She was taking an age to die, and while Oakley was still hopeful that she might remember something useful, I thought he was mad. Still, I didn’t mind when he asked me to sit with her, in case she woke again. He walked with me to the hospital, which was easier than driving in Bristol’s traffic, because she’d asked for him the last time she was alert. While we went he told me about the Orchard Street case, and his growing suspicion that the body wasn’t Kovac. Naturally, I did my best to argue, given that I didn’t want him to start looking elsewhere for a victim, but he remained stubbornly adamant. ‘Of course it’s Kovac,’ I said – almost snapped, in fact. ‘Who else could it be?’ ‘You sound like Clare Davis,’ he said, smiling. ‘But there’s something about this whole case … suffice to say that I’m keeping an open mind.’ Bloody man, I thought, gritting my teeth. I was about to argue more, but we’d arrived at the ward. He went in and stood for a long time staring at the woman in the bed, but she didn’t stir, and eventually he went away.
