‘I am so sorry,’ said the man who stood in the doorway, equally stunned and embarrassed. ‘I didn’t realise …’
Tabitha’s face was twisted in pain. This was more than a bump to the head.
‘Tabitha, talk to me. What’s wrong?’ Henley asked, ignoring the man. She kneeled in front of Tabitha and gently took hold of her arm.
‘Is she all right?’ the man asked cautiously.
‘No, she’s not. Get someone in here. A nurse,’ Henley commanded.
Henley felt dread fill her stomach as she looked at the black beanie on Tabitha’s head. ‘Is it your head?’ she asked. ‘Is that where you’re hurt?’
Tabitha’s reply was barely audible.
‘Is it your head?’ Henley asked again.
‘Yes,’ Tabitha replied painfully.
‘Let me take a look.’
Henley carefully placed her hands on the hem of the beanie. ‘I promise, I’ll be careful,’ she said. ‘I won’t hurt you.’
Tabitha’s body grew rigid as Henley pushed the beanie and slid it slowly back. Her breath caught in her throat. Bloodied pus coated the strands of Tabitha’s hair that was sticking to the wool of the hat. Henley gently pulled the hairs away and a clump of cotton wool, stained yellowish green and red, fell from Tabitha’s head and onto the floor.
‘Turn your head, Tabitha,’ Henley instructed gently as the putrid smell of an infected wound filled her nose. Henley bit her lip to stop herself from gagging as a nurse entered the room.
‘Is everything ok?’ the nurse asked.
‘No,’ Henley answered, staring at the large seeping wound on the back of Tabitha’s head.
A scalping that a killer hadn’t been able to complete.
21
DI Henley, 14.20
TA was at the house. Has head injuries. Tell him we know!!
Ramouter reread the text message from Henley as Graham grew more agitated in his bed, constantly shifting his attention to the door as though he expected his wife to walk in at any minute.
‘I understand that this is difficult for you,’ said Ramouter, putting his phone away. ‘To say that you’ve been through a lot is an understatement.’
Graham turned his head away. ‘Do you know when my wife will be back?’ he asked Copeland.
‘Graham, look at me.’ Ramouter said firmly. ‘I’m going to ask you a question and I want you to think very carefully about the answer that you give me.’
Graham did what he was told, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallowed.
‘Why didn’t you tell me that Tabitha was in the house with you the night that you were attacked?’
‘Hold on, what?’ Copeland exclaimed. She turned towards Ramouter with both question and fury in her eyes at the realisation that she’d been excluded from a conversation between colleagues.
‘I don’t know what you’re talking about,’ Graham said. ‘Tabitha wasn’t home. She was—’
‘Don’t say she was in Bath. We know she wasn’t. We have forensic evidence and forensics don’t lie. I saw your house. There were no signs of a burglary. No ransacking of your property. Nothing was stolen. No forced entry. Did Tabitha let someone in? Who?’
Graham’s fingers curled around the bedsheets as he tightened his fists. Ramouter glanced over at the patient monitor that was recording Graham’s vitals. His pulse and blood pressure had increased.
Graham lowered his head and finally spoke, but his words were lost in the folds of his bedding.
