11
By the time John Henderson had got back to Mildenheath, Wendy had managed to swing a room next to the specialist ward his wife was on. It was neatly furnished but still had that look of a hospital trying and failing to make a room feel homely. There were two sofas, both of a coarse yellow fabric and not particularly comfortable, positioned at right angles to each other. A fern in a big brown plant pot was placed in one corner, and a kids’ play area took up another corner. This was where families and relatives were given bad news, Wendy realised. And it was about to happen again.
PC Stuart Easton, whom she’d wanted to be with her when she met the husband, had been called away to deal with another incident in town, leaving her on her own.
As Wendy was busy writing up her notes into lon
