Vicious Cycle (A DCI Thatcher Yorkshire Crimes Book 9) Read online

  “Fair enough.”

  I heard the sound of footsteps approaching, the nurse talking, and then the curtain was drawn back, and Liene walked in, her skin flushed from the cold and the speed with which she’d carried herself through the hospital.

  “Thank you,” she said to the nurse, who smiled kindly and withdrew, twitching the curtain back into place.

  Liene looked me over, a mixture of emotions on her face. I suspected that whatever anger or irritation she had felt on her way over here fizzled away, and she walked over with a soft sigh, taking my hand.

  “You alright?”

  “I’ll live.”

  “The nurse said you’ve got some cracked ribs.”

  “At least they’re not broken,” I offered.

  She rolled her eyes and looked over to Mills. “Thanks, Isaac. How are you?”

  “My shoulder hurts,” he said, rolling it back. “He weighs a lot.”

  Liene laughed, and I shook my head. “Mocking the injured, how rude.”

  “It’s your own fault,” Mills reminded me, rising from the chair and offering it to Liene. She walked around, giving him a quick hug, and settled onto the chair, skirting closer.

  “I should have known you’d do something like this,” she said, her tone gentle. “What with everything going on.”

  “I didn’t think it through,” I admitted. “But it has nothing to do with anything else.”

  “No?” She asked disbelievingly. “Nothing to do with a killer you didn’t catch or your mother or Jeannie?”

  I held in a sigh, closing my eyes briefly. “Maybe.”

  “Maybe,” she echoed. I opened my eyes to find her looking down at me, a worried look on her face.

  “I’m sorry,” I offered.

  Liene looked my face over, down to my body hidden beneath the starched hospital sheets. She gave me a small smile and leant forward to kiss my forehead.

  “I know.” Then she smirked. “I’m done, Mara!” She called, rising from the chair.

  I groaned, rolling my head back as Sharp strode in with a face like thunder. It was always jarring not seeing her in her work clothes, the smart suit replaced with a pair of jeans and a bright jumper, her hair tied up with a scarf. It didn’t matter, though. She was scary enough no matter what she wore. She stopped at the foot of my bed, arms folded and looked down at me.

  “I’ll leave you to it,” Liene said, making to walk away. “I told Billie I’d give her a call.” She touched Mara’s arm as she walked past a sheepishly smug Mills, who wandered back over to my side.

  Sharp sighed, her eyes shut, fingers pinching the bridge of her nose. “Tell me why I shouldn’t kick you off this sodding case, Detective Chief Inspector Thatcher?”

  Oh, the full name, that was never good.

  “Ma’am…” I tried.

  “You should be on medical leave if nothing else,” she interrupted me, dropping her hands to her side. “What were you thinking, Max? Buggering off to look into a suspect is all well and good, but you do it by the book, and you take Mills with you!”

  “I know, Mara,” I said, keeping my voice level.

  She pointed her finger at me. “I should, by all accounts, remove you from this investigation. I should suspend you, frankly, and HQ will expect me to, as well. Do you think I need the Chief Constable calling me up asking why I let my detectives run amok? Getting hit with pipes?”

  “A pipe?” Lena appeared through the curtain, a very interested look on her face. “You got hit with a pipe?”

  “Why are you here?” Sharp asked her.

  Crowe pointed at me. “My friend is in hospital, and he’s usually my patient.” She looked at Mills and me now. “I’m not good enough for cracked ribs now?”

  “Lena,” Sharp sighed. “Can this wait?”

  “Can this?” I asked. “Surely, this is usually the sort of conversation we’d have in the station,” I said meaningfully. “Officially.”

  Sharp narrowed her eyes at me, and Lena stepped forward. “With all due respect, ma’am,” she said. “I don’t think taking him off the case is the best.”

  “Why?”

  “He knows the case,” Crowe answered. “He’s worked on it before, and he knows how it goes.”

  Sharp hummed, her arms folded, foot tapping on the ground.

