Rachel waited, focusing to catch any movement that seemed too swift, out of synch with the slow flow of people. There was only one way in and out, the main entrance. Rachel ran to the automatic doors, skirting past the woman pushing an old bloke in a wheelchair. From the top of the ramp she had a good view of the grounds, across the lawned slopes to the car parks and bus stops below, either side of the road.
She scrutinized people systematically, eyes roving over faces, body shapes and clothing, looking for a match. Her gaze snagged on a figure leaning on a low wall, half turned away from her about eighty yards from where she stood. The white jacket, her size, the shape of her head, the dark hair all fitted. Rachel was halfway there when Shirelle looked round, sensing her approach, and began to move, running in an uneven gait down towards the road.
Not this time, matey. Losing Keane yesterday had been bad enough. Rachel pelted down the slope, gaining on the girl. Ahead Shirelle stumbled and Rachel would’ve got to her but for a family group, five adults with two buggies, who chose that moment to cross the road and block the pavement.
Swerving around them, Rachel cut into the traffic. A taxi braked hard, blaring its horn, the driver mouthing outrage when Rachel’s hand glanced off the bonnet. She felt sweat break across her neck and back, the thunder of her heart in her head. Rachel regained the pavement, Shirelle veered right and back up the grass slope towards the hospital outbuildings, perhaps looking for cover. Rachel followed, chest aching, legs straining, heat in her face.
Shirelle was slowing, Rachel could hear her panting as she closed the distance between them. When she was near enough, Rachel lunged, grabbed Shirelle in a flying tackle that sent them both on to the grass with a thump. Shirelle screamed. The impact forced the air from Rachel’s lungs, jolting her elbows, reawakening the tenderness where Neil Perry had throttled her and the bruises from Tandy’s arrest.
‘What you doing?’ A scandalized voice, an Asian bloke. ‘Get off her, leave her alone.’
Other people drifted their way, adding their own comments.
‘Twice her size, she is.’
‘Probably pissed.’
‘Let her alone.’
Rachel could smell the grass and earth and some faint perfume on Shirelle’s hair and a whiff of antiseptic.
‘Nasty bitch.’
‘Cat fight, is it?’
‘Get security guards,’ some man yelled.
‘What have you done to her?’ a woman said, face like a whippet. ‘That’s brutality, that is.’
‘I’m calling the police,’ the good Samaritan yelled at Rachel, phone at the ready. ‘Get off her now.’