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Detective Inspector Laura Kesey spotted the victim almost as soon as she entered West Wales Hospital’s acute admissions ward. The skinny, nineteen-year-old girl was lying propped up on three plump pillows, her short, bright red hair and multiple blue tattoos contrasting dramatically against the starched white cotton covers. Kesey made a slight involuntary grimace on witnessing the young woman’s battered appearance. Her two black eyes, a torn lip, the misaligned nose, and a missing front tooth transformed her otherwise pretty face into something akin to a Halloween mask. Physical injuries that were testament to the severe beating she’d received only hours before. The detective struggled to suppress her anger as she approached the bed, her sense of injustice burning bright as she met the girl’s haunted gaze. Kesey settled herself, swallowing hard, adopting a professional persona, keen to convey both approachability and calm efficiency, a combination of which she hoped would help put the young woman at her ease. Or, at least, as far as was possible in the circumstances.

Kesey had met victims like this before. Unfortunate females dominated and abused by violent, manipulative males. She’d met more than she cared to recall. And the last thing Kesey wanted was to let the young woman down. Every case mattered to the detective, and incidents such as this more than most.

The young victim removed her in-ear headphones, grimacing with each movement of her battered body, as the detective stood at the end of her hospital bed, focused on her and only her, resisting the almost overwhelming impulse to look away. Kesey shifted her weight from one foot to the other, forcing a thin smile before opening her mouth. When she spoke, it was in nasal Brummie tones that some Welsh locals found challenging to decipher.

‘Hello, Sally, my name’s DI Kesey, Laura Kesey. Please call me Laura. I’m here to help you.’

The young woman averted her eyes to the wall, spitting her words, spewing them from her mouth. ‘Yeah, like that’s going to make all the fucking difference. Why don’t you piss off and leave me alone? You can’t help me. Nobody can.’

Kesey held her ground. It wasn’t exactly the welcome she’d hoped for. But it wasn’t entirely unexpected. And she’d heard a lot worse. ‘I wouldn’t be here if that were true.’

Sally was visibly sweating now, tiny beads of moisture exuding through the pores of her discoloured skin as she tugged on her ginger hair. ‘Oh, give me a break. Have I got stupid stamped on my forehead or something? Who the fuck do you think you are, Superwoman? I know your limitations. I’ve been down this road before.’

Kesey pulled up a chair, sitting to the left side of the bed, next to a large picture window with a view of the busy car park below. The detective maintained as calm a tone as possible, speaking slowly, clearly enunciating each word, monotone, bordering on the melancholy. ‘How are you feeling? It looks like he really did a job on you this time.’