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I nodded. His expression changed to one of deep, compassionate concern, and he said, very gently, “No mistake. Oh, child, did you not know?”
I felt everything go cold. My heart seemed to stop and then restart again at an uneven pace, and I could feel a strange prickling in my fingertips, a physical manifestation of the shock.
The nurse was talking again, but his voice sounded strange and faraway.
“… picked up on the routine presurgical tests. I’m sorry, they thought you knew. Is it good news?”
I didn’t reply. I was too busy trying to remember back, remember what day we were on, what month. How long was it since I’d had a period? Four weeks? No, more. It had been… God, it must have been sometime between Christmas and New Year. And I remembered, vaguely, putting my Mooncup into the bag I’d packed to go to Arden Alliance, in case my period came that night. Only everything that had happened after had driven it completely out of my head. At the time, I hadn’t given it two seconds’ thought—my cycle wasn’t that regular, so a few days here or there was nothing.
But we must be in the middle of February now. Which meant… I swallowed hard, doing the maths. That meant I was six, maybe even seven weeks pregnant.
With Gabe’s baby.
And suddenly so many things made sense. So many things I should have noticed but hadn’t. The fact that I hadn’t had a period for more than six weeks. The constant nervy exhaustion. Even the nausea—which I’d put down to the festering wound in my side, but which suddenly seemed a lot like morning sickness. In fact, the only thing that didn’t make sense was that the baby had survived everything I’d been through: exhaustion, infection, and now this—a ruptured spleen on top of everything else. Was it really possible?
“How do you feel?” Harrison was asking, his expression worried now. “Do you want me to get the doctor?”
There was a lump in my throat, but I forced the words out.
“You said it—the baby—it’s okay?” I knew I hadn’t answered his question, but he nodded.
“Yes, completely fine. They did a scan. And the antibiotics you’re on are all safe for pregnancy. You don’t need to worry about any of that. Is this good news?” he asked again, and now his face was really concerned.
And for the first time in… I didn’t even know how long. For the first time since Gabe’s death, I realized, something actually was.
“Yes,” I managed. “Yes, it is good news.”
His face broke into a smile.
“Phew! I have to admit, you had me worried there, my darling. But I’m pleased you’re pleased. Now, shall we talk about that shepherd’s pie?”
And suddenly I was very hungry indeed.
EPILOGUE MONDAY, FEBRUARY 12
DAY THREE HUNDRED AND SIXTY-FIVE
The police station was hot and stuffy and my spine was sweating as I walked quickly down the corridor, glancing right and left and attempting not to look too obviously like I was not supposed to be here. The first thing to do was get some kind of disguise. I was known at this station now, and consequently I stuck out like a sore thumb.
Trying doors at random along the corridor, I found two that were locked, one that opened into an empty interview room, and then I hit the jackpot—a changing room, lined with lockers, each fitted with a padlock.
About half the padlocks were the kind operated by a key. I was pretty sure that I could pick any of them within a few minutes, and if I couldn’t, the small bolt snapper inside my rucksack would have made short work of the flimsy hasps, but more out of a sense of curiosity than anything else I tried the combination locks first. Picking the closest, I put in my old favorite, 1234. Nothing happened, and I spun the numbers back to a random configuration and moved on. The second lock, however, gave a satisfying little click and the hasp swung open. Grinning, I laid the padlock on top of the cabinet and opened the locker door.
Bingo. I had found the mother lode first try. Inside was a freshly pressed uniform complete with hat and ID badge and, even better, it was a woman’s. Okay, I was forced to concede as I tried on the trousers, a woman who was considerably taller and a fair bit broader than me, but it was nothing a couple of turns to the waistband wouldn’t solve, and fortunately the jacket hung down far enough to cover the rather unofficial-looking fix.
I was already wearing a white shirt, which was good because the shirt seemed to be the one piece of attire that was missing. Otherwise the uniform was complete—there were even shoes, neatly paired and shining at the bottom of the locker, but they looked to be at least two sizes too big, and besides, my faithful black Converse were more comfortable and quieter. If someone got as far as examining my footwear I was probably sunk anyway.
I folded up my jeans and jacket and put them in my backpack and then considered the next question—what to do with the pack. Police officers didn’t typically carry bags, and striding along the corridor with one would attract attention I didn’t want. In the end I took out my picks, compressed air, and radio, and shoved them in the capacious uniform pockets. Then I bundled everything else back into the pack and shoved it into the little alcove behind the bin, fervently hoping no one mistook it for rubbish and threw it away. That would be an expensive outcome—one I really couldn’t afford in every possible way.
With the uniform on, I felt a rush of confidence, and I strode out of the locker room with my head held considerably higher. When I rounded the corner and bumped into another officer, I didn’t even hesitate.
“Oh, hi, sorry to bother you, I’m Kate Lederer, from—” Shit, what had Jeff’s station been called? “Eltham Green. I’ve been sent over to interview a suspect in your custody suite, but I’ve got a bit lost. Can you point me in the right direction?”
“Sure.” The officer’s eyes swept over me but didn’t seem to notice anything amiss. “I don’t think we’ve met before, have we?”
“No,” I agreed. “I’m new. Well, new to the Met. I just transferred from Thames Valley. Nice to meet you…?”
I trailed off inquiringly.
