‘Any change?’
She shook her head. ‘No. Keep praying, that’s all I can suggest.’
Con nodded. He shifted his sore arm, bandaged to protect the skin graze he’d sustained from a flying bullet.
‘Sorcha, Sorcha, open your eyes and talk to me, tell me who did this. You saw, you saw. Those bullets were for me, not for you. You shouldn’t have tried to save me. I should be lying there, not you, not you, my love.’
Tears came to his eyes.
He began to hum. Then softly he began to sing the words to ‘Losing You’.
Con felt a slight pressure on his hand. Her eyes flickered open and she moved her head a little. He leant over her.
‘Sorcha, my angel, it’s okay, I’m here, I’m here with you.’
She was trying to speak to him, but he couldn’t hear her through the oxygen mask. Tentatively he moved it down to her chin.
Detective Inspector Garratt was watching through the glass. Swiftly he entered the room and went to the other side of the bed, pad and pen in hand.
‘Jesus, can’t you leave us alone for five minutes?’ Con muttered.
‘Ask her, Con.’
‘Ask her what?’
‘Who it was she saw.’
Con nodded. ‘Okay, okay. Who was it, Sorcha? Who was it?’
Her eyes filled with tears. ‘It was...I can’t remem— the name.’ She shook her head in frustration, as DI Garratt scribbled every word she spoke.
‘Sorcha, was it Helen McCarthy you saw?’
Relief came into Sorcha’s eyes. ‘Yes, Helen...ask Helen...an old friend...’
She began to gasp for breath. ‘I...love you, Con...welove you...we love you.’
‘Come now, enough is enough.’ The night nurse was behind him.
Her eyes closed as the nurse returned the oxygen mask to its proper position. Sorcha’s breathing became steadier.
Garratt eyed Con across the bed. ‘There you have it. I’ll leave you to it. I’m sorry to disturb you at such a time, but it’s better we knew.’ He stood up. ‘I’ll pray for her, Mr Daly. We’ll need to speak tomorrow.’
The detective left the room.
Sorcha died at ten past three that morning without uttering another word.
‘Mr Daly, I’m so terribly sorry. There really was nothing we could do.’
Con stared out of the window. He hardly heard the doctor’s words. Dawn was breaking over London. A new day beginning. A day that Sorcha wouldn’t see.
‘If she had been further along in her pregnancy, we could maybe have tried to save the child, but as it was, well...she was only just twelve weeks.’
‘I...’ Con turned to look at the doctor. ‘What did you say?’
‘The baby. It couldn’t have survived.’
‘What baby?’
