GUIDE STAR a gripping and emotional rollercoaster of a novel about love life and not giving up Read online

  GUIDE STAR

  A gripping and emotional rollercoaster of a novel about love, life and not giving up

  Joy Ellis

  First published 2017

  Joffe Books, London

  www.joffebooks.com

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, organisations, places and events are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or locales is entirely coincidental. The spelling used is British English except where fidelity to the author’s rendering of accent or dialect supersedes this.

  We hate typos too but sometimes they slip through. Please send any errors you find to [email protected]

  We’ll get them fixed ASAP. We’re very grateful to eagle-eyed readers who take the time to contact us.

  ©Joy Ellis

  Please join our mailing list for free kindle crime thriller, detective, mystery, and romance books and new releases.

  http://www.joffebooks.com/contact/

  THERE IS A GLOSSARY OF ENGLISH SLANG IN THE BACK OF THIS BOOK FOR US READERS.

  CONTENTS

  CHAPTER ONE

  CHAPTER TWO

  CHAPTER THREE

  CHAPTER FOUR

  CHAPTER FIVE

  CHAPTER SIX

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  CHAPTER NINE

  CHAPTER TEN

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

  CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

  CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

  CHAPTER THIRTY

  CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

  OTHER BOOKS BY JOY ELLIS

  The DI Nikki Galena books

  Glossary of English Slang for US readers

  FREE KINDLE BOOKS AND OFFERS

  “Urban exploration (often shortened as urbex or UE) is the exploration of man-made structures, usually abandoned ruins or components of the man-made environment not usually seen. Photography and historical interest documentation are heavily featured in the hobby and, although it may sometimes involve trespassing onto private property, this is not always the case and is of innocent intention.

  Urban exploration is also commonly referred to as infiltration, although some people consider infiltration to be more closely associated with the exploration of active or inhabited sites. It may also be referred to as draining (when exploring drains), urban spelunking, urban rock climbing, urban caving, or building hacking.”

  Wikipedia https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Urban_exploration

  In memory of Thomas James and Florence Mary Ellis — Tom and Florrie — love always.

  CHAPTER ONE

  ‘Stella? Can you hear me?’

  With a monumental effort, Stella North opened her eyes and a stream of figures swam in her vision. Smiling, shadowy strangers looking down upon her.

  She closed her eyes again, preferring the heady confusion of her dreams to this scary, odd-smelling room filled with people she didn’t know.

  The voice persisted. ‘Stella? Open your eyes for me.’

  No. She would stay where she was, wrapped in that warm cocoon.

  It’s not nearly as safe as you think.

  Stella’s eyes snapped open.

  ‘Hello there. Welcome back. You are in the neurosurgical ward at the Pilgrim Hospital.’

  Hospital? Why? she tried to ask, but the words wouldn’t come out. Her tongue lolled uselessly like a piece of damp chamois leather.

  Someone squeezed her hand. ‘I’m your surgeon, Dr Field-Latimer — Donald to you — and I’ll be looking after you.’

  So the voice had a name. And a double-barrelled one! God, I must be really ill, she thought, he said he was a surgeon.

  ‘Do you remember what happened to you, Stella?’

  Stella couldn’t think of anything to say. She struggled to focus her wayward mind. Suddenly she had a picture of a brand new leather jacket. Another dream? No. Black, soft, lined in grey silk — expensive. She had just put it on and it felt like heaven, and then . . . ? She frowned. Then nothing.

  ‘What were you thinking of? Can you tell me?’

  ‘My new jacket,’ she croaked. The words sounded odd, as if they didn’t belong to her. ‘Where’s my bloody jacket?’

  Laughter trickled around the room and Dr Double-Barrelled squeezed her hand tighter. ‘Well, that’s something I suppose,’ he said.

  Stella wanted to laugh with them, but she didn’t get the joke. Then she wanted to cry, and she didn’t understand that either. Oh shit! What did she know? Her panic intensified.

  Then she heard another voice, gentle and cracking with emotion. ‘Thank God. Oh, thank God.’

  The speaker caught her breath and seemed to sob. But that couldn’t be right, could it? She had recognised the voice alright, but its owner never cried. ‘Gran?’

  ‘Sweetheart! My darling.’ Her grandmother took her other hand, and rocking backwards and forwards, held it in silence.

  Warmed by the familiar touch, Stella’s panic subsided and she finally let go of her dreams.

  She looked around her. Banks of humming, bleeping machines flanked her bed. Most of them seemed to be connected to her own body. Oh, this was not good, this was serious. She had better do an assessment.

  There was little pain, but she couldn’t seem to move. Why? She tried a small wriggle and felt considerable discomfort down her right side. Something was pulling. A dressing?

  Dr Double-Barrelled was watching her. ‘It’s a drain, Stella. You’ll be sore for a while, but it will be out soon.’

  ‘I’ve had an operation?’

  ‘Several.’ He smiled cautiously. ‘You’ve been very ill.’

  Anxiety began to bubble up again. ‘Oh. Am I still very ill?’