  “He’s your best detective,” Mills put in quietly. “He should step back a bit,” he said quickly before I could interrupt. “For medical reasons, but he has me and Fry to do any of the physical stuff. But we need his brain, ma’am.”

  Sharp looked at him, then at Crowe and sighed heavily. “You know that we’re already under a microscope here,” she said. “From the public, the press, the bosses. Everyone.”

  “I know,” I said with a nod.

  “You will stay here until your doctor clears you,” she said. “Then you will take any medicine prescribed or do any physical therapy necessary, and in the meantime, Mills will be Senior Investigating Officer. You can work the case quietly and from a distance.”

  “Should we not bring in another Inspector?” Mills asked, tugging at his collar.

  “Nonsense,” I answered. “You’re more than capable.”

  “And you know the case,” Crowe reminded him. “Bringing another Inspector up to date will waste time.”

  “Plus, you don’t like any of the other Inspectors,” I added.

  Lena chuckled brilliantly, falling quiet when Sharp fixed her a look. Lena dropped her eyes to her feet, and Sharp turned to me again.

  “Deal?”

  “Deal. Thank you, ma’am.”

  She waved a hand. “You’re more trouble than the rest of the station,” she said. “All three of you,” she added, pushing the curtain back and striding out, her boots clicking on the floor.

  I let out a long breath, sinking back against the thin pillows. Lena whistled quietly and walked over to me.

  “How are you then?” she asked. “Much pain?”

  There had been at first, so much that I couldn’t even get to my feet until Mills came along. It was still there, numbly throbbing along my chest, spiking with every breath I took. They’d given me some pain medication, though, mostly to ease me to sleep later.

  “I’ll be alright,” I said. “I’m just glad they’re not broken and that my lovely face is alright.”

  Lena snorted. “You’re lucky that Mills got there when he did. You’re like a cat, Maxie, always cheating the worst.”

  “Thank you?”

  She patted my head and smiled. “I’m going to speak to your doctor,” she told me. “See what the damage is.” She winked at Mills and wandered out, leaving the two of us together. I looked up at him. He was looking at the curtain, frowning.

  “You are ready,” I told him. “Neither myself nor Sharp would push you into leading the investigation if you weren’t ready. You tracked me down,” I added.

  Mills looked down at me and smiled. “I guess so.”

  “Tell me what you wanted to talk about,” I said.

  “Liene will be back in a sec,” he said, shaking his head.

  “You’ve never been on the phone with Billie, have you? Come on,” I jerked my head to the chair. “Else I’ll go mad wondering.”

  Mills sat back down on the chair and pulled a book from his deep coat pocket. Julia’s notebook, I realised. He opened it to a specific page and handed it over.

  I scanned through her recipe, warbling until I got to the last two bits. Her mention of the boys at the reserved table, and the mystery man who wanted to take her on a date.

  “It was the mention of ‘sweet tooth’ that caught my eye,” Mills said. “He obviously comes every now and then, but she seems to take special care in accommodating him, on top of the others.”

  “And she thinks she annoyed him,” I muttered, handing the book back.

  “Because she interrupted him,” he said. “It made me think about our theory, that she overheard something she wasn’t supposed to. She gets asked out on a date aro
und the same time. It’s one hell of a coincidence.”

  “It is indeed,” I agreed. “I suppose we need to find out who this ‘sweet tooth’ is. How often does she mention him?”

  “Going back, here and there. He’s not there every Saturday. According to her notebook, he seems to come fortnightly instead.”

  “I wonder why,” I mused. “He must come from somewhere else.”

  “I was wondering,” Mills said, sitting forward, “if it would be worth meeting with Harris’s informer, seeing if any of Julia’s notes ring any bells with him. He might speak a bit differently dealing with homicide detectives rather than Harris, who he knows well.”

  “A fair point,” I said. “You’ll have to run it past Harris, but I think it’s worth a shot.”

  Mills nodded, tucking the notebook back into his pocket and standing as Liene walked back in with a smile, Lena beside her.

