Angel of Death by Charlotte Lamb Page B

it hard to breathe.
    ‘Your mother . . .’ he began and she gave a sharp cry, her eyes wide.
    ‘Mum! Oh, God, what’s happened to her?’
    ‘She’s OK, I promise you,’ he soothed, taking her hand and patting it as if she were a child. ‘But she won’t be visiting you today because she’s in here, herself . . .’
    ‘She was run down by a car, too!’ Guilt and worry made her voice high and shaky. Neil patted her hand again, stroked it softly, watching her with concerned eyes.
    ‘No, no, it wasn’t that.’ He paused, said in a careful voice, ‘She was going to be staying in your flat last night, wasn’t she?’
    ‘Yes, I didn’t want her having to pay for a hotel.’ Miranda’s mind raced with alarm, trying to guess what had happened. ‘Get on with it, tell me what’s happened to her. Are you trying to frighten the life out of me? Just tell me.’
    ‘She walked in on what was probably a burglary,’ he said flatly.
    ‘Oh, God.’ Miranda’s lip trembled and she bit down on it. ‘They attacked her? Was she badly hurt?’
    ‘No, no. He knocked her out, but as I said it isn’t serious. They’re only keeping her in here for a night to make sure she hasn’t got concussion. And because there would be nobody to look after her if she was sent home while she was a little groggy.’
    ‘Have you seen her?’
    ‘Yes, and I promise you, she is OK. She talked to me quite rationally. All that was wrong with her were some bruises and a headache. Maybe the nurse will arrange for you to visit her in her ward, so you can see for yourself. They could take you along in a wheelchair.’
    ‘I’ll ask Nurse Embry.’ Miranda was thinking hard, her brow furrowed. ‘Do you think the burglary was mere coincidence? Or is it part and parcel of what’s been happening? The murder, the hit and run driver . . . is it all connected? It must be, mustn’t it?’
    ‘We aren’t sure, but it could be. He certainly ransacked your flat, I’m afraid. We won’t know if anything was taken until you’ve been able to check the flat yourself, but we have a feeling nothing at all is missing. The obvious things are all still there – the television, the microwave, the musical equipment. Burglars usually take stuff like that. Easy to carry, and then to sell.’
    ‘Did Mum see him?’
    ‘Apparently not. She opened the front door but before she could switch on the light somebody started hitting her on the head.’
    ‘Oh, poor Mum! She must have been terrified. I shouldn’t have suggested she should go to my flat. That was stupid of me, but I didn’t think . . . it never entered my head that she could be in danger.’
    ‘Obviously, why should it? But she was lucky – he left the front door open and one of your neighbours walked past and saw her, and called the emergency service. A Miss Neville?’
    ‘Oh, Janet, yes,’ Miranda said absently. ‘We aren’t friends, but we do say hello, and talk about the weather, now and then.’
    ‘Well, your mother may owe a big debt to Miss Neville. Had she lain there all night she might have developed hypothermia. Older people do, even in warm weather, especially with a head wound. Miss Neville didn’t recognise her, and, knowing you were in hospital she had no idea what your mother was doing in your flat, so as well as asking for an ambulance she talked to us, and since I’m dealing with your case the word reached me. I didn’t want to disturb your sleep in the middle of the night, which is why I’m here now.’
    ‘You’ve seen my mother?’
    ‘I’ve just come from seeing her. And she seems fine to me. But I don’t think she should return to your flat. I’ve advised her to go home, to Dorset, in fact. That would be wisest.’
    Miranda took a sharp breath. ‘You think she might be attacked again?’
    ‘Highly unlikely, but it is better to be safe than sorry.’
    Closing her eyes, she asked, ‘Have you found . . . anything, yet?’
    ‘In your flat? I told you, it had been