Her eyes sprang open and Jenna lurched up.
A soft hand applied gentle pressure on her shoulder. ‘It’s okay. You’re safe.’
Surprised at the motion of the ambulance, Jenna peered down the length of her legs at her stockinged feet poking out of the end of the NHS blanket. She clucked her dry tongue against the roof of her mouth.
‘We’re almost there. You fell asleep.’ The woman’s voice echoed through soft cotton clouds in Jenna’s head, distant and muffled. The vague ringing overriding all other sounds.
‘I’m okay. I can go now. I’ll be fine.’
‘No, you definitely won’t be fine until you’re checked over by a doctor. I think your left eardrum has ruptured. We’ll get it checked out for you.’
Warm and comfortable, Jenna relaxed, closed her eyes again and let herself drift. Aware of the discomfort of a stiff face, she raised her hand to investigate. As her fingers encountered PC Gardner’s drying blood and grey matter, she let out a whimper. ‘Oh, God.’
This time the hand that landed on her shoulder was far more robust as Mason leaned over the top of her. ‘Sorry, Jenna. Don’t touch it. I know you want to get it all off you, but you’re a crime scene. Forensics need everything. You don’t want to contaminate the evidence.’
If anyone could elicit a smile from her, it would be Mason. Ever practical. Ever down-to-earth. There was nothing she could do to help her situation but close her eyes and wait for the whole process to be over and done with.
53
Tuesday 21 April 1820 hours
Chief Superintendent Gregg hovered over the top of her bed. Steel-grey hair swept straight back from a high forehead, his normal bright, hawklike gaze softened with sympathy to make the breath catch in her throat.
Shit. It must be serious.
Strong and professional, Jenna prided herself on her ability to keep her emotions under control, but from the attention she currently had, she had serious misgivings that she could keep them in check. Sympathy had always weakened her, and she feared the compassion that oozed in the small, overcrowded side room they’d found for her in the Princess Royal Accident and Emergency department.
She skimmed her gaze over her sister, and moved on. She was there, she was her strength.
Gregg pulled back, his slow smile spread to deepen the wrinkles in his cheeks and his eyes sharpened. ‘Good to see you, Jenna.’ He reached out a hand and squeezed her wrist. Possibly the only part of her that wasn’t a forensic crime scene. ‘If you need anything, anything at all, let me know.’
Tears clogged her throat and the smile she gave him wobbled. ‘Sir.’
She allowed her gaze to wander across to DI Taylor. Another of her stalwarts. At home in the discomfort of the high-back acrylic-covered chair in the corner of the room, he peered over the top of his glasses at her. Not one to hold her hand, the raw whisky that scraped at his voice still told of his care. ‘Jenna. Your statement in your own time. If you’d rather someone take it, let me know.’ The pause was long. Ex-Army, Taylor kept his feelings close, but the concern in his direct gaze couldn’t be masked. He cleared his throat. ‘We’re here for you. Anything you need.’
‘Poppy.’ Her voice rasped out as though she’d never used it. ‘What happened to Poppy?’
Taylor stretched his arms out to rest his hands on his knees. ‘She’s in surgery.’
‘Surgery?’ The fast surge to her pulse jerked through her body. ‘Was she shot? I didn’t think Lawrence—’
Taylor shook his head. ‘He didn’t. At least not today. She was shot the other night.’
She shuffled against the air-filled pillows. ‘By her own dad.’ The horror of it was beyond her comprehension.
‘Yep. The night of the fire. She told DC Downey her daddy shot her like the rest of the family. But the bullet lodged in her rib and she escaped.’
‘Lucky.’ Gregg stroked his fingers over his smooth chin with eyes bleak to decry his own word.
Poor girl. Jenna couldn’t bring herself to consider anything about Poppy’s situation luck. Her entire family were dead. The only one left alive was Poppy. How was she to survive?
She glanced at her own sister. She survived. One day at a time and that’s all anyone could hope for Poppy.
‘No next of kin have come forward.’ In the silence, it remained unspoken that she would go into the system. Foster parents until she was eighteen.
No. There was nothing lucky about Poppy Lawrence’s situation.
‘What about Fleur, the family dog? Will she get to keep her?’
In the long silence, Taylor took out his notebook and scribbled on it. ‘We’ll let social services know. See what can be done.’
Jenna moved her attention onwards as Gregg slipped from the room with a quick raise of his hand.
If she could have killed Mason, she would have done. Arms folded he’d wedged himself in the corner of the room. Belligerent because he knew how she felt.
He’d not needed to contact her sister and worry her unnecessarily.
Fliss’s pale face and huge eyes reflected the terror that could only be escalated by her own trauma and Jenna wouldn’t have put her through it all again for the world.
‘Don’t blame him.’ Fliss’s eyebrows lowered as she held Jenna’s gaze with her own. ‘You wouldn’t have told me.’
‘I would have.’
‘What? After I heard it on the news?’
Helpless, Jenna fluttered her hands in front of her face. ‘I would have rather cleaned up at least before you saw me.’
‘I’ve seen worse.’ Fliss’s voice hardened. ‘Only last time, I was on the receiving end and the injuries were mine.’
‘They were.’ Jenna sat forward and wrapped her arms around drawn-up knees. ‘I’m not even injured.’
‘You have a ruptured eardrum.’
‘That’s it. A ruptured eardrum is hardly a heroic injury.’ The ringing in her ears had faded, but sounds were still muffled.
Fliss leaned in to whisper in her face. ‘I don’t need you to be a hero. I need you to be alive.’
Breath backed up in her lungs. Alive. She was. Just. If the shot had been off by a few inches, it could have been her brains blown to smithereens.
At the sound of footsteps and soft murmured voices outside of the door, they fell silent and watched as a doctor stepped inside and took the clipboard of notes from the bottom of her bed without so much as a glance in her direction.
Aloof and detached, he pulled a pen from his top pocket, filling the silence with a rhythmic click, click, as he depressed the button. In – click, click. Out – click, click.
The jaw she’d managed to unclench started to stiffen again.
When he glanced up, his eyes widened for a split second, quickly covered by a rapid blink and a look down at his notes. His narrow chest expanded as he took in a long breath and then lowered the clipboard onto the bed beside her feet.
‘I’m Doctor Saunders. And you are Jenna Morgan?’
‘Yes.’
‘Can you confirm your date of birth?’
She waited for eye contact as she reeled off the information. ‘First of December 1990.’