10. Off to Hospital

A wait in hospital and a vision!

THE BODY IN THE BED

10. Off to Hospital

I would be surprised if he lasts the night,” muttered Ian to Sergeant Puller as they drove back towards the police station. “I’ve seen a few men in a bad way, and he’s one of the worst. Looked as if he was dead, he did.”

Megan, or DC Braintree as officialdom called her, was in the ambulance going another way, towards Brumpton Hospital, travelling with the patient who seemed to be more dead than alive. She held his hand, knowing that physical human contact can be more comforting than many prescribed drugs.

After a while, his eyes flickered open and closed almost instantly, but she noticed.

This might be the only chance any of us has to get some information from him, she thought, and she leaned towards him, a paramedic indicating that she was close enough and to keep her distance.

“David,” she whispered, “it is David, isn’t it?”

“He won’t reply,” hissed the paramedic. “Look at the poor sod, he’s more out of this world than in it.”

“If I was in his state the last thing I’d want to hear would be a medical man calling me a poor sod,” growled Megan in a throaty whisper. Then she turned her head to the patient. “Can I call you David?” she whispered.

This time his eyes more than flickered open, then remained on her for a count of three. Then, “I did it,” he breathed, “I killed my… my father.”

“Don’t you go worrying about that now,” she whispered, “but can you tell me who did this to you?”

But the very brief staccato two-way conversation came to an end as he lapsed into unconsciousness.

“That might be it,” muttered the paramedic, “I’ve seen enough poor sods in this state. Sorry, naughty me, not poor sods, dying men. Will that do you?”

Megan looked at him and shook her head. “You’ve not got the best bedside manner, have you?” she asked, quietly because she was aware that even people who appear to be completely out of this world can still have a rudimentary remnant of hearing, and maybe even memory.

“I’ve seen it before, ducks,” he replied, “a bloke loses his cool like this hot-head might have done and someone takes exception, and there you have it: a scumbag on his road to hell!”

Megan hated this kind of conversation and distrusted those engaged in it. “Call him what you will,” she said sharply “but he’s a human being, a man with problems, somewhere he’s got a mother and maybe a wife and if not that, a girlfriend who loves him. He could have kids, for goodness’ sake! And now look at him, lying still on a stretcher in a speeding ambulance.”

“Yep,” sighed the paramedic.

“But … not...dead…” whispered his patient.

“No, not dead,” agreed Megan in a hopeful whisper.

“Yet,” breathed the paramedic as the ambulance rocked to a standstill in the hospital ambulance-park.

The injured man on his stretcher was soon trundled through a door marked EMERGENCIES ONLY and Megan followed as far as she could, to a row of seats meant for those accompanying the patients so that they might wait in relative discomfort.

A duty nurse eventually came up to her and told her that the wounded man would be kept unconscious and if she liked she could go to the coffee machine and see if it dispensed anything to her taste.

“If it’s anything like the one at the station it won’t,” she replied with a grin.

“If you’re desperate it just about passes muster,” smiled the nurse, “I hope you’ve got the right change. Anyway, it’s down the way you came when you brought the poor fellow in. If there’s any news I’ll come down and find you.”

Megan thanked her and decided to risk the machine, and fortunately she did have to right coins to operate it. It was an elderly machine that served you a choice: coffee sweetened or unsweetened.

Holding the plastic cup she found a seat in a larger waiting area and wondered how long she’d have to stay here. Ian had told her to wait until there was news about the young man one way or other, but after just a few minutes she decided that labouring over her monitor in the office was preferable to watching the walking wounded coming and going and moaning about whatever it was they’d done that had caused their problems. In the end she decided to ring the station and see what Ian wanted her to do. There was a landline phone in an alcove near her, accompanied by a sign prohibiting the use of mobile phones, so she finished her coffee, disposed of the tawdry plastic mug in a bin and went to the phone, which, she found, had been out of order ever since a dusty sign proclaiming it so had been put there.

She was about to slip outside where she hoped, it would be permissible for her to use her mobile when the friendly nurse came looking for her.

“Hi,” she said, “I thought you’d want to be updated. David, I think you said that was his name, has lost quite a lot of blood but his wound is under control, no real damage has been done, and he should be okay in a day or so.”

“That’s good news,” smiled Megan.

“Who is he? Your fellow?” asked the nurse,

“No, Not at all! I’m a police officer and we found him like that whilst we were searching a house in town,” replied Megan.

“I once thought of doing that,” sighed the nurse, “being a copper, I mean, but in the end the dead and dying took over! Well, I can tell you this: they’re going to keep him under until tomorrow, so you might as well take a break. It’s not likely that anything unexpected will happen.”

Megan nodded her pleasure at hearing that, and she made her way out of the hospital. She was just about to ring the DI and tell him the news that she was quite happy wasting her time if that was his pleasure when her attention was drawn to a woman marching past her, determinedly going towards the emergency entrance.

“Crikey,” she thought, “it’s the woman from number thirteen Conehill Crescent!”

As quickly as she could she put in a call to her DI and told him what she’d seen and wondered if she should go after the woman. After all, the wounded man might well have bled to death in her house had they not got there in time.

“Go after her!” snapped Ian, “but wait for me. She might be dangerous, but don’t let her out of your sight! We’re on our way! She’s wanted for murder!”

© Peter Rogerson 28.05.23

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