  ‘You are doing brilliantly.’ He looked at her intently and seemed to wink. ‘Partly due to my miraculous skills as a surgeon, of course, but . . .’ The smile faded somewhat. ‘We do need to do further tests to know what is going on.’

  ‘Going on?’ Her voice trembled.

  ‘I think we should tell her everything, Dr Field-Latimer.’ Tears gone, Stella’s grandmother, Beth Cartwright, looked directly at the surgeon. ‘She’s a resilient and very brave young woman. My Stella doesn’t like being fed half-truths.’

  Right now, Stella felt far from brave, but on some level she knew that her grandmother was right.

  The surgeon nodded. ‘We know all about her resilience, or she wouldn’t be here now.’ He looked down at her. ‘The thing is, Stella, you have been in an induced coma for two weeks. You have damage to your right side — a broken rib and a considerable flesh wound, all of which should heal well, and if you work on exercising the muscles, they should give you few problems in future.’

  He paused while Stella absorbed what he was saying. So why a coma? Surely a busted rib and a gash to her side weren’t that serious?

  He sat on the edge of her bed. ‘The side injury wasn’t all. You also have a serious head tr
auma, Stella. We have had to wait for the swelling in your brain to subside. That’s why we need to do the tests.’

  Head trauma? ‘Did I fall? Was I in an RTC?’ She stopped, confused. What the hell was an RTC anyway?

  ‘No, sweetheart.’ Beth took over, and her words hung in the air like a guillotine blade. ‘It was not an accident. Someone shot you.’

  * * *

  A while later in the relatives’ room, Beth sank down onto a chair and let out a long sigh. She had expected only Edward Byrne, Stella’s ex-husband, to be waiting for her, but instead three haggard faces looked up expectantly.

  Edward leaned forward. ‘Well, Beth? How is she?’

  ‘She’s awake.’ Beth patted his knee, and allowed herself a tight smile. ‘She’s not only awake, but she’s talking and she recognised me.’

  Edward gave a little whoop and hugged the small brunette who sat beside him. ‘I knew she would pull through!’

  Lexi, wife number two, hugged him back and smiled broadly. ‘We all thought she’d make it, but . . .’

  Beth knew exactly what Lexi meant. Stella was a police officer, and one tough woman, but you couldn’t rely on that. You didn’t dare.

  For a moment she saw them as an outsider might. No parents and no anxious spouse or partner, just a wiry stick of a grandmother, a divorced husband, his pretty new wife and a rather ragged work colleague. Beth looked across the room at the third occupant, a tall, lanky and uncomfortable-looking man in scuffed trainers, faded jeans and a hooded sports sweatshirt. He might have been a teenager, somebody’s son, but Beth knew that he was much older than he looked.

  Robbie was silent, but the relief on his face needed no words. After a while he stood up. ‘I’d better be going. I guess you guys will have a lot to talk about.’ As he passed Beth he lightly touched her shoulder. ‘I can’t tell you how pleased I am, Mrs C. Now I know what they mean when they say, “a tower of strength.” I’m sure her recovery has a lot to do with your being there for her.’ He smiled awkwardly. ‘Er, well, give her my best. I’ll be back as soon as she’s well enough for visitors. Oh, and tell her the whole station is rooting for her.’

  The door closed.

  Lexi smiled. ‘Doesn’t look much like a detective, does he?’

  ‘Nor does Stella, come to that,’ Edward added. ‘Still, wouldn’t work if they all looked the part, would it? The criminals would spot them a mile off and have a field day.’

  Beth knew that this chat concealed turbulent emotions. For the past two weeks they had been considering matters of life and death, and what sort of life might follow a severe head injury.

  ‘So what happens next?’ asked the ever-practical Edward.

  ‘Tests. Then more tests. Assessments, reviews and then more of the same.’ Beth felt drained. She had been through some truly dreadful times in her life, but nothing had been as bad as seeing her only grandchild lying in that room, a machine causing her chest to rise and fall. ‘The doctors say it will take a while to evaluate the damage.’ There was a catch in her voice. ‘And we have to be aware that there will be changes in her, even if her recovery goes well. The doctor told me that no one comes back from a traumatic brain injury exactly as they were before.’

  Donald Field-Latimer had sat down with her to explain that the bullet they had removed had struck an area of the brain that affected a multitude of behaviours.

  ‘No two brain injuries are the same, Beth, but we know that there is a good chance that she will have problems with basic cognitive skills. She’ll find it difficult to concentrate, and will have trouble remembering or retaining new information. And she is likely to experience exaggerated mood swings, with severe depression. And this is on top of other possible problems including seizures, loss of balance, vision, sense of smell, hearing.’ He shrugged. ‘The list is endless. This is just a warning that you should be prepared for anything, but some of the impairments will dissipate completely over time. Her life’s course has changed, Beth, but with careful guidance, she will have a life.’

  Beth had nodded, but knew something that the doctor didn’t. Stella’s career was her life. From dawn to dusk, and on through the night, Stella lived and breathed the police force. Her broken marriage was testament to that.

  ‘Can we go in and see her?’ Edward asked, breaking into Beth’s musings.

