Free Dark Spaces by Helen Black Page A

court.’
    Mr Manchester was now so angry he could not speak, but he didn’t scare Lilly. Let him throw her in the bloody cells.
    ‘There is no point, sir.’ She fixed him with the coldest of glares. ‘Because Lydia Morton-Daley is dead.’
     
    Jack was mightily pissed off.
    He wasn’t a man prone to the excesses of ego, not up himself in the slightest, he’d like to think, but Mary, Mother of God, this was a joke. He was an officer in the MCU, and shouldn’t be dealing with suicides.
    He’d only allowed himself to get sucked into this one because the woman on control had no uniform in the vicinity of the Grove.
    ‘Please, Jack,’ she’d said. ‘It’ll be a five-minute job, straight in and out.’
    A soft touch, that was his trouble.
    He stalked his way down the corridor to the room where he’d been told he would find the body. A young nurse hovered in the doorway, passing in and out like an agitated insect.
    ‘I’m afraid I can’t let anyone in.’ She pushed a flustered hand against the pink spots appearing on each cheek. ‘Not until the police arrive.’
    ‘I am the police,’ Jack snapped, immediately sorry for his tone. It wasn’t this poor woman’s fault that he’d been sent on an errand like a rookie two weeks into the job.
    ‘Sorry … I didn’t … you’re not …’ She waved a hand at his jeans and leather jacket.
    ‘No worries,’ he said.
    The truth was the task wasn’t the only thing affecting his mood. There was also the Grove itself. A mental institution. A loony bin. And memories of his youngest sister Teresa, being dragged away screaming.
    ‘Jack.’ She’d held her arms out to him. ‘Tell Mammy I don’t want to be here.’
    Everyone said it was the best place for her. That she’d soon get better. But she hadn’t, had she? And neither had the wee girl lying on the other side of the door.
    ‘Who’s in charge of the wing?’ Jack asked the nurse.
    ‘Doctor Piper,’ she said.
    ‘And where is he?’
    The nurse scrabbled for her pager. ‘I don’t know. I bleeped him ages ago.’
    ‘Never mind,’ said Jack. ‘Let’s crack on.’
    As he entered the room, what hit him first was the deep sense of peace. The room was bare and silent and cold. The girl in the bed could have easily been asleep, her eyes closed, her mouth relaxed, her duvet pulled up to her chest.
    ‘What’s her name?’ Jack turned to the nurse.
    She took a tentative step over the threshold, one foot in the room, the other still outside. ‘Lydia,’ she said. ‘Lydia Morton-Daley.’
    Double-barrelled surname. Expensive haircut. Posh kid, Jack guessed.
    He skirted round the body to the bedside table. There were some white pills scattered around.
    ‘Do you know what these are?’ he asked.
    ‘Probably her prescription,’ said the nurse. ‘I think she was taking Xanax.’
    ‘How many would it take to kill a girl this size?’ he asked.
    ‘I’m not sure. Depends what they’re mixed with.’ The nurse frowned. ‘I don’t know how she had access to medication. Everything’s locked away. We’re very careful to only give out one dose at a time.’
    Jack shrugged. ‘I’d say someone wasn’t careful enough.’
    He looked on the table for a note. Nothing. He checked on the floor. Nothing.
    ‘So, Lydia, did you leave us any clue as to why you did this to yourself?’
    The nurse coughed. ‘Obviously she wasn’t well or happy.’
    ‘Obviously.’ Jack moved back to the bed. ‘Could you come here, nurse?’
    Her eyes shot open but her feet didn’t move.
    ‘First time?’ Jack asked.
    The nurse nodded.
    ‘Sorry,’ he said. And he was. You never forgot your first. It made its indelible mark on you. ‘I want to lift the cover and I’d like you to witness me doing it.’
    ‘Why?’ The nurse sounded aghast.
    ‘Allegations are sometimes made about theft or other matters. Just a precaution to protect Lydia and me.’
    ‘I meant why do you need to lift the cover?’ asked the nurse.
    ‘Oh