Grace eased the black bin liner further out of the hole. Looking back over her shoulder she said “Whoever’s hidden this certainly didn’t want it to be found.” She clawed around the entrance way, scooping away debris and depositing it behind her mole-like.
Slowly she picked out the contents from the liner, examining each item carefully before placing them on the ground beside her. Rebecca Morris’s pink schoolbag, her school uniform and books were all here.
“Is it that murdered girl’s stuff?” Billy asked.
Hunter watched his face. Billy looked to be fascinated by the events unfolding before him. Hunter guessed that he’d be recounting all this later in the pub, telling his cronies how he had been helping police with their enquiries. It almost brought a smile to his lips.
“It certainly is Billy. How much of this did you actually handle before you put it back into the black bag?” asked Grace.
“I just opened the bin liner and looked inside. The mobile was virtually on top of everything. I had a quick rummage around inside but didn’t pull anything else out. Why is that bad for me?” he replied, concern now etched on his face.
“It just means forensics will have to separate your DNA from any other we find on these.” Before she could say anything else the ringing of her own mobile disturbed her. She flipped up its top, slipped the unit under her thick curly hair and slotted it to her ear. Crooking her head she trapped the mobile between the top of her shoulder, listening to the call as she carried on examining the contents of the black plastic sack.
Hunter watched on as lines appeared on her forehead, slowly creasing into furrows as she listened intently. He attempted to catch her gaze, wondering what was being said over the other end of that phone which was causing her to be so concerned. He tried to grasp her mumblings but only caught, “We’ll be there inside the hour,” before Grace dropped the phone from her ear and snapped it shut.
“That was Bullars,” she announced anxiously. “He’s at the District General hospital. It looks as though our killer’s just struck again. And get this; it’s Kirsty Evans, Rebecca Morris’s best friend. She’s in a critical condition but she is alive.”
* * * * *
Hunter and Grace had tried their best to avoid the press who were now swarming all over Barnwell District General hospital, but after finding every entrance way barricaded by the gauntlet of reporters, they had ended up resorting to storm-trooper tactics in order to get into the hospital. In one case Hunter had actually smacked shut the entrance door of the Intensive Care Unit in a camera-man’s face. Hunter mouthed the words ‘sorry,’ trying to not break into a grin and jammed his foot against the bottom of the door until a uniformed officer rushed to his aide and took over the department’s security.
The surgeon who had operated on Kirsty Evans met Hunter and Grace in the reception area of ITU. He was still in his green surgical scrubs.
“She is one extremely lucky girl,” he began, removing the green cotton cap to reveal a thinning head of ginger hair. “She’s been stabbed repeatedly in the upper back area, but none of the knife wounds have penetrated her vital organs. There was also an attempt to strangle her with a leather belt but luckily her attacker was disturbed and the guy who saved her managed to get it off before any serious harm was done. I’m told that the Good Samaritan was an off duty paramedic who was out jogging, chased off the girl’s attacker and then administered first aid before the ambulance and police arrived. She has lost a lot of blood and in fact we’ve had to put ten units into her during the operation. There’s no doubt she would have died had it not been for him. We’ve stitched her back together for now and later she will need plastic surgery to some of the wounds. She’s not exactly out of the woods just yet but she is off the critical list.”
“Thanks for that,” replied Grace. “Will we able to speak with her at all?” she asked.
“Certainly not today I’m afraid. In fact it might not even be tomorrow. She has come round since the operation but as you can imagine she is in a lot of pain, so we’ve had to sedate her with quite a strong dosage.”
Hunter spotted Tony Bullars hovering at the end of the corridor trying to catch his attention. With a raised hand he acknowledged him, shook hands with the surgeon thanking him and left Grace to finish off the conversation.
He saw that Tony was clutching an abundance of brown forensic evidence bags. He had already bagged up Kirsty Evans’s clothing.
“What have you got for me Bully?” Hunter enquired.
“These are just her clothes,” he replied tapping the forensic bags, “but I can tell you that we’ve recovered the belt he used. The guy who found her had loosened it but it was still around her neck when uniform got to the scene. I’ve had a quick word with Mike Sampson who’s down at the park and bagged it up for forensics. He tells me that from the width of the belt and the buckle shape and size that it looks like the same one our killer used on Rebecca. The surgeon who operated on Kirsty allowed forensic into theatre and they’ve recovered blood and fibres from underneath her fingernails. She put up a hell of a fight and it means we should be able to get his DNA for the first time.”
This is one of those Eureka moments Hunter thought as Grace sidled up beside him.
He was pleased to see that a uniformed officer had been stationed outside Kirsty’s side room. At least for the time being the killer wouldn’t be able to get to her.
Hunter flashed his warrant card and he and Grace entered.
The beeping noise from the heart monitor was the first sound, which greeted them. Kirsty was hooked up to an IV and a nasogastric tube. Her head was covered in a turban style bandage and under the bright fluorescent lighting they couldn’t help but notice the signs of a real battering around her face. Both eyes were heavily bruised and her nose was disjointed and twice the size it should have been. Mr and Mrs Evans were at her bedside, faces creased with anguish, her Mother tightly gripping Kirsty’s left hand and gently stroking the back of it with her other. They acknowledged the officers’ arrival with a solemn nod and Mr Evans rose from his high-backed seat. “Have you caught him yet?” There was a sharp edge to it, his question almost a demand.
They understood the tone. The anger was inevitable.
“Not yet, but don’t worry we will do,” Hunter responded.
Grace moved closer to the bed. Kirsty’s breathing was laboured; the sedative, which had been administered, was playing its part in relaxing her system. The girl’s eyes fluttered for a second and then stopped.
“The doctor said she’s going to be okay.” Mrs Evans caught Grace’s gaze.
She returned a sympathetic smile. “She is Mrs Evans. Kirsty will pull through. You watch in another couple of weeks she’ll be her old self. Young people are extremely resilient”
“Was she — ?” Mr Evans paused and gulped.
Hunter knew what he was trying to say, but was afraid of the answer. He offered, “There are no signs she was attacked like that. The man who did this was scared off before he had time to do anything else. He wouldn’t have had time to do anything like that.” Like Mr Evans, he avoided using the word rape.”
“Is it the same man who killed Rebecca?” Mr Evans asked.
“We don’t know for definite. That’s something we’re working on. We’ll know better when we get Kirsty’s clothing and the samples from under her fingernails up to our forensics lab. Your daughter was very brave, she put up a hell of a fight and it saved her life.”
“Do you think Kirsty was hiding something about Rebecca’s murder and that’s why he’s tried to silence her?”
Hunter recalled what Grace had told him following her clandestine meeting with Kirsty, less than a fortnight ago. It brought to the fore the secrets about Rebecca which she had revealed, and which Kirsty had kept from her parents; the drinking of alcohol and the meetings with older boys.