Free A Question of Identity by Susan Hill Page B

the coppers everything because he’d seen everything, but they didn’t want to know. It annoyed him. A lot of things annoyed him. He’d heard what one of them said – ‘Get Parks out of here.’ What for? He hadn’t done anything and he had evidence. Nobody else had seen what he’d seen, which was all of it. Nobody else. He saw a lot of things at night that nobody else saw. He could have told the coppers plenty. But why would he? ‘Get Parks out of here.’ They’d no respect.
    The snow had stopped and was starting to melt a bit, but hewasn’t going out unless he had to and he didn’t have to yet. He’d got plenty of tins, he’d got tea. He was all right. By the time he had the feeling he had to go out at night or his head would burst, the snow would have gone.
    He turned over the blanket and did the same with the old eiderdown, which had a rip in the top and stuffing coming out. He turned his pillow over as well. That was the bed made. The curtains at the windows were thick wool, made out of ancient coats strung together. They helped warm the room.
    There was an upstairs room in the shack. Two rooms. But he hadn’t been upstairs for fifteen years.
    He took off his jacket, kept his trousers and jersey on. Got into bed again.
    A siren sounded along the main road. Then it was quiet. Snow made everything quiet. It was just before noon.
    Nobby Parks slept.

Ten
    ‘ STAY WITH US, Molly . . . stay with us. You all right there, Doc?’
    Cat was cramped up beside the stretcher in the air ambulance, holding Molly’s hand and watching the paramedic adjust the leads that were attached to her, recording everything, showing the faintest of pulses, the blood pressure so low it did not seem possible the girl could be alive. Her face was chalky and looked oddly flat beneath the oxygen mask, as if the features were sinking back into her head.
    ‘Any idea how many she’s taken?’
    Cat shook her head. Molly had been prescribed antidepressants, tranquillisers and beta blockers by her GP. Cat had found two empty foil packs, one with a few tablets left, but she did not know how many there had been for Molly to take in the first place.
    The helicopter began to descend. Out of the window, Cat could see nothing but white fields, tipped at a sick-making angle. Air ambulance pilots were skilled and experienced and she was not afraid, just queasy.
    ‘Landing in two minutes. How’s she doing?’
    ‘Be glad to get there,’ the paramedic said into his mouthpiece. Meaning, get a move on, we’re losing her.
    Cat agreed.
    She had rung Hallam House before leaving the hospice but there had been no reply. She had left a message, then tried as manyother people as she could think of, but either nobody answered or else her friends were marooned by the snow.
    ‘I can look after Felix. We’ll be fine. I know what not to do and you
have
to go in the ambulance with Molly.’
    Cat had looked into her daughter’s face. Hannah’s expression was assured, serious.
    Could she? How irresponsible would it be to leave her in charge of a five-year-old, when she had no idea how long it would be before she could get back?
    ‘No,’ she said. ‘I know you’re twelve and I know you’re sensible, Hanny, but anything could happen.’
    ‘Such as what? I won’t cook anything, I won’t answer the door, I won’t –’
    ‘Anything might happen.’
    ‘You have to go with Molly. What if she wakes up and doesn’t know what’s happening or where she is? That’d be so scary. Listen . . .’
    The helicopter had clattered over the house before coming down into the pony field where the snow had drifted high up against the barn, leaving patches of grass just visible.
    Dear God, what should I do? Tell me what to do.
    The answer came with the sound of an engine and Judith, driven in a neighbour’s Land Rover.
    ‘One minute.’
    Cat had her hand over Molly’s. She could still feel a thready pulse but in spite of the thermal blanket over her, the girl was