‘How many casualties are there? Ambulance will need to know.’
‘Three, I think, one male and two females.’
She crossed the floor and knelt down by the side of the man who she assumed was Saul Potter. His face was covered with a piece of white cotton that was heavily bloodstained. The adult male was only wearing a once white T-shirt and pair of shorts, no socks or shoes. He had a shaved head and stubble on his chin that she could see underneath the piece of fabric was stained with dark, red blood. There was a pool of blood around him and the left side of his head was a strange shape. It looked like a deflated football it was so caved in. She placed two fingers to his carotid artery to see if she could feel a pulse. Nothing; he was cold and hard to the touch.
A slight moan behind him stopped her in her tracks though. The other two bodies looked as if they could be the girls from the photographs in the bedroom. Both of them looked so tiny lying there. Neither of them had socks or shoes on either. They were so close together they were almost touching. She tried to stay silent, to hear which had made the noise, or had she imagined it? Then it happened again, and she realised that one of them was breathing. It was very shallow; she had a similar head injury to who Morgan assumed was her dad. But there were signs of life.
‘Control, I need that ambulance now. There’s a teenage girl unconscious, breathing very shallow; she’s lost a lot of blood and has a serious head injury.’
Morgan’s breath was coming fast. Shit, should she put her in the recovery position? She decided against it. Unzipping her body armour then the black fleece jacket she was wearing, she shrugged it off and used it to cover the girl as best as she could. It was so cold down here, she could see a cloud of white vapour every time she exhaled. It was a wonder the girl hadn’t died of shock and hypothermia. She noticed another piece of the white fabric on the floor next to this girl. She must have moved enough for it to have slid off.
‘It’s okay, honey, I’m a police officer. Help is on the way. We’ll get you to the hospital. Just hang on.’
Another faint moan spurred Morgan on; she had to save this girl.
Morgan stared at the other girl lying behind this one. Her face was covered in a piece of the same white material stained with dark, congealed blood. She didn’t need to lift the cloth to see that the right side of her face was all caved in: she could tell by the flattened shape the cloth was sticking to. There was so much blood pooled on the floor around the bodies. She stared at the thick, dark clots that had formed. She felt as if she was knee-deep in it. She breathed deeply through her mouth so she wouldn’t inhale the strong odour. If she passed out, she would be letting the girl down, but the room was starting to go a little fuzzy around the edges. What if the killer came back? She was here on her own. God knows how long it would take other patrols to arrive. The smell was cloying, sickly and unbearable. Her stomach was doing some weird thing and the back of her mouth was filling with water. God, she’d better not puke. She focused on her breathing, slowing it down in time to the motion of stroking the uninjured side of the girl’s head. She took hold of her hand, unsure if she was helping or making things worse, but knowing that if their places were reversed and she was close to death, that she would want someone to be there for her, giving her some comfort in her final moments.
Her brain could barely process what these poor girls had been through. Who would do something like this, and why?
Ten
Ben reached the roundabout at junction twenty-six, about to take the turn-off for the M6 Southbound, when Amy slapped his arm and shouted.
‘Shit, boss. You need to go back, don’t take the slip road.’
He swerved and carried on back towards the Kendal exit, a symphony of horns blaring behind them.
‘Jesus, what the hell’s the matter with you?’
Detective Constable Amy Smith had been parking up as he left the