Page 40 of Slack Tide Kill

She snatched her hand away, toweled off then reached for the spare uniform. Black trousers, utility shirt, jacket. It was a long time since she'd worn departmental kit. The neck of the shirt sat too low, exposing the bruise. She tried turning up the collar of the jacket, but it wasn't enough.

So be it.

When she stepped back into the corridor, carrying a plastic bag with her rinsed running kit in, Liam was waiting outside. He clocked her throat, and his jaw dropped slightly.

"Shit," he muttered. "You weren't kidding. That bastard really tried to kill you."

Sally let him look. The bruise wasn't going away any time soon, and she had nothing to be ashamed of. "He tried."

Liam cursed again. "We're going to nail these bastards to the sodding wall."

"Amen to that. We've got our room?"

"Yeah. But I just had a call from the DCI." His tone turned apologetic, though he struggled to take his eyes off Sally's neck. "She's insisting we get checked out. Medically."

He gestured toward an open side room. Sally looked in. The paramedic from the beach was there, John Logan. He had his sleeves rolled to the elbow, black trousers still damp at the hems. Early 30s, broad-shouldered, checking over some paperwork.

"It's fine," Sally said, then stepped into the room. "You again."

Logan looked up and smiled, dimples cutting into his cheeks. "I'm like a lucky penny. But truth be told, there's not a lot of paramedics down here, what with Eastbourne nearly 30 miles away." He took a moment, regarding her neck. "That looks painful. How do you feel?"

"I'm fine."

"Mind if I take a closer look?"

She almost argued, but the sting in her neck made the decision for her. She sat before him, allowing him a moment to peer at her neck and face.

"Burst capillaries around the eyes," he said quietly, pointing. "Petechiae. Matches the throttle mark around your neck." He paused. "Someone tried to kill you today, didn't they?"

Sally's shoulders tightened. She felt Rook's hands around her throat again. Second time in one day, after the Mud Beast. "Like I said, I'm fine."

Logan sat back, his tone calm. "Maybe. Something like this gets logged officially, you'll be off the job. Hospital observation, 24 hours minimum. Maybe longer."

"What do you want?" Sally growled.

"I don't want to lose my job," Logan said slowly. "I clear you now, but there's tertiary symptoms? Dizziness, nausea, visual snow, vomiting, even trouble concentrating? My career's on the line. And I like doing this."

Sally glared. "This is about catching a killer. Not about me or you."

Logan just looked at her. "Is that right?"

That infuriated her. "Clear me or don't, Logan. This is a waste of my time."

"OK." He reached into a case on the desk and held out a thin NHS-issue card. The blue Star of Life lay in one corner and the red cross in another. It read ‘John Logan, Paramedic, South East Coast Ambulance Service'. A single mobile number was printed beneath it.

"What's that for?"

"To cover both of us. Call me if any of the symptoms I mentioned surface."

Sally looked at the card, then at him. She was angry still, but managed a sullen, "Thanks."

"Now, your legs. Are they OK?"

"My legs are fine."

"But the bandages came off."

"They're fine."