Free Fighting for the Dead by Nick Oldham Page B

glances. Then Colin’s eyes opened again. ‘Thanks for coming . . . y’know, the shop and all that . . . appreciated.’
    â€˜Not a problem.’
    A great weariness seemed to enshroud him and he closed his eyes and fell asleep instantly.
    Diane sat on a chair next to the bed and took her husband’s hand. She looked desperately at Flynn, who did not know how to react to the expression.
    â€˜Bugger,’ he said.
    â€˜Yeah,’ she agreed.
    â€˜Look, I’ll go and have a mooch around and be back a bit later to see where you’re at, eh?’
    She nodded.
    â€˜Shit,’ Flynn said under his breath as he walked out of the unit with one last glance at Colin.
    Following an interminable wait for an X-ray, Henry was back in the casualty unit for an equally long wait to be seen by a consultant. He sat miserably in the waiting area, but fortunately the pain was ebbing slightly after he’d been given some analgesics. He was eventually summoned to a curtained cubicle where he was told to lie on an uncomfortable couch and wait for a doctor who would be along soon. The whole unit was moderately busy, but being short-staffed, everyone was chasing their tails doing several jobs at once.
    He tried to relax, lying back and thinking through the day.
    It seemed such a long time since he had looked at the frozen body of the unknown murder victim, and he hadn’t given her any consideration since. She had lain unforgotten for such a long time, he almost thought that another day would not make any difference. The more urgent incidents that had happened seemed to insist on being dealt with first . . . but Henry dismissed that idea.
    Her death had to be investigated properly and it wasn’t going to wait any longer. It would be all too easy to let the new stuff take precedence – after all, it was new and it had resulted in him being battered, and he was fuming about that – but he would not allow that to happen. Just by having her drawer pulled out of the fridge, he had obliged himself to get to grips with her murder.
    Not that anyone would be bothered even if he did nothing for another two weeks. Except it did matter, would matter to her family, whoever and wherever they were. She deserved to be treated properly and professionally, and so far it looked as though that was not the case.
    And that was one of the things Henry prided himself on . . . fighting for the dead.
    Then he started to think about Jennifer Sunderland and what little he knew about her and her husband, Harry. Rich people, good life – on the surface. But what was there underneath, what would Henry find when he scraped away the veneer?
    â€˜Behind closed doors,’ he heard himself say and thought about Harry Sunderland, whose reaction to the news of his wife’s death did seem genuine . . . except for one niggling thing . . . which was giving Henry a very strange sensation.
    Could I be wrong? he wondered. But if he was right, what significance did it have?
    He didn’t know.
    His face hurt – a lot – and all of a sudden he didn’t care.
    All he wanted was to get out of hospital and go to bed.
    He opened his good eye when he heard the curtain swish back – and the most beautiful sight in the world stood before him.
    â€˜Babe,’ he whispered.
    â€˜God, Henry,’ Alison Marsh gasped on seeing his battered face. She swooped across the gap towards him, her eyes taking in all his injuries. ‘You didn’t say you were hurt this badly,’ she complained.
    â€˜Looks worse than it is,’ he lied.
    â€˜I don’t believe that,’ she said, cutting through the fib. ‘I was a military nurse, you know.’
    Alison Marsh was Henry’s ‘lady-friend’. He wasn’t exactly certain what the correct term was. ‘Girlfriend’ seemed inappropriate, ‘partner’ not quite right, because they didn’t live