‘Where’s Frankie? Where is she?’ Helen gasped as she pulled to a halt beside them, the PC catching up and grabbing hold of her. She shook him off. Her face twisted with contempt as she looked at the dead woman on the stretcher, the paramedics preparing a second body bag. There was not an ounce of compassion or fear at being witness to such recent death. ‘Is that her? Is that the bitch who took my baby?’

Then her eyes widened and Patrick followed her gaze. Liam McConnell was sitting in the back of an ambulance with two policewomen. His own eyes were like saucers and he was pale, but he was alive, found. Whereabouts known. Tonight he would be back with his family. Whatever else happened now, Patrick told himself he had to remember that. They had reunited one family with their lost child.

‘Where’s Frankie?’ Helen insisted. ‘She’s not still in there, is she?’

Patrick steeled himself.

‘Mrs Philips, I need you to remain calm. Frankie’s not here. It doesn’t look like she was ever here.’

Chapter 26

Chapter 26
Patrick – Day 4

As soon as he could get out of DB1, Patrick headed back to the station. He’d only intended to go there to pick up his car, but once he was through the doors, he sat down at his desk and found he couldn’t move. To give himself an excuse to stay at his desk, he switched on his computer and surfed around news and social media websites reading all the breaking news reports with their differing slants and conclusions: ‘SIEGE ENDS IN DISASTER – POLICE SHOOT TWO DEAD’ ‘LIAM MCCONNELL FOUND, FRANKIE STILL MISSING’, ‘FRANKIE PHILIPS’ MOTHER DISTRAUGHT’ . . .

The only person who was happy right now – apart from Liam’s parents – was Wesley, who was already back at the travellers’ camp, having been immediately released from custody.

Eventually Patrick’s hand stilled on the computer’s mouse and he surrendered to his exhaustion. His eyes closed and he tried to empty his throbbing head. The noise of the door opening made him jump. It was Suzanne.

‘Didn’t think you were still here,’ he said, wearily squinting at her through one eye.

‘Nor should you be. Particularly not with that egg on your forehead. You look like you either need a drink or medical attention, and, call me selfish, but personally I think the former is the preferred option. Swift half before we wend our ways home?’

Patrick grinned weakly. His head was still pounding, and if he was honest, he knew he probably should be checked out for a mild concussion – but Suzanne was inviting him for a drink? He’d have to be missing a limb to turn that down.

‘I’m fine, boss. The Nurofen are kicking in. You’re right ‒ I need a drink way more than I need to sit in Casualty for four hours.’

‘Let’s go.’