‘Not sure. If they’re in it together, they could be hatching some sort of escape plan, or some way of covering one another.’
‘Or if Randall thinks Mia is a liability... Remember, we planted the idea.’
‘Yes. I’ve thought of that, too.’
‘Perhaps we’d better just go up and ask them?’
‘Right,’ said Banks.
They moved closer to the house. The front door was still on the latch. Banks and Annie made little sound as they climbed slowly up to the second floor. Pausing before Mia’s door, Banks strained to hear the sounds of conversation, or argument, but the room appeared to be silent, not even a distant hint of a Chopin nocturne.
Banks tapped on the door and said, ‘Mia?’
No answer.
He held his breath, Annie beside him. Banks tried the handle. Locked.
He knocked again, harder this time. Still no answer. For a moment, he wondered if DC Collier could be wrong. He said he’d followed Randall from Bramhope and seen him enter the building, but he hadn’t seen him enter Mia’s flat. Maybe he was somewhere else in the house? Maybe he was visiting another tenant? Then he realised that his reasoning was simply a delaying tactic, that Randall knowing someone else in the same house as Mia would be beyond coincidence. Whether they were hatching a plot together or one of them was in danger, it was time to intervene.
Banks took a few steps back, lifted his leg and snap-kicked the door. It took him two kicks to get it open, then he and Annie hurried inside, where they saw Randall putting something in his bag beside the sofa. Mia was nowhere to be seen.
‘Thank God you’re here,’ said Randall.
‘Where is she?’ Banks asked, moving forward.
Then he saw her.
Mia lay on the sofa, her eyes closed, her clothing dishevelled, top torn open.
‘Move away, doctor,’ said Banks, shoving Randall back. He bent over Mia. Her skin was cold and clammy, and she was hardly breathing. ‘Annie, call an ambulance. Tell them we need paramedics fast.’
‘I found her like this,’ said Randall. ‘I think she must have taken something. I was trying to resuscitate her when you burst in.’
‘What were you putting back in your bag when we walked in?’ Banks went on. ‘What have you given her, you bastard?’
‘Nothing. She was like this when I found her. She must have taken an overdose.’
‘You’re lying. Show me.’ Banks snatched the bag from him and upturned it so its contents fell all over the glass coffee table.
‘You can’t do that. I’m a doctor. That’s—’
But Banks was already going through the contents of the bag, and one of the first things he found was a used syringe. ‘Are you in the habit of leaving sharps in your bag like this?’ he asked.
‘I... You startled me...’
‘What did you shoot her up with?’
‘I told you. Nothing. I was trying to help her.’
Banks grabbed Randall by the throat and bent him backwards over the sofa. He could hear Annie talking to emergency services on the telephone.
‘Stop it. My back. You’ll break my back.’
‘I can find it, whatever you used. I’m sure there’ll be an empty phial somewhere among this lot. But you can save me a lot of time. It’s over now, Randall. You’ve nothing more to gain.’
‘All right. All right! Let me go.’
Banks let go. Randall stood up, rubbed his back then straightened his clothes. ‘Morphine,’ he said.
‘How much?’
‘A hundred and fifty milligrams.’
‘Jesus Christ.’
‘I’ve still got emergency on the line,’ said Annie. ‘The infirmary’s not far away.’
‘Tell them we’ve got a morphine overdose, that she’s hardly breathing. Tell them to inform A&E. And get this bastard out of here.’ He pushed Randall towards Annie.
Annie gave the message over the phone, then cuffed Randall and half dragged him towards the stairs. Banks bent over Mia again. He felt for a pulse first in her neck and then on her wrist, but he couldn’t feel anything. Cursing his lack of first-aid knowledge, he could think of only one thing to do, and that was to keep her breathing at all costs. Gently, he tilted her head back and began mouth-to-mouth.
He didn’t know how long he’d been doing it before he heard the sirens, then the sound of heavy, fast-moving footsteps on the stairs. A hand touched his shoulder, and a calm voice said, ‘Move aside, sir. We’ll take over now.’
Banks flopped back in an armchair and put his head in his hands. ‘I think it’s too late,’ he said. ‘I think she’s dead.’
But Mia wasn’t dead. Not quite. Banks, Annie and Blackstone paced the waiting area while the doctors gathered around her. Fortunately, Annie had been able to tell the hospital over the phone what the problem was, and that it had happened recently. Opioid overdoses weren’t exactly out of the ordinary in a big city like Leeds. Though both paramedics and A&E were prepared, the doctors looked serious as they rushed Mia into the depths of the building on a gurney, and they wouldn’t even deign to answer any of Banks’s questions about her chances.
‘I hate these places,’ said Banks.
‘Who doesn’t?’ said Annie.
‘They always make me wish I still smoked.’
‘Ironic, that, isn’t it?’ said Blackstone. ‘This is probably exactly where you’d end up if you still smoked.’
‘Very funny.’
Blackstone’s phone purred. ‘Yes?’
Banks heard him grunt ‘OK’ a few times. Finally, he turned and said, ‘Collier and Musgrave got Randall to Elland Road. They’ve got him waiting in an interview room. Unfortunately, he’s insisting on having a solicitor present. I told them to let him sit and sweat it out for a while.’
‘Liversedge again?’
‘Aye,’ said Blackstone.
‘I don’t think he’ll be a problem, do you?’
‘Doubt it.’
They found a coffee machine, fed it some coins, then sat down with their drinks. The coffee lacked flavour, but it didn’t really seem to matter. It wasn’t a busy night, not like a weekend, but there was a fair bit of bleeding and moaning around the place before one of the doctors came back. She looked about twelve years old and tired beyond belief. Even the stethoscope around her neck looked weary. ‘We’ve done what we can to make her comfortable and slow down the absorption,’ she said. ‘Naloxone to reverse the effects of morphine first, then activated charcoal to make sure her system doesn’t absorb any more. It was a large dose for someone as small as her, and for someone who isn’t used to opioids. But we’re not out of the woods yet. Not by a long chalk. There’s still a long way to go. Her breathing’s really shallow. We’ll have to intubate her. Who gave her mouth-to-mouth?’
‘I did,’ said Banks.
‘You probably saved her life.’
‘Will she make it?’ Banks asked.
‘It all depends on how much damage was already done,’ said the doctor. ‘Opioid overdoses can be tricky things. They can cause brain damage, for a start, or coma. We’ll have to do an EKG and monitor her vital signs. Luckily, we know the exact dose she was given from the phial and syringe we found in the bag you brought. That was good thinking. And if you’d been maybe even ten minutes later... All I can tell you is that we’ll know more in the morning. My colleagues are still with her. Don’t worry, she’s in good hands.’
‘We’ll be putting a man outside her room,’ said Banks. ‘That OK?’
‘She won’t have a room for a while yet, not while she’s being treated by the team, but if you tell your man to ask for me, that’s Dr Elaine Logan, then I’ll make sure he’s in the right place when we send her up to intensive care.’ She paused and frowned. ‘There was also a blow to the back of her head. Nothing serious, but probably enough to stun her and give her a slight concussion. Did somebody do this to her? Is she in danger from anyone? Is there something more we should know about?’