Gone in the Night. Mary-Jane Riley

I’ll try the hospitals again. I’m a nurse, I know the way it works. Sometimes you might get hold of the wrong people or something. Did you try the James Paget at Gorleston? You probably forgot that one.’ Alex saw her hands shaking as she began to punch in numbers on her phone.

      ‘Cora—’

      She looked at Alex, eyes blazing. ‘Let me do this. I need to know.’

      Alex looked on helplessly. She knew she had done her best to find the man – Rick. She had spoken to every hospital press officer, even the chief exec of Ipswich who she was on friendly terms with. But Cora had to see for herself.

CHAPTER EIGHT

       DAY TWO: MORNING

      Detective Inspector Sam Slater jogged and splashed down the muddy path through the trees to the pedestrian crossing over the railway line. It was a miserable day, with lowering clouds and gusts of rain. A miserable day to kill yourself.

      He reached the track, and, as he opened the gate festooned with warning notices and one giving out the number for the Samaritans, he saw that the train had come to a standstill about a hundred metres down the track. It was travelling towards Ipswich, probably carrying people to work in the town, or further afield to London. The air ambulance was preparing to land and Sam knew forensics would be along soon to gather up what was left of the body. He could imagine the scene on the train: commuters on their mobile phones cancelling meetings, phoning bosses to explain why they would be late. Because they would be late. Some would be complaining, demanding their Delay Repay forms and muttering about compensation. Few would spare much of a thought for the driver who had probably heard the dull thwack against the bottom of the train, a hollow crunch as metal hit flesh. He would probably hear that sound for the rest of his life and know that he had been the unwilling instrument in someone’s death.

      Engineers in hi-vis tabards and safety helmets had turned up to check the train for damage before it would be allowed to move on.

      Slater walked down the track and past the train.

      She had been lying on the rails before she was hit, thought Slater. She had been decapitated, he could see that, and various limbs were strewn along the track, along with shreds of material. There were long streaks of blood along the line and on the clinker under the track. If he looked carefully near his feet, and he tried not to, he could see white bits of bone and grey brain matter. He wondered how much forensics would actually retrieve before the rain washed it all away. Not that it mattered. Railway suicides were cut and dried.

      Police Constable Edwards was taping off the access onto the track, and Slater thought of the angry people waiting on platforms for trains that were either delayed or cancelled. That was the trouble. A delay for one person was another’s final journey.

      Slater took one more look at the scene – at the engineers, the paramedics from the air ambulance and the train driver who was sitting by the side of the track oblivious to the rain. Soon there would be posies of flowers, ribbons and teddy bears – there were always teddy bears – by the crossing gates that would wither and turn brown and rot with time.

      Nodding to Edwards and the extra officers who had turned up, Slater turned and jogged back down the muddy path which was now more churned up than ever.

CHAPTER NINE

       DAY TWO: MORNING

      Cora couldn’t stop her fingers from trembling as she began to dial the numbers of the hospitals in the area. She knew many of the nurses on shift well. Working on the bank – essentially freelancing – meant she had worked at hospitals all over East Anglia at one time or another. But ten frustrating minutes later, after some helpful calls and other downright hostile ones, Cora had drawn a blank. It was as Alex Devlin had said, no one of her brother’s age or description had been taken to A&E the previous night.

      So where was he? What had happened to him? Why couldn’t he get in touch with her? And what was he doing on a lonely road in a Land Rover? She thought back to last night and the ‘warning’ she’d been given. She gingerly rubbed her cheekbone. There had been a reason for that. Whatever he was doing, he was getting close, whether she liked it or not.

      She threw her phone onto the kitchen table. ‘Take me through it again,’ she demanded, tapping out another cigarette and lighting it. One day she would stop, just not now. She was so tired and her head was swimming. ‘If you don’t mind?’ she said suddenly, remembering her manners.

      Alex took a deep breath.

      Cora concentrated hard, occasionally blowing out smoke through the corner of her mouth as Alex told her what had happened once more, only interrupting for clarification.

      ‘And you’ve no idea who the men who took Rick away were?’ They didn’t sound like the same ones that had picked her up, and anyway, the timing was wrong.

      ‘None. I’m sorry I didn’t ask more questions. It had been a long day and I had been at this charity event at Riders’ Farm and—’

      ‘Riders’ Farm?’

      ‘Do you know it?’

      Cora laughed harshly. ‘Oh yes. The brothers Grimm and the witch and the wizard.’

      Alex raised her eyebrows. ‘Wow. Those are certainly some monikers.’

      ‘As rich as Croesus but with the morals of alley cats.’ She stopped. What was she saying? For all she knew this Alex Devlin might be best buddies with the Riders. ‘Sorry, that was a bit harsh. But they are big donors to one of the hospitals where I work. Everybody has to bend the knee when they walk past. And they love it. Smug bastards.’ She ground out her cigarette in a saucer. ‘They like women too. Correction. They like to control women. So I’ve heard.’ She added quickly.

      ‘I take it they’re not the most popular family around here?’

      ‘You could say that. Others might say they’ve brought employment to the area, tourists.’

      ‘But you say?’

      The look on Alex’s face was open and friendly. But she was a journalist. And Cora didn’t want to be part of her story.

      ‘So this event,’ she said finally, ignoring Alex’s question, ‘who did you meet?’

      ‘Jamie Rider, among others.’

      ‘And what did you think of him?’ She lit another cigarette from the one she’d been smoking, trying to push away the memories of her mother sewing curtains for the Riders, babysitting those damn boys while leaving her and Rick to fend for themselves. Her mother baking scones for Marianne Rider’s coffee mornings. Her father tugging his forelock and calling Marianne Rider ‘Ma’am’ and Joe Rider ‘Sir’, as if they were the bloody queen and bloody Prince Phillip.

      Alex narrowed her eyes. She looked as though she was about to say something, but then thought the better of it. ‘He was charming.’

      ‘Charming. Right.’ She nodded.

      Alex leaned forward. ‘Why do I think you know the Riders better than you’re admitting to?’

      ‘King’s Lynn,’ Cora said, banging her forehead. ‘Why didn’t I think of them? It could be possible he was taken there. And I know several of the nurses in A&E.’

      She picked up the phone and stabbed out a number.

      ‘Margot is phoning me back,’ she said after a minute’s chatting. ‘She thinks that they may