  “Billie says hi. And that she’ll drop by tomorrow morning to see you.”

  “I have to stay overnight?”

  “You might have internal damage on your lungs,” Lena said, picking up my chart. “They’ll keep you overnight to monitor, but I imagine you’ll be out by lunchtime, sent home for bed rest for a day or two.”

  I grimaced. “Awful.”

  “Tough,” Lena grinned. “And if you don’t play ball, Maxie, I shall be over myself to deal with you.”

  I did not like the thought of having Crowe and her questionable bedside manner hovering over me, so I just nodded and settled down against the pillows.

  “I’ll drop my tomorrow, sir,” Mills said, reaching down to touch my shoulder briefly.

  “See you. And thank you, Isaac, truly. You saved my neck, again.”

  He smiled, one hand on the curtain, “you’ll pay me back one day.”

  Lena chuckled, draped her arm over his shoulder, and the two of them wandered off. Liene looked down at me.

  “I wish I could stay longer, but I have to go. Doctor’s orders.” She leant down and kissed me. “I’ve told them to call me when you’re good to be released so I can come to get you.”

  “What about the archives?”

  “My boyfriend got beaten with a pipe, screw the archives.” She smiled and looked around the room. “You’ll be okay?”

  No.

  “Of course. See you tomorrow.” I squeezed her hand as she wandered away, looking over her shoulder once more, the curtain falling back into place as she left.

  I lay my head back, suddenly in silence and let the situation sink in. I was glad that Sharp hadn’t kicked me off the case and that Mills had found me. But I was stuck in the clean, shiny, chemical hospital, which did not settle my nerves at all. Hopefully, I get some more painkillers or something and be able to sleep straight through the night, but with the questions and theories rattling around my head, I doubted it.

  Who was “sweet tooth” that Julia mentioned, and why was he so important, more so than the others? Was he someone that Harris might know? Restricting his presence in the city to avoid being seen. I thought that Mills was on the right track, wanting to speak to Harris’s informant. Not that I could help.

  I looked up at the ceiling, trying not to imagine that this was where she would have been, lying in the hospital, in pain. Alone.

  Seventeen

  Hana Miyara looked out of the window of the small, leaning shed as the sky slowly changed colour over the rooftops and trees surrounding the allotments. It hadn’t been a particularly bright day, hadn’t for a while now, the sky had been grey and calm. It was streaked with orange and pink now, the slightest touch of darkness creeping in at the edges. It looked later than it was.

  She had kept the allotments open as long as she could, not wanting to kick anybody out before they were finished, but the nights were still coming in early, would be for a few more months, and nobody wanted to try weeding their vegetable plots in darkness. Spring would come around soon, though, and they could stay open long enough for people to drop by after work or bring their kids after school.

  The only people Hana had seen today were the old couple who grew fruits in the shaded patch by the fence and the woman with multicoloured hair who somehow managed to make everything grow even through winter. Hana didn’t know their names yet, hadn’t really been here long enough to. She liked the work, though, liked being able to watch people garden, and liked working on some plots herself. Flowers mostly, she couldn’t eat all the vegetables she grew unless she wanted courgettes for every single one of her dinners. It wasn’t always nice in the wind and the rain, but her little shed had a heater in it and a kettle that the farmer who owned the land had left in here, and there was something pleasant about sitting inside with a warm cup of tea looking out over the plants, rain tapping against the window, listening to music or reading. There wasn’t ever much work for her to do since all the people who came to the allotment had done so for years. They were all friends, and the most interesting thing Hana had done recently was re-secure the fence to make sure rabbits weren’t getting in.

  “Knock-knock,” the multi-coloured haired woman said through the open window, wiping some soil from her face. “Hana, isn’t it?”

  “That’s right.”

  “I’m Miriam,” she said, sticking her hand through the window. Hana smiled and shook her hand, trying not to knock over the little pots that were balanced on the desk below the glass. “How do you like it here? Seems boring work for a young woman like you.”

