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“Have you heard any news from the hospital about DS Archer?” she asked after a long silence.
“No. The information would come to DI Whetford, and he hasn’t chosen to say anything to me.”
Definitely embarrassed. And not a little annoyed.
They pulled into the hospital car park and Gabriella found arriving with a police officer got her ahead of the queue.
DC Hartridge left her after she was checked in, and the doctor —who seemed harried, grumpy and tired, even though it was barely past midday—wrapped her hand firmly, telling her she was lucky not to have broken anything.
Seeing as she was there, she found Mr. Rodney’s room and popped in to visit him, but he was sleeping and the nurses didn’t want him disturbed, so she left a note and then went to find DS Archer.
James.
She would have to call him DS Archer in front of his colleagues, but she guessed they were on first name terms in private, now.
When she arrived at his room, she found Hartridge was visiting, and he glanced up with interest as she knocked softly and entered.
“Gabriella.” James was lying in a tightly made bed, with a bandage around his head to match the one around her hand. He struggled to sit up as she came closer, pulling at the sheets.
Hartridge’s eyes widened a little.
James caught sight of her hand, and narrowed his eyes. “I saw you were favoring it before, but I didn’t realize you needed the hospital.”
“I caught it in the van door, trying to stop it slamming closed while they were driving us to the warehouse.” She lifted a shoulder. “Nothing’s broken. It’s just bruised.”
“I don’t remember that.” He looked upset.
“You were unconscious at the time. There’s nothing for you to remember.”
There was a moment of uncomfortable silence, which Gabriella didn’t like.
She had had enough of things she didn’t like today. So she approached the bed, took James’s hand with her uninjured one, and gave it a squeeze. “I’m glad you’re all right. When do they think you’ll be well enough to be released?”
“Tomorrow afternoon.” He squeezed her hand back. “I’ll come round when I’m out, ask you about what happened after you got down from the garage roof.”
“She’s been through that already, sir. With DI Whetford.” Hartridge glanced at her, as if waiting for her to say something about the interview.
“Whetford?” James struggled up again, finally sitting up against the pillows. “He doesn’t know anything about the case.”
“He took it on himself to get involved. There’s been a bit of a rumble what with a detective being kidnapped. The higher-ups don’t like the sound of it.”
James looked thunderous, and Gabriella realized she didn’t understand the politics of New Scotland Yard, and she found she didn’t care.
“You can come over and ask me anyway, if you want,” she said to James. “I’m going to go home now and rest.”
She nodded to Hartridge and had reached the door when James called out.
“Gabriella, how are you getting home?”
“The bus,” she said.
“No.” He yanked viciously at his blankets, trying to get out of the bed. “No, you’re not.”
“James, what are you doing?”
He had managed to free himself from the confining linen, and stood swaying in a ghastly green hospital gown, his hair standing up around his head. “This man has killed twice. And he has gone after you himself, and sent some thugs after you, then went after you again. He thinks you can identify him and he has even more reason now than before to try to eliminate you. He also knows where you live. You are not taking the bus.”
“I’ll take her home, sir.” Hartridge’s cheeks were pink.