Broken Harbor by Tana French Read Free Book Online Page B

understand this is provisional. I could be wrong.”
    “Understood.”
    “OK. Basically, she was lucky to make it this far. She has four abdominal injuries that look like knife wounds to me, but that’s for your doctor to decide. Two of them are deep, but they must have missed all the major organs and arteries, or she’d have bled out before she got here. There’s another injury to her right cheek, looks like a knife slash, straight through into the mouth—if she makes it, she’ll need considerable amounts of plastic surgery. There’s also some kind of blunt trauma to the back of the skull. X-ray showed a hairline fracture and a subdural hematoma, but judging by her reflexes there’s a decent chance she’s escaped without brain damage. Again, she was very lucky.”
    Which was probably the last time anyone would ever use that word about Jennifer Spain. “Anything else?”
    I could hear him swigging something, probably coffee, and swallowing a huge yawn. “Sorry. There could be minor injuries—I wasn’t looking for anything like that, my priority was getting her into surgery before we lost her, and the blood could have covered some cuts and contusions. There’s nothing else major, though.”
    “Any signs of sexual assault?”
    “Like I said, that wasn’t top priority. For what it’s worth, I didn’t see anything that would point that way.”
    “What was she wearing?”
    An instant of silence, while he wondered whether he had got it wrong and I was some specialized kind of pervert. “Yellow pajamas. Nothing else.”
    “There should be an officer at the hospital. I’d like you to put her pajamas in a paper bag and hand them over to him. Make a note of anyone who touched them, if you can.” I had chalked up two more points for Jennifer Spain being a victim. Women don’t wreck their faces, and they sure as hell don’t go in their pajamas. They put on their best dresses, take time over their mascara and pick a method that they believe—and they’re almost always wrong—will leave them quiet and graceful, all the pain washed away and nothing left but cool pale peace. Somewhere in what’s left of their crumbling minds, they think that being found looking less than their best will upset them. Most suicides don’t really believe that death is all the way. Maybe none of us do.
    “We gave him the pajamas. I’ll make the list as soon as I get a chance.”
    “Did she recover consciousness at any stage?”
    “No. Like I said, there’s a fair chance she never will. We’ll know more after the surgery.”
    “If she makes it, when do you think we’d be able to talk to her?”
    Sigh. “Your guess is as good as mine. With head wounds, nothing’s predictable.”
    “Thanks, Doctor. Can you let me know straightaway if anything changes?”
    “I’ll do my best. If you’ll excuse me, I have to—”
    And he was gone. I put in a quick call to Bernadette, the squad admin, to let her know that I needed someone to get started on pulling the Spains’ financials and phone records, and put a rush on it. I was hanging up when my phone buzzed: three new voice messages, from calls that hadn’t got through the shitty reception. O’Kelly, letting me know he had wangled me a couple of extra floaters; a journalist contact, begging for a scoop he wasn’t going to get this time; and Geri. Only patches of the voice mail came through: “. . . can’t, Mick . . . sick every five minutes . . . can’t leave the house, even for . . . everything OK? Give me a ring when . . .”
    “
Shit
,” I said, before I could bite it back. Dina works in town, in a deli. I tried to calculate how many hours it would be before I got anywhere near town again, and what the odds were of her making it that long without someone switching on a radio.
    Richie cocked his head, questioning. “Nothing,” I said. There was no point in ringing Dina—she hates phones—and there was no one else to ring. I took a fast breath and tamped