  ‘Yes, of course. We shouldn’t tire her out, but the doctor thinks it will help her to know that she is surrounded and supported by friends and loved ones.’

  Lexi stood up. ‘I’d better get back for Ethan. I rather dumped him on Mum when we heard the news about Stella coming off the respirator.’ She smiled at her husband. ‘He’s probably driving her mad by now. You go spend some time with Stella, Eddie. Give her my love and tell her I’ll visit tomorrow.’ She gathered up her bag and coat, pecked him on the cheek, and turned to Beth. ‘Now, will you finally get some rest? She’s going to need you so much in the coming days, and you need sleep and hot food. Come to us tonight. I’ve got a chicken casserole in the oven and there’s enough for all of us and a small army.’

  Beth knew she meant it. They certainly hadn’t acted like most families following a divorce. They all got on, including Stella and Lexi. ‘Thank you. I’ll wait until she’s settled for the evening, then I’ll call in on my way home.’

  ‘If you’re not with us by eight, I’ll come and get you myself,’ Lexi said. Before having their baby son, she had been a teacher and every so often she slipped back into classroom mode. ‘You won’t be running marathons again if you neglect your body.’

  ‘No, ma’am.’ Beth gave a mock salute and tried to look contrite. Long-distance running was the last thing on her mind right now. Even the love of her life, a field spaniel called Frisbee, was “holidaying” with a neighbour.

  Edward ran his fingers through his thick brown hair. ‘How much does she know?’

  ‘Just that she was shot, and that she’s been in a coma. She can’t be inundated with information yet. She won’t be able to process it,’ Beth replied.

  ‘But no memory of what happened?’

  ‘Not yet, possibly never.’

  ‘Maybe for the best?’ He looked at her.

  Beth shrugged. ‘Maybe. I think she’d cope with knowing about what happened to her. It’s the fact that she’ll never be able to go back into the police force that’s worrying me.’

  ‘With very good reason.’ Edward’s forehead creased. ‘I certainly wouldn’t want to be the one to drop that little bombshell into her lap.’

  ‘Nor me,’ Beth said glumly. ‘Although I’m pretty certain who will finish up with that delightful task, what do you reckon?’

  Edward gave a rueful smile. ‘Good luck with that.’

  * * *

  Robbie Melton sat in his car, gripping the steering wheel until his knuckles turned white. He stared through the windscreen. His earlier euphoria at Stella’s re-awakening had quickly turned to anxiety. His grandfather had suffered brain damage in the Falklands War, and Robbie would never forget the vague, absent shell that he became.

  He exhaled and made himself relax. Whatever happened from now on, she had made a good start. If ever there was a woman who would fight back, it was Stella. A small smile spread across his face. In the five years they’d worked as a team, she had outshone him by far — faster, stronger and brighter. Sure, he had his qualities too, but he knew that Stella could get to the very top. She had made detective sergeant at thirty, while he was still a constable. The smile widened, because that was fine by him. He loved his work with a vengeance and had no aspirations for gold braid and pockets full of pips.

  He sat back and watched figures huddled in warm coats and jackets, fight the biting east wind as they hurried across the car park. He and Stella had gelled from the start. Now, without her, he was adrift, working by rote and finding little excitement or pleasure in his life. If she knew how much he was suffering, Stella would give him a bollocking and tell him to get a bloody grip. But somehow he couldn’t. She h
ad got him out of several tight corners, and once had actually saved his life, even if she denied it vehemently. But he hadn’t been there for her when she needed him. He knew it was irrational to feel guilty, because he had been miles away. She was off duty and simply in the wrong place at the wrong time.

  Two drug-fuelled kids, a bungled robbery, and a gun.

  Stella had done what came naturally. She had protected those around her, and taken a bullet for her troubles. Two bullets, actually.

  Robbie smashed both his palms hard onto the steering wheel and let out a stifled cry. It wasn’t fair! She had been the most alive person he had ever met. He never tired of working with her, despite the teasing he received from some of his colleagues. Some of them had suggested that it would be a relief for him not to be working in her shadow, and that his career would progress further in a different crew. What rot! It had never been cold in her shadow. She needed him as much as he needed her. He had always seen himself as an important component in a well-oiled machine.

  Robbie turned the key in the ignition and slowly released the handbrake. Now he was just a spare part.

  CHAPTER TWO

  Six months later

  Stella looked up at the clock. Two more minutes on the cross trainer, and she would have done more than yesterday.

  Donald Field-Latimer, her neurosurgeon, had said she was his only patient ever to actually enjoy physiotherapy. Certainly, few begged him to be let into the gym, rather than out of it. Luckily he was a great believer in physical exercise and as soon as her side had healed he, her physiotherapist and her grandmother had got together and worked out a programme for her.

  In the six months since she had left the hospital, Beth’s gentle encouragement had turned into a punishing fitness regime that stretched Stella’s body further with every session. The wounds had healed well, the scarring on her side was not exactly pretty but she could handle that, and her hair covered the site of the surgery to remove the bullet to her head. Her mind, on the other hand, was proving trickier to mend.