Chapter 2

* * * *

Things calmed down a bit after the air ambulance left with the child. The air of urgency vanished. Paul awaited his chance, lurking again, and took it when everyone finally left Andrew McGregor alone, sitting on the tailgate of an ambulance, drinking a mug of tea, a red blanket around his shoulders. Paulsidled—another useful skill—up to him.

“Mr. McGregor, Paul Bradley.” He flashed his pass. “Can I have a couple of minutes of your time?”

“Um, okay.”

“Can I ask how you came to crawl inside?”

“Me and my partner were first on scene. We were coming back from doing a transfer into Manchester,” hesaid. “Found them like this.”

“And you crawled in despite the danger to save the girl.”

McGregor grimaced. “Believe me, I didn’t intend to stay there for hours. But she was trapped, and, well…she asked me to stay with her.”

“Begged you to stay?” Begged was a better word.

“I suppose.”

Paul noted it down. “What’s her name?”

“Lily Winslow.”

“And she’s six?” He’d know. That always came up in conversation with a kid. Though maybe not when the kid was trapped alongside the dead body of her father and might be crushed to death any second.

“Yes.”

“Can I ask your age?”

“Why do you want that?”

“For the paper. We always like to have the age.”

“I’m twenty-four. Why do you guys always want people’s ages to put in the newspaper? What’s that about?”

“Traditional. Maybe it’s to annoy women. They never like it when I ask.”

McGregor smiled weakly. He looked shattered.

“This your ambulance?” Paul asked.

“Yeah. Don’t think I’ll be driving it home, though.” He nodded at someone approaching. “She will.” A fortyish black woman in paramedic greens seared Paul’s hide with a scowl.

“Who’s this?” she demanded.

“Just a reporter,” McGregor said as Paul showed her his Press pass.

“Bugger off and leave him alone. Lad’s exhausted.”

“Are you his partner?” Paul asked. “Can I get your name?”

“No, sod off.”

“Nerys,” McGregor said, “It’s okay.” The name badge on her uniform read N. Jones. That gave Paul all he needed. He didn’t ask her age, as he preferred to keep his balls in the usual place.

“Come on,” Nerys said to McGregor. “You’re going to the hospital to be checked over.”

“Not in Manchester?” McGregor said.

“No. That’s where Lily’s gone. But you’re coming back to our hospital.”

“Good.” He stood and let her take his arm to guide him to the other waiting ambulance.

The story was splitting up. It could be worth following the girl. But McGregor was the story. Paul didn’t head to Manchester. He headed home—to the local hospital.

Paul got there before the ambulance with McGregor in it and watched him get down and walk into A&E under his own steam. Paul knew he had no chance of getting close to him in there. He’d tried to get past the reception desk before, to no avail. He’d have to wait.

Since he’d parked close enough to pick up the staff Wi-Fi from the hospital and—ahem—happened to know the password, he filed the story as he had it so far, along with the pictures. Minutes later an e-mail arrived from the night shift news desk.

Running it now. Got it on the wire to the nationals. Good pics.

Right. He headed into the A&E waiting room, used the toilet, and raided the vending machines for coffee and snacks, then went off to lurk more, near the staff entrance. He waited there about two hours, tryingnot to look like a pervert out to pounce on the nurses coming out.

At last, as dawn was breaking and Paul was about to give up and go home, McGregor emerged.

“Mr. McGregor.”

McGregor stopped, startled. “You again? How’d you know I was here?”

“They don’t call me an investigative reporter for nothing.”

“Did you want something? I’m going home.”

“Where is home? Ah, roughly, the district. For the newspaper.”

“Is everything you do for the newspaper?”

“Pretty much.” Or how about Yes. One hundred percent of everything was for the story.

“Maryside,” McGregor said. “Why are you so interested?”

“You do realize what you did tonight, right?”

“Um, my job?” McGregor started to walk towards the staff car park. Paul followed.

“You know you went beyond the call of duty.”

“And my boss doesn’t know whether to sack me or promote me because of it.”

“He threatened to sack you?” That’s gold.

“She. And no. But she should have.”

“You’re a hero, Mr. McGregor.”

“I was in the right place at the right time. Anyone would have done the same.” He pointed his key fob at a car.