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of the living …’
    Simms frowned at her unfortunate turn of phrase, but she misread it as boyish dejection and reached out to touch his cheek. He pulled back in surprise – she was never touchy-feely at the best of times, so he hardly expected that! He could never work her out. He looked at the dark smudges under her eyes and said, ‘C’mon, you’re shattered, we’d best get you home.’

Thursday (5)
    ‘Thanks for that, John. Things might’ve got out of hand.’ Frost slumped in the Vauxhall’s passenger seat.
    ‘What do you mean might’ve ? You just headbutted your brother-in-law.’
    ‘Nah, that was more of a smooch.’
    His relief at being whisked away from the ugly scene at his in-laws’ helped him make light of it, but inwardly Frost cringed at his loss of control. After Mary’s death he’d assumed that his relationship with the Simpsons couldn’t suffer any more damage, and might even be repaired, so he was furious with himself, particularly for having given that spiv Julian the satisfaction of causing his latest disgrace.
    As they accelerated along the Rimmington Road towards Denton he pushed away these gloomy thoughts by turning his attention to Waters. ‘Anyway, what are you doing here? Aren’t you on duty?’
    ‘Yep, but I thought you’d want to hear the latest news. Harry Baskin’s been shot.’
    ‘Bugger me!’ Frost exclaimed, the surprise causing an unpleasant reflux of Scotch up his windpipe. ‘Where?’
    ‘At the Coconut Grove.’
    ‘How bad?’
    ‘We wait to see … he’s only just come round. Simms and Clarke took the call earlier.’
    ‘So are they at the hospital?’
    ‘Nope, at the lab. A different case. A couple of severed limbs have been found in a field outside Denton. But anyway—’
    ‘Severed limbs?’ Frost puffed out his cheeks. ‘Blimey, take the morning off to bury the old lady and chaos breaks out. Let’s go and see the old blighter first – I could do with cheering up.’
    Waters followed Frost past rows of beds towards the curtained corner at the far end of the ward. He watched the detective totter worryingly close to a medication trolley, and sneakily pat a nurse’s bottom, causing her to jolt upright from tucking in sheets at the foot of a patient’s bed. Perhaps it hadn’t been wise to bring him here in his semi-inebriated state.
    A uniformed officer looking bored sitting outside the drawn curtains indicated that this was their man. Baskin was to be moved to a private room later that day; the police presence was unsettling the other patients. Frost parted the curtains dramatically as if making a stage entrance.
    ‘Harry!’ he said loudly with mock concern.
    Baskin shrugged. Aside from a slight pallor the corpulent gangster did not look remotely unwell, let alone like the victim of a gunshot. However, he did look profoundly pissed off.
    ‘Bitch won’t let me smoke,’ he grunted. ‘Says it’s not allowed.’
    ‘It’s not good for you, Harry,’ Frost needled, pulling up a visitor’s chair, ‘or so I’m told.’
    ‘Neither’s getting shot. What’s he doing here?’ He gestured with his chin at Waters who remained standing at the foot of the bed.
    ‘You’ve met DS Waters, haven’t you?’
    Baskin narrowed his eyes. ‘Monkeys aren’t allowed in here either.’
    ‘Rather a monkey than a fat white slug,’ Waters replied. ‘Where’s the salt? Maybe we can put you out of your agony.’
    ‘Now, Harry, no need for those kinds of comments, or I shall lose my sympathy very quickly. Where’d they get you?’ Frost poked the gangster’s bandaged shoulder sharply. ‘Was it here?’
    ‘Jesus Christ, Frost!’ He writhed in pain. ‘Bleedin’ bullet’s still in there.’
    ‘Well, just you watch your tongue, and be a good boy.’
    ‘All right, all right.’ He nodded at Waters while gently rubbing his bandaged torso. ‘Sorry, son. I’m not my usual rational self, for some reason.’
    ‘Now.’ Frost stretched back, placing his hands