Read Online Bleed for Me by Michael Robotham - Free Book Online

but none of them reacts quickly enough to stop him. The kid is forty yards ahead. Whippet thin, underfed, built for speed. I lose sight of him as he passes under the arch of the old railway viaduct. By the time I reach the same corner he’s disappeared completely.
    I notice a farm track on the left. It’s the only possibility. Turning up the twin ruts, I keep running, feeling a weight hang around my heart and lungs. Walking hasn’t made me any fitter.
    Ahead, a car engine starts, rumbling through a broken muffler. The Peugeot accelerates out of a muddy farmyard, the back tyres snaking in the slick puddles. He’s not slowing down.
    I’m caught on the grassy ridge between the twin tracks with hedges on either side.
    I raise my hand. He doesn’t stop. At the last moment I throw myself to one side, curling my legs away from the spinning wheels.
    Lying on my back, I take a deep breath and gaze at a bank of moving clouds, listening to my heart thudding.
    ‘Are you al right?’ asks a voice in a slow West Country drawl. It’s Alasdair Riordan, the farmer I saw earlier.
    ‘I’m fine.’
    ‘What are you doing?’
    ‘Resting.’
    He nods, satisfied, and turns back to his tractor.
    ‘Did you see that car?’ I ask.
    Alasdair pul s off his wool en hat and scratches an itch on his scalp. ‘Aye, I did.’
    ‘It almost ran me down.’
    ‘Aye.’
    ‘You didn’t happen to get the number?’
    He replaces his hat and shakes his head. ‘I’m not too good with numbers.’
    A moment later two uniforms appear. Ronnie Cray is behind them, sweating profusely.
    ‘You al right?’
    ‘Fine.’
    ‘Who was in the car?’
    ‘Sienna’s boyfriend.’
    She registers the information like a fevered prospector. ‘You should have left it to us.’
    ‘He ran. I chased.’
    ‘What are you - a dog?’ She looks at her muddy shoes. ‘I hope that kid knows how to polish.’

    My mobile is vibrating.
    ‘What happened to Sienna?’ blurts Charlie, close to tears.
    ‘She’s in hospital.’
    ‘Is she OK?’
    ‘She’s in shock, but I think she’l be fine.’
    I can hear playground noises in the background.
    ‘They’re saying that Mr Hegarty is dead. They’re saying that Sienna kil ed him.’
    ‘We don’t know what happened.’
    ‘But he’s dead?’
    ‘Yes.’
    ‘Can I go and see Sienna?’
    ‘Not yet.’
    ‘Can I cal her?’
    ‘No.’
    She sniffles and blows her nose. Charlie rarely cries. She bottles things up. Holds them inside. Ever since the kidnapping, I have watched her closely, anticipating problems. Is she eating and sleeping properly? Is she socialising normal y? Sometimes I dare to hope the worst is over, but then the nightmares wil return and she cries out, clawing the air, snatching at unseen things in the darkness. Stumbling to her room, I kneel beside her bed, stroking her forehead and talking softly. Her eyes wil open, looking vacuously into space as though a terrible revelation about life has been whispered in her ear.
    This was my fault, my doing, and I would flay the skin from my back if I could rewind the clock and protect her next time. I don’t want to assuage the guilt. I want to change her memories.

    6
    Midday. Wednesday. I’m walking the same brightly lit hospital corridors, smel ing the disinfectant and floor polish. Sienna’s room is stil under guard. Detective Sergeant Colin ‘Monk’
    Abbott, a black Londoner, is dozing on a chair with his legs outstretched and head resting on the wal . He must have pul ed an al -nighter. Mrs Monk won’t be happy. I met her once at a DIY store in Bristol. She was half Monk’s size, trying to control three young boys who were treating their father like a climbing frame.
    Monk rocks to his feet. He could touch the ceiling.
    ‘She awake?’ asks Cray.
    ‘Yes, boss.’
    ‘She said anything?’
    ‘No.’
    A doctor comes out of the room, his white coat unbuttoned and a stethoscope draped around his neck. He’s young, no more than twenty-six, lean like a