Page 144 of 36 Hours

‘In here,’ the nurse said, pointing to the first side ward on the left.

Her voice had turned gentle, and Kim knew this visit had been allowed because no one knew if Frost would make it.

There was every chance that her eyes would never open again.

‘Has anyone else been?’

The lips pursed. ‘Her mother. Didn’t stay long, said it was too much for her nerves. We’re to call her if there’s any change, good or bad.’

A wave of sadness stole over Kim. She had known their relationship was complicated, but she hadn’t realised it was non-existent.

‘There’s a coffee machine just?—’

‘I’m fine, thanks, but can I ask you something?’

‘Of course.’

‘What are her chances?’

The nurse weighed her words carefully before she let anything come out of her mouth.

‘Even though you’re not family, I’m gonna tell you that the doctors don’t hold out much hope. They’re not sure they were able to relieve the pressure before the damage to her brain had already been done.’

‘But?’ Kim asked.

She opened her hands expressively. ‘I’ve worked on this ward for eleven years. I’ve seen some folks not supposed to die take their last breath, and I’ve seen folks written off walk out of here on their own two legs. It’s down to the individual, but my logic is that it ain’t over until it’s over.’

Kim thanked her before stepping into the room.

However much she’d tried to prepare herself for this, it hadn’t been enough.

Tracy Frost looked half her normal size. Wires and leads linked her to machines on both sides of the bed.

Kim’s gaze immediately moved to the monitoring equipment on the left. She didn’t understand all of the colours and numbers, but she knew they indicated blood pressure, respiration and heart rhythm. A closer look told her there was a reading for intracranial pressure.

A ventilator was positioned to her right. That was what Kim hadn’t quite readied herself for, that a machine was breathing for her.

Less than two days ago, this shrunken figure had been banging on her door with the force of a wrecking ball. This was Frost: the bane of her life, always popping up when she least needed it, getting in her face, challenging her. The two versions were not melding into one.

She briefly thought of her team as she took a seat. How were they ending a case that had started less than forty-eight hours ago? Had they all gone home and picked up where they’d left off?

For her it was ending the same way it had started, in the company of a local reporter.

‘Come on, Frost – pull yourself together,’ she said, touching her lightly on the arm.

It was fair to say they’d shared quite the past. Kim had progressed from hating every bone in her body to tolerating her inevitable presence.

The woman was complicated, often ruthless, and uncaring in her efforts to get a story. And then there were those other times, like when she’d had Kim’s entire social services file in the boot of her car. There was so much she could have done with that, but instead she’d handed it back, unread.

Kim liked to think she’d returned the favour when she’d allowed Frost to stay in her home when her own had been a crime scene.

There had been much back and forth between them over the years. There was a history, and that’s why she was here now.

‘Listen, Frost, you gotta sort yourself out,’ she said softly. ‘No more messing around. You’ve milked it now. It was a bang on the head, and you’ve had a nice nap. Ain’t nobody coming in there to get you. It’s on you to find your way back.’

Kim paused. There was no change, and she hadn’t expected it. She had no idea if Frost could hear her, but it beat sitting in silence.

‘I need you to come back. You’re my measuring stick of progress in tolerance. If I can learn to put up with you turning up at my home at all hours of the day, there’s hope for me yet.’