  “I like it,” Hana said. “It’s nice to be out in nature every day.”

  Miriam smiled. “I must admit, you do look cosy in there sometimes.”

  “You should join me next time,” Hana said. “I’ve got a few extra mugs in here, and it’s still cold as hell out there.” Even in the shed with her tea and heater, Hana was bundled in a few layers, a big jumper thrown over her dungarees.

  “That it is,” Miriam agreed. “Hopefully, it won’t last much longer, though. I’d like to get some rhubarb growing. My mum’s favourite, she makes a mean crumble. I’ll have to bring you a slice.”

  Hana grinned. “Sounds good to me.”

  They chatted for a bit longer, or rather Miriam chatted, and Hana sat and nodded and smiled at the appropriate times until Miriam glanced at the clock behind Hana’s shoulder and realised she was running late and hurried off to catch her bus. Hana looked round at the clock herself once Miriam had gone. It wasn’t long until it was time to close up the allotments, so she slid from the stool and washed the few dishes that she had gathered over the day, packing her book and phone back into her bag.

  She turned off the wireless radio she’d carted in with her a few days ago, plunging the shed into quiet. Birds were singing faintly outside, but it was still too cold for them really, and the road was far enough away that she could just about make out a few cars whirring past. Hana wasn’t a fan of silence, never really had been, so she dug her phone from her pocket and plugged her headphones in, draping them around her neck so that she could just hear the music and as she walked around, making sure everything was turned off before she locked the shed door and walked through the allotment, keeping her eyes open to ensure no tools had been left lying around that someone might trip over in the morning. The farmer had one or two ghastly stories about trowels and hand forks that had made her extra careful. She pulled the gates shut and locked them tight, the clanging ringing out through the night, then slipped the key into her pocket and turned home.

  The allotment wasn’t far from a small cluster of houses, a few little parks scattered here and there, and Hana was sure there was a primary school not too far away. If she focused sometimes, she could hear children playing in the playground. She kept her headphones around her neck as she walked down the lane and onto the road.

  It was a nice place, well lit and safe, so Hana had never felt the need to drive herself to and from work, especially since it was only a fifteen-minute walk and she didn’t think it was worth the carbon footprint, whatever her dad might say
about it. She smiled at a woman who crossed her path, walking a small white dog that looked like a ball of cotton wool and headed down towards the city. She had a torch in her bag, and she was wearing her chunky boots as she always did at work, splattered in mud with bits of leaves and petals stuck to the grooves. Her dad had sent her an article that morning about a woman who had been murdered out by the moors. It was horrible business, and Hana’s heart had broken at yet another woman being treated so cruelly, but it was all the way out in the moors, and she knew this walk like the back of her hand.

  All the same, she stuck to the lit roads, past houses and shops and didn’t put her headphones in as she walked, tripping over a few uneven pavements and muttering about the council under her breath.

  She was trying to think about what she might do for food, and she was convinced that the only thing she had in the flat right now was some pasta and some potentially mouldy cheese. Food shopping was a job for tomorrow, but she didn’t want plain pasta, so she detoured down another road where a few coffee shops and restaurants sat, still open. She wandered down, glancing in the windows, wondering what to have, and spotted a little place tucked on the side of the road. She jogged over, scanned the menu, and walked around to check that the place was open. The lights were on, but there weren’t many people inside, a weekday, she supposed.

  Hana walked to the door anyway and pushed it open, the bell ringing over her head. There was a table of people in the far corner and a couple over by one of the front windows, so she walked over to the bar and peered over.

  “Good evening,” a beautiful woman greeted her, walking around as she tied her apron in place.

  “Evening,” Hana smiled, pausing her music. “Do you do takeaway?”

  The woman almost seemed relieved by this question, and Hana wondered if she wanted to get home soon herself. “We do indeed. What can I get for you?” she asked, handing Hana a menu.

  There weren’t many options, but Hana had never been a picky eater. Her dad had made sure of that, never the sort of man to dull the spices in something just because a six-year-old would be eating it.