologist wants to rule out brain damage. He’s ordered a CT scan.’

Cray opens the door. Helen Hegarty is sitting beside Sienna’s bed, holding her daughter’s hand. Tight-lipped and tired, she’s dressed in her nurse’s uniform with the pockets of her cardigan stretched out of shape. Her dyed hair is falling out of a kind of topknot and occasionally she reaches up and pats it with her hand.

The detective motions her outside. Helen kisses Sienna’s forehead, telling her she won’t be long.

‘Mrs Hegarty, I’m Detective Chief Inspector Cray. We’ve met once or twice before.’

‘You were at Ray’s farewell.’

The DCI nods gently. ‘That’s right. I’m investigating his death.’

The statement seems to wash over Helen.

‘Ray was a good friend. A fine detective.’

‘Thank you.’

‘Has Sienna said anything?’

Helen shakes her head. ‘She woke about an hour ago. Her eyes opened and she said hello, but then she fell asleep again.’

‘That’s a good sign,’ I tell her. ‘She’s probably just trying to process things.’

Helen glances at me. ‘You’re Charlie’s dad.’

‘Yes. Call me Joe.’

Helen wipes her hands before she shakes mine. ‘Thank you for finding her.’

Ronnie Cray motions her to a chair. Helen sits, unsure of where to put her hands. She presses them in her lap. The detective sits next to her, turning her body so they face each other, knees almost touching.

‘What time did you leave the house last night, Mrs Hegarty?’

‘At about a twenty to six.’

‘How long have you worked at St Martin’s?’

‘Four years.’

‘Where was Sienna when you went to work?’

‘On her way home. There was a rehearsal at school. She’s in the musical.’ Helen looks up at me. ‘Joe was bringing her home.’

Cray turns to me for an explanation.

‘But Sienna called you,’ I say to Helen. ‘She told you that her boyfriend was going to bring her home. I heard her talking to you.’

A sad, crumpled smile creases her face. ‘She can be such a devil.’ As soon as the words leave her lips she regrets them. ‘I don’t mean . . . Sienna wouldn’t do anything to hurt . . . she loved her dad.’

Cray interrupts her. ‘What do you know about this boyfriend?’

‘I haven’t met him, but I know he’s older and he drives a car.’

‘Do you know his name?’

‘Danny Gardiner.’

‘How long has Sienna been seeing him?’

‘About eight months.’ Helen glances at me, looking for understanding. ‘I tried to put a stop to it because Sienna was only thirteen, but she was always sneaking out to see him. You can’t lock them up, can you? Sometimes I wish I could.’

‘How did Sienna meet him?’

‘Danny went to school with Lance - my son.’

‘Does he live locally?’

‘Somewhere in Bath. His mother works as a tour guide.’

The DCI presses her chin to her chest, choosing her words carefully. ‘Do you know what time Sienna got home last night?’

Helen shakes her head.

‘And you weren’t expecting your husband back?’

‘Not until Friday.’

There is a pause. I’m watching Helen’s body language, looking for signs of outright deception or omission. Shy and unadorned, she strikes me as a hard worker, private and uncomplicated. She must have been a beauty in her youth, but lack of sleep and a poor diet have spun the clock forward.

A few times I’ve seen her walking through the village dressed in clothes that might have been bought twenty years ago. She reminded me of a factory worker during the war, when women took over men’s jobs, wearing loose dungarees and oversized cardigans. It made her about as sexy as an older sister, but she went about her business with a quiet acceptance.

‘Who knew your husband was coming home last night?’ asks Cray.

She shrugs.

‘Sienna?’

‘I don’t think so.’

‘How did they get on - Ray and Sienna?’

‘Fine. They had their moments.’

‘Moments?’

Helen holds the cuffs of her cardigan in her closed fists. ‘You try to set boundaries. Kids try to cross them.’

‘Did your husband ever touch Sienna inappropriately? Did he ever give you any cause for concern?’

Helen’s face goes through a transformation from concern to amazement and then anger.

‘Not my Ray! He wouldn’t do something like that.’

Her features have become tighter and smaller, rushing to the centre of her face.

‘How dare you suggest - how dare you think . . . He hated nonces. He put them away.’

Cray reaches out and touches Helen’s hand. ‘I’m sorry. It’s something I had to ask.’

I know exactly what the DCI has done. Sienna is an obvious suspect who has yet to be interviewed. With one simple question, Cray has undermined one of her possible defences - sexual abuse. Helen might change her mind later, but the impact of her future testimony will be diluted, picked apart by the prosecution, made less believable.

Cray continues to talk softly, asking if Ray Hegarty had any obvious enemies. Had he argued with anyone? Did he have any money worries?

‘We have to interview Sienna, you understand?’

Helen’s gaze drifts past me to the hospital room.

‘You can be there or you can ask someone else - another adult to be with her. Someone like Professor O’Loughlin.’

‘My Sienna didn’t do it . . . she wouldn’t . . .’

‘Detective Sergeant Abbott is going to take you to Flax Bourton Coroner’s Court. Somebody has to formerly identify Ray’s body. Can you do that for me? I could ask one of your other children.’

‘No. I’ll do it.’

Monk steps forward and picks up Helen’s handbag from the floor.

From the far end of the corridor comes the sound of a commotion, heavy boots and shouting. Lance Hegarty knocks over a young nurse who is trying to slow him down. Wearing a scuffed leather jacket and grease-stained jeans, his hair is shaved to black stubble that looks like a skullcap on his pale skin.

Monk intercepts him, hooking one arm across his chest, plucking him off his feet.

‘Get your hands off me, you black bastard!’

Helen yells, ‘Put him down!’

Monk and Cray exchange a glance. It says more than words.

The DS releases his hold and Lance wraps his arms around his mother, stroking her hair with a tattooed hand. Then he looks at Cray, challenging her.

‘What happened to Sienna? Did someone hurt her? Who did it?’

The DCI puts a hand on his shoulder. ‘Your father is dead. I’m sorry for your loss.’

‘You’re sorry?’

‘He was a fine man.’

‘He was a fucking monster!’

The words seem to detonate in the enclosed space. Helen puts her hand on Lance’s chest. Fingers spread. Calming him.

Lance looks at her. ‘What about sis?’

Cray answers. ‘Sienna is going to be just fine.’

‘Can I see her? Is she in there?’

Before Lance can reach the door, Monk bodychecks him.

‘Get this gorilla away from me!’

The DCI rocks forward and digs a thumb into Lance’s ribs. He flinches and whines, ‘What was that for?’

‘That’s to remind you to show some respect, son.’

Lance gives her a denigrating sneer before lowering his gaze. I watch from the doorway as he approaches the bed. One look at Sienna and his anger evaporates. Reaching out, he tentatively brushes his fingers across her hand lying open-palmed on the sheet.

Sienna’s eyelids flutter.

‘Hey, kid!’

She smiles weakly. ‘You’ve never held my hand.’

‘Sure I have.’