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Chapters (94)
  1. Cover
  2. Time for the Dead
  3. Dedication page
  4. Map
  5. Epigraph page
  6. Prologue
  7. 1
  8. 2
  9. 3
  10. 4
  11. 5
  12. 6
  13. 7
  14. 8
  15. 9
  16. 10
  17. 11
  18. 12
  19. 13
  20. 14
  21. 15
  22. 16
  23. 17
  24. 18
  25. 19
  26. 20
  27. 21
  28. 22
  29. 23
  30. 24
  31. 25
  32. 26
  33. 27
  34. 28
  35. 29
  36. 30
  37. 31
  38. 32
  39. 33
  40. 34
  41. 35
  42. 36
  43. 37
  44. 38
  45. 39
  46. 40
  47. 41
  48. 42
  49. 43
  50. 44
  51. 45
  52. 46
  53. 47
  54. 48
  55. 49
  56. 50
  57. 51
  58. 52
  59. 53
  60. 54
  61. 55
  62. 56
  63. 57
  64. 58
  65. 59
  66. 60
  67. 61
  68. 62
  69. 63
  70. 64
  71. 65
  72. 66
  73. 67
  74. 68
  75. 69
  76. 70
  77. 71
  78. 72
  79. 73
  80. 74
  81. 75
  82. 76
  83. 77
  84. 78
  85. 79
  86. 80
  87. 81
  88. 82
  89. 83
  90. 84
  91. Epilogue
  92. Acknowledgements
  93. About the Author
  94. By Lin Anderson

‘The other uniformed officer who has been sitting outside his room since he was admitted.’

Her confusion only grew bigger at McNab’s declaration.

‘I’ve been off for three days. I don’t know about the other officer.’

McNab realized he wasn’t going to get the full story here, but he might get it from Harry.

‘Where’s the discharge lounge?’

‘It’s down near the exit and the taxi stance.’ She gave him directions. ‘According to his notes, Mr McArthur will need bed rest for at least another week. He has details of how to look after the wound with his discharge sheet. He’ll be required to come back in two weeks’ time.’ A sudden thought crossed her mind. ‘Is he going to jail?’

McNab didn’t bother with an answer.

Re-entering the lift, he found himself muttering his annoyance, much to the consternation of the other occupants.

‘Are you all right, mate?’ a man asked him.

‘I’m a policeman,’ was McNab’s response, as though that explained everything.

Despite the nurse’s instructions, or more likely because he hadn’t listened to them properly, McNab ended up in the wrong place more than once before he finally discovered the designated discharge lounge.

Opening the door, he found himself in a spacious room containing comfortable chairs with coffee, tea and biscuits on offer. There were at least eight people in there, some behind newspapers. McNab scanned them all before facing up to the fact that none of them was Harry.

Glancing round in search of whoever was in charge, he spotted a couple of notices which indicated that no one except discharge patients should be making use of this room and its facilities.

Shouting ‘Nurse!’ in his loudest voice eventually resulted in a head popping round a door at the rear of the room. The male nurse gave him an instruction to keep his voice down, followed by the patently cross words, ‘Please, sir, there are recovering patients in here.’

‘Not the one I’m looking for. Harry McArthur.’ McNab showed his ID again. ‘I was told he was here.’

The man emerged and went to a book which lay open on a counter.

‘If he was here, he’ll have signed the book,’ he said with certainty. ‘Look –’ he pointed with a flourish – ‘H. McArthur. Signed in 9.00. Collected 9.30.’

‘Collected?’ McNab said, a niggling worry becoming larger by the second. ‘Who by?’

‘Sorry?’

‘Who collected him?’ McNab said, his voice staccato now.

The nurse looked bewildered. ‘His emergency contact, I assume. You have to say who your emergency contact is and give their number when you’re admitted.’ Keen to help, he pointed at the entry again. ‘He’s written a number here. Could that be his emergency contact?’

McNab stared at the eight-digit number. It didn’t look like a telephone number to him. Mobile numbers were eleven digits, as were landlines with their city codes. He made a note of the number